“The sex was your idea,” he reminded her, insulted. “I wanted to talk to you. And the fact is, I got more out of you after you were buzzed than I ever would have otherwise. So I loosened you up.” And damn if he was going to feel guilty over it. “And you let me in.”

“Loosened me up,” she whispered, getting slowly to her feet.

“I wanted to know who you are. I have a right to know.”

“You—you did plan it. You planned to come in here, to charm me into drinking just a little too much so you could pry into my personal life.”

“I care about you.” He moved toward her, but she slapped his hand away.

“Don’t. I’m not stupid enough to fall for that again.”

“I do care about you. And now I know more, and understand more about you. What’s wrong with that, Sybill?”

“You tricked me.”

“Maybe I did.” He took her arms, keeping a firm grip when she tried to pull back. “Just hold on. You had a privileged, structured childhood. I didn’t. You had advantages, servants, culture. I didn’t. Do you think less of me because until I was twelve I ran the streets?”

“No. But this has nothing to do with that.”

“No one loved me either,” he continued. “Not until I was twelve. So I know what it’s like on both sides. Do you expect me to think less of you because you survived the cold?”

“I’m not going to discuss it.”

“That’s not going to work anymore. Here’s emotion for you, Sybill.” He brought his mouth down on hers, dragging her into the kiss, into the swirl. “Maybe I don’t know what to do about it yet either. But it’s there. You’ve seen my scars. They’re right out there. Now I’ve seen yours.”

He was doing it again, making her weaken and want. She could rest her head on his shoulder, have his arms come around to hold her. She only had to ask. And couldn’t.

“There’s no need to feel sorry for me.”

“Oh, baby.” Gently this time, he touched his lips to hers. “Yes, there is. And I admire what you managed to become despite it all.”

“I was drinking too much,” she said quickly. “I made my parents sound cold and unfeeling.”

“Did either of them ever tell you they loved you?”

She opened her mouth, then sighed. “We simply weren’t a demonstrative family. Not every family is like yours. Not every family shows their feelings and touches and . . .” She trailed off, hearing the trace of panicked defense in her own voice. For what, she wondered wearily. For whom?

“No, neither of them ever said that to me. Or to Gloria, as far as I know. And any decent therapist would conclude that their children reacted to this restrictive, overly formal, and demanding atmosphere by choosing different extremes. Gloria chose wild behavior as a bid for attention. I conformed in a bid for approval. She equated sex with affection and power and fantasized about being desired and forced by men in authority, including her legal and her biological fathers. I avoided intimacy in sex out of fear of failure and selected a field of study where I could safely observe behavior without risk of emotional involvement. Is that clear enough?”