‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does.’ He felt her trembling.
‘I don’t blame you for thinking I’d do that,’ she said softly.
But he should have known she wouldn’t. Deep down he had. Nadia, with her big green eyes and her sweetheart-shaped face, wasn’t in this world to hurt people. Now Nadia herself was hurt—and it was his fault.
‘I wish you’d talk to me,’ she whispered.
‘And tell you what?’ His blood chilled. There wasn’t anything to say. ‘Don’t think you know anything more about me just because you’ve met my messed-up family.’
‘But wasn’t that the point?’
He clenched his teeth. The original point had been to make her uncomfortable. Only it had backfired completely, and he was the one feeling tortured and embarrassed and angry.
‘How you act around them tells me a lot.’ Her voice wobbled.
He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t.’ She knew nothing—because he’d only realised a couple of things himself this very moment. He gripped the door handle even harder, physically fighting the urge to take her into his arms.
‘You’re not the carefree guy you make yourself out to be. You’re more sensitive than that. You care about them.’
It was so ironic that now she thought she was seeing some good in him, when he was realising just how little there actually was. ‘You don’t know anything, Nadia.’
She’d been right. He did hide what was beneath his surface—because underneath lurked the same kind of indifference that his father had. Indifference to relationships, commitment, marriage. Sure, he had passion for his career, but none for the burden of family and responsibility—and certainly not a woman’s happiness. So he wasn’t going to get into a relationship and hurt someone over and over, like his father had his mother. And Nadia was a relationship girl through and through—romantic, idealistic, a little bruised and misguided, but soft-hearted still for all that. And, for whatever warped reason, those qualities were endearing her all the more to him. But it was dangerous for her, because he would never be the right guy. Which meant he had to walk now.
He breathed deep to try and push out the pain cutting into his heart, but it was a mistake. Her scent curled tighter around him. Her proximity was tantalising—her soft, warm limbs and passion were so close. She didn’t move. Her head was bent as she waited in silence—for what? The inevitable? He had to rebel against that.
He released the handle and pushed the door so it swung open. She stepped inside. Not following her was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.
It was so unfair that doing something right felt so wrong.
CHAPTER TEN
NADIA stared at the blank form on her screen. For a long time. Then she clicked in the corner to close it. Three days later and she still hadn’t posted anything online. That was for ever. Her hit rate would start to slide. Already people were commenting and asking questions. Questions she didn’t want to answer.
Her mobile rang. She picked it up and checked the screen; the number was withheld which meant it wasn’t him. Her heart accelerated anyway. ‘Hello?’
‘You haven’t updated your blog.’ Okay—it was him. ‘Neither have you.’ She managed a light answer. There’d been no posts—no comments, e-mails, texts or phone calls either in the last three days. That was for ever and ever. The only thing stopping her from going insane was the thought that he hadn’t sent her the flick-off flowers yet, like the women on the original 3 Dates and You’re Out thread said he did. Then again, he probably didn’t feel the need to keep her sweet. They’d done the three dates. It was all over and out.
‘A gentleman always lets the lady go first.’
‘I’m not ready to write it yet.’ Nadia turned away from her screen, screwed her eyes shut as she boldly went down the road she’d been fantasising about for the last three eternally long days and nights. ‘There’s a problem.’
‘What kind of problem?’
She pressed her hand on her chest to stop her heart beating out of it, and blurted the words she’d rehearsed too many times to be natural. ‘I can’t say those claims are wrong when one major aspect is completely right.’
‘What aspect’s that?’
‘That it’s three dates and you’re out. You’re totally doing that to me.’
She heard the whistle of indrawn breath from his end of the phone. ‘You want a fourth? You want us to go out again?’
Oh, she wanted way more than that. But right now she’d take what she could get. ‘I just can’t see how I can refute what those women say when we’ve only gone for three.’
‘But you’re planning to refute some other things?’
He didn’t sound as pleased about that as she’d thought he would. Truthfully, she didn’t want to write another word on it.
‘Nadia, you know what’ll happen if we meet up again.’
She waited, nibbling her lip so hard it hurt.
He cleared his throat. ‘Is that something you’re willing to risk?’
‘Life’s no fun without a little risk.’ She bit harder, waiting for his reply, her nerves teetering on a cliff-edge.
‘Well, there’s risky and there’s reckless. I told myself not to see you again.’
‘Well, you don’t have to.’ She held her breath, held back the hurt. And waited.
For ever.
‘But I think I do,’ he said on a groan. ‘Let’s go out for dinner. We’ve not done the traditional date, have we? Only I’m out of town for a few days. Can you do Friday?’
‘Sure.’ Friday was months away. ‘Where are you?’
‘In Germany, trying not to think about you.’
‘Are you succeeding?’
‘Well, I’m calling you now, so I guess not.’
Her whole body curled into a smile. Noise broke up the line—talking in the background got louder.
‘I have to go.’ His voice came and went.
‘You’d better put something on the blog. You’ll lose people.’
‘So had you.’
‘I don’t have time. I’ll see you Friday.’
Nadia hung up and turned to her computer, determined to get some work done now.
The next morning she went back onto his blog to see if he’d put anything up. Nothing. But she noticed some of the worst comments had been taken down, and there was a note from Ethan to say that he’d be approving the comments before they got posted from now on. It seemed he’d suffered an attack of gallantry. Or was it just that he was worried about what his work colleagues would say? No, she guessed he didn’t really give a damn about what other people thought of him, considering what he’d put out there. Which made her wonder more about why he’d hunted her down as the creator of WomanBWarned—what was it that had bothered him so much?
Underneath that arrogant playboy attitude Ethan really was a nice guy. He liked women, and he treated them well when he was with them. He just didn’t want true intimacy or a relationship. The smoking remains of his parents’ relationship had to be the cause of his reluctance. Whatever had happened had put him off committing, and he and his father were clearly at war. Which meant all she’d ever be was another one of those women he’d had a fling with. Except she had just got to date four—the final frontier. And, yes, deep inside that very stupid part of her wanted so much more. He was so easy to fall for.
The days didn’t pass fast enough. She went shopping. She went for a manicure. She went indoor speed-skating to burn energy and make her tired enough to sleep. It didn’t work. So by the time Friday night rolled around she was ready too early and beside herself with anticipation. She practised yogic breathing and waited. Waited some more. Tried not to look at her watch every ten seconds. Only made it to fifteen once and got so mad with herself she took her watch off. She had her fab new dress, matching fingernails and toenails—the bits in between buffed and polished too.
But time ticked on and on and there was no knock at the door. The summer sun set and Nadi
a sat frozen in her chair.
Finally her phone beeped. A text message. She knew what it was before she even looked at it. He didn’t even have the decency to talk to her. Tears tumbled and she was so glad Megan was still away and not there to see her humiliation. She couldn’t bear to admit what a fool she was. According to the text he’d been delayed at work and missed his flight. He was on a later one and wouldn’t get in until it was too late for dinner.
She totally didn’t believe him. He just didn’t want to do dinner at all. He never had. She’d just pushed him into something he didn’t want to do and he was trying to get out of it lightly—like always.
Ethan had been trying to forget her. They’d done the three dates, so he could think about something else for five minutes now. He could find some other woman attractive. He could do nothing but work for fifty-six hours straight.
He’d only managed the last one.
He checked his phone again. Still no reply. He didn’t want to call and speak to her because she wasn’t going to be in a mood to listen to him. He hated letting her down. He hated how complicated this had become—but he had to see her again. His body wasn’t letting him do otherwise, nor would his brain. She was all he could think about. All he wanted. So he’d make his apology in person. He’d make it up to her in person. But that wasn’t going to help in the next few hours. He quickly punched in another number.
‘Polly, I need a favour. Big favour. You’ve got to take your best ever bunch of flowers to Nadia.’
‘Oh, Ethan,’ she wailed at him. ‘We liked her.’
Ethan gritted his teeth. ‘So do I. So send the damn things, will you? And say I’m sorry on the card.’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘None of your business. But get them to her now.’
‘So it isn’t over?’
‘It will be if you don’t get them organised.’
‘Okay.’
The doorbell rang. Nadia saw herself in the hall mirror as she went to answer it and swore at her panda eyes. Still, at this time of night it could only be a telecoms salesperson or something—so what did it matter.
It was a courier. He handed her the biggest bunch of flowers she’d ever seen.
Nadia took them without a word and slammed the door. The card was typed in an old-fashioned typewriter font.
I’m sorry.
She tossed the flowers on the table and tore the note in two, then three, and chucked the bits like pity party confetti.
How had he managed to get them out at this hour? Florists didn’t work this late. He must have planned the whole thing hours ago. Days ago. In fact she now figured he’d totally set her up. She’d been the one to suggest another date. He’d got her in the palm of his hand just as he’d wanted and now he’d crushed her.
Her eyes were drawn back to the bright mass of blooms. Yes, they were beautiful, but she hated them. The flick-off flowers. Just as the women on WomanBWarned had said. She wiped away more scalding tears and sniffed. Why had she been so stupid as to expect anything else?
There she’d been, actually feeling something like sorry for him—trying to figure out why he avoided everything: emotional intimacy, relationships, conflict. Thinking she understood more after seeing his family the other day. But he’d so taken her for the fool she was. He was an all out jerk with not a shred of sensitivity. And right now he was laughing at her something awful.
Furious, she had to do something—anything—to feel better. And that didn’t include talking to honeymoon-happy Megan. She didn’t want anyone she knew to know what an idiot she’d been. But she had to vent to someone. She went into her WomanBWarned admin database and hunted. Ten minutes later she’d fired off e-mails to the other women who’d posted on the original thread. She wasn’t going to put this up on the internet, but she was so having a private rant with them. She’d bond with others who bore the wounds—the humiliation—of being an Ethan Rush conquest. She’d snarl and moan and gnash her teeth, but not with anyone she knew.
First she just asked if they were who she thought they were, and what other info they wanted to share.
She glared at the flowers, tempted to put them in the rubbish, but she put them in Megan’s room instead. Marching back, she clicked ‘send/receive’ ten times on her e-mail but nothing landed. She stalked to the bathroom and ran a super-hot shower, getting rid of the hair product and the panda eyes and the floral scent of her favourite perfume. She yanked on one of her WomanBWarned tee shirts and some boxers. Not that she was going to bed—sleep was impossible now. Instead she did a final check on the forums and stepped away from the computer. She’d hear the ping of e-mails from the computer if those sisters replied. There was only one thing left to do. Drink wine and watch movies. Horrors—a corpse-fest, with scary music and evil, evil monsters. She’d work her way through the all the Nightmares on Elm Street. To put things into perspective.
She’d watched a ton of gory numbers with her brother and initially she’d been stoic through them so as not to be the ‘scared little girl’ he’d expected. Now she just plain liked them. Things could be so much scarier and worse than real life. And she’d eat eye-watering chilli with it—to terrify her tastebuds too. Provide an extreme sensory experience to overwhelm the extreme agony inside.
She was twenty minutes into the third instalment when her doorbell buzzed again. Way too late for a salesman this time. Or anyone. Nerves fluttered and she paused the movie, telling herself not be scared by something Hollywood had invented. Just because it was almost two in the morning it didn’t mean there was going to be a disfigured guy with knives for fingers on the other side of the door.
She opened it a fraction, and then let it swing wide.
‘What are you doing here?’ The strangest cocktail of feelings flooded through her—a heady mix of disbelief, relief, pleasure and uncertainty.
‘I just got into Gatwick.’
‘You really were stuck on a plane?’
‘You didn’t believe me?’ His bag thudded at his feet. ‘I knew you wouldn’t. That’s why I got Polly to send the flowers. But you still didn’t reply.’
‘I figured if you were in a plane you wouldn’t get a text anyway.’
‘No, you just don’t believe me. Or trust me. Or—’
‘Or what?’ Her defensiveness reared. ‘You sent me “see ya later’ flowers.’
He frowned. ‘The note was supposed to say I’m sorry.’
‘It did.’
He closed his eyes and breathed deep. ‘Okay, I shouldn’t have come here now. It’s late and we’re both grumpy.’ He picked up his bag.
‘No.’ Recovering from the shock, she grabbed his arm. ‘You look shattered. Come in and have a coffee or something.’
She’d so go for the ‘or something’, but he really did look shattered—unshaven, red-rimmed eyes, crumpled clothes, pale.
He didn’t move, even though she was using most of her weight to tug his arm. ‘You didn’t make other plans when I cancelled?’
‘Sure I did.’ She tugged harder. ‘I’ve got movies loaded and a huge amount of icecream.’
He stepped in, the thinnest gleam piercing the dullness of his eyes. ‘So there isn’t anyone else on your sofa?’
‘Is that what you were worried about?’ She dropped his arm. ‘That’s what you’re checking up on?’
‘You told me this wasn’t exclusive.’
‘What did you expect me to say?’ She shut the door behind him. ‘I have some pride, you know.’
‘I’m well aware of that.’ He finally cracked a grin. ‘So what’s the movie?’
‘A horro r.’
‘I hate horrors. They make me feel sick.’
‘I’ll hold your hand in the scary bits, if you like.’
Ethan managed another smile, but he was seriously out on his feet. He shouldn’t have come, but somehow when he’d got into the cab at the airport, hers had been the address he’d given. Now he was here the tiredness had hit him—right when he didn’t wan
t it to. But, oddly, it was relief wiping out the last scrap of energy—relief at seeing her wide green eyes fill with the sparkle of promise, pleasure, desire.
Her sofa was fantastically big and he sank into it. He wanted her, but he couldn’t even move. Could hardly keep his eyes open. Everything overwhelmed him.
‘I didn’t sleep,’ he mumbled.
‘You spent the whole time awake?’
‘Lots of work.’ And that was true. They’d worked crazy long hours to close the deal. And in the few short hours he’d had to catch some ZZZs, all he’d done was toss and turn and think about Nadia. The more he tried not to, the more he had. In the end he’d decided to see her again and get her out of his system. Somehow.
‘You mean you were in German lap-dancing bars twenty-four-seven.’
He laughed. It turned into a groan because the energy required was too much. ‘I’m sorry. I’m rubbish company. I’m too tired.’ He should go home. He didn’t want to. Nor did he want to let her down any more—and he was already.
‘Shut up,’ she said, sounding bored. ‘I’m watching the movie.’
As if to prove it, she turned the volume up a notch.
Even though his eyes were closed he grinned, loving the way she was being so nice to him—in her fashion. He just needed a short snooze and then he’d be all over her. Oh, he so would.
‘Ethan?’
Nadia stared down at him in amazement. He’d hooked his legs up on the sofa, his feet dangling off the end, and he’d lain down, using her lap as his pillow. Which was nice. And frustrating. Because now he didn’t answer. How could anyone fall asleep during a horror film? In less than three minutes?
She lifted her hand and tentatively stroked his jaw with the tips of her fingers, enjoying the rough stubble. Ethan Rush was an exhausted man. She sat back, scrunching a little deeper into the sofa so his ‘pillow’ was smoother.
An hour later the film had finished and she still wasn’t remotely sleepy. Nor had she watched much of the movie. No, she’d been completely tragic and watched him sleep—the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the long lashes shadowing his cheek. She was absurdly pleased he didn’t snore—it wasn’t as if that was relevant. It wasn’t as if she was going to spend the rest of her nights sleeping beside him. Even so, she was happy. And concerned. Because he was going to get a crick in his neck if he stayed like that much longer.
Dating and Other Dangers Page 12
