How To Love An Ogre (Island Girls: 3 Sisters In Mauritius Book 2)
Page 14
He recalled something cold being applied onto his forehead, and a cool towel bathing his face and his neck. Somebody lowering him to bed with extreme gentleness. Being helped through a doorway, to the bathroom. Foul-tasting liquid in his mouth while he could do nothing except keep his eyes closed against the weariness.
Diya had done all that?
Reality struck him, then. He’d been seriously sick, and Diya had taken care of his house and his children.
She’d looked after him.
Desperation overwhelmed him, to burn with a singeing flame throughout his entrails.
He’d really been atrocious with her. As he took on the heinous proportions of his actions and words, he let his head fall onto the sofa.
What had he done?
***
He’d been a callous brute.
Diya kept up cheerful banter with the boys all the way to the dojo where they had started jujitsu lessons. But once alone in the truck after having dropped them off, the tears started flowing. She could hold up only so long.
What had she expected from that oaf, though?
She fought with the overwhelming crushing sensation in her chest as she pressed her lips together to keep the sobs in.
How could he have said those hateful words to her?
She’d kept his unworthy hide alive, and the blustering idiot said he didn’t need her concern? Calling it bogus, on top?
Anger, intense and fiery, sliced through her with a blunt, red-hot tip. The tears dried in her eyes, and she wiped her cheeks with furious swipes. She’d show him; he didn’t know what was about to hit him. She would leave him in the dump, with his kids and all they needed done for them.
Truly, what had she expected? Undying gratitude? Flowery thanks and praise? Suited her right for trying to help an arrogant foreigner like him. To think she’d foregone two whole workdays for him, and had left poor Angélique with all the work on the design plan for Palm Palace.
Speaking of work, she needed to check for any appointments she could arrange for the day, since she’d go back to the boor’s bedside over her own dead body. She snorted. As if that could happen. Idiot—of course she wouldn’t be able to move her dead body; she’d be dead. Duh. Trust Trent bloody Garrison to scramble the little sense she still possessed.
She rummaged around in the glove compartment, searching for her graphic tablet. Easier to lug around than a laptop, and the device came in handy, with all her projects and designs saved on there. She’d also found these crashed less than the laptops with the too-slow processors she could afford to buy on the local market.
She’d always been prone to a calamitous streak, and, speaking of, she should add another debacle today to the list, because her tablet wasn’t in the glove box. Great.
Shoot! She’d left it in the kitchen the previous night.
In Trent’s kitchen.
Her heart sank. She’d have to go back.
Couldn’t she simply leave it there? No. She’d saved all her projects, and her latest backups, on it. A few ideas had come to her the previous night while she’d been preparing dinner, and she’d sketched them on the device. Ange wouldn’t have those, so she couldn’t simply cut and run straight to the office.
She had no other option ...
Diya blanked out all emotion as she parked the Ranger and made her way upstairs to the third floor of the flat block. Using careful moves, she opened the door to Trent’s flat without making any noise and tiptoed into the kitchen. Her tablet lay right there on the granite-topped table, next to the kettle. She grabbed the device and turned … only to bump straight into Trent.
The electronic gadget wedged itself between her body and his, acting as the only barrier between their clothes as they stood so close, facing each other.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.”
His voice had come out husky and full of relief.
Right, he’d butter her up, wouldn’t he? He sure had another think coming. She might have returned, but he was so not off the hook. If she had her way, he’d never get away, scot-free or any other way.
Annoyance bubbled right along with despair inside her. She hadn’t wanted to meet him again. If only it weren’t for her stupid forgetfulness.
She needed to get out. She’d come for the tablet, and she had it. End of the story.
So, she closed her hand on the small apparatus and, in the process, brushed against the soft T-shirt he’d pulled on.
The fabric was warm, the heat from his body seeping through to her skin.
Fire erupted on her cheeks, and the memory of the sensual interlude she’d indulged in when he’d been asleep assailed her. The same warmth ... His skin would be smooth underneath the jersey cotton.
She shouldn’t think of that night. Not if she valued her sanity, her dignity. And Trent had behaved like the worst arse possible.
Discomfited and wanting nothing more than to run from the turmoil and from him, she stepped around him and hurried out of the room.
She’d gone a couple of steps when his voice broke the silence.
“Diya.”
The soft, lilting sound of her name in his gravelly voice froze her to the spot, and she closed her eyes. His tone was low, husky, and thickened by some emotion she didn’t recognise. That one, single sound washed over her and settled somewhere around her heart, making the organ beat faster in a frenzied rhythm. How could he do this to her? Especially after everything that had taken place in the morning?
In the time her emotional turmoil had rooted her where she stood, Trent had drawn closer. His broad, manly presence loomed behind her. Shivers ran up and down her spine when she heard his breath so close to her ear. Warm, moist, intimate ...
Why couldn’t she leave? She didn’t want to be here, remember? She needed to teach him a lesson—
“I’m sorry.”
The words thrummed clear, the tone strong and sincere.
All her bravado left her, and her shoulders sagged. A quiver started in her throat, to become a sob. And another. Seconds later, sobs wracked her whole body as the emotional stress of the past few days and the recent morning encounter overcame her, and she stood powerless—and with no desire—to stop the breakdown.
“Diya, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said ...”
He settled those big hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around to face him. His touch lingered tender and soft, and the kindness in the gesture undid her completely. The sobs became a stifled cry.
That’s when he pulled her to him and held her while he stroked her hair.
Nestled in the circle of his arms, she should crave to run, to push him away, to let him know she was not someone he could berate how and when he wanted. But nothing except the warmth of his embrace, the solidness of his chest under her cheek, registered inside her brain.
What a pathetic mess.
“Something came over me.”
His voice rumbled in her ear, its reverberations rippling from his chest, right under her cheek. Somehow, to hear the words from this position made the admission ring stronger, and much more honest.
“A memory from a long time back,” he said. “I’m sorry I took it out on you. You’ve been a treasure, and it’s inexcusable what I did. Please, please forgive me.”
The sobs eased as she listened to what Trent said. He sounded genuinely sorry, and her heart heard the repentance in his voice.
Still didn’t mean she shouldn’t hanker to get out as fast as she could. Trent, in any form, represented a danger to her sanity, and her well-being. And she to him, because her thoughts around him weren’t at all kosher.
She eased herself out of his arms and peered into his face.
“It’s okay,” she said in a croak. “I have to go now.”
He grabbed hold of her arm when she took a step.
“Don’t go. Please.”
*
Trent meant every word of the request. He didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want to be alone. Mor
e than anything, he wanted to be with her. How could he get her to stay? Her furtive gaze said she was still wary of him. He’d hurt her deeply; what else had he expected?
She remained silent, until she slowly nodded.
He sighed in relief.
His stomach chose right then to rumble loudly. He’d forgotten to eat.
“You must be hungry.”
He motioned towards the kitchen. “I was about to grab some toast—”
“Don’t.” She pushed him towards a chair at the dining table, taking control once again just as swiftly. “You haven’t eaten anything substantial in more than two days. Take it easy on your stomach. I made some soup yesterday for dinner.”
She busied herself around the kitchen, poured soup into a bowl, and placed it for a full minute in the microwave.
He’d previously noticed how at ease she seemed around the house. Peering at her this time, it struck him that she belonged there.
Belonged? And here, in his house? With him, and the boys?
He caught the thought as it crossed his mind. Where would his imagination soar next?
Diya slid the bowl in front of him. The aroma from the soup, like fresh herbs and butter, tickled his nose, tantalising, and he took a spoonful. Watercress soup? The green concoction tasted as good as it smelled, and he paused between two spoonfuls. She remained standing a few feet from him.
“Will you please keep me company?”
She hesitated, but then walked up to the table and sat down in the chair opposite him.
Strange to have her sit there and not say anything. He didn’t like the quiet Diya and much preferred the bubbly and spirited girl who talked a mile a minute and battered the eardrums of anyone around her.
The same girl who’d also proven she was a responsible woman with a wonderful heart in the past few days.
“Diya, you don’t know how sorry I am. I was a complete arse.”
The last word brought a small smile to her lips, and soon after, she started laughing.
He loved the sound of her laugh. A tinkling chime full of light and cheerfulness.
“That’s true,” she said when the amusement died, leaving a glow on her beautiful features.
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For all you’ve done. Looking after the house. The children. Looking after me ...”
She squinted, features suddenly darker. “What do you remember?”
Confusion scrambled his memory. He couldn’t remember anything properly, only fragments of what he thought were memories. But what if he’d simply imagined it all? He needed to know what had gone down first. “What happened to me?”
“A bad case of flu. You probably ignored it when the symptoms started, so everything had already blown out of proportion when you noticed. My father said you were lucky it didn’t have time to reach your chest.”
He paused between two spoons of soup. “Your father?”
She nodded. “I asked him to come see you when your fever shot up.”
He frowned.
“He’s a doctor.”
So he hadn’t dreamt the doctor part. With confirmation the memory happened to be real, the image sharpened in his head. He also recalled swallowing warm liquid that tasted like chicken soup, too tired to even acknowledge where the food was coming from.
“You remember?”
“I remember Eric Roberts at my bedside.” Which just couldn’t be true.
She threw her head back and laughed, which filled him with surprise.
“It was my dad, actually. Those two could pass for twins.”
How strange.
“I didn’t know your father was a doctor,” he said.
She shrugged. “We don’t know much about each other.”
Her voice had come out soft, hesitant.
“True,” he acknowledged.
Suddenly, Trent found himself wanting to know this woman better. In the recent past, after a rather notable romantic fiasco with a childhood friend, he’d never gone further than a polite acquaintance with any woman he’d met.
But Diya ignited something in him, a thirst for information about her.
“So, who else other than your father and your brother-in-law is a doctor in your family?”
Her eyes took a faraway look. Her voice hummed in a low tone, heavy with affection, when she next spoke. “Just them. We all went our own way.”
He gulped. “We?”
The smile she gave him could rival Mona Lisa’s for mystery, as if she held on to some secret, and she alone knew this truth. It unnerved him a little.
“Who else is there in your family?”
She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table. “My parents and my two sisters. I’m the youngest. The eldest, Lara, is married to Eric, and she has two children. She’s the Managing Director of a conference centre. My other sister, Neha, is married, too, and she lives in Cape Town with her husband and their three children. She’s a full-time mum and wife, though. My dad’s a cardiac surgeon, and my mother doesn’t work, other than at gossip.”
A big family. Once, he’d yearned to have a big family.
“What about you?” she asked.
He shrugged. He’d heard from her tone when she spoke of her family how close they were. He didn’t have any of that.
“There’s only me and the boys. My mother is in Kent, and my father passed away two decades ago.”
Was that a flash of pain that had passed over her eyes? They were now intense, fixed on him.
“What about the children’s mother?” she asked in a quiet voice.
He glanced down, away from her. He’d never told anyone the truth, keeping any explanation to the strict minimum needed to ward off any question. How much should he tell her?
“She died,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
He still didn’t want to face her. Yet, he yearned to tell her more ...
“She passed away shortly after Josh was born.”
Silence grew thick between them, and the clink of his spoon against the porcelain bowl reverberated in the stillness.
Until she drowned its echo with only one word.
“Crystal?”
How did she know?
“You mentioned her name quite a few times when you were with the fever,” she said, as if reading his mind and sensing his unspoken question.
Anxiety clutched his heart in a vise-like grip. What had he said about her in his sleep? Definitely more than what he usually confided. This meant Diya probably knew quite a lot about his relationship with his late wife.
Her voice broke through his thoughts. “Did you love her?”
She’d asked the question in a soft voice. Yet, he thought he’d heard a hint of trepidation behind the words.
Maybe the time had come to tell Diya the truth.
He lifted his face. The words he needed to say refused to leave his lips, but he forced them out. “There was a time I did. A very long time ago ...”
His pain-filled statement thrummed between them, until she covered his hand with hers.
Her touch soothed something inside him, like salve cooled the fire of a burn. Under the gentle contact, a weight lifted from his shoulders. Today marked the first time he’d confided in anyone and liberated himself from the sorrow.
Her limpid eyes conveyed understanding, and acceptance. Everything he needed.
But weariness engulfed him out of the blue, and he now yearned to change the topic. What he’d confessed was already a big step away from what he’d thought possible. He had no desire to test his limits again so soon. Even with a wonderful woman like Diya.
“How come you’re not married?” he asked.
She chuckled softly. “You sound like my mother.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“No.” She shook her head, but the smile had returned. “My mum can be a tad overwhelming.” She paused for a few seconds, her face taking on a contemplative air. “Actually, I’m to
ning it down. My mum can take over your life even if you don’t allow her.”
He found himself laughing. “How come you’ve escaped, then?”
“My sisters help, especially Lara. And my father sides with me.”
“I’m sure it’s not the lack of suitors that makes you unmarried today. I mean, maybe you don’t want to get married, which is fine—”
Blimey, why was he babbling like so? Was he hell-bent on making even more of an idiot of himself in front of her?
“I do want to get married,” she replied, almost in a whisper. “I just haven’t found the right person. Yet.”
He nodded. “Won’t your boyfriend mind how you’re spending so much time with us here?”
Lucky bloke, whoever scored a place in her heart.
Mona Lisa returned. Along with the unnerving rasp at his curiosity.
“I’m actually not seeing anyone at the moment.”
A wave of relief engulfed his mind. Why, he had no idea. Still, what would she reveal if he probed a little further?
“Don’t tell me there aren’t any suitors at your door?”
She seemed lost in her thoughts, before she spoke up, her voice dreamy. This time, he didn’t like what he heard at all.
“There is someone, but an involvement may clash with work, so we’re taking things easy for the time being.”
She’d brought up work—perfect deflection. He didn’t want to know of her involvements with other men. The image of her in the handsome doctor’s arms came back to haunt him. He needed to pull out of it.
“You never really told me what you do.”
“I’m an interior designer, and I co-own my company with my best friend, Angélique, who’s also a designer.”
Impressive. She was so young, and already established in a professional career. “How’s the business?”
“Doing good. We just earned a contract for the renovation of a hotel. After a rather rocky start, ALIDA is picking up rather well.”
The name registered in his mind, and the realisation hit him like a truck. “You did the airline’s offices in Port-Louis?”
“Yeah. Why?”
How could he tell her she’d gone up one more notch in his esteem? The thought triggered another notion in him, one he found discomfiting at most.
Was he falling for her?