Chapter 5
Had that just happened? Had that really happened?
She stood with her back against the door she’d just slammed, feeling bewildered, feeling numb.
Jack was sorry that he’d ever kissed her.
The pain in her heart was so excruciating, so all-consuming, she pressed her hands to her chest to try to assuage the pressure.
Her eyes burned like he’d thrown acid in them.
She couldn’t take a deep breath. His words “I am sorry” had reduced her to a shell.
A shell of the person who used to be Darcy Turner.
She sat down on the bed in his guest room, her whole body aching as she concluded the truth of the facts as she saw them. Binding or not, he doesn’t want you anymore. And once the threat of Lela has passed, his obligation to you will be met, and he’ll be gone.
A new wave of searing pain accompanied this realization and knocked the wind out of her lungs.
She felt the same strangling sensation she’d felt as a teenager in the girls’ bathroom with Willow when she’d learned he had moved away and was never coming back.
When she had thought to herself, I don’t belong to you, after all, and you don’t belong to me.
Only this time, it wasn’t about whether or not she belonged to Jack.
It was about him not wanting her in spite of the fact that she did.
She lay back on the bed, resting her head on her pillow, and drew her knees to her chest, words entering her consciousness and refusing to leave.
Belonging to someone like you belong to Jack is an “all in” sort of true love, Darcy, and you’ve just realized you’re “all in” too late.
Her face crumpled, and she held herself, sobbing quietly, until she finally fell asleep.
She woke up a few hours later feeling…awful.
Her eyes burned from so many tears, and her face was puffy and hot.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked out the window at the setting sun.
The days were getting longer now, but the rain continued, making it darker early today.
She was grateful for the grayness of the early evening.
Sunshine would have just compounded her sorrow at wanting something that was no longer hers.
No longer hers. The words shredded her composure, and she hugged herself, wishing that her body didn’t want him.
Wishing she didn’t love him.
Wishing that she didn’t want him in her life.
But her body longed for his, her heart belonged to him, and life simply wasn’t worth living without him.
Whether it was the binding or her own feelings, it didn’t matter anymore.
Whether he shifted into a Roux-ga-roux for three nights a month didn’t matter.
She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, and he had, in fact, structured his life in such a way that he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.
In truth, nothing mattered. Nothing mattered but Jack.
The loss of his warmth and intimacy after a lifetime of feeling his presence?
The mere thought of him with another woman?
She couldn’t bear it. Belonging to Jack wasn’t about some kiss when she was a kid.
It was about her heart recognizing his in the great, gray chaos of the world and claiming it.
Her mind had accepted the truth a few days too late.
It wasn’t about loving him when it made sense.
It was about loving him even when it didn’t.
She slid her body to the edge of the bed until her feet touched the floor and, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, made her way to the window.
The rain on the glass blurred the scene before her.
She could make out the stream that had burgeoned from the rainfall, rushing in white foam over the almost-covered rocks.
Her eyes moved to the right toward the rustic bridge, taking in the small patch of bright green courtyard almost directly below her room.
She looked all the way over to the garage and thought, for a moment, that she saw Jack looking up at her from in front of the garage, eyes blazing gold.
Say it again.
His voice was so clear in her head, it was as though he had whispered in her ear.
She whipped her neck around, but the door to her room was closed, and she was still completely alone.
She turned back around and rubbed at the glass to clear the fog of her breath.
But if he had been standing by the garage, he wasn’t now. She didn’t see anyone.
Say it again. Hmm. That’s what he’d said yesterday when she’d blurted out that she had loved him her whole life.
Say it again. He’d begged her with his eyes, but she had refused.
But why would he have said that if he’d only returned out of duty to her?
Why would her declaration of love matter to him if he didn’t love her back, if he wished he’d never been bound to her?
Why would he demand with such fierce intensity that she say the words again if they were meaningless to him?
She stepped back until her thighs hit the mattress, and she lowered herself slowly to the bed.
Was it possible that it wasn’t too late?
After all the terrible things she’d said to him, that maybe he hadn’t given up on her?
That he had returned not just out of duty, but out of love?
Was it possible that after she’d yelled at him, insulted him, and rejected him, he could still love her?
“Say it again,” she whispered aloud. She took a deep breath and sighed. Please let him still love me. Please.
She took a shaky breath, pulling on the surrounding blanket.
One thing was certain, she couldn’t bear to let him know she loved him, only to be rebuffed, to discover that when his duty was fulfilled, he’d be leaving her. As much as she wanted him, needed him in her life, she also needed some sign that he still belonged to her.
She swallowed, feeling stronger. If he still loved her, still wanted her, all she needed was a word, a look—anything, anything to give her courage—and she’d willingly fall into his arms and never leave them again.
She’d stayed in her room for the rest of the day, not even opening the door when he asked if she’d join him and Julien for dinner.
“No, thanks,” she’d responded softly. He’d heard the hurt in her voice and that, along with her absence, was really starting to bother him.
As he lay in bed that night, acutely aware of her just a few feet down the hallway, he started to have second thoughts about the waning merits of Operation Give-Darcy-Space.
Showing her what life would look like without their intimate connection was forcing her to think about him, yes.
But maybe he’d overplayed his hand by allowing her to believe that he regretted the binding.
Maybe Julien was right, and women did hate too much space.
Jack took a deep breath, determined to try a slightly softer approach tomorrow.
The next morning, she walked into the kitchen wearing a pair of flimsy, silky pajamas like she used to wear when she lived in Boston: short-cut boxers and a tank top that skimmed her breasts and left nothing to the imagination.
She poured herself a cup of coffee, grabbed a banana, turned, and walked right back upstairs to her room without looking at him or saying a word.
He scowled at his omnipresent erection, watching her hips sway gently as she headed back toward the stairs. This was getting ridiculous now.
He sat at the kitchen table for an hour, hoping she’d come back down, but she didn’t. By midmorning, he couldn’t take it anymore. He rapped lightly on her door, armed with the best enticement he could think of, and ready to set misinformation to right.
“Darcy?”
“What?” Her voice was soft and vulnerable, and felt too far away.
He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling like an idiot talking to her door. “The, uh, the rain’s finally stopped. Want to come for a walk in the garden? I haven’t showed it to you yet.”
Silence. He knew she would want to. He had a sense that it bothered her to be cooped up as much as it did him, and by now, she must be going a little crazy. But she didn’t answer. He couldn’t hear a sound through the door.
Time to employ that softer approach, Jack.
“I, uh…I miss you, and I was hoping we could talk, Darcy. Will you please—”
He heard her feet hit the floor and take two steps toward the door. She opened it and stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her silky little top.
The sight of her so close after hours of having her so far away gave him relief and started a burning inside of him at the same time.
Damn it, he wanted her more than ever and felt his body hardening as he looked slowly up and down her form, missing nothing, missing everything.
Would he ever be able to control his longing for her? Ever?
His hungry eyes finally made their way back to her face. She’d been crying, and she also looked nervous, like she was a little wary of him, but there was something else almost buried beneath the baggage. Hope.
“I didn’t know you had a garden,” she said softly in a small voice.
He was surprised that while her tone wasn’t exactly warm, it wasn’t especially cool either.
He couldn’t very well keep letting his gaze drop up and down her body, so he glanced over her shoulder into her room and noticed the bed covered with papers, books, and her laptop.
She’d been working. He was glad of that.
“I’ll give you a tour if you come down.”
She seemed to consider this for a moment, and he suddenly worried she’d refuse him and shut the door. He couldn’t let that happen. He looked at her directly, holding her green, worried eyes tenderly.
Please, Darcy.
Her eyes widened a fraction as she sucked in a surprised breath and a sudden, relieved smile tilted the corners of her mouth upward as though she recognized him, as though she’d been waiting for him. Seeing her so vulnerable, her face so naked and open, made his breath catch.
It’s you, Jack. You’re back.