“You know that. I saw you with Anton Fuller and I felt like I’d been shot. I had held onto my anger. I had wanted to hate you. To feel fury at you for disregarding the uniqueness of what we feel for one another. And then I saw you with him and my whole fucking house of cards went out the window. You kissed him like you used to kiss me. I will never forget the sight of it.”
“I didn’t,” she whispered, hating the idea of hurting him. Suddenly it mattered more than anything that she at least relieve him of that pain. “It wasn’t like with you. He’s a nice guy, but he’s not you.” She bit down on her lip. “There were two more before him.”
Caradoc gripped the back of a chair for strength. She saw the gesture and though she loathed that she’d pained him, her heart soared. Only love could wound like that.
“I called them my fake Caradocs. They were rich. Powerful. Successful. I was desperate to find someone like you. I thought if I did I could fill this enormous hole in my chest. But there’s no one like you. And they were poor, poor imitations.”
“I hate it. I hate that you’ve been with … I hate to think of you with three other men since we … since you left. It would drive me insane if I let it. But I can’t blame you. I let you go. I will never make that mistake again.”
She shook her head. “I dated them. I didn’t sleep with them. Caradoc, do you really think I could? After you? I was in the same boat you were. It makes me feel sick to imagine another man’s hands …”
“Don’t,” he ground out, his voice gravelly. “Let’s not then. Let’s just … leave it that neither of us could accept it’s over.”
“But it is, isn’t it?” She said slowly. “I mean, nothing’s changed?”
“Everything’s changed,” he contradicted grimly. “I’ve tasted life without you and it’s not for me.”
“So?” She prompted, waiting, hoping.
“You hold all the cards, Finn. Tell me what you need. How will this work for you? What do you want? What can I give you to fix this?”
She laughed and shook her head. “You’re an idiot.”
He was confused. He had felt that they were so close. That she was listening and on the brink of agreeing with him. Had he really read her so wrong?
“Caradoc, you’re in love with me.”
“I …”
She saw the panic in his face and laughed once more.
“I don’t know why that terrifies you. I gather it’s something to do with your mother, your father, and their cacophony of spouses. Perhaps it’s something to do with how you were raised. You are petrified of love. And that’s okay. But believe me, you love me.”
“Love?” He shook his head angrily. “What an insipid word for how I feel. I haven’t not said it to you because I don’t feel it, Finn. I don’t believe that anyone on earth has ever experienced what I’m feeling. So let me tell you, and you can judge for yourself if you want to spend the rest of your life with me.”
Tears sparkled on her eyes as she nodded.
“I think of you all day. When I am in meetings. When I am eating. When I am sleeping. I see you. I hear your voice. I break out laughing at little things you’ve said, so that passers by must surely think I’m crazy. I sleep on my side of the bed, because even though you haven’t joined me for seventy three nights, it would be like an acceptance of the end of our relationship if I encroach onto your side. I have been collecting books for you. Rare books. Special editions. Your childhood favourites. I want to build you a bookshelf and fill it with everything you love. I want to build you a library, all of your own. No, I want to build a life with you. Here. There. Anywhere. I don’t care. I am empty without you, and with you? The opposite. I am more fulfilled than I could ever have dreamed.
“I’ve never known love. I’ve never much cared for it, to be honest. But I know that what I feel for you is real and lasting. I know that meeting you was no accident. I was lost. Sleeping, living a half-life, until you woke me, darling. You brought me to life in your arms. With your kindness and your goodness, and your patience, you brought me to life. All I’m asking is that you let me thank you. For the rest of our lives.”
“Are you … are you asking me to …”
“Marry me. Marry me today. Tomorrow. Just as soon as we can arrange it.”
“Why?”
“Because our future is all I care about, and I don’t want to delay it for another day.” He strode towards her. “Marry me because you want to. Because you love me. Because more than loving me, you need me. Because you know that we make as much sense as gravity and sunshine and the rolling waves.”
Her breathing was torn from her body. “That … could only have been more perfect with a ring,” she laughed, but she was crying too. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were wet.
“I have one,” he said immediately. He strode to the other side of the room and for the first time she saw the pile of gifts she hadn’t accepted. All of the things he’d sent that had arrived at her doorstep and she hadn’t dared sign for.
The pale blue box she recognised from that first morning, weeks earlier.
“That’s …”
“Yes. I wanted to marry you then.” He walked across to her and knelt at her feet. “But this is better. You needed time to come back to me, and you needed to know I could give it to you. Because the only thing that mattered more to me than winning you back was your happiness. I needed you to come to me because you want me. For no other reason.”
“Like tonight,” she murmured.
“Like tonight.” He flicked the box and the ring was dazzling. A large emerald set in a perfect circlet of white diamonds, it was more gorgeous and more perfect than she could have imagined.
“I love it.”
“I’m sure,” he said anxiously. “But will you wear it? Will you wear it knowing what that means?”
She wanted to say something, but her mouth couldn’t form the words. And so she held a quivering hand out to him and watched as he slid it onto her ring finger. It was the right fit, just like Caradoc; as though it had been designed for her. Finally, she nodded, and whispered happily, “Of course!"
“I am going to make you happier than you knew possible,” he promised against her mouth, and Finn smiled.
And she didn’t have a single doubt that he would.
Because Caradoc Moore was always, always right in the end.
EPILOGUE
As always, Caradoc stepped into the apartment and took a deep, easy breath.
In the two years since Finn had lived with him officially, she had placed her own touches everywhere. Gone was the fashionable, sterile décor his designer had preferred. In its place was colour and life, vibrancy and joy. Flowers, bright cushions, blankets that were soft and warm, and pictures on every single wall.
Not artful, expensive pieces, but photographs of them and their friends, and the places they’d been together. The picture taken on their honeymoon in Venice, about three seconds before Finn had lost her footing and fallen into the canal. She had been radiant with happiness, and Caradoc couldn’t look at the photo without smiling.
There was the picture of Connie’s birthday. Finn had baked the cake and decorated it with fondant pineapples. The photo showed the moment Connie had blown the candles out, with a smiling Cliff watching on. Finn had set the camera up on the kitchen bench and timed it to take after ten seconds so that they could all be in the shot, even though Caradoc had offered to take the snap. He hadn’t realised what a perfect moment it had been until he’d seen the printed proof. He didn’t just feel a perfect connection with Finn, but with her friends too.
He’d never really met anyone he liked before, and now he had three such people.
“Finn?” He called into the apartment, moving through the lounge room and waiting to hear from which direction her voice came.
A guttural sound of frustration met his ears. He smothered a smile as he chased after it. Finn was standing in the middle of a bedroom, her face pink, her hair in disarray, her
hands planted on her hips.
The room had been an ongoing project. For weeks she’d been toiling in it, decorating it, making so many changes in that time that Caradoc barely recognised it.
“Hey,” he propped his shoulder against the door, his smile unfurling over his face with intense happiness. He’d had a long day, and he’d missed her.
“Hey,” she responded, her eyes meeting his. Despite her annoyance, an answering smile tingled her lips.
“This looks good,” he murmured, ignoring the crumpled bed linen and the pictures which had been taken down from the walls and rested against the computer desk.
She made a noise that was a cross between a laugh and a cry. “It looks like a tip.”
He laughed and she shook her head.
“Don’t laugh! This is a nightmare!”
“You’re getting way too worried about this.”
“Were there any boxes in the hall?” She asked responding, crossing to him and kissing his cheek as an afterthought.
He kept his hands on her hips. “No.”
“No?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “They were meant to arrive today. The concierge said he’d bring them up if anything …”
“Relax, Finn. There are more than enough books in here for a short stay.”
“It’s three weeks! I need it to be perfect.” She smiled weakly. “I want it to be perfect.”
“It will be.”
“Maddie’s just going to be thrilled to see you. Nothing else is going to matter.”
Finn shook her head again. “This is a really big deal, Caradoc. It’s the first time Elizabetta has let her stay with us for more than a night. I want her to love it. I want her to know she’s welcome so she wants to come back and stay again. When we have kids, she’s going to be their aunt; their only aunt. And I want her to feel welcome. And a part of that.”
Caradoc nodded slowly. “She will. Speaking of which? How are you feeling?”
Finn’s smile was euphoric. “About that? Fine. I mean, it’s still early. I don’t think we should get too excited.”
He nodded, but his smile was beaming. “You’re not excited?”
And at the happiness on his face, she couldn’t help but return it. “Of course I am.”
“And the doctor says you have no reason to think anything’s going to go wrong.”
“I know.” She bit on her lower lip. “It’s just … it’s all too perfect. I never dreamed life would turn out like this.”
“Didn’t you?” He leaned down and pressed a kiss against her forehead.
“I feel selfish.” She wrapped her hands around his back and felt his strength and warmth. “Just having found you is more than enough. I love you so much. How can we possibly blessed with a child? It is selfish. The happiness I feel …”
“Is nowhere near what you deserve. For the rest of your life, I will never be able to give you enough to make you as happy as you deserve to be.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head and the promise he made was to himself, as much as to her. “But I’m going to try. Every day.”
THE END
If you enjoyed THE TERMS OF THEIR AFFAIR please review it on Amazon! To find out when the newest Clare Connelly books are being released, sign up to Clare’s newsletter at www.clareconnelly.co.uk or follow Clare Connelly on facebook. Following is an excerpt from another Clare Connelly bestseller THE VELASCO LOVE CHILD.
THE VELASCO LOVE CHILD
Clare Connelly
All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.
First published 2014
(c) Clare Connelly
Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/Syda Productions
Contact Clare:
http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk
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“To lose thee, sweeter than to gain
All other hearts I knew.
‘Tis true the drought is destitute,
But then I had the dew!”
-Emily Dickinson
PROLOGUE
It’s not like she actually had to sleep with the guy.
No amount of money would lower Maggie’s standards to that degree.
A lingering look would do. A hand on her back. Perhaps a kiss.
Anything that would show her ‘mark’, in this case the gloriously handsome and rich Spanish wine mogul, for the cheating bastard he was. All she needed was a shared moment of intimacy that was damning enough for the agency’s photographer to catch. Proof for the poor wife, who’d suffered silently through affair after affair.
Getting the sleaze to hit on her should be easy enough.
Only, Maggie hadn’t taken on an assignment in years, and she knew she was out of practice. A flutter of nerves assailed her as she eyed herself in the washroom mirror. Nervous or not, she had still managed to look the part. Tall and slender, with auburn hair and a creamy complexion, Maggie had always been one of the agency’s best employees. Her years studying ballet gave her a litheness and grace that she took for granted.
She frowned, as she ran a hand over the black silk neckline of the dress. To describe it as plunging would be an understatement of the century. It was slit almost to her belly button at the front, and at the back, it draped to just above her bottom. The dress was made of silk, and it clung to her curves like a second skin, to mid-thigh length. She put her hands on her hips and pulled a face when she saw the way the dress hitched up a little higher, to reveal even more of her smooth, creamy skin. She might as well have walked into the five star lobby stark naked, for all the dress did to cover her up.
The slinky black number was a far cry from her usual clothes, she thought with a shake of her head. This life was so far in her past that she needed a magnifying glass to spot it in her rear vision mirror. If it hadn’t been for her cousin Miranda’s desperate pleas, she would never have agreed to this assignment.
But Miranda had been desperate; her agency’s reputation was at stake, she’d declared dramatically. Maggie had still resisted. She was no longer interested in helping wives make their cheating husbands pay. But Miranda had pushed and pushed, reminding Maggie of the effort and work that had been involved in making the undercover operation such a success.
Finally, Maggie had relented. She had wanted to get Miranda off the phone in the end. It was just one more night of her life, nothing more. And her curiosity had been piqued by the target’s description. Dante Velasco was, undoubtedly, a Big Fish. The money would be nice, too. The commission being offered to catch the Spanish wine mogul in the act would be enough to pay off Maggie’s overdraft altogether. Maybe even to service the coffee machine, she thought with a twist of her lips. With the exception of Miranda, no one knew she was undertaking the assignment. Though she’d hated lying to her best friend Rosie, it had been easier to say she had stomach flu and cry off work early than to face Rosie’s big green eyes when they clouded with disappointment. Rosie had never understood Maggie’s agency work, and she would certainly not do so now. No. Lying was easier. So she’d left work and hopped onto a flight to Paris.
Which left only the seduction bit.
She’d done her research. Before his marriage to the glamorous Veronika (first name only, in true supermodel style) he had been a confirmed bachelor. The more obviously attractive his lover the better, and Maggie’s dress that night was nothing if not flagrantly obvious. Mag
gie had deduced that he was not one for subtlety, and not one for long-term relationships. He swapped lovers almost as often as he moved countries.
There was one crucial way in which this assignment differed to the targets she’d dealt with in the past. Fidelity was not in issue. That had already been established, and the clever wife didn’t require evidence to justify a divorce. She wanted to make him pay through the teeth for having broken her heart though, and photographs of him with another woman would help attain that. Maggie had felt a short jab of compunction, initially, but then she’d thought of the poor wife, and any sympathy had evaporated. It was his own fault for playing around, after all.
She lifted her hands and gave her hair a little tease, pushing the auburn curls at the roots so that they looked like she had just rolled out of bed. “Okay, Maggie. It’s now or never.” Her heels moved with a clickety clack across the highly sheened tiles of the foyer. As she approached the glass door entrance to the bar, a doorman swung them inwards, so that she could go in. That was the moment. The small moment she had to rethink her actions and walk away.
She did not.
The hotel bar was not busy, but even if it had been, she would have been able to pick Dante Velasco in the midst of a crowd. Had she not scoured the internet for photographs of him, she still would have just known. Men born to impossible wealth had a certain bearing about them. It was expressed in the way they held their shoulders square, their heads high, and the slight curl of disdain on their lips as though they knew they belonged to an elite echelon of society. She took a moment to steel herself for what lay ahead, and to inure herself to his obvious physical charms.
Without heels, Maggie stood almost six feet tall. She’d donned a pair of stilettos that night, knowing they made her legs look as though they stretched forever. The moment she began to weave through the bar, she felt his eyes arrest on her. Dark eyes, she knew from photos, followed her as she walked with an exaggerated swagger to the front of the room. She stood far from him. Far enough that he wouldn’t think she was interested; far enough that he would have to pursue her.
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