“And why is that?” He should tell her to leave because it would be the smart thing to do. But that stupid, stubborn, idealistic part of him—the part he denied over and over—wanted to hear her out.

“I treated you badly. I shouldn’t have come to you last night knowing where it would go. I got caught up in the moment….”

Most guys would be thrilled for a gorgeous, sensual woman to offer their bodies without a demand for commitment. When it came to Gracie, he wanted more. He’d wanted her to at least stay the morning after, to talk to him and see if there was something between them. To give them a chance.

He hadn’t wanted to watch her run out of his bedroom like a bat out of hell, bruising his ego and making him feel that all too familiar sting of shame that he’d been judged yet again.

“It was wrong of me, I know that.” She wrung her hands, swallowing before she spoke again. “You deserve so much better.”

“Yes, I do.” He nodded, the chill in his tone deliberate and designed to push her away. “The ironic thing is you were worried that I would treat you like a one-night stand.”

She winced.

“And then you up and leave like we’d slept together just for the sake of it.” He could feel the rise of emotion within him, the quickening of his pulse, the heat that burned from his stomach and up into his chest. “I don’t fuck for the sake of it, Gracie.”

“I know.” She shook her head, her hair scattering around her shoulders. “I never thought it was gratuitous.”

“That’s because it wasn’t. I feel something for you, Gracie,” he growled, the words tumbling out uncensored. “And you threw it in my face like I was another one of your random dates.”

He’d hit his mark. The shocked ‘o’ on her lips and the flare of her nostrils told him the words had stung in just the right place. Damn it, but he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her to experience the pain he felt deep in his chest, the ache he’d felt ever since the first day she sauntered into his restaurant with another man on her arm.

She sucked in a slow, shaky breath. “That’s unfair.”

“Is it?” He threw his hands up. “You bring guy after guy to my restaurant. None of them are good enough. Why would I think I’m any different?”

“You are different, Des,” she whispered.

“Clearly not different enough. Seeing as you’re so fond of rules, I’ve got another one for you: Don’t call me.”

Oh, how he wanted to throw it all aside and sweep her up into his arms. He’d never fallen this hard for a girl before, not even for his ex-fiancée. But he couldn’t accept her apology. He’d made a promise to himself the last time this happened—he was never going to let himself be anyone’s consolation prize.

And until she realized that he was good enough for her, he could never be with Gracie Greene.

“I’m going to shower,” he announced. “And when I get out I expect you to be gone.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, wringing her hands. Part of him wanted to grab her and pull her close so he could kiss her concerns away. He felt more for Gracie than he had any other woman. She ignited him, stirred long-forgotten feelings. “If it means anything at all I… I like you. A lot.”

But it wasn’t to be.

“It doesn’t mean anything if you’re willing to let it go,” he said.

He stalked out of the room, each purposeful stride putting much needed distance between him and Gracie. He should have known this was coming. He did see it coming, but he’d been in denial. Blinded by lust and infatuation with a girl who was like a manifestation of his past.

Did he think that getting her to scream his name would be enough to break down her ideals? That a night of pleasure would undo the years of brainwashing from her parents?

Des turned on the shower and stepped in, letting the hot water pelt against him. He wanted to wash this morning from his memory and forget that he ever let Gracie under his skin. The muffled sound of the front door closing made him grit his teeth.

Damn it.

He thumped a fist against the hard tiles of the shower, wanting to divert the pain to something physical. He didn’t need another judgemental, spoiled little rich girl in his life. Been there, done that. Yet he couldn’t shake the empty ache in his chest knowing Gracie was gone.

And that she’d taken a piece of him with her.

Chapter Eight

Spring had given way to the first balmy days of summer, and Gracie embraced the change of season with gusto. She’d written to-do lists and ticked things off with an enthusiastic frequency. She’d made goals and set the wheels in motion to achieving them.

She’d deleted her online dating profile—make that profiles. Plural. She’d cancelled the email account she used specially for exchanging details with prospective dates. She’d even called the agency who ran the speed dating and singles networking events to ask that they remove her phone number from their records. When her cute new neighbor down the street had asked her out for a drink, she’d politely declined.

Gracie Greene had a new set of rules. Well, just one rule: Forget about dating.

Since Des had refused her apology—and refused her calls on the few times she’d mustered the courage to dial his number—she’d looked upon her situation with fresh eyes. She didn’t resent him. In fact, she was thankful he’d been able to shed light on the sort of person she’d become—one obsessed with artificial perfection.

Of course it had stung. She’d shed her fair share of tears in the days afterwards. But she understood. She’d rejected the one person who cared for her because of who she was. He wasn’t anything like the men who’d shown up to dates because she had a photogenic face and social pedigree. It had recently occurred to her that anyone with access to the internet would have been able to see her connection to the late and great Richard Greene, former head of surgery and namesake of the Greene wing at Melbourne Private.

Yet Des had liked her for nothing other than who she was and she’d thrown it away because she was worried her mother would look down her nose at him, and because she’d made a promise to her father that she’d never be able to keep.

But the fault was hers, and as part of her desire to let go of the pursuit of perfection, she was accepting responsibility…even if it meant going solo for a while.

A knock at her front door broke Gracie out of her reverie. Placing her coffee cup on the kitchen table, she abandoned her book and jogged on bare feet to see who it was. Sunlight streamed through the glass panels of her apartment’s entrance, flooding the front room with golden tones. Outside, a slender figure stood close to the door.

“Gracie?” Emmaline’s distinctive tone sounded as Gracie unlocked the door.

“Hey Ems—” She stopped short when she opened the door to the tear-stained face of her sister. Emmaline’s normally perfect blond hair was falling out of its ponytail, her cheeks were splotchy and pink. “What’s wrong?”

A sob wrenched from Emmaline’s throat. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand as more tears slid down her face. Her usual attire had been replaced with a baggy sweater and leggings, something Gracie hadn’t seen her in since living at home.

Enveloping her sister in a hug, she was about to close the door when a car pulled into the driveway. Gracie instantly recognized the silver Bentley as her mother’s. Gravel kicked up at the wheels as the car pulled to an abrupt stop in her driveway. Cecilia got out and slammed the door behind her. Her ankles wobbled on pencil-thin stilettos as she stalked up to where her daughters stood.

“Please leave!” Emmaline’s plea was high-pitched and desperate, drawing the attention of Gracie’s neighbor, who was pruning roses in his front yard.