‘In the last five years—since I left you—I’ve had one lover, Caro.’
One. He didn’t turn his head. He didn’t want to see the surprise that would be plastered across her face.
She coughed. ‘One? You—one?’
He almost smiled then, because he knew that in about five seconds she’d be internally beating herself up for revealing her surprise, her shock. She’d deem it rude and insensitive.
‘One,’ he repeated.
‘But...’ Her hands made agitated movements in the air. ‘But you like sex so much!’
He’d loved it with Caro.
‘So do you.’
He couldn’t continue this conversation and keep driving at the same time.
On impulse he turned in at a small pub. ‘Hungry?’ At a stretch they could make this an early dinner.
‘Not in the slightest.’ She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door. ‘But a glass of burgundy would go down a treat.’
They sat at a table by the far wall, nursing their drinks.
‘And I can hardly call her a lover,’ Jack said.
Caro shot back in her seat, one hand pressed to her chest just above her heart, drawing his attention to the pale perfection of her throat.
‘Please, Jack, you don’t have to explain. You don’t owe me anything.’
Yes, he did.
‘It was a one-night stand,’ he continued, ‘and it was a disaster.’
The entire time the only person he’d been able to think about had been Caro. It had been Caro’s touch he’d craved, and he’d used another woman in an attempt to drive Caro from his mind. Not only hadn’t it worked, it had been unfair. The encounter had left him feeling soiled, dirty and ashamed. He hadn’t been eager to repeat the experience.
Caro brought her wine to her lips and sipped. Her hand shook as she placed the glass back to the table. ‘It’s only been the once for me too. I wanted to get on with my life. I wanted to feel normal again.’
He could tell it hadn’t worked.
‘It was terrible. It left me thinking I should join a convent.’
He grimaced.
She stilled. He glanced across at her. She twisted her bangle round and round with sudden vigour.
‘What?’ he demanded.
‘You don’t have a woman waiting back home for you in Australia, do you?’
He glanced away.
‘You want to remarry, and you still want children...’ She let out a breath. ‘But you don’t have anyone specific in mind yet.’
Something inside him hardened. ‘Why are you so relieved about that?’
‘Because I knew you weren’t in love. I thought you were about to make another mistake.’
He stared at her, at a loss for something to say.
‘You want to feel normal again too. That’s what all this is about.’
He thrust out his jaw. ‘It’s time to draw a line under us.’
She stared down into her red wine, twirling the glass around and around instead of her bangle. ‘So...we’re working towards—what? An amicable divorce?’
Acid burned in his stomach. He took a sip of his beer in an attempt to ease it. ‘And getting your snuffbox back.’ He owed her that much.
She suddenly straightened, and although she leaned towards him he couldn’t help feeling she’d erected some emotional barrier between them.
‘Barbara doesn’t have a lover, Jack. She bought that lingerie for me. I’m afraid she doesn’t subscribe to the view that yoga pants and a T-shirt are suitable attire for the bedroom. She thinks I should be making more of an effort to attract you.’
A groan rose up through him.
‘So, in case you need to know this in support of our cover story, it’s a long gold negligee with shoestring straps and some pretty beading just here.’
Her hands fluttered about her chest and it took an effort of will for him not to close his eyes. ‘Right...’
Her eyes grew sharp. ‘And yet you still think she could hurt me?’
He straightened too. ‘Why don’t you just throw her to the wolves?’ The woman was a thief, for God’s sake!
‘I care about her. She...she and Paul...are like family to me.’
She said the word family carefully, as if afraid it might hurt him.
He gulped back a generous slug of beer. ‘Some family!’
She sipped her red wine, but her jaw was tight. ‘You do know your idea of family is too romantic, don’t you?’
That was what happened when you grew up without one of your own.
Her eyes narrowed, as if she’d read that thought in his face.
‘I hope you find what you’re looking for, Jack. I really do. I hope it makes you as happy as you seem to think it will.’
He sensed her sincerity. And her doubt. ‘Not all families are as screwed up as yours, Caro.’
‘That’s very true. But Barbara...’ She shrugged. ‘I feel a certain affinity with her. My father turned her into a trophy wife, never correcting the widely held view that people had of her. Probably because he found the depth of his feelings for her too confronting. So he tried to control her...and she let him. Unlike me, she did everything he asked of her—everything she could to please him. And if you think that was easy then you’re crazy.’
He could feel his mouth gape. He snapped it shut. ‘You’re nothing like Barbara.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. All I’d have had to do was agree to have children with you, Jack, and I’d have been exactly like her.’
‘That was totally different!’
‘How?’
‘I never tried to turn you into a trophy wife.’
‘No—just into the mother of your children.’
He ground his teeth together. ‘Asking you if we could start a family was not an unreasonable demand.’
‘My father didn’t see ordering me to take over the administration of my mother’s trust as an unreasonable demand either. He thought it a worthy goal. And he was right—it is. But it’s not a role I want in life.’
In the same way, she obviously didn’t want the role of mother.
‘For God’s sake, Caro, I loved you!’
‘But not unconditionally! It was clear you’d only continue to love me if I bore your children.’
His hand clenched about his glass. ‘What you’re saying is that what you wanted was more important than what I wanted.’
She lifted her glass, but she didn’t drink from it. ‘I don’t recall you ever offering to be the primary caregiver. I don’t recall you ever making any attempt at compromise.’
Each word was like a bullet from a Colt 45.
‘I was the one who was expected to make all the sacrifices.’
Bull’s eye. For a moment Jack could barely breathe.
‘But that’s all old ground.’ She waved a hand in the air and sipped her wine. ‘Do you seriously think Barbara could present a physical danger to me?’
It took an effort of will to find his voice...his balance...his wits. ‘I’m not ruling it out.’
‘Then let’s call the search off.’
She drained the last of her wine and he found it impossible to read anything beyond the assumed serenity of her countenance.
‘For God’s sake, why?’
‘I don’t want to force her into actions she’d otherwise avoid. If she’s as desperate as you’re implying, then she’s welcome to the snuffbox.’
‘But your job...?’
‘I’ll have to explain that I’ve lost the snuffbox, make financial reparation to the seller, and then tender my resignation.’
She’d sacrifice her job? She loved her job.
‘I could go back to university.’
‘To study what?’
‘Something different from my undergraduate degree, obviously. Or I could enrol in a doctorate programme. It’s not like money will be an issue.’
But there’d be a cloud hanging over her head, professionally, for the rest of her working life.
Regardless of their differences and their history, she didn’t deserve to take the blame for someone else’s wrongdoing. Caro was innocent and he was determined to prove it.
‘No!’
She raised an eyebrow and rose casually to her feet, though he sensed the careful control she exerted over her movements.
‘I believe we’re done here.’
He rose too. ‘Give me until the end of the week, Caro. Like we planned. Give me until Friday. It’s only five days away.’
She opened her mouth and he could see she was going to refuse him.
‘Please?’
His vehemence surprised her, but he couldn’t help it.
‘I swear I won’t put Barbara in any position that will incite her to violence.’
She glanced away and then glanced back. Finally she nodded. ‘Okay—but then it’s done, Jack. It’s finished.’
He knew what she really meant, though. They’d be done. Finished.
The resistance that rose through him made no sense.
He nodded, and then took her arm and led her out to the car. ‘Am I taking you back to the house in Mayfair or to your flat?’
‘The flat, please.’
Good. He didn’t want to run into her when he bugged the Mayfair house tonight...
* * *
Caro frowned at the knock on her door. She dumped her notepad on the sofa before seizing the remote and clicking the television off.
Daytime television, Caro? How low do you mean to sink?
Shaking her head, she padded to the door and opened it.
‘Hello, Caro.’
Jack!
She moistened suddenly dry lips, wishing she’d bothered to put on something more glamorous than the default yoga pants when she’d dragged herself out of bed this morning.
‘Uh, good morning?’
She started and glanced at her watch, huffed out a sigh. ‘Yep, it’s still morning.’
‘Just.’
Right.
‘May I come in?’
She blinked, realising she’d been holding the door open and just staring at him. ‘Of course. I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting to see you today.’
He entered without saying a word. He sported those same designer jeans he’d worn yesterday and the view from the back was indeed spectacular. It wasn’t his physique that held her attention, though—as drool-inducing as those shoulders and butt might be—but the odd combination of stiffness and stillness in his posture that hinted at...nervousness? What did Jack have to be nervous about?
Oh, dear Lord! Unless he had news for her. Bad news.
She pushed her shoulders back, forced her chin up. She’d already decided the snuffbox was lost forever, hadn’t she? She’d accepted the fact that she’d lose her job. She pulled in a breath.
‘You’ve found out something? You have...bad news?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m currently collecting information and analysing data.’
No, he wasn’t. He was here in her flat. Her tiny flat.
Widening his stance, he eyed her up and down. Warmth crept across her skin and a pulse fired to life deep inside her. Soon, if she weren’t careful, he’d have her throbbing and pulsing with the need he’d always been able to raise in her.
She crossed her arms, not caring how defensive it made her look. Once upon a time she’d have sashayed over to him, run her hands along his shoulders and reached up on tiptoe to kiss him—long, slow, sensuous kisses that would have had him groaning and hauling her close...
She clenched her hands. But that had been back before he’d left. That had been before he’d broken something inside her that she hadn’t been able to put back together. She wasn’t kissing Jack again and they most certainly weren’t going to make love together. It would set her back five years!
She stared back at him. She didn’t know if there was a challenge in her eyes or not, but the hint of a smile had touched his lips.
‘I’m afraid Barbara wouldn’t approve.’
It took a moment for her to realise he referred to her yoga pants and T-shirt. ‘Barbara never drops around unannounced.’
He took neither the bait nor the hint, just nodded and glanced around her sitting room. For once she wished it were larger, not quite so cosy. His gaze zeroed in on the plate of cake perched on the coffee table. He turned back and raised both eyebrows.
Her cheeks started to burn. Dear Lord! She’d been caught sitting around in her slouchy pyjamas, eating cake and watching daytime television. What a cliché!
She refused to let her humiliation show. ‘I’m on leave this week. It’s a well-known fact that when one is on holiday, cake for breakfast is mandatory.’
He didn’t point out that it was nearer to lunchtime than breakfast.
‘Besides, that orange cake is utterly divine—to die for. Would you like a slice?’
He shook his head.
She pulled in a breath, counted to three and then let it out. ‘I really wasn’t expecting to see you today, Jack. I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?’
His eyes shone bluer than she remembered. They seemed to see right inside her—but that had to be a trick of the light.
‘I was hoping to take you to lunch.’
Her heart gave a funny little skip. ‘Why?’
‘There are some things we should discuss.’
Divorce things? She didn’t want to talk about the divorce. Why couldn’t they just leave it up to their lawyers? She wanted to say no to lunch. She wanted to say no to spending more time in his company. She wanted to resist the appeal in those eyes of his. Those eyes, though, had always held a siren’s fascination for her.
‘Is it really such a difficult decision?’
To admit so would be far too revealing, but to go to lunch with him...
‘I just don’t see the point.’
‘Does there need to be a point? It’s a beautiful day outside.’
Was it? She glanced towards the window.
‘And maybe I’m striving for the amicable in our amicable divorce.’
Was she supposed to applaud him for that?
In the next moment she bit her lip. Was he worried that she’d become difficult and spiteful if he didn’t recover the snuffbox?
She frowned. Surely not? Surely he knew her better than that...
Her heart started to pound. Very slowly she shook her head, recalling the expression on his face when she’d revealed the true reason behind her medical termination. His shock had swiftly turned to self-disgust and guilt. She didn’t want him racked with guilt. She was just as much to blame as him for that particular misapprehension. Besides, that one incident hadn’t been responsible for the breakdown of their marriage. It had just been the proverbial last straw.
‘Caro?’
She raised her hands in surrender. ‘Fine. I’ll go and get changed.’
Twenty minutes later they were outside, walking in the sunshine. Jack was right—it was a glorious day.
She lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. ‘I love this time of year. I wish it could be summer all year long.’
‘Which begs the question, why were you cooped up in your flat when you could’ve been outside, enjoying all of this?’
‘Maybe because my leave is for a family matter rather than a true holiday? Maybe because I don’t actually feel in a holiday mood?’
‘So the cake...?’
‘Cake is its own reward,’ she averred stoutly, trying to resist the way his chuckle warmed her to her very toes.
They were quiet until they reached the Thames. Caro turned in the direction of several riverside cafes and restaurants. The river was dark, fast-flowing and full of traffic. She loved its vibrancy...the way it remained the same and yet was always changing.
‘When did you stop having fun, Caro?’
Her stomach knotted. ‘I beg your pardon?’ She slammed to a halt, planting her hands on her hips. ‘I have fun!’
How dare he try to make her life a
ll black and white with his judgments?
The dark seriousness in his eyes made her heart beat harder. ‘I’ll have you know that I have plenty of fun! Oodles of it! I catch up with my girlfriends regularly for coffee.’ And cake. ‘I see shows, go to movies, visit art galleries. I live in a city that offers a variety of endless activities. I have plenty of fun, thank you!’
‘You’ve had nothing in your diary for the last three months.’
She clenched her hands to stop from doing something seriously unladylike. ‘You went through my diary?’
‘It was on the coffee table...open. I figured if it were sacrosanct you’d have put it away.’
‘Or maybe I expected better manners from my visitors!’ Heat scorched her cheeks. ‘That is one of the rudest things I’ve ever heard. An invasion of privacy and—’
‘Not as rude as stealing a snuffbox.’
She folded her arms and with a loud, ‘Hmph!’ set off again at brisk pace. ‘You were looking for clues?’
‘Just wondering if you’d made any enemies lately.’
She rolled her eyes, wondering why it was so hard to rein in her temper. ‘I’m not the kind of woman to make enemies, Jack.’
Except of her father.
And her husband.
‘Is there anyone at Richardson’s who’s been fired recently? Someone who might hold you responsible? Is there some guy who’s been pestering you for a date over the last three months? Have you had a disgruntled client who’s cross they’ve missed out on a particular treasure? Is there—?’
‘No!’
‘Caro, your diary is full of work commitments, the odd work-related lecture at London University or an art gallery, and one weekend conference in Barcelona. You didn’t have a single dinner date, coffee date, movie date, any kind of date scheduled into your diary at all.’
‘Maybe because it’s a work diary. I remember my social engagements. I don’t need to write them down.’
It struck her now that there were so few invitations these days they were easy to remember. She went cold and then hot. When had that happened? She’d once had a full calendar.
‘You always were a good liar.’
He said it as if it were a compliment!
‘I’m sorry to say, though, that I don’t believe you.’
Harlequin Romance February 2016 Box Set Page 43
