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An hour later they were lunching at an exclusive London hotel. Their table was secluded and the service discreet. Most importantly, it was somewhere Elisabeth liked.
Jack had brought her here around the time they married and she’d loved the food and the relative privacy. It had struck him then that, while she shone at public events and was at ease in the most glamorous settings, she didn’t demand the limelight like some lovers he’d had.
Face it, she’s unique. One of a kind.
No-one else has ever made you feel this way.
Made you want so much.
Made you scared you can’t keep what you have.
His stomach dropped in a sharp plunge that made him queasy.
‘Jack, what’s wrong?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing at all. Are you enjoying your meal?’
After a long moment her lips compressed and she said tonelessly, ‘Yes, thank you.’
She concentrated on cutting a minuscule portion before lifting it to her lips, not looking his way.
The difference between their shared excitement an hour ago and her withdrawal now was stark. Jack felt like he’d lost something precious and didn’t know how to get it back.
He’d tried seduction but that had backfired in the Caribbean. He was trying patience but had the horrible feeling he’d fail.
Failure had haunted him as a child when he’d believed his parents’ lack of interest was because of something lacking in him. As an adult he did all he could to mitigate against failure in business. But the failure of his marriage seemed suddenly too real.
‘What is it, Elisabeth? What’s up?’
‘So it’s okay for you to ask that, but not me?’ She held his gaze, her eyes accusing. ‘You rebuff me so often when you don’t want to talk about anything private.’
Jack sat back, astounded. He thought of all theprivatemoments they’d shared. The intimacies of the marriage bed. The intensity of those very private days in the Caribbean when it had seemed to him that they’d been closer than any two people on the globe. That feeling had made him believe he’d won her back. He’d been elated, planning their return to Paris.
‘Rebuff?’ Anger melded with confusion. This was the woman who’d left him, twice, without giving him time to persuade her to stay. ‘Just because I don’t share every passing thought?’
His parents had been great over-sharers and there was a lot to be said for circumspection.
Something ignited in her gaze. He felt the blast of heat in his gut. ‘Passing thought? You share virtuallynothing. I wasn’t trying to pry. I was concerned about you.’ She shook her head. ‘Is it that you don’t trust me?’
‘Of course not.’ How could she think it?
‘Of course not.’ Elisabeth put her cutlery down with a clatter, clearly not believing him.
‘It wasn’t anything important.’
Liar. It was important. Your fear about how much she means to you and the impossible idea of losing her forever.
‘And you wonder why our marriage failed. You won’t talk to me about anything personal.’
She was accusinghimof destroying their marriage? She’d been the one to leave.
But she wouldn’t have left if she’d been happy.
Mirroring her, he put down his knife and fork. ‘Okay, what do you want to talk about? Ask me a question. Anything you want to know.’
Her eyes widened, glowing more gold than amber, and he felt a buzz as if he’d downed a shot of cognac. Her approval was more heady than alcohol.
‘Really?’
