She didn’t sleep.
She couldn’t.
But she lay there remembering, smiling, worrying, frowning. The worry, predictably, began to control all other emotions. He hadn’t even looked at her when he’d left.
He hadn’t smiled.
He hadn’t asked what she’d do with her day.
He had driven her wild, as always, and then he’d left.
How much of this boiled down to Caradoc’s needs? Caradoc’s timing?
Her frown deepened and unhappiness grew, threatening to consume her completely until the sound of the door opening had her sitting bolt upright.
Caradoc? Was he back?
She pushed out of bed and wrapped herself in one of his luxurious terry towelling robes in one movement, then pulled his bedroom door inwards.
A gorgeous blonde stood across the living space, her face set in a serious mask, her eyes scanning the room.
“Oh!” She startled, her cheeks blushing pink.
Finn’s eyes narrowed as she took another moment to survey the woman’s appearance.
Whoever she was, she had a key to Caradoc’s apartment, and she was stunning.
Tall, skinny as a rake, with a dark tan, bright blue eyes, lips that looked cosmetically enhanced and hair that fell in soft waves halfway down her back.
And she was in Caradoc’s apartment.
“I’m so sorry!” Her accent was English, just like Finn’s. No, not just like Finn’s, she amended crossly. Finn’s voice was not polished and fancy like this woman’s. Finn’s voice was normal. This woman was clearly from an exalted background, just like Caradoc. “I didn’t know you were here. I should have called before hand. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Finn found herself soothing the other woman’s worries away, despite her own.
“I’m Alexi,” the woman said, moving towards Finn, her smile unquestionably loaded with regret. “Cara asked me to grab some files he forgot.”
“Oh, did he?” She murmured, thinking back to their morning, understanding exactly why he’d forgotten the papers in the first instance. Cara? As in short for Caradoc? Who exactly felt comfortable enough with Caradoc Moore to call him by a nickname?
“You must be Seraphina.”
Finn arched a brow. She wasn’t trying to be standoffish, but she was truly lost for words.
“I’m not being nosy. I organised the gown. And the … umm… other stuff.”
The gown? Did she refer to the exquisite dress Finn had worn to Sasha Moore’s party? And the lingerie? The gifts? They had all been arranged by this woman?
“You have excellent taste,” she murmured, her smile forced.
“Well, you know. Cara has excellent taste. I just place the orders.” She shrugged awkwardly. “Only the best for him.”
Finn swallowed. The comfort with which the woman referred to this aspect of her job was sending enormous warning bells ringing in Finn’s head. “Do you do that kind of thing often then? Buy lingerie for his lovers?”
Alexi winced. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Perhaps not,” Finn nodded slowly. “But it’s still what you said.”
“Right.” Alexi was obviously uncomfortable now. Finn felt a jab of compunction but her own confusion was greater. She needed clarity. To understand what Caradoc wanted from her beyond just her body. Surely there was more too. “I just need a moment in the study. Excuse me.”
Finn’s voice was surprisingly regal. “This is normal for him?” She said, refusing to let the other woman go without getting an answer to her questions.
Alexi squirmed visibly. “It’s not really my place …”
“He made it your place by getting you to do his bidding.” She softened the harsh pronouncement with another tight smile. “Just tell me please, how many women like me have you bought expensive gifts for?”
Alexi shook her head. “I …”
“Ten? Twenty?” Finn closed her eyes. “More?”
“I really don’t want to get involved,” Alexi apologised, her eyes darting towards the office. “Excuse me.” Her tongue darted out and licked her plumped up lips. Perhaps taking pity on the obviously lovelorn image of Seraphina, Alexi said softly, “He’s someone who likes … company.”
Their eyes met and comprehension passed between them, before Alexi turned and moved through the apartment. She went quickly and Finn fought off any temptation to follow. After all, it wasn’t Alexi’s fault that Finn had fallen head over heels with a serious womaniser. And he was that.
She felt sick to the stomach to think of the power she’d allowed him to wield. Yes, it was a power, and he could wield it utterly, but only because she’d allowed him to. She had armed him with what he needed, and she had lain at his feet waiting for the blow to strike.
The first night they’d slept together, she’d known it would be this way. Their desire would tangle them and bind them, but her self-respect would suffer. And he had said then that her self-respect was her own problem. He had washed his hands of any notion of caring about her self-opinion or regard.
She moved like a ghost into the room they’d shared, and opened the palatial closet. As she reached for a cardigan to pull on, her eyes were drawn to a familiar image and with a sense of sadness, she moved her hands to it instead.
The BFG. It had been discarded carelessly, perhaps when they’d first arrived from London, and he hadn’t bothered to open it once. She ran her finger over the familiar cover with its archetypal Quentin Blake illustration and frowned. It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet somehow it was the ultimate clue that he didn’t care for her. Did he?
Finn didn’t find the decision easy, but she did find it. Finally. With hands that shook, she packed, simply to pass the time. She couldn’t leave without speaking to him, but leave she must. Only one sentence would entice her to say: one statement. Three small words that her heart needed and body craved more, even, than his.
Did he love her?
Did he feel for her what she did for him?
That would keep her by his side.
Otherwise, this was futile.
Her heart was torn in shreds, and yet she waited.
She didn’t watch television or use her phone. She couldn’t do anything but stare out of the window and wait. Imagining that they had been together for the last time filled her with a bitterness that would surely make her back away from her intention if she weren’t very, very brave.
And so she slid herself into a sort of emotional stasis and stared, unseeing, at the glorious patchwork of lives below, unfolding first in the winter’s afternoon and then the night. Lights glistened and shimmered beneath her, forming a sparkling network of life, and still Finn waited.
It was the stroke of midnight when he returned.
He’d loosened his tie at some point and it hung around his neck like two snakes. His hair was dishevelled as though he’d been running his fingers through it. Or perhaps another woman had. Marlena? Her stomach rolled.
Soon it wouldn’t be her problem.
She couldn’t live with that fear.
It wasn’t Seraphina’s way.
He walked into the dimly lit lounge without any expectation of seeing her. That much was obvious from the way he slid his shoes from his feet and then shrugged out of his jacket. He placed it carelessly over the back of a chair then planted his hands on his hips and began to stare, as she had, at the view of Manhattan.
Finn saw then that he had a weight on his own shoulders. A burden he was trying to ease, if only the answer could be found through the window.
Finn blinked. Could she really do this? She sucked in a deep breath, hoping she’d find courage in it.
His eyes chased the slight, small sound. Proof of her presence. He pinned her easily, standing in the darkest corner, her arms wrapped around her slender waist. “Jesus, Finn. You scared the shit out of me.”
She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a pale sweater. Her feet weren’t bare. A frown tugged at his lips. “Have you bee
n out?”
She shook her head slowly. “No.” Another breath, seeking strength. “I … I need to speak with you.”
Caradoc’s day had been a success. The fruits of a long, hard two years had finally ripened. And all he’d been able to think about was this woman. This enchanting, distracting, far-too-desirable Seraphina.
“Sure.” He didn’t want to talk, though. He wanted to feel. He wanted to hold her. To breathe in her scent and taste her sweet lips.
The moonlight was casting a silver glow over his face. It made him look half angelic, half cast from stone and ice. A perfect analogy for this man, capable of such passion and such coolness at the same time.
She blinked her eyes closed, and her lashes formed two perfect black fans across her soft creamy skin. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”
The air crackled between them. Silence was caustic. It eroded her hopes and dreams, and left only despair and certainty in its place. He didn’t love her. And this, therefore, was over.
“You … what? Why are you telling me this?”
His words rang with derision. His voice was sharp. His tone, if anything, offended.
“I needed to say it,” she said simply, keeping her distance from him. “I needed you to know that I feel like this. And I needed to know …”
Another throb of heavy, aching silence.
“If I feel the same way?” He finished for her after a moment. He turned away from her, his back moving with the force of his ragged breaths. “Are you kidding me? That was never part of our deal.”
“Our deal? I didn’t realise we had one,” she responded softly, her heart barely able to beat for the pain she felt.
“This! This is our deal. Sex. Spending time together. That’s what we are. Love … love isn’t something I’m interested in.”
She winced as though he’d hit her. He couldn’t have been clearer. Her eyes flinched betrayingly to the suitcase beside her and he noted it for the first time.
A muscle flexed in his cheek at the ramifications of this conversation became clear to him. She was leaving. Unless he said that he loved her, which he didn’t, she was going to leave. There was a hollowness in the pit of his stomach that he hadn’t experienced before. The emotional blackmail stung. He had expected more of her, somehow.
“You must have known it was always, always, more than that for me,” she said with only a slight hint of condemnation in her tone. “How could I be here with you and not fall in love? How could we make love and not be in love?”
“People do it all the time. It’s part of being an adult.”
“I’m not talking about people,” she denied, her temper fraying. “I’m talking about us. I’m talking about how I feel when I’m with you. How I know you feel.”
The muscle worked harder. She watched it, fascinated. “I never asked you to love me. I never asked you to do anything but stay with me.”
“But only in your bed,” she surmised, amazed that she was still able to speak so calmly when her insides were completely torn.
“Come on!” He growled, dragging his fingers through that thick, silver hair. “You are being ridiculous. If you love me, then stay. Enjoy what we share.”
“Always knowing you don’t feel that way for me? That you might leave at any point?” She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
“Bullshit. I’m not asking you to indenture yourself to me for life. Just stay while it suits you. While you’re happy.”
She shook her head again, slowly this time, and then took three paces towards him. “I told myself tonight that there was just one thing you could say that would make this feel better.” She dug a hand into her chest. “One thing you could say that would take away this agonizing pain I’ve felt all day.” She reached up and cupped his cheek. “But you don’t love me.” Her eyes pleaded with him. Her lower lip trembled. “Do you?”
His eyes scanned her face, and the hollowness in his chest was a proper ache now. He felt almost as though he’d been knifed in the gut.
“I’ve only known you a month.” It was a stalling tactic and they both knew it.
“Six weeks, actually,” she said with a small smile. It didn’t matter. “And I think I fell in love with you on the first day.”
“Just … stop saying that. I don’t … I don’t … I can’t give you what you need. You know that.”
“I do.” She nodded. It was done. It couldn’t be undone.
“Why?” He was bleak. “Why did you do it? I never wanted you to love me.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to, believe me. I began to see our relationship as incremental. I told myself that if I could just have one more time with you, I’d be happy. Then, that wasn’t enough. It became another day. Another night. Two more days. A week. I have wanted more since I met you, and there is no more for you to give me. You literally have no more. This is it.”
He had never heard himself described with such obvious pity. And it angered him! He didn’t need her pity. He didn’t need anyone’s.
“This is all I want,” he ground out, ignoring the ache inside of him.
Her eyes widened, and he knew that she was fighting her own anger. “You know, I get it. You’re a lone wolf. You like to do your own thing. But sometime, somewhere, somehow, someone has got to matter. Don’t they? Or do you actually believe you can go through life never giving a crap about another person?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
His eyes held hers with the steely determination she’d first noticed in them – the same determination that had made her love him.
“Yes, Seraphina. I believe I can go through my life as I always have done. On my own. People come and go, and none will ever matter to me. Not in the way you want to. If that bothers you, then you’re right to go.”
She was numb. Her body was shaking. Her heart was smashing. “I actually … even though I’ve spent all day preparing for this … I still can’t believe it. This feels like a horrible, cruel joke.” She was shaking, and she couldn’t stop.
His face was implacable. There was neither softness nor concern there. “Have I given you the impression at one time or another that I would joke about something like this? I have always been honest with you. I love having sex with you. You’re gorgeous. You’re easy to spend time with. That’s enough for me.”
She was slipping into unconsciousness. Or she wished she were. Her fingers pressed into her palm and she tried not to let him see how hard it was to keep upright.
“I see.” She didn’t. How could he not feel it? Magic like this didn’t just work one way.
“So? Are you staying or going, Seraphina? Let me know quickly so that I can make plans either way.”
That was it. That’s what it boiled down to for him. Convenience. Plans. Scheduling. What kind of plans did he intend to make in the middle of the night, anyway?
Her heart was in a thousand tiny pieces and she knew she would never rally them together again. “I’m going.” Her voice was low. A dull, pleading ache. “I’m going right now.” She looked around helplessly. It was an abrupt end to a relationship that should have never been.
She dragged the suitcase behind her easily enough.
“I’ll call my driver.” He said, moving to take the bag from her. But she almost growled at him, her emotions were so taut.
“No,” she shook her head. “Please don’t. Just leave me alone.”
The walk from the lounge to the apartment door took several long seconds, and she was sure he would stop her. She waited, and listened, but there was nothing. When she reached the door and put her hand on it, she was too proud to look back and see what he was doing.
If she had, it would have grieved her more greatly. For Caradoc Moore had turned back to the windows and was studying the view with apparently as little emotional regard as ever.
And that, then, was it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Anton Fuller was her third Substitute Caradoc. At six feet two inches, he was
tall and built like a bodyguard. He was rich too, from an old aristocratic family, and his looks were excellent. He was, if anything, too good looking, with sandy blonde hair, dimples in both cheeks, and glistening blue eyes. His mouth was full, his lips pink and his skin permanently bronzed. He lacked the cynicism and hardness that had been so instrumental in Caradoc’s character.
She’d met him a fortnight earlier at an art gallery opening. Her heart had fluttered with the hope that he could be the one.
Not the one she was destined to love for the rest of her life.
The one who would help her forget that, for a time, she’d had the love of her life; and then she’d lost him. Distraction was key. She understood now how Caradoc had become obsessed with the notion of distraction. In the ten weeks since leaving the states, Finn had become an expert in keeping busy. More often than not, it was with men like Anton.
None though had succeeded in driving Caradoc from her mind, nor in tempting her into their bed.
Yet that didn’t stop her from trying.
She’d never noticed it before, because she’d never cared to, but London was an absolute hunting ground for wealthy, spoiled businessmen. It wasn’t the money that she was seeking though, so much as the sense of power and entitlement that came along with it.
Having loved and left Caradoc, she wondered now if she was destined to spend the rest of her life seeking his counterfeit. Hunting down men who embodied some, if not all, of what she’d loved about him. Of course, his best qualities, those that had made her lose her mind with longing, were also his worst, in some respects.
Anton was nice enough. He was royalty; tenth or eleventh in line to the throne. One of the cousins? She hadn’t been paying proper attention. He’d made his own name in the finance industry, and yet he had a diffident kindness about him that Finn was impatient with.
“I’m sorry, Seraphina,” Anton appeared by her side with two glasses of champagne. “The bar was packed.”
Caradoc would have been served immediately, regardless of how many people were waiting and how long they’d been there.
The Terms of Their Affair Page 13