Читать книгу A Valentine Kiss - Christy McKellen - Страница 11

CHAPTER ONE

Two years later

JORDAN STOOD OUTSIDE his childhood home and grief—and guilt—crashed through him.

The house was like many he had seen in the Stellenbosch wine lands—large and white, with a black roof and shutters. Except he had grown up in this house. He’d played on the patio that stretched out in front of the house, with its stone pillars that had vines crawling up them. He and his father had spent Sunday evenings watching the sun set—usually in silence—on the rocking chairs that stood next to the large wooden door.

He turned his back on the house and the memories, and looked out to the gravel road that led to the rest of the vineyard.

Trees reached out to one another over the road, the colour of their leaves fading from the bright green of summer to the warm hues of autumn. From where he stood he could see the chapel where he’d married Mila just three months after they’d met.

He shook his head. He wouldn’t think about that now.

Instead he looked under the potted plants that lined the pathway to the front door for the key he knew his father had kept there. When he found it he began to walk to his father’s house—except that wasn’t true any more. He clenched his jaw at the reminder of the new ownership of the house—the house he had grown up in—and the reason he was back, and turned the key in the lock.

He heard it first—the crackling sound of fire blazing—and he set his bags down and hurried to the living room where he was sure he would find the house burning. And slowed when he realised that the fire was safely in the fireplace.

He turned his head to the couch in front of the fire, and his heart stopped when he saw his ex-wife sitting in front of it.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded before he could think, the shock of seeing her here, in his childhood home, forcing him to speak before he could think it through.

She jumped when she heard him, and shame poured through him as the glass of wine in her hand dropped to the ground and the colour seeped from her face.

‘Jordan... What...? I...’

In another world, at another time, he might have found her stammering amusing. Now, though, he clamped down the emotions that filled him and asked again, ‘What are you doing here, Mila?’

Her fingers curled at her sides—the only indication that she was fighting to gain her composure. He waited, giving her time to do so, perhaps to make up for startling her earlier.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked him instead, crossing her arms and briefly drawing his attention to her chest. He shook his head and remembered how long it had taken him to realise that she took that stance whenever she felt threatened.

‘You want to know why I’m here? In my father’s home?’

‘It’s not your father’s home any more, Jordan.’

His heart thudded. ‘Is that why you’re here? Because you’ll own part of this house soon?’

She winced, and it made him think that maybe he wasn’t the only one unhappy with his father’s will.

‘No, of course not. But I do live here.’

‘What?’

The little colour she had left in her face faded, but her eyes never left his. If he hadn’t been so shocked he might have been impressed at her guts. But his mind was still very much focused on her revelation.

‘I live here,’ she repeated. The shakiness in her voice wasn’t completely gone, but the silken tone of it came through stronger. The tone that sounded like music when she laughed. That had once caressed his skin when she said, ‘I love you.’ The tone that had said ‘I do!’ two years ago as though nothing could touch them or their love.

How little they had known then...

He pushed the memories away.

‘I heard that. I want to know why,’ he said through clenched teeth, his temper precariously close to snapping.

‘Because your father asked me to move in with him after...after everything that happened.’

The reminder of the past threatened to gut him, but he ignored it. ‘So after we got divorced you thought it would be a good idea to move in with my father?’

‘No, he did,’ she said coldly, and again shame nudged him for reasons he didn’t understand. ‘He wanted—he needed someone around when you left.’

‘And you agreed?’

‘After his first heart attack, yes.’

Her words cut right through to his heart, and he asked the question despite the fact that everything inside him wanted to ignore it. ‘His first? You mean his only.’

Something flashed through her eyes, and he wondered if it was sympathy. ‘No, I mean his first. The one that killed him was his third.’

Jordan resisted the urge to close his eyes, to absorb the pain her words brought. He wondered how he had gone to his father’s funeral, how he had spoken to the few friends Greg had had left, and was only hearing about this now.

But then, was it any wonder? a voice asked him. His father had always kept his feelings to himself, not wanting to burden Jordan with them. An after-effect of that night, Jordan thought. But there was a part of him that wondered if Greg hadn’t told him as punishment for Jordan leaving, even after his father had warned him that it would destroy his marriage—which it had. After Jordan had decided that limited contact with his father during the year he’d been gone—grief snapped at him when he thought that it had actually been the year before his father’s death—was the only way he would be able to forget about what had happened...

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked, determined not to get sucked in by his thoughts.

‘He didn’t want you to know.’

It was like a punch to the gut—and it told him that his father wanting to punish him might not have been such a farfetched conclusion.

‘He told you that, or you decided it?’

Mila’s face was clear, but when she spoke her voice was ice. ‘It was Greg’s decision. Do you think your father’s friends would have kept quiet about it for me?’

She waited for his answer, but it didn’t come. He was too busy processing her words.

‘He didn’t want you to come home until you’d decided to.’

‘You should have called me,’ he said, his voice low, dangerous.

‘If you hadn’t been so determined to put as much distance between us as possible—if you hadn’t let it cloud your judgement—you would have known that you should have come home even though I didn’t call you.’

Her voice was a mirror of his own thoughts, and if her words hadn’t pierced his heart Jordan might have taken a moment to enjoy—perhaps a better word was admire—this new edge to Mila. But he was too distracted by the emotion that what she’d said had awoken in him.

Had his desire to escape the pain of his marriage blinded him to what he should have known? That he should have come home?

‘So you’re back because of the will?’

Her question drew him out of his thoughts—drew his attention to her. He took a moment before he answered her.

‘Yes, that sped up my return to Cape Town. But I’m here for good.’

Jordan watched as her left hand groped behind her, and he moved when he realised she was looking for something to keep her standing. He caught her as she staggered back, his arm curved around her waist. His heartbeat was faster than it had been in a long time, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if he’d really wanted to stop her from falling, or if he’d put himself in this awkward situation because...

He stopped thinking as he looked into those hauntingly beautiful eyes of hers that widened as they looked up at him. The love that had filled them a long time ago had been replaced by such a complexity of emotion that he could only see surprise there. And caution.

Her brown curls were tied back into a ponytail, making her delicate features seem sharper than they’d once been. But maybe that was because her face had lost its gentle rounding, he thought, and saw for the first time that she’d lost weight. Pressed against hers, his body acknowledged that her body felt different from what he remembered. The curves he’d enjoyed during their marriage were now more toned than before.

He wished he could say he didn’t like it, but the way his body tightened told him that he would be lying if he did. The lips he had always been greedy for parted, and his eyes lowered. Electricity snapped between them as he thought about tasting her, about quenching the thirst that had burned inside him since they’d been apart...

They both pulled away at the same time, and again Jordan heard the smash of glass against the floor. Pieces of a wine bottle lay mingled with pieces of the glass Mila had dropped earlier, and Jordan belatedly realised that he’d knocked it over when he’d moved back.

‘I’ll get something for that,’ she said, hurrying away before he could respond. But she didn’t move fast enough for him to miss the flush on her face.

He stared at the mess on the floor—the mess they’d made within their first minutes of reuniting—and hoped it wasn’t an omen for the rest of the time they’d spend together.

* * *

Mila grabbed the broom from the kitchen cupboard, and then stilled. She should take a moment to compose herself. Her hands were still shaking from the shock of seeing Jordan, and now her body was heated from their contact.

She hated that reminder of what he could do to her. Hated it even more that he could still do it to her, even after everything that had happened between them.

Why had he touched her anyway? She hadn’t been going to fall—she was pretty sure about that. It had just been the prospect of him staying—her stomach still churned at the thought—that had shaken her balance. And then, before she’d known it, she’d been in his arms, feeling comfort—and something else that she didn’t care to admit—for the first time since the accident that had ruined their lives.

She took a deep breath and, when she was sure she was as prepared as she could be to face him again, she returned to the living room.

And felt her breath hitch again when she saw him standing there.

He was leaner now, though his body was still strong, with muscles clearly defined beneath his clothing. Perhaps there were more muscles now, whatever excess weight there had been once now firm. His hair was shorter, though it was still shaggy, falling lazily over his forehead as though begging to be pushed aside. And then there was his face...those beautiful planes drawn into the serious expression she was becoming accustomed to.

‘We need to do something about the house,’ he said when he saw her, and moved to take the cleaning items away from her.

But he stopped when he saw the expression in her eyes—the coldness she had become so used to aiming at him to protect herself from pain—and she bent to pick up the pieces of glass.

‘I’ll be leaving in the morning,’ she said, grateful that he couldn’t see her face as she tidied up.

The idea of going back to the house that reminded her of all that she’d had—and all that she’d lost—made her feel sick. But what choice did she have?

After Jordan had left, she hadn’t been able to be alone in the place where it had all happened. So she’d escaped to their beach house in Gordons Bay for a few months, before Greg had asked her to move in with him. But the divorce meant that she no longer had any right to stay there, and since she had been renting before they’d got married the only thing she had was the house she’d lived in with Jordan. It was in her name after all.

But what did that matter when she couldn’t bring herself to think about what had happened there, let alone live there and having to face the memories over and over again...?

‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ he said.

Sure that she had got to all the pieces of glass that could be picked up by hand, she stood. ‘Not the only thing, maybe.’

She wondered how she could speak so coolly when her insides were twisted. But then, she was used to saying things despite her feelings. How many times had she bitten her tongue or said the thing people wanted to hear instead of saying what she really thought? The only difference now was that she was actually being honest.

‘Fine.’ The word was delivered through clenched teeth. ‘There is something else. Did you put him up to the ridiculous conditions of his will?’

Anger whipped through her, and she barely noticed her hand tighten on the dustpan.

‘No, Jordan, I didn’t. I don’t want to own a house with you, and I don’t want to plan an event with you.’

I just want to move on with my life.

He didn’t say anything immediately. ‘I don’t want that either.’

‘But we’ll have to.’

‘Because you want your half of the house, the vineyard?’

‘Because if we don’t you’ll lose your half of both, too.’

He didn’t deny her words, though she knew by the way his face tightened that he wanted to. It wasn’t so much at the truth of what she said, but at the fact that it was the truth. How could Jordan explain the fact that his father had left his house—and his share of the vineyard—to both his son and ex-daughter-in-law? For someone who valued logic as much as Jordan did, having no explanation for something this important must be eating at him.

‘I’m going to contest the will.’

The part of herself that Mila had felt softening immediately iced.

‘Based on what?’

‘On anything I can find. I won’t just accept this.’

And yet you just accepted it when I told you to give me space.

‘And if I don’t succeed in contesting the will...will you...will you sell your shares to me without any of the conditions?’

Pain sat on her chest at the question—the one she knew he’d wanted to ask since he had arrived—and forced words from her lips. ‘Yes, Jordan. If that’s possible, and if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.’

Unspoken words filled the air—memories of when he had said much the same thing to her at the end of their marriage—and she closed her eyes against them. When she was sure her emotions were in check—when she was sure that she was strong enough to look at him—she did.

And realised how different he was from the man she’d known...and loved.

She hadn’t noticed any of it when she’d seen him four months ago at his father’s funeral. He hadn’t looked at her then, she thought, too consumed by the grief of losing his only surviving parent—the man who had raised him—despite their complicated relationship. Or maybe because of it. She wasn’t even sure he knew she had only gone to the church and graveyard, not being able to bear spending time socialising after the death of the only man she’d ever thought of as a father.

After losing the last of the family she had.

Suddenly she felt incredibly weary.

‘I think it’s best if I go to bed now,’ she said, as the shock of seeing him finally caught up with her.

‘Wait,’ he said, and took her arm before she could walk out of the room.

She looked down at his hand as heat seared through her body at his touch, and quickly moved away. She didn’t want to think about the physical effect he had on her. The emotional one was already too much.

He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve arranged for a meeting with Mark Garrett in the morning. To see if I have grounds to contest. Since you’re willing to sell, I was hoping you would come with me.’

Her eyebrows rose. ‘You’ve made an appointment with your family lawyer? The executor of your father’s will?’ When he nodded, she said, ‘And you’re only telling me this now? When it’s beneficial to you?’

He looked at her, those golden eyes carefully blank of emotion. ‘I didn’t think you needed to be there.’

‘Because my inheritance doesn’t concern me, right? No, it’s fine. I get it.’ She shook her head when he opened his mouth to respond. ‘You’ve been making decisions for the both of us since we got married. Why stop now that we’re divorced?’

She didn’t wait for a response, but walked past him, hating the way her body longed to be held in his arms.

Hating the way her life was once again in turmoil because of Jordan Thomas.

* * *

Mila got up at five in the morning, her muscles hard with tension after a restless night. She got dressed and did the thing that always helped to keep her mind busy—she cooked. First she made a batch of scones and then muffins and pancakes. When that was done she scrambled eggs, made bacon and toast, and eventually, as the sun peeked through the kitchen windows, put on the kettle for coffee.

‘What’s all this?’

The deep voice startled her, even though she knew he was there. She supposed she had already grown so used to being alone in the months since Greg had been gone—her heart ached at the reminder—that anyone’s presence, let alone that of the man who unsettled her most in the world, would have frightened her in the quiet of the morning.

‘Food,’ she said, and wiped her hands on her apron. She stilled, thinking that it made her look nervous. ‘I’m going to take it down to Frank and Martha’s.’

Frank was the kind-hearted man who’d helped manage the vineyard after Greg had taken ill and Jordan had moved away. She had a soft spot for him and, since cooking was something she did to keep herself calm, often took food to Frank and his wife, Martha’s house on the Thomas property to share with the workers at the vineyard during the day.

Though now Mila supposed she should offer some to Jordan. Except that would make it seem as if she had got up that morning specifically to cook for him. Just as she had when they were married. So she wouldn’t offer him breakfast, but would wait until later to pack up the food and let him get breakfast for himself.

Satisfied with the decision, she asked, ‘What time is the appointment?’

To avoid his gaze, she turned to make herself coffee. But she stopped when she realised she was about to take out two mugs, her mind already making his as he liked it. So she turned back to him and folded her arms, ignoring the way the sight of his hair, wet from a shower, made her body prickle.

‘Eight thirty.’

‘In less than an hour,’ she confirmed, proud of the fact that her voice wasn’t as shaky as she felt. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

She nearly ran out of the kitchen, but acting normally was eating at her strength. The last time she had been in that kitchen with Jordan she had been pregnant and happy, with the only true family she’d known—her husband and her father-in-law—around her.

The loss of it all was a physical pain.

She bided her time so that she didn’t have to have breakfast with him, only coming out when they had to leave. Her eyebrows barely lifted at his choice of transportation—a sleek blue car she knew was a recent and expensive model—but her heart thawed when he opened the door for her.

The trip was silent and tense, but she consoled herself by repeating that it would be over soon. If she signed her share of the vineyard, of the house, over to Jordan she would be able to move out and move on. It would mark the end of the worst and best years of her life and, though her heart was nostalgic for the best, the worst was enough that if she could, she would sign the papers right there in the car.

When Jordan gave his name to the receptionist at the lawyer’s, they were shown into an office where Mila spent another ten minutes of tension with Jordan while waiting for the lawyer to come.

‘Good morning, Jordan... Mila.’

Mark spoke softly to her and she gave him a small smile. She had only met him twice—once when she’d signed a prenuptial contract, and again after Greg’s death when Mark had come to give his condolences and to drop off her copy of the will. Both times he had been kind, and she’d appreciated that.

Jordan barely waited until Mark was seated before he asked, ‘What was going on in my father’s head when he made this will, Mark?’

Mark gave him a wry smile. ‘I think you would be a better judge of that than me.’

When Jordan didn’t return the smile, Mark nodded, apparently realising Jordan was only in the mood for business.

‘Well, you’ve both read Greg’s will by now. It’s actually quite simple in its conditions—which I know you both must find hard to believe, considering what it’s asking of you. You already own half of the Thomas Vineyard, Jordan, having inherited your mother’s share of the property when you were twenty-one. Greg’s half has been left, as he states in his will, to his son and his daughter-in-law, on the condition that you both work together to plan an...’

Mark paused and took a closer look at the will.

‘An Under the Stars event. Instructions have been left regarding the nature of the event—which, again, both of you will have read—and this event has to take place no later than two months after the last of you received a copy of the will.’

‘I received mine two weeks ago,’ Jordan interrupted, looking at Mila for confirmation of her date.

‘I probably got mine a week before that,’ she said, and wished her heart wouldn’t beat quite as hard.

‘Which would mean that we have just over a month to plan this. If we do,’ Jordan said, his voice masking all emotion.

‘Honestly, Jordan. I don’t see you having a choice if you want to keep the vineyard solely in your family. If you don’t plan the event, your father’s share of the vineyard will be auctioned off and the proceeds will be divided between the both of you.’

‘Excuse me, Mark?’ Mila said, ignoring the way her stomach jolted as Jordan’s eyes zoned in on her. ‘The will says that I’ve been left half of Greg’s portion as his “daughter-in-law,” right?’ When Mark nodded his head, she continued. ‘So, since Jordan and I aren’t married any more, won’t that give Jordan grounds to contest the will?’

And leave me out of it?

Mark’s eyebrows rose. ‘When did you get divorced?’

‘About a year ago.’ Jordan spoke now, and his eyes were hopeful when Mila lifted her own to look at his face.

She knew that she shouldn’t take it personally—if Greg’s will could be contested they would both get what they wanted—but her heart still contracted.

She diverted her attention to Mark, saw him riffling through the papers in front of him, and felt concern grow when he lifted one page, his face serious.

‘Is there a problem?’ she asked.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Mark looked at them both and laid the page back down. ‘Before we send the beneficiaries copies of a will, we check all the details we can for accuracy. Your marital status was one of them and, well...’ He gave them both an apologetic look. ‘According to the court records of South Africa, the two of you are still very much married.’