A Very Passionate Man

by Maggie Cox

  ‘I think I’d like to go home now.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rowan. This is a bloody awful mess, I know.’ Scratching his head, Paul appeared shame-faced as he got to his feet.

  ‘I’ll organise that draft just as soon as I can. If I send it to you, can you forward it on to Anya? I take it that you’re in touch?’

  His neck turned beetroot-red. ‘Yes. We keep in touch. Only because I was Greg’s friend.’

  Rowan nodded, forcing a brief smile. ‘I understand. I don’t suppose we’ll meet again, Paul, so take care. I’m sorry we didn’t drink the coffee. Bye.’

  Evan said nothing as they exited through the door, but the other man’s relief was palpable as he threw him a parting glance before pulling the door shut behind them.

  ‘You OK?’ Hardly realising it, Evan tightened his hands around the steering wheel as he drove, frustration tensing every muscle because he wasn’t free to comfort Rowan in the way he wanted to. Beside him, she looked preoccupied and pale. Her small, slender hands were folded in her lap, and Evan knew to an outsider she would appear the epitome of calm and composure. Ironic when he could only guess at the maelstrom of emotions she must be feeling inside.

  ‘No…not really. But I’ll get through it. I’m a survivor, if nothing else.’

  The pain in her voice almost undid Evan. Scowling, he accelerated slightly, anxious to get back home, where he could persuade her into his arms and maybe ease some of that pain away.

  ‘What on earth made you offer to send the woman some money? Rutherford was right about one thing—that really isn’t your problem.’

  Frowning, Rowan unfolded her hands and glanced distractedly at her coral-painted fingernails. ‘It’s not her fault that Greg died. It’s not even her fault that he started a relationship with her. People don’t choose who they fall in love with. It just…it just happens.’

  Her words seemed to reach deeply into a place Evan had long kept shrouded in darkness. Momentarily he released one hand from the steering wheel to massage his chest, but it did nothing to ease the swell of longing that rose up inside him and refused to be tamped.

  ‘Besides…why should the baby suffer because of what’s happened?’

  ‘You’re too damn nice for your own good, Rowan Hawkins.’

  ‘I can’t help the way I am, Evan. No more than you can help the way you are.’

  Evan remained silent for the rest of the journey, because right then he didn’t trust himself to say a damn thing without getting into deep trouble…the kind of trouble he’d done so well to avoid for the past two years.

  Rowan was wondering how she could help Evan. More specifically, how she could convince him to stop all his painful self-recrimination about being somehow less of a man because he wasn’t as fit as he’d used to be. In her eyes he would never be less in any way. She was sorry that he’d suffered through illness, but could only thank God that he had pulled through and lived to tell the tale. He was everything she could hope for in a mate, and even if his behaviour suggested that he didn’t need anyone close in his life, the qualities of concern and compassion that he had revealed to Rowan on more than one occasion made her believe otherwise.

  Ever since they’d returned from London and their visit to Paul Rutherford, Evan had been particularly mindful of her needs. External ones at least. He’d insisted on helping her put the finishing touches to her living-room by returning pictures and photographs to walls, cleaning windows until they sparkled like crystal, and disappearing off to a local nursery to buy her trays of plants and bulbs for the garden.

  Now he was pulling weeds for her out at the back, his thoughts concealed behind an implacable, concentrated expression as he went about the task in the spring sunshine, his lithe, strong physique as eye-catching and as compelling as ever in faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt. Rowan put down the packet of cheese she’d just opened to grate over an omelette, leant on the kitchen sill and sighed softly. Her warm breath made a little cloud on the window-pane and she rubbed it away with her fingers so that she would still have a clear view of Evan.

  How long were they going to keep up this charade of outward civility when underneath strong passions and things left unsaid were tearing at them both? As far as Rowan was concerned, she knew that Evan meant more to her than just a neighbour or a friend. She loved him. The thought didn’t knock her sideways, because it had been steadily growing inside her over the past few days. She’d nurtured it in her body like a plant about to push through the soil and reach towards the sun. He was convinced he wasn’t a good bet for a relationship, and there was probably nothing Rowan could say to change his mind, but still she could love him from afar, couldn’t she? Her throat tightened almost unbearably. When he left to go back to London, as he inevitably would soon, she would tell him she would always be there for him if he ever needed a friend, that she would demand nothing more than he felt able to give and that was all. Even if she was dying inside, she couldn’t let him know that. The man didn’t deserve any more pressure than the ones he was under already.

  Evan didn’t believe that she could bury the ghosts of her past easily, and God knew the pain of her husband’s infidelity and deceit still lingered like the sting of a thousand tiny scores on her heart. But Rowan knew that she would get over it sooner rather than later, because the depth of feeling she had for Evan made her realise that the affection she had had for her husband had been a lukewarm substitute for love in comparison.

  Hearing the pan sizzle behind her on the stove, Rowan gave herself a little shake and turned off the gas. Taking a minute to compose herself, she shook her hair free from the pink satin scrunchie that confined it and pressed her palms flat against her skin to cool her burning cheeks. When Evan suddenly appeared from the garden in the kitchen doorway, her heart squeezed with longing at the sight of him and she couldn’t prevent the smile that broke free.

  ‘Lunch won’t be long… I’m afraid I’ve been standing here daydreaming.’

  ‘Oh?’ He didn’t smile back. Instead his intense green eyes shimmered with grave concern. Immediately Rowan knew what he was thinking.

  ‘Not about Greg or any of that,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Then what?’ Reaching for a tumbler from a glass cabinet, Evan poured himself some water from the tap as he waited for her reply.

  ‘I was thinking about you, as a matter of fact.’ Quickly withdrawing her glance, she looked about for something to occupy her hands. She opened a drawer, pulled out a clean checked tea-towel, then proceeded to dry a mug that was left upturned on the drainer.

  ‘What about me?’ One dark eyebrow quirked up towards the lock of sable-dark hair that fell across his forehead, and he leaned into the counter in no apparent hurry to make himself scarce.

  Wishing her heart would stop its incessant racing, Rowan rubbed at the mug even more vigorously with the tea-towel. ‘I was wondering how you were doing…how you were feeling? You never tell me.’

  As Rowan had feared it would, she saw his guard come down immediately—like a portcullis crashing down to protect the inner sanctum of a fortress. Taking a swig of water, he placed his glass down on the counter, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘I’m fine. Nothing for you to worry about.’

  ‘But I do worry about you, Evan.’

  ‘Then don’t.’ His mouth twisted a little and he glanced away. ‘I’m all grown up, as you can see. I can do all the worrying I need for myself.’

  ‘But…everyone needs someone to care. Nobody should be completely on their own.’

  His gaze swung right back to Rowan’s heartfelt glance, and if she hadn’t already guessed that a tender heart beat beneath that forbidding exterior she would have backed away in fright. ‘You may feel like that…understandably considering the circumstances; but I don’t. I’ll be your friend, Rowan, and you can be mine, but if it means you constantly fretting about my welfare then I’ll walk out the door right this minute and never look back.’

  Cold dread made her sp
eechless for a moment but she stood her ground. ‘Why do you always make things so difficult? Are you going to conduct the rest of your life this way? Pushing people away, keeping your distance, not allowing anybody to care or get close?’

  ‘That’s my business.’ Glaring at her, he moved towards the door.

  Sudden fury bubbling up inside her, Rowan was one step behind him when her small hand circled his very strong masculine wrist. ‘We made love…’ Her lower lip quivered slightly. ‘Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

  Evan didn’t shake off her grip. Instead he replaced it with one of his own on her opposite arm and yanked her hard into his chest. His gaze darkening like an oncoming storm, he stared down into her startled brown eyes, the drift of her scent hitting him somewhere low in his belly, making him want her so badly he didn’t know how he stopped himself from dragging her onto the counter and taking her there and then.

  ‘It means we had great sex,’ he said harshly. ‘But just because I’m physically attracted to you it doesn’t mean we’ve got a relationship made in heaven. I don’t believe such things exist. Look at what happened to you; and if that doesn’t convince you then look at what happened to me. I’ll be your lover, Rowan, but I won’t be your happy ever after… That clear?’

  A word hovered on her lips—the harsh, detrimental one he had used before to describe himself—but Rowan was too distraught to articulate it. Instead, her teeth came down hard on her lip as she struggled to contain her hurt and dismay.

  ‘I don’t want you to be my lover. I don’t want you to do anything for me. I’d rather be on my own than waste my time with such a cynical, bitter man as you! Now, if you don’t mind letting go of my arm, I’ve got lunch to prepare.’

  He dropped her limb like a hot potato, nodded tersely, then exited the room without saying another word. When Rowan heard the front door slam, she turned her face to the window and gave free rein to the painful sobs that had been trapped in her throat.

  He knew it was probably the most cowardly thing he had ever done, but Evan honestly didn’t feel able to witness the recrimination and reproach he knew he would see in Rowan’s gentle brown eyes. Already he’d hurt her too much with his cruel words and pretended indifference. If he stayed around much longer he would end up hurting her even more and he didn’t want that. He’d never wanted that. Pausing for a moment, he thumped his chest to release the harsh breath that had become trapped there. Would the woman ever be able to trust another man again after this?

  He stood on the step of his cottage, staring out unseeingly at the wild, untamed beauty of the Pembrokeshire hills—his fingers closing around the paper in his pocket as if it was dynamite. But it was no good delaying things any longer. He’d made his decision. It might be one that would be hell for him to live with, but at least Rowan would have a chance to take stock and realise that he wasn’t the man for her. He walked across to Rowan’s house like the proverbial condemned man, his brow breaking out in a sweat, his legs as heavy as lead.

  Scowling as he pushed the folded-up note into her letter box, he hurried back down the path, shutting the gate carefully behind him, scarcely knowing what he would do if she should appear at the door right then. He’d probably grab the note right back and history would take a different path from the one he intended. But when Rowan didn’t appear Evan resigned himself to the fact that he’d made the right decision after all—even if it was one he hated. Then, without looking back, he climbed into his waiting Range Rover, gunned the engine and drove determinedly away before he did something stupid…like change his mind.

  All the way back to London his chest felt as if it was clamped in a steel trap that made it difficult to breathe. Every time he imagined the hurt on her face as she read his aloof little note he died a thousand painful deaths, and almost had to pull over onto the hard shoulder to compose himself. But he wouldn’t look back, he told himself. He wouldn’t regret leaving her, because what did he have to offer a gentle, wounded soul like Rowan? If he stayed it was a cold, hard fact that he would only end up hurting her even more. She was right. He was bitter and cynical. Two years after his divorce, he was still eaten up with anger at Rebecca’s treatment of him. How could he even begin to imagine he could have another relationship when he still had so much baggage to contend with from his past? Better let her make a new life for herself sooner rather than later and she wouldn’t be able to do that while he was the main presence in her life. He would miss her but it was better this way…

  But better for who? Evan wondered bleakly as he automatically switched on the wipers to deal with the rain that was suddenly ricocheting off the wind-screen.

  Rowan drove home from the doctor’s in a daze. The two bags of groceries that she’d lain on the back seat spilled out as she negotiated the twists and turns of the narrow country lanes back to the cottage, but she couldn’t have paid them less attention. Her heartbeat was thundering so loudly in her ears that it obliterated the sound of everything else—even the odd passing car that flashed by in the opposite direction.

  She was pregnant…eight weeks pregnant with Evan’s child. Now, as she stared through the wind-screen, tears spilled freely from her eyes and slid hotly down her cheeks. Who would have believed something good—a miracle, even—could come out of something that had hurt her so badly? When Evan had left her that cold little note six weeks ago, saying he was sorry but he needed to make a clean break and get back to his work, she had never felt so desolate or lonely in her life. Suddenly Greg’s betrayal and the subsequent truth of their marriage had paled almost into insignificance in comparison.

  It was Evan who had her heart…who would always have it, because she couldn’t ever be with anyone else now that he’d gone. And now she was going to have a child of her own. A baby they had made together. Whether he liked it or not, there would always be a part of him in her life once the baby came. In spite of her tears, Rowan couldn’t help but smile at that. She would be the best mother, she vowed silently, because fate had intervened and given her the much longed-for child she had always fantasised about. God moved in mysterious ways, people said…and as far as Rowan was concerned, they were right.

  Later on that evening, as she glanced round the interior of her sunny little cottage, fierce pleasure coursing through her at the sight of every beautifully decorated room, she knew she had come a long way from the shy, trusting girl she had been when she’d been married to Greg. All of a sudden she felt like a grown-up—a woman in charge of her own life, making her own decisions without deferring to a man. The fact that the man she loved wasn’t in her life right now wasn’t going to bring her to her knees, because even if Evan was adamant he could not commit to a proper relationship with her, she understood his fear and forgave him for it.

  Now, noting all the little carefully added personal touches, like books, mirrors, houseplants and prints, lovingly selected to enhance each room’s individuality, Rowan made her way slowly upstairs to the bedrooms. The sunny box room with its attractive leaded windows would make the perfect place to put her baby’s cot. But for the first couple of months she fully intended to have the infant in the same bedroom as herself, in a beautiful wooden cradle that she would scour the antique shops to find, then restore.

  In the middle of her plans, Rowan’s heart stalled. She would have to tell Evan about the baby. Oh, she knew already it wouldn’t make any difference to his decision about their relationship, but she refused to start off her baby’s life with a lie. Lies had played a big part in the desecration of her marriage to Greg—she was adamant that Evan would know the truth about the child they had created together, then it would be up to him whether he wanted to be involved in their lives or not. As she thought about that Rowan leant back against the wall, hugging herself, as if to protect both herself and the baby.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HIS long legs stuck out in front of him, his feet on the desk, Evan savoured the first quiet moment he’d had all day and briefly shut his eyes. Somewhere in the b
ack of his mind he registered the sound of the aerobics instructor, issuing orders to her class sergeant-major-like as pop music blared out from the music box she always toted with her. It was testimony to his single-mindedness that he was able to blank it out almost completely with thoughts about his plans for the weekend.

  He was going to visit Beth and the boys and spend some time with them. Instead of dropping by for five minutes then dashing back to work again he was going to stay around until Sunday, take them all out for lunch at one of London’s top hotels, followed by a trip to the cinema for the latest blockbuster action movie that they were all dying to see. Breathing out slowly, Evan continued to keep his eyes closed. His staff knew better than to disturb him when he was taking his now regular twenty-minute afternoon break. He’d instigated the new regime on his return from the Canary Islands, vowing to himself that he would never work himself into the ground again or compromise his health.

  He was starting to feel better. Everything was starting to feel better…except for the fact that he didn’t have Rowan in his life any more.

  His eyes flew open. Reaching for the cream vellum envelope he’d put in his ‘out’ tray, he stared at the familiar address on the front for a few seconds before dropping it back down on top of two other letters ready for the post. Swinging his legs off the desk, he stood up in a bid to try and contain the sudden restless wave of energy that was coursing through him. To distract himself he went to the water cooler and poured himself a drink. The knock on the door took him by surprise. Frowning, he turned towards it, ready to tear whoever it was off a strip for disturbing him when they’d been strictly briefed not to.

  ‘I thought I told you I wasn’t to be dist—’

  ‘Hello, Evan.’

  His heart started to pound at the sight of the woman he’d been so desperately determined not to think about. In a pink summer dress that floated down to her ankles, an array of colourful bangles adorning her wrists, her hair arranged in a loose topknot with golden tendrils floating loose around her ears, she was the epitome of grace and femininity. Somewhere in his chest Evan’s breath got trapped. ‘Rowan. Somebody should have told me you were here.’