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Physical relationship. He didn’t like the sound of that, but he supposed he couldn’t doubt its accuracy. ‘You were sending out all kinds of mixed messages tonight.’
‘That’s all in your head,’ she retorted, bending towards the table once more. ‘I was being friendly, that’s all.’
‘Leave that,’ he said as she resumed putting crystal glasses onto a tray with such force he was surprised they didn’t shatter.
‘I’d rather do it now than in the morning.’
‘I don’t care—’
‘No,’ she interrupted suddenly and this time when she straightened up, the quiet fury in her eyes had been replaced with something stronger—something which blazed like fire. ‘You couldn’t have made that more plain if you’d tried! But maybe I’m fed up with the Lucas Conway approach to staff management! You taught me to cook something other than pie so I would be worthy of catering for your fancy guests and I ticked that off the list, didn’t I? Then you decided to dress me up like one of those paper dolls you find in a child’s magazine—and I went along with that, too. Heaven forbid that I should look like some screwball! But you’re still not satisfied, are you, Lucas? And nothing ever will satisfy you, because basically you don’t know yourself and you have no desire to learn about yourself, because you’re a coward.’
The room went very silent. ‘Excuse me?’ he questioned, his words like ice. ‘Did you just call me a coward?’
‘You heard exactly what I said.’
Tara met his stony gaze and couldn’t quite believe she’d done it but she couldn’t back out now, no matter what the repercussions might be. Because she loved him and she wanted him to stop running away from his past—even if that meant the end of what the two of them shared. And even if it was, would that really be such a great loss? You couldn’t really share anything with a man with no emotions, could you? A man who resolutely refused to allow himself to feel stuff.
‘You can’t live properly until you reconcile yourself with your past—and I don’t think I can carry on like this until you do,’ she breathed. ‘Maybe you don’t have any living blood relatives, but isn’t that something which warrants a little investigation? Don’t you want to know why your mother sold you? To find out who your real father is and whether either of them are alive? To discover whether she had any more children and if you have any brothers or sisters?’ Her face suddenly crumpled. ‘I know that when I—’
‘No!’ Furiously, he cut across her—the slicing wave of his hand a gesture of finality. ‘I’m done with confessionals and I certainly don’t want to waste any more of my evening listening to you, while you start unburdening your soul. To be honest, I’m tired, and I’m bored. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you that I never wanted that kind of relationship and unless you can accept that, then I agree—we have no kind of future. So perhaps you might like to think about that. And now, if you’ll excuse me—I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Tara’s heart was pounding with shock as he turned and walked out of the library without another word. She could hear his footsteps going upstairs, along the corridor towards the master bedroom, and just for a moment she actually considered following him, until she drew herself up short.
Was she completely insane? He might as well have taken out a full-page ad in The Washington Post, saying, Leave me alone. He’d told her he’d see her in the morning, and he’d done it with that cold and condemning look in his eyes. That wasn?
??t the action of a man who wanted to cuddle and make up—that was a man who had been pushed to his limits. He was angry with her—but not nearly as angry as she was with herself. How long was she planning to hang around and get treated like someone who didn’t really matter? Because she did matter. Not just for her baby’s sake, but for her own.
She crept along to the second bedroom, uncomfortably aware that this was only the second night they’d spent apart since they’d resumed their sexual relationship—and she thought how big and lonely the bed seemed without him. Predictably, sleep was a long time in coming and when it did, dawn was just beginning to edge into the sky because she hadn’t bothered to close the drapes.
When she awoke, the apartment was completely silent and, quickly, she got out of bed, wandering from room to room looking for Lucas, knowing with a sinking sense of certainty that she wasn’t going to see him. The lingering aroma of coffee and some juiced halves of orange were the only signs of his presence. He must have had breakfast and then left. She looked around to see if there was a note, but of course there wasn’t. And a huge pang of stupid longing swept over her as she tried to imagine what it would be like if he was the kind of man who left little messages dotted around the place. Affectionate words or cartoons, scribbled onto Post-it notes and stuck to the front of the refrigerator or left lying on a pillow. But those things only happened in films. or between real-life couples who genuinely loved one another. He’d only ever left her a note once before—when he’d brought forward his New York trip after they’d slept together and he’d told her he’d give her a good reference!
Back then he couldn’t wait to get away from her and she wouldn’t be here now if that night hadn’t produced a child. Lucas would have moved on. And so would she. She’d have found herself a job as housekeeper to someone else and would now be throwing herself enthusiastically into her new role. Perhaps the discovery that she could enjoy sex might have provided some hope for the future—making her wonder if one day she’d be able to enjoy dating men who were more suitable than Lucas Conway.
Her stomach turned over at the thought of being held in any other arms than his. It made her feel violently sick to think of any lover other than Lucas and the longer she allowed this situation to continue, the harder it was going to be to ever give him up. Because that time would come, most definitely—as surely as the sun rose over Manhattan each morning. They’d already had their first serious row and they’d both said some pretty wounding things. Maybe she should be grateful for his honesty. At least he wasn’t encouraging her to build fanciful daydreams and maybe it was time she stopped trying to pretend that this relationship of theirs was going anywhere. Surely it would be better—for both of them—if they re-established the boundaries and negotiated a different kind of future. She swallowed, knowing that the only way to do that was to put distance between them.
For her to go home to Ireland. Back to where she belonged.
She cleared up the debris from the dinner party, then went into the en-suite wet room and stood beneath the cascading shower, trying to enjoy the moment, but the luxury products were wasted on her. She took extra time washing and drying her hair and even more time selecting what to wear. Which clothes to take and which to leave behind. She stared a little wistfully at the chiffon skirt and lace insert shoes; the silky dresses and impossibly fine cashmere sweaters. She loved those clothes—loved the way they made her feel—but they had no place in the life she was about to resume. So she took the shiny anorak, the jeans, the darker of the sweaters, the warmest dresses-as well as all of the underwear. Then she called a cab and checked she had money and her passport. It was only as she was leaving that she realised she couldn’t just go—not without saying something. So she went slowly into the library where she picked up a pen and, with a heavy heart, began to write.
* * *
Lucas stared down at the note and a flare of something which felt close to pain clenched at his heart. But it wasn’t pain, he told himself furiously. It was disappointment. Yes, that was it. Disappointment that Tara Fitzpatrick had just done a runner like some thief in the night. And after everything he’d done for her...
He tugged his cell-phone from his pocket and jabbed his finger against her number. It rang for so long that he thought it was going to voicemail, but then she picked it up and he heard that sweetly soft Irish brogue.
‘Hello?’
‘You’re at the airport, I assume?’ he clipped out.
‘I am. I’ve managed to get the last seat on a flight which is leaving for Dublin in...’ there was a rustle as, presumably, she lifted her arm to look at her watch ‘...twenty minutes’ time.’
‘So you’re running out on me,’ he said coldly. ‘Without even bothering to tell me you were going. Now who’s the coward, Tara?’
‘No, Lucas,’ she corrected. ‘The cowardly thing to have done would be not to have picked up this call.’
He could feel control slipping away from him and he didn’t like it, because hadn’t his legendary control allowed him to make his world manageable? Hadn’t taking command enabled him to rise, phoenix-like, from the ashes of his upbringing and forge himself a successful life? ‘Why didn’t you at least wait around until I was back from my meeting when we could have discussed this calmly, like grown-ups?’ he demanded.
He heard a fractured sound, as if she was having difficulty slowing down her suddenly rapid breathing. But when she spoke she sounded calm and distant. Very distant. He frowned. And not like Tara at all.
