New Title 1 by Jane Harvey-Berrick Read Free Book Online

spitting distance.
     
    We ’d nearly finished a carafe of house red, when I became aware that someone was hovering over us. To my astonishment, and more than a little dismay, I saw it was Sebastian.
     
    He looked as though he was barely managing to rein in his temper, his eyes blazing.
     
    “We need to talk,” he said from between gritted teeth.
     
    Before I could frame a reply, he grabbed my arm to pull me up.
     
    Marc stood immediately. “Let go of her, m ’sieur, or you and I will have a problem.”
     
    Sebastian scowled at him and for a moment I thought I was going to be breaking up a fight, but then he dropped my arm.
     
    I wanted to know what the hell Sebastian was playing at. Whatever his problem, I’d had enough of this game of hide and seek where he was the only one who understood the rules.
     
    “It ’s okay, Marc,” I said, quietly.
     
    He raised his eyebrows, stared at Sebastian, then back at me. “Very well, but I will be phoning your mobile in 15 minutes to check on you, chérie.”
     
    I smiled and blew him a kiss.
     
    “Who the fuck does he think he is?” snarled Sebastian as I left the bistro with him.
     
    I stared at him in amazement. “A friend! What ’s it to you?”
     
    He didn ’t answer.
     
    I trailed along beside him as he marched down the street in furious silence. I didn’t know whether to be amused at his petulance, angry at his rudeness, or wary of his apparent temper. All three, probably.
     
    He ducked into a small bierkeller, holding open the door for me. Well, that was a small improvement in manners. The barman nodded at him in recognition, and Liz’s words came back to me: they say he drinks.
     
    He ordered without asking my preference.
     
    “Deux whiskies.”
     
    He had a damn nerve!
     
    “Non merci, je préfère du vin rouge, monsieur.” I’d always preferred red wine to whiskey.
     
    Sebastian looked enraged. Well, fuck him.
     
    The barman poured our drinks , then wandered off to serve a couple of tourists at the other end of the bar.
     
    Sebastian tossed the whiskey down his throat , and turned to face me.
     
    “What are you doing here, Caro?” he said, a scowl marring his lovely face.
     
    “That ’s a good question, Sebastian,” I replied calmly. “Right now, I’m wondering why the hell I’m listening to you order me around.”
     
    “Oh, for fuck ’s sake!”
     
    His reply was almost amusing. Almost.
     
    “Seriously, what is it to you?” I asked, genuinely interested in an honest answer.
     
    He ran his hands over his hair; a gesture, I remembered, that expressed extreme frustration .
     
    “It ’s dangerous out there, Caro. In Afghanistan, I mean. I know that’s where you’re going – obviously.”
     
    What?!
     
    I took a deep breath.
     
    “Sebastian, apart from the fact that I ’ve already had assignments reporting from Iraq and Darfur – which weren’t exactly summer camps – it’s none of your business .”
     
    “It is my business!”
     
    He really was unbelievable.
     
    “Based on what?”
     
    He was silent.
     
    “You know, Sebastian,” I said, my voice rising with anger, “I spent 11 years being told what to do by my ex-husband – I don’t need you to do it as well. You of all people should understand that.”
     
    He blanched, his expression wounded. It was the first time either of us had referred to the past or what had happened between us.
     
    “Caro, that ’s not it, I…”
     
    But I ’d had enough. If these were the pearls of wisdom that I’d come to hear, thereby screwing up my last evening with Marc, I’d had enough. I stood up to leave.
     
    “Caro ! Don’t… don’t go.”
     
    His expression and voice were pleading.
     
    “Why did you bring me here, Sebastian? And I’d really like to know why you assaulted me last night.”
     
    He gaped at me.
     
    “Assaulted? I didn’t! I’d never…” his words trailed off and he stared at me in anguish, as he saw the anger on my