An Heir for the Millionaire (9 page)

The sobs went on, consuming her.

‘Clare!'

That voice again, different still, and more words, words she did not understand, sounding urgent. Imperative.

He was beside her, crouching down. His hands were on her shoulders, hunched so tightly, with her arms wrapping around her, holding herself together. His hands went to her head, bent and broken over her knees, forcing it up.

A word broke from him. She did not know what it meant. Could only stare, blindly, through the tears coursing down her cheeks, as the sobs jerked in her throat, her face crumpling, breath gasping.

There was something in his face, his eyes.

It was shock. Raw, naked shock.

‘Oh, my God, Clare—
why?
Why?'

It was the incomprehension in his voice. That was what did it. Her hands flew up. Lashed out, flailing. Hitting and hitting at him on the solid wall of his chest.

‘You bastard!'

The invective choked from her, crippling her.

Hands closed about her wrists instantly, in a reflex action. She struggled against his grip, hopeless and helpless, and the sobs were still storming through her.

‘What do you mean, “Why?”' she choked. ‘How can you say that? After everything you've done to me, you ask Why—like it's some kind of
mystery
?'

His grip on her wrists tightened, and his crouching stance steadied.

‘What I've done to you?' he echoed. Suddenly, frighteningly, the expression in his eyes changed, flashing with dark, killing anger. ‘You kept my son from me! Nothing,
nothing
justifies that. You've had
four years
to tell me I have a son. But you never did and you were never going to. I was going to live not knowing about Joey—
never
knowing about him!'

Her face contorted, but not from weeping this time.

‘Did you really think I was going to tell you I was carrying your child? After you'd thrown me out of your life like I was yesterday's used tissue? Paying me off like a
whore
!'

His face darkened. ‘God almighty, would you have thought better of me if I'd just ended it flat, without even saying thank you to you?'

She yanked her hands free, jerking back with all her effort.

‘You didn't have to
thank
me for the sex. Dear God, I knew I was a fool to go anywhere near you, but I didn't think—I didn't think it was going to…going to…going to—'

She choked off. ‘Oh, God, what's the use? I know what you are—I've known for four years. And last night I found out all over again. Didn't I?
Didn't I?
You were feeling randy and there was no one else around—so why not take whatever was on hand? Even if it did risk another unplanned pregnancy. You wanted some instant sex, and you took it. And don't throw back at me that I didn't say no. Because I
know
what a criminal fool I was last night. What an unforgivable idiot! Just like I was four years ago. A complete fool to go and fall in lo—'

She broke off, horrified, dismayed, wanting the ground to swallow her. She stumbled to her feet, staggering away, her eyes
still blind with tears, her throat still tearing, lungs heaving. Tears were pouring down her cheeks, into her mouth, her nose was running and her face was hurting.

He caught at her hand, bolting to his feet to seize at her. She threw him off, heading blindly to the sea. She had to escape—she
had
to! How could she have said that? Just blurted it out like that? How could she?

Behind her, Xander stood stock still.

Completely motionless.

Yet inside him, like a very slow explosion, her words were detonating through him.

What had she just said?

Slowly, like a dead man walking, he followed her.

She was standing, feet in the water, her back to him. Her shoulders were still heaving, and he could still hear ragged, tearing sobs, quieter now.

With a more desperate, despairing sound.

He noticed little things about her.

Her pigtail was ragged, frazzling at the end. The sun glinted on the pale gold of her hair. Her waist was very narrow—he could almost have spanned it with his hand. Her legs were tanned.

So many things—so many things he noticed.

He knew her body—knew it from memory, and from this week he'd spent watching her, letting his desire for her grow day by day to suit his purpose, his dark, malign purpose.

Last night he had possessed her body, known it intimately. As he had four years ago.

But he hadn't known her.

He hadn't known her at all.

Slowly, very slowly, he spoke.

‘What did you just say?'

She started. Had she not heard him approach on the soft sand?

‘What did you just say, Clare?' he said again.

Her shoulders hunched. When she spoke, her voice was shaky, raking.

‘I said I hated you. I said I loathed you. And if I didn't, I should have. And I'll say it now instead.'

He shook his head. She couldn't see the gesture, but he didn't care. It came automatically to him.

‘But that isn't true, is it, Clare? That's not true at all. Not four years ago when you sat at that table in the St John and I told you it was over. You didn't hate me then. It wasn't hate, was it, Clare? Not then.'

His hands curved over her shoulders. He turned her around to him. The sunlight blinded her eyes. Or something did. She stood looking at him. Hollowed out, emptied out.

‘I hated you,' she whispered. ‘You threw me out of your life. I hated you.'

He shook his head. Sunlight glanced on the sable of his hair. She felt faintness draining through her, her legs too weak to stand. He held her steady by her shoulders. His hands were warm and strong, pressing into her through her T-shirt.

‘You didn't, Clare. You didn't hate me then. You didn't hate me at all.'

‘Yes, I did. I did and I do!' Her voice was fierce, so fierce.

His thumbs rubbed on her collarbone, slow and strange.

‘You gave yourself away, Clare. Just now. Gave yourself away. For the first time. The only time. Gave yourself clean away. And now I know, don't I? I know why you walked away from me never to return, not even for your clothes, your books, your tooth-brush—everything you left at my apartment.'

‘You should be
grateful
that I did. Grateful.' The fierceness was still in her voice, raw and rasping. ‘I must have been the easiest mistress to dump you'd ever had.'

His face stilled. There was something very strange in his eyes. Very strange indeed. She couldn't tell what it was. It must be the sun blinding her. That was all it could be…

For a long, endless moment he was silent. She felt the gentle lap of water round her feet. Felt the hot sun beating down on her. Felt his hands over her shoulders, pressing down on her. They were completely still—like him.

Then, into the silence, he spoke.

‘You were the hardest,' he said.

Her eyes flared. ‘The hardest?' she jeered bitterly. ‘You said
“It's over” and I
went
! I went without a question, without a word! I just
went
!”

‘You were the hardest,' he said again.

He dropped his hands from her. She felt bereft.

His face was sombre.

‘I got rid of you because I had to. To save my sanity. To keep me safe. Because I was scared—in the biggest danger I'd ever been in. And I couldn't hack it.' His jaw tightened. ‘When I went to New York that last time I knew I had to act. I knew I could put it off no longer. Because the danger was—terrifying. And I knew when I came back that I had to deal with it. Fast. Urgently. Permanently.'

His eyes rested on her. They had no expression in them. She had seen them look that way before…

‘So I did. I dealt with it. Immediately. Ruthlessly. Brutally.'

He paused again. ‘And it worked. Worked so perfectly. But as I realised that you had simply…gone…I realised something else as well.'

His eyes were still on her. Expressionless eyes. Except for one faint, impossible fragment…

‘I realised,' he said, and each word fell from him like a weight, ‘I would have given anything in the world to have you back.'

His eyes moved past her. Out to the sea beyond. A sea without limits. Without a horizon.

‘But you were gone. As if I'd pressed a button. Just…gone. I started to look for you, to wait for you. You had to come back—you'd left everything with me. So you
had
to come back. But you never did. You just—vanished.'

‘You said I did it to try and make you come after me.' Her voice was still very faint.

He kept looking out to sea, far out to sea. As if into the past.

‘I wanted it to be for that reason. I wanted it to be for
any
reason that meant that you didn't
want
to go. That you wanted to come back to me—that you wanted me to come after you.' He breathed in harshly, spoke harshly. ‘That you
did
feel something for me. Then—when finally I'd accepted that when I'd said “It's over” to you, you had indeed gone for ever—then…' His eyes
went to her, hard, unforgiving. ‘I told myself that I had made the right decision after all—that there was no point regretting it, no point wishing I had not done what I had. You'd felt nothing for me. Nothing at all. Which meant I had to move on, get over it. Get on with my life. So that's what I did. I had no choice—you were gone. So I got on with my life.'

She shut her eyes, then opened them again.

‘You were angry with me when you saw me again.'

The sombre look was in his eyes again.

‘I was angry with you because you'd been able to walk away from me without a second glance. With nothing—nothing at all. I was angry with you because you'd made me live with the choice I'd made. The decision I'd made. To play safe. And by playing safe to lose what I most wanted.'

He took another harsh breath. ‘You. That's what I wanted.
You.
'

She looked into his eyes. ‘Why?' It was all she said—all she could say.

Something moved in his eyes.

‘Why?' His voice changed.
‘Why?'
he echoed. ‘Because I wanted you there, still. With me. Not to let you go.' He looked at her again. ‘It scared me. I'd never wanted that before. Never. Not with any woman. Not even with you until I realised, that last time we had together, before I went to New York, that you had become important to me. And it scared me—scared me senseless—because I had never felt anything like that before, because it made me feel afraid and out of control—and worst, worst of all, it made me realise that I had no idea,
none
, of what you felt.'

He looked at her.

‘You never showed your emotions to me, Clare. You were always so reserved. I couldn't read you—I didn't know what you felt, if you felt anything at all. That scared me even more. So I wanted out. Because that was the safest call to make.'

His eyes slipped past her again.

‘I was a fool,' he said heavily. ‘I made the wrong call. And because of that I lost you. And I lost the son you were carrying. The son you hid from me. And now I know why—I know why you never told me about Joey.'

His gaze shot to her again, holding her like rods of fire. ‘I know why, and the knowledge kills me. And it hurts me to think what I did to you last night. Do you know why I did it, Clare—do you?'

His hands had come up again, to lie heavy on her shoulders. ‘I deliberately, cold-bloodedly took you to bed last night with one purpose only—to get you pregnant. I
had
to get you pregnant! I had to. Because if you were pregnant again, then this time,
this time
, you would have to marry me. You couldn't turn me down. I'd make sure of it. And that way I'd get Joey—I'd get Joey, and he's all I wanted. When I discovered you'd hidden my son from me, the only reason I could come up with for why you'd done it was to punish me for finishing with you. The reaction of a woman scorned. And it vindicated me. Vindicated what I'd done to you, the call I'd made. A woman who could vengefully hide my son from me wasn't a woman I wanted in my life, wasn't a woman I should…care about. But that wasn't why you hid Joey from me, was it, Clare?
Was it?
'

‘No.' It was a whisper. All she could manage.

‘It was because I hurt you,' he said. ‘I hurt you so badly that night at the St John that all you could do was walk. Run. Hide. For ever. And there was only one reason why I could have hurt you.'

His hands slid from her shoulders, cupping her face, lifting it to his so that she had to look deep, deep into his eyes.

‘Why was I able to hurt you, Clare? Hurt you so badly?' His voice was strained. Desperate. ‘Please tell me—please. I don't deserve it—but—'

‘I was in love with you,' she said.

For one long, agonising moment there was silence. Then, ‘Thank God,' he said. ‘Thank God.'

His thumbs smoothed along her cheekbones. Silent tears were running.

‘Don't cry, Clare. Don't ever cry for me again. I'll never let you cry again. Not for me. Not ever for me.'

He gazed down into her swimming eyes. ‘I'm going to do everything in my power, Clare, to win that love again. Everything. Because, fool that I was—that I am—fool that I have been in everything to do with you—I at least now know this. I had fallen
in love with you then, four years ago, and didn't realize—refused to believe I was capable of it And I still love you. I know that completely and absolutely, because last night—' he gave a shuddering breath ‘—last night was my own punishment. My punishment for having denied what I felt for you—a terrible punishment. Because last night I realised, with all the horror in the world, that I still love you—love a woman who had felt nothing for me, had been able to walk away from me without a word, who had wreaked vindictive revenge on me for having spurned her by keeping my own son from me.