Page 16 of A Convenient Ring to Claim Her

“Oh, here comes my neighbor looking for the Bundt pan I offered her. I’ll have to go.”

“That’s fine. Thanks again.” Quinn signed off, then pondered her line of attack.

When a knock at the door to his private lounge sounded, Micah muted the headlines he was watching and called, “Come.”

“Sorry to disturb you, signore.” His housekeeper slipped in and mostly closed the door, then lowered her voice as she continued in Italian. “There’s a young woman in the foyer. She claims to be a friend of your sister. She said you might remember her. Quinn Harper? She asks if you have five minutes.”

You might remember her. He gritted his teeth at how easily she got a dig in without even being in the room. She had to know it, too.

After the call he’d taken yesterday, Micah had half expected she would make an effort to get in touch. He hadn’t anticipated she would show up at his lakeside villa in Bellagio, or that knowing she was in his home would cause his hackles to rise while pouring hot anticipation into his groin.

He did have five minutes, but they’d been earmarked for exactly what he was doing, nursing a shot of scotch while he caught up on current events before he changed and attended a dinner for which he had no appetite.

Send her away. That’s what he should have said. He was coldly furious at the way she’d treated him in Gibraltar. It still didn’t make sense to him, but he would be damned if he would beg her to tell him why she had revealed their relationship with such blithe indifference. She always took Eden’s side against him, he was used to that, but that’s not what she had been doing. She had been defending Remy. Micah couldn’t stomach that level of turncoat betrayal, he really couldn’t.

The whole episode was so infuriating, he could hardly bear to think of it so he really ought tosend her away.

“Have her wait in the study.” He shot back his drink, savoring the harsh burn down his throat before he took his time rising, then showering and shaving. He dressed in his dinner suit, leaving his white jacket off, too hot under the collar to wear it. He blamed the July heat, even though his stone villa was comfortably cool.

When he strolled into his study, Quinn replaced a book on the shelf.

She squared herself to face him, brushing whatever dust was on her fingertips against her crinkled blue skirt. Her sleeveless cotton top was ribbed so it hugged her subtle curves. Her sandals were practical walking shoes. A straw bag sat on the floor near the sofa.

She looked the way she always looked to him—like a ballerina poised to flit and twirl and race off stage left. Her hair was rolled into a knot on the top of her head; her aloof expression was clean of makeup. She always seemed very cool and disinterested, but he knew how sensuous she was and that always heated his gut. The way her lips betrayed her mood, pursed now in preparation for making some sharp remark, fascinated him no end.

Her direct blue gaze landed like a punch in the chest.

“Yes?” he prompted when she didn’t speak. He steeled himself against whatever apology she might try to make.

“Why did you tell the museum in Vienna to withhold those letters from me?”

He snorted. So no apology, then.

“An acquaintance called to say you were using my name to gain access to their archives. I said you were overstepping our relationship and that I couldn’t vouch for your character.”

“Really.” The tendons in her neck flexed. “You said those words with a straight face?”

“How are you keeping a straight face now?” he shot back. “After all your lectures on personal choice and agency, you failed to ask my permission before you publicly shared something that you and I agreed we would keep between us. I can’t vouch for your character when you no longer have my trust or respect.”

She flinched as if he’d slapped her.

He had come out swinging, determined to strike back for the sting of exposure she’d caused him, but he hadn’t expected she would go white like that, and grasp at the edge of the bookshelf as though she needed the support.

Alarmed, he took a step forward, but she recovered just as quickly.

Her hand dropped to her side and closed into a fist. She firmed her footing as though bracing for a physical fight. Her mouth became a flat line and her glare, sharp as a laser, sliced him into fillets.

“You’re right. I did that. I knew you would hate me for it, but I did it to protect your sister. It’s clear you have never really trusted me or you would have known that. So fine. Make my life harder. I don’t care what you think of me.”

“Obviously,” he couldn’t resist pointing out, but his conscience twisted. He did know she would do anything for Eden. Quinn was Eden’s best friend in the most literal sense.

She might have flinched again, but she had moved to snatch up her straw bag so he missed seeing her expression. She looped the long handles over her shoulder as she straightened.

“I have never tried to trade on my relationship with you. You know that,” she said with dignity. “It wasn’t even a relationship and this is why. I knew it would end and I knew that when it did, you would be ruthless about severing all ties. I don’t care how you treat me. Do you understand that?I don’t care.”

“Have you ever heard the expression about the lady protesting too much?” He had wanted to hurt her and he had. He could hear it in the strain of her voice and saw it in the brightness of her eyes, but there was absolutely no satisfaction in it. He felt sick with himself.

“Okay, you’re right about that, too. Does that feel good?” Her cheeks wore bright spots of red. Her mouth quivered, but her chin was up, her shoulders squared for conflict. “I wanted to believe we could remain friendly once our affair ended. It galls me to hear I’ve lost your trust and respect, but guess what?You’ve lost mine.”

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