Lovers Only. Christine Pacheco

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СКАЧАТЬ me sick.” She wrinkled her nose. “But if that’s how you want to spend our month together...”

      Not wanting to follow her unspoken words, but rather to take the truce, he said, “I’ll grab the corkscrew.”

      Dinner was awkward, neither said much, both tiptoed, ignoring her earlier question of what went wrong. And both scrupulously avoided touching the other.

      “You didn’t eat much,” he said.

      “Sherlock Holmes had nothing on you.”

      “Making conversation,” he. admitted with a slight shrug.

      “Me, too.”

      They looked at each other. He saw regret in her eyes. Regret for what failed? Or regret that she hadn’t gone her separate way this morning?

      Damn it, dancing around important issues like two strangers didn’t suit him one bit.

      She stood and gathered their plates. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”

      “We both ate,” he said. “I’ll help.”

      It wasn’t until she gave him a wide berth near the dishwasher that he realized she was trying to avoid anything that might resemble intimacy.

      Finally, dishes rinsed and loaded in the machine, counters wiped, he offered, “Refill on your wine?”

      At her nod, he poured her another, then grabbed a second beer for himself.

      She followed him into the living room with the huge bank of windows.

      After turning on a couple of lights and sliding a New-Age favorite of hers into the CD player, Clay took a seat with his back to the window, leaving her little option but to sit across from him.

      Confront him.

      Catherine sank into the couch, curling her legs beneath her.

      How many times had he imagined a similar scene as he’d worked to make the cabin into someplace Catherine would want to be? In his mind, though, their being together hadn’t been shrouded with distrust...nor had it been dampened by Cat’s reluctance to be near him.

      For a few minutes he asked questions about her antique store and the recent pieces she’d acquired. Then he surprised them both. “Tell me what I have to do to get you to stay married to me.”

      Her mouth fell open a fraction of an inch. She sipped from her glass.

      And he waited.

      Clay reached for the cold aluminum can and held it with one hand, grateful for the iciness seeping into him. At least it distracted him from complete concentration on the length of time her response was taking.

      “It’s not an easy question to answer.” She rolled the crystal stem between her fingers. “Our relationship started falling apart a long time ago—years ago. And it’s not one specific thing, it’s lots of things.”

      “So tell me.”

      A ghost of a smile feathered her lips. “That’s the bottom-line businessman in you speaking.”

      He took a couple of long drags from his beer. “And that’s not what you want.”

      “No.” She looked at him levelly. Her glass stilled. “I want the man I met and married.”

      He bit out a four-letter oath. “We’ve both changed, Cat.”

      “Yes.” She twirled her glass, then directed her gaze to the window, not looking at Clay at all. “You’re right. I guess we have.”

      “Damn it, Catherine, you’re not even looking at me.”

      Slowly she turned her attention to him.

      The ache in her eyes transcended the distance and time separating them. Made him understand how far he had to go. Made him wonder if it was possible.

      “Do you even want to try and save it?” The instant the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to snatch them back. There was a huge possibility he wouldn’t like her answer.

      Seconds dragged into a minute. Catherine bravely held his gaze the entire time. Maybe twenty seconds later, she lowered her eyelashes. The unnaturally long lashes shaded the magnificent hazel from his view. When she glanced up again, she resumed looking out the windows, into the starless night Dark as it was, maybe she just stared at a reflection of the room.

      Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Clay shoved his drink on the coffee table, then stood. “Dumb question,” he conceded. He paced in front of the stereo, not finding her music spiritually healing in the least. “If you wanted our marriage to work, you wouldn’t have filed for a divorce.”

      “You didn’t leave me much choice.”

      A wisp of mountain breeze could have knocked him to his butt. They looked at each other intently.

      “I didn’t give you much choice?” he demanded. “If I remember right, I got home from work one night and you weren’t there.”

      His lip curled into a sneer, despite his best efforts to woo and win her. A saner part of his mind told him to knock off the irrational thoughts, tamp down the emotion. But, damn it all, he hurt, too. “You barely had the courtesy to leave me a note.”

      Catherine pulled her knees to her chest, looking lost in the huge couch. “You had no clue it was coming?” she asked incredulously.

      “None.”

      “I’d moved out of our bedroom.”

      “Hell, Catherine, I thought I was giving you the space you wanted. The space you insisted you had to have.” He paused. “I thought I was doing it for you.”

      She shook her head. Strands of hair fell forward. And a single tear began to trace a solitary path down her right cheek.

      Damn it. He’d never felt more an idiot. Or more alone.

      “You’re wrong, Clay. So very wrong.”

      He sat on the coffee table, thrummed his fingers on the wooden surface. As quickly as it descended, his anger evaporated. Hollowness remained. He held his hand still. Searching to figure out where to go, what to do, he said, “Tell me, then. Help me to understand.”

      “It wasn’t freedom I wanted.” Catherine made no attempt to hide the pain he’d unintentionally inflicted on her.

      He winced.

      “It was never freedom,” Catherine whispered.

      He frowned.

      “It was you, Clay.” She swallowed deeply.

      Clay sought to find understanding, knowing how important it was.

      Both her eyes were now frosted with fragile tears. “I wanted you.”

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