Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I N NO MOOD for candles, Grace flicked on the Do Not Disturb light and took off her clothes and curled up in bed.
It was pouring again, the rainwater cascading off the towers and sliding down the glass windows. It looked cold and wintry outside, though she knew it was hot.
The reverse of Carter.
Sitting in that room with Jonathon had hurt, but she’d already pretty much known Carter’s take on fatherhood.
And she didn’t know if she was angry because he didn’t want a baby that might not even exist, or hurting because he could not, would not, did not love her.
It felt back to front to be considering saying no to marriage because she loved the groom—far too much!
Carter didn’t exactly rush dinner, and the towers were in darkness by the time he came back to their bedroom.
He saw Grace close her eyes as he undressed.
‘I know you’re awake,’ Carter said.
She didn’t answer.
He climbed into bed and lay there for ages.
‘Definitely awake...’ he said into the dark silence.
He was going back into the jungle to find hope for them, but he might be losing her in the process. Only he didn’t know how to reach out. How to explain that he didn’t know what he’d find there—or, worse, would come back the same? Closed off and cold. Great for sex and money, just not for the love she silently demanded.
She finally fell asleep. Carter knew because she rolled into him. And he lay there trying to work out the route he’d be taking in the jungle.
Every time he closed his eyes he felt as if he was perched up high, flying over Kuala Lumpur, or high in the jungle, looking for the banyan tree, or some familiar sign...
He snapped his eyes open, felt the relief of her limbs around his and her head on his chest, and he didn’t even attempt to lever her off....
Damn you, Arif.
If the windows here opened he’d take that damn silver teething ring and toss it out now...
He closed his eyes, only he saw his brother again, peering over his mother’s shoulder. Hugo’s fat hand reaching out. And there was a scream building, his body paralysed as his heart beat a tattoo in his chest, and he shot awake, felt the icy drench of sweat as he gulped in air.
Grace could feel his hand on her arm, and she felt as if her body was a cheat—because it disobeyed her strict orders to turn away, or return to its corner and come out fresh for the next round. She didn’t want this fight, if that was what they were having.
‘You’re lying to me,’ Grace said into the dark. ‘I don’t know about what, I just know that you are.’
‘Grace...’
He didn’t deny it, instead he silenced he questions the best way he knew how.
For the first time she felt guilty at the pleasure of his kiss—as if her hurt should somehow erase her want.
But not guilty enough to stop.
It was a temporary solution, but she would take the relief, and she sank into him and kissed him back as if they were lovers who’d been parted for a decade. Or strangers who’d met in the dark and would be gone by light.
When he rolled her onto her back she was possibly forgiving them both their careless mistake that first night, because she was panting as he sheathed himself, holding the sheet rather than grabbing at him as he rolled it on, and she moaned in relief when he slipped in.
It was eyes closed and private, neither wanting to look at the other as they pushed hurt aside and caved in to desire, and in that Grace knew they were agreed.
She had never thought she could want and feel wanted, could trust another person the way she trusted him when she was in his arms, could feel—for now, at least—together with him in a place they could meet and agree.
‘Grace...’
He was not holding back, and he pushed her to new limits. And he made her a noisy lover.
The only thing she held back were the words from her heart. Because she would never, ever say it—never admit it, even as he came deep inside her, even as her body arched and orgasmed at his bidding.
She would deny to his face, if she had to, that this was love.