A Vengeful Affair by Carmen Falcone Page B

understand. Why are you defending Dominique when she would have been happy to claw you back there?”
    “Because maybe she cared for you. Even with all your warning labels.” As soon as the words made their way out of her mouth, she regretted saying them.
    She wasn’t talking about Dominique.
    She wasn’t even sure she was talking about Molly.
    Although it was dark, she could still see the frown on his face. “You are a very loyal woman, Vivian.” His cold voice chilled her. “Though you must be careful with such blind loyalty.”
    She swallowed. The silence deepened with every second that passed. His eyes locked on hers, and the small gap between them could have been as wide as the river.
    He wasn’t talking about Dominique, either.
    “I only do what I think is right.”
    Vivian turned to face the river. It was so calm, it almost looked like a landscape painting.
    “Look at me,” he demanded.
    She turned to face him. A warm glow outlined his black irises. The expression she found there was the same one he’d given her earlier, when they’d had breakfast and he’d told her about his painful childhood.
    “I didn’t kill her,” he said. “I would never do such a thing.”
    He held her gaze. Her blurred thoughts began to take on a dangerous clarity. After spending every waking moment with him, after learning things about him that even he was not proud of…
    “You didn’t kill her?” Vivian asked.
    He shook his head. And he never took his eyes off hers for a moment.
    Those eyes weren’t lying. He wasn’t lying.
    And damn it, she would be lying to herself if she pretended not to believe him.
    She lifted her hand to her forehead, unsure what to think. Did his innocence bring her relief or more headaches? It complicated things a great deal. For just as she was sure he hadn’t done it, she knew someone else had.
    The man in front of her, whose eyes still rested on hers, stood as if awaiting her response.
    She pressed her lips together hard, her emotions thoroughly rattled. How could she give him the trust he wanted—the trust he’d earned —when she was a long way from understanding?
    …
     
    A couple of hours later, Javier gulped down a thirty-year-old scotch, pulled his shirt off, and kicked his shoes to the side.
    The whiskey smoked its way down his throat, and he cursed himself.
    When he’d slept with Molly, he hadn’t expected to pay such a high price for it. He’d been tired and working too much, and he’d enjoyed the attention she’d poured over him at that stupid happy hour. It should have stopped there. He should have known better.
    But he hadn’t. He’d gone ahead and slept with an employee, something he’d vowed never to do—never to make his work vulnerable. Never to make himself vulnerable.
    Then, after he’d found out her real intentions, he hated her. He’d felt used. Somehow that strong negative emotion lost its power when he found out she’d killed herself. What good was it to curse a tortured soul? He knew all about tortured souls.
    And then there was Vivian—another woman who’d enticed him to make a mistake. But he couldn’t shut off the part of his brain that insisted there was something else about her. Something important.
    He would be signing the merger in less than ten hours, and it would put him right where he wanted to be. He should not be thinking of the woman who had denied him for the past couple of days.
    But he couldn’t stop.
    She hadn’t said one word after their exchange by the Seine. He’d expected her to protest fiercely, or at least to respond in some fashion. But her reaction had been a simple nod. Her expression had become remote, and she hadn’t exchanged one more word with him.
    He assumed she needed some time to come to terms with the fact that Molly had killed herself, and he looked forward to their conversation when she had reconciled herself almost more than he did to signing the merger.
    Damn her for occupying his mind more than the