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Molly dragged in a breath as she watched his hands splay wider on the wall. She longed to feel those fingers again, feel him touch her, caress her, hold her. “Garrett wanted to talk to me that day I went to his office. He wanted to discuss our relationship.”
His hands fisted against the window frame. “Whose?” he asked, his knuckles white. “His and yours?”
“Yours and mine, Jules.” She flung her hands up in exasperation. “Obviously! So I told him—”
He spun around like a cyclone. “You told him that I was leaving the Daily, and my family could have ruined everything I’ve planned for years. What else did you tell him? You were fishing for his approval by ratting me out, weren’t you?”
The hurt that exploded in Molly’s chest was so massive that she almost staggered. “Do you really believe that? Do you?” Her voice sounded panicked, but she didn’t care.
The look he shot back at her was so raw and stark it all but extinguished her candle of hope.
Her voice broke, and she opened her hands out in silent plea. “Look, I’m sorry, Jules. It wasn’t on purpose. I was angry about the way they tried to warn me off you and wasn’t even thinking clearly. Please, please help me out here. I’m so in love with you I just can’t bear this anymore.”
“That information wasn’t yours to share and especially not with them, Moo!” He shook his head and plunged a hand into his damp hair. “Look, I just can’t talk to you now. I can’t. I’m too goddamned pissed that you would…” A halting hand shot up in the air when she started forward, and she abruptly stopped, her heart in her throat.
He sighed and backed away from her, and every step he took felt like a mile she would never be able to recover. He took a seat on the window bench, and Molly eased back and ended up alone on a floral couch, silent and hurt.
He didn’t say he loves me back was all she could think. God, please, doesn’t he care for me just a little bit anymore?
She thought of how easily he had jumped between lovers and beds his entire life and she wondered if there had been women warming his bed all this time, comforting him while she’d been pining for him alone, producing the worst artworks of her life because of him.
Seduce him, a little voice whispered. Make him forgive you.
But the thought made her feel cheap and as fake as he thought her to be. How could she go through with a seduction? First of all, he wasn’t even giving any indication that he still wanted her. And it had never been just about sex between them. It had been about friendship and fun and sharing and trust….
Trust.
Once long ago, Molly had been careless and had broken Eleanor Gage’s prized crystal figurine, one up on display over the chimney mantel. No matter how Julian tried to help her fix it, the thing could never be properly glued back together without looking pitifully disfigured. Now the thought that she could have shattered Julian’s trust just like that dolphin figurine, a figurine they’d ended up throwing away, terrified her.
Despair made her sink deeper into her own personal bubble. She’d always felt strong in her life, plunging into adventures without thinking too much about their consequences. But now the source of her strength was gone, and she felt totally lost without him.
The sun began to set outside, the lights of dusk bathing the room in a golden glow. She wondered if some woman had been stroking Julian’s Beckham-blond hair a day before. If a woman with model legs and bigger breasts had been feeling his beautiful hands on her skin and sighing under his searing kisses. His beautiful kisses.
“Have you been sleeping around again?” she blurted out, unable to stand the torment of wondering about it any longer. The jealousy was ripping her insides into shreds.
“I don’t feel like sex ever since you and I—” He glared, as though furious he’d revealed as much. Eyebrows pulled downward, he then growled, “No.”
The relief she felt made her sag back against the couch.
“Have you?” he shot back.
“Of course not!” she cried.
His narrowed gaze held hers with magnetic force, and they both fell so quiet that Molly could’ve heard a pin drop across the room. Unable to bear the strength of his stare, she broke eye contact and surveyed her sandaled feet, her stomach roiling. God, how she missed his oak leaf–green eyes.
“So do they plan to leave us here all night?” Sounding just as thrilled as he had minutes ago—which was not thrilled at all—Julian looked around the cozy cottage as though he still hoped to find an escape route.
It made Molly feel about as wanted as an abandoned rug. She nodded dejectedly. “I think they left some food in the kitchenette and water and…champagne.”
How foolish to even mention that last item.
As if they would both have something to celebrate. Uh-huh. Right.
She had totally underestimated the size of Julian’s pride, and the size of her own, and now she just wanted to stop begging and curl up on a pillow and never wake up until the Earth spun the way it was supposed to. The way it used to.
Her eyes blurred as she glanced up at him, but he was looking out the window, still unapproachable, and though she trembled with the urge to feel his arms around her, she curled up on the sofa and grabbed a pillow embroidered with Home Is Where the Heart Is. Shutting her eyes tiredly, she cuddled on one corner and strove to pretend Julian wasn’t here with her. It was easy. Because she’d never before felt so broken, so somber and so lonely when she was with him.
But then his voice flicked through her, soft and husky enough that she could almost pretend it was a caress.
