by Robyn Grady
Her gaze drank in every angle of his beautiful face. She’d never forget him. Even if her heart were breaking. They’d had such wonderful times together—how could she not wish him well? If he’d changed these past weeks, then so had she.
“I’m happy you’re excited about becoming you again,” she offered.
The intensity in his eyes lifted a little, and the beginnings of a smile hooked his mouth. “I’m not a whole new person. My bike’s not going anywhere.”
She smiled back, even while she died a little more inside. “So I’ll see you around.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. He cupped her cheek and she quivered, waiting for his last kiss. She’d carve the memory into her mind and treasure it for ever.
But his mouth pressed not against her lips but her brow, and although disappointment pulsed through her Phoebe soaked in his scent, absorbed the liberating feel of his touch. When he pulled away—when he walked away—an odd calm settled over her.
She’d never been so sure of anything. Whatever name he went by, she loved Pace. She loved him with all her soul. And feared she always would.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A WEEK later, Phoebe was still numb.
She’d acted in a mature fashion, accepting the inevitable, and had watched Pace walk away. No good could come from clinging when obviously Pace’s passion for her was running out of steam. Still, she was agonisingly aware of how easy it would be to call him, or show up unexpectedly, and explain that she knew it could work—she only needed a little time to get over the fact that she’d been humiliated, knowing that he’d kept his true identity a secret the entire time they’d been together.
In the same situation that was what her mother would’ve done.
Her mum had been desperately in love and, it seemed, hadn’t been able to handle “the end”. Phoebe had always resented the fact that her mother hadn’t put her child before her need to be with a philanderer—a man who hadn’t wanted to know either of them.
While Phoebe still wished her mother hadn’t left that rainy night, at least now she could appreciate the passion that had propelled her to go. Once you loved someone, that emotion couldn’t be turned off like a switch. The beautiful memories, the ache of loss and longing, were always there. Phoebe couldn’t imagine a time when this cruel throb beneath her ribs would ease. Couldn’t think of a time when she wouldn’t be hopelessly in love with Pace.
She might be stronger than her mother—she had no intention of running after Pace, no matter how much her weaker side begged her to. But perhaps that was because she’d lived her life in the shadow of a tragic consequence brought about by someone who couldn’t let go.
Until now Phoebe hadn’t acknowledged quite how angry she’d been with her mother; those feelings had always simmered, hidden beneath her surface. She would never stop wishing that her mother were alive, but at last she’d forgiven her. Love, in all its forms, was the most powerful force in the world. It could lift you higher than a rocket ship. Could also fling you down and break you like a glass vase.
Empty. Shattered.
Phoebe didn’t want to live like that.
Instead, these past days she’d thrown herself into her work, and had filled her time in the evenings catching up with friends. She’d been so determined to hide her pain, not even her best mate Roz had guessed how torn up she was about “that man with the bike you were seeing”.
Walking down the main corridor of Goldmar Studios, her mind stuck on Pace, Phoebe stopped when a deep voice from behind shot over her head.
“Where have you been? Having another three-hour pow-wow in the make-up room?”
Withering inside, Phoebe recognised the voice and, without enthusiasm, turned around. Exuding his usual superior air, her boss stood before her. After no sleep this week, she so didn’t need this now.
She rubbed a gritty eye. “What do you want, Steve?”
“You’ve been riding high in the ratings this week.”
Her jaw unhinged. Sorry? “Was that a compliment?”
“We’ve decided to add another dimension. Another host to share the spotlight.”
If he wanted her to bite, he’d be disappointed. She couldn’t be bothered retaliating. He wanted a co-host on the show? Fine. He was the boss.
“Send me the details,” she said.
But his mouth shifted in a way that told her he was peeved by her easy acceptance. “There’s also the matter of your contract, of course.” He held up a copy of, she presumed, said contract. “Now that there’ll be two hosts, a renegotiation’s necessary to even up the budget.”
She took a double-take. “You’re telling me the show is doing so well that I have to accept a pay cut?”
He rolled his eyes. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be difficult.”
She felt so beaten, at first she automatically decided to get this over with and agree to whatever. But then the words stuck in the back of her throat. She knew what she ought to say, but she couldn’t make herself say them.
She couldn’t do this any more. She was a professional, but she was also over copping Steve’s ill treatment on the chin. Going to the top and complaining was an option. But even if she won against Steve’s harassment, frankly, she didn’t know that she wanted to be stuck in this environment any more. Was any job—anything—worth this angst?
A smug look on his face, Steve was wheeling away, contract held high. “Be in my office by six.”
The steel in her voice came naturally. “I have somewhere to be at six.”
She wouldn’t be treated like a doormat any more. If she was strong enough to walk away from the man she loved, surely she could tell this jerk to jam it.
Steve slowly angled back. The contract crumpled in his hand when he made fists and set them low on his belt. “I’ll be clear. Be there, or don’t come back tomorrow.”
Phoebe’s patience levels climbed into the red. Since breaking up with Steve she hadn’t thought she had any choice other than to ride out his chauvinist trip. But she did have a choice, and it looked more appealing by the second.
Her gaze dropping to the contract, she put out her hand. One corner of his mouth curled up in a satisfied grin as he handed the papers over. Without preamble, she flipped to the last page, where a signature was required. When she wiggled her fingers for a pen, Steve supplied one gladly. Then she hooked a finger, telling him come here. Suspicion glinting in his eyes, he sized her up, but then stepped closer. Lifting the contract, she used his chest as a flat surface upon which to sign.
She felt the heat of his hand hovering near her hip, remembered how it had felt to have him touch her, and cringed. Thank God she’d ended it when she had.
“There now,” he crooned as she wrote. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Surprisingly much easier than I thought.”
For a punctuation mark, she stabbed the pen into the paper.
Steve jumped back, cursing and holding the pinprick in his shirt. He gaped down. “That hurt.”
She batted her lashes. “Sorry.”
After sending her a death glare, he tracked down her autograph. When his gaze landed on the spot, he blinked rapidly and began to wheeze and hyperventilate. “Wha—what’s this?”
“I’ll be clear.” She slotted the pen in his shirt pocket and, before walking off, enunciated two words.
“I. Quit.”
That evening, Pace and Nick sat in the artificial light of the new co-president’s office, working on quarterly sales figures and projections for the coming year.
Pace was on edge—but not because he couldn’t cope with the rows of numbers; he seemed to have more tolerance for financial statements and economic forecasts these days. He was itchy because he couldn’t stop thinking about Phoebe. The way they’d parted. How low he’d felt afterwards.
Before walking away that night he’d said he’d call. He hadn’t. The message in Phoebe’s glistening eyes couldn’t be mistaken. After learning that he’d used an alias the entire t
ime they were together—that he’d hidden so much from her—she didn’t want anything more to do with him. Given he hadn’t had two minutes spare since, accepting her wishes had seemed kinder to them both. A clean break was a good break.
Not that any part of this break was remotely good.
“You thinking about your girl again?”
Pace glanced up from the latest report Derrick Wilson had put together to meet his brother’s concerned gaze.
“She’s not my girl, Nick.” Tapping his pen against the conference table, he muttered, “Not any more.”
“Sorry things didn’t work out. You obviously cared a great deal for her.”
Pace flinched at the stab beneath his ribs, but quickly shrugged it off. “You know what they say. It was good while it lasted.”
Nick nodded. Then, a line forming between the dark slashes of his brows, he scratched his jaw. “From what you told me of your time together, I’m still not clear why you’re throwing it away.”
Sitting back, Pace growled. “Don’t start, Nick.” He was in no mood for any brother-to-brother “I know best because I’m older than you” talk.
But Nick held up his hands. “Easy, mate. All I’m saying is that if what you had with Phoebe is even half of what I have with Amy, you’d be an idiot to walk away.”
“You’re forgetting. Phoebe’s the one who let me know she was happy for me to back off.” Sure, he’d suggested they take time out. He had a job to do and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—blow it again. But Pace would always remember the nights they’d spent together, how he’d only had to look into her eyes to know she was his. Completely. Unreservedly.
But that was yesterday.
“It’s over. I’m head to tail into this.” Pace pinched his nose to kill an annoying sting. “Besides, she’d never feel the same way.” Or look at him all starry-eyed the way she’d used to.
“She doesn’t trust you,” Nick concluded.
“Not as far as she can throw a cow.”
“Then convince her that she can,” Nick said, reaching for his coffee cup. “You can do that. I know firsthand. And don’t wait until middle age rolls around to do it. There are lots of women in the world, but only one right one.” He took a long sip before his cup rattled back into its saucer. “Want some advice?”
Habit had Pace about to say he’d heard enough. But when he saw the sincerity shining in his brother’s eyes he relaxed and nodded. “Shoot.”
Nick leaned forward. “If you’ve found the right one, find a way. Make it work. Admit you were wrong to let her go. Bring her back and, most important of all, never let her go again.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GOSSIP always shot around the television industry grapevine at lightning speed.
The day after Phoebe had resigned, feeling a little lost but nonetheless pleased that she’d stuck up for herself, she’d taken a call from a rival network. The executive producer there had explained they had a new primetime show launching and they wanted her to host it. When he’d stated their contract terms, Phoebe had stammered and stuttered into the mouthpiece. Did people truly earn that much?
But she hadn’t said yes. She’d needed time to get her bearings. Gather her energy. As she’d packed her things at Goldmar, she’d ignored Steve’s bleating about her needing to hand in the BMW. Given the stuff she’d put up with, she deserved at least a week’s grace.
Deciding to make good use of the vehicle while she had it—and not wanting to think about dropping it off—she’d packed a few provisions and driven out to Tyler’s Stream. Other than escape, she wasn’t certain why she’d decided to head back to her hometown. When she’d arrived, however, it had dawned. She wanted to return as the person she was now and take the time to remember her mother in a different light…as a woman who’d fallen head over heels and had only wanted that love returned.
Boy, could she relate.
After arriving late last night, thankfully she’d fallen into a deep sleep and hadn’t stirred until ten this morning. It was as if she’d completely run down and needed to recharge her batteries in readiness for the next phase of her life. Dragging herself out of her loft bed, she reminded herself of how strong she could be. Three months from now, surely the pain over losing Pace would have eased to almost bearable. She simply had to put one foot in front of the other and get on with it until then.
After showering, she dressed in low-waisted pants and a peasant top before catching her hair in a high ponytail. Convalescing here with lots of quiet and fresh air would be ideal. But only for a week, tops. Aunt Meg would be back soon, and Phoebe wanted to have accepted that position and be into her new role before her aunt had time to worry.
Picking at a meagre breakfast, she slid a glance around her lonely-looking cottage, remembering the amazing night she and Pace had spent here. The night she’d taken another stand and had stomped out, once and for all, those horrible, haunting insecurities. The smell of the slow-burning fire…that sultry music washing over her… She’d gone from nervous to curious to full-blown vamp in a matter of minutes.
Crossing to the kitchen, she dropped her dish in the sink.
That glorious night seemed a lifetime ago. Today she only smelled the damp of the previous day’s rain and heard the wind picking up outside. She could light a fire, but a walk would clear her head and give her body the exercise and oxygen it needed. Deciding to pass on a coat, she called Hannie and they headed out.
Ten minutes later, strolling by the stream, Phoebe found a smile when her little dog bolted off, racing for Phoebe’s special tree as its glossy clumps of leaves came into view. With a crisp chill in the air, she regretted passing on her coat. But the water’s familiar fresh scent and soft babbling comforted her, and her mind wound back to a time when she’d known the perfume of cotton-wool blossoms floating all around.
Nearing the tree, she remembered, too, that secret, special time when she’d first carved her initials and a love heart into its trunk. She’d believed with all her soul that, no matter what, magic did exist: love didn’t always desert you. Just a child, she’d even thought if she wished hard enough her mother would come back one day.
As a teenager, and more aware of her position—illegitimate, orphaned—her perception of reality and love had changed. After age thirteen she hadn’t touched that carving again.
Now she reached into her back pocket. But, rather than a penknife, she found the folded sheet of paper she’d placed there before leaving her cottage.
Her wish list.
As the breeze played with her ponytail, she noted the points with a subjective eye—particularly the first. She’d wanted to find Mr Right Now and she had. Despite the pain of accepting they’d broken up for good, she simply couldn’t regret her time with Pace. He’d been the catalyst behind her facing so much about herself. He’d helped her to grow. Indirectly, he’d helped her to forgive. For that, more than anything, she was grateful.
Phoebe held the list tight, shut her eyes, sent up a prayer that she stay strong, then tore the paper as many times as she could. She watched the pieces float away on the rising wind, her eyes edged with tears and her stomach sinking even lower.
What came next?
She could go full circle and try to believe that magic would find her again…but she couldn’t imagine kissing anyone else, loving anyone else, other than Pace. No one could hold her the same way or bring out the unbridled joy he did. It wasn’t so much about sex. It was about finding that one extraordinary connection. Discovering that unique person you could spend the rest of your life happily getting to know.
A knot in her chest, she brushed a tear aside, and she had begun to walk off when she paused to blink back over her shoulder. Hannie was running around in circles, yapping at the plump white blossoms that were drifting from the boughs up above. She frowned. Edged around. But that couldn’t be. It wasn’t spring. It was closer to winter—in more ways than one.
Shading her eyes, she spied a giant cardboard box nestled within
the tree’s nearest fork. A masculine hand reached in, and then a sprinkle of flowers whirled down from the branches, one handful after another. Before she had time to think it through, the box was upended to spill its entire contents, and Phoebe’s world was transformed into a petal-filled wonderland. Through the tree’s foliage a far more handsome version of a Cheshire Cat’s smile appeared.
Her eyes widening, she held her throat.
Pace?
He’d swung down and landed before Phoebe could swallow. When he stepped close, he blocked off the wind and murmured in that lethally sexy voice, “Surprise.”
A flicker of warmth lit in her chest at the same time as a smile hovered around her lips. But she had the presence of mind to tamp them down quickly. He hadn’t so much as tried to call this past week. He’d got on with his life.
So had she.
She assembled her courage and met his gaze square-on. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you gave Steve Trundy a mouthful and left Goldmar Studios. I wanted to say, good for you.”
Her lips twisted into a cynical line. “You didn’t come all the way down here to say that.”
If he thought he could turn on the charm and seduce her back into his bed, he could think again. She loved him more than her soul, but she also respected herself—and in her book that was sacred. A knife in the heart might have hurt less than letting him go and then forcing herself not to crumple later or throw herself at his feet. But she’d done it. She wouldn’t surrender now only to be passed over again when his next challenge came along.
He had no idea how low he’d made her feel that night.
How dispensable.
But he was looking at her now as if nothing else existed…as if he’d found his way out of a maze and she was the door. As his gaze combed her face, heat leapt up her neck to scorch her cheeks. He was as convincing as he’d ever been. Hypnotic. Fatally seductive.