Page 15 of His Dark Pact
Why else would he have taken her away from the main restaurant? He’d probably never met such a neurotic woman. Hell, one inference that she might need to be taken care of and the levy had broken inside her. Her head fell at the explanation, her cheeks burning as she tried to ignore the weight of his stare.
“You didn’t embarrass me.” His voice was unnervingly calm. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” It was the thinnest lie yet.
“Please, don’t do that.” He sighed, the noise tugging at her heartstrings.
After everything he’d done to make her happy—helping at the grocery store, buying the bread, and offering to bring her there to the restaurant—she’d managed to disappoint him. The thought sliced at her trepidation, reinforcing what she already knew—however hard she tried, she always let people down.
“Do what?” She swallowed, lifting her head as she sipped the water. Still, she refused to meet his eyes, but she wanted to make amends. She didn’t want the entire night to be a washout of her own devices.
“Lie to me.” One of his expensive shoes tapped against the thick pile carpet. “You did so before when you told me you didn’t know what was wrong, and you’re doing it again.”
“Oh.” She gripped the glass tumbler. How could he have known that was a lie?
“Tell me the truth, Amy.” His voice was soft yet insistent. “I know we don’t know one another, but it’s obvious something’s wrong, so tell me... what’s upsetting you?”
Her sense of shame was crippling. How could she tell a man with such vast wealth that she didn’t even have enough money to make the minimum repayments on her array of loans and bills that month? It was none of his business, but she realized bursting into tears in advance of appetizers warranted some kind of explanation.
“You wouldn’t understand.” She stared at the water in her glass, hardly recognizing her hoarse voice.
“Wouldn’t I?” He straightened beside her. “What makes you think that?”
Pressing her wet lashes together, she pulled in a breath. “Because it’s about money.”And you have a ton of it.
“Money.” His voice was even, giving nothing away. “Didn’t Graham leave you with any savings?”
Savings? She might have laughed at his naivety had her humiliation not halted the gesture.
“No,” she croaked. “No savings. No pension. Nothing.”
He inhaled, the tiny noise deafening in the silence of the gigantic room, and she instantly regretted the admission.
“But that’s my problem.” She wiped her eyes, thankful she didn’t have enough money for make-up. “I shouldn’t have allowed it to ruin dinner. I’m sorry.” She hoped to anything holy, that he was still willing to feed her. Amy was starving, and there was nothing left in her cupboards.
“Do you have enough for your rent?” His hand fell by his side and grazed the edge of her thigh. She watched the caress for a moment, numbed by his question.
The truth was she didn’t have enough for a burger, let alone the rent, but she didn’t know if she could really spill her heart to a man who demanded she address him by his formal title. She’d barely expressed her desperation to the few friends she had left, skimming over the details when she’d pleaded for a place to crash, let alone open up to a man she didn’t even know.
“No.” She forced the word out, watching his hand at her leg. In that instant, she acknowledged there was power in her confession, as though keeping the guilt and disgrace all bottled up for so long had only compounded the problem. As her answer echoed around them, she was suddenly fueled by the need to tell him everything. “Not the rent, nor Graham’s funeral plan, nor my son’s school fees...nothing!”
She spat out the final word, fresh emotion gathering in her throat and engulfing her as she folded over the glass. Thick, ugly tears followed, the sort that assured her no one who witnessed them would ever want to see her again.
He waited for the initial wave to crash over her, remaining silent. By the time she looked up for air, he foisted a clean handkerchief in her direction.
“Thank you.” She dabbed her eyes, imagining how red and puffy they would be.
Any chance of ever getting to know Mr. Kyle better had officially gone out of the window, though, naturally, the aroma of the fabric only reminded her of what she was missing—a sophisticated man of means who could have been a good companion, let alone a lover.
She’d have liked that. She wagered he had one hell of a body hiding beneath his suit, and that was the type of distraction she craved.
“Amy.” His hand shifted to squeeze her knee. “Finish your water.”
My water?Her gaze slid toward him, though still she refused to permit him to see her in such a state of disarray. Why was he worrying about that?
“You’ll end up with a headache,” he urged.
“That’s not really my most pressing problem, Mr. Kyle.” She’d intended her sardonic tone to be light-hearted, but apparently, aiming for humor was a stretch too far in her current predicament.