Italian Mavericks: New Year Temptation. Robyn Grady
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not determined about anything,’ she forestalled him.
‘I don’t see any sign of you wishing to kiss and make up.’
‘That’s because a lot of water’s gone under the bridge. Before we kiss we talk. We have to resolve our differences. It’s the only way.’
‘I’m trying.’
Megan raised her beautifully shaped brows. ‘You could have fooled me.’
Something red shot in front of his eyes and he was ready to blast. It was only with an extreme effort that he managed to exercise caution and say calmly, ‘Perhaps you’re not really looking. You have it so firmly fixed in your mind that I’m the baddie in all of this that you’re missing the improvements.’
‘Spell them out to me.’
He didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t the answer. ‘If you can’t see them then perhaps I’m wasting my time.’
‘I have noticed,’ she said with slow consideration, ‘that you don’t spend quite so much time at work. But I assumed it was because of the Christmas holidays. It doesn’t really prove anything.’
His breath whistled thinly through his teeth. ‘Did I ever take time off at Christmas?’ He couldn’t help the sharpness of his tone.
‘The first year we were married you did. We had a wonderful Christmas together.’ Her eyes lit up as she spoke and he saw a glimpse of the girl he had first met. The girl who had ensnared him in an invisible net that could never be broken. ‘But after that,’ she went on, ‘you only took Christmas Day off. Even then you were a grouch.’
That was because his mind was always connected to whatever money-spinning idea he was working on. Looking back, he could see that perhaps he had been a little unfair on Megan—but not as much as she was making out. ‘So surely you can see,’ he pointed out, his tone strong and firm, ‘that I’m doing my level best to spend more time with you.’
‘And how long will it last?’ she asked caustically.
‘With your co-operation, if you don’t constantly raise your hackles whenever I’m around, for ever.’ He saw the way her brows rose ever so slightly, the disbelief in her perfectly shaped grey eyes. ‘I’m serious. I want this to work, Megan. You are my whole life. Without you it has no meaning.’
Disbelief gave way to surprise, her eyes widening as they remained steadily on his. ‘You’ve never said anything like that before.’
‘I didn’t feel I had to. I thought you knew.’
‘I know nothing unless you tell me,’ she insisted.
Not that he loved her? How could that be? He didn’t find it easy to say the words, but surely she knew? Why else would he want her back? He took a long, slow drink from his mug, watching her over the rim as he did so. He could prove to her in bed exactly how much he loved her—if she would only let him. Dared he suggest it?
He didn’t think so.
She was just as likely to slap him across the face. But even that contact would be better than the distance that separated them. It felt like a mile instead of a couple of feet.
Megan sipped her milk too, avoiding his eyes, staring absently into the flickering flames of the fire. She looked so beautiful sitting there, the glow from the coals warming her face, softening the shadows. He could imagine her in just such a position breast-feeding her baby. He had missed that! He had missed everything to do with Charlotte’s birth and her first important years. He hadn’t seen her learn to walk or talk, her first teeth coming through, her first word—which might have been ‘Daddy’ if he’d been there! Instead she’d never known what it was like to have a father.
Bitterness crept in and he began to wonder whether it had been such a good idea to invite Megan to sit with him. He didn’t want a confrontation, but that was exactly how he felt. So much he had missed! And it was all her fault! He clattered his mug down on the table.
Megan followed suit. ‘I’m feeling sleepy now,’ she said, although he knew she was lying.
‘I think I might go to bed too,’ he declared. This wasn’t how he had wanted it to end but it looked as though he had no choice.
‘I’ll leave you to make sure the fire’s safe. Goodnight, Luigi.’
‘Goodnight, Megan.’
So formal! No kiss, no touch, no sign that they meant anything to each other, and yet he would stake everything he owned that her body craved his just as much as his did hers.
Perhaps he should kiss her, a gentle peck on the forehead, nothing more, just enough to let her know that he cared. But already it was too late; she had left the room and he could hear her running lightly up the stairs.
When he followed later his footsteps were much slower and heavier.
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