The S Before Ex

by Mira Lyn Kelly

Damn, that was good to know. It’s what he’d wanted for her. “You deserve it, sweetheart.”

  “Goodbye, Ryan.”

  Taking her hand from his cheek, he gave it a gentle squeeze.

  Walking from the restaurant, the light reprieve of relief and satisfaction evaporated and a heavy weight settled over his shoulders. He needed to call Claire.

  Even though the anger hadn’t ebbed, his thoughts hadn’t particularly cleared, he needed to hear her voice.

  Only, a call from the office was already coming through.

  “We’ve got a problem with the Lake deal,” was Denis’s efficient greeting. “I’m holding a conference call for you now.”

  The Lake deal again. Details dropped into place as he mentally shifted focus, his stride lengthening as he headed for his car. “What have you got for me?”

  Denis delivered the points of update in bulletlike fashion, leaving Ryan wondering if the deal he’d been working for the last six months could be resuscitated after apparently being shot to hell in the last day. But already his mind was spinning toward solutions, reevaluating the risk to reward and settling on the answer. Yes.

  Calling Claire was out. Thirty seconds to tell her he didn’t have time wouldn’t be doing either of them any favors. But without even a goodbye he had to do something.

  “Denis, shoot an email to Claire letting her know I’m going to be tied up with this, probably through the night. I’ll call her when I have a chance.” One more day might give him the perspective he needed to make some decisions. For now, though, he needed one hundred percent of his focus to salvage this deal. “Okay, conference me in.”

  Claire blinked at the celebrity headline, let her focus slip to the photo beneath.

  Ryan gazing tenderly into the elated face of Dahlia Dawson, who in turn cupped his strong jaw with her palm. It was an intimate moment between two people caught unawares by the press. Two people making plans for a future.

  WEDDING IN THE WORKS FOR EXPECTANT PARENTS BRADY AND DAWSON

  She closed her eyes, as if that would be enough to make her forget. Somehow make it less real.

  It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

  Three nights ago Ryan had been in her bed. Holding her against his heart and telling her that, if only for that night, he was her husband again. It hardly seemed possible that as he’d searched her body for signs of the child they’d lost, another was already growing within Dahlia’s womb.

  Nausea roiled within her. She’d never had a chance.

  She’d been bound for heartbreak from that first day in Rome.

  No, that wasn’t right. It could have been different. She might have been able to escape with minimal damage…if she’d remembered what they were engaging in was only an affair. If she hadn’t begun to wonder about more…think maybe, this time, there was enough right—

  She’d been an idiot.

  Holding up the paper she forced herself to see reality.

  Ryan looked happy. The smile on his face was relaxed. Satisfied. As though he had exactly what he wanted.

  A child. His child.

  He’d made such a great show of avoiding commitment all these years—but maybe, like her, he’d been telling himself the things he couldn’t have were things he didn’t want.

  Memories of their past slipped like filmy overlays to the present. To another pregnancy. Another lifetime.

  God, he’d been so happy. Stunned for all of a quarter of a second when she’d told him the news. She’d been terrified—so afraid of what he’d say, what he’d want.

  What he wouldn’t want.

  To that point everything between them had been perfect. She’d believed he loved her. But they’d only been together for a matter of months and a pregnancy could change everything.

  It had changed everything. First in the most incredible way and then in the most devastating. Within days she’d lost her parents, within months she’d lost Andrew, and within a year Ryan. But in those initial moments, it had been bliss. Ryan’s frozen expression cracking into the widest of grins as he pulled her into his arms, off her feet, and spun her around laughing.

  He’d told her it hadn’t been the way he’d planned it, but he’d always seen a family as part of his life, he’d just thought he’d have to wait. He saw her pregnancy as the gift he got to open before Christmas morning. And then he’d asked her to marry him.

  Now, pressure bit at her eyes, tightened her throat around a well of emotion too great to swallow down. Ryan didn’t have to wait anymore for the gift so cruelly snatched back from his fingers. A gift Claire could never give him.

  Praying to God this child was born without a single complication, she fisted her hand and jammed it against her lips, trying to stifle the sound of choked despair.

  The phone was ringing again. Sally, not Ryan.

  She’d have to pick up eventually, but today there was only one call she was going to take. The one from Ryan where he told her they were over and this divorce and settlement they’d been dragging their feet on would need to be resolved in short order.

  The absence of that call meant only one thing. He didn’t know about the article. The man’s protective drive toward her bordered on obsessive-compulsive disorder.

  Or at least it had.

  But that would inevitably change with this reversal of roles too.

  Dahlia would become his wife. The woman who carried his baby. And if he’d been protective of Claire— A weak laugh escaped her, slipping through her fingers and echoing down the empty hall where she’d slumped against the wall upon opening the morning paper—Dahlia would be lucky if he let her leave the house encased in Bubble Wrap.

  Whereas Claire…well, he’d always care about her, but she had become that other woman with whom “it was over.”

  Over. The word shifted restlessly in her mind, unwilling to settle or take root.

  But denial wouldn’t change the fact that it was where they had been heading from the first.

  Regardless of the detours made along the way, that final destination should never have been in question. Claire should never have allowed herself to get in so deep. It had been stupid and careless to leave herself open to this kind of vulnerability when, in truth, Ryan had never given her one word of encouragement that the relationship would go anywhere but to divorce.

  What kind of fool was she that after all the years it had taken to climb out of that dark abyss, the moment she was finally free she threw herself down right back at the ledge by slipping into love with the man who’d told her flat out the limit on what he could offer.

  She’d willingly exposed that most tender part of her heart again, and look where it left her. Staring down into those same dark depths.

  She wouldn’t give in. Not this time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  RYAN disconnected the call and contemplated giving in to his body’s immediate demand for sleep. But after eighteen hours and four back-to-back conferences calls tying him to his desk, he couldn’t tolerate another minute within the confines of an office that had gone as stale as the coffee he’d given up on a handful of hours before.

  Rubbing the top of his head, he walked into the main hall only half registering the increase in stares and decrease in chatter as he cut past a bank of cubes on his way to the small apartment he kept at the far end of the suite of offices. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was stocked with a few changes of clothing, toiletries and enough nonperishable food to get him through.

  Cranking the tap in the shower with one hand, he pulled at his tie with the other. Shower. Shave. New suit.

  Sleep could wait until tonight. A call to Claire couldn’t though. She’d stayed with him through all the hours of wrestling this deal back on track. Thoughts of her laughter as haunting as his name on her lips that last morning.

  He shouldn’t have left without a goodbye.

  His phone sounded with another call from Denis. Toeing off his shoes, he answered, “Damn, you’re relentless, man. Not even ten minutes.”
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  A somewhat strained laugh was followed by the clearing of Denis’s throat, and instantly Ryan shook off the punch-drunk haze. “What’s going on?”

  “You made the papers this morning. I didn’t see it until just now, but you’re not going to like it.”

  Steam beckoned from the waiting shower. Ryan let out a heavy breath, stalked into the bathroom and shut it off. “Which paper?”

  “All of them.”

  “Pick up!”

  Another droning ring and Ryan’s knuckles whitened over the phone in his grasp. Briefcase and jacket stuffed under his arm, he tore across the office lobby, ignoring the stares of those who’d recognized him from the morning news.

  He’d gone through to voice mail on her cell phone, gotten the run-around from the gallery, was disconnected when he’d tried to get Sally on the line, and now Claire wasn’t answering at home either.

  She’d seen the story. No chance she’d missed it. Every network across the country was reporting on Dahlia Dawson’s pregnancy and impending nuptials—both confirmed by her PR manager. Unfortunately no clarification had been made re the groom’s identity, which meant Claire had spent the better part of the day with every reason to believe it was true.

  Voice mail again.

  Damn it! His gut knotted at the sound of her recorded voice directing him to leave a message.

  Immediately he hung up and dialed again, shoving out the lobby doors.

  One ring. His car was idling, ready to go.

  Another. Stuffing a bill into the valet’s hand, he levered into the driver’s seat and slipped the hands-free device over his ear.

  “Hello,” she answered on the third, sounding weary and worn. But after all the unanswered calls, her voice suddenly on the line jolted him like an electric shock.

  “Thank God. Claire, it’s not true.”

  Jerking the wheel, he cut into traffic as her breath, catching on a sob, cut into him.

  “She’s pregnant. I’d heard the rumor. It’s why I met with her. To find out. But the baby isn’t mine.”

  God, he needed to be there. Holding her as he explained. And then just holding her. Because he didn’t want to be apart. It shouldn’t have taken something like this to shake the sense loose in his head, but apparently it had. What happened in the past was behind them, and all that mattered was what happened now. How they chose to go forward from here.

  But first making sure Claire was okay. That she understood. “I didn’t know about the article. If I’d thought you’d find out like this, I swear I would have told you what I was doing. I just didn’t want—” he broke off with a violent curse. He just hadn’t wanted her to know about the rumor at all. Because he’d known it would hurt her. Scare her.

  Possibly devastate her.

  “Claire?” She should have said something by now. But maybe there was more to her silence than this rumor. Hell, he knew he had some making up to do. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left without talking to you. I shouldn’t have let this much time pass. Everything just got away from me, but I’m on my way to the airport now.” He’d manage with the deal and the office and everything else. Somehow work around another screwup to the schedule. It didn’t matter. Not like getting to Claire did. “I’ll be there tonight. We’ll talk then. About everything.”

  “No.” Again, the soft whisper of her voice screamed at him from the silence that surrounded it.

  The already tension-knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders ratcheted tighter, sending a shot of pain straight up to the base of his skull. “What do you mean no?”

  The words whipped out of him faster than he could control. More harshly than he’d want her to hear. Almost as if they’d been poised, ready to go. As if, on some level, he’d already anticipated the need to use them.

  A shaky breath sounded across the miles and the rest of Ryan’s body tensed, bracing. And all he could think was, Don’t. Don’t do this.

  “You don’t need to come.” Then, “You shouldn’t.”

  Pulling over to the side of the road, Ryan’s fist pounded against the wheel. His breath grating through his teeth.

  Don’t do it!

  “This is more than I want, Ryan. More than I can handle.”

  “You’re upset. This thing with Dahlia, with the press, it’ll never happen again.” The papers had been following him for years, but until now he’d never had a need to put a stop to it. For Claire he would though.

  “Even before Dahlia, we let this go too far. I can’t risk the kind of hurt…”

  He knew she was scared. Understood how long it had taken her to come back from the emotional devastation she’d suffered nine years ago. But that wasn’t what they were talking about. What they were doing together, this relationship still had boundaries, even if they’d slipped over the past days. They both still understood the limits were there. All she had to do was take a step back and—

  “I won’t risk it, Ryan.”

  A quiet calm sank into the center of his chest, drowning out the cold panic that had all but overtaken him mere moments ago. Staring out at the L.A. smog and congestion, he blew out a long breath. “So what now then?”

  As if he didn’t know.

  “We cut our losses.” The fragile quality of her voice had been replaced by an impersonal clip. She was trying to turn it into business. “Let the lawyers wrap up the final asset division. And move on with our lives the way we were always supposed to.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “No.” He could hear her hesitation, but knew better than to think she’d changed her mind. Knew from experience. “Thank you for letting me know about Dahlia… And, I’m sorry.”

  Disgusted, Ryan pulled the phone extension from his ear and tossed it to the empty seat beside him. He didn’t need to ask. She was sorry because the baby wasn’t his.

  Pulling back into traffic, he headed for the turnoff.

  Claire hadn’t changed at all. Nothing had. She didn’t like the way something was going and shut him out. No chance to argue. No chance to make his case.

  But he’d be damned if he’d let things end the same, with another polite phone call and the entire country between them. To hell with that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CLAIRE was tired. Weak. Aching to give in to the fatigue that plagued her on too many levels to count. She’d relented and let Sally in for a few hours, after the girl had planted herself on her doorstep bellowing about getting the police involved if Claire didn’t open up and prove she was still alive.

  She’d opened the door and braved Sally’s shock and outrage at finding her still in the pajamas she’d slept in the night before, eyes swollen and hair knotted in some unholy mess.

  “That rat bastard did this to you!”

  And then Claire had been forced to explain that Ryan was not, in fact, a rat bastard. But that they were through regardless.

  Sally had sat with her, quietly for a while, and then listening when Claire talked. She’d brought some gourmet soup and reheated it while Claire showered, refusing to go until half a bowl had been consumed.

  And then she’d been alone again. The way she’d wanted it. Except alone, there was nothing to prevent her mind from revisiting all the moments she’d allowed herself to go astray. All the opportunities untaken, where she might have held herself apart but instead gave in to the feel-good temptation of what Ryan offered. And with each passing hour it worsened.

  She wanted to go to sleep, but somehow the idea of lying in that bed where Ryan had held her was too much to bear. Eventually, her eyes closed and her head rested against the arm of the couch and she gave herself over to the bliss of numb.

  Three hard raps sounded at her door some time later, jolting her to her feet as she grasped the panels of her robe together in a disoriented rush. For an instant the fog of confusion kept reality at bay, but then another bout of knocking had the here and now slamming securely into place.

  Ryan.

  He’d said he was on his
way, but that was before she’d told him it was over. He shouldn’t have come, but even as she thought it, her heart gave an unsteady lurch toward the door.

  “Open up, Claire.” The words came low and rough through the wood panels dividing them, warning her he was a man past patience. After a flight that was at minimum five and a half hours, plus whatever it took to make that flight happen, he’d have to be.

  Throwing the lock, she’d barely turned the knob when he’d pushed the door open, caught her hip and backed her down the hall, kicking the door closed behind him.

  Gasping at the unexpected contact as much as at the sight of Ryan’s haggard features, she clutched at his sleeves for balance. “What are you doing here? I told you not to come—”

  “I heard you,” he said, releasing her into the corner as he jerked free of his coat at the small closet.

  Her heart was racing, her throat tight from too much emotion over too many hours. “Then why?”

  Ryan turned a caustic smile on her. “Come on. Like you really don’t know?”

  Her head shook in willful denial.

  “Closure,” he answered, jerking his tie to loosen and then starting on the buttons down his shirt. “What we’ve been after from the start.”

  “No,” she whispered in strangled protest.

  His fingers stilled at the fourth button, his dark eyes narrowing on her as she stared at the wide swath of tanned skin and smattering of crisp hair already revealed.

  “‘No’ what?” he snapped, planting a hand on the wall beside her head. Closing her in without touching her at all.

  His voice lowered, dangerously softening. “It’s not closure? Or closure wasn’t what you were after? Or ‘no,’ don’t stop until I’ve got you wrapped around me, giving up my name on a scream?”

  Her breath rushed out at the angry, seductive taunt, leaving her without response.

  Taking her silence for the victory it was, Ryan adjusted his stance, lowering his head so his words fell warm and wet against her ear. “Can you leave it like this, Claire… Unfinished?”