by Anna Durand
Mr. MacTaggart. I'd gotten a job because of Lachlan. I could've lived with that, but after considering the offer for a day, I realized I didn't want to be an accountant anymore. Like I'd told Lachlan, accounting had been the safe career choice and not something I loved to do. I still needed a job, but after everything I'd endured these past months, the idea of going back to accounting made a cold ball congeal in my gut. My parents told me I should take my time deciding what to do with my life now. Since I had no clue what I wanted, in any facet of my life, I took their advice.
Week eight post-Lachlan, I got another unexpected call, this time from Presley's lawyer. I almost hung up when the gentleman introduced himself that way, but a morbid curiosity kept me on the line.
"He wants to see you," the man told me matter-of-factly.
"Excuse me?"
"Presley. He's been asking for you." He hesitated, the line silent for a long second. "I'm just relaying the message. Go or don't, the decision's yours."
I spiraled a lock of my hair around one finger, pulling it taut until the pressure cut off the circulation. Releasing the hair, I stared at the white lines it had left in my skin. Though impressions on my finger would fade away, Presley would never disappear from the world. Maybe I should face that demon one last time, but nausea rocked my stomach at the thought of it. "I'll think about it."
"He's out on bond, back at home."
I thanked him and hung up.
The next day, after tossing and turning all night while stewing about the situation, I drove to Presley's apartment. Last time, he'd been all smirks and half-naked assumptions. This time, he answered the door wearing faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt, his socked feet shooshing on the wood flooring. Shoulders slumped, dark smudges under his eyes, he gave me a weary half smile and ushered me into the living room. I sat on the ultra-modern sofa, while he collapsed into the metal-and-leather chair across the glass coffee table from me. I set my purse on my lap and folded my hands atop it, fingers tapping.
"Thanks for coming," he said, as he rested his head on the chair's back. "Wasn't sure you would."
"I almost didn't." Biting the inside of my cheek, I studied him for several seconds. Gone was the arrogance. His head drooped forward, and he avoided my gaze. I drew in a deep breath. "What do you want, Presley?"
"To tell you — " He squirmed, clearing his throat, then raised his head to look at me with red-rimmed eyes. "I'm sorry."
Shock iced through me. My mouth fell open, but I clamped it shut. I had no clue how to respond, because he sounded and looked… sincere. But I still had questions. "Why did you embezzle from your family's own company? You're not exactly wanting for cash."
"I don't know." He scratched his neck, screwing up his face. "My trust fund gave me a monthly stipend, but I… wanted more. It seemed so easy to just take the money and make it look like somebody else did it. I didn't think anyone would really catch on."
"So what, you framed me as a backup plan, just in case?"
"Kinda. Somebody did notice, though. Some little nobody, an assistant to an assistant or something. They reported it, and one of the partners called the cops."
Huh. I'd assumed he called the police on me. "So maybe you didn't get me arrested, but you still set me up and never did a blessed thing to clear my name. And what about your scummy little attempt to make it look like I was fleeing to Switzerland?"
"I didn't… That wasn't what you think."
"Oh, you mean you weren't going to call the cops after planting the evidence on my computer."
"No." He cast his gaze down at my feet. "I wasn't."
My jaw dropped open again, and I shook my head. "Then what was the point?"
"I, uh, thought I could break up you and your new boyfriend. If I got him mad enough, maybe you'd get sick of him and dump his ass." Presley shrank back in his chair, his shoulders caving in. "Stupid, I know. But I was — " He swallowed visibly. "Jealous."
Oh. Dear. God. How had I not seen that coming? Because I never believed he really wanted me, convinced I was just a randomly selected pawn. I had no idea what to make of his confession.
Presley sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands dangling. "I betrayed you and I get that you'll never trust me again or want anything to do with me."
"Duh."
He winced, but then nodded. "I deserve that. You hate me for good reason, and the irony is… " He dropped his head, cradling it in both hands and groaning. "The irony is I fell for you, Erica. For real."
I drew back, not blinking or breathing for a moment that felt like eternity. Head down, he gazed up at me through his eyelashes. I fiddled with the metal snaps on my purse and finally said, "You have a funny way of showing it."
He slumped back in the chair, a breath gusting out of him. "Yeah, I'm a dick. Everybody knows it."
"Explain to me why you set me up if you, uh, cared for me." Even speaking the words made my skin crawl. I could not fathom the concept of Presley Cichon — the bane of my existence, the man who ruined my life — harboring feelings for me. I could believe the moon was a ball of cheese easier than I could accept this revelation.
Presley shrugged. "I'd already set things in motion before we started dating. You seemed like the perfect — " His face pinched into a pained expression. "The perfect patsy. I was in too deep to turn back, and by the time I realized I was in love with you, it was too late."
I snorted. "Please. I don't think you know the meaning of the word love."
Nausea roiled in my gut. Acid crept up my throat, scorching it. The acrid taste of bile infiltrated my mouth. I understood the word's meaning all too well, but the knowledge came in vain. The memory of Lachlan's first note flashed in my mind. I'm sorry, it had said, and I'd nearly had a meltdown reading it. Now Presley was saying the same words, but I felt nothing. Just an empty resignation. Closure, I supposed. Thing was, I didn't need it anymore.
"Erica, I really am sorry." He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. "My parents left me in county lockup for a week before they bailed me out. Then they took away my trust fund, so, uh, I'm broke. At the end of the month, I lose this place and I'll have to move in with my sister and her three screaming brats."
"I feel sorry for the kids."
"Not asking you to feel bad for me."
"Then what do you want?" I scooted forward to stare straight into his eyes. "You ruined my life. I can't forgive you and I'll never forget what you did to me."
"Yeah. I figured." He turned his face toward the windows and his gaze went distant. "I asked my parents to pay you a settlement, to cover your legal expenses and your — " He swallowed visibly. "Pain and suffering."
"Am I supposed to be grateful?"
"No. Just wanted to tell you myself." He swung his gaze back to me and his jaw trembled ever so slightly. The tremors leeched into his voice too. "I'll be going away for a long time, Erica."
He laughed, but it sounded hollow and devoid of mirth. The anger simmering inside me, scalding my chest, cooled a bit. Ugh. I refused to feel sorry for him. The son of a bitch had happily consigned me to the future he now faced. Justice had come back around to him at last. Still, he looked the way I'd felt for all those months. Hopeless.
"Well," he said, pushing up out of the chair with a sigh, "I'm sure you wanna get out of here. Thanks for coming."
I trailed him to the door, uncertain of what to say, so I said nothing.
As I walked out the door, Presley spoke. "I hope you and Scotch T — the guy you've been seeing are happy. It's obvious he's totally into you, and you deserve a good life."
Pausing just past the threshold, I glanced back at him over my shoulder. "I hope your attitude reversal is sincere, for your sake. But frankly, it doesn't matter to me anymore."
"Yeah." He rubbed a hand over his cheek, shoulders drooping. "I know."
I walked away without looking back.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The next morning, my doorbell rang at ten a.m. on the dot. Casey started
barking and hopping up and down on his front feet, the way he'd always done when — I halted halfway to the door, my heart racing. This was how Casey had reacted whenever Lachlan showed up. But it couldn't be him.
The dog whimpered, scratching at the door. He gave a little chuff.
I shooed him away, wrapping my hand around the knob. One deep breath. Two. Three. My pulse slowed a bit, yet I couldn't shake the fluttery anticipation in my stomach. It's not him. Fingers clenching around the metal knob, I shut my eyes for a heartbeat. Somehow, I knew before I opened the door. I recognized… something beyond explanation.
Plastering on a bland expression, ratcheting my spine straight, I drew the door inward.
Lachlan towered there, shoulders back, his entire body a picture of steel-reinforced tension. Both hands were balled into fists. His wary gaze settled on my face and he flexed his fingers, as if coercing them to relax. "Good morning."
Even his voice rang with tension, like a cast-iron bell tapped with a hammer.
I couldn't move. My mouth went dry. I struggled to maintain my feigned composure, but inside a tornado of pain and desperate hope ravaged me, throwing my stomach into a nauseating lurch. I gulped down my gorge. "What do you want?"
Was that icy voice mine?
His shoulders slumped. He shoved a hand through his hair. "Please, Erica, let me talk to you. Please."
My gut lurched again at the bald pleading in his tone. My hands itched to reach out, take his face in my palms, draw him in for a kiss imbued with all the fear and anguish and longing I'd repressed for two long months. The pain he'd caused. With his rejection. With his harsh words that skewered my soul like arrows to the chest.
I wrenched the door knob, fingers tight, the knob clicking with each half revolution, back and forth, back and forth. Click, click, click. I gnawed the inside of my lip, the tang of blood on my tongue.
Casey pushed between us to leap up on Lachlan.
Still I gnawed. I wrenched. Click, click.
Lachlan scratched Casey's ears, the action seeming half-hearted, and murmured something to the dog. Casey scampered back into the house and straight to the sofa, where he jumped onto the cushions and planted his chin on the sofa's back, observing us.
My unwanted guest furrowed his brow, reaching out to touch my lip. His thumb came away spotted with red. His eyes widened the slightest bit. "You're bleeding."
"It's nothing."
He ran his thumb over my lip, and that little spot between his eyebrows cinched into a dimple. "Why are you chewing on your lip like this?" Understanding dawned, and his face fell. "It's me."
Frozen, I stared up at him, at the face I'd kissed and held and adored for four weeks. Unwanted? As much as I wished I'd gotten over him, I couldn't lie to myself anymore. I wanted him, even now, after everything he'd done. Despite the hole inside me he'd carved out. Despite my best efforts. But I could not give in to my own weakness. Not this time. "Go away, Lachlan."
His thumb still touched my lip, and heaven help me, a thread of desire unfurled within me, warm and liquid and so beautiful. I ached for this feeling. For him.
"Please, gràidh." His voice was rough but tender. He stroked his thumb over my lip once, twice. "Don't hurt yourself because of me."
I couldn't stop the harsh laugh that barked out of me. "Hurt myself? I don't need to. You've done a rather spectacular job of it for me."
My heart clenched at the sound of my own voice, so hard and frosty, not at all a reflection my confused emotions. Every attempt I made to control my anguish resulted in a colder, sharper edge to my words, and I hated it. I hated him. Liar. I squeezed my eyes shut to stave off the tears pooling in my eyes, as my lip trembled under his thumb. Maybe I could fool him, but I understood what this was. I didn't hate him. I couldn't hate him, though he'd ripped my heart out and tossed it in the trash compacter. I hated myself, for one simple reason.
I still loved him.
"Don't cry," he whispered, his breath drafting over my face. I cracked my eyes open to find him inches away, his hands cupping my face, those jewel eyes glittering with a pain matching my own. He slid his hands into my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp with irresistible tenderness. "I made a horrible mistake and I've regretted it every day since, more than you could possibly know." His voice cracked, his eyes glistened with… tears? "I know I broke your heart but — "
"Broke my heart?" I sniffled, my voice melting from ice to a puddle of searing agony. "You destroyed me, Lachlan."
His chin dropped to his chest. His dark hair grazed my face. I sucked in a breath, inhaling the spicy, masculine scent of him. My body slanted toward him of its own volition, softening, yearning. He bent closer, his mouth exquisitely close to my ear. "Please give me a few minutes to explain why I treated you so terribly. I need you to understand."
"Your ex-wife's a raging bitch. I get it." Gone was the sharpness. It took all my willpower to iron out the worst of the quavering from my voice.
His blue eyes seared into mine with a hot desperation. "I was afraid, I admit it. What I feel for you is so strong, I can't control it." His hands found my upper arms, his fingers kneaded my flesh gently. "I thought I needed control, to protect myself from being tricked again. But I was wrong. I don't want to be without you anymore, you're everything that's good in my life. I need you, gràidh."
"Stop calling me that." I shook free of his hands, stumbling back a step. "It's too late. Go back to Scotland and move on."
"I can't do that." He rolled his shoulders back, straightening, and fixed his clear gaze on me. "I won't pester you, but I'm not leaving town without you. I'll be staying at The Langham. You can reach me there or call my mobile."
"Don't hold your breath." Of course he was staying at a swanky hotel, probably in the presidential suite or whatever they called the most expensive, opulent room in the joint. "The Langham, huh? Guess you're done slumming it out here in the burbs."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I would've preferred to stay with Gil and Jayne, my good friends, but I didn't want to crowd you."
"Instead, you're hanging around to stalk me."
"Erica." He scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing. "I told you I won't bother you."
"But you're not leaving town without me." I tried to ignore the excitement that raced through me at the idea of him sticking around in an effort to win me back. Remember when he walked out on you. The memory washed over me on a chill, but his proximity and the earnest, determined look on his face made my breath catch. "Go home, Lachlan."
"I am home." He captured a loose lock of my hair between his fingers, tucking it behind my ear. "You are my home. I'll spend the rest of my life making up for what I did, making you happy — if you'll let me."
A pang throbbed in my chest. If he'd spoken those words the last time I saw him, back when it mattered and could've fixed everything… but he hadn't.
He trailed a fingertip down my cheek, the faint contact a delicious tickle on my skin. "I've waited two months, mo leannan, the worst months of my entire life. I'm not leaving you again. Not ever."
I couldn't get enough air. My chest heaved with the pressure of an enormous, invisible weight bearing down on it. "It's not enough. I can't — I won't — "
Lachlan fell to his knees, his head tipping forward until his forehead met my belly, right over my womb. Stunned, I gripped the door's edge in one hand and the jamb in the other. The world tilted around me. Lachlan grasped my hips, his face crushed into me. Tears welled anew, my throat burned, my breath hitched.
"Give me one more chance," he said, his voice muffled. "I don't deserve it, but I'm begging you, please. I won't bollocks it up this time. I swear to God, I will be the kind of man you need, the kind you deserve."
What I deserved. Presley mentioned that too, and both men seemed convinced they knew what I wanted, what I needed. I had no frigging idea what I wanted. Tears spilled down my cheeks. My breaths came fast and shallow, almost hyperventilating. I covered my mouth with one hand, desperate to s
tifle my hiccupping noises. He tilted his head back and our eyes met. Electricity zinged between us, but it wasn't desire this time. Pain crackled around us, inside us, between us, through us. I swallowed a sob.
He rose then, pulled me into his embrace, and buried his face in my hair. I sagged into him for a moment, the comfort and safety I'd experienced with him before returning, sweet and welcome and so badly needed. But memories assailed me, of him telling me again and again that he couldn't do relationships. Of that day in my kitchen, when he refused to express his true feelings. When he abandoned me.
I wrestled free of him, swiping tears from my face. "No."
He nodded, shoulders drooping, and rubbed the heel of his hand on his chest. Expression remote, he spoke in a monotone. "If you want me, you know where I am."
Lachlan turned to leave and I shut the door, unwilling to watch him walk away from me again — even though I'd forced him to this time. I sank to the floor, limp against the door, and unleashed the tears. They sluiced out of me like a downpour from the heavens, wetting my cheeks, burning in my eyes, dripping off my chin onto my T-shirt. Salty liquid, hot and tangy, seeped between my lips to taint my tongue.
The back door slammed shut.
I jerked, frozen mid-sob.
My parents trundled in from the kitchen, carrying plastic sacks of groceries. I'd forgotten they were still staying here. Seeing Lachlan erased my memory. Mom and Dad had gone out to buy groceries and I bowed out of the excursion, too exhausted to stomach a public outing.
Plunking her bags on the floor fast enough to make them tip over and spill their contents, my mother raced over to me with worried eyes. She knelt beside me, settling a hand on my shoulder as she examined me with her gaze. "Honey, what's wrong?"
Dad dropped an eighteen-roll pack of toilet paper on the floor by the sofa. His gaze narrowed on me, he asked, "Was that Lachlan we saw leaving just now? Did he make you cry?"
"Yes. No." I shook my head, as if that might clear my thoughts. It didn't. "I mean, he was here, yes. Don't really want to talk about it, okay?"
