“Hi,” she said.
He glanced back as Heather walked the final few feet to join them. She was laughing, one hand attempting to stop her hair from flying across her face. She looked model perfect and beautiful and utterly desirable—and again he cursed himself for a fool for thinking that she could act as a substitute for Charlie. It was an insult to both women, not to mention completely futile.
“Isn’t it a great day?” Heather said.
“It is. Really nice,” Charlie agreed, smile still firmly in place.
There was so much pride and courage in that smile… It hurt him to look at it, especially when he’d seen the pain that lay beneath her mask.
“You look like you’ve been making the most of it,” Heather said.
“My second attempt at the Bondi-Coogee track. Still not quite up to the full return trip yet. I’m Charlie, by the way.”
“Heather. Nice to meet you.”
Rhys watched as the two women shook hands. Heather glanced at him, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything to say. All he could think about was what he’d seen in Charlie’s eyes.
“I’d better keep moving,” Charlie said. “I don’t want to hold you up.”
He stepped forward to block her path. “Charlie. I’m sorry, I should have told you.”
She met his eyes, her expression completely neutral. Her soldier’s face, controlled and calm. “Your private life is none of my business.”
She stepped around him and he started to go after her.
“Am I being thick or am I missing something here?” Heather said.
He stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t chase Charlie and leave Heather here to cool her heels. He’d already been enough of an asshole for one day. He glanced at her, taking in her bemused expression and defensive body language.
“Please tell me that wasn’t your girlfriend, because I am really going to hate myself if I’m the other woman,” she said.
“Charlie isn’t my girlfriend.”
Heather’s eyes narrowed. “But she was, right?”
“No.”
Charlie had been his for one night only.
“Then what was all that about?” Her tone sounded a little pissy.
Fair enough. He deserved it. And Heather deserved the truth. The problem was, every fiber in his being was straining to go after Charlie. To comfort and reassure her. To explain.
If she’d let him.
He cast a look up the hill. Charlie was crossing the road, her step brisk, her head high. Graceful and dignified and strong, as ever.
“If you want to go after her, just go,” Heather said, shooing him off with a dismissive gesture.
He wasn’t stupid or rude enough to take her at her word. “Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said. “And I’ll explain.”
“An explanation would be good.” She looked at his face then shook her head ruefully. “Although I have a feeling I’m not going to like what I hear. So much for the cute guy in 4D.”
He attempted a smile and willed her to start walking. He needed to get her home then he needed to find Charlie and talk to her.
If she’d let him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHARLIE WALKED TO her car in a daze. Once, during training, she’d been standing too close when a mortar shell had exploded. She hadn’t been injured, but for a whole day afterward her ears had rung and she’d walked around in a haze.
That was how she felt now. Her ears weren’t ringing, but she felt numb. Utterly numb.
For weeks she’d been telling herself that she was smart and pragmatic. She’d even rejected Rhys when he’d tried to get closer. She’d told herself he was charming, but that she was strong, that she could resist his appeal because there was so much at stake—The Bean, her and Rhys’s relationship as coparents, her own continuing happiness.
And yet she’d fallen in love with him anyway.
It had taken seeing him with another woman to alert her to her own foolishness. For the rest of her life she would remember those few seconds when she’d mounted the last step from the beach and seen them walking together, smiles on their faces.
Of course, a voice had said in her mind. Of course he’s seeing someone else.
Of course.
But the rest of her had been reeling. Primitive, instinctive jealousy had burned through her like acid, closely followed by a searing sense of betrayal. She’d said no to Rhys, held him at arm’s length, but deep in her heart she’d allowed herself to imagine something different. To hope. Stupidly, she’d thought she had time, that he would wait—as though any man had ever waited for Charlie Long, let alone a man like Rhys.
Her car was up ahead. She broke into a run, suddenly desperate to be somewhere small and private. Somewhere safe. She yanked the door open and scrambled in. Then she pressed her hands to her face in a futile, ridiculous attempt to contain the grief and hurt rising inside her.
She’d done all the right things. She’d abandoned Rhys’s bed after their one night. She hadn’t lingered or indulged the hopeful idiot inside herself by leaving her contact details. She’d left, a clean break. When she’d discovered the pregnancy, she’d had no choice but to contact him, but even then she’d been so careful. She’d warned herself, she’d kept a close, tight watch on herself.
And yet she had still wound up here, hunched over her steering wheel, trying to contain the pain of a loss that felt more profound and encompassing than anything she’d experienced in her life before.
She pressed her hands harder against her face, digging her fingers into her scalp, but there was no holding back the tide of emotion. Her breathing choppy, she started to sob, a potent mix of anger and grief sending scalding tears down her cheeks.
In her mind’s eye she kept seeing them—seeing her—walking over. Charlie didn’t need to ask herself why Rhys had chosen the other woman. She had eyes in her head, she could see. And no doubt Heather of the gorgeous body and face had never pushed Rhys away or been prickly or difficult. No doubt Rhys had chosen to be with her of his own free will, rather than being forced into something he didn’t want by a faulty piece of latex that had changed his life and taken away his choices.
A horn sounded in the distance and Charlie became aware that while her car offered the illusion of privacy, the reality was far different. Any second now Rhys and Heather might walk past. The thought of them seeing her sobbing had her sliding the key into the ignition and blinking away her tears and buckling her seat belt. Using her sleeve to mop her cheeks, she took a deep breath and pulled out into traffic. All the way across town she had only one goal in mind—to get home where she could hide her shame and hurt and sadness from the world.
That was what she did, after all. Put a brave face on it, play the stoic, then let her pain off the leash when she was alone. Her father had been deeply uncomfortable around displays of emotion and so Charlie had waited until she was alone and private in her bed at night to allow her true feelings to surface. From the age of five, she had ceased to cry in front of him. It had become a point of honor for her, and eventually it had become the habit of a lifetime. The discipline of a lifetime.
She worked hard to keep her mind blank as she drove. She flicked on the radio and forced herself to listen to the news report. She studied the cars ahead and in the rearview mirror as assiduously as if she were taking her driving test. Then she turned onto her street and saw her building ahead and the wall she’d constructed inside herself crumbled and she started to cry again. She parked and took the stairs two at a time. Then she was inside her apartment, and she was safe.
She wrapped her arms around herself as she sank onto the edge of the couch, then after a few seconds stood again. She didn’t know where to put herself. Her chest ached with misery, her eyes burned. She
walked into the bedroom and kicked off her sneakers and crawled beneath the quilt. She curled tightly into herself and closed her eyes, wanting to block everything out. Wanting not to feel.
Not to love.
I wish I’d never met you, she told Rhys in her head. I wish I’d never let Gina talk me into doing that lap of Café Sydney. I wish I’d never suggested we go to the bar. I wish I’d taken that taxi home with Gina instead of going home with you. I wish our bodies and biology hadn’t betrayed us. God, how I wish…
Even as she thought it, her hand slid down to cover the barely-there bump of the baby, a silent apology for wishing her out of existence. It wasn’t The Bean’s fault that things were so screwed up.
After a while the tears stopped and all that was left was a pervading sense of her own stupidity and naiveté. She’d been fretting over their near kiss in the park, even though she’d told herself it was nothing—told him it was nothing, too. She’d rushed to Gina’s and dissected the whole thing and allowed Gina to talk her into hoping. Into believing. After thirty-two years of caution, she’d been ready to give it a shot. To lay it on the line and to believe that maybe she had got it wrong all these years.
And all along Rhys had been seeing another woman. Not just any woman, either. A woman with shampoo-commercial hair and hot-summer-day sky-blue eyes and a body that belonged on a Sports Illustrated cover.
They looked good together. A study in light and dark. They looked like a match set.
Charlie opened her eyes and stared at the wall. She felt empty. No hope, no plans, no dreams. A passing feeling, she knew—people didn’t die of broken hearts, after all. And she was tough. She’d made herself tough. She might be indulging herself right now, but soon she would get up and she would soldier on. That was what she did. It was what she’d always done. It was what she’d continue to do, especially because it wasn’t only herself she had to fight for now. The Bean deserved better.
So Charlie would get over this thing with Rhys. She would move past it. Eventually, she might even consider it good that the situation had come to a head and her own self-deception had been dragged into the light. Better to be done with it, stare it in the eye, than to go on pretending and fooling herself. A quick, surgical strike—painful but fast—then on to recovery.
She closed her eyes again. Maybe in a few days or weeks she would get to that place. But not yet. She pulled the quilt higher over her shoulders and burrowed into the pillow. Sleep seemed like a great option right now. A bit of peace. A respite.
The phone rang, the sound echoing through the apartment from the study. Charlie didn’t move. Instead, she listened until it stopped.
Whoever it was could leave a message, call back later. She wasn’t ready to face the world yet.
Barely two minutes later, a knock sounded on her door. Her eyes popped open and she sat up.
There weren’t many options: Gina or Rhys. Her gut squeezed nervously.
She knew who it was. And she didn’t want to see him.
“Charlie. I know you’re in there.”
Rhys’s voice echoed down the hallway. He started to knock again almost immediately, a continuous, persistent pounding. Any thought she had of ignoring him in the hope that he’d go away went out the window. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her face felt stiff from her tears. She walked toward the door and peered through the spy hole. All she could see was Rhys’s shoulder.
“Charlie. I’m not leaving till I’ve spoken to you,” Rhys yelled.
Anger surged inside her. This was her place, her space. She’d come here to be safe. To think and consider and to recover from what had happened today. He had no right to follow her here and demand entrance so he could assuage his conscience. Because she had no doubt that was what this was about. He’d said as much to her at the beach, hadn’t he? I’m sorry. I should have told you.
She didn’t want his apology or his pity. She didn’t want anything from him except what he owed their baby. Which was the way it should have been right from the start, before she’d allowed herself to believe in fairy tales.
Still, there was no time like the present to set things straight. Chin high, she twisted the lock open.
RHYS FELT THE DOOR give beneath his fist, then Charlie was standing there, her face pale and tear blotched, arms wrapped tightly across her chest.
“I do have neighbors, you know,” she said.
“I want to explain.”
“You don’t need to explain anything to me.”
She was very calm. Very controlled. But behind the blankness in her eyes he knew she was hurting. That he’d hurt her.
“Yes, I do, Charlie.”
“It’s none of my business. We don’t own each other. We made a baby together. That’s the end of our mutual obligation.”
“What you saw today was a first date. And I went on it only because I was trying to get you out of my head.”
Her chin jerked back a little.
“Not very noble, I know,” he said. “But there it is. I was pissed after the park the other day and I ran into Heather and… It was a mistake, Charlie. A stupid, dumb mistake.”
She lifted a shoulder in a fair imitation of an unconcerned shrug. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.”
He took a step closer, crossing the threshold. Her chin came up even higher, but she held her ground.
“How about ‘Rhys, I can’t get you out of my head, either’?”
She started shaking her head before he’d even finished speaking. But he hadn’t expected this to be easy. Charlie would never give up her secrets without a fight.
“Does that mean you don’t think about me?”
She stared at him then her gaze dropped to his shoulder. “It means I don’t see the point of this conversation.”
“That’s what you said at the park, too.” He took another step toward her. This time she retreated. “Tell me why we shouldn’t talk about our feelings for each other, Charlie. Tell me why that’s pointless.”
For the first time he saw emotion behind the mask—surprise, swiftly followed by denial.
“Because of the baby. Because things are complicated enough.”
“I don’t care.”
She seemed startled by his instant rebuttal.
“I used to think that stuff was important, Charlie, but it isn’t. You’re important—very important—to me. I want you to be happy. I want to make you happy.”
She blinked, as though she couldn’t comprehend what he’d said. She looked so lost, so bewildered that he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her.
“Charlie, I’m sorry. You have no idea how much.” He tried to draw her into his arms, but she placed a hand on his chest, her elbow locked straight to keep him at a distance.
“This is a bad idea.”
“I used to think so, but I’m starting to think it might be the best idea I’ve ever had.”
“What about when things go wrong?”
“What if they don’t? What if they go right?”
Her breath left her on a shuddery exhale and for a moment—the barest fraction of a second—there was so much yearning in her eyes it broke his heart. She opened her mouth to say something—to reject him again, no doubt—but he spoke over her.
“Don’t you ever get sick of fighting, Charlie?”
He saw the answer in her eyes. He slid his hand from the nape of her neck to the curve of her jaw.
“You don’t need to fight me. I swear it.”
She closed her eyes. The arm keeping him at bay relaxed. He didn’t wait for a second invitation. He pulled her close and kissed her the way he’d been wanting to for weeks. There was the smallest of hesitations then she kissed him back, her body straining toward his almost
desperately. She tasted of salty tears and need and he tightened his arms around her, wanting to take away the pain he’d caused her, needing to make things right between them. He tried to slow the kiss, to control it, but Charlie tugged his shirt from his jeans, smoothing her hands up his chest, her hips pressing against his urgently, provocatively.
Everything else fell away as he walked forward until her back hit the wall. There was only him, and her. Still devouring her mouth, he slid a hand onto her breast, his thumb finding her already-hard nipple unerringly. Her fingers dug into his chest as he pinched her then soothed her. His other hand moved to cup her backside, resting her more snugly against his hips. They rocked together, savoring the torturous friction. He released her backside and slid his hand between her legs. She arched against his palm as he stroked her through her yoga pants. He could feel how hot she was, how wet, and he groaned into her mouth.
“Charlie,” he said, reveling in the way she trembled in response.
It was the way he’d remembered—only better, because he knew her now, and he understood how precious she was. How strong and brave.
Suddenly Charlie wrenched her mouth from his. She was panting, her brown eyes dilated as she looked at him.
“I need you. I need you so badly,” she said, her voice a low husk.
He spotted what he hoped was her bedroom doorway. “Come on.” He urged her ahead of him.
His gaze slid to her round, firm backside as he followed her. He yanked his polo shirt over his head and let it fall to the ground, his hands dropping to the buckle on his belt. He had it open and was working on the stud of his jeans when he entered her bedroom.
Charlie tugged off her long-sleeved T-shirt, revealing full, creamy breasts cupped in white lace. She reached for the rear clasp, but he beat her to it, slipping it free and then cupping the warm, heavy weight of her in his hands. She pressed her backside against his erection, her head dropping against his chest as he teased and soothed her breasts.
“You’re so damn hot,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve been dreaming about you for weeks, Charlie.”
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