Lone Wolfe

by Kate Hewitt

  ‘Do you think so?’ Jacob asked, and he sounded amused. ‘Because you’re frowning quite ferociously at the moment.’

  ‘Am I?’ Mollie felt herself add a flush to the frown and she suppressed a groan. ‘Well, if I am, it’s only because I dropped my roll and I hate doing things like that.’ If she couldn’t be sophisticated, she might as well be honest.

  ‘You’re frowning that much over a roll?’ Jacob said, and he sounded even more amused.

  ‘It’s not the roll,’ she explained. ‘It’s the fact that I’ve never been in a restaurant like this, or had a weekend like this, while you’ve been sipping champagne out of a silk slipper your whole life!’

  Jacob said nothing for a moment. He went still, as Mollie knew he always did. It made him utterly inscrutable—and annoying.

  ‘Sipping champagne out of a silk slipper,’ he repeated musingly. ‘Now, I’m quite sure that’s something I’ve never done.’

  ‘Because you don’t drink champagne,’ Mollie returned, the words slipping out before she could stop them. ‘Do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Jacob confirmed quietly. Mollie gestured towards his untouched glass.

  ‘And you’re not going to drink that, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did you pour it, then?’ Curiosity, a need to understand Jacob, drove her to the demanding questions.

  Jacob hesitated for a single second. ‘Because I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable,’ he finally said, and colour rushed once more into Mollie’s face.

  ‘Oh.’ She lapsed into silence, and Jacob reached across the table to lightly lay his hand across hers. Despite the gentleness of the touch, Mollie started as if he’d just prodded her with a live wire. The warmth of his hand covering hers flooded through her body, made heat pool deep inside of her.

  ‘Mollie, what’s wrong?’

  Mollie looked at him; all the harsh remoteness had softened into an expression that was both serious and sorrowful, and a sudden, inexplicable lump rose in her throat so she could barely speak.

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I’m a bit … self-conscious. We’re so different.’

  ‘That’s not a bad thing,’ Jacob said quietly, and suddenly Mollie’s discomfort about the difference in their life experiences seemed ridiculous—and unimportant.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ she said, leaning towards him. ‘It’s not true.’

  ‘You don’t know what’s true,’ Jacob said, his voice light, although his eyes looked dark, blacker than ever.

  ‘Then tell me,’ Mollie said, imploring, and Jacob just shook his head.

  ‘Hardly dinner table conversation.’

  Mollie suppressed a sigh of exasperation. ‘I don’t mean who we are as people anyway. I mean class.’ There. She’d said it.

  ‘Class?’ Jacob repeated in blatant disbelief. He sat back in his chair, folding his arms, one eyebrow arched. He was so clearly sceptical that he made her feel as if she were living in the pages of a Victorian novel while he had a wholly modern outlook on life.

  ‘Yes, class, Jacob,’ she replied a bit tartly. ‘And it’s been my experience that people in the upper classes don’t think such a thing exists.’

  ‘Mollie, we’re living in the twenty-first century. Class constructs are irrelevant.’

  ‘Maybe to you, but they’re not to me. Not when all this—’ She swept out an arm to encompass the restaurant, the hotel, his world, and knocked over her water glass. It clattered to the floor with an almighty crash, the crystal shattering into dangerous-looking shards. ‘Oh.’ Mollie bit her lip, mortified. She looked up to see Jacob observing her calmly, completely unruffled by her undignified display. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘I just illustrated my point perfectly.’

  And then Jacob did something she’d never seen or heard him do: he laughed. The sound startled her; it wasn’t dry or mocking or cold. It was a pure, joyous peal that rang clear through her, and made her smile and then laugh as well, despite her initial embarrassment.

  ‘Oh, Mollie,’ Jacob said, leaning over to clasp her hand with his once more, his fingers curling warmly around hers, ‘whatever differences there are between us, I wouldn’t change a thing about you. Not one blessed thing.’

  And with his hand still on hers and his laugh still echoing in her ears, Mollie thought she wouldn’t change anything at that moment either.

  A waiter had hurried to clean up the mess, and within seconds he’d whisked the shattered crystal away and replaced Mollie’s glass on the table. Jacob sat back, slipping his hands from hers, and his expression cleared so it was almost as if that wondrous moment of shared laughter had never been.

  Mollie gazed down at her menu. She didn’t know why she’d brought up the class differences between them. Jacob was right, they were irrelevant. She had a gnawing suspicion that her complaint had really been just a cover for what she really felt: fear. Fear that she was starting to care for Jacob. Fear of what might happen if she let herself fall all the way. It wouldn’t, perhaps, be that great a distance.

  ‘Now you look a million miles away,’ Jacob said quietly, and Mollie looked up, trying to smile.

  ‘I suppose I was. But never mind.’ She pushed the thoughts away and tried to smile.

  ‘Mollie …?’ Jacob prompted gently. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. ‘Tell me the most wonderful thing you saw today.’

  And filled with a sudden, buoyant relief at having an excuse not to think or fear, Mollie did.

  The rest of the dinner conversation flowed smoothly, surprisingly so, for as Mollie let all those prickly concerns and doubts slip away for a little while, she found Jacob wonderfully easy to talk to. He listened with that grave stillness she’d come to appreciate, and yet after an hour when several courses had been cleared and she was toying with the last of her chocolate mousse gateau, she realised she’d been talking about herself the whole time; Jacob hadn’t said anything. Shared anything.

  ‘I must be boring you,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘Talking so much.’ She placed her fork on a plate with a clatter.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Tell me something about yourself.’ Jacob said nothing, and Mollie thought what an appropriate response that was. ‘Tell me about Nepal,’ she said.

  He gave a little shrug. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘What made you go there? What did you do there? What was it like?’ She propped her chin in her hands and gave him a teasing smile. ‘I’ve never travelled, except for my one trip to Italy. Tell me everything.’ Jacob hesitated, and Mollie felt as if she’d just asked him to extract his eyeteeth and hand them to her. ‘Why is it so difficult to talk about it?’ she asked softly, and he gave her the glimmer of a smile.

  ‘I told you, I’ve been a very private man.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to spill state secrets, am I?’ Mollie said. She kept her voice light, her smile mischievous. Yet even so, she found herself asking something she knew instinctively was far too personal. ‘Why have you been so private? What are you trying to hide?’

  Jacob stilled, stiffened. Mollie realised she might have offended him. She bit her lip, then opened her mouth to utter a hasty apology, when Jacob spoke first. ‘Everything.’ He spoke the word lightly, almost as a joke, yet one look into those fathomlessly black eyes, and Mollie knew it wasn’t.

  She knew it was the stark, literal truth, and it made her ache with a nameless sorrow. She could only imagine how it made Jacob feel.

  ‘Well, then,’ she said after a moment, ‘let’s keep it about Nepal. Did you go to Kathmandu? Did you see the Dalai Lama? Oh, that’s Tibet, isn’t it?’

  He laughed lightly. ‘Yes, it is. I didn’t see him, I’m afraid. But I did spend some time in a monastery.’

  ‘Really?’ Intrigued, she leaned forward. ‘Why? I mean … it’s not exactly a usual holiday destination, is it?’

  ‘I wasn’t on a holiday. I worked my way across Europe and Asia, and ended up in Nepal. I stayed in a small village that h
ad been devastated by flooding from the local river, and so I helped them to rebuild.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘My first building project.’

  ‘And then?’ Mollie asked. She loved hearing about him, about what he’d done.

  ‘I kept working.’ His hand, lying loosely on the tabletop, tightened briefly. ‘As much as I could. When I worked, I didn’t have to think. Or sleep.’

  ‘Sleep?’ Mollie repeated. ‘Why didn’t you want to sleep?’

  Jacob shrugged, and Mollie could tell he regretted what he’d said. ‘I just enjoyed working,’ he replied in a tone of unmistakable dismissal. ‘Seeing something being built, made good.’ He took a sip of water. ‘Anyway, I worked too much and ended up becoming quite ill with a fever. The villagers took me to the nearest monastery to recover, and I stayed there for several months, getting stronger and learning from the monks.’

  ‘What did you learn?’

  ‘Control, over the mind as well as the body.’ He paused, his fingers toying with the stem of his water glass. ‘Control is crucial.’

  Mollie said nothing. What was Jacob trying to control? What part of himself needed such a stern hand? The man she’d come to know was kind, thoughtful, thinking of others before himself. Yet by the harsh light in Jacob’s eyes, Mollie knew he didn’t see himself that way … the way she did.

  ‘Well,’ she finally said in an effort to break the silence, ‘it sounds fascinating, even if you didn’t get to Kathmandu.’

  Jacob looked up, a smile now quirking the corner of his mouth. ‘Maybe next time.’

  ‘Next time,’ Mollie agreed, and then they both lapsed into a silence that seemed suddenly heavy with tense expectation. Mollie was achingly conscious that they were in a beautiful restaurant, having eaten a wonderful meal, and that in just about every way this evening should have been a date. Surely people thought they were on a date, lingering over the last crumbs of their dessert, gazing into each other’s eyes?

  She realised she wanted it to be a date; she wanted Jacob to smile lazily and say—

  ‘Care to dance?’

  Mollie stiffened in surprise. She had no idea if Jacob had said that or if she had just imagined it, fantasised she’d heard it because she wanted it so much.

  ‘Pardon?’

  Jacob smiled, gesturing towards the jazz band that was playing a slow, sensual tune in the corner of the restaurant.

  ‘Do you want to dance?’

  Mollie swallowed. Jacob had asked lightly, as if it meant nothing, but she could see that dark, intense gleam in his eyes and knew how dangerous it would be to let herself glide in his arms.

  How much she wanted it.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, her voice no more than a whisper, and then wordlessly she took Jacob’s outstretched hand and rose from the table, following him onto the dance floor.

  Control was crucial. So he’d said.

  As Jacob slid his arms around Mollie’s slender waist, he felt his control stretching to a single frayed thread. He shouldn’t have asked her to dance. He shouldn’t have tempted himself so far, knowing how he could break. Want.

  Hurt.

  He closed his eyes, drawing her closer, inhaling the sweetness of her hair, something between lilac and soap. She smelled clean. Fresh. Pure.

  He felt her hesitation; it travelled through her body in a trembling wave and then she relaxed into him, her breasts brushing his chest, her hair his cheek in a silken whisper. He heard her give a small, soft sigh, and he knew she’d surrendered to the dance, to him.

  If he wanted her, he could have her. He could take her upstairs and strip that lavender dress from her slowly, let it pool at her feet and then take her for his own. Obliterate his own wretched self in the soft yielding of her body. She wouldn’t resist. Wouldn’t be able to, for she felt that treacherous tug of desire as much as he did.

  It would be so easy. So wonderful. So wrong.

  Jacob closed his eyes and tried to summon his control. His strength. He needed it now more than ever, for he couldn’t do what he wanted. He knew that, had accepted it. The women he’d taken to his bed had always been as worldly and jaded as he was, perfectly willing to accept his soulless conditions. Sex was a transaction, mutually satisfying, emotionally barren. No chance of anyone being hurt by him. He had nothing to give—nothing worthwhile—and he wanted nothing in return.

  Yet now he wanted. He wanted Mollie in ways he’d never wanted a woman. Not just in his arms, but in his thoughts. His head. Even his heart. He’d enjoyed talking with her, had wanted to tell her more. He’d felt her interest and her sympathy touch a dark, raw place inside of him that no one ever saw.

  When Mollie asked him questions, he wanted to answer. He wanted to brush the curl that lay against her cheek and kiss her sweet mouth, already puckered into a thoughtful frown. He wanted to smooth her forehead and brush his lips against the freckles that shimmered across her shoulders. He wanted all of her, body and mind and perhaps even soul and heart, and that thought terrified him more than the worst nightmare he’d ever had.

  For what came after, what would surely happen if he gave in to such desire, was perhaps worse than what he’d already done. He’d accepted that he’d hurt his siblings by leaving, had made peace with it because the decision had been so necessary, so absolute.

  He couldn’t accept hurting Mollie, which would surely happen if he stayed with her. Loved her. Eventually his true self would be revealed, just as it had been the night he’d raised his hand to his father. The night he’d ended one misery, and embarked on another. He would never be free. You couldn’t be free of yourself.

  Control. Jacob instinctively tightened his grip around Mollie, pulled her closer still. He didn’t want to let her go. One dance. One dance in a public place was safe enough. He could give himself that.

  And then … then he would walk away. Just as he always did.

  They didn’t speak. Mollie knew words would break what was growing and stretching between them, this silent, sensuous dance that was still edged with desperation. She felt it when Jacob pulled her closer, she recognised it in herself. She didn’t want it to end.

  She laid her cheek against Jacob’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of him, the faint tang of his aftershave, the warm musk that was simply him. She felt him stiffen slightly in surprise, and then his fingers splayed along the curve of her hips so that she was pressed against him from shoulder to thigh.

  When he touched his finger to her chin and tipped her face upwards, it seemed utterly natural and right for Mollie to let him do so, to wait, her eyes half closed, her lips parted for him to kiss her. She knew, at least in one fuzzy part of her brain, that she was offering herself in a silent, yearning invitation. She recognised that, and didn’t care. Shame and pride had ceased to matter or even exist.

  There was only this moment, silent, wonderful, hopeful, and yet …

  He didn’t kiss her.

  His finger still touched her chin, cool and dry, and Mollie opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her with such an expression of conflicted torment that she gasped involuntarily.

  ‘Jacob …’ she whispered, just as she had once before, when just as now he’d touched her with one finger and looked at her with such pain. What kept him from kissing her? Was even this about control?

  The word died on her lips as he bent his head and finally closed the distance between their lips as she’d so wanted him to. He stole the very breath from her as his lips touched hers, moving over her mouth as if exploring this new, precious territory. Then he deepened the kiss, pulling her even closer so their bodies felt joined, seamless, and desire plunged deep in her belly; her hands fisted in his hair, awareness of anything but Jacob and the desperate sweetness of his kiss fading to nothing.

  For it was desperate. The kiss was imbued with a longing that made Mollie feel like this was all they would have, all Jacob would allow, and she pressed closer, wanting more. Asking for more.

  Jacob broke the kiss, his breath a raw shudder. ‘I
t’s late,’ he said. His voice sounded hoarse and he stepped away quickly, leaving Mollie half stumbling in the remnants of a dance. She gathered herself quickly, straightening her shoulders and nodding even though her breath came in gasps and her lips stung from his kiss.

  She didn’t dare speak, couldn’t, as she followed Jacob from the dance floor. He walked stiffly, his body radiating a new tension.

  They didn’t speak all the way up to the hotel suite. Mollie felt unbearably flat. There was no heady expectation, no sensual tension.

  Mollie didn’t know why Jacob had stopped, why he’d felt he had to stop. So much for his proposition. He must have known she would have accepted tonight—and yet he’d refused. For that was what the ending of that kiss felt like: a refusal. A rejection. And why? He wanted her; she knew that. She’d felt that. Yet something—some memory, perhaps—kept Jacob from acting on his instincts, fulfilling his desires. And perhaps it was for the better, because if anything happened between them it would surely end up causing her pain.

  Even if, for a moment, for a night, it would be so very sweet.

  Still silent, Mollie followed Jacob into the suite. In their absence the staff had tidied up and left a few low lamps burning, so the huge space seemed cosy and intimate.

  Jacob ignored it all, ignored her, as he crossed the living room to his bedroom at the end of the hall.

  ‘Good night,’ he said, without even turning around.

  Mollie retreated into her own bedroom; the sheets had been turned down, a silk robe laid out on the end of the bed. She touched its luxurious softness briefly, sighing again, amazed at how unhappy she felt when the evening, the whole day, had been so wonderful.

  It was only a little past ten o’clock, yet the evening was already over. Reluctantly Mollie slipped off her dress and reached for her pyjamas. She didn’t feel remotely tired; her mind and body still fizzed and ached, and she knew it would be hours before she could sleep.

  Hours to think and remember and want.

  She stretched out on the bed, too restless even to close her eyes. What was keeping her from leaving her bedroom right now, and going to Jacob? Telling him she’d accept his no-strings suggestion?