‘I know.’
He looked at her, his eyes wide. ‘What?’
‘The doctor told me when I went back for my check-up. And then I asked Greg about it and he confirmed it.’
‘Your check-up was...’ He sorted through the memories ‘I was still here, Mila... Why didn’t you tell me you knew?’ He couldn’t believe that the burden he had been carrying with him for such a long time wasn’t a secret after all.
‘I was waiting for you to tell me.’
The look she aimed at him made him feel like a schoolboy.
‘I wanted to, but I was afraid—’
‘That I would blame you for it?’
He nodded, and she folded her arms.
‘I did. I thought it was your fault that I didn’t get to see my son alive. Why do you think I asked for space?’
He was dumbfounded, the words of apology, of excuse, he’d prepared were wiped from his mind.
‘I thought you would go and stay with your dad for a while, and I would be able to deal with all the feelings. I was raw, hurting and in more pain than I thought possible. I just needed time.’
She looked at him, and he saw her anger.
‘But then you left me completely. And instead of space I got divorce papers.’
‘You’re angry with me...’ But he’d known that, he thought. Deserved it.
‘Yes, I am. But not about you giving them permission to operate. What choice did you have?’ She shook her head. ‘We both might not have survived if you hadn’t.’ She paused, kicked at a stone. ‘I was angry about it. But only because I wished I could have held him during those seventeen minutes he was alive.’
Her breath caught at that, and Jordan wished he could hold her again.
‘And then I thought that if it couldn’t be me—and since I was still under anaesthesia then it couldn’t have been—you were the only other person I would have wanted it to be. So after a while I forgave you.’ She looked at him stonily. ‘It wasn’t your fault either, Jordan.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve known all along. I’ve been carrying this with me ever since I...’ He trailed off when he saw her jaw set and she looked away. And then he realised that she’d said that she wasn’t angry with him about that any more. ‘Why are you angry at me, then?’
‘You really don’t know?’
He opened his mouth to answer, but she waved him away.
‘If you can’t figure it out then you don’t deserve to know.’ She set her jaw. ‘Can we just leave now, please?’
‘No, we can’t.’ He felt uncomfortable, but he said it because he’d shared one of his deepest secrets with her, which he wouldn’t have done with anyone else, and now she was pulling away. Even though he didn’t want to delve any further into emotion—his insides were raw and knotted from what had already been said—he persisted. ‘I want you to tell me what else I’ve done wrong.’
‘So you can continue with this victim mentality you seem to have going?’
Anger sparked, deep inside him, and pumped through his body with his blood. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Every tragedy that’s happened to you, you somehow blame yourself for it.’
He could see the anger in her, too, but that only fuelled his own.
‘You blame yourself for approving an operation that saved my life—that gave your son his best chance at living—and you blame yourself for your father’s death. Oh, did you think I couldn’t see the weight of guilt crushing you?’
He kept his face clear of the turmoil he felt—the anger and truth in her words were daggers piercing his insides—and wondered how she had realised what he felt about his father’s death.
‘You think that his heart attacks were because you left. Because you didn’t keep in touch over the past year. You hate it that he died without fixing whatever was wrong between you.’
‘Stop!’ he said, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
‘Why?’ she demanded, her face flushed from her tirade. ‘You were the one who wanted me to continue, remember?’ She didn’t wait for his affirmation before continuing, as though she was purging herself of everything that she felt. ‘Do you want to know what I’m really angry about, Jordan? It’s because you ran away when I needed you the most.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘You made me feel like you left because I had lost our child.’
She was trembling, and he itched to touch her, to comfort her, even as her words shook him. ‘Stop saying that! Stop blaming yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.’ And she’d made him see that it wasn’t his either.
‘If that’s not the reason, then why did you go?’
‘I was running—just like you said,’ he shot out, and immediately stilled.
‘Why?’
‘Does it matter?’ he said, exasperated. He couldn’t deal with the emotion any more. ‘I’m back now.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Yes, it matters, Jordan. And here’s why.’
She grabbed the front of his top, and before he knew it her lips were on his.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHE’D DONE IT out of desperation, to pierce through that controlled façade he clung to even though she could see that he felt beneath the surface. She wanted him to feel the earthquake that was happening inside her, to know the emotions that sprang from the hole the quake had opened, and the only way she knew how to do that was to kiss him.
But as she sank into the kiss she thought that she was a fool for being so impulsive, for letting go of the control she’d fought for around him. And then she stopped thinking, pressing her body closer to his as she tasted him.
The same...he tasted the same. Of fire and home and pure man.
Her anger had turned into passion, so there was no gentle sliding back into the heat they had always shared. No, they jumped straight into the fire, greedily taking each other, their hands moving over bodies that had changed yet were somehow still the same.
When he lifted her from the ground she went willingly, her arms around him, refusing to lose contact with him. She barely felt the wall that he pressed her against, her senses captivated by what his hands were doing. He pushed aside the jacket she had on, his tongue playing with hers in a way that had her moaning, and the sound seemed to burn away the last of his patience with her clothing.
He ripped open the shirt she wore, his hands roaming over her bare skin before she even heard the buttons fall on the marble path to their home. Though the house was enclosed, and there was no one who would see them, Mila didn’t think she would have cared if there had been. Her body was too occupied in being touched by the hands that had always owned it, her mind too employed by the pleasure only he could make her feel.
She fumbled with his clothes, wanting to touch his skin as he did hers. Giving up, she slid her hands under his top and eagerly over his body. The toned, muscular body that she had wanted since the moment she had seen him. Somewhere she thought about how different touching him felt now, but the thought was vague, dulled by the passion of his lips on her skin.
She wanted him, she heard her heart tell her as he kissed her neck, letting her head fall back to give him better access. And she would have let him have her, she thought later, had her phone not rung.
The sound was muffled, since the phone was in her jacket pocket, but it was clear enough to give them both pause. And the pause allowed her thoughts to spin back into her mind.
Though most were still muddled and hazy, one came to her with the clarity of a conscience after confession—she was giving herself to the man who had broken her heart. And one more occurred to her after that—he was still breaking it.
She pushed him away, ignoring the desire that clouded his face, and with one hand held her torn shirt together. She walked a short distance away from him, took a deep breath and answered her phone.
The conversation only lasted a few minutes, but it was enough for her thoughts to clear and her cheeks to flush with embarrassment. She was a fool! she thought, keeping the phone at her ear even though Simon, Karen’s manager, had long since said goodbye. Why had she thought kissing him would make him feel? The only thing it had done was to awaken her body and alert her mind to the fact that she was still alive. That she was still a woman who needed, who wanted. And that both those needs and wants had to do with Jordan.
She shoved the phone back into her pocket, and zipped up her jacket, not wanting to feel any more exposed than she already did.
‘Who was that?’
She turned at his voice, hating it that she still remembered the effect it had had on her the day they had met. That it still had an effect now.
‘Karen’s manager.’ Mila didn’t look at him, not wanting him to see the emotions she couldn’t hide nearly as well as he did. ‘She’s doing a show at the university’s conservatorium tonight. She wants us to come through.’
There was a moment that beat between them, and then he asked, ‘What kind of show does a pop star do at a conservatorium?’
‘A performance for her studies, apparently,’ she answered him. ‘It’s formal, and it starts in an hour and a half. We’d better get going.’
She strode past him, determined not to look at him, and braced herself for contact when out of the corner of her eye she saw his hand lift. But the contact never came and she sighed with relief—not disappointment, she assured herself—and got into the car.
It was going to be a long trip home.
* * *
Mila stood under the shower, angling her head so that the warm water could hit her body directly. She stayed like that, hoping that it would wash away her actions of that day. She cringed every time she thought about it, and the day wasn’t even over yet. Now, after nearly tearing Jordan’s clothes off, Mila was going to have to spend who knew how long with him at a classical concert by the winner of a pop competition.
There was no way around it, she thought, shampooing her hair. Simon had told her that Karen wanted to speak to her before making a decision about the event, and this was the only time she could spare to do it.
At least it meant that Mila wouldn’t have to go to a teenybopper concert with Jordan. She could only imagine how the girls would swoon around him. Hadn’t she just had first-hand experience of that? Her body still trembled from his touch, reminding her of how good that part of their relationship had been. But what good did that do when there were other, more substantial cracks between them?
Mila knew she had made progress with him, getting him to admit that he’d had to give permission for her C-section. But at what cost? He now knew more about her than she’d wanted him to know—he knew she didn’t want to go back to the house, that it reminded her of the accident. He knew that she still dreamt about it, and that she was angry at him for leaving. It was a miracle that he’d admitted that he’d run away, but she still couldn’t get him to tell her why. She couldn’t even get him to talk about his mother.
Everything was so controlled with him. Sometimes she wondered where the man who had given her a surprise picnic the day they had met had gone. That impulsive, romantic man who had swept her off her feet and convinced her to marry him. He didn’t seem to exist any more, she thought, and got out of the shower. No, he had been replaced by the man who had run away when she’d needed him—the man who never wanted to speak to her about the things that mattered.
And still the man who set her body on fire.
Calm down, she instructed herself. She just needed to get through the event and then she would be moving on with her life, away from Jordan and all the problems he created for her. And to do that she needed to get Karen to set a date so that things could finally move ahead.
Mila would ignore the voice in her head that told her that finding out what Jordan didn’t want to tell her was about more than just her. The voice that told her Jordan needed to admit it to himself, too, or he would carry the guilt of his past for the rest of his life. It might have been harsh, but she had meant it when she’d referred to him seeing himself as a victim.
It wasn’t her problem, she reminded herself. And even if finding out would mean she would have to sacrifice a part of herself that she had carried for a long time, there was part of her that didn’t want to ask for what she wanted. That couldn’t. There was no way Mila would do that when there was nothing on the line—no relationship, no family—and she had no guarantee Jordan would do the same for her.
So she focused on getting ready. She took out the only two dresses she had kept when she’d moved in with Greg that were formal enough to work for the event. One was a knee-length loose black dress. Pretty enough to wear to a formal event, but demure enough not to draw attention.
She put it in front of her body and realised that it was no longer something she wanted to wear. It reminded her of someone she no longer seemed to be, and she took a moment to figure out whether she was okay with that. When the thought didn’t make her feel anxious something settled inside her, and she pressed her hand to her stomach with a small smile.
Maybe she was changing for the better, she thought, and then put the thought away as something she would take with her when she moved on. And when that thought unsettled her she dismissed it completely and looked at the second dress.
It was long and midnight blue, with a lace halter-neck overlay that led down her arms to form sleeves. It covered the sweetheart neckline designed to show off her bust, and though she would have preferred something completely covered after her actions earlier, she put the dress on and chose to feel confident in it. Another change? she considered.
She fluffed her hair, sighing when her curls wouldn’t play along, and decided to leave it loose. She might as well accept all of herself, she thought, and spent a few minutes on make-up. She looked in the mirror when she was done, told herself to be careful around Jordan, and then grabbed her purse and headed for the front door.
Jordan was already there, and her heart screamed in protest at how handsome he looked. He was wearing a tuxedo that showed off his strong body and looked as if it had been designed to make her breath catch. He had shaved—the five o’clock shadow that had brushed her skin earlier was only a memory now—and had smoothed back his hair, and he looked at her with an unreadable expression that reminded her of a celebrity who was preparing to walk the red carpet.
But as his eyes swept over her his expression slipped enough for her to see his appreciation of her outfit, and she blushed.
‘You’re wearing your hair down,’ he said.
‘Yes, I am,’ she answered, and resisted the urge to fiddle with it.
‘That’s the way I remember it.’
Her heart rapped in her chest, like someone desperately knocking at a door, and she forced herself to calm down. What did it matter if that was how he remembered it?
‘It’s the way I like it,’ he said softly, as though he had been privy to her thoughts, and she had to fight against the embarrassment.
‘Are you ready to go?’ she said, instead of responding to his comment, and almost turned away from him before she saw the look in his eyes.
Gooseflesh immediately shot out on her skin, and she resisted the urge to pull at the material around her neck to get more air. He was looking at her as though he would have liked to continue from where they had left off earlier, and his eyes pierced her right down to her soul.
After a moment his face went back to being unreadable, and she sighed in relief and grabbed her coat from the rack that stood behind the front door.
Jordan opened the car door for her when they reached it, and she carefully got in, trying to avoid all contact with him. Which was in vain, she realised, when the train of her dress still lay outside her door after she’d sat down and they b
oth reached to get it.
Their hands touched for the briefest moment, and yet the feeling reminded her of the way she had felt when she’d burned herself the day before. She snatched it back and let Jordan tuck her dress into the car, and only exhaled when he closed her door and walked around to get in at his side.
‘Do you have any idea why a pop star would be studying classical music?’
He spoke without looking at her, and she wondered if he knew how tight his hands were on the steering wheel despite his outward calm.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ she murmured, proud of the aloof tone she had managed.
She made an extra effort not to fold her arms, which would, for sure, give away her nerves about spending time with him. Because, as much as she didn’t want to be affected by him, she inevitably always was.
The rest of their journey was made in silence, and she tried not to use it as an opportunity to spend more time thinking about everything. Relief hit her right to her bones when the car stopped at the university’s conservatorium. It was a large white building, with the word conservatorium printed boldly at the top, and the glass doors at the bottom were open to the crowds who, for some reason, were pouring into the venue.
She looked up in surprise when her door clicked open, and realised that the time she had spent ogling the building meant she’d been distracted from climbing out of the car by herself. Now she was faced with the hand Jordan was offering to help her out.
She couldn’t say no, she thought, even if that had been her immediate reaction. He was offering an olive branch, she realised when she saw his face.
She braced herself for the contact, but in no way did it help when she took his hand. Heat and memories slid through her like a warm knife through butter, from the hand he now held to the top of her head and right down to her feet. She tightened her hand on his in response, saw the feeling mirrored on his face, and got out so that they wouldn’t have to spend any more time touching.
A Marriage Worth Saving Page 11