right, cold.
Callous was far too harsh a term. Exploitative … Where had that sprung from?
Never
.
He sprang up and paced. It was in no way true. If he wasn’t the sucker he’d once been, he was still in every way a decent, caring and honourable guy. She couldn’t deny she’d been equally enthusiastic. He hadn’t promised her anything, had he?
This was just life. Amber O’Neill needed to toughen up. Sure, he’d noticed signs of emotion in her, but none of it had been down to
him
. He’d done nothing to bring that teary sparkle that had come and gone in her eyes. And for a woman to actually shed tears during sex …
What guy
would
cope?
He ignored the smart little voice piping,
The guy you used to be
. And he ignored the gnawing twinge that had been occupying his chest since he’d closed the door after her last night. Whatever had upset her was
not
his responsibility.
Men had to shield themselves or they could be swept along on a woman’s emotions and end up a wreck before the eyes of the world.
He slammed the door on his old nightmare before it could properly materialise. Breathed carefully for a while. In. Out.
The wedding debacle had no more power to gut him. It was over now, the bad time long gone. He’d learned his lesson, and there’d be no more debacles for Guy Wilder.
If Amber O’Neill was too soft for the rough and tumble of casual sex she should look elsewhere for a playmate.
Regrettable, though, in some ways.
Amber chose one of her prettiest costumes: capri pants patterned in rose coloured daisies with a rose-pink top and heels. With a little make-up she looked cheery enough, and that was good. The customers didn’t have to know she’d taken a few lacerations to the spirit.
Determined to swan through the day with a smile here and a sunbeam there, she made porridge—her favourite—then ended up washing it down the sink.
Food was impossible with her insides churning so fast. If only she hadn’t encountered him in the mall.
There were so many things she could have said, but she was glad she’d restrained herself. Last night she might have felt like trash, but it was a sensation she’d experienced before. She just hadn’t expected it. Not with him. He’d seemed so … lovely.
Anyway, no use brooding. Write him off as a mistake.Wallowing in angst and recriminations wouldn’t help. She’d found that out the hard way with Miguel, when her mother had needed her there every night. Some men were tone deaf to feelings.
Pity she could still make the same mistakes with that knowledge so deeply inscribed on her soul.
Anyway, forget Guy Wilder’s smile and his crow’s feet and his music. How charming he’d been until he’d achieved his … Oh. She flinched to think of it and her eyes were awash again.
She blotted them carefully with her fingers, but the tactic wasn’t all that successful.
Great. Now she’d have to fix her mascara. What was wrong with her anyway? She was turning into an emotional wreck. She just mustn’t
think
about it. It was too demoralising. It wasn’t worth another second of her time.
She reminded herself of her resolutions. She wouldn’t tolerate disrespect. Her next love, if she found one, would know how to value her. Gone were the days when she gave a man her all, while he took all he could.
She pressed her lips into a firm line. The old Amber was gone. The new Amber was sparing with her gifts. The
new
Amber took no prisoners.
Well, those were her resolves, at least, as she steeled herself to walk past Guy’s door and into the lift.
Unlocking the shop door was a relief. At least here she had a safe haven from the perils of the ninth floor. And, since she was on her own for the day, she’d have no time to dwell on whether a man had deliberately conned her into believing he was a human being for the sake of an orgasm.
She’d barely received her daily flower delivery and commenced the task of sorting, before Roger, the smooth, bald CEO from Centre
Callous was far too harsh a term. Exploitative … Where had that sprung from?
Never
.
He sprang up and paced. It was in no way true. If he wasn’t the sucker he’d once been, he was still in every way a decent, caring and honourable guy. She couldn’t deny she’d been equally enthusiastic. He hadn’t promised her anything, had he?
This was just life. Amber O’Neill needed to toughen up. Sure, he’d noticed signs of emotion in her, but none of it had been down to
him
. He’d done nothing to bring that teary sparkle that had come and gone in her eyes. And for a woman to actually shed tears during sex …
What guy
would
cope?
He ignored the smart little voice piping,
The guy you used to be
. And he ignored the gnawing twinge that had been occupying his chest since he’d closed the door after her last night. Whatever had upset her was
not
his responsibility.
Men had to shield themselves or they could be swept along on a woman’s emotions and end up a wreck before the eyes of the world.
He slammed the door on his old nightmare before it could properly materialise. Breathed carefully for a while. In. Out.
The wedding debacle had no more power to gut him. It was over now, the bad time long gone. He’d learned his lesson, and there’d be no more debacles for Guy Wilder.
If Amber O’Neill was too soft for the rough and tumble of casual sex she should look elsewhere for a playmate.
Regrettable, though, in some ways.
Amber chose one of her prettiest costumes: capri pants patterned in rose coloured daisies with a rose-pink top and heels. With a little make-up she looked cheery enough, and that was good. The customers didn’t have to know she’d taken a few lacerations to the spirit.
Determined to swan through the day with a smile here and a sunbeam there, she made porridge—her favourite—then ended up washing it down the sink.
Food was impossible with her insides churning so fast. If only she hadn’t encountered him in the mall.
There were so many things she could have said, but she was glad she’d restrained herself. Last night she might have felt like trash, but it was a sensation she’d experienced before. She just hadn’t expected it. Not with him. He’d seemed so … lovely.
Anyway, no use brooding. Write him off as a mistake.Wallowing in angst and recriminations wouldn’t help. She’d found that out the hard way with Miguel, when her mother had needed her there every night. Some men were tone deaf to feelings.
Pity she could still make the same mistakes with that knowledge so deeply inscribed on her soul.
Anyway, forget Guy Wilder’s smile and his crow’s feet and his music. How charming he’d been until he’d achieved his … Oh. She flinched to think of it and her eyes were awash again.
She blotted them carefully with her fingers, but the tactic wasn’t all that successful.
Great. Now she’d have to fix her mascara. What was wrong with her anyway? She was turning into an emotional wreck. She just mustn’t
think
about it. It was too demoralising. It wasn’t worth another second of her time.
She reminded herself of her resolutions. She wouldn’t tolerate disrespect. Her next love, if she found one, would know how to value her. Gone were the days when she gave a man her all, while he took all he could.
She pressed her lips into a firm line. The old Amber was gone. The new Amber was sparing with her gifts. The
new
Amber took no prisoners.
Well, those were her resolves, at least, as she steeled herself to walk past Guy’s door and into the lift.
Unlocking the shop door was a relief. At least here she had a safe haven from the perils of the ninth floor. And, since she was on her own for the day, she’d have no time to dwell on whether a man had deliberately conned her into believing he was a human being for the sake of an orgasm.
She’d barely received her daily flower delivery and commenced the task of sorting, before Roger, the smooth, bald CEO from Centre
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