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they d first bought the house. They d both liked the clean lines and restrained elegance of
it, but they almost never sat there eating dinner together. Their schedules had always
been too busy.
So it was strange to sit there, eating a meal he d prepared, watching her sit opposite
wearing nothing but one of his business shirts, her only other adornment the black cloud
of hair he was rapidly becoming obsessed with.
She wasn t the reserved, cool woman he d married now. She was someone else,
somehow different. And he found himself watching her, fascinated.
 This is good, she said, forking up some lamb.  Middle Eastern, right?
 It s a lamb tagine. From Morocco. You said you wanted to visit it once.
She raised a brow.  You remembered that?
Connor leaned back in his chair, idly playing with the glass of red wine he held.  The
night we met. At the law school ball. You said you wanted to travel and that you wanted
to go to Morocco.
 God, really? That was years ago.
It had been but it was fixed in his memory. She d worn a plain, classy black dress,
different to all the other women in their tight, glittery outfits. He d been drawn to her cool
intellect and the air of reserve about her, admiring both qualities. There had been
nothing overly passionate or intense about her and he d appreciated that. Been attracted
to it because it had suited him. He hadn t been looking for either passion or intensity.
 I still remember.
She gave him a look he couldn t interpret, then glanced away, chewing thoughtfully on
her lamb before swallowing and reaching for her wine.  Well, perhaps I ll actually get to
go while I m in England. Be nice to travel somewhere different.
He shifted in his chair, trying to tear his gaze from the view of her bare thighs he could
see through the glass of the tabletop. She had her legs tucked under her, the hem of the
shirt hiding the shadowed space between her thighs. But still he couldn t seem to stop
looking.
 What about Jessica? he asked, distracted.
There was a pause.
 I m not sure you have the right to ask me that question.
Her tone was cool, even. A return of the Victoria he d married, not the sexy woman
with the sensual smile who had greeted him in the kitchen earlier.
He finally tore his gaze from her legs and met her dark eyes. There was no heat in
them now, or that sensual amusement of before. They were cold, a door slamming shut
in his face.
It made him angry for some reason.  I don t care whether I have the right or not. Will
you let her know you re going?
Her face had gotten a hard, set look. The one she d had when he d confronted her
about the letter. The one that had so often been on her face the last couple of years.
 No, she said flatly.  I won t.
He should leave it alone, he really should. But he didn t.  Why not? Don t you think
she d want to know?
Carefully Victoria set her wine glass down.  I don t want to discuss Jessica with you,
Connor. So can we change the subject please?
 Why?
Her expression didn t change.  I m asking nicely.
No, he didn t want her looking at him like this. Like he was a stranger or one of her
colleagues, or someone she d only just met.
You were happy enough with it for five years.
Yeah, well, he wasn t happy with it anymore. Not now he knew what it was like when
she was wild with passion, when she looked at him with fire in her brown eyes, wanting
him. Needing him. He wanted more of that not this& cold, shutdown gaze.
 Fuck nicely, he said, deliberately coarse.  We ve had nice for too damn long, don t
you think? Why don t you just answer the question for once in your life?
And finally, her expression cracked, a hint of furious anger leaking out before she
looked away, back down at the table.  Fine. Then you can tell me about that tattoo on
your back. The one you ve never said a word about.
Fuck, turnabout was a bitch.
Silence fell, oppressive as storm clouds on a mountaintop.
You don t have to tell her everything. You don t have to tell her what a fucking
hypocrite you are and always have been.
Connor raised his glass and drained it, the wine sitting warm and heavy inside him.
 That tattoo? Okay, it s meant to be a reminder. Live by the sword, die by the sword. I
was eighteen when I got it so you ll forgive me if I m a little embarrassed about it now.
She stared at him, the surprise obvious on her face.  Oh. Why did you need a reminder
like that?
He d never mentioned his family to her. Not once. And he really didn t want to talk
about them now.  Because I grew up in a shitty area, around a lot of violence. And I
didn t want to turn into one of the people I grew up with. Does that answer your
question?
Her gaze held his for a second then it flickered away again, the set expression on her
face fading. But her mouth still had a tight cast to it.  Yes, she said after a moment.  It
does. She paused.  Jessica didn t ask me to contact her. So I ve decided to leave it at
that. There was no emotion in her voice, only a cool statement of fact.
Connor studied her. He couldn t tell what she was thinking, what she was feeling.
Whether this was painful or otherwise for her. But he remembered the way she d
absolutely refused to talk to him about the letter. About Jessica. And how, as she d
walked out of the house, he could have sworn he d seen the briefest flash of agony in her
eyes.
 Why? he said, pushing, even though he knew it wasn t a good idea.  Don t you want
to know about her?
 No. I think it s best if I don t. Her tone said plainly this was the end of the discussion.
But for some reason he couldn t leave it alone.  Why not? Don t you think your
daughter would want to know her mother?
 That s my decision, Connor.
 Are you afraid to meet her? Is that what the problem is?
She looked at him, her expression a mask.  It s got nothing to do with you, so how
about you stop asking me about it?
No, he was wrong. He did know what she was feeling. She was in pain, he could see it
now. In the way she avoided the subject, in the tightness around her eyes and mouth.
And it was so bloody obvious he didn t know why he d never seen it before.
Because you ve never seen her face relaxed in passion, in heat and pleasure before.
Now you know the difference.
Again that strange tightening in his chest. Like regret.
He held her gaze.  She wouldn t have sent that letter if she didn t want contact,
Victoria.
 Screw you, Victoria said abruptly, anger bleeding into her voice.  What gives you the
right to pass comment? You know nothing about either the situation or her, so why don t
you shut up? She shoved away her plate.  You wanted me to stay the night so I m
staying. But I m not having heart-to-heart chats about our lives, our marriage or anything
else. You wanted to fuck me, so fuck me.
Connor s blue-eyed gaze felt like broken glass cutting into her. Slicing deep into
sensitive flesh with the precision of a scalpel, excising the truth from her. And she held it
because to look away would mean he was right, she was afraid.
But he wasn t right. Jessica didn t want contact. If she had, she d have said something
in the letter and she hadn t. And Victoria was happy with that. It had been enough to
know her daughter had had a good life, a successful job, was loved by her adoptive
family. Enough to know her decision to give Jessica up for adoption had been the right
one. The only one.
She didn t need to know anything more.
But that didn t stop the dull ache that settled in her gut, the heavy familiar feeling of
guilt. A guilt she d spent years and years pretending she didn t feel.
That was the problem with emotions. You let one in and a whole lot more started
piling in on top of them. God, she should never have started this with Connor. Never.
Admitting to lust, to desire, had been a mistake. Yet now she couldn t get enough. It was
all she d thought about since she d come downstairs wearing his shirt. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]