‘I’m not even famous,’ she whispered. ‘Why does anyone give a damn? I’m not news.’
But she was the villain-du-jour. And James? James was the hero.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said shortly. ‘Forget about it.’
He spoke with such crisp authority. As if it really were that easy. Maybe for him it was.
‘Oh, sure.’ She painted on a smile. ‘I’ll do that.’
When she went down to breakfast she swore she saw caution in his parents’ eyes as they greeted her. They’d read the story too. It had rehashed the worst of the Dominic nightmare. The accusations of cattiness, craziness, vindictiveness. Her brief moment of being no one, of having no past and reputation to cloud their minds and poison their perceptions, that was gone. Now they knew she wasn’t the woman for their precious son. The one they so obviously wanted to care for and protect and to see happy.
James was quiet again. She felt the old isolation return. At three a.m. they’d still been awake, clinging to each other in wild abandon, but now?
It meant nothing. Now, more than ever, she understood it had to mean nothing.
She wasn’t the right woman for him. She didn’t need the trolls on the Internet to tell her that.
Mid-morning he walked over to her as she sat on one of the wicker chairs on the deck, staring out to the sea. ‘You’re still worried.’
‘Your family have read those stories.’ She couldn’t bring herself to even look at his mother.
‘And my family knows those kinds of stories are fiction.’
Mostly. But there was the ‘no smoke without fire’ thing. The partial truth. ‘You’re not going to ask me about it?’ she said softly.
He hunched down before her. ‘You already told me you’ve never been pregnant.’
‘And you truly believed me? Just like that?’
‘Why? You want to me to find a lie detector? Do some torture?’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘If that’s what you say, then I believe you.’
He’d not asked her about it directly since that day they’d Googled each other. She’d told him the truth. And he’d accepted it. She hadn’t needed to pull out all kinds of exhibits or evidence to be believed. He hadn’t needed it. Or wanted it. Still didn’t.
She almost smiled. ‘I should explain it to your parents.’
‘Leave it.’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t need to explain anything to anyone.’ He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘No one can really understand what someone else might be going through. No one should make judgments. Your body, your life, the way you choose to live it. That’s your choice. What decisions you make, or may have made, you’ll have your reasons for them.’
‘Some of my choices have been wrong,’ she said. ‘They’ve been mistakes.’
‘Me too, you know that,’ he whispered. ‘So we just have to try to learn from them, right? Not repeat them.’ He looked at her, his eyes shadowed but sure. ‘And not keep beating ourselves up about them for the rest of our lives.’
Her heart melted. He might be as human as she, might have made big mistakes, but he was undeniably courageous. And so easy to want to love.
‘Come on,’ he said, standing up and drawing away. ‘I think it’s time we went back to Manhattan.’
Half an hour later his parents were still all polite smiles as they stood on the driveway to wave them off.
‘I’ll come back again soon.’ James wrapped his mother in a hug. ‘Before I go overseas for a while again. Okay?’
He felt his mother’s arms tighten. ‘We’d love that.’
‘Me too.’ He smiled and pressed a quick kiss on her hair. Actually meaning it. And actually feeling okay. The old aching lump in his heart was still there, but for some reason it had softened a smidge.
He glanced at Caitlin waiting in the passenger seat already. She looked pale, as if she hadn’t slept. Well, he knew for a fact she hadn’t.
He’d take her back to the condo. It had been a mistake to bring her here. A mistake to take her out last night. He kept seeing that photo from that website. The one where he was holding her close and all but dragging her out of the club. He hardly recognised himself—the expression on his face was one of total ownership.
Since when did he act so ‘Me Tarzan. You Jane’? Was it when she’d asked him to take her home? Like they belonged together?
His muscles twitched. They’d hardly started the cruise through the villages when his mobile rang. He glanced at the screen and immediately pulled over to take the call. ‘Lisbet?’
‘You know how you didn’t want the full two weeks off?’
His adrenalin spiked as he heard the catch of anxiety in Lisbet’s voice. ‘Yeah?’
‘It’s that conference.’
‘You need me to go?’ James asked before she could even explain her reasons.
‘Yes. It’s just that—’
‘It’s no problem,’ James assured her, his blood pumping. Perfect. Breathing space. Business. Normality. ‘I can do it. As soon as you need me, I’m there.’
‘Really?’
Yeah, he wasn’t surprised that she was taken aback given she knew how much he hated conferences and the whole public-speaking thing.
‘Of course.’ He tried to joke. ‘I’m assuming you’ve written the keynote?’
‘I’ll email it to you.’
‘And I’ll amend it.’ He cracked a smile.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her. ‘I can do it.’
‘You’ll need to get the next flight to Sapporo.’ The anxiety returned to Lisbet’s voice.
‘Have you booked me a ticket already?’
‘I’m on it now. I’ll email it. You’ve only got a couple hours.’
‘Great,’ he said. ‘JFK?’ He’d have to drop Caitlin off and go straight there.
‘Yes.’ Her relief was audible. ‘I knew I could rely on you. Thank you.’
‘Not a problem. You do what you have to do. And so will I.’
‘I will.’
James rang off and pulled back out into the traffic lane before saying anything to Caitlin. He pressed hard on the accelerator. This was a good thing. It’d give him a few days to pause and get his head together. Caitlin would still be in New York when he got back and he’d see how things were then. He glanced at her. She was watching the scenery whizz by.
‘Did you get the gist of that?’ he asked.
‘You’re going somewhere.’ She turned her face to look at him, concern etched in her blue eyes. ‘Has something horrible happened somewhere?’
‘No, thank goodness.’ He hurriedly smiled, hating the spasm of guilt that she’d been worried for a moment. It reinforced his instinct—he was right to walk away. ‘I have to go to that conference in Northern Japan.’
Her eyes widened. ‘There really is a conference? I thought you just made that up as an excuse to fob off your family.’
‘There really is a conference.’ He chuckled, even as he felt another bite of that guilt. ‘At the time it was also an excuse because I didn’t have to go to it. Now I do.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s a big conference. Important. I have to deliver the keynote.’
‘Wow.’
‘Hmm.’ He glanced at her again. She was back to looking at the scenery. ‘Not my favourite thing to do,’ he said. ‘But I really do have to—’
‘It’s okay, you don’t have to explain it, I understand.’ Caitlin totally understood.
James had a job to do. And that job always came first.
She breathed in, trying to get her head around the sudden change of plan. There’d been no hesitation in his replies during the call. He’d offered instantly. Absolute readiness and pleasure. No thought for what—or who—he’d
be leaving behind. He’d just locked into action-man mode. It was what he loved.
All he loved.
Oh, she was stupid. So lame to have been so looking forward to getting back to the condo and having him to herself again.
That she’d come to feel so much for him so quickly? The clichés were clichés for a reason—they were true. Prolonged physical intimacy led to emotional entanglement. For her anyway. Had she really thought that the almost desperate way he’d held her to him last night had meant something? What a fool she was.
She stared resolutely out of the window. Refusing to let herself feel any kind of hurt. Impossible of course. And she didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want him to leave her.
But he was. After all, what was a few more days with her compared to his work? A ‘keynote speech’ had to be delivered—oooh, so important.
She couldn’t help the bitchy turn of her thoughts. He hadn’t been called to a desperate life-saving search in the rubble somewhere hellish. This was a conference. A bunch of people standing round and talking.
But she wasn’t going to tell him how she felt about it. As if she’d make such a fool of herself? She couldn’t turn harpy on him for doing his job. She couldn’t cry and say she’d miss him—which she wanted to do and would. Hell, this was a holiday fling—he’d probably laugh at her. Then run a mile from the psycho clinging woman. He’d think she was all that Dominic had claimed—the woman who refused to let a man walk when he wanted to.
She was the loser for taking this too seriously. She was the loser for letting him inside—not to her body, but her heart. But she’d never let him know what a fool she’d been. Because even if he didn’t laugh, the last thing she wanted now was any kind of pity.
‘I’ll drop you at the condo, then I’ll head straight to the airport.’ He broke the silence.
‘You don’t have to pack?’
‘I have all I need with me.’
Of course. Combat pants and grey T-shirts. ‘You always have your passport with you?’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. ‘You never know when you might get a call.’
‘Of course.’
He really was action man. She froze inside as she listened to him. He was excited. Of course he was. Off to Japan. Off to meet with other heroic beings.
He’d obviously forgotten what was currently splattered all over the Internet—the conjecture, the criticism. He didn’t care about that anyway. Of course he didn’t. None of it would stick to him. But to her?
‘Stay in the condo. Keep on sightseeing,’ he said.
As if she wanted to do that alone? As if she wanted to sleep in that big bed by herself? ‘Thanks.’
That was when she realised it.
The headlines were right. She was selfish. She wanted more, more, Moore. Always had. Probably always would. She wanted to be first in someone’s life. For once. Just once. But that she’d imagined even for a moment that it could have been him?
The drive back to Manhattan flew by in half the time it had taken to get to the Hamptons only those two days ago. It was with utter relief that she saw his building come into view. She could hold it together for only a little longer.
As soon as he pulled over, she grabbed her bag and stepped out of the car. ‘You’d better go,’ she said husky and quick. ‘You don’t want to miss your flight.’
‘Caitlin—’
‘Go,’ she interrupted. She didn’t want to hear any kind of platitude. She waved and turned away. A split second later she turned back.
But just like that, he was gone.
TWELVE
Part of the condo was almost complete—the kitchen. In the couple of days they’d had away the builders had installed the cabinetry and the beautiful marble slab for the counter. Caitlin barely glanced at it as she dashed upstairs. She flung herself face down in pillow mountain and let the tears fall from her eyes.
Five minutes. Five minutes of moping. Then she was pulling herself together.
But she hurt so much inside. She squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t make the world go away. What an idiot. She sat up and scrubbed the tears from her face with her palms. She looked around the lovely room. Then her gaze rested on the slim black rectangle he’d left on the beside table.
It was the last thing she should do. She knew that. But she couldn’t help it. She might as well see the worst. She switched it on and opened up the Internet.
Yeah. There it was. Caitlin swallowed and quickly closed down the programme. Put the iPad back. Then stood and raced to the bathroom. But as if she could run away from it at all? How could she hide from that?
How could it be that this latest round of Internet abuse upset her more than the mess with Dominic? Why was the public pillory worse this time?
Because this time it was true.
Caitlin wasn’t good enough for James. He was too good for her. But not only that, he didn’t feel the same about her. Once more she’d put her hopes in someone who cared more for his career than he did for her. Would she never learn?
Now she was left to deal with it alone. Again.
She couldn’t stay here. She refused to take what he’d offered her. It wasn’t enough. The question was where she was going to go.
She’d never ask her father for money. Or Hannah. She’d never be a leech. Hannah mightn’t see it like that, but so many others definitely would. And Caitlin wasn’t giving anyone any reason to doubt her—especially the sister that she’d seen so little of. With Caitlin working so much as a kid, and Hannah so much since, they’d really never had a normal kind of sibling relationship. Not the teasing and laughing James had with his brothers. She wished she could be a better sister, but for Hannah’s sake Caitlin believed it was better to be an absent sister. Then she could pretend it didn’t hurt so much.
She stared at her reflection and told herself to suck it up. She’d known she couldn’t call on the little family she had, and she’d known she shouldn’t fall for James. It just wasn’t going to happen for her.
She was going to have to figure her own way through her finances, through her heartbreak. To do that she needed to go back to London as soon as she could. She’d find a job. She’d survive. She was smart. She could sew. She was strong.
She could come up with a plan.
* * *
Four days later James landed back at JFK airport. Shattered again after another flight with no sleep. But that didn’t matter. He had to get home asap. He had a bad feeling. He’d called the landline at the condo several times while he was away—at the oddest of times.
She’d never picked up.
He paid off the cabbie and raced inside. The refurbished kitchen in the condo looked beautiful. But empty. The whole place felt empty.
‘Caitlin?’ He ran up the stairs, his heart thudding.
He didn’t want this. But he already knew. His sanctuary of a bedroom was empty. And huge. And lonely. His massive bed was made—the covers unrumpled. As if they’d never been touched.
Cold.
He didn’t need to look in the wardrobe to check for her clothes. She was gone. Then he saw it—the note she’d left on top of his pile of damn T-shirts.
Thanks so much, I had a fabulous holiday.
James swore. What the hell was that? Some courteous note a schoolgirl might write? It was so nothing.
His chest burned as if he’d been overdoing a sprints session. He’d underestimated how much he’d been looking forward to seeing her again. Now panic seized him as it hit him. He’d been aching to see her. Only he hadn’t realised it. Hadn’t let himself. But now? Now he knew he’d been missing her every waking and sleeping moment. And he wanted to see her. He wanted her here—right now, giving him one of her defiant, teasing looks as she cut him down to size with one of her quips. And
he wanted her flushed and sparkling and welcoming him with her warm body—all the while still teasing him in the way only she did.
He wanted that warmth. That acerbic wit. All the spirit and generosity that was in that woman. Only Caitlin.
Now it really hit. Just how far he’d fallen. How much he wanted her. Needed her. Loved her.
And she wasn’t here.
Where had she gone? Was she okay? He didn’t even have her phone number. So how the hell was he going to find her now?
He grabbed his phone and called George. ‘I need Hannah Moore’s number.’
‘Really?’
‘Urgently.’
‘Okay.’ George caught the desperation. ‘I’ll get it to you.’
Less than three minutes later James’ phone chimed with a text. A number. He didn’t care what time it was wherever in the world Hannah was right now, James was calling.
A woman answered after five interminable rings. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, is this Hannah Moore?’
‘Who is this?’ she asked, all frigid caution.
‘Don’t hang up.’ James clenched his empty fist in frustration. ‘I really need to find Caitlin.’
‘Caitlin?’
‘Your sister.’ He spoke through gritted teeth.
‘Who is this?’
‘Look, my name’s James Wolfe. I’m George Wolfe’s twin. I met Caitlin when she came to New York and I—’
‘She’s in New York?’
James paused. Stunned. ‘You didn’t know that?’
‘No, I—’
‘When did you last talk to Caitlin?’ Fury rose in him. And it was obvious Hannah heard it.
‘Look, I’m really sorry,’ she said in a far too quiet voice. ‘I don’t know where she is.’
‘Well, would your father know?’
There was a pause. ‘He’s with me. And no. He doesn’t know.’ Another pause. ‘I really am sorry.’
‘You should be,’ James snapped. ‘All this crap she’s been through and you don’t even know where she is?’
‘She doesn’t tend to get in touch much.’
‘Do you try to? Or is it just easier for you to leave her out in the cold?’
Whose Bed Is It Anyway? Page 16