MARCOS touched his stinging cheek. He’d deserved that, he supposed.
But, damn it, she’d played him like a guitar. And he’d fallen for it. Kissing her had been far too intoxicating. He should have expected it after their kiss on the yacht, but he’d told himself that was a one-off. He’d thought he was completely in control where Tamsin Winter was concerned.
He had been wrong.
“You owe me an apology,” she said.
His eyebrows lowered. “I owe you nothing.”
“I’m not the tart you think I am.”
He gave an expressive snort.
She shook her head wearily. “All right, so I dated a lot of men in London. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t under anyone’s control, and I did exactly as I pleased. I didn’t care what it did to my reputation. I stayed out all night, but I never fell in love with any of the men I dated. And I never—”
“Never what?”
She turned away. “Forget it.”
Her face looked so sad, he almost moved closer. He felt drawn to comfort her. And, most of all, to kiss her again.