“I wish I could take all the credit, but I picked this up today at one of my favorite restaurants on Peachtree.”
“Well, it’s awesome.”
He took the plates to the kitchen, ignoring my offer to help. “No, stay here. I have another surprise for you.”
I shook my head. What could top this meal?
When he returned, he had a silver dish in his hand and two spoons. He placed them in the middle of the table, along with a small gray velvet box. My throat went suddenly dry.
“What is that?”
“Gelato. Dark chocolate raspberry.”
“No, I mean the box.”
No words, just a motion of his hand as he slid the box toward me and nodded. I looked into his eyes, incredulous. I was afraid to open it. If it was some ridiculously expensive bauble, I was going to tell him to keep it. I wasn’t some gold-digger bimbo, looking for treasures from the rich guy.
“Open it,” he prompted. “It won’t bite you.”
Curiosity got the better of my sense and I picked up the box, lifting the lid to find the most unique piece of jewelry I had ever seen. I fingered the pendant, a silver G-clef encased in a heart and studded with tiny diamonds. It was similar to the image we had carved on the Love or Money Tree. My own heart clenched as I lifted it from its tiny satin bed.
It hung from a fine silver chain, and as I held it up, it glinted in the light from the candle on the table. He rose, coming around to stand behind my chair. I looked up at him, almost unable to speak.
“It’s beautiful. I really can’t accept—”
“Nonsense. It wasn’t that expensive. I could have spent thousands on a gift for you, but I thought this was more meaningful.”
I held up my hair as he arranged the necklace, closing the clasp at the back of my neck. The pendant lay perfectly on my breastbone, glittering in the light of the setting sun.
“Thank you. I love it.”
“My pleasure.” He leaned over to kiss me and then sat again. Picking up a spoon, he held it over the bowl. “You have to try this. It’s my favorite.”
The gelato was delicious. Everything about this night so far had been perfect. So why did I have a pervasive sense of foreboding?
I shrugged it off as a case of nerves and vowed to relax. When we finished eating, I grabbed the bowl and spoons before he could and took them to the kitchen. A girl could only take so much of being waited on hand and foot.
Well, maybe that was just me.
He had turned the lights in the living room to a low setting, and soft music drifted from a stereo somewhere. As I placed the bowl and spoons in the sink, strong arms came around my waist from behind. Spencer nuzzled my neck, the roughness of his stubble creating a friction that sent heat directly between my legs.
“Would you care to dance with me, love?”
His voice was low and husky with need. I hadn’t slow danced with anyone in years, much less in my pajamas.
“Sure. Right here, in the kitchen?”
“Come on.”
He took my hand and led me to the living room, where we could see the sparkling lights of the city. The sun had set, but a dark purple band of clouds near the horizon was still edged with pink, signifying the end to this long, emotional day. I melted into his arms as we began to sway and rested my head on his broad shoulder.
The wail of a saxophone set the mood to sexy. The satin pajamas rubbed against my nipples, further enhancing my state of arousal. Spencer’s hand on my lower back caressed me through the thin fabric, venturing close to my ass. The image of being rubbed all over through the silky material bloomed in my head.
The low rumble of his voice broke my fantasy.
“I could stay here like this with you forever. Call me crazy, but I think I’m falling for you, Melanie Parker.”
It was the moment most women would welcome with joy. Most women would look deeply into his eyes, say they felt the same, and count their lucky stars they were in love with a handsome, attentive, intelligent, wonderful man who happened to be a billionaire.
I am not most women.
* * *
Spencer
The warm, supple body in my arms suddenly stiffened. The beat of her heart accelerated so strongly, I felt it against my chest. Melanie coughed and pulled away, the air between us a cold rush which dampened my arousal.
She didn’t meet my eyes but mumbled something about needing to use the bathroom. She hurried down the hall as though I’d struck her with my fist.
Had I struck a nerve by declaring my feelings too soon?
Fuck. I blew it. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.
But she had seemed so happy, and I wanted to let her know the truth. I didn’t care if she didn’t return my feelings.
No, that was a lie. I did care. I wanted her to fall for me, too, so we could find a way to make this work. Melanie had given me my life back, had reignited the spark that had gone out. She’d given me the courage to share my music, and my real self, rather than hide inside of it. I wasn’t going to give up on us because she was moving away. I had money, and money meant flexibility. I was certain we could figure something out.
I stood there in the living room, waiting. The sexy, jazzy music wafting from the stereo system mocked me now that I had no one to hold. Minutes ticked by, and she still hadn’t returned from the bathroom. I went to the kitchen and poured a scotch to calm my nerves.
Had I ruined the moment?
Had I misread her cues?
Was I a complete and utter douche?
The warming effect of the scotch felt good but did nothing to ease the ache that had formed in my solar plexus. How could I have misjudged her?
How could I have been so wrong?
A noise from the bedroom made my heart lurch. I hurried down the hall and into the darkened bedroom. She was fully dressed in street clothes and zipping up her overnight bag.
“Melanie, what are you doing?”
Her hands shook as she reached for her purse on the floor near the nightstand. Her voice, taut as a bowstring, muttered a response.
“I have to go home.”
“Why? What’s wrong, love?”
Her eyes went wide, her nostrils flared. In the half light from the hallway, she looked like a wild mare about to turn and flee across the prairie.
“I…forgot I have to do something. It’s not you. I just… I have to go.”
She moved past me, and I reached out, grabbing hold of her arm.
“Whoa. Hold on. Have I done something to upset you? You were happy a few minutes ago.”
She looked at my hand and then at my face as though she couldn’t believe I stopped her. Maybe no one had ever stopped her before, had ever cared enough to find out why she wanted to run.
“Let me go.”
With one swift move, she pulled from my grasp and slung her overnight bag over her shoulder. I could have strong-armed her, I had the power. But not the will. Whatever was troubling her was private, or she’d have shared it with me.
I followed her to the front door. Her focus was concentrated on removing herself from my presence as fast as possible. My gut told me what had triggered her behavior, but not why. I watched as she reached for the door handle with a trembling hand, glancing over her shoulder to murmur, “Goodbye.”
Was it over, just like that? Had all our hard work, all the flirting, the smiles, the confessions, not to mention damn hot lovemaking, come down to this?
I stood in the doorway, watching her retreating figure approach the elevator. I could not let this happen, not a second time. I couldn’t stand by while someone I loved was in pain.
Loved? Yes, loved.
For once, I had to do what I knew in my gut was right.
“You’re scared, aren’t you, Melanie? Well, I am fucking scared out of my wits right now. So that makes us even.”
She stopped, a finger poised over the call button for the elevator. Frozen, she stared straight ahead, her chest still heaving from accelerated b
reath. Slowly, she turned to face me, dark eyes dull and glazed.
Her voice was shaky as she choked out her brittle words.
“You don’t understand anything. You don’t know fear, like I know fear. How could you, with all your advantages?”
In two strides, I was inches from her face, my anger rising to the challenge she’d thrown. This was a woman who had been deeply hurt, though she rarely showed it. She was also strong, independent, and beautiful. Someone worth fighting for.
I wasn’t going to back down now.
“What about the advantages you’ve had? You had the freedom to make your life your own. You had the courage to pursue your dream, no matter what it took. I may have material wealth, toys and fancy foods, but I owe it to my uncle’s family. My own father was drowning in debt when he died. I had no one else, nowhere to go. And worst of all—”
I gulped back the words. Was I really about to disclose my deepest, darkest secret? Was this woman worth the risk?
She was running away from me without explanation. Why should I trust her?
If not her, who?
If not now, when?
The fear I’d seen in her eyes turned to concern and then sadness. I didn’t want her pity, I wanted her trust. Which meant taking the risk of trusting her.
I slumped against the wall and rubbed my face. The words came out in a rush before I could analyze them.
“The worst part is, I’m the one responsible for my father’s death. Had I been with him that night, he wouldn’t have crashed his car.”
The release of those twenty-five words unleashed a river of emotion, crashing over my carefully guarded defenses like a tidal wave. I closed my eyes, unable to face her, afraid my confession would ruin whatever chance we had. Hot tears threatened but I held them back. I was the strong one here, wasn’t I?
I hadn’t meant to upstage Melanie with my own drama. I had only wanted to show her pain came to all types of people in many forms and for infinite reasons. To show her she wasn’t alone with her pain.
Chapter Fifteen
Melanie
“That can’t be true. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
I stood a few feet away from Spencer, who had his back against the wall with his eyes closed. He rubbed his face with his palms, and when he looked at me his eyelashes were laced with the moisture of tears he hadn’t let fall.
“You don’t know the whole story. I’ve never shared what I just told you with anyone. But I wanted you to know you’re not alone in feeling pain and fear. Those emotions don’t give a shit what socio-economic level a person has. If you feel love, you can suffer the loss of it. Period.”
My body still vibrated with the jittery effects of my near panic attack. It wasn’t his fault I freaked out when someone confessed feelings for me. It had happened before, but this time it was more severe.
Because I had feelings for him?
The pain visible on his face made my own anxiety pale in comparison. He’d done nothing to hurt me, yet I had obviously hurt him. I stepped closer until I was at his side.
“I know. I’m sorry I reacted like that.”
I leaned over to place my arms around him, and he held me. Still shivering from the aftermath of emotions, I trembled. He held me tighter.
“It’s okay, love. I know.”
I leaned into him, and we hugged for a minute in silence. Then he patted my back and kissed my cheek, so I moved back. My overnight bag lay on its side in the hall, and he picked it up. He looked at the elevator and then at me.
“I understand if you want to leave, but I hope you’ll stay.”
My heartbeat had slowed, though a fine sheen of sweat still clung to my heated face and neck. His declaration of falling for me, the gifts, all the pampering—it had been too much. After the long drive and the ordeal with my family, I had been unprepared for his emotional overtures. It wasn’t easy to explain to another person why something so good would make me react badly, but that’s what happened. His assessment that I was afraid of getting emotionally involved was as close to the truth as I was prepared to admit. For now.
Dark hazel eyes, lit up with amber flecks, pleaded with me. A muscle moved in his squared jaw as he waited silently for me to decide. Seconds passed as I wrestled with my options.
“I’ll stay.”
“Thank God.”
He embraced me, kissing the top of my head. I was too exhausted to analyze his intentions, my feelings, and what tomorrow might hold. Running away to my cold, nearly-empty apartment had less appeal now that I had calmed. My own fears had dissipated in the face of Spencer’s pain, and I wanted to help him as he had helped me.
He took my bag to the bedroom. When he returned, we sat on the sofa in the darkened room. The soft music still played, soothing our jangled nerves. I leaned against his chest and he held me as we watched the moon rise over Atlanta. When I felt him relax, I asked the question that had been burning in my mind since his confession.
“You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want, but I’m curious to know why you think your father’s accident was your fault?”
He sighed and kissed the top of my head, his fingers stroking my hair. His heartbeat under my cheek had accelerated slightly, and his voice sounded thick with emotion when he spoke.
“I was supposed to go with him that night to a dinner party some friend of his was having. Once I was old enough to drive, I would take him places so if he drank, he didn’t have to drive. He kept trying to quit. He went to rehab once and later to support meetings. But every time something went wrong for him, or when mom’s birthday or their anniversary date came around, he’d slip up.”
“That’s terrible. It must have been hard on you, having to be the responsible one.”
His voice cracked, making my heart clutch in sympathy.
“Yeah. He was all I had, and I did what I could for him. But I was also a kid, and doing stupid shit goes along with the territory. I skipped out on him at the last minute that night to hang with my friends, mainly because of a girl I was trying to impress. At the time, it seemed like the most important thing in the world. But it was a decision I would regret for the rest of my life.”
“But you couldn’t have been with him all the time or controlled what he did. If he drank and drove, he could have done it at any time—when you were in school, for example.”
“True. But I knew in my heart I should have been there. He asked me to take him. I don’t know why he made the decision to drive instead of getting a cab or a ride with someone else. We had an argument about it that night before he left. He was pissed at me for bailing. We both said some horrible things. He accused me of being selfish, even though I was the one who always seemed to be taking care of him.”
My heart ached for Spencer. A young boy wo had lost his mother at an early age, and spent most of his life caring for a troubled parent. I could relate, more than he knew.
“That was unfair on his part, but I understand how it would affect you.”
A ragged sigh indicated the tension he’d been holding in. He paused, considering my words.
“That may be true, but it’s why I blame myself. The fact remains, that particular incident could have been prevented—by me.”
I squeezed his hand, saddened that he had been burdened with his guilt for so long.
“I do understand why you feel that way. I also wrestle with guilt, for reasons that are complicated. I left home to pursue a career in music, leaving my sister to care for not only her newborn child alone, but also our troubled mother. Mamma suffered from depression since my father abandoned us. Now it’s possible she may have Alzheimer’s.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know you’ve been through a tough time recently, and I didn’t mean to scare you off by admitting my feelings for you.”
My overreaction seemed funny now. I should have been flattered. He was sincere, that much I knew. I laced my fingers with his, snuggling closer.
“I shouldn’t have fre
aked out. I’m thrilled, honestly, but emotionally exhausted right now. I guess it was just too much for me.”
“It’s okay. Let’s take things one step at a time. Forget I said it.”
His tone was soothing, and I was relieved. I had thought he might be hurt and lash out at me for not immediately reciprocating his feelings. So many other guys had done just that, perceiving my lack of response as rejection. What they hadn’t considered was it was my own baggage that prevented me from falling in love.
Maybe it was time to unpack that baggage.
I hesitated, for no good reason. What was the harm in telling Spencer my secrets? He’d confessed a huge one to me, taking a risk. We’d only been together a few weeks, but somehow it felt much longer. We were very different people but there was an undeniable connection between us, and it wasn’t purely physical.
So, what was it?
“One step at a time sounds good. You bared your secret to me, now I’ll reveal one to you.”
“You don’t have to, you know.”
“I know. But I want you to understand why I ran.”
He held me tighter. His voice was barely above a whisper as he prompted, “Go on.”
“My father was abusive to my mother, my sister, and especially to me. He never hit any of us, but the verbal abuse was constant and at times, severe. I was the oldest child, and I guess it was harder to break my spirit, because I often stood up to him and tried to defend my mother and sister. He considered that a challenge and became particularly cruel as I went through puberty.”
“Holy crap, that’s awful. I wish I had been there. I’d make him regret it.”
“The idea that I was worthless, ugly, and stupid became so ingrained in me that I completely withdrew. I barely spoke to anyone in school, had no friends, and was basically scared of my own shadow. Fighting him at home was so consuming I had nothing left to give anyone else.”
He rubbed a finger over my knuckles. His touch was comforting, as was his supportive tone.
“It’s hard to believe, seeing you now. You don’t let anyone push you around or want someone coming to your rescue, like I did at the bar.”
Not So Wrong: Love Grows series, Book Two Page 15