The Wedding Party Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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not to crumple, to stay tall and straight and move lightly, with grace, on feet that felt leaden. She gave him a mocking little smile. He glared back, more than angry now.
His disgust, his distrust, seared her.
What was she doing? She sagged against him, the struggle going out of her. His body tightened, then firm hands pushed her away, holding her at a distance. The ache inside intensified. What was she trying to prove? Damon was right. This was wrong. However much he’d hurt her, however much she felt he deserved her bad behaviour, Fliss’s wedding was not the place for it. Nor was it worth losing the only thing she had left—her self-respect.
But there was no reason she shouldn’t needle him just a teeny-weeny little bit.
Her spine stiffened. She shot him a swift upward glance. “Savvas told me he’s twenty-seven. That’s three years older than me. I’d say he’s the perfect age for me.”
“Listen to me!” Damon sounded at the end of his tether. “My brother is light-years younger in experience. No match for a woman like you.”
The words stung.
“A woman like me?”
Anger swirled through her at the injustice of it all.
Damon Asteriades didn’t even know what kind of woman she was. How could he be so blind? How dare he fail to recognise—refuse to recognise—what lay between them? He should not be marrying Fliss today—or any other woman for that matter. Damn him, there was only one woman on earth he should ever have contemplated marrying. Her.
There. She’d admitted it.
Admitted what lay at the heart of her pain. What he’d always refused to recognise. And now it was too late.
He was married.
To her best friend.
Yet still this thing…this force…burned with a life of its own, bigger than both of them. And sometimes, like now, she almost convinced herself he was aware of it—even feared it. Experimentally Rebecca let her fingers slide along the shoulder of his wedding suit, over the fine fabric of his white shirt collar, until she touched the bare skin of his neck. She thought—dreamed—she detected the smallest of shudders.
“Shame on you! You know nothing about me,” she whispered and blew gently into the soft hollow beside his clenched jaw. “You never chose to find out anything about me.”
He started. “For God’s sake! What’s to find out? I know more than I ever wanted.” Bitterness spilled from him. “You’re a black widow. You grasp and demand and devour and leave nothing behind.”
“That’s a—”
“Lie? Is it? But there’s nothing to disprove my words, is there? You married Aaron Grainger for his fortune, and when everything was gone you drove him to suicide.”
She gasped. “You know, no one has ever dared say that to my face before.” Helplessly she flapped the hand that a moment ago had stroked his neck. “I heard the rumors existed, but I never thought anyone of substance believed them. I certainly never thought you the type to believe gossip.”
The hand on her waist tightened. The tempo of the music quickened. The dancing speeded up, building to the finale.
“Yes, but I’ve got more than gossip to go on, haven’t I? Haven’t I?” His face was pressed up against hers now. She could see her reflection glittering in his eyes, could smell the heat of his fury. “I know exactly the kind of woman you are. The kind that kisses her best friend’s man, begs him to—”
“Shut up!”
He spun her around, pulled her close to avoid another couple. “You promise sin and desire and deliver nothing but carnal delight. I know the temptation you are. Only last night—”
She froze in his arms and came to a sudden jarring halt.
“I said shut up,” she huffed. “Or do you want me to cause that scene you’re so terrified of? Here, on Fliss’s big day?” Standing dead still on the dance floor, no longer able to move, she watched the realization dawn as he became aware of where they both stood, of what calamity had nearly befallen them, and watched the mantle of iron control drop into place as the next melody began.
“I must be mad,” he bit out, his voice full of self-disgust, and he reared back as though he feared she might contaminate him.
The sheer force of his words released Rebecca from the insanity that held her rooted to the ground. If he was mad, then she must be trapped in the same madness.
Damon was married. Untouchable. Better she remember that. Shrugging out of his arms, she spun around and stalked away. He let her go.
And she didn’t dare look back.
Two
Almost four years later
Tuesday morning started badly. Rebecca overslept, and by the time T.J. managed to wake her, his insistent little fingers squeezing her cheeks, the dazzling almost-summer sun was already well up in the cloudless Northland sky.
T.J. was querulous as she hurriedly dressed him. Guilt took over. Yesterday she’d stayed home, taken him to the doctor for the earache that had plagued him over the weekend. Last night he’d cried a little before finally dropping off to sleep, leaving Rebecca to toss and turn for most of the night listening out for him. But he’d slept through.
Promising herself that she’d cut her workday short and spend the afternoon with him, Rebecca rushed him out the door and strapped him into the car seat, while he grumbled incessantly.
The whole drive over, Rebecca tried telling herself that Dorothy—T.J.’s caregiver and a former hospice nurse—was far better qualified to look after T.J., that she wasn’t deserting her baby when he needed her most. To no avail.
Dorothy, bless her kind heart, took one look at T.J.’s mutinous expression and opened her arms wide, promising he could watch a Thomas the Tank Engine DVD so long as he drank some juice and ate sliced mango and apple first. T.J.’s face brightened instantly and Rebecca heaved a giant sigh of relief.
After Rebecca handed over T.J.’s medication, Dorothy fixed her with a sharp glance. “Don’t you worry yourself about this young man. He’ll be fine. You stayed with him yesterday when he needed you most. Today you can fix your attention on Chocolatique.”
The understanding beneath the brisk words made Rebecca’s throat tighten.
As if sensing her volatile, emotive state, Dorothy murmured, “Now, now, Rebecca, off with you, and don’t forget to bring me those almond truffles I’m so addicted to when you collect our boy.”
“Do I ever forget?” Rebecca gave the older woman a fond smile.
The glow of good humour that Dorothy generated stayed with Rebecca all the way to Chocolatique. There, on the threshold of her business, all remnants of pleasure evaporated and she came to a shocked, gut-wrenching halt.
Him.
Damon Asteriades sprawled across the wing armchair nearest the door, showing total disregard for the designer suit that he wore with the casual abandon of the very wealthy. In a flash, Rebecca took in the highly polished handmade leather shoes, the open jacket and loosened tie, incongruous in Tohunga. At this time of year the town was populated by European backpackers in T-shirts, shorts and sandals. Up, up went her eyes over the finely carved mouth…up…until his chilling narrowed gaze propelled her into action.
She crossed the threshold, apprehension parching her mouth, and croaked, “What are you doing here?”
“The one good thing I remember about you, Rebecca, was your polish, your semblance of manners. Has living up here in the back-of-the-beyond stripped the last veneer of civilisation from you?”
Rebecca stared into the brutally handsome face, at a total