Chapter 10 #2
"Thank you." She whispered hoarsely.
"You're welcome." Rubbing his hands up and down her back, he frowned thoughtfully at what he had seen on her face. That naked vulnerability and what looked like regret.
"Ready to go?"
"Not yet." Bolstering up a smile, she eased back and took his hand. "Soon."
*****
When they went back to the cottage almost midnight, he undressed her slowly, using his mouth on every inch of her body until she was begging to be taken.
As if sensing that something was changing, he ignored her pleas and continued to labor over her with a care and intensity that had her calling out his name and clinging to him. When he finally entered her, she was completely destroyed, the climax wracking her to the core.
Afterwards, he held her in his arms gently, his own body shuddering from the vast intensity of sensations that consumed them both.
He was in love with her. It had happened gradually. He was in love with her and wanted nothing more than to spend his life with her.
Easing her away from him, he searched her face, taking in the moistness still on her cheeks and her spiky lashes.
"You're going to have to marry me."
"Don't." She shook her head wildly and felt her heart breaking.
He held her firmly when she started to move away.
"I'm not done."
"You cannot say that to me." She pushed, but he held on. "We're just having fun. This is just us having a really good time." Her voice was strangled, her chest heaving.
"That's BS, pure and simple. I will certainly not grace that kind of nonsense with a response." His autocratic tone had her bristling.
"You're mistaking very good sex for much more."
His brows lifted and he was not certain if he should feel insulted or amused. He decided on the latter.
"Is that right? Are you telling me that I'm so inexperienced that I don't know the difference between lust and love?" He felt her jolt because he was holding her so closely. "Yes, Melanie, that's the bottom line. I'm in love with you."
"Please don't do this to me."
The fact that she looked genuinely anguished was cause for concern.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Anger coated his tone and had him gripping her arms. "I just told you I'm in love with you and want to marry you. I've never said that to another woman before."
"Am I supposed to feel flattered?" Anger was her only defense, because she was sinking into a pit of despair that was so consuming, it was making her ill. "The lofty and wealthy Rodney Lancashire asked me to marry him, and I should be jumping up and down with joy? Well screw that and screw you."
She paused, chest heaving.
"I never asked for any of this. I never asked you to fall in love with me and I certainly never hinted not even once that I want to get married."
The silence that followed her outburst was so ominous, she felt it surrounding her. And literally felt when he withdrew from her, mentally and then physically.
"My apologies." His voice was stiff and formal and broke her heart even more.
"I think it's best if I slept in another room tonight." With that, he slid off the bed and left her staring after him.
She should go after him. Right now, she should go and assure him that what she said had nothing to do with him. It was all her. She was the liar, the pretender here and had allowed things to get out of hand.
He deserved better. Grief sliced through her with the sharpness of a finely honed blade. After tonight, after they left here in the morning, he wouldn't want to see her again.
And even if by some slim chance he wanted to see her again, she couldn't allow it. Things had gone far enough. Bowing her head, she wept brokenly.
*****
The journey back was far different from the one before. She woke up feeling dizzy and lightheaded to find that he had left the cottage with a terse note that he was going to a meeting.
"I have requested that Sophia pack all our things and send them off to the plane. Will be back in time to leave."
She showered and dressed, putting on a trim dark blue dress pants and a cream cashmere sweater. The efficient Sophia had prepared breakfast, but she didn't do the flaky croissant and fruits much justice.
By the time he returned she was ready to leave. His face was granite and expressionless, giving nothing away and not allowing her to make amends.
He never touched her either. And when he spoke to her, his tone was scrupulously polite and distant. She had hurt him and ended up hurting herself.
It was for the best or at least that's what she was trying to tell herself.
They boarded the plane and he went straight into the area she had seen before and assumed was his office. When jet lag and lack of sleep from the night before washed over her, she went to the cabin and fell asleep.
Giving into the need to see her, Rodney abandoned all thoughts of work and slipped into the cabin. She was curled up on her side, still fully dressed. Her hands were cradling her cheek, and she looked wan and tired.
She had brushed back her hair into a neat bun on top of her head, leaving her face and neck bare. And he was aching for her.
Last night had been the most miserable time he had ever spent.
Sleep had been elusive until the early hours of the morning.
The thought of her in the next room had tormented him to the point where he had simply gotten up and sat there staring out into the darkness.
This morning, he had showered and left before she rose.
The need to slide in next to her was so great, he had to physically stop himself from doing so. She had hurt him in ways he had never imagined. He had laid his heart at her feet and she had crushed it.
What she said about just having fun and never asking for his love or his proposal had cut like living hell.
She had played him. He could not believe this was happening to him again. He must be a sucker for bloody punishment, he thought bitterly.
But something was not right. Unless she had missed her calling as a superb actress, he knew she returned his feelings. No one could fake such passion. And there was passion, of such high intensity, he wondered it didn't consume them.
And she had been crying. He had seen the evidence on her face. What the hell was going on?
Shaking his head, he took one last longing look at her and slipped away.
*****
He called the driver to transport her home and used the car he had left at the private hangar.
"I have to go and see my mother." He waited until John the driver had loaded her numerous packages into the trunk of the long town car.
He escorted her to the door and opened it himself.
He stood there for a minute, inscrutable eyes sweeping over her face. Stepping back, he nodded curtly to the driver.
"I'll call. Goodbye Melanie." Turning on his heels, he strode towards his vehicle.
Sliding in before her jelly like knees gave way, she closed her eyes and battled back tears. It was over and she had gotten what she set out to get. The jewels would be worth several thousand dollars and selling the high end clothes and shoes, not to mention accessories, would net her quite a bit.
If she decided to leave the dead end job, she would be set for a couple of years. Free to do whatever she wanted to. Free to buy her son new clothing, new shoes, take him to the orthodontist. And she had forgotten the painting.
In her own way, she was a wealthy woman.
It felt empty and shallow. She felt dead inside. She would gladly trade everything for the man. She wanted the man.
Tears trickled down her cheeks. Turning her head, she sobbed quietly.
*****
"Darling, you're not even listening."
Forcing his dreary thoughts away, Rodney smiled at his mother and took the glass of wine she handed him. She had been delighted that he dropped by, even though he looked weary and incredibly sad.
"I am now." He said teasingly. "You were saying something about Marion LeBlanc and the play she's starring in. And it would be lovely if I come as your escort. And I was about to tell you that I'm going to be very busy that day."
She pouted, making him laugh.
"I haven't said which day."
"Whichever day it is, I will be busy." He sipped the wine, eyes twinkling.
"Marion LeBlanc is a terrible actress. The only reason she's appearing on Broadway is because of her involvement with the playwright."
"She's a friend of the family." Stretching her legs out, she studied his dear face discreetly. She knew her son well and knew that she wasn't going to get anything out of him, if he didn't want to share.
"She's your friend."
"I don't want to appear alone."
"Then invite the judge."
"I don't want to encourage him."
He sent her a wry look.
"He's already encouraged."
The silk of her lounge pants rustled as she tucked her legs under her.
"How was Paris?" It was a casual question, but he knew better.
"Enchanting as usual." It took all of his skills to pretend that he was not grieving inside. All throughout the journey here, he had been tempted to just turn around, go back to her and demand answers.
"And the young lady?"
His expression turned cool, warning her that he was not willing to divulge anything.
"She's fine." He rose decisively. Finishing the wine, he put the glass away. "I have some catching up to do." Moving towards her chair, he bent from his lofty height and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "There's nothing to tell, so I would appreciate you dropping it. I love you."
She watched him leave, her heart twisting in fear and anger. He was hurting and she was sure it had something to do with that young woman.