Belle would’ve welcomed any smart thoughts. Unfortunately, she’d stopped thinking the moment Luc had uttered the words, whether you like it or not. Now the conversation she’d avoided for two days faced her in the form of a sexy, determined Luc. She took a deep breath as she sat on the foot of her unmade bed. He wanted to know after all this time—fine, she’d tell him. “I can’t handle what you do for a living.”
Judging from his stunned expression, whatever he’d expected her to say, that wasn’t it. “That’s your reason?”
“I know it seems frivolous, and I wish I could claim our clashing work hours or something less selfish, but there you have it. I simply can’t handle your job.”
His frown tugged his brows tight. “Since when?”
Belle smoothed her clammy palms over her jean-clad thighs. “Since Will had his accident and I was the attending surgeon.” A huge, fiery ball of dread sank into her stomach. Luc was going to think she was a coward. Running scared at the first glitch.
“That was close to two years”—an expression of realisation crossed his face—“ago.” He came to sit next to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“For the same reason you wouldn’t tell me if you had a problem with my job. You love what you do. You’re a firefighter, Luc. I knew this before I married you. But when I walked into the theatre and saw Will lying on that table, I nearly passed out. He was covered in blood with this huge piece of glass sticking out of him, and all I saw was you. Up until then, it never crossed my mind that you could get hurt...or worse. Not until Will’s injuries slammed it home.” Tears stung her eyes and came too fast for Belle to hold them back with rapid blinks. “I couldn’t go on if something happened to you.” She grabbed the tissue box from the bedside table and pulled out a couple of tissues, clearing the husk from her throat as she tried to stem the salty flow of tears. “I can’t live each day wondering if this will be the day you get hurt.”
“So you’re going to throw away everything we have on the off chance I might get injured?” He jumped to his feet, pacing as an indication of his helplessness. “Belle, sweetheart, I could lose my life driving to or from work. A couple weeks ago, my crew and I answered an accident call. A supermarket delivery lorry had collided with a motorcycle killing the rider. We were putting sand on the road to cover the blood and oil when a car pulled onto the hard shoulder. A woman got out and ran toward us, yelling, ‘That’s my husband’s bike, is he okay?’ She was frantic when we told her he didn’t make it. All I could do was hold her while she cried.” Luc squeezed his eyes shut at the memory for a moment. “She had three children, all under five, waiting in the car. Can you imagine how she must have felt in that moment?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Women lose husbands every day, and it has nothing to do with their jobs.”
Belle’s heart broke for the small children who had lost their father so tragically. She had an idea of how they would have felt when they found out Daddy was never coming home again. Fresh tears spilled from Belle’s eyes, tears that came directly from her heart.
“When I’m on duty, I focus all my attention on the job,” Luc continued. “You think I don’t shudder every time one of my men gets hurt? That I don’t think that could’ve been me? Do you want to know what kept me vigilant and careful? You, Belle.” He jabbed a forefinger toward her. “You.”
Regardless of how much her heart begged her to relent, put her fears aside, and hold onto Luc, she couldn’t do it. When Belle only stared at him, Luc turned. In a couple of long strides, he was at the window overlooking the tree-lined road.
“The night Will got injured, he was careless.” Obviously deciding she needed further convincing, he persisted. “He’d had a row with his girlfriend before he started his shift, and his mind wasn’t on the job. I could see he was preoccupied—texting, phoning her. I warned him to get it together. By the time the call came in, it was obvious she wasn’t taking his messages, and he went into that house angry.” Luc turned back to face Belle. “The difference between Will and me is that I’m in love with you, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Why would I have done anything to jeopardise that?”
“I don’t think you’d deliberately get yourself hurt.” How could she argue his job’s risk factor when Luc had just told her about the fatal motorcycle accident he’d witnessed? Death was unavoidable—a simple, unpleasant fact she dealt with everyday. Yet death associated with Luc scared her senseless.
“We both have fears, Belle. Let’s not dwell on them and allow them to ruin what we have.” He crossed the space separating her from him, hunkering down in front of Belle as he took her hands in his. “Your job is just as dangerous as mine. I caught the news segment about the junky who brought his girlfriend into A&E with a stab wound, then pulled a knife on you to make sure you had an incentive to save her.”
Although things like that sometimes happened, Belle didn’t consider hers a risky profession. “That was a one-off incident. I’m trained to deal with life-threatening situations.” At the time she’d been shocked by the threatened violence, but she’d kept her head and had taken down the knife-wielding drug addict. She’d managed to save the girl’s life. The police had apprehended the boyfriend on numerous charges, including grievous bodily harm to the girl, who turned out to be his ex-girlfriend.
Luc gently squeezed her hands. “And I’m trained to notice dangerous situations on the job. Despite wanting to hunt down that junky and teach him a lesson, I accept that you know what you’re doing, just as I do. Please, Belle, don’t let the fact you lost your dad in a helicopter accident make you think you’ll lose me next. I don’t plan on going anywhere for a good long time.”
Could she put her fear aside? Live life minus the tenterhooks? Was it possible to let go of her anxiety and simply enjoy her life with Luc? Or would a complete sever from him help to preserve her sanity?
“What if I still want a divorce?”
He released a breath along with her hands as he sat back on his heels. “Then I won’t stand in your way. I love you, Isobel. I want to give you whatever you want, even if it means ripping out my own heart in the process. I’ve had to watch my parents suffer through a marriage commitment they didn’t want. I’d never force you to do the same.”
Life would be far more miserable without Luc. “Is that why you didn’t contest the divorce?”
“Yes.” Though his jaw tensed, he spoke quietly, almost resigned to the possibility that he had lost her. “Love isn’t enough to sustain a marriage if it’s one-sided.”
Belle’s heart squeezed tight in response to Luc’s noble attempt to give her whatever she wanted, even as it clearly broke his heart. She reached out and cupped his bristly cheek in her palm.
“It isn’t one-sided, Luc,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “I love you, too. Nothing...absolutely nothing, makes sense without you.”
Despite his smile, Luc’s eyes glistened. “What are you saying?”
Renewed tears filled Belle’s vision, made his beloved face shimmer. “When a bullet enters the body, it isn’t the projectile burrowing into the body that causes the most damage. It’s the blast wave creating a cavity that destroys the organs within its path.”
“Honey, you aren’t making sense.”
“In plain speech, Luc, I love you, and these last few days have made me conclude that ending our marriage would be far more destructive than living with the possibility that you may get hurt.”
His smile widened as he placed his hands on her knees. “The divorce is the blast wave, right?”
Belle’s laugh came off teary. “Yes, the divorce is the blast wave.”
“If this comes down to a choice—you or the job—you know I’d choose you.”
“I’d never ask you to do that.”
“It’s how much I want to be with you, Belle.”
“I know.” She kissed him with all the gratitude inside of her. “You can’t give up your job,” she said when they ended the kiss. “Becaus
e I love a man in uniform.”
“You finally admit it’s the uniform.”
“Oh, it’s definitely the man in the uniform that does it for me.”
Luc moved to sit next to her on the bed. His heated gaze locked on her lips sparked desire low in her belly as he cupped the back of her head, drawing her close for another inferno kiss.
“You’re kinda hot in scrubs, yourself,” he whispered against her mouth.
Belle laughed, finally releasing months of tension and worry. “Nobody is hot in scrubs.”
“You think so?” He grinned. “Come here and let me show you what I think about when I see you in those green pyjama things.”
Belle was sure the whole neighbourhood must have heard her shriek of delight when Luc suddenly wrestled her back against the mattress.
~*~
IT WAS several hours and one missed flight later when Belle and Luc finally left the bedroom to tell Belle’s family they’d decided not to apply for the decree absolute.
As they stepped off the last tread, Luc dropped his arm around Belle’s shoulder and a kiss on her temple. “Are you ready for this?”
She tangled her fingers with his on her shoulder, her other hand playing with the hard muscle at his waist. “Absolutely.”
He chuckled. “So different from the last time we did this.”
“I know.” Was it only a couple of days ago she had warned Luc not to go overboard with the devoted husband act? Now it wasn’t an act, and Belle couldn’t wait to get back home to London with Luc.
Bring on the second honeymoon!
When they entered the lounge, Tommy was noticeably absent, but five pairs of eyes turned to stare at them with an atmosphere of anxious waiting.
Unable to keep the news to herself, Belle shouted, “We’ve reconciled.”
Mia was the first to squeal and launch herself at them, almost knocking Belle and Luc off their feet.
“I’m so happy!” She threw her arms around them and rocked them from side to side in a happy dance.
The other women joined in the bear hug, and Belle spotted Gran in her chair next to the fireplace. Hands clasped in her lap, she smiled a secret smile and gave Belle a cheeky wink.
“Gran, you did it.” Mia released them and hugged Gran tight enough to crack a rib.
Belle didn’t trust the spark of mischief in her sister’s eyes. “What do you mean, Gran ‘did it’?”
Mia released her grandmother, but sat on the chair arm beside her with an arm around the elderly woman’s shoulder. She looked down, meeting Gran’s enigmatic glance. “Are you going to tell everyone why you brought us here?”
Gran’s secret smile turned wicked, and she tapped her chin in thought. “Oh dear, it seems I’ve forgotten. Would you believe it?”
Vicki and Mia burst out laughing, while Luc, Belle and her cousins looked on in astonishment.
Then Luc joined in. “The wily little old lady!”
Belle’s chuckle turned into a full belly laugh.
Gran had pulled another fast one on them. Evidently, she’d known all this time they’d ended their marriage, and had orchestrated a family gathering to force them to come clean, or reconcile.
Luc pulled Belle to him and claimed her mouth in a firestorm kiss filled with promise for a future based on unbreakable commitment. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Belle noticed her family creeping from the lounge, leaving her and Luc in their private cocoon.
He drew away, his intense gaze searching hers. He stroked a forefinger down her cheek. “Have you any idea how much I love you, Mrs. Delaney?”
A lump rose to her throat. It’d been a while since she last thought of herself as Mrs. Delaney, Lucas Delaney’s wife. She was both Dr. Murphy and Mrs. Delaney. Out of the two titles, ‘Mrs. Delaney’ made her heart sing.
For answer, Belle pressed her mouth to his, not caring that he had to have seen the tears of joy glistening in her eyes.
“Oh, Luc, I’ve missed you. How could I ever have thought it possible to live without you? I love you so much.”
He rewarded her with a grin before melting her with another kiss. As each transmitted their deep love for the other in a thorough, sexy embrace, Belle felt sure that whatever the future held for them, they’d meet it head-on in steadfast union.
*~*~*~*
Thank you for reading Let’s Pretend. I hope you enjoyed Belle and Luc’s story. Now please allow me to introduce you to Andrew and Michelle in this excerpt from Divorce Etiquette.
Divorce Etiquette
by
Monique DeVere
© Monique DeVere 2009
Chapter One
By the time Andrew Boston reached for the phone, it had rung seven times.
Seven nerve-grating rings and if it rung once more he was going to throw it, the desk, the computer and quite possibly the entire contents of his plush tenth floor Docklands office out the floor-to-ceiling windows.
To say his day wasn’t going well was an understatement. It was barely ten o’clock, and he’d already been at his office six hours dealing with a North American software company run by dyslexic chimpanzees.
How the company had survived this long was beyond him. Clearly, he was their last resort. The desperate call for help two days ago now left him sitting amongst a mountain of paperwork and business accounts.
His assessment of the company’s recovery was dire. Nevertheless, his job was to bring order to businesses in chaos.
Where was Juliet? And why couldn’t company owners seek professional business help before they ran into trouble?
He gave the reinforced windows a considering look as he lifted the receiver. “Andrew Boston.” Annoyance at having to answer a call his assistant should have intercepted vibrated in his voice.
“Boston. You want to tell me why your wife is trying to take my company?”
The angry reference to a wife he no longer had threw Andrew. Something clenched deep in his gut at the mention of her. He rubbed the back of his neck to relieve some of the tension caused by six hours of hunched-over concentration.
He hadn’t seen Michelle since December. Running into her at his parents’ annual Christmas party had been a surprise, but they’d been civil. Not that he could imagine Michelle being anything other than painfully civil toward him.
He didn’t want the reminder of his ex-wife. Regrets and thoughts of might-have-beens habitually followed, and he refused to dwell on his mistakes.
He pushed the thoughts away. “What are you talking about, Lydell?”
Andrew swung his chair around to face the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows lining the wall behind him.
Patrick Lydell’s craggy voice crackled through the phone line. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know your wife is working for Kirkham and Hull, or that they’re representing William Evans, who’s trying to steal my company?”
“Of course I know where Michelle works, but this is the first I’ve heard of a takeover.”
“Well let me tell you something, my boy,” Patrick ran on. “And you can tell this to your wife. I’ve worked too hard to sit back and let anyone—especially Evans—take my company from me in some hostile bid. If she’s looking for a fight, she’s got one.”
The phone crashed down in his ear.
Andrew glared at the handset, slammed it down, and stood with shoulders rigid. He dug his hands into his trouser pockets to keep from giving in to the impulse to fling the thing against the far wall.
After listening to what Michelle thought of him last Christmas, he’d vowed to stay out of her life. And, as she’d taken pains to point out, she was no longer his responsibility.
As a thought occurred to him, he bit back a word that would make his mum flick his ear if she heard him utter it. Michelle owned twelve percent equity in Lydell Electronics, which placed her in the position of possible insider trading.
His day just got worse.
He had to go and see Michelle.
****
Michelle
wasn’t having a good day.
She couldn’t concentrate and had been reading and re-reading the same few pages of a company report for more hours than she cared to admit. Mainly, she’d been unable to stop thinking about today’s date—July twenty-first—and what it signified.
“Ms. Boston, your husband’s on hold.”
Michelle glanced up from the company report and looked at the intercom on her desk as if it were a foreign object. Hours of due-diligence must have interrupted her brain signals, because she was sure her assistant had just said Andrew was on hold.
Why would he be phoning her? Surely not because of the date? She frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose as she glanced out the window of her South Bank office. It’d been seven months since she last saw him, and she’d almost begun to believe she wouldn’t see him again for a long time—the rest of her life, if she had anything to do with it.
That was the only way she would be able to move on from the mistake of falling in love with him, the only way she could forge a new relationship and have the children she wanted.
The mid-July sun glinting off the London Eye reminded her of her life—revolving in circles, never going anywhere. Up to now, she hadn’t managed to even look at another man, much less consider entering another relationship with the possibility of marriage and children.
She would have to start soon if she stood a chance of having a child before it was too late.
Michelle took a shuddering breath and tried to suppress the sudden nervous flip-flop in her stomach at the mention of Andrew. “Stop that,” she muttered when another calming breath failed to do its job. “He’s only a man, not a god, despite what he believes.”
Three more deep breaths.
A waste of time.
“He’s my ex-husband, Tiffany, which line?” She gave up with the deep breathing and held her breath.
“Sorry. Three.”
She lifted the handset and pressed the button to connect Andrew’s call. “Yes, Andrew, what can I do for you?” she said on a rush of exhaled air.
Let's Pretend (Romantic Comedy, Contemporary, Second Chance, Sensual) Page 9