Читать книгу A Valentine Kiss - Christy McKellen - Страница 15

CHAPTER FIVE

MILA HEARD THE door to the house slam and closed her eyes. Clearly Jordan hadn’t returned from their trip to the amphitheatre in a good mood. Not that she was feeling particularly cheerful herself. She had let him bait her into lashing out, into revealing things she didn’t want him to know.

It was only because she had been feeling particularly vulnerable after hesitating at those stairs. She had always hated that reminder of her accident—any reminder, really. But as she had stood in front of those steps, her heart in her throat, she had hated that the most. Because every time she thought she would be able to take a step she was reminded of the sensation of tumbling to the ground. Pain would flash through her at the memory of lying at the bottom of the steps, her breathing staggered, waiting for someone to help her.

She blamed that feeling for the accusation she had hurled at Jordan from nowhere earlier. She had never intended letting that slip—the real reason she thought he’d left—but her tongue no longer seemed to obey the ‘think before you speak’ rule she had always played by.

Heaven knew she was tired of taking all the blame for him leaving—yes, she had asked him for space, but that had been said in grief, in pain. She hadn’t meant it, but when he’d packed his bags she hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask him to stay. She had wanted him to—every fibre in her being had urged her to stop him—but she had also wanted him to want to stay. She had wanted him to refuse to go, to tell her that he needed her, to acknowledge that they needed each other to get through the heartbreak of losing their son.

But he hadn’t, and she had been forced to admit to herself that their make-believe life—the one where they were playing at being a happy family and where she was a worthy wife—was never really going to be her life. Jordan hadn’t had any reason to be with her before she had lost their baby, so why would he bother with her now, when she’d proved that she wasn’t capable? When she’d proved that she was broken, especially during her grieving?

He must believe that, too, or he would never have asked her if Greg had told her that. Jordan must have said it to Greg at some point, in confidence, and the stunned expression she’d seen on his face must have been because Jordan had thought Greg had broken his confidence...

Hurt beat at her heart, but she set her shaking hands down on the lists of the things she needed to do and the notes from the phone calls she had made at the kitchen counter.

‘Hey,’ he said, and the deep voice made her heart jump in the same way it had when they’d first met.

She turned and saw the amicable expression on his face. Had she been mistaken about his mood? Perhaps not, she thought as she looked in his eyes.

‘Hi,’ she replied, determined not to let her emotions get in the way of amicability. If he could do it, so could she. ‘You were gone for a while.’

‘Yeah, I bumped into Frank and we talked about the vineyard. I got us some food, too.’

She could tell from his voice that something was bothering him, and while her heart wanted to ask him about it, her head told her to keep to the game they seemed to be playing.

‘That was nice of you,’ she said measuredly, and took the pizza from him.

It had already gone cold, she saw when she opened the boxes, making her wonder if he’d gone somewhere else after picking the food up. But she was distracted when she saw he had got her favourite pizza, and she had to force herself not to be swayed by something as simple as that that only indicated his memory.

‘Frank couldn’t have told you all that much,’ she said, and took out two oven trays to warm the pizza on. ‘You two spoke about the place quite often while you were gone.’

‘Did he tell you that?’

She looked back at him, and was suddenly struck by how attractive he was. He’d taken off the red winter jacket he had on that morning, and now she was being treated to the sight of the muscles he sported almost lazily under his long-sleeved top. Even his light blue jeans highlighted the strength of his lower body.

She swallowed, and told herself to answer him instead of staring like a fool. ‘Frank’s mentioned it, yes. But he told your dad first, and Greg told me. I think he thought that if I knew you’d kept in touch, I’d get in touch with you.’ She closed her eyes briefly as soon as she realised she’d said it. It was being in this kitchen with him, she thought, and desperately changed the topic. ‘Do you want to eat now?’

‘I’d like to take a shower first, but that shouldn’t take too long.’

There was a pause, almost as if Jordan had wanted to say something else and then decided not to. She glanced at him and saw an unreadable expression on his face. That in itself told her something was bothering him, but still she refused to ask him. That wasn’t supposed to be her job any more.

‘This is different,’ he said, abruptly changing the topic.

She followed his gaze and for the first time since Jordan had first brought her to his father’s house she saw the brown cupboards and cream countertops. But since that was the part of the kitchen that hadn’t changed, she knew he was referring to her new additions.

‘I thought a little colour might cheer the place up.’ She didn’t add that she’d hoped it would cheer his father up, as well. Greg had always been a man of a few words, and often she’d thought that it was because of sadness. He hadn’t ever spoken much about his wife—like father, like son—but when he had she’d seen that Greg had loved and missed her. And then in his ill health and missing Jordan, his sadness had become grumpiness and sometimes even meanness.

Jordan was watching her when she looked up, a complicated expression on his face, and she wondered if he realised what she hadn’t said after all.

‘I knew it would be something like that,’ he said, and it sounded forced. ‘I would never have pegged Dad as a fuchsia kind of guy.’ He nodded his head to the curtains and matching utensils that were scattered across the counters.

She smiled a little, felt her guard ease a touch. ‘I think he grew fond of it after a while. Though at the beginning he made all sorts of noises.’ The smile widened. ‘And then he started seeing how the colour lightened up the place, and how the art helped me, and he got much better then.’

The walls were covered with her mosaic artwork—something her doctor had once suggested she do to keep herself busy during a postaccident, postbaby check-up—and she was quite proud of it. It made her remember the simple things she had taken pleasure in before her life had been destroyed.

‘How did it help you?’

He said the words so quietly that at first she didn’t register what he’d asked. And then she realised that her guard was down, and her shoulders stiffened in response. It shouldn’t be this easy to slip up in front of him, she thought. Not when slipping up meant talking to him about the time she was trying to move on from. Not when it meant him prodding her about it again.

‘It just gave me something to keep busy with while I recovered,’ she said firmly, and then turned to put the oven on and slide the trays with the pizzas into it.

She took her time with it, and it didn’t take long for Jordan to get the picture. After a few moments, she heard the shower being turned on and she sighed with relief.

He was getting under her skin, she thought. He had always been able to do that to her, from the moment she had first taken that glass of wine from him two years ago. She’d forgotten all her insecurities then—had slipped into those enticing eyes of his and had believed that they would last, that she could be someone he wanted. Someone he needed.

The past didn’t matter now, she thought, checking the pizzas. She had been young and completely in love then. Now she knew better. She could protect herself now—she would protect herself, regardless of how easy it seemed to be to slip up in front of him. Whether it was out of anger, or out of familiarity, she would control it.

A sharp pain snapped her from her thoughts, and she looked down to see an angry welt spread across her hand where she had reached for the oven tray without a mitt. She rolled her eyes as she ran the hand under cold water, blaming her silly thoughts for distracting her, but grateful that she had only used one hand instead of both, as she usually did.

Once the pain had subsided to a throb, she saw the welt was threatening to blister and rushed to the bathroom to get the first-aid kit and the gel she knew would soothe the burn.

She realised too late that Jordan was still in there, and barely had the chance to move back before the door opened. A cloud of steam followed a muscular body precariously covered by her white-and-pink towel out of the room.

‘I’m so sorry! I was just—’ She felt her face redden as she tried to avert her eyes from Jordan’s half-naked body.

Except every time she tried, her eyes moved back to him of their own accord. She had been right when she’d thought his body was more muscular than she remembered. His broad shoulders were more defined, the muscles in his chest and abs sculpted so perfectly that she wondered if it were possible for her insides to burn, as well. Then she cleared her throat and told herself that she had seen him like this before. There was no reason to panic.

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, I just need to get the first-aid kit.’ She gestured to her hand and was quite proud of the way she’d managed to put words together in the calm tone her voice had taken.

Which all went out the window when he immediately walked to her and took her hand in his.

‘What happened?’

‘I...I burned myself.’ Her mind was whirling at the feel of her hand in his, at the contact between them—however minimal. But her heart was the problem—it was thumping at a rhythm she thought she couldn’t possibly sustain, merely because of his proximity.

‘Still a clumsy cook, I see. Even when you’re just heating pizza,’ he said softly, and then he led her into the bathroom.

She had no choice but to stand there as he reached for the first-aid kit. He pulled out the soothing gel and spread it gently over her burn, and the heat went from her hand to the rest of her. His body was still warm from the shower, and she could smell his body wash—the same kind he’d used before they had broken up. The same kind that had thrilled her each time she had smelled it.

And suddenly her heart and her body longed for him with an intensity that had her backing away from him.

‘It’s fine, thanks. I’ll finish this up in the kitchen.’ She grabbed the kit and almost ran back to the kitchen, not caring if he saw.

All she cared about was putting some distance between them so she could try and convince herself that he wasn’t affecting her.

* * *

‘Did you manage to call Lulu?’ Jordan asked Mila when he’d finally got his body back under control.

He hadn’t expected her to react like that after seeing him in a towel. The look she had given him before she had bolted had been filled with the desire that had marked their entire relationship, and his body had acted accordingly. But that was over now, he told himself, and he was making an effort to forget it. Except that all of a sudden he was noticing the curve of her neck, the faint blush of her cheeks...

‘I did,’ she replied, her voice husky, and he thought that maybe she wasn’t as recovered as she pretended to be. ‘She’s coming over to the house tomorrow.’

Something in her voice made him forget about the curls that had escaped the clip she’d tied her hair back with. He looked up, saw the shaky hands that handed him his pizza and a glass of wine, and something pulled inside him.

‘You’re worried.’

‘About seeing her?’ She picked up her glass and plate, walking past him on her way to the lounge.

He followed, saw that she took one couch, and sat on the other. He didn’t need another reason to be distracted by her. He watched as she broke a piece of pizza from the rest, but didn’t lift it to her mouth.

‘No, I think that’s going to be fine,’ she said, and lifted her head with a defiant smile.

But he could still see the uncertainty, and he knew that she was pretending. He just didn’t know for whom.

‘Do you really?’

‘Yeah, of course. I mean, we’ve spoken in the last year.’

She was desperately trying to convince him—or perhaps again convince herself.

‘Then why are you worried?’ he asked again. ‘And don’t tell me you aren’t because I can see that you are.’

‘Honestly, it’s nothing,’ she replied, picking at her pizza, and he had to force himself not to be annoyed by her denials. He had to force himself not to push her just because he wanted to know. Because he wanted to help.

So he didn’t answer her, biting from a slice of pizza that he didn’t taste, chewing mechanically, waiting for her to speak. Her hands grew busier, and soon there was a pile of cheese on her plate and her pizza base was nearly bare. Still, he waited, because he could see it unnerved her, and perhaps it would do so enough that she would open up to him.

‘I have to apologise.’

The words came out of nowhere, and Jordan felt a short moment of pride that his patience—a trait that maybe he needed more of—had paid off, before reacting to her words.

‘Why?’

‘I haven’t...kept in touch with her like I should have. Not after the baby.’

She didn’t look at him, and concern edged into his heart.

‘You were in a difficult place.’

‘And that’s when you’re supposed to turn to your friends, not push them away,’ she said hotly, and then lifted a hand to her mouth as though she was surprised at her own words.

He could believe that, since it was the way he felt, too. Did she mean she shouldn’t have pushed him away either?

‘Maybe Lulu should have understood,’ he replied carefully.

‘Maybe,’ she repeated. ‘Maybe I expected her to.’

They were talking about the two of them, he knew, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak plainly.

‘You would have had to say it. How else would she have known?’

‘Because she’s my friend.’

You were my husband.

‘She should have known.’

You should have stayed.

‘People don’t just know things, Mila,’ he said with anger, the only emotion he was ready to accept. ‘You have to tell them.’

‘Because saying things means so much, right?’ she replied calmly.

But he saw the ice in her eyes and he knew the calm was just a front.

‘Like when you say things like “until death do us part”? That means you can never go back on it?’ She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to reply.

Just beneath his anger, he felt the guilt. When he had left he had gone back on his word. But he wouldn’t have if she hadn’t done it first.

‘You said it, Mila. You have to turn to your friends when you need them, not push them away. You were the first one to go back on your word.’

Her eyes widened, and it seemed that for a moment the ice melted as a tear fell down her cheek. She wiped it away and stood.

‘This was a mistake. Pretending we could do something as simple as having a meal together without getting into some kind of argument.’ She slammed her plate onto the coffee table. ‘Neither of us may be innocent in what happened between us, but don’t for one moment think I went back on my word. I lost our baby. My body failed us. So when I asked for space I was racked with guilt. I was devastated. But you didn’t even fight. You left like it was the easiest decision you ever made.’

‘It was the hardest decision I ever made,’ he shot back, setting his plate next to hers and standing, too, his body riddled with tension, with emotion. ‘But it was better for me to focus on my work, on something I could control.’ He frowned at the unexpected admission, and shook his head. ‘It was the best decision, Mila.’

‘For who, Jordan? You or me?’

She wiped at another tear and it pierced his heart.

‘This is so silly. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’

He couldn’t bring himself to ask her to stay—knew that if he did he needed to say something other than the accusations that were coursing through his mind.

When he heard her bedroom door close he flopped down on the couch, thinking about her words. She’d wanted him to stay. The realisation was a blow to his heart that he didn’t know he could recover from, and the niggling in the back of his mind—the niggle that had always made him doubt his decision to leave—finally gained ground.

He had believed that he was doing the right thing for her. But her words now made him wonder if it had been only for her, or for him, too. His own words seemed to prove that it had.

He thought about how relieved he had been to focus on something he could control, to focus on his work. Unlike the day when Mila had fallen and he’d had no choice but to sign the forms approving the emergency C-section. Unlike the subsequent loss of his son that he’d been unable to do anything about, just as he had been able to do nothing about Mila’s grief and suffering.

He froze as his father’s accusation about why he’d left played back in his head. For the first time he considered it. If Jordan had left Cape Town—had left the wife who’d needed him—because it reminded him of his mother’s illness, then Jordan had been running. When Mila had asked him for space to deal with the tragedy of losing their child he had run away. From her pain...from his. Because he hadn’t wanted to see her suffer—emotionally or physically—as his mother had. Because he didn’t want to watch on, helpless, as his father had.

Pain stabbed through him and he rested his head in his hands. Were those the real reasons he had left?