Chapter Nine
Henry
Christ, what on earth happened when Juliette got home this morning? She’s scraped all that magnificent hair up into a tiny, tight bun—I have no idea how she’s managed that—and she’s wearing black leggings and a white top that clings to her figure, revealing that she’s definitely lost weight over the past few months. The top has a collar she’s turned up, presumably to hide the hickey I gave her. She looks pale and thoroughly miserable. I can’t help but feel relieved that it probably means all isn’t rosy between her and Cam, but I feel bad that I might be the cause of some of her unhappiness.
James and Tyson are talking, but Alex is watching her as she turns the sides of the cube. He looks at me then, and frowns.
Feeling like a naughty schoolboy, I study my laptop, pretending to find whatever article I was reading fascinating.
“Do you think it’s worth us actually taking one of the patients to Sydney?” Tyson asks. “Juliette, what do you think?”
She’s silent, and we all look at her to find her lost in thought, still turning the Rubik’s Cube.
When I first came into the boardroom this morning, James was making himself a coffee. He looked fed up, and when he’d finished stirring his drink, he tossed the spoon onto the table with a clatter that illustrated his frustration before he saw me.
“How are you doing?” he asked me.
“As well as you, by the look of it,” I replied.
“Yeah,” he said. That was the extent of our conversation, but it was enough to tell me that last night with Aroha hadn’t gone as planned, either.
Now, he glances at Alex, who’s tapping on the table with his pen, then back at me, grimacing as he silently acknowledges our shared culpability.
Tyson clears his throat. “Juliette?”
Her head snaps up. “Oh. Sorry?”
“I was just wondering if it was worth taking one of your patients to Sydney for the conference? First-hand experience, you know?”
“Oh, um, maybe. Although a series of case studies might be less trouble.”
“Yeah, true.”
She finishes turning the cube and slides it across to me. I glance at her hand, with its long, slender fingers, remembering how they slipped beneath my Henley and splayed on my back, exploring my muscles as I kissed her. She meets my gaze, and we stare at each other for about ten seconds as my heart rate slowly climbs.
Then she lowers her eyes. Sighing inwardly, I pick up the cube and start doing it again.
Alex begins going through what’s happening today, and I try to listen, but it’s impossible to concentrate with Juliette beside me, silent and obviously unhappy. It doesn’t help matters when a text pings up on my phone from Rangi.
I pick it up and glance at it. It just says two words. She’s pregnant.
I sigh, and only realize it was audible when James says, “What’s up?”
“I saw my nephew this morning. He told me he thought his girlfriend was pregnant. I bought him a test, and he’s just texted to say it was positive.”
They all groan, and Juliette says, “Oh no.”
“How old is he again?” James asks.
“They’re both sixteen.”
“Silly fucker,” Tyson says.
“Yeah. He’s a good lad, and he’s not stupid, but honestly, the education these schools are giving them… He seemed puzzled as to how it happened, then told me he used the withdrawal method.”
They all snort.
“And then when I bought him the pregnancy test, he asked whether he had to pee on the stick or whether she did.”
That makes them all laugh. It’s good to see Juliette smiling.
“What’s he going to do?” she asks.
“Dunno yet. I’ll go and see him later.”
“Okay, I don’t have anything else,” Alex says, and the others shake their heads.
“The party starts at one,” Juliette states. “You’re all expected to be there.”
“Yeah, yeah.” James gathers his stuff and heads out.
Tyson watches him go, then says, amused, “What happened with him and Aroha last night?”
“Don’t know,” Alex replies. “He won’t talk about it.”
Tyson chuckles, closes his laptop, and leaves the room.
Juliette and I stand, but Alex says, “Henry, a moment, please?”
Juliette picks up her laptop and, without saying anything else, follows Tyson out. The doors slide closed behind her.
I look at Alex. He’s leaning back in his chair, turning his pen in his fingers.
“Are you still on to play Santa at the party?” he asks.
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
I look at my laptop screen for a moment. He doesn’t say anything, just continues to watch me. Eventually, I lean back and meet his eyes.
“What happened last night?” he asks.
“It’s none of your business.”
“It is if it affects Kia Kaha.” He gives me a direct look. “You know the company’s policy on relationships at work. We have to set an example to the staff, and it doesn’t look great if we’re having one-night stands or getting sued for sexual harassment.”
“Jesus Christ. Juliette’s not going to sue me.”
“I’m just saying we need to be careful.”
I get up and close my laptop. “I’m Head of HR. If I need to report anything, I’ll have a meeting with myself.”
He points his pen at me. “Stop with the sarcasm and sit down. This conversation isn’t over.”
The senior management team are all on equal footing at Kia Kaha. It’s true that it’s kind of unspoken that Alex is in charge, but we’ve never discussed it, and we’ve certainly never voted him as our leader.
I’m older than him, too, even if it’s only by a few months, and I bristle. “Don’t fucking tell me to sit down like a five-year-old.”
“Stop acting like a five-year-old and I won’t treat you like one.”
“You really want to do this? I’m two inches taller than you and about twenty pounds heavier.”
“Yeah,” he says sarcastically, leaning forward, “because what we need to do in a boardroom with glass walls is wrestle like a couple of teenagers.”
We glare at each other. Then, eventually, he leans back and says mildly, “Anyway, I dance like a butterfly. You’d have to catch me first.”
That makes me give a short laugh. Blowing out a breath, I lower into the chair, flop back, and give a heavy sigh.
“So it was a one-night stand?” he asks.
“No,” I reply.
He lifts an eyebrow.
“Probably not,” I add. “The jury’s out.”
His expression softens. “What happened with Cam?”
“I thought it was over. So did she, I think. I haven’t spoken to her this morning, so I don’t know what happened when she got home. I’ll go and talk to her in a minute.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“Alex, I really don’t need your help with this.”
“Oh, I think we both know that’s not true. Look, don’t come down too heavy on her.”
I remember my words to her: You think I’m going to let you go now I know how much you want me? I try not to wince.
“I’m not going to let her slip through my fingers when I know she wants to be with me,” I tell him.
“She’s been with the guy a long time. And we both know Juliette. If you want her to do something, the best way is to make her think she came up with the idea herself.”
My irritation fades. I thought Alex was only concerned about the company, but I should have known better.
“Just be careful,” he says softly. “I know how you feel about her, and this isn’t going to end well if you try and force her hand.”
I sulk, but I know he’s right. “When did you become all wise and holier than thou?” I grumble.
“Last night,” he says, and smiles.
My eyebrows rise. “Did you and Missie…”
He shakes his head. “I walked her home, and I was the perfect gentleman. Mainly because her mother and son were in the house.” We exchange wry smiles. Dating was a lot easier when we were at uni!
“She’s coming over for dinner tomorrow, though,” he adds, and his eyes sparkle.
“Ah, I’m pleased for you, bro. Are you asking her to the wedding?” Our friend Damon is getting married after Christmas, and we’re all flying up to attend it. All our invitations state we’re welcome to bring a plus-one.
“Yeah, I might well do that,” he says. “What about Juliette? Do you think she’ll bring Cam?”
I go cold at the thought. “Jesus, I hope not.” Frowning, I get to my feet. “I need to talk to her.”
“All right. Like I said, give her space. You might have to wait for her to sort things out.”
I walk to the doors, then hesitate. “Waiting isn’t my strong point.”
“I’ve waited a whole year for Missie,” he says, gathering up his things. “Hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, so I sympathize, but she’ll be worth it.”
“Hmm.” I run my tongue over my top teeth, then head along the corridor.
I want to tell him that I’ve waited six years for Juliette, but it’s not the same as he and Missie. I was with Shaz for much of that time, and Juliette was with Cam, so it wasn’t waiting in the truest sense. And although I told Juliette that my marriage was over in March, there were no signs of her leaving Cam, so I assumed she wasn’t interested in me.
Technically, I haven’t been waiting for that long. So why does it fucking feel like it?
I drop my laptop off in my office, then continue to the treatment block. She might be in an appointment, in the middle of strapping a patient into MAX or THOR—the robotic exoskeletons. But as I approach the area where the physios are based, I hear her in her office talking to Rose, and my pulse picks up.
I stop in the doorway and lean on the door jamb, waiting for her to finish her conversation. She doesn’t spot me at first, and it’s only when Rose smiles at me that Juliette turns. I watch her inhale sharply, then drop her gaze to her desk and shuffle papers about as she tries to gather her wits. Rose gives me an amused look, obviously realizing something’s going on, then says, “I’ll get that typed up by midday.”
“Thanks,” Juliette says. “Um…” She looks up in alarm as Rose goes to leave.
“Yes?” Rose asks.
Juliette obviously can’t think of a way to keep her in the room, and mumbles, “Nothing.”
Rose meets my eyes, tries not to laugh, and goes out.
I close the door behind her, and Juliette’s eyes widen. “Don’t do that,” she says. “People will talk.”
“No, they won’t. We have meetings all the time. That’s your guilty conscience talking.”
She glares at me, then shuffles her papers again. “Probably,” she admits grumpily.
I walk over to the window. This office looks out onto what we call The Square—an appropriately named area of lawn with carefully tended trees and flowerbeds, and garden benches where members of staff sometimes have lunch. I take the cord to the vertical blinds and pull it to close them.
“What are you doing!” she exclaims.
“Relax. I’m not about to do you on the desk.” I tip my head to the side and study her, taking in her small, high breasts in the tight top, and her shapely thighs in the leggings. “Probably.”
“Henry!” She walks around the desk so it’s between us.
I chuckle. Then my smile fades at her obvious distress. “What happened this morning?” I ask, sitting on the edge of her desk.
She wraps her arms tightly around herself, like a shield. “Cam was there when I got home.”
Fuck. “What did he say?”
“He asked where I’d been.” She swallows hard. “I told him I’d stayed in a hotel because I didn’t want to go home.” She meets my gaze for a moment, then looks down at the floor.
She didn’t tell him about me.
“You’re staying,” I say flatly. A statement, not a question.
She doesn’t reply for a moment. Then she says, “I think it’s the first time he’s ever understood that I might leave. He said he realized he’d taken me for granted, and he wants to try to put it right.”
I don’t say anything, my heart sinking.
“He asked me not to throw away the seven years we’ve had together. And he asked me to go home tonight, so we can talk some more.”
Silence falls between us. I try to slow my breathing as my chest heaves. She stares miserably at the floor.
Eventually, I say, “You don’t look like a woman whose partner has told her she should be worshiped. That he’s going to treat her like a queen.”
She gives me an exhausted, wry look.
“Has he said he won’t ask you to do the things you don’t want to do in bed?” I get up and walk around the desk to stand before her. She doesn’t move away, but she does study me warily.
I fix her gaze with mine. “Did he tell you that he wants you? Desires you? That he’s going to devote every minute to loving you?”
She flinches as I turn her words from last night on her, but doesn’t answer, which informs me that he hasn’t said anything like that.
Instead, she says, “He needs me.”
“Are you prepared for things to continue the way they were?” I demand.
“No,” she says.
“Do you think he can change?”
“I don’t know.” She presses the heel of her hand between her brows, over her bindi. “I just feel that I have to try. I owe him that, don’t I?”
“Are you really asking me?”
She gives a short laugh and lowers her hand. “No.”
“You’ve given him seven years and plenty of chances to change, and to treat you the way you want—no, you deserve—to be treated. But he hasn’t. You don’t owe him anything.”
She trembles, giving a shaky sigh, and rubs her nose. I’m so frustrated, I want to shake her, to force some sense into her. But instead I can only stand there, aching for her, feeling as if she’s on a raft caught by a riptide that’s going to sweep her away.
I wait for her to turn, or even order me to leave.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she moves forward the short distance that’s separating us and rests her forehead on my shoulder.
Shocked, I stand there for a few seconds, not sure how to respond. As she doesn’t move away, though, I slowly lift my arms around her.
Moving up close, she turns her head and rests her cheek on my shoulder. Aaahhh… she feels small and slight in my arms, and I feel an overwhelming urge to protect her.
I rub her back, moving my hand in a circle, and she nestles against me and sighs, almost purring. It strikes me then—this girl is touch-starved, hungry for affection, obviously having had to live for years with a man who abhors physical contact.
And that’s how I’m going to win. Because I have oceans of tenderness and love to give her.
“Ah, baby,” I murmur, continuing to stroke her back. “I’m sorry you’re having to go through this.”
“It’s so hard…” she whispers.
“I know.”
In business, if there’s something I want, I’m not shy in using my money, my influence, my position, or my physical size to walk in and take it. But I think of what Alex said: don’t come down too heavy on her. I can’t force her hand. So I’m going to have to come at it some other way.
“I’m sorry about the things I said yesterday,” I tell her softly. “I’m used to getting what I want, and I don’t like being told no.”
She gives a small laugh. “I know. And I’m really sorry too. I’m just so mixed up. I’ve liked you for so long, and last night was amazing. But I shouldn’t have done it. I… I don’t want to lose you.”
I push aside my instinct to force her to choose between us. If I do that, I’m pretty sure she’s going to choose him.
Instead, I say, “You won’t lose me. I’m frustrated because I think we’d be really good together, but I’m not about to sever all connection with you if you don’t leave him. I’m your friend first. I’ll always be there for you.”
Is it true? I don’t know. If she stays with him, I think something inside me might actually die, withering away like a tree without sunshine or rain. I don’t know if I can continue to work beside her every day, knowing she’s going home to a guy who doesn’t love her the way she wants to be loved.
But right now, she needs my love and support, and I have to be the bigger guy.
I’m six-foot-four; I’m always the bigger guy. I’m fucking used to it.
“Oh God,” she says. She turns her head and rests her forehead on my shoulder again. Then she moves back. Her eyes are wet, and she dashes the tears away angrily. “You don’t mean that,” she snaps.
“I do.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re not that honorable.”
“Hey, I’m exactly that honorable.”
“Henry! Stop it! Stop being nice to me. I can’t deal with it. I can’t think when you’re close to me.” She backs away. “You do something to my brain—you scramble the signal.” She presses the heel of her hand to her temple. “There’s more to a relationship than heat and passion and excitement.”
Anger flares inside me. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”
“Not everything is about sex.”
I walk up to her, and continue walking as she backs away, until she bumps into the wall. I press up against her, and she gasps as I lower my head so my mouth is a fraction of an inch above hers.
“Are you sure?” I demand.
She studies my mouth, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue.
“Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you,” I ask roughly. “Tell me to stop.”
A little sound escapes her, a combination of a sigh and a whimper, but she doesn’t speak. She just lifts her gaze to mine, tears glimmering on her lashes, a helpless look in her eyes.
I crush my lips to hers. She lifts her arms around my neck, sliding her hand into my hair, and moans, opening her mouth. I slide my tongue against hers. Ahhh… fire shoots through me, giving me an erection in seconds, and I thrust my hips, rocking so I press into her soft flesh through her thin leggings.
Her fingers clench in my hair. I cup her breast and rub a thumb across her nipple, and she shudders. At that point, I’m completely oblivious to anything but her. My whole world has shrunk to this office, this corner, this woman, and I want to be inside her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life. I don’t know what I’m expecting to happen—whether I intend to turn and lock the door and take her there, on the desk, or up against the wall—I’m not thinking rationally, or sensibly, and I’m certainly not thinking about Alex and his cautionary words.
But suddenly she tugs my hair and tears her mouth away from mine, and she gasps, “Stop!”
I step back, dropping my hands. My chest heaves with deep, uneven breaths. She dashes the back of her hand across her mouth, looking up at me with accusatory eyes.
“You need to leave,” she whispers.
I rest both hands on my hips and glare at her. I don’t want to go. I want to stay and fix it. I want to kiss her until she admits she loves me and we’re meant to be together.
But I know I’ve behaved badly. This isn’t the way. I promised I was her friend first, and I’d be there for her. Is this helping her, Henry?
“I’m sorry,” I start saying, but she turns and walks away.
“Please go,” she says. “I’ve got work to do.”
I hesitate. Then I turn, open the door, and walk out, closing the door behind me.