“Before? I think I wanted you before I met you. What is this before?”

“In the car.” Humiliation washed her cheeks of color. “When I—when we were driving back from Long Island. We were…” Her fingers dug into the back of the chair. “It doesn’t matter.”

In two strides he was in front of the chair, his hands gripped over hers. “You tell me what you mean.”

Pride, she told herself. She would damn well keep her pride. “All right then, to clarify, and to see that we don’t have this conversation again. You started something in the car that night. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t encourage it, but you started it.” She took a deep breath to be certain her voice remained steady. “And you just stopped because…well, because I wasn’t what you wanted after all.”

For a moment he could only stare, too stunned for speech. Then his face changed, so quickly, Sydney could only blink at the surge of rage. When he acted, she gave a yip of surprise. The chair he yanked from between them landed on its side two feet away.

He swore at her. She didn’t need to understand the words to appreciate the sentiment behind them. Before she could make an undignified retreat, his hands were clamped hard on her arms. For an instant she was afraid she was about to take the same flight as the chair. He was strong enough and certainly angry enough. But he only continued to shout.

It took her nearly a full minute to realize her feet were an inch above the floor and that he’d started using English again.

“Idiot. How can so smart a woman have no brains?”

“I’m not going to stand here and be insulted.” Of course, she wasn’t standing at all, she thought, fighting panic. She was dangling.

“It is not insult to speak truth. For weeks I have tried to be gentleman.”

“A gentleman,” she said furiously. “You’ve tried to be a gentleman. And you’ve failed miserably.”

“I think you need time, you need me to show you how I feel. And I am sorry to have treated you as I did in the car that night. It makes me think you will have…” He trailed off, frustrated that the proper word wasn’t in him. “That you will think me…”

“A heathen,” she tossed out, with relish. “Barbarian.”

“No, that’s not so bad. But a man who abuses a woman for pleasure. Who forces and hurts her.”

“It wasn’t a matter of force,” Sydney said coldly. “Now put me down.”

He hiked her up another inch. “Do you think I stopped because I don’t want you?”

“I’m well aware that my sexuality is under par.”