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‘I want to tell you, Amelia, believe me. But I can’t just yet.’
‘Because you don’t trust me?’
‘No,’ Vaughan responded immediately. ‘Because this particular secret is not mine to reveal. You’re the one who’s going to have to trust me—for a little while longer anyway. I need to sort a few things out today. I need to run something by…’ He paused for a beat. ‘I need to speak to someone who matters, Amelia, and I can’t do it with you there. Can you try and understand?’
She gave a brave nod, completely none the wiser but determined to trust him.
‘And you, young lady—’ Vaughan smiled ‘—have to write your article. What time’s it due in?’
‘Two—I thought I’d nearly finished and could spend the morning shopping, but, given what you’ve just told me about the motor deal I’d better drink this coffee and get writing. Paul was very clear that he wouldn’t give me an extension.’
‘How about a drink at the bar around three, then?’ Vaughan suggested. ‘Like I said, I’ve got a few things that need taking care of, but I should be finished by then and I promise then we can talk. Really talk,’ he added, with feeling.
‘Vaughan…’ He was making to go, but her hand pulled him back, capturing the arm of his suit, and as his questioning gaze tried to meet her eyes she stared instead at her fingers, shy at what she was about to say, yet knowing she had to. ‘What you said last night about…’ A tiny nervous swallow halted her words and Vaughan took that moment to move in.
‘The morning-after pill?’ Vaughan checked
‘If I don’t get my period…’
‘Amelia…’ His voice was soft, the uptight man she had witnessed last night gone, seemingly a momentary lapse, as he took her hand and finally said the right thing. ‘I was out of line last night. But please believe me when I say it was with good reason.’ He glanced reluctantly at his watch. ‘We’ll talk this afternoon properly, but in the meantime, please, no doctors, no pills. Just hear what I have to say first.’
Even the clock ticking by at a rate of knots didn’t darken the delicious day. Fashioning the piece Paul so desperately wanted was easy now, with Vaughan’s consent. Yet she refused to let her feelings mar her objectivity, and she carefully outlined the potential pitfalls as well as celebrating the deal. The left side of her brain enjoyed the intellectual challenge as she rediscovered the passion that had initially brought her into journalism.
And maybe, just maybe, Vaughan was right. Why couldn’t she keep her feet in both camps? Why did concentrating on one mean that she had to give up the other?
Maybe she really could have it all.
There was no stress headache as she filled up her bath this Friday. No anxious pangs, no superstitious routines firmly in place. Just a reckless feeling of exhilaration as she e-mailed her article. Slipping into the bath, she had no desire for retrieval, no surge of anxiety about commas to add or exclamation marks she might have missed—her work was good and Amelia knew it. Knew that the hard slog was over, that finally she’d made it, and could just lie back in the soapy water and allow that nagging right side of her brain to finally let rip, to concentrate on the one thing in her life that right now demanded her sole attention—the man who very soon would be waiting for her downstairs.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘MISS JACOBS?’
The smiling face was familiar, but Amelia took a moment to place it. Already onto her second glass of champagne, she had long since grown tired of staring expectantly towards the foyer, tired of the slightly curious stares of the hotel staff as she waited for Vaughan to join her, his empty glass on the table beside the bottle she’d ordered.
‘Katy Vale!’ Placing the face, Amelia gestured to the empty seat in front of her, but from the dismissive way she shook her head, clearly Vaughan’s PA had other places she needed to be. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve got a message from Vaughan—something came up; he’s not going to be able to meet you.’
Amelia waited for further explanation—the offer of an apology, even—but apparently Katy had said all she was going to. Already she was making to go, clearly satisfied that her message was delivered. But an hour and a half of sitting alone in the hotel bar nursing a lonely glass of champagne had Amelia’s patience hanging by a thread.
‘Did he say anything else?’ Watching as the woman slowly turned, her eyes taking in the champagne bottle, the empty chair and glass, Amelia felt her cheeks darken. She cleared her throat to ensure her next sentence would be delivered in slightly less needy tones.
‘Something came up.’ Katy raised her palms to the ceiling. ‘You know what Vaughan’s like.’
Only she didn’t.
The Vaughan who had sat on her bed this morning would no more have stood her up so coldly than fly to the moon—and yet, Amelia reminded herself, the Vaughan she’d glimpsed last night, the Vaughan she’d read about over the years, was more than capable of sending his PA to terminate things.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ Katy offered, her voice bordering on sympathetic as Amelia attempted a dignified shake of her head. ‘Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still here. I got the impression from Vaughan that your article was already in. Was there something you wanted to double check? I’m pretty well versed on everything…’
But Amelia wasn’t listening. Her attention had been drawn to the foyer and, perhaps realising she’d lost her audience, Katy turned around too, following Amelia’s gaze, watching in knowing silence as Vaughan entered the lobby.
As Amelia’s world literally fell apart.
His hair for once was tousled, his tie loosened, white cotton shirtsleeves casually rolled up. But worse, far worse, was the fact he wasn’t wearing his jacket. Instead it was draped around the shoulders of the beautiful woman Amelia had seen in the corridor yesterday. Her dark exotic features mocked Amelia a thousand times over, her tiny fragile body, her legs surely too thin to hold her up. But what did it matter when Vaughan was practically carrying her, one arm possessively draped around her shoulders, guiding her towards the lift?
Amelia’s mind flailed for a reasonable explanation, begged, despite the blatant evidence, that perhaps she’d got it wrong. But as they reached the lift doors and Vaughan dragged his feminine parcel towards him, buried his face in her hair and held her tight, not even Amelia could attempt an excuse in the face of such overwhelming odds.
‘Your article is in.’ Katy’s voice had a slightly bitchy ring, and eyes way too knowing for such a pretty face flashed in triumph or malice as Amelia slowly nodded. ‘Then it would seem, Miss Jacobs, that your allotted time slot is over.’
A luxurious five-star hotel might have appeared the best place in the world to lick her wounds, but lying on the counterpane, too mentally and physically exhausted to climb into bed, Amelia stared at the screen-saver on her computer, agonisingly aware of what was surely going on next door, but too raw, too ashamed and utterly too humiliated to interrupt—to barge her way in and demand an explanation when she already had one.
Her allocated time slot was over—Vaughan Mason had already moved on.
Why had she expected anything more? Vaughan had promised her precisely nothing, save a drink in the bar and a chance to talk.
What a fool to think she could have held him for more than a moment. What reckless thoughts had possessed her to believe for a moment that she alone could be enough to tame him?
Reliable, dependable—boring, perhaps. Even her period came on time. The low heavy thud hit her, just as she’d told Vaughan it would, and the dull, aching feeling in the pit of her stomach was painfully familiar. She felt the sting of nausea as she dragged her tired body out of the bathroom in response to the knocking on the door, even managing a wan smile at the cheerful face of the housekeeper as she bustled into the room.
Amelia wandered into the corridor, agony etched on agony as she heard low murmurs behind Vaughan’s closed door, and the green ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign he’d hung blurred through tear-filled eyes.
She’d rather die than let him see her tears, Amelia decided; would rather walk away a bitch than a loser.
An idea was forming in her mind, growing in momentum as she strode down the corridor, took the lift to the lobby and walked out into the balmy evening sun. Call it determination, or self-preservation perhaps, but she’d been here before, just six months ago, had stood weeping at a hotel door for the first and very last time, and there was no way she was going to go there again.
Ever.
CHAPTER NINE
‘VAUGHAN!’
As he opened the door she got her greeting in first, smiled an efficient smile at his scowling frown.
Prepared for the worst speech of her life.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you.’ She gestured to the sign on his door, prayed that the foundation she’d plastered on was really as good as it said in the adverts, that her burning cheeks and reddened nose weren’t somehow peeping through. ‘It’s just that I need a quick word.’
‘Amelia.’ She could see his distraction, sense his obvious discomfort. He had one hand firmly on the door, careful not to allow it to open further, but even a mahogany door between them wasn’t quite enough to drown out the unmistakable noise of a shower running in the background. ‘I’m sorry about before. Did you get my message?’ His voice was deliberately low, presumably so not to alert his companion to this annoying distraction, and at that moment Amelia hated him with a violence that shocked even herself. Loathed him for the degradation that suffused her.
