Chapter 232

• THE next morning Leandro was already enclosed in his study when Zoe awoke at the much more reasonable hour of seven o’clock. She dressed in her oldest clothes—a faded tee shirt and cut-off shorts—and after a cup of strong coffee in the kitchen determined to begin tackling the drawing room.
• Faded yellow curtains covered every window, and when Zoe pushed them aside a cloud of musty dust rose in the still air. She coughed, wincing, and then moved to the next window.
• Last night had been a wake-up call of sorts. Seeing the distaste in Leandro’s eyes—perhaps it had even been disgust—had acted like a bucket of ice water, drenching her senses and her desire. For a moment or two she’d been wrapped up in the seductive promise of pleasure given and received. Shared. Of seeing her own desire reflected in his eyes, of feeling wanted. And perhaps she’d even deceived herself that it meant something more.