Their coming together was fast and furious, filled with desperate passion borne of the knowledge that they may never see each other again after this night.
Afterwards, limbs entangled on the cold floor, his hands gently stroking her hair, she let out a sigh of satisfaction. No matter that it would soon end. For now, she was the happiest she had ever been.
“How about a bath picnic?” He asked contentedly. “You get it running, I’ll bring food and champagne.”
She lifted her head so that she could stare into his eyes. “That sounds like heaven.”
No, this was heaven, a disobedient voice contradicted inside his brain. What he had with Katie was damned near perfect, so why the hell was he running? “Because it makes sense,” he said forcefully, once he could hear the water going upstairs. Nothing good could come of this. Maybe, if it hadn’t all been based on a lie… but the truth would make her hate him, and it was better to leave it as was, with this feeling between them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think of Katie hating him.
Refusing to interrogate himself further on just why that might be, he carried a tray of chocolates, sandwiches and their refreshed champagne flutes carefully upstairs. He kicked the bathroom door open with his toe and smiled when he saw her. She had hopped into the bath already, and was surrounded by bubbles and the fragrance of lavender. Her head was reclined on the porcelain rim of the tub, her eyes closed, her expression one of total serenity. He felt a kick in his gut, but he was becoming so accustomed to the guilt in his system that he ignored it now.
Sensing his presence, she angled her head towards the door, but kept her eyes closed. “You took your time.”
“Room service takes a while to assemble,” he responded with a smile, placing the tray on the tiled back of the bath. He pressed a button on his phone, and the sound of John Lee Hooker filled the bathroom. “Ah!” she grinned, blinking up at him. “Bluesy tunes, a bath, you, and food. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
He eased himself into the opposite end of the bath, taking her feet into his lap and rubbing the soles with his thumb. “It’s mutual,” he responded simply. Because it was.
They lay without speaking for a couple of minutes, with only the mellow sounds of the blues to break the silence.
“Do you ever see your ex-wife?” She asked out of nowhere, and as soon as she said the words, she wasn’t even sure why she’d asked.
Marcus thought about lying, but the last thing he needed was more dishonesty. “I saw her about a month ago.” He pushed past the stone weight in his chest. “My best friend died and she came to the funeral.” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Veronica and I met through Bryan – my friend. I guess she felt she had as much right to be there as I did.”
Katie frowned. “I’m sorry about your friend. Do you mind if I ask what happened to him?”
“I…” he swallowed convulsively. “I…. don’t talk about it.”
“Ever?”
“It’s still fresh.”
She compressed her lips, trying not to be hurt. Trying not to be offended. “Talking might help….”
“I doubt it,” he said, in a tone that brooked no opposition.
“David, you don’t need to carry the weight of the world your shoulders. People die. It’s tragic. But it’s not your fault.”
He stared at her, and for a moment, his look was full of such despair that she thought he was going to cry. But it was quickly chased away by a quiet, yet strong, rage. “What do you know?”
She bit down on her lip. “I know about loss. I know about death.”
“Not about this, okay?”
“Oh, so you’re the only person to have experienced tragedy? Christ. You don’t own a monopoly on sadness.”
“I didn’t say I do,” he muttered, trying to keep a grip on his temper and failing miserably.
“But losing your friend is so much worse than my losing my aunt. Or my own father?”
He slammed his palm against the edge of the bath. “Damn it, Katie. Bryan was murdered, okay? He was killed, and it was my fault. I should have saved him. I was the only one who could.”
The silence following his impassioned statement was anything but comfortable.
“Why do you think you could save him?”
He expelled a furious breath. “Because I was there.”
“You saw him… murdered?”
“Yes.” He muttered a string of expletives, and when his eyes found hers, they were tormented. “So you’ll forgive me, Katie, if I don’t want to relive that scene to satisfy some bored curiosity you’ve got.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. “I didn’t know. I’m…sorry.”
“I know you’re a curious person, but when someone says they don’t want to talk about it, you should respect that.”
That cut her to the quick. “Like you, I suppose?”
“Yes, like me!” He thought of all the questions he had about her, and had resisted asking.
“That’s bull!” She stepped out of the bath, accidentally knocking the tray he’d assembled as she did so. She froze as the sandwiches dropped to the tiled floor, spreading out into a sloppy mess. It reminded her of the first night they’d met, and despite her fury, she couldn’t help but feel there was an appropriate ‘full circleness’ to it all.
“Oh?”
She grabbed a towel from behind the door and rubbed her body dry quickly. “Yes! If it hadn’t been for your nosy curiosity, we would never have played truth or dare that first night. I let you know things about me that I haven’t shared…”
“Like what!” He interrupted explosively. “That you’ve got a son? That you had sex with some guy at twenty two who turned out to be a bit of a prick? Hardly worthy of an Oprah episode.”
His disdain made her heart flip over painfully. “I’m sorry you don’t think my life is interesting enough for you.”
“I don’t think your life is as traumatic as you like to think.”
Her laugh lacked humor. “I don’t like to think my life is traumatic. You don’t know me at all.”
“And you don’t know me at all. God, Katie. We’ve had a great week. Great sex. That doesn’t give you a right to lecture me on grief. Nor to want to know everything about me!”
She shot him a fulminating stare, fixing the towel around the top of her breasts and securing it with fingers that shook. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I don’t want to know everything about you. I don’t want to know you at all.” And she slammed the bathroom door behind her for good measure.
CHAPTER EIGHT
She half expected him to follow her. To come to her bedroom and apologize for his horrible remarks. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to, or if she’d throw a lamp at him if he even tried to touch her. She’d felt a connection with him that went beyond anything in her experience, and yet he seemed to think they were nothing but bed-partners.
How wrong had she been!
Well, her track record was hardly anything to write home about when it came to choosing men who were worth loving. Still. She was sure David had been different.
She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, frozen to the bone in just a towel, but not caring. She lay there, listening into the dark. She heard him exit the bath, only moments after her. Then heard his footsteps in the creaky hall, only they were going the wrong direction. They were going to his room, and not hers. With a groan, she buried her head into her pillow and tried to forget that, only meters away, the man she thought she loved was sleeping. Tried to forget that tomorrow would be the last time they ever saw each other.
Of course, she didn’t sleep. How could she? She was torn between going to him and asking him just what the hell had got into him, and staying as far away as possible.
His revelation about his best friend was shocking. It explained a lot about the darkness she had felt in him from the start, and she wanted to know more. But not if it earned he
r the label of being nosy! Of all the hurtful, stupid remarks, that had to be one of the worst. She pressed down, hard, on her instinct to comfort him. He’d shown her how little he wanted sympathy. He didn’t even want to talk about it. She sobbed into the quiet, dark room, and pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle the sound of sadness.
Outside her room, Marcus stood, frozen. The sound of her crying made him ache, physically. He should never have lost his temper with her. She was perhaps the sweetest person on earth, and while he resented anyone asking him about what happened in Iraq, he knew that had nothing to do with why he’d exploded. It was because he wanted to talk to her. To tell her everything. Stuff he’d never even shared with his brother, he wanted to tell this woman. He wanted her to make him better.
And he couldn’t.
He was trapped in his own lie.
How could he tell her about Iraq, and Bryan, without telling her everything?
He shook his head. This is just how it had to be. He walked stealthily down the hallway and back to his own room, knowing that he could never see her again, no matter how much he wanted to.
* * *
The lounge looked as it always had. Sometime after their fight and now, David had apparently come back downstairs to extinguish the candles and remove them. She should be grateful for small mercies. That at least the visible signs of his romantic gesture had been removed. If only the ache in her heart were so easy to deal with.
Outside, a wild storm was brewing. She thought of Maxie, at his friend’s house, and hoped he’d slept okay in the storm. She hadn’t had any calls from him. The prickle of maternal fear that never went away when separated from a child ran across her neck now, but she ignored it. He was in good hands. She was only worried because they were two peas in a pod. And so would they always be.
Overnight, she’d come to realize just how much she’d hoped David Trent wanted more from her than a hot, sexy fling. She had actually come to hope that he wanted to be in their lives more permanently.
His suitcase, packed and sealed, by the door, mocked that notion stronger than anything else could.
He was leaving.
They were over.
A noise from the kitchen caught her attention and she turned, slowly, her face pale and her eyes dark rimmed.
“Good morning,” he said, wary, watchful, unaccustomed to the way his stomach contracted painfully at the sight of her. She was a mess. And he was the reason. He had done that to her. He would never forgive himself for hurting her.
He ached to take her into his arms, and kiss away the sadness. But what would it achieve? He couldn’t tell her who he really was, and he couldn’t keep living this lie, either. In a voice he barely recognized for its cold formality, he heard himself say, “I’m planning to get off early. I thought I’d beat the traffic back.”
Her heart kerthumped so painfully she thought she might be having a heart attack. She nodded, jerkily. “Ok.” She sounded so feeble! She cleared her throat and tried again. “The roads will be slippery after the storm last night. Drive carefully.”
His expression didn’t change.
“I just need to fix up my bill.”
“Oh, right.” She hooked her thumbs into her jeans. “It hardly feels fair to charge you for the room. After all, you barely used it.”
It was a stupid attempt at a joke and as soon as she’d said it, she flushed with embarrassment. Why remind him of their relationship when he was about to walk away without a backwards glance? He couldn’t wait to be rid of her. He wasn’t even attempting to prolong their time together.
She watched as he smiled, but it was a smile of disinterest. Embarrassment even. Oh, it was excruciating. He was mentally already on the road to London. If Katie had been looking in a mirror she would have seen the way her face blanched, as though she’d seen a ghost. She hadn’t seen a ghost though, she’d been forced to confront reality head on, and she didn’t much like what she saw.
“How would you like to pay?” She asked bleakly.
“Credit card.”
“Fine. Excuse me a moment. I’ll go and get the thing-o.”
When she emerged a couple of minutes later with a printed receipt and a portable eftpos machine, she looked much more in control of her emotions. She even flashed him an over-bright smile as she handed the device to him, careful not to let their fingers connect.
“Just swipe your card,” she said automatically.
He ran his black Amex through, realizing as he did so that he should have used a different payment method. She wasn’t looking at his card though. “Pin or sign?”
“Pin.”
She turned away as he inputted his four digit code and waited for it to process through.
“Well,” she said once the receipt had printed and she’d handed it to him, ignoring the way her stomach rolled as she felt the warmth of his palm. “Thanks for… everything.”
“That’s it, then.” He wasn’t asking her. He wasn’t asking himself. He was making an idiotic observation because he was finding it impossibly difficult to tear himself away. Hadn’t he used the analogy of a Band-Aid only the day before? Yes. He had to do this, and do it quickly.
“I hope you find someone, Katie, who can make you happy.” His smile was wan, his heart heavy. “Someone who wants to tell you all their secrets.”
“And thinks mine are worth knowing,” she responded acidly, to hide the way his words had cleaved her soul in two.
He nodded his head in assent. There was no sense contradicting what he’d said the night before, not now that he was practically out the door.
“You’re a great woman, Katie. You should be happy.”
I was happy! I was happy before you came stomping into my perfectly ordered world and ruined everything! “You too, David.”
As goodbyes went, it was all so hurtfully civilized. His kiss on her cheek was chaste, professional. Impersonal.
She watched as he walked towards the front door, scooped up his suitcase as though it weighed no more than a feather, and walked out of her life, for good.
The moment his engine thrummed to life, tears started to fall, and she made no effort to dash them away. She was alone. No Maxie, no guests, and no David Trent. What did it matter who saw her in the depths of despair?
* * *
He cursed loudly into the empty car once he’d crossed out of Cornwall.
He knew leaving was the right thing to do, but it felt so, so wrong to be driving away from Katie and Maxie and Wadeford House. Where would he go? He thought of his apartment in New York. The apartment he’d lived in with Veronica. And he knew he couldn’t go there.
He punched his brother’s number into his mobile and waited for the call to connect.
“Andy,” he said, not clocking the slurred way his sibling had answered.
“Marcus, what is it? Is everything okay?”
Marcus frowned. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Andy expelled a frustrated sigh. “It’s the middle of the night in New York. We’re hours behind you. Remember?”
“Oh, right.” He winced. “Apologize to Cecilia if I woke her. Look, bro, I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to have to stay in London a little longer. I thought I’d have this all wrapped up by now, but…”
But what? He wasn’t ready to totally turn his back on Katie? He didn’t want to stop breathing her air just yet? He was being a romantic son of a bitch, and that wasn’t like him.
“Yeah, no worries. Listen, call mum. She’s worried about you.”
He groaned. “You know mum, she’s always worried about something.”
“You must admit, she has good cause this time.”
“I’m fine. Let her know.” He disconnected the call, knowing he was taking his bad mood out on his brother, his mother, and the road. He pushed the little Prius to its max and actually managed to get up near the speed limit.
Once back in London, he thought he would have been able to get Katie into perspectiv
e. But she was there. Every time he blinked, she was burned into his eyelids. He could still smell her on his clothes, that summery body wash she used that had made him smile.
He handed his keys over to the valet at his Knightsbridge apartment building, glad at least that he’d never have to set foot back in that little tin can. A part of him was glad to be back in civilization, too. Maybe his attraction to Katie had come out of the feeling he’d reached the end of the world.
What he needed was a distraction. He rode the elevator to his deluxe apartment and immediately set about getting ready to go to a club. Another woman. Another woman would help him forget about Katie and her beautiful body and trusting ways.
It wasn’t hard to meet women. There were those women who scoured the business pages to identify eligible, wealthy husband prospects. These women knew who he was and marked him from the moment he entered the exclusive Soho bar. Then, there were the women who’d trained themselves to spot a rich guy a mile off. The cut of a suit, the make of shoes, the grooming. These women saw physical presentation as a formula for calculating net worth, and, in Marcus’s experience, they were scarily accurate.
He ordered a scotch, not caring that it wasn’t yet seven o’clock. He downed it in one go and ordered another. Stuff it. He handed his Amex over and set up a tab, then turned around and casually surveyed the room. So many women. So many beautiful woman. And not one of them did a damned thing for him. They were all so obvious. So fake. So perfumed and beautified.
“Hi handsome, want to buy me a drink?”
He allowed his dark eyes to drift over the blonde who’d sidled up beside him. She was tall, slim, huge rack expertly displayed in a low cut dress that probably cost about a thousand pounds per square inch. Her hair was teased into a wild, just-got-out-of-bed style that had no doubt taken hours to perfect, and her lips were full, and bright red. And ready, judging by the way she had shaped them suggestively around her straw, to please.
“You’ve already got a drink,” he pointed out drily.
A Bed of Broken Promises Page 10
