Chapter Eight #2
‘Like I have a choice,’ Amy muttered, leaning against the conveniently placed pillow behind her back. Then gritted out a grudging, ‘Thank you, but I’m not an invalid.’
He tilted his dark head in mocking acknowledgment.
‘You’re most welcome.’ He scanned her face, the sarcastic glint in his heavy-lidded eyes fading as he took in her pallor and the violet smudges beneath her eyes, hating that he had no control over the surge of protectiveness, an emotional response he thought he’d left behind nine years ago.
This was the woman who had ripped out his heart and stomped all over it. What the hell was he doing or, more importantly, feeling?
‘So, how are you feeling?’ The ice clinked in the jug as he poured her a glass of water and passed it to her.
She looked at it without reacting.
‘Employment law frowns on employees not being hydrated.’
She huffed out a sigh and took the glass because her mouth and throat were dry.
He watched as, holding it in two hands, she glugged the liquid greedily.
‘Slowly, you don’t want to throw up again.’
The reminder made her pull the glass from her lips and set it down on the bedside table.
‘I’m not going to—’ In the act of flinging off the throw that had been laid across her legs, her eyes widened with horror as a pained version of the morning’s events flashed through her head. Oh, God, talk about first impressions!
‘Your grandfather—’
‘He is grateful you didn’t throw up on his shoes.’
‘I’m glad you think this is a joke. He didn’t really say that, did he?’
‘No. The two of you should get on; his sense of humour is a little underdeveloped too. Don’t worry, he took it in his stride and has decided to blame me for the entire incident.
And as I couldn’t make myself available to dance attendance on him, he has left early.
He never stays long, though. It was hard for him to relinquish the reins in the first instance. ’
‘Was he really all right about it?’
Leo sighed. ‘Actually, he suggested I sack you.’
This professional insult roused her from her lethargy. ‘I’m a better chef than you deserve!’
‘He’s decided you’re pregnant.’
She was unprepared for that and had no defence against the bleakness that washed over her in a wave.
‘I’m not. And as it’s unlikely I’ll ever see your grandfather again, I’d be grateful if you’d tell him that. Also, employment law means you couldn’t sack me even if I was.’
‘You will see him at the gala.’
‘I’m not going to allow you to wheel me out like a prize example of how the mighty have fallen.’
He bit back a retort, aware that he had an unfair advantage here. He wasn’t as weak as a kitten—a kitten with claws, he thought, making that all-important clarification.
‘He’s a bit of a foodie and he loves talking about food. He says, at his age, food is better than sex. Apparently, this is something I have to look forward to, but for the moment food is simply fuel.’
‘What about sex?’ The words tripped off her tongue before she could stop them.
‘Sex is one of the joys of life.’ He could imagine a man finding sex with Amy to be one of life’s necessities, like oxygen. A man who was not him, of course, as he was a man who was never going to care enough to be hurt again.
Only Leo could turn a conversation about food into one about sex and make it sound so impersonal.
‘You’re obsessed,’ she accused.
‘Maybe we both are, and you introduced the subject.’ Head tilted to one side, he stood back and surveyed her burning face. ‘Now you’re looking a much better colour; you have some warmth in your cheeks.’
She flung him a killer glare. ‘Why,’ she added, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, ‘are you even in here?’
He was watching her progress with a critical frown. ‘I’m delivering the medication, as per your doctor’s instructions.’ He nodded to the parcel on her bedside table. ‘He tells me that, taken early enough, these usually stop the progress of a migraine.’
‘Mostly.’
‘You, I understand, did not bring your own medication.’
She slung him an irritated look, not appreciating the preachy tone he had adopted, as if she were some recalcitrant six-year-old.
She toyed with the idea of just flicking him the finger and crawling back under the covers.
It was a non-starter as options went but thinking about it tugged the corners of her mouth upwards into an almost smile.
‘I had to leave the house in rather a rush.’ She bit down on her lower lip. Damn him, she even sounded like a six-year-old now!
Their child would have been eight now.
It was several years too late for a big reveal, which she was glad of, as the idea of telling Leo filled her with icy horror.
She had tried once, though… When she had discovered she was pregnant, the first thing she had done was to ring him. But her call, and the many that had followed, had been blocked.
So she had packed a bag and decided to follow him. Tell him he was going to be a father.
It was a measure of her panic and desperation that she had ever imagined that was a sane idea. Not after the way he had left. She hadn’t really thought the plan through; actually, she hadn’t had a plan at all. She had been running to him on pure instinct, more homing pigeon than sane person.
Except, of course, Leo had never been her home, although having him here, looking out for her, she couldn’t help but imagine what her life would have been like if he had.
Life hadn’t disillusioned her enough to make her lose the belief that a person could be your home—the right person. She just no longer believed she would find the right person for her.
As time had gone on, it had grown increasingly unlikely. Besides, her work had never allowed for a lot of dating and the men who asked her out usually wanted to use her to advance their careers, when she had been in a position to do so.
But she had tried to do the right thing, despite how hard it was. She’d left a note for her parents, telling them not to worry and she’d be in touch. She had been on a train going to London when the cramps had kicked in.
She had made it back home again before her parents had found the note. Other than the hospital staff and the cleaner who had found the discarded hospital identity bracelet in her bedroom and silently handed it to her, and hugged her, she had told nobody.
‘Are you all right?’
Amy pulled her head up cautiously but still managed to loosen another hank of silky pillow-tousled hair.
‘Fine,’ she said giving up with a sigh of frustration on refastening her braid.
Instead, she began to remove some of the remaining hairpins, lining them up on the bedside table before sliding her fingers into the already unravelling braid to loosen it.
‘If you want me to admit it’s my fault that I almost threw up on your grandfather’s shoes, then fine—mea culpa,’ she said, continuing to work on her hair, which had been damp when she had fastened it and now fell in a mass of Pre-Raphaelite ripples down her back.
Sensing he was watching her, she looked up, and there was something compulsive in his stare that sent her stomach muscles into a nosedive.
‘Why don’t you wear it loose any more?’
‘I work in a kitchen, so it’s a matter of health and safety. I actually cut it a few years ago, but it was more work keeping it—’ She stopped, thinking, Oh, yes, Amy, because your hair down the years is a really fascinating subject.
‘You have beautiful hair.’ The stark delivery, combined with the mesmerising heat in his stare, added another layer to the rapidly thickening atmosphere.
‘I remember you sitting astride me and your hair brushing my chest—’ He halted, his smoky stare managing to be fierce but also soft and seductive.
Amy stopped breathing. She was shaking, except she wasn’t. The tremor was not superficial; it was deep inside her.
Remember?
She remembered crying herself to sleep for days and weeks and months. And she remembered feeling utterly bereft, never sharing her secret, her grief, with anyone, because there was no one to share it with.
She had wanted Leo so much. Him being here now, looking out for her, brought home just how badly she had needed him back then too.
‘I try not to relive the past, Leo.’ Because it hurt too damned much. ‘That’s why none of this is a very good idea.’
‘I’m not trying to relive the past. I’m trying to exorcise it and the ghosts and enjoy the present.’
She stared, fascinated by the magnificent symmetry of his face as it tightened, pulling the gold-toned skin across his perfect bones, before his expression changed and he produced a charisma-loaded smile, his eyes gleaming through his ludicrously long eyelashes.
‘In fact, I think we should enjoy it together.’