by Abby Green
There was nothing she could say. There was no way of changing it—there was no time.
And so for the first time she caressed him in complete silence. Kissing and kissing and kissing so there was no chance to voice the secrets lodged in her heart. That she’d fallen in love with him. Wanted to be with him. Wanted to stay.
As he moved down her body she couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t quite give herself over to the lust. Couldn’t enjoy it the way she really wanted to. He couldn’t and wouldn’t give her what she wanted. And what she wanted was taking her away. Acting was what she wanted most, right?
This was their last time—she had to make the most of it. But all she could think was that it was the last time. And that was ruining everything. She wanted to stop. She didn’t want there to be a last time.
He must have known because he stopped nuzzling her breasts. Instead he lifted his head and looked in her eyes, framed her face with his hands—so gently. And then he kissed her. He kissed and kissed until she could no longer think. Until there was no room in her head for doubt or pain. Only touch.
And then, when her mind was gone and she was all sensation, he stroked the rest of her, leaning close so he could follow the path of his fingers with his eyes. He stroked and kissed and gently blew on her hot skin. Moving with such powerful gentleness it was almost her undoing. But he too was silent.
She closed her eyes against the message she so badly wanted to read in his and just let him play with her until the need for the ultimate satisfaction grew too strong for both of them.
When he entered her this time she held her breath, tightening around him, closing him into her embrace with her arms and legs and everything. In her head words had returned and she was chanting: not going to let you go, not going to let you go.
But she was the one going. And she didn’t know if she really had the strength to follow through on it.
But later, as she dressed, alone in his bedroom, she knew she had to leave. It was to protect herself. She owed herself the chance of meeting her dreams. And she couldn’t stay with a man who didn’t want long term—not when she did. Marriage and babies were on her wish-list and she couldn’t change that—just as she couldn’t change him.
She tried to make the goodbye as quick as she could. It didn’t dim the pain at all. She wouldn’t look him in the face—couldn’t. He wanted to take her to the airport, was insistent. It tore her up inside as he objected.
Finally she looked at him, unable to hide the ache. ‘Please, Owen. Let me do this myself.’
He stopped then, a shadow passing over his face. ‘You don’t have to do everything yourself, Bella. It’s OK to have help from people when you need it. Remember that, won’t you?’
Yes, it was OK, but not all the time. And she had to do this alone; it was the only way she could.
The taxi was there in minutes and she turned to him feeling as if she had sawdust in her eyes and sandpaper in her throat. He lifted her bag into the boot.
‘I’ll call you,’ he said.
‘Actually—’ she cleared her throat ‘—I’d rather you didn’t.’
He stared at her.
She didn’t want to be half hoping—wholly hoping—for the next however many months or years it was going to take to get over him. She needed it to end now. It was the perfect opportunity. Clean, final. Just how he’d like it. She didn’t want him to pretend to offer anything else.
‘You don’t want me to contact you at all?’
She forced her head to move, slowly, side to side.
He stared at her for a long moment, ignoring the driver waiting patiently in the car.
‘OK,’ he said quietly. ‘If that’s what you want.’
She nodded then and looked down, not wanting to misread anything more in his face. Wanting to kill all her hope now. She didn’t trust her voice at all.
There was a moment of silence. She knew she should move—the driver was waiting, the meter was ticking already. But all that moved were her lashes as she lifted her eyes, unable to resist one last long look at him. His eyes were still a brilliant blue, but charged with a variety of emotions—confusion? Regret?
She couldn’t take any more and turned, got the door open. But as she did his hand was on her upper arm and it wasn’t gentle as he grasped and swung her back to face him. The door slammed shut again, she had only a fraction of a second to see the blue ablaze and then he was so close and she shut her eyes. The kiss wasn’t gentle either. It was hard and demanding and hurt.
But, as always, she softened for him, opened for him, couldn’t say no to him. He could have her and take from her as much as he wanted. And then he softened too, his tongue caressing where moments before his mouth had pressed so fiercely, his fingers lightened on her arm and his lips soothed.
And at last she had the strength—she knew not from where—to twist away from him. He couldn’t have everything from her when he wouldn’t offer the same. It wasn’t fair.
She turned, blindly groping for the door handle again, wrenching it open and scrambling into the seat.
‘Drive.’ It was sort of a bark but it ended as a broken sob. ‘Please just drive.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
OWEN threw himself into work. He worked and worked and worked. And every minute of the day he thought about Bella. Missed her. Wondered what the hell she was doing—where she was, who she was with, whether she was happy, whether she was missing him. And then he worked some more.
He hadn’t thought he had it in him to be so aware of another person. To be driven to meet their needs—to put someone before himself. He’d been so ignorant of his parents’ situation, so wrapped up in himself and his ideals and ideas. Only now he saw how they and Liz had tainted his view of marriage and children.
He hadn’t been in love with Liz. He’d never been in love with anyone until now. So of course back then he hadn’t been ready for a child. The baby-that-wasn’t hadn’t ever seemed real to him, it had simply been the symbol of a burden he hadn’t wanted then and thought he’d never want.
Now he knew that if Bella’s child had been real he would have loved it—because now he knew what it was to love and how uncontrollable love could be.
When Liz had turned on him and told him how lonely he’d end up, he hadn’t believed her. He’d never felt lonely. Too busy with his work. Too busy out partying when the need for physical company bit. He’d thought he had it all sussed.
Until now. Now he felt as lonely as it was possible to feel. And it hurt so badly he didn’t know if he’d ever recover—he could only try to get used to it somehow.
He supposed it served him right. That the woman he’d found he was able to love wasn’t one who needed it. The timing was all wrong. Her career was just starting. She was finally getting to where she’d wanted to be for so long. And he refused to ruin it for her. He didn’t want her to resent him.
It was so ironic that when he finally found someone he wanted to care about, to love and cherish, help and protect, she was someone who was determined not to need those things. Bella didn’t want help; she didn’t want his money. She wanted independence. She’d said it, at the end there, that she needed to do this by herself. She was looking for respect. Trying to fight her family for it, fight him, every step of the way. But couldn’t she see there was a balance? He couldn’t stand back and watch her futile efforts when there were ways in which he could help. Maybe the way it had ended was all for the best.
Like hell it was.
As the days progressed, so his anger rose. Screw this true hero thing. It was a con. There was no happiness in nobility—not this sort. He should never have let her go, at least, not without him. She’d tipped his world upside down and then walked out, leaving him in a hell of a mess. Damn it, his wanting to help her wasn’t because he thought she was incapable; it was about him simply wanting to support her. No one was truly independent—not even him.
And there he’d been worried he’d get bored with one person for life.
He laughed, a bitter, self-mocking laugh. What an arrogant jerk. No one could ever be bored around Bella.
She was full of life—a little kooky perhaps, most definitely a touch accident-prone. But she was also true and sweet and generous and funny. He wanted the warmth she had to offer. And he didn’t want to ever give it up.
He couldn’t stop the emotion from flowering in him. She was his own magic fairy—she’d brought back his humanity, his humility, his hope. And he wanted to keep her by his side for ever. He chuckled. So he was still selfish. He was about to make his most selfish move ever.
The rehearsal weeks flew by. Bella had never worked so hard in all her life. They rehearsed all day and halfway through the evening. After that she collapsed into her little single bed in the tiny overcrowded flat that she was sharing with three other cast members and tried to sleep. Tried not to feel cold and lonely. But it was only when she closed her eyes tight and imagined herself in his big warm bed that she managed to drift off to sleep. In that blissful moment just on waking she’d still think she was there with him, but then she’d open her eyes and remember.
The work was full on but fun. She was glad she’d done all those years of dancing as a kid. Costumes were made, the set was designed, affairs were begun, gossip was spread. It was the mad, bad, bitchy world of musical theatre. She kept her distance from the worst of it. She learnt her part, understudied the other and developed an unhealthy obsession with the Internet. There was a lot on him—had she known she’d have looked sooner. But there was his website and a ton of articles about the savvy young entrepreneur. One of them had an accompanying picture of him in jeans and tee, totally looking like the relaxed guy she’d met that first night.
She couldn’t indulge in her usual fix of chocolate, ice cream and red wine without thinking of him, couldn’t eat her muesli at odd times of the day, couldn’t even have a coffee. Everywhere she turned, everything she did, she thought of him. But worst of all were the nights. When in her lonely, little bed she lay restless, remembering every moment, every move, every touch, every tease.
She worked harder, longer, not wanting her silly heart to ruin this time for her.
There was nothing, no contact from him, just as she’d requested. And she forced that stupid, still sparking hope inside to shrink—day by day.
Opening night was upon her before she knew it. Nerves threatened to swamp her. But as she put on her make-up the security guy came and delivered the most beautiful bunch of flowers to her. There was no note other than her name. No hint of who they might have come from. The speed of her pulse quadrupled. Were they from him? She got through the show on a buzz of adrenalin and bubbling hope. Was he out there—in the audience?
Afterwards she joined in the laughter and excitement of the others, then scurried back to her dressing room, changing into her opening-night party outfit. There was a knock at the door. Heart thundering, she opened it.
‘Dad! Vita!’ Her jaw dropped. ‘It’s you.’
‘We wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ Vita threw her arms around her.
‘I didn’t think you even knew.’ Bella emerged from the hug and looked from her father to her sister.
‘Well, we wouldn’t have if it was down to you.’ Vita gave her a sharp look.
She hadn’t thought they’d be that interested. Not that she was about to admit that to them.
‘Did you get the flowers?’ her father asked almost shyly.
‘They were from you?’ she asked in the wobbliest voice ever.
Her father nodded. ‘Vita chose them.’
Her sister smiled at her.
Bella smiled back. She shouldn’t feel disappointed. It was wonderful of them to have sent them. It was even more wonderful that they’d been here for her. But she’d wanted to believe they’d been from Owen. Crushed, she forced out a smile. Her best acting job of the night was required after the performance.
‘We’re coming again when you get to Auckland,’ her father said unexpectedly.
Vita nodded enthusiastically. ‘To a matinee when you’re playing the lead. All the brothers are coming too. We’ve booked out a whole block of seats.’
Bella failed on the smile front then, bent her head to hide the sudden tears that were stinging her eyes. She blinked a few times. ‘How did you know about that?’
‘Someone sent us the details.’ Her father spoke.
‘Oh?’
‘Owen sent an email to the whole family,’ Vita said.
‘What?’ But there was no time for a repeat—now that her father had started talking, it seemed he couldn’t stop.
‘You were great up there, honey. I was so proud.’ He beamed. ‘Your mother would have loved it.’
She couldn’t hide the tears then, and her father awkwardly put his arm around her, offering her a comfort she hadn’t had in years.
Vita and Bella sat while their dad went up to the counter to get drinks at the after show party.
‘You know, I’ve always been a bit jealous of you.’ Vita smiled. ‘Now I’m a lot.’
Nonplussed, Bella just stared at her for a moment. ‘You want to be onstage?’
Vita laughed. ‘No!’ She shook her head. ‘All that make-up would play havoc with my skin,’ she joked. ‘No, it was because you always seemed so confident. You didn’t give a damn about what the rest of us were doing, or what Dad thought you should do. You just knew what you wanted and went for it. You’ve got such determination.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ Bella nearly choked. ‘It’s not like that at all.’
‘But you’ve always known what you wanted,’ Vita said. ‘I’ve never known. I only did commerce because it was what everyone else had done and they seemed to do OK.’
Yes, but the fantasy of what Bella had wanted and the reality weren’t panning out to be quite the same thing. ‘Is it OK?’ she asked her sister.
‘Yeah, but I’m not exactly passionate about it.’ Vita winked. ‘Spreadsheets and tax returns aren’t exactly something you live for.’ She laughed. ‘Whereas you have a job you love. I’m envious of that. But—’ she leant forward ‘—I’ve got a secret. I’m quitting accountancy and I’m opening my own café.’
‘You’re what?’ Bella was astounded. ‘Vita, do you know how hard it is to work in a café?’
‘Sure.’
‘What does Hamish say?’
Vita’s eyes glowed. ‘He’s really supportive. It’s because of him that I’m finally going to do it. I’m doing a catering course and then I’m opening up. He’s keeping an eye out for a good location now. He’s such a great guy, Bella.’
‘I know.’ Bella nodded. ‘Wow. That’s really cool. Good for you.’
‘I’d never have had the guts if I didn’t have you as an example, though.’
Bella nearly laughed. If only her sister knew. It had only been because of Owen that she’d got the part. He’d made her so mad. Worst of all he’d been right. But she couldn’t think of him any more. ‘Thanks so much for coming to the show. And for bringing Dad. I really appreciate it.’
‘It was Owen who organised it. What’s happening with him anyway?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ Bella answered shortly, really not wanting to dwell on him. ‘We’re just friends.’
Vita giggled. ‘As if. The two of you the night before my wedding? My God, you had the place steaming up so bad there was practically water running down the walls.’
Bella felt her cheeks blaze.
‘He’s very good-looking,’ Vita said. ‘And very successful.’
‘What do you know about him?’ She couldn’t stop her curiosity.
‘Bella—’ Vita shook her head ‘—if you were remotely clued in to the real world like the rest of us you’d know too. He made squillions when he sold his web stuff to that multimedia conglomerate.’ She looked sly. ‘How did the two of you meet anyway?’
Bella shook her head. She sure didn’t want to go there. ‘It was nothing. It’s over. This was just him being nice.’
‘I don’t think a guy like Owen would be organising your family for you if it was over—he wouldn’t want us getting the wrong idea.’
‘I haven’t spoken to him in weeks. Trust me, it’s over.’ This last gesture was just the way he worked, charming to the end, still helping her out. Only now she was trying even harder to forget the heat in that final kiss, trying to stop wondering what might have happened if she hadn’t got the part, if she hadn’t left town.
Thankfully her father was heading to the table carrying a tray laden with glasses and nibbles. Talk returned to the show and the tour.
She got to the theatre early as usual the next day.
‘This parcel arrived for you last night too—sorry I didn’t get it to you sooner.’ The security guy at the theatre door collared her as she made her way in.
‘Oh, that’s fine,’ she answered, heart hammering as she recognised the handwriting on the packet, trying not to snatch the thing out of his hands. She hurried to her dressing room, ripped the end of the bag and tipped the contents out.
A soft toy tiger bounced onto the table. She picked up the plush creature. There was a small card on a ribbon around his neck. She read it. ‘Break a leg.’
She didn’t need her leg breaking as well, thanks very much. She already had a broken heart. That was more than enough. She tipped the bag upside down and shook it again. Nothing else. No other message. It wasn’t even signed. There was no return address on the back.
Bastard. She tossed the tiger across the room. She’d asked him not to contact her, all the while been hoping he would and now he had and with what—a damn toy? For the child he thought she was? She’d wanted more—she’d wanted so much more. This almost felt worse than nothing.
Almost. She frowned at the tiger. Why had she thought that he’d taken her seriously? But for about five minutes there he’d really seemed to want to believe in her and her party business. Hell, he’d even offered to help her paint a jungle mural on his warehouse wall, for heaven’s sake.
So what did he mean by this? She was too scared to try to figure it out and too stupid not to start hoping some more.