“We’re almost there.” Strain had his voice coming out clipped and hard. Sydney winced away as though it had been a slap.

What had she done wrong this time? She’d felt, and she’d wanted. Felt and wanted more than she ever had before. Yet she had still failed. For that one timeless moment she’d been willing to toss aside pride and fear. There had been passion in her, real and ready. And, she’d thought, he’d felt passion for her.

But not enough. She closed her eyes. It never seemed to be enough. Now she was cold, freezing, and wrapped her arms tight to try to hold in some remnant of heat.

Damn it, why didn’t she say something? Mikhail dragged an unsteady hand through his hair. He deserved to be slapped. Shot was more like it. And she just sat there.

As he brooded out the window, he reminded himself that it hadn’t been all his doing. She’d been as rash, pressing that wonderful body against his, letting that wide, mobile mouth make him crazy. Squirting that damnable perfume all over that soft skin until he’d been drunk with it.

He started to feel better.

Yes, there had been two people grappling in the back seat. She was every bit as guilty as he.

“Look, Sydney.” He turned and she jerked back like an over-wound spring.

“Don’t touch me.” He heard only the venom and none of the tears.

“Fine.” Guilt hammered away at him as the car cruised to the curb. “I’ll keep my big, grimy hands off you, Hayward. Call someone else when you want a little romp in the back seat.”

Her fisted hands held on to pride and composure. “I meant what I said about my mother.”

He shoved the door open. Light spilled in, splashing over his face, turning it frosty white. “So did I. Thanks for the ride.”

When the door slammed, she closed her eyes tight. She would not cry. A single tear slipped past her guard and was dashed away. She would not cry. And she would not forget.

CHAPTER FOUR

She’d put in a long day. Actually she’d put in a long week that was edging toward sixty hours between office time, luncheon meetings and evenings at home with files. This particular day had a few hours yet to run, but Sydney recognized the new feeling of relief and satisfaction that came with Friday afternoons when the work force began to anticipate Saturday mornings.

Throughout her adult life one day of the week had been the same as the next; all of them a scattershot of charity functions, shopping and lunch dates. There had been no work schedule, and weekends had simply been a time when the parties had lasted longer.