Back in His Bed: Boardroom Rivals, Bedroom Fireworks! / Unfinished Business with the Duke / How to Win the Dating War. Heidi Rice
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putting Brenna there didn’t bring the satisfaction it would in any other situation.
As the silence stretched out Brenna’s breathing turned ragged, and he saw the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, as if she were trying to pull herself together and hold the tears at bay.
The action stabbed him in the chest, as he’d never seen her tear up before. Brenna didn’t cry. She exploded, she shouted, she slammed doors, and she even sulked occasionally, but she didn’t cry.
He’d pushed her too far this time. Considering their past, that was an accomplishment in itself. Their marriage had fallen apart and she’d never shed a single tear. Hell, she’d sat dry-eyed and stoic through her own mother’s funeral. But her beloved damn winery brought out the waterworks. Astonishing and insulting, but he still felt like a snake.
Neither of them had a graceful escape route, but he could try to defuse the situation. It wasn’t easy—not with his body still wired and ready to finish what he’d started—but he managed a toneless “Forget it, Bren. Chalk the offer up to temporary insanity.”
Brenna’s eyes flew open, widening in shock as her jaw dropped. She looked as if she’d just been slapped. “What?”
“I said forget it.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Brenna’s hackles were back up, but it beat her tears. “You can’t toy with me like that and then just walk away. Things have changed, Jack. I won’t let you hurt me again.”
Where had this come from? “Hurt you?”
“Maybe you can keep things in little boxes, all compartmentalized in your head, but I can’t. You can’t come out here and turn me inside out and expect me to just take it. You broke my heart once, Jack. I’m finished crying over you.”
Her? Heartbroken? Crying? She’d walked out dry-eyed and never looked back. “You left me, Bren. Don’t forget that.”
Her mouth twisted. “Yes, and you were kind enough to order a ride for me while I packed.”
“What, exactly, was I supposed to do? You said you were miserable and that you wanted to go home. I couldn’t force you to stay.”
“You didn’t want me to stay. You were just as miserable as I was.”
“Did I ever say that, Bren?”
“You didn’t have to.” Her voice broke on the last word, and Brenna cleared her throat. “You’re right. We should just forget this.”
Oh, no, he wasn’t going to let Bren retreat. Not after tossing down the gauntlet. “Here’s a newsflash for you. You left. You served me with divorce papers. Don’t blame me for your broken heart when you’re the one who walked out.”
Brenna pulled back as if he’d slapped her. Then her eyes narrowed. “You’re saying it was all my fault? Don’t even try. It takes two people to make a relationship fail that spectacularly. I loved you, Jack, and it hurt too much that you didn’t love me.”
Had he heard her correctly? “You think I didn’t love you?”
“You wanted me.” She made it sound distasteful.
“I’m not denying that. But if you want to talk pain and heartache, try your wife telling you she’d rather live at a damn vineyard in Sonoma than with you. We can divvy out blame however you want to for the rest of our problems, but don’t try to tell me I didn’t love you. Because you’d be wrong.”
He was rewarded for his honesty when Brenna’s eyes grew wide. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again with a snap. “Maybe we were better off when we weren’t speaking to each other.”
No one could wind him up like Brenna could. This debacle of an evening was proof of that. “I’m inclined to agree with you.”
“Then why—?”
“I think we’ve taken this discussion as far as it can go. No sense circling back and rehashing the past again. When you’re ready to sign the sale papers, let me know.” Picking up his towel from where he’d dropped it earlier, he draped it over his shoulders and left her standing there, glaring at him.
It certainly wasn’t for the first time. Oddly, though, this time he felt as if he deserved it.
Watching Jack walk away was like reliving yet another painful scene from their marriage. Except this time there wouldn’t be the fabulous make-up sex later on.
Knees shaking, she made her way carefully to the table and sank into a chair. She heard the door to the house close, and now, safely alone, she let her head drop into her hands. So much had been thrown at her tonight, and she wasn’t sure she could process it all.
This was a nightmare—the kind she couldn’t wake up from. She’d been so close—too close—to giving in to the sensual pull of Jack that if he hadn’t whispered his indecent proposal into her ear at that exact moment she’d probably be happily under him right now.
But to have him offer her…God, it didn’t bear thinking about. She didn’t know which was worse: the fact Jack thought so little of her now he believed she’d be willing to sell herself for Amante Verano, or the fact she’d seriously considered it for a nanosecond.
And how to explain the pain that had shot through her when he withdrew his offer altogether?
No one could rip her apart with the effortless efficiency of Jack Garrett. She’d thought—make that hoped—time and maturity would have made her immune to him. Or that he’d forgotten how.
Tears burned in her eyes. No, she told herself angrily as she took deep breaths. She would not cry over him again. She’d long ago grown weary of crying after one of them walked out, and she was finished with that. It had to be the rehashing that had her so close to blubbering again.
She’d loved him so much back then, but over the years she’d decided it had been a one-sided affair. To have him say he’d loved her? To hear that she’d hurt him when she left? That was a one-two punch she hadn’t seen coming, and her head was still reeling.
Once upon a time she’d believed her love for Jack could solve anything life threw at them. But the cold reality of their endless cycle of fight-truce-sex-fight had shown her how big the gap between them really was. The inability to bridge that gap had always been her secret failure, the thing she’d never admitted to anyone.
But for a few minutes tonight she’d thought they’d almost built that bridge. She’d briefly felt that old connection—the one they’d had in the very beginning, when they could talk for hours about everything and nothing. That feeling had been buried quickly in the ensuing mess, and she felt a pang of disappointment at the loss.
Brenna sighed and lifted her head. Everything looked exactly the same, seeming to belie the upheaval she’d just gone through. The glowing lights from the pool, the bubbling hot tub, the chirp of the crickets and the smell of the flowers created a serene setting designed to soothe—exactly what she’d come looking for tonight. But it was wasted on her now.
Her insides tumbled over each other and her head ached from the emotional extremes and pressure. Even her wine couldn’t calm the storm within her. Grabbing her robe, which she didn’t bother putting on, she concentrated on making her shaky legs move her back to the privacy of her bedroom quickly.
Because, damn it, Jack had made her cry. Again.
“‘EVERY day is a beautiful day at Amante Verano.’ Isn’t that your motto?” Dianne sing-songed the greeting as she poked her head around the lab door and extended a steaming mug in Brenna’s direction.
Brenna