Be My Bride. Natalie Anderson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ at his creased jacket. ‘You know it was better than I’d ever believed it could be.’

      She looked away. ‘But not enough for either of us.’ And she’d been a fool. She’d been wrong. This was more than sex. So much more. But only for her. And it wasn’t enough to change things for him.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

      She put on an unconcerned smile. ‘Don’t be.’

      She wouldn’t embarrass them both by asking him to stay. She didn’t want to ask him for something he couldn’t—or didn’t want to—give.

      She didn’t want him to feel bad, or, worse, pity her. She had more pride than that. She wasn’t a pushover any more.

      She’d had what she hadn’t taken all those years ago. It was done. Finished. She’d get on with her business. She had a new priority in life. She was in control of her life. She was not going to wish or wonder ‘what if?’. What was, was. And she’d make the most of every minute.

      ‘It was great.’ She forced herself to sound airy. ‘But it’s all I wanted too. It’s time for you to go.’

      She just held onto the smile until the door closed behind him. Only then did she release the painful, jagged breath. She looked around her apartment—suddenly it felt spacious without him in it. Anger slowly trickled into the huge gap he’d left behind. She was not changing her life for anyone else. Not trying to do anything and everything for someone else.

      Never ever.

      She had what she wanted—her independence. The strength to do what she wanted to do. And she wanted this. She would love this.

EIGHT

      The early morning sun streamed in through the window, the sky as brilliant and as clear as it had been the day before and the day before that. Liam rolled and buried his head under the pillow, totally over the relentless perfection of the weather. Why couldn’t there be a storm to challenge him out in the boat? He had energy to release, adrenalin to be used. With a growl he thrust out of bed, tossing the pillow to the far corner of the big mattress. He rubbed his face; his eyes ached, his brain fogged. Yet his muscles leapt and twitched under his skin.

      Never had he felt so unfulfilled. He’d sailed for hours this past week, but not even a marathon on the water soothed the inflammation scored deep into his heart. He’d scrubbed every inch of every boat in the shed. Then the shed itself. Even though it was someone else’s job, he’d needed the activity—hoped the relentless grind would wear him out enough to sleep.

      It didn’t.

      Nothing could exhaust him enough to stop thinking about her. And it wasn’t the permanent hard-on causing the restless agony. It was the hurt in his heart. He missed more than her body. More than what they’d shared in bed those too few hours.

      The inked image had long since washed away but it was as if the nib of that pen had been poisoned. Leaving him with an uncomfortable—invisible—scar. He didn’t think it would ever ease.

      Frustrated, he snapped at his crew as they trained. She had him questioning everything. What he was doing, what he wasn’t doing, what he wanted in the future. Hell, he’d never thought too far into the future. He’d always lived for the next race, the next event. Loving the achievement— the solo endurance. The success—sporting and financial. And emotional.

      He’d thought he had it so together. His life was perfectly set up.

      To fail.

      Because less than a week with her back in his life, here he was aching for all the things he’d sworn he’d never want. And the thing that hurt most of all was that she didn’t want him. She didn’t want his lifestyle. Didn’t want anything other than what they’d shared.

      Illogically—when he’d insisted the same—he wanted to know why. Why didn’t she want him? He’d never known. She’d been attracted to him from the first moment she’d seen him—just as he’d been attracted to her. But she’d refused him—more than once she’d rejected him. And now, even once they’d shared that incredible night, she still rejected him. It burned his insides as if he’d swallowed a bottle of acid. She hadn’t argued, hadn’t fought. She’d just so civilly agreed.

      Liam stopped winding up the coil of rope as it dawned on him—Victoria always agreed.

      She always did what she thought the other person wanted. So how was he to know for sure that this goodbye was what she’d really wanted?

      He shook his head at his fantasy. She’d been so businesslike, so seemingly determined. Matching him in the ‘career-comes-first’ persona. She’d been legit, right?

      But the idea took hold—hope took hold. Had she just been making it easy for him? Doing what someone else wanted the way she’d always done?

      His heart thumped at the ridiculous eagerness spurting inside him. He was going to have a coronary if he didn’t sort himself out. And it was his own fault. He’d been an idiot—too blind to see what was staring him in the face, too scared to admit even to himself what he’d really like. If he’d given them just a little more time, thought things through instead of bolting—

      He tossed the rope to the ground and pulled his phone from his pocket. He wasn’t spending another day avoiding the biggest challenge of his life.

      * * *

      Victoria couldn’t believe the uplift in her business. It was absolutely as she wanted it—and keeping her busy. But being the scribe who recorded the love notes of other people? Right now it hurt.

      But it also kept her faith alive. She’d survived betrayal and divorce and isolation. She could survive this too. Other people did. Other people went on to find happiness. And one night was only one night, right? So she shouldn’t be this hurt. Only this wound was deeper than any other. It wasn’t only the death of that secret fantasy long locked away—it was the death of the incredible reality of being with him. It had been so much better than she’d ever believed it could be too. But she wasn’t thinking only of sex. She’d laughed with him, talked with him, felt so content in his company, so inspired. It was so much more than sexual. She was drawn to him on many levels. He worked as hard as she. Was as determined as she. He helped out—and she’d helped out too. They had so much to share.

      Only he didn’t want to. He didn’t want her.

      In the early evening she sat outdoors at a café in a trendier part of town, glad to get out of the oppressive feeling of her studio. She had a portfolio with her and a laptop to show pictures of some of her larger assignments. It was safer that way, plus it got her a little ‘Parisian café scene’ fun.

      Her prospective client was a guy wanting to do something romantic for the woman in his life—a beautifully printed series of clues that were going to be part of an elaborate proposal. Lucky woman.

      ‘Do you think she’ll like it?’ he leaned forward and asked for the fifth time.

      ‘I think she’ll love it. And I’d be honoured to do it for you.’

      His entire face lit up. ‘Merci. Perhaps if she says yes you could do the invitations. I like your work. I think she will too. It’s unique.’

СКАЧАТЬ