“No, I learned from the master.”
Chapter Twelve
Robyn angrily swirled around the edge of sleep, her mind racing in opposite directions. Curtis was everything she wanted and nothing she needed. He wouldn’t even try to be more. She had to accept him as he was or let the entire dream go.
She didn’t need to ask if he’d ever been in love, if someone had hurt him and it was that fear holding him back. He’d never even opened himself up to the possibility. She was sure she wasn’t the first woman to fall in love with him never to have it returned. Just as she knew she wouldn’t be the last.
Nothing went that deep with him. Even this, the failure of their relationship, wouldn’t be internalized with him. He’d think of it as a bad decision and write it off, while she would never really get past it. She’d always wonder if there were something she could have said, done, to open him up, let him out of his cave. Even though she knew he didn’t have any desire to climb out of the hole on his own.
Beside her, his breathing had deepened, growing slow and even, lulling her to relaxation. How could she love him so much, so completely, and he not feel anything?
She reached for him, touching his warm chest, the fine hair tickling her palm. With each slow breath he took, her hand rose and fell, the tension in her body dissolving.
He wasn’t Prince Charming, but she wasn’t Cinderella, either. Cinderella chased the prince as her escape, ran out of shame he’d find her unworthy. That might have been her initial attraction to him, but she’d fallen in love with the man who wanted to make the world better one project at a time, the man who overpaid his housekeeper and would cancel almost anything if his mother needed to have lunch. Robyn knew the score, knew now what Curtis expected of their relationship. It wasn’t all she’d hoped for, but it was far more than she’d expected in the beginning.
It wasn’t enough to build a marriage on, but maybe in a few years, it would be. If not, she wouldn’t have to live with the regret of not trying. She’d circled back to the hopefulness from which all her troubles began, and yet she was more optimistic it would work out this time. He liked her, supported her, called her a friend—that was more than a relationship of convenience. Wasn’t it?
Curtis sucked in a sharp breath, startling her into removing her hand. In his sleep, his brows furrowed together, his mouth moving. She watched as he twitched and twisted, his hands pulling at the covers.
“Don’t,” he pleaded, his voice a whisper. “Stop.”
She turned toward him, unsure of waking him too quickly from his dream.
“Come back.” The murmured words were hard to make out. “Don’t leave.”
“Curtis?” She tentatively placed her hand on his chest, his heart hammering beneath her palm.
“Robyn?” He didn’t open his eyes, just reached blindly for her. “Don’t run, don’t leave me.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her snug against him, nestling his head into the curve of her neck.
Her heart in her throat, she held him close, kissing his head as she smoothed his hair. “It’s okay. You caught me.”
…
By the end of the week, they’d agreed on a design theme for the house, worked through a timeline, watched the sun set every night, and made love on every available surface in the entire mansion. Robyn found it quite a shame they’d be removing the lavish master bath to make way for guest suites, but after this morning in the shower, she knew Curtis’s bathroom at home would have to be redone. Two showerheads was the only way to go.
With a naughty giggle, she pulled the lasagna from the oven, trading it quickly for the garlic bread. She loved trying on this life. How could she not? A big, beautiful house, stylish new designer wardrobe, and spending every moment with the most irresistible man in the world. Well, the western U.S., at least. There had been a poll.
Giggles turned to laughter as she rummaged through drawers for silverware. Last week, she never would have guessed she’d share such steamy sexual chemistry with Curtis or have so much in common. From their love of classic books, to their penchant for 1990’s sitcom reruns, and undying affection for ice cream, she’d been seduced by him in every way.
It terrified her to think of how close she’d come to throwing away the opportunity to be with Curtis by running. She’d learned her lesson. From now on, she’d state her case with him plainly instead of being awed by his heart-stopping magnetism. Well, not too awed.
Butter and garlic wafted to her nose, reminding her of the bread. She pulled it from the oven and set about plating their dinner, checking the window to make sure she still had time. Eating dinner with the sunset as a companion was addictive and not something she wanted to miss. Who knew how often they’d be able to manage it once they got back to the city?
Once they got home, he’d be working, and soon, so would she. They could meet up at cozy restaurants, steal quick moments before he headed back to the office and she headed home. In the dark, they’d meet up in bed. Her no-sex rule had been thrown out the morning after she’d instigated it, but it had served its purpose well. He felt something, and even if he didn’t know what it was, it was something they could build on.
A strange bit of serendipity that proved it would all work out eventually. He’d felt their connection and, even if it was unconsciously, it’s what had made him choose her, and it’s what had him giving her another chance. That the sex was phenomenal didn’t hurt.
Another smug giggle and she stepped to the terrace, expecting to find Curtis waiting as he had been all week, but she was alone as she set the table. She poured the wine, lit the candles, and stepped back, soaking in her perfect setting.
Maybe he was just empty, and if she filled him up with enough love and romance, he’d be able to give it back to her. She had enough romantic fantasies to keep them busy for the first few years, at least. By the time she made it back inside to collect their dinner plates, she was bursting with self-satisfied laughter.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” Curtis stepped into the kitchen, a vase full of roses of every color in his hands and a newspaper tucked under his arm.
“Did you leave?”
“I wanted to bring you flowers.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as he passed by, the warm scent of his cologne following him.
Her heart beat faster. He’d brought her flowers. It definitely put a swish to her hips as she carried the plates outside. Right up until she saw him seated at the table, the newspaper open and blocking his face from view.
“Thank goodness, that country singer adopted a baby from Malawi. Though once reporters tire of trashing her lack of parenting skills, they’ll be back after us.”
Robyn cleared her throat, moving the vase to a side table. When she took her seat, the paper hadn’t moved. She cleared her throat again. Still nothing.
“Curtis? Put the paper down.”
He turned down a corner. “I’ve had nothing but internet news all week.”
“That newspaper has a website that carries most of its content, and you have the news channels on every morning while you do too many sit-ups.”
“The internet here is dial-up. It drives me crazy.”
“You’re in the middle of a lake, Curtis. Sorry there is no Ethernet connection.”
“Apology accepted.” He had the nerve to smile before he went back to reading the paper.
Robyn lifted a tapered candle and lit the edge of his newspaper. She counted to four before he noticed, threw the thing to the ground, and stomped it out.
“What the hell?” His foot still on the paper, he stared back at her with flashing eyes as blue as the lake.
“Stop hiding behind a newspaper.”
“For crying out loud, I’m not hiding behind anything,” Curtis grumbled, sliding into his seat.
She looked down at the black-tinged newspaper, color tabloids peeking out from beneath. She bent down, pushing aside the paper to find three of those rags. Curtis grabbed them before she had a chance.
“I wanted to know what we’ll be dealing with when we get back.”
“And?”
“Nothing we can’t handle.” Oh, that fake smile. It made her want to scream.
“Don’t work me over like one of your investors.”
“Robyn—”
She stood, pushing in her chair.
“Where are you going?”
“Into town to find out what you think you need to keep from me.”
“And how do you plan to get there?” Curtis stood, rounding the table, the papers curled into a tube in his hand.
“The boat.” She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze and holding it.
He rolled his eyes. “Yacht, and you don’t know how to drive it.”
“Think of your repair bill if I can’t figure it out.”
He shook his head, laughing as he pulled out her chair. “I really thought you’d be easier to handle.”
“I don’t care to be handled.”
“That’s not what you said this morning.” He waggled his brows, reminding her of their exploits in the shower. Not that it could be helped. Between the showerheads and him naked, no woman could resist.
With a huff of breath, she snatched the papers from his hand and turned for the house. He caught her around the waist and pulled her back against him.
“If I don’t get to read them without you, you can’t read them without me. And we should wait until after dinner. You might lose your appetite.”
She spun as he loosened his grip. “Why? What do they say?”
“Nothing true, but this is your first foray into tabloid journalism.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ve been in them three times since the engagement was announced.”
“Fine then, champ. If you think you can take it.” Returning to his side of the table, he sat down, took a long draw from his wineglass, and refilled it.
Parking herself in her chair, she unrolled the tube, her eyes scanning the front page. A celebrity-relationship guru was involved in a sex scandal, the country singer and her adorable Malawian baby, reality-star-sex-tape debacle, and there she was. Runaway Bride Plastic Surgery Nightmare.
“Told you so.”
She looked up, her eyes heavy with tears as she flipped through the pages to her story. “I haven’t had plastic surgery.”
“I know. I’ve checked you over thoroughly.” He smiled wide, his grin bright in the waning light.
Ignoring his attempt to help, she looked down at the “before” picture, one of her rushing out of a coffee shop. She’d always thought black was slimming, but not in that photo. Then “after” came from the photo shoot, after hours of professional support.
She looked like a completely different person. Still her, but without her glasses and with a face full of makeup and a head full of curls, she did look like she’d had a lot of work done.
Had she really changed so much? She set that paper aside and looked through the next one. More humiliation was in store with a story claiming to be authenticated by her former boyfriend that the two had been having an affair, and she was now pregnant with his child.
The tears started to choke her as she fought them. Her parents must be so disappointed. She didn’t want to look anymore, and yet she couldn’t help herself from wiping her eyes with the back of her hand so she could scan the last paper.
“Frye’s Bride Holding Out for More Money.” She huffed, trying to get her mind off the ugly pictures and betrayal by a man she used to care for.
“I don’t want any money.”
“Are you done crying?” He pulled the papers from in front of her.
“No,” she choked, her throat hot and tight. “I can’t believe this.”
“It’s not real, Robyn. And it’s much better than I expected. Kendra has been able to hold off a lot of it.”
“How could it be worse?” She sniffled, wiping her eyes as the tears kept coming, rolling down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. She tried to tamp them down, but they refused to be swayed. Finally, she grabbed her napkin and covered her face, letting them out, her body shaking with the sobs.
“You know I don’t know what to do when you’re like this. These really aren’t bad. None of them have any truth, so they’ll go away faster. If we get married and start living a normal life, it will all go away.”
Setting her elbows on the table, she took deep breaths through the napkin, trying to get a hold of herself. Whenever she came close, her parents’ faces swirled before her, the shock and letdown plain in their features. They’d raised their girls to be moral and upstanding members of the community. Not fodder for trash. And how had she ever trusted a man who could sell their relationship for a few dollars, turning what had once been good into garbage?
“Robyn, please calm down. It will all go away once we’re a boring old married couple. We gave them something to pick at.”
He hadn’t, she had. She’d done this to herself, to her family. Her stomach twisted, acid burning.
“We’re never going to be a married couple.” She pulled the napkin away, drying her face and blinking into the orange sunset. The sky a blur of color to her right. “Just perfect. I lost a contact.”
“This happened because it was a slow news week, not because of anything you did.” He dropped the papers to the floor of the terrace. “We’ll schedule laser surgery for your eyes as soon as we get back.”
“Excuse me?”
“So you can see without glasses. It’s amazing. You’ll love it. No fumbling for glasses when you wake up in the morning or getting something stuck in your lenses. The surgeon who did mine has an amazing success rate.”
“I don’t want someone cutting my eyeball.” She kept blinking, turning her head to see him with her good eye.
He reached out, taking her hand. “I know it is scary, but he is the best in the business. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with you.”
“Why?” Tell me you love me and this will all stop mattering so much.
“I don’t ever want to do anything to hurt you. And I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your pretty green eyes.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand before he released it and returned to his side of the table.
He’d never done anything to hurt her on purpose, but he knew she wanted things he couldn’t give, and yet he still wanted her.
“Celebrities shouldn’t adopt. It becomes such a circus.”
She turned to watch him tucking the tabloids inside what was left of the charred paper.
“What are you talking about?”
“The country music star who has reporters scampering all over Africa for pictures of orphans.”
“What’s wrong with her adopting?” Robyn wiped the last of her tears from her flushed cheeks. “She certainly has the resources to care for a child, and agencies put prospective parents through rigorous interviews.”
“It’s not her, exactly. All that child’s life he’ll be her adopted son.”
“The press doesn’t say that about you.”
“That’s because my father didn’t enter politics until after they adopted me. If it had been before, it would be my disclaimer.”
“That’s ridiculous. Any parent who is willing should be able to adopt.”
“This isn’t like your family, Robyn. Celebrity children are photographed and chronicled. They aren’t allowed to be kids. Adopted children have it hard enough.” He took a swig of his wine, his fork playing with his dinner.
“What are you talking about?”
“Feeling abandoned, worthless, not good enough.”
She reached for his hand. “Oh, honey, not all adopted kids feel that way. That wasn’t what happened with you or with me.”
He snatched his hand from hers, reaching for his fork. “Maybe not with you.”
“The Fryes chose you as a child, not some baby they were rolling the dice with. Y
ou’re fantastic, and they wanted you to be a part of their family.”
He leveled his gaze at her. “Let’s not do this.”
“You would never want to adopt?”
“What? To return the karma? No thanks. I’m not cut out for parenting in any form.”
Her stomach tightened, her future narrowing until it was no longer the one she wanted. “You don’t want to have children someday?”
“No.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m going to do the world a favor and end my bloodline once and for all.”
“Why?” She’d known people who didn’t want children, but the desire had always been so strong in her, in her whole family, so she didn’t understand it.
“Robyn, my father murdered someone. I don’t want to pass on those genes.”
She bristled, her blood running cold. “Mrs. Rutledge said he ran the drunk driver who killed your mother off the road.”
“In a high-speed chase through town, with the lights of his patrol car flashing while he was high.”
“I’m not saying it was right, but it’s not like—”
“You don’t know anything about it. I’m not risking passing on his tendencies, genetic or otherwise. I’m not having kids. End of conversation.”
She swallowed hard, bile burning her throat. “You don’t want to have kids because of what your father did?”
“It’s one of the reasons, yeah. More people should refuse to pass on violent traits.”
Her head pounded, each beat of her heart pushing blood through her body, swollen with hurt and anger. “We are not the victims of our parents’ wrongdoings. If my birth mother had believed that, I wouldn’t be here now.”
She stood, squeezing her hands into fists to keep them from shaking, but it didn’t help her quivering voice. “I’ll have children one day—not with you, someone who might look at them and see the man who raped my mother. When she learned she was pregnant, she thought everything good and pure in her that shattered that night had come together and created me. Not the violence, but the innocence she lost. I was her innocence handed back to her, and she found a situation for me where I could have all the things she couldn’t give me. I’m not responsible for someone else’s wrongs, and I won’t be with someone who thinks I am.”
The Billionaire's Runaway Fiancé (Invested in Love) Page 16
