by Helen Brooks
Melody nodded. The thought of an intimate twosome was scary, but she got clumsy when she was tired, and anything was preferable than falling flat on her face in every sense of the words. ‘If that’s okay?’
He kissed her, a slow, gentle kiss, and she didn’t have the energy to protest. ‘Come on,’ he said softly. ‘Let’s go home.’
If only they were, Melody thought suddenly, swallowing at the constriction in her throat. If only this was a year ago, when everything had been all right. But had it been? Really?
She was stiff when she rose from her seat, and concentrating on walking as best she could helped to quell the lump in her throat. They had barely left the box when Zeke drew her into his arms and kissed her again. It was a very confident kiss, strong and sweet, and his fingers massaged the base of her spine as his mouth worked its magic. He didn’t hurry. He took his time.
Melody felt breathless and shaken when his mouth left hers, and his eyes were smiling as they stared down into her wide green ones. ‘My brand of physiotherapy,’ he said smokily, his features shadowed in the dim light in the corridor in which they were standing. ‘And it’s very exclusive.’
A thrill of unexpected laughter went through her. ‘Have you been qualified for long?’ she murmured.
‘I’m a novice,’ he admitted softly. ‘I need a lot of practice.’ His finger outlined her lips. ‘Practice makes perfect. Isn’t that what they say?’
Her mouth went dry. With an effort she held the smile. ‘Whoever “they” are, I’m sure they’ve got a point.’ She extracted herself from his arms. ‘We’ll be the last ones out of the theatre if we’re not careful.’
Zeke grinned. ‘Suits me.’
It suited her too. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was make polite conversation with any more Angelas. The trouble with Zeke being so high-profile was that wherever they went he was recognised by someone or other. Not that he could help that. And it didn’t matter—or it hadn’t mattered much in the past, anyway. It was different now.
‘I don’t like being the last at anything,’ she said, determined not to get embroiled in another weakening embrace, and when Zeke took her arm without another word and led her to the stairs she knew he had taken her none too subtle hint.
The taxi Zeke had booked to take them to their dinner venue was waiting when they walked out of the theatre, the icy cold taking Melody’s breath away. Enclosed in the cosy cocoon of their box, she had forgotten the sub-zero temperature outside for an hour or two. He drew her firmly into him as they walked across the pavement, helping her into the taxi and giving the driver their new destination before settling beside her. He slid his arm along the seat at the back of her, a familiar action—and why it should result in her heart hammering in wild, panicked beats she didn’t know. She was too weary and emotionally spent to protest when he drew her head onto his shoulder, besides which it was achingly familiar.
‘Christmas Eve,’ he murmured above her head, his voice soft. ‘Your favourite night. The night of miracles.’
So he’d remembered. She had told him the first Christmas they had been together that Christmas Eve had always been special to her in some way she couldn’t explain. All through her lonely childhood and even lonelier teenage years the day had held an elusive wonder her circumstances couldn’t dispel or negate. It seemed a time for miracles, the restoration of lost dreams and hopes and aspirations, and she had never ceased to be affected by it.
Except for tonight. The thought pierced her through, but it was true. Tonight she was bowed down by reality and she had nothing to look forward to—no expectancy or belief that there was a ray of light at the end of her particular dark tunnel. She simply didn’t have it in her to trust she wouldn’t spoil what they had if she stayed with Zeke. She couldn’t live with the doubt and uncertainty, the wondering, the fear it would turn sour and he’d be driven into someone else’s arms. Someone with beauty and grace who was whole and happy and unscathed by life. A girl who could return his love with all her heart and trust him implicitly.
This was going to be their last night together. She nodded mentally to the thought. Somehow she would slip away tomorrow, find somewhere—anywhere—to stay. She had one or two friends who lived in this area. One of them would take her in. It wasn’t the best time to turn up on someone’s doorstep—Christmas Day—but she couldn’t help that. She had to escape Zeke. She had to make him see. Zeke wasn’t for her. And she didn’t believe in miracles any more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AMAZINGLY, in view of her misery, Melody must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew was the taxi stopping and Zeke’s voice saying they were back at the hotel.
‘Come on, sleepyhead.’ His voice was tender, indulgent, as he helped her out of the car. ‘How about you change into something comfortable when we get to the suite? Maybe have a warm bath first? It’ll take Room Service a while to deliver once we’ve ordered so you’ll have plenty of time.’
She glanced at him as they walked into the foyer, knowing her limp was more pronounced tonight but unable to do anything about it. ‘I think I’ll go straight to my room,’ she said tightly. ‘And I’m not hungry. I’ll skip dinner, if you don’t mind.’
‘Hungry or not, you need to eat.’
‘No, Zeke. I don’t. I told you—I’m going straight to bed.’
They had reached the lift, and once the doors closed he faced her in the carpeted little box, his voice dangerously soft. ‘Dinner is compulsory, Dee. Unless you want me to choose for you, I suggest you look at the menu.’
‘For goodness’ sake.’ Truly exasperated, she glared at him. ‘What are you going to do? Force-feed me?’ she said irritably.
‘If necessary.’ He nodded. ‘Exactly that.’
She could see he wasn’t joking. ‘I’m not a child, Zeke.’
‘Then don’t act like one. You have been seriously ill and you’re still recovering. You need good food and plenty of it.’
This was ridiculous. ‘I think I’m quite capable of knowing when I want to eat, thank you very much,’ she said tartly.
Zeke raised his eyebrows as a smile flickered across his sexy mouth. The action said far more than words could have done and aggravated her further. Did he have to be so irritatingly chauvinistic? Melody thought waspily. And so certain he was always right?
She gave him what she hoped was a quelling glare and stared at the lift door as though it was the most interesting thing on the planet, knowing it was useless to argue. Nevertheless she was bristling like a furious little alley cat, determined not to give ground, when they opened the door to their suite. Whether Zeke was right or wrong didn’t matter. It was his peremptory attitude that had got under her skin.
The lights from the Christmas tree and the couple of lamps Zeke had left on made the sitting room dangerously cosy as they took off their coats—a miniature home from home. Zeke slung his jacket on a chair, loosening his bow tie and opening the first two or three buttons of his shirt as he walked across to the coffee table where the room service menu was sitting. ‘Now,’ he murmured smoothly. ‘I think the steak will do me nicely. How about you? And the raspberry and limoncello trifle sounds good. I’m starving.’
Melody plumped down sulkily on one of the sofas. She wouldn’t have admitted to a living soul that her mouth had watered as he spoke. ‘I had beef for lunch,’ she said stiffly.
‘How about oven-poached salmon with fennel and beetroot?’ Zeke suggested amiably. ‘That’s a light alternative and not so rich as most of the other dishes. Perfect to tempt the appetite.’
She shrugged, knowing she was acting like the child he had accused her of being but not knowing how else to protect herself against the temptation he presented. He looked more hard and sexy than any man had the right to look, and his lazy air and lack of aggression didn’t fool her one bit. ‘I think I will have a bath,’ she said flatly, as Zeke picked up the telephone, leaving the room without waiting for him to reply.
Once in her bedr
oom she shut the door and leaned her weight against it, wondering for the umpteenth time how she had got herself into this situation. ‘It’s just one night,’ she whispered. ‘Nothing has really changed.’ Her plans hadn’t altered, and Zeke couldn’t keep her married to him by force when all was said and done. She just had to keep her head and by this time tomorrow she could be somewhere else—anywhere else. Her soft mouth dropped unknowingly and she levered herself upright with a shuddering sigh.
She wanted to be a million miles away from Zeke, and yet she longed to be where she could see and watch and touch him every minute of every day. How was that for inconsistency? And she couldn’t let him see or even sense what she was feeling. She was no match for him at the best of times and his formidably intelligent mind and finely honed senses—attributes which had caused him to rise like a meteor in the world he inhabited—were at their most astute when concentrated on a problem he needed to solve. And at the moment she had no doubt that was how he viewed this situation. He hadn’t even begun to accept their marriage was over, everything about him proclaimed it, and so she had to remain strong and focused.
Melody didn’t linger in the bath, drying herself thoroughly and slipping into a pyjama vest top and matching loose trousers and then pulling on the fluffy bathrobe for added protection. She hadn’t heard a sound from outside her room but as she opened the bedroom door she could hear carols being sung. A carol concert was in full swing on the TV as she entered the sitting room, young choir boys singing ‘Silent Night’ with a purity of tone that was inexpressibly poignant.
Zeke was sprawled on one of the sofas, his long legs stretched out in front of him and a glass of brandy at his elbow. He looked broodingly tough and fascinatingly sexy, and Melody’s mouth went dry at the sight of him. His eyes opened as she walked into the room and he straightened slightly, indicating his drink with a wave of his hand. ‘Like one?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve had more than enough today, thanks,’ she said, pleased her voice sounded so normal when her heart was pounding like a drum. ‘I haven’t had any alcohol for the last three months, don’t forget.’
‘I haven’t forgotten one second of the last three months, believe me. The time’s engraved on my memory for ever. Sheer hell.’
He had moved so she could join him on the sofa but she deliberately sat facing him on the opposite one, pretending an interest in the cathedral where the concert was being filmed as she tucked her feet under her legs, curling up and pulling the robe over her toes. ‘It’s very beautiful,’ she said quietly. ‘There’s a timeless quality to such places, isn’t there?’
‘Why have you shut me out so completely?’ His voice wasn’t accusing, in fact it was verging on conversational, and for a moment the words didn’t register. ‘I mean, I’d really like to know.’
‘Zeke, please don’t start this again. It’s no good.’
‘For such a soft, gentle creature you can be as hard as iron when you want to be,’ he said thoughtfully.
Stung, she met his gaze. ‘I’m not hard.’
‘Not with the rest of the world, no. Just with me. Why is that? What is it about me that makes you believe I don’t bleed when I’m cut? That I don’t feel like other people?’
She drew in a deep breath. ‘I know the last months have been hard for you too. I do know that. But that doesn’t make any difference to now.’
‘Do you blame me for the fact I wasn’t with you when it happened?’ he asked quietly. ‘That’s completely understandable. I hold myself responsible. I could have—should have—prevented it. I let you down and it’s unforgivable.’
Shocked beyond measure, she stared at him. ‘Of course I don’t blame you. How could I?’
‘Very easily,’ he said flatly, leaning forward so his hands were clasped between his knees, his dark gaze tight on her pale face. ‘We were supposed to meet for lunch that day. I would have been with you but for that problem that arose. If I hadn’t cancelled, put a damn business meeting before my wife—’
‘Stop it, Zeke,’ she whispered, horrified. ‘The accident was nothing to do with you. It was me. For a brief moment of time I didn’t think. It’s as simple as that. Probably countless thousands of people have momentary lapses of concentration every day. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time to have mine. But it wasn’t your fault.’
She had forgotten they’d been supposed to meet at a little bistro that day, before he had called and made his apologies; the trauma of the accident and the following days and nights of unconsciousness had wiped it from her mind. But even if she had remembered she would never have imagined he blamed himself for what had happened. Zeke was such a logical man—so rational and clear-headed. She couldn’t believe he had been condemning himself all this time. The fault had been hers and hers alone.
He stood restlessly to his feet, shaking his head. ‘I don’t see it that way but we won’t argue about it.’ His eyes held hers. ‘I’m not going to let you go, Dee. Not after nearly losing you three months ago.’
It was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life to look back at him and speak the painful truth. ‘You have no choice. It takes two to make a partnership and I can’t do it any more. I need…’ She paused, knowing her voice was shaking but unable to keep the tremours from showing. ‘I want a divorce, Zeke. Our lives are set to go down different paths now. Surely you see that as much as I do? We can’t go back to the way things were. It’s over.’
Two small words that cut like a knife through all the intimacy they had shared, the good times, the laughter, the joy and pleasure. She watched his face change, becoming set and rigid, as though he’d pulled a mask into place hiding any emotion. ‘And what I want and feel counts for nothing?’
Melody unconsciously gripped her hands together, struggling for composure. ‘I’m doing this for you as well as me—’
‘Don’t give me that.’ He didn’t shout, but the tone of his voice stopped her mid-sentence. ‘That’s too easy a get-out and you know it. Never once today have you asked me what I want or how I’m feeling. You’ve simply stated you’re walking and that’s that. No discussion, no compromise, no nothing.’
She could see why it appeared that way to him, but how could she explain it was sheer self-survival driving her? She had always felt out of her depth in Zeke’s world, but before the accident she had known she was out of the ordinary in one way—her dancing. She was good, more than good, and it had been the foundation of who she was—for right or wrong. Now that foundation was gone, smashed by a ten-ton truck…
The ball of pain in her stomach that had nothing to do with her accident and all to do with leaving Zeke contracted suddenly, as though a steel fist had been driven deep into her solar plexus. Without picking her words, she whispered, ‘When I was a little girl I was always on the outside looking in. I didn’t get invited to parties or to tea with anyone. No one waited to walk home from school with me or called for me at the weekends to go to the park or play at their house. Of course looking back now I know it was because my grandmother never let me have friends round and she wasn’t friendly with the other mothers, but then I thought it was me. That the other girls didn’t like me—thought me odd because I hadn’t got a mother and father like them. Perhaps they did or didn’t. I don’t know. But then I found that when I danced the rest of the world didn’t matter. I lost myself. I wasn’t me any more. And my grandmother encouraged it, knowing how much it meant to me. She did do that for me.’
‘While effectively screwing you up in every other way.’
Taken aback by the bitterness and outrage in his voice, Melody shook her head quickly. ‘No, no she didn’t. She—she did the best she could—the same as we all do, I suppose. She didn’t have to take me in, she could have let me go into care, but she didn’t. And she had been hurt—badly. I think she loved my grandfather very much, and certainly she never got over him. Her way of dealing with it was to hide her pain behind a façade of being tough. And she had lost her daughter too�
�my mother. She had a lot to cope with.’
‘You’re making excuses for her. You always do,’ he said softly, the harshness gone from his voice.
‘I’m trying to explain.’ The unexplainable. And opening up like this terrified her. But he deserved this at least.
‘Dee, you’re more than a dancer. You’ve always been more than a dancer.’ He’d come and crouched in front of her as he spoke, his trousers stretched tight over muscled thighs.
The temperature in the room rose about twenty degrees and all coherent thought went out of Melody’s head. She stared at him, knowing he was going to kiss her and wanting it more than she had wanted anything in her life.
The polite knock at the door to the suite followed by a male voice calling, ‘Room Service,’ came as a drenching shock. Zeke reacted before she did, standing up and walking across the room while Melody made a heroic effort to pull herself together.
The man bustled in with a laden serving trolley, quickly and efficiently setting the small table in a corner of the room with cutlery and napkins, lighting the two candles in a silver candelabrum which he’d brought with him and placing it in the centre of the table. ‘Would you like me to serve the food, sir?’ he asked Zeke, after he’d opened the bottle of wine Zeke had obviously ordered and offered him a taste before pouring a little into two large wine glasses.
Zeke glanced across at Melody, who was still sitting on the sofa. ‘No, we’ll be fine. Thank you, and happy Christmas.’
He slipped the man a tip which made the waiter’s, ‘And a very merry Christmas to you, sir, madam,’ positively euphoric as he left, and as Melody joined him at the table Zeke pulled out a chair, unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap as she sat down. ‘May I serve the first course, madam?’
Lifting the covers off two delicate white-and-silver bowls, he revealed creamy, steaming soup which smelt divine. ‘I didn’t order this.’ Melody glanced into his dark face.
