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‘It’s your fault, Cain—can’t you see that?’ I force the words out, refusing to listen to the guilt, to the simmering heat, as I glare up at him.
‘What’s my fault, Lexi?’ He leans closer, his eyes raking over my face, the flames from the fire flickering in their depths. ‘How you feel this second?’
He reaches out, his fingers surprisingly soft beneath my chin, his eyes falling to my lips that I now wet and wish I hadn’t. ‘Don’t, Cain.’
‘Don’t what?’
He traces my lower lip with the pad of his thumb and I shiver—too much heat, too much need. I feel the frame start to slip in my hand.
No.
I back away, out of his reach and tighten my grip on the photo.
‘Everything’s your bloody fault!’ I throw at him, my body thrumming with it all. Frustration at myself for being attracted to him. Anger at him for not accepting the part he played. Desire. The carnal ache calling for satisfaction—No. I try and burry it with more words, more accusations. ‘The whole damn lot is your fault! If you hadn’t left...if you hadn’t abandoned us all then...then...’
I shake my head, squeeze my eyes shut, haunted by the old, tortured by the new—the plane crash, losing my best friend, my father figure... Would they have even been on that plane together if Cain had never left?
Christ!
I open my eyes. Would Cain have been on it as well? Or instead of them?
My whisper is almost ghost-like. ‘The plane crash...’
His eyes flicker dangerously. ‘You may see me as some kind of God, Alexa, but even I can’t conjure up a storm worthy of taking out an aircraft.’
‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’
He closes the gap that I’ve created. ‘No, what you mean is if I hadn’t left seven years ago then maybe there’s a chance it would have been me on that plane instead of Liam.’
His lips curve into a smile that is all the more chilling, all the more immobilising for the pain I know it masks. And the hatred it doesn’t.
‘How tragic for you that I’m the one you’re left with...’
‘Right, I’ve brought both! Brandy and coff—’
Marie is halfway in the room when she freezes, a laden tray outstretched before her. Her eyes fall to the picture still in my hand and I see her skin pale beneath her make-up.
Damn you, Cain.
‘Everything okay?’ she says, her voice unnaturally high.
I move quickly, placing the photo back where it belongs and going to help her with the tray. I take it from her hands with a smile. ‘Coffee smells lovely.’
She doesn’t respond. Her eyes are on her son and I curse him again.
Say something, I urge him with a look alone.
‘It does,’ he says finally. ‘But I’m going to have to give it a miss. I’ve an early meeting tomorrow and I need to get back.’
‘But...’ Marie wavers, her eyes wide with disappointment. ‘Don’t you want to call a taxi first? You can at least wait here for it.’
‘No need. I can walk.’
‘But you live miles away.’
He strides across the room and kisses his mother on the cheek. ‘I could do with the air. Goodnight, Mum, and thank you for the meal.’ He looks to me now. ‘The pudding too.’
‘Our meeting’s not until eight—surely you can stay a little longer.’
