by Daphne Clair
Henry turned, a little grim and wary, and she couldn’t see Jager’s expression, but she noted the way he inclined his head with a hint of respect for the older man.
That was a new tactic. When she’d first introduced them, after one of the women at the charity shop dropped a hint to her mother that she’d been “seeing some boy” and Margaret had suggested she bring her new friend to meet her parents, there had been no hint of deference in Jager.
He’d eyed the marble-floored foyer and graceful staircase with studied indifference, and when she ushered him into the comfortably though expensively furnished sitting room to meet her parents, his fast but comprehensive survey of the room seemed slightly disparaging.
He’d looked Henry squarely in the eye and called him “sir” but a note of irony in his voice made Henry glance at him sharply and Paige’s nails dig into her palms. Her mother’s careful smile of welcome elicited no more than a nod and a casual “Hi,” as he took her outstretched hand.
He’d answered her mother’s delicate questions about his background almost truculently, as if daring her to find fault with his lack of antecedents or education. And he seemed to go out of his way to emphasize the differences between his lifestyle and theirs. It hadn’t been a comfortable visit, and Paige had braced herself for criticism later.
It had been veiled in slightly pained surprise that she could be attracted to “that type of boy” and patronizing pity at his upbringing and poor career prospects. But they hadn’t really taken the relationship seriously until the bombshell of her marriage. After that her parents and Jager had become implacable enemies.
They didn’t look like enemies now. Henry actually clapped Jager’s shoulder as they left, and Margaret said with rather astonished sincerity, “We’ve had a very nice evening, Jager. I did enjoy talking with Serena Zimmerman.”
Maddie and Glen were the last to leave, lingering when the other guests had gone.
They sat side by side on one of the sofas, Maddie snuggled into her husband’s encircling arm. As soon as Jager returned to the room Maddie said, “Sit down, Jager. We have something to tell you two!”
Looking at her sister’s radiant face, Paige guessed before Maddie blurted out, “We’re pregnant!”
Ashamed of the split second of sheer jealousy that attacked her without warning, Paige jumped up to embrace her. “Congratulations, I can see you’re thrilled. Do Mother and Dad know? They didn’t say anything tonight.”
“I phoned Mum yesterday when the test confirmed it, but she knew I wanted to tell you myself.”
Jager rose to shake Glen’s hand and kiss Maddie’s cheek. “This calls for another drink,” he said.
But Maddie shook her head. “I’m not allowed.” She’d asked for a soft drink when she arrived, Paige recalled, and left her wineglass at dinner virtually untouched.
Glen declined too, saying they’d better get home as Maddie tired easily.
Closing the door behind them, Jager turned to Paige. “You’re going to be an aunt.”
“And you’ll be an uncle.”
Seemingly the thought hadn’t occurred to him. A surprised smile curled his mouth. “I suppose so.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d invited my parents?” she demanded.
He looked slightly taken aback at the aggression in her tone, steering her back into the living room. “I wasn’t sure they’d actually turn up. I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
“Why did you ask them?”
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
Or he’d wanted to flaunt her, their daughter, in their faces. She recalled the dress he’d bought—a statement if ever there was one. Inside her there was a hollow feeling. “How did you persuade them?”
A cynical curve to his mouth, he said, “I’m not beneath their standards of acceptability anymore. A few million dollars makes a difference.”
“Why won’t you believe me?” she snapped. “Money wasn’t the issue.”
He stopped in the middle of the room, and pulled her against him. “Let’s not argue,” he said huskily, his lips nuzzling her temple. He lifted a hand and turned her face up to him. “You were a wonderful hostess. Thank you.”
For a thank-you kiss it was pretty devastating. He parted her lips and took full advantage of her compliance. As always, his kisses and the strength of his arms, the tender, arousing stroking of his hands, heated her body and quickened her breath, but this time her mind wouldn’t be stilled.
She broke away, and he let her go. His mouth looked full and softer than usual, his eyes glittering, glazed. “You didn’t bring a bag,” he said.
“I’m not staying.”
“You know I want you to.”
“No. I haven’t anything with me.”
“I keep spare toothbrushes, and there’s a heated towel rail in the bathroom. You can wash your undies and they’ll dry before morning.”
“I’m tired.” And then she despised herself for making excuses.
“You can sleep here. If sleep is what you want.” When she made to object again he reached out and put his fingers over her mouth. “For some reason you’re mad at me. I don’t want you going away angry, Paige. We don’t need to make love if you’d rather not. Just share my bed.”
She was angry, in a confused, hurt way. Angry at herself as much as at him. And not quite sure why.
Part of it was because of what she saw as his one-upmanship over her parents and his determined refusal to see their point of view.
But part of it too was Maddie and Glen’s announcement. Their delight in starting a family, that ultimate proof of a belief in a lasting bond between them, cruelly highlighted the nature of Jager and Paige’s relationship. No promises, no ties except the ephemeral, easily broken one of sexual compatibility.
It wasn’t enough.
The nagging little ache hadn’t gone away. It was growing, filling her whole chest. Her eyes stung, and she put a hand up and bent her head into it to hide the incipient tears. The last thing she wanted was to cry in front of Jager.
“You are tired,” he said. He lifted her into his arms, cradling her like a child. She squeezed her eyes shut while he carried into the hallway and through to the darkened master bedroom. Anger came to the fore again, stemming the tears. “Jager, I told you—”
“Shh.” He lowered her to the bed, and when she tried to struggle up, held her wrists. “Rest. I’ll sleep in the spare room if you like. I’m not asking anything of you, Paige, just giving you a bed for the night. Now sit up and I’ll unzip you and hang up that dress. It’s too pretty to sleep in.”
It made any further insistence seem totally unreasonable. With a strong suspicion that his determination to have her stay was as irrational as her own reluctance to do so, she gave in. This pointless fight was only a symptom of much deeper issues at the heart of their relationship. Maybe the time had come to confront them. But not tonight.
She sighed, let him help her to sit up and bent forward for him to pull down the zip.
“I’ll wash out your undies for you if you like,” he offered.
Something caught in her throat. Stupid to be affected by that—a simple, practical but so intimate an action. She shook her head. “I’ll change them when I get home tomorrow.” She slid her feet under the cover as he pulled it aside for her, and took off her glasses to place them on the bedside table.
Jager was hanging up her dress. “Do you need the bathroom?” he asked her.
“No.” She’d used it about an hour ago, and cleaned her teeth too. She always carried a toothbrush. For once her makeup could stay on overnight. “You don’t need to sleep in the spare room,” she said to his back, and saw him pause, his shoulders rigid, before he closed the wardrobe door. “But I do mean to sleep.”
He kissed her nose. “I won’t be long.”
Although the bed was big enough for them to sleep comfortably without touching, Paige was glad when he slipped in beside her and she felt his body warm against her back,
his arms around her. His breath feathered her nape in what sounded like a sigh of content.
Paige closed her eyes against the confusing mixture of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, fighting tears. Fighting the growing conviction that they couldn’t go on like this—she couldn’t go on like this. And that this might be the last time they shared a bed.
She must have slipped into sleep quite quickly, despite the turmoil in her mind. When she woke she was alone. A black satin kimono lay at the end of the bed.
She took the kimono and went into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later she had showered, and dried her newly washed panties with the hair dryer fixed to the wall, wondering if Jager ever used it, or if it was strictly for female visitors. But then, it was probably just one of the extra touches of luxury the designers had provided in all the apartments.
The dress she’d worn last night hardly seemed suitable for breakfast. She stepped into the panties and belted the roomy robe over them before going down the passageway.
The aroma of frying bacon met her. Besides the table in the center of the dining area, a small oval table and two chairs were set near the window. Last night it had served as a sideboard, but now it was laid for breakfast.
She entered the kitchen and Jager turned from putting bread into the toaster. “Just in time,” he said, depressing the lever. “I heard you in the shower. If you want fruit, there are tinned peaches.”
“Just juice, thanks.” There were already glasses of it on the table.
He pulled the lid off a covered pan and slid crisp bacon and perfectly cooked eggs onto two plates, then added a slice of toast to each.
A plate in each hand, he came toward her, bent to press a kiss on her mouth and said, “You look great in my robe. Sexy. Come and eat.”
CHAPTER TEN
PAIGE wasn’t really hungry, but eating gave her an excuse to delay the inevitable. Even to consider the cowardly alternative of leaving things as they were, of accepting whatever crumbs of his life Jager was willing to share with her for as long as it suited him.
A bleak thought.
“You slept well,” Jager commented, buttering his toast. “I was tempted to wake you, but you looked so peaceful I controlled myself.”
“You want a medal?” she asked sardonically. Half of her wished he’d followed his instinct, made love to her one more time, while the other half told her it would only have made this even harder, maybe impossible.
“No medal, but I wouldn’t turn down a reward.”
His gaze slid over her and she looked away. Flirting wasn’t on the menu this morning, and as for anything else… She concentrated on cutting into her bacon.
Later Jager took her plate away and made coffee. “You’re very thoughtful,” he said, placing her cup before her and resuming his seat.
Paige stirred sugar into her cup, taking her time. “I think we should talk.”
“About what?”
She looked up at the wary expression on his face, the slight frown. “About our relationship. About…what we want from each other.”
Jager leaned back, his eyelids drooping so that his black lashes veiled his eyes. “What do you want?”
Paige replaced the spoon carefully in the saucer, glanced out at the view—the harbor in the morning light glittered blue and green, and yachts danced like white-winged birds on the waves.
Her hand crushed the silk of his borrowed robe in her lap. “I want things you can’t give me,” she said. Or won’t. “I’m not blaming you, Jager. You didn’t hold out any false hopes. But I’m—” she swallowed, because her heart was crying out against this “—I’m not willing to carry on with our…affair.”
“Affair?”
“That’s what it’s called, Jager, when two people are sleeping together without commitment, without promises, free to break it off at anytime.”
His face had gone oddly blank, his eyes lifeless. “Is that what you’re doing? Breaking it off?”
She swallowed. “If it isn’t…going anywhere, yes.”
After a long moment he pushed back his chair and stood up. “You’d better get dressed,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
For a second or two she was stunned. That was it? No discussion, no protest, no attempt at persuasion, or even anger? Simply an acceptance that it was over? As if it didn’t even matter.
She stared at the steaming, untouched coffee in front of her, stretched out a hand to pick up the cup, then realized her fingers were trembling, and let it clatter back into the saucer. A flash of sheer outrage took her to her feet, her shoulders stiff and straight. “I’ll get a taxi,” she said. She’d used one to come here, mindful of the fact that there would be drinks at dinner.
He didn’t answer, but when she returned, dressed and with her head held high, he was standing in the doorway, his car keys in his hand. She didn’t argue any further.
Neither of them spoke in the car. The ache in Paige’s chest and throat was almost choking her. A tearing regret added itself to the ache. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? Maybe with more time Jager would have…
He would have what? her mind jeered. Changed his mind? Decided to marry her after all? Vowed eternal love and devotion?
She reminded herself smartingly that fairy tales seldom happened in real life. She’d had her chance once with Jager and she’d blown it, bailed out when the going got rough. He wasn’t going to forgive her for that, ever.
When he pulled up outside the cottage, she said, huskily, “Thank you,” and gathered her bag and wrap with clumsy fingers.
“I’m coming in,” Jager said.
Her heart gave a leap of hope, before she quelled it with stern reason. He probably just wanted to collect his things. “I’ll send your stuff to you.” She couldn’t bear to watch him strip the cottage of every remnant of his frequent presence, every reminder of their time together.
“I’m coming in,” he repeated, with a controlled ferocity that made her look at him, and what she saw stopped her heart. His face was white, pinched, and a tiny muscle throbbed near his jaw. He was quietly furious.
Curiously, she was more heartened than afraid. At least anger was an emotional reaction. It was his apparent indifference that had stunned her.
She led the way down the path and opened the door. “I want to change my clothes,” she said. “I won’t be long.” Making it clear that she expected him to wait in the sitting room.
She stripped and pulled on fresh undies, jeans and a shirt. Then she took down the bag containing the dress Jager had bought. That strengthened her resolve. Two of his shirts hung in the wardrobe. She stuffed them in with the dress, followed them with a pair of trousers, a couple of pairs of socks, underpants. The bag was bulging.
In the bathroom she collected his shaving things, his toothbrush, and shoved them into a smaller bag, then lugged the lot into the sitting room.
“Here,” she said, dumping the bags onto the couch. “You’d better take your CDs too.”
He’d been standing at the window, looking out at the kowhai tree and the street beyond the hedge. He turned and looked at the bags as if he hadn’t a clue what was in them. Comprehension dawned and slowly his gaze rose to her face. “There’s no need for that.”
“Isn’t it what you came in for?”
Impatience creased his brow and darkened his eyes. “What the hell do I care about a few stupid clothes?”
Nothing, of course. What had once been a matter of vital importance was mere trivia to him now. “Then why insist on coming in?”
“To tell you that you’ve won,” he said. “I can give you anything money can buy, Paige. I’ve given you myself—the new improved version that won’t embarrass you before your family and friends. I’ve learned how to behave in the best company—even your parents must know that by now. But you want commitment, promises…? All right, you’ve got them. If that’s what it takes to keep you.”
Paige’s head whirled at the unexpected, stunning turnabout. It sh
ould have made her happy. Instead she was filled with sick dismay. He didn’t look as though he was making a declaration of love. More like a declaration of war. His voice was harsh, his eyes glittering with something akin to hostility. He paused, and then said, “So, my darling ex-wife…will you marry me…again?”
It shouldn’t be like this, she thought. She should be in his arms, not facing him across the room as though they were enemies instead of lovers. He should be looking at her with tenderness, not that inimical, unrelenting green stare. Everything about the scene was wrong. This was far from a romantic dream coming true. It was a nightmare.
“No,” she said. Self-preservation told her there was no other answer, although she could feel her heart splintering.
You’ve won, he’d said, but she hadn’t won. If he thought this was a battle, they were both losers. The latter part of their impetuous marriage, founded on love and ideals, had been bad enough. A second one, given Jager’s clear resentment, his conviction that she’d forced him into a proposal, promised only another disaster.
“No?” He looked as if he’d been hit—hard.
She laughed—unsteadily, on the edge of crying. There was a kind of bitter humor in the situation. He was offering her exactly what she longed for, but in such a way that she’d be crazy to accept it. “No,” she reiterated.
“What the hell kind of game are you playing now?” he demanded. “Ah—” he snapped his fingers “—I suppose you want your pound of flesh…my heart. All right, I love you! I admit it, freely. I loved you from the moment I set eyes on you, buzzing about that shop all earnest and purposeful and caring, and so damned efficient. I loved the purity of your profile when I first saw you serving at the counter—and when you looked at me through the window I loved the way your eyes were soft and misty and kind of vulnerable and yet wise behind those really serious glasses you wore. I’ve always loved you.”
Paige didn’t believe any of it. She folded her arms across herself as if she could ward off the barrage of his words, because he was throwing them at her like missiles rather than love-tokens.