Chapter Twenty-Four

Nick woke from a restless sleep to find the bed beside him empty. In the short time they’d been together, he’d always woken with his arms wrapped around her. Then again, they’d never gone to sleep without making love, either. The sense of foreboding he’d experienced last night came back in full force. It wasn’t something he’d imagined, as he’d tried to kid himself during those dark, lonely hours. Now she’d seen him try to mix in her world, seen how embarrassing he’d been, how stiff, how awkward, how bloody dull, Lizzie didn’t want him any more.

Had Catherine, who’d seemed so warm, so welcoming, laughed quietly with Lizzie behind his back while she’d told Lizzie how he’d stepped on her toes while they were dancing? He shook off the thought. No. Catherine had been the one to point out how much she believed Lizzie needed him in her life.

It must have been Hank, who Nick knew damn well had stared pointedly over at him sitting in the corner while he’d been dancing with Lizzie. Had seeing the comparison between them, Hank so bold, brash, broodingly handsome, him so … opposite in every way … had that been what had convinced her?

Sitting up, Nick hung his head in his hands and tried to quell the feeling of fear. This outcome shouldn’t come as a surprise – he’d always known it was coming. It was why he’d wanted the clean break. Yet he’d still foolishly persisted in keeping a small kernel of hope alive. Sure she hadn’t chosen to stay in England when he’d asked, but she’d kept phoning him, hadn’t she? Kept asking him to come over. It had to have been his pathetic performance last night that had brought her hurtling back to her senses, because it was now pretty damn clear she wanted to get back on with her life. One that didn’t involve him.

Down the hallway, in the kitchen, Lizzie splashed cold water into the kettle and tried not to cry. The sooner she got this over and done with, the better. Drawing it out was just prolonging the agony. And if Nick put his arms around her once more, like he had done last night, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to have the strength to carry it through. She had to, for both their sakes. He didn’t deserve to be drawn any further into a world he didn’t want anything to do with. She needed to stop living a fantasy and face up to life without him.

She looked up with a start as Nick’s tall frame filled the doorway, clad in a rumpled T-shirt and boxers. ‘Here you are.’

‘Clearly.’ Her arms ached to hug him, to kiss the tiredness from his face, but instead she forced herself to put tea bags into mugs. ‘I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.’

‘Looks like I’ve saved you the bother.’ He cocked his head to the side and studied her. ‘What’s wrong, Lizzie?’

‘Nothing.’ She kicked herself at her instinctive response. It was just the opening she’d needed, and she’d ducked it.

‘Last night you didn’t want to talk.’ He paused, his eyes searching hers. ‘Or make love. This morning you couldn’t leave my side fast enough. I think I’m entitled to know what’s going on.’

‘I …’ Words she’d carefully rehearsed as she’d watched the sun rise suddenly stuck in her throat.

Slowly he walked towards her. Taking hold of her hands, he brought them to rest against his warm chest. ‘Since when have you not been able to talk to me?’

Her eyes filled. She didn’t want him to be kind, or sweet. She wanted him angry with her. Cold and distant. Anything but the gentle concern she was staring at now.

‘This is so hard,’ she whispered, dropping her eyes to look at their entwined hands. Hers small and pale. His strong and capable.

‘Shall I make it easier?’ Abruptly he let go of her and stared out of the window where the waves were splashing onto the beach. ‘You want us to finish.’

She swallowed her surprise. Of course he knew. His sensitivity was a big part of who he was. ‘Yes,’ she replied, her voice catching in her throat. ‘I think it’s for the best.’

Nick spun round sharply. ‘For the best?’ He sounded as raw and as hurt as she felt. ‘Best for who?’

‘Best for both of us.’ A part of her died with each lie she spoke.

‘I can see why it’s best for you, but don’t bloody kid yourself this is best for me.’

She gripped at the back of the kitchen chair, desperately trying to control the anguish churning inside her. ‘Of course it is. We can’t carry on a relationship across the Atlantic. I can’t stay in England and you hate it here.’

Nick felt his heart turn in on itself, shrivelling into a burnt out husk in his chest. ‘This is about last night, isn’t it?’ With an anger born of fear, he shoved at the chair, causing it to wobble dangerously. ‘Just because I’m not prepared to make a total prick of myself on the dance floor, you suddenly think we’re not compatible?’ It didn’t matter he’d thought those very same sentiments himself. Faced with losing the woman he loved, logic flew out of the window. He wasn’t going to give in without a fight.

‘We’re not,’ she replied bluntly. ‘I’m a model, for God’s sake. I’m extrovert, love to be the centre of attention, often selfish, very needy. You’re—’

‘Quiet. Dull,’ he supplied coldly.

‘No,’ she threw back. ‘You’re anything but dull. You’re funny, smart, generous, warm.’

‘But that isn’t what you want.’

‘Of course it’s what I want. It’s what every woman wants.’

Her voice wobbled and he stared at her sharply, wondering why she looked so cut up when she was the one doing this to them. ‘Then what’s the problem?’ he asked quietly.

‘The problem?’ She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. ‘The problem is, you’re too damn nice.’

‘Too nice?’ He rocked back, stunned. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. ‘And that’s a bad thing?’ As soon as the words were out, he wanted to withdraw them. Of course it was a bad thing. How many romantic heroes were ever described as nice? It was a wishy-washy word. Tepid and uninspiring.

‘Of course it isn’t bad.’ Refusing to look at him, she sunk down on the closest chair and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Tears streamed down her face.

‘But nice isn’t what you want, is it? You like your men mean, moody and exciting,’ he supplied, fighting the urge to go over and hold her. She was clearly upset, but damn it, so was he. ‘I know, I’ve seen the list of your past lovers.’ He shook his head, forcing his shoulders to loosen from their rigid set, his hands to relax. ‘You know I should feel insulted. The fact that you prefer the likes of a bastard like Charles, to someone who wants to take care of you. Instead, I almost feel sorry for you.’

Her head jerked up. ‘How can you throw that man’s name in my face, after all I’ve been through?’

‘I’ll tell you how.’ Vibrating with anger, sliced to the core that she didn’t want him any more, Nick strode towards her. ‘I … care for you, that’s how.’ Hell, he’d almost told her he loved her. Almost spilt his guts and got down on one knee, ready to beg. Thank God he’d stopped himself. He didn’t want her pity, he wanted her love. But damn it, if he couldn’t have that, he’d take desire. She might not want him any more, but that hadn’t been the case twenty-four hours ago. He’d make her feel it again.

With a desperate lunge he grabbed her hand and pulled her up from her chair, yanking her towards him. Teetering on the brink of control, he brought his head down and savaged her mouth. As he plundered her soft lips with his tongue, rasping her bottom lip with his teeth, he allowed the burning, savage emotions coiling inside him to run free. When he finally lifted his head it was to drag her away from the kitchen and into the hallway. There he pushed her against the wall and pulled off her robe, shoving it onto the floor. For once his mind wasn’t on tenderness, on giving pleasure. It clawed with a need he couldn’t control. A need to bind her to him forever and never let her go.

Lizzie felt a moan escape her lips and she dug her fingers into Nick’s hair, securing his mouth exactly where she wanted it. Against hers. It didn’t matter that he was kissing her with anger and hurt. It didn’t matter that when this was over he’d walk away, hating himself almost as much as he’d hate her for what she’d done to him. She needed to make love to him one last time before he disappeared. And he would disappear for good this time. She knew that. His pride wouldn’t allow anything else. Soon he’d realise it was the image of her he’d come to care for, not the real person. Because that person wouldn’t be able to hold onto a man like him.

Nick lifted her up, pushing her legs either side of his waist. Then, without warning, he plunged into her, driving her back against the wall. She’d never been taken with such hunger, such raw passion. It snatched the oxygen from her blood and the breath from her lungs. For all that she loved the gentle way he’d made love to her before, there was something so elemental about the way he loved her now, so primitive. She was allowing herself to be dominated, but this time it wasn’t because she wanted to punish herself. It was because she wanted one last chance to be with the man she loved.

His thrusts increased in pace, increased in intensity. Harder and harder he drove into her, jamming her back up against the wall. Just when she thought she couldn’t survive it, that she’d black out with pleasure, she felt her body let go and an orgasm rip through her. With a cry of pure female satisfaction, she collapsed against him. Nick gave an agonised groan and with one final thrust of his hips he came inside her.

As she slowly came back to earth, Nick swore harshly and stepped away. Immediately missing his warmth, his support, she swayed, her legs feeling unsteady.

She watched as he yanked up his boxers with quick, jerky movements.

‘Still think I’m too nice?’ he asked, his voice brutally hard and filled with disgust.

‘Nick, I—’

‘I didn’t use a condom,’ he interrupted rudely.

‘It’s okay. It’s nowhere near the right time in my cycle.’

He nodded grimly. ‘At least you won’t be forced to stay with me for the sake of our unborn child then.’

While she began slowly dying inside, he started off towards the bedroom. ‘I’m going to take a shower.’ He didn’t bother to look back at her.

The drive back to the airport was undertaken in silence. He’d wanted to take a cab. She’d insisted on dropping him off. Something she bitterly regretted as tension filled the car, crackling between them. Finally she pulled up outside the airport terminal.

‘Is this goodbye?’ She heard the tremble in her voice. Pushing Nick away was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. But as hard as it was, losing his friendship would be even worse.

He sighed, his voice no longer sounding angry but resigned. And achingly sad. ‘That’s up to you.’

‘I don’t want it to be,’ she whispered.

‘Then you know where to find me.’ He climbed out of the car and grabbed his holdall from the back seat.

Tears welled and she tried not to think about the fact that this could be it. That he’d walk into the airport terminal and never see her again. A sob escaped her.

Instantly he dropped the holdall and bent back inside the car. Gently he placed a hand on her cheek, using his thumb to wipe away the tears. ‘I’ll always be there for you, Lizzie. No matter what,’ he told her roughly. ‘If you need me, for anything at all, call me. Don’t let me have to come and find you like that again.’

Her breath caught on another sob as he withdrew his hand and then, with a final wave, disappeared into the terminal building. For a long while she simply sat in her car, staring at the doors, willing him to reappear. To tell her he wasn’t going to accept that they were over. That he loved her so much he didn’t care about her faults, about what she’d done to her family. He was going to drag her back to England with him and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

But he didn’t come back.

A couple of hours later Nick was on his way back to England. As he reclined the back of his seat in the vain hope of getting some sleep, he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done in life to be fated to always love what he couldn’t have.