“Does it matter?”
Part of her wanted to let it drop, but she couldn’t. Not this time. “Given a baby is now a possibility, then, yes, I think it matters.”
“Things were perfect between us as they were.” He shrugged, but his entire body was too tense for it to be the casual gesture he would have intended. “Why change something good? Why risk it?”
“What if they could be even better?”
He gave a cynical snort. “There’s no guarantee they’d be better. Sometimes things get worse.”
“You’re talking about your family, aren’t you?” she asked softly.
With restless movements, he turned away. “They’re a good example.”
His parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins were more concerned with presenting a picture of the perfect family than actually being one. She’d picked up that much, but Samuel himself had never shared many details with her about his childhood. If she’d brought the topic up, he’d brush her off by saying he didn’t want to think about it, and then change the subject.
“Samuel, was it that bad? Growing up with them?”
His lips flattened to a cold, hard line. “The Ruxthorns have a tradition of failing the children in their charge, but compared to some others, I had it easy.”
She frowned as she thought of his sister, Emma, and his cousins, wondering who and what he meant, but she needed to stay focused. He hadn’t shared this much of himself before and if she was to get the answers she was after, she could only follow one track at a time.
“It wouldn’t have been like that for us. We’re different people to them.”
“No, Maddy. You’re different. I’m a Ruxthorn through and through. You should know that better than anyone—” he arched one dark eyebrow “—you’re the wife who left me.”
“That’s not fair to either one of us. I never doubted your ability to create a loving family with me for a baby.”
He rubbed a finger across his forehead. “As I said, children and my family aren’t a good combination.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
She narrowed her eyes as she tried to work out if he was serious or not. His face had none of the hints of teasing that were evident when he bantered with her, but none of this made sense. “So, you’re telling me you refused to bring a baby into the world in order to protect it from having you as a father?”
“Yes.”
The hardness in his gaze left her in no doubt he was one-hundred-percent serious. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to see this from his perspective.
“But don’t you see that already places you ahead of your family? You’re already putting your potential children first. Trying to protect them.”
“From me,” he said slowly, as if to make the point clear.
He couldn’t honestly believe that? Surely not. “That’s crazy. I’ve seen you with Lochie. You’re great with him.”
“That’s not the same thing, Maddy,” he said through a tight jaw.
He was right, they weren’t the same, but she was right too. “There’s more to this than you’re telling me.”
“Maybe,” he said, scowling.
“You know, this is the first time you’ve opened up this much.” Even though it was only a snippet, it was more than she’d expected. “Why won’t you just tell me the rest?”
His face darkened. “Maddy, leave it alone. Nothing good can come from probing into things that should be left as they are.”
She was desperate to know more—she had a feeling that the reason her marriage had failed was down one of those paths Samuel refused to take her. But, from his expression, he’d been pushed as far as he could go for now. She’d bide her time and hope another opportunity arose before she left the island. And in the meantime, she needed to remain focused on their present situation.
“So if I’m pregnant….” She left the sentence hanging, and waited for him to fill it in.
He didn’t reply at first, then blew out a long breath. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Everything inside her reared up in disagreement. How could they be at absolute opposite ends of the spectrum on such an important issue?
She pressed two fingertips to her lips, and waited a beat before she found her voice again. “And if I’m not pregnant…?”
“We’ll all have dodged a bullet.”
The words stung, even though she knew he meant the baby would have made the luckiest escape of them all. Escaping having him as a father. Which was ridiculous—Samuel had such a beautiful heart. He’d make an amazing father. Why couldn’t he see that? Why was he so convinced he’d make a bad parent?
Her hand crept to her belly, imagining that even now she might be carrying their baby. And she made a vow. If it had happened, if they’d made a new life today, she’d never let their child feel unwanted. Never. No matter what.
CHAPTER TEN
That night Maddy was humming to herself as she cooked dinner in Samuel’s kitchen. She knew he hadn’t been keen for them to eat together, but making love and discussing his past today had changed things between them. She still wasn’t sure if it had made those things better or worse, but at least they could be in the same room now. So she was rolling with it and cooking them a meal. It was just a simple pasta sauce, using tins of tomatoes and some produce from the vegetable patch that she’d found in the fridge, but it would be warm, unlike the weather.
Or Samuel’s mood when she’d asked him about babies….
She was just bringing water to the boil when she felt his presence, and turned to find him in the doorway. The sight of him, every bit the big bad wolf he claimed to be, stole all the air from her lungs. She was beginning to think no man would ever affect her the way this one did.
“Are you here to help?” she asked, trying to gauge his mood.
“Nope.” He moved through the room to collect a short glass and a bottle of scotch. After pouring himself two fingers, he leaned back against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles, and took a sip, watching her over the rim.
“So you’re here to make sure I don’t steal the silver?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
One corner of his mouth kicked up, almost reluctantly. “Maybe I want to be sure you don’t hide a knife for later.”
He made her a little dizzy just by leaning with all his masculine grace, sipping his scotch. Watching her. It would be so easy to slip back into old routines—them together in the kitchen at night. Making love on the dining table after dinner. Sometimes during, if they couldn’t wait. Her skin heated at the memories.
But it had taken her three years to get over him, and she’d already set herself back by making love this afternoon. Sleeping with him again, purposefully letting herself become attached again, would be setting herself up for untold grief. Self-destructive behavior.
He could shoot her all the brooding looks he wanted. She was not going down that path again.
“So,” he said in a deceptively casual tone, “tell me the real reason you gave up on your dreams of a career as a photographer.”
She poured the pasta into the boiling water, giving herself a moment to think. It was a personal question, sure, and she’d just decided to keep a little distance between them, but something else was tugging at her. Something stronger than the need to keep the boundaries of their new relationship in place. Something as familiar as making love with him.
When they’d been married, Samuel had regularly asked probing questions, as if wanting to know what made her tick. But if she asked a deep question back, he was less obliging. He’d always do it politely, giving her half an answer, or segueing into another subject, but it had stung nonetheless. Perhaps it had been a symptom of their whirlwind romance—at the start she’d naïvely believed they knew all they needed because their connection was so strong, and then when she’d wanted more, they were already in a routine of him not sharing.
Things had changed between them now, and there were t
hings she wanted to know.
She turned to face him, resting her hands on her hips. “How about we try something. I’ll give you a real, honest answer if you do the same for one of my questions.”
His gaze was immediately wary. “What kind of question?”
“A personal one,” she said.
He took an uneasy breath and set down his glass. “I’m not playing games. I’ll be in—”
In the past, she would have let him go, but she had nothing to lose now, so she interrupted him. “You said you were more open with me than with anyone else. Prove it.”
He hesitated and she could see his mind was busy weighing up the pros and cons, the angles and the risks.
“One question, Samuel. What can it hurt?”
His spine straightened as if expecting an ambush, and he nodded once. “Ask.”
There were so many possibilities, so many questions she’d always wanted answered, but, perhaps because it was Christmas Eve, one in particular rose above the rest. “Why do you hate Christmas?”
He tensed, even his breath seemed to stop, but his eyes widened as if trapped in headlights. Then he waved a hand dismissively and picked up his glass.
“You know my family,” he said, then took a sip of his scotch. “Family gatherings at Christmas were nothing to look forward to.”
A reasonable answer—she had met his family. Besides Emma and her husband Craig, she’d never enjoyed time with them. However, despite it being a reasonable answer, she knew deep in her bones that it wasn’t the whole one.
“The deal was for a real and honest answer.” She gave him a pointed look. “What’s the rest of the story?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up then down. “That’s all—”
Once again she interrupted him. “Come on, Samuel. Just tell me.”
The glass in his hand trembled and he swiftly put it down on the counter. Her stomach clenched—what had she started? She’d expected something like his All About Appearances mother never letting him touch the tree or to help with decorations, but the uneasy prickle across her skin told her this was something worse.
She switched the stovetop off and moved closer, not crowding, but offering support if he wanted it. “Samuel?”
“I had…” he began, but left it hanging. He rubbed a hand down his face, and when he moved it away he seemed to have aged an eon. “Victoria.”
Victoria? She searched her memory for who he could mean. An ex-girlfriend, perhaps?
“Who’s Victoria?” she asked softly.
His chest rose and fell, once, twice, and he turned his gaze to the window. “My little sister.”
Maddy stilled. Never in her wildest imaginings had she expected those three words. Had she misunderstood?
“You and Emma have a sister?”
“Had,” he said through a clenched jaw. “She died when she was three-months-old. At Christmas.”
“Oh, Samuel.” Her heart tore in two. No wonder he hated this time of year. If she’d known years ago, she’d never have pushed him to join in the festive spirit when he was hurting. “How?”
Every muscle in his body seemed to jerk, as if she’d slapped him. “That’s another question.” He downed the rest of the scotch in his glass and turned determined eyes to her. “I answered one, so it’s your turn.”
After he’d dropped that bombshell? “We can finish the game later.” This was so much more important—he’d had a sister that he’d never even mentioned to his wife. “Samuel, what happened to Victoria?”
The determination in his gaze fell away revealing stark terror for a fleeting second before his head swung to the window. “I need another drink.” But he made no move to get one, just stood, rooted to the spot.
And she understood—it wasn’t that he wouldn’t tell her. He couldn’t. Something awful had happened to Victoria, something he couldn’t bear thinking about.
“Why don’t we finish the game after dinner?” she said gently. “Telling me about Victoria couldn’t have been easy.”
He rolled his shoulders as if easing the tension, and turned back to her, his mask slipping back into place. “To be honest, I’d rather think about something else. And this was your game.”
She nodded. She’d pushed him into sharing an awful memory—even if it was only a snippet of it—so she owed him this. “Okay. Sure”
“Why did you give up on photography?” he asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest and looking far more comfortable being the one putting her on the spot than the one answering questions. “Really.”
The urge to squirm or shy away from the question was strong, especially since it was Samuel asking the question, but he’d given her an honest answer, and she owed him as much.
So she steeled herself, and told him the truth. “Since I left…you, I haven’t been taking photos. I… haven’t had the creative urge.”
“I found writing hard after you left, too,” he said, his voice heavy, as if weighed down by the baggage of all that had happened between them.
“How did you move past it?”
He let out a harsh laugh. “Deadlines.”
Guilt rose up, threatening to engulf her. Leaving had been the right thing to do, she still believed that, but more than anything she wished she’d been able to do that without hurting him.
No, that was a lie. More than anything she wished there had been a miracle and she hadn’t needed to leave him in the first place. But instead of saying any of that, she simply nodded, turned the stove on again, and stirred the pasta sauce.
Samuel poured himself another scotch to give his hands something to do so they wouldn’t reach for Maddy. His body was insisting on grabbing her shoulders and pinning her to the wall as he made love to her again. Or the table, he wasn’t fussy as long as it was Maddy, warm and wanting him. But it was a bad, bad idea. She was waiting for the weather to clear to leave him again.
“So you’re still not going to help?” she asked as she threw the tinned tomatoes into the pot that sizzled with frying onion and garlic.
If he helped her, even a little, it would be letting down his guard, and there had been enough of that today already. They used to cook together, sometimes sharing a bottle of wine as they did, often sharing a steamy kiss or two as well. The first step toward letting himself reach for her—or worse, hope for more—was helping her cook. He needed his guard up as high as he could keep it. Letting her draw him out on Victoria—something he’d never spoken about with anyone, even his sister Emma—proved just how much Maddy still owned him.
“No,” he said simply.
She arched an eyebrow at him. He ignored it and took another sip of the smooth scotch. He should leave the kitchen, take himself as far away from temptation as he could, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The weather could clear tomorrow and she’d leave with the signed divorce papers in hand. This might be the last time she was this close. The last time he could smell her scent around him. His last chance to memorize the slope of her neck, the shape of her cheek. So, he stood and watched her cook, tormenting himself with impossible dreams.
Of course, if she was pregnant, that would be a whole other ballgame….
He watched her gracefully move from chopping board to pot, her hips swaying with the movement, her hair sliding against her shoulders. If she was pregnant with his baby, would the child have her curly hair or take after him, thick and dark? If the babe was lucky, it would have her whiskey-brown eyes. And her smile—Maddy had a great smile. When she was happy, her smile lit up her face. Lit up the whole room. Lit up his heart. He visualized her holding a little girl of three or four, their matching smiles radiating out love and warmth, and for a sweet, agonizing instant, he wanted to be part of that. Desperately wanted to be the father of her child.
But it was a pipe dream. He couldn’t be trusted with a baby, even his own.
And he’d never offer Maddy his heart on a platter again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Maddy kicked the sheets off an
d stared at the moonlit ceiling. After she and Samuel both revealed so much while she’d been cooking, they’d spent the rest of the night dancing around each other. She’d been re-evaluating their marriage—no, their entire relationship since the day they’d met—taking Victoria into account. Samuel’s dislike for Christmas, his reluctance to have a baby, her sense that he had secrets in his past that he wasn’t sharing with her.
Things were starting to make more sense, and her heart ached for him.
They’d turned a corner with his admission tonight, and she could see a faint, flickering light at the end of the tunnel. If he was starting to open up to her, really open up, and if his unwillingness to become a father was something that could be worked through, then perhaps, just perhaps, there was hope for them after all.
But hope wasn’t the only thing that the events of the day had triggered.
She’d told him the wanting had never left, and that was true. But making love with him again, having the feel of him so fresh in her mind, had amplified the wanting a thousand-fold. Even lying here, when he wasn’t in sight, her skin was burning hot, desperate for his touch. She shifted against the sheets, restless for him.
Would he welcome her if she went to him now?
The way he’d watched her while she cooked showed that his need hadn’t been slaked by their lovemaking either, but he hadn’t shown even a glimmer of invitation when he’d turned in for the night.
There was only one way to find out. She slipped from the bed, and headed for his room at the other end of the house. Rain had finally stopped falling and the clouds had cleared a little to let the moonlight through, enough to light her way.
When she reached the entrance to his room, she paused, watching him for a stolen moment. He was awake, sitting up against the headboard, the snowy white sheet draped over his lap, with his gaze fixed on the waves crashing against the shore through the window. Instinctively, she imagined him framed through a camera lens, imagined capturing his masculine majesty. But the sight was too private to share, she was greedy enough to want it all for herself.
She knocked on the open door, her pulse already picking up speed in delicious anticipation.
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