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‘I’ll apologise again for treating you the way I did last night. We both got carried away and then I overreacted and went off on one. I’m sorry.’
Her spoon stayed in the bowl. But she still didn’t look at him. The niggling got worse.
‘There was no need for you to sleep alone,’ he pointed out, rather reasonably, he thought.
Her hand lay on the table. He reached over, covered it with his. ‘How about we forget it ever happened? A pregnancy’s a long shot with you so close to the end of your cycle. And if there is one, well, then we’ll deal with it.’
He’d examined the possibility from every angle during the night—as he’d had more than enough time to think about it—and had decided to leave it up to fate. With his past, his heritage, he would never have planned to become a father, but he hadn’t been able to get the memory of Connor cradling his baby son out of his head.
In the end he’d come to the conclusion that if by some miracle he’d got Juno pregnant last night, the thought of a little boy or girl with her eyes, her sweet, practical temperament and his tenacity didn’t seem like such a terrifying prospect.
She pulled her hand out from under his and it disappeared beneath the table. He felt the tug of annoyance. Surely he’d eaten enough humble pie? He couldn’t keep apologising for ever.
‘How about we go sailing today?’ he said lightly. ‘I’ve a yacht up at the marina and it’s a beautiful day for it.’ Just the thought of her in that skimpy yellow swimsuit lying on the polished teak of the bow had his mood improving.
Her chin jerked up and she met his eyes at last. ‘I need to leave in an hour. I’m booked on the two o’clock flight from LAX. I’ve checked out the bus times and I—’
‘Whoah.’ He leapt up, the chair crashing onto the floor as her words registered. ‘You’re… What?’
She stood, picked up her bowl. ‘I should get back to work,’ she said quickly, efficiently as she walked to the sink. ‘The weekends are our busiest time. I arranged the flight when I woke up so I could be back on Friday morning.’
‘Well, you’ll have to un-arrange it,’ he said, sure his head was about to explode.
He’d let her go last night. Let her have the time she needed. But he wasn’t having this. She wasn’t leaving. He wouldn’t let her.
‘I know it’s a few days sooner than we’d planned, but it—’
He crossed to the sink, pulled her round to face him. ‘If this is about last night, I’m not apologising again.’
He was beginning to wonder why he’d apologised at all. It seemed she wasn’t at all cut up about what had happened. Why did that worry him more?
Her chin came up in a gesture of defiance. ‘This has nothing to do with last night. We always agreed this would be temporary. I’m leaving a little sooner than planned, that’s all.’
‘I know we said that, but …’ He trailed off. But what?
She stood in front of him, rigid and unmoved, and yet he could feel his insides roiling like a ship at sea. They had said it would be temporary. But somewhere along the line he’d begun to believe it was more. He’d thought she felt something for him. But what if he’d been wrong? What if she felt nothing for him at all?
And as she stood there, unblinking, her chin poking out and her back ramrod straight, he knew with a startling clarity what it was that hadn’t been right last night.
He’d told her a pregnancy would be a disaster—and with barely a hesitation she’d agreed with him. The realisation felt like an arrow shot straight through his heart.
He pulled his hand away as if he’d touched a live flame.
What a fool he’d been. Somewhere in the last ten days, he’d come to believe she thought well of him, that she thought more of him than he’d ever thought of himself. But she didn’t.
He stiffened, the pain an echo of the crushing feeling of rejection that had dogged him throughout his childhood. A bitter reminder of all those people who had taken him in, but had never wanted to keep him.
‘If that’s the way of it, I guess I can’t stop you,’ he said as placidly as possible. ‘I’ll have my PA arrange transport for you to LAX. There’s no need for you to be taking the bus.’ He put just the right note of indifference into his tone.
He was an actor. He could do this. He had his pride. And that was all that he had now.
She said nothing, her eyes downcast.
‘It’s been fun, Juno.’ And that was all it was ever meant to be. When had he lost sight of that? ‘Have a wonderful life.’
He threw her own words back at her as he made himself walk away.
For if there was one lesson he’d learned as a lad, it was simply this.
