Lone Wolfe (19 page)

 
          
He
had been a fool ever—even for a single night—to believe in hope.

 
          
Mollie
stood in the centre of the room, still clutching the sheet to her chest. Jacob
ignored her. He reached into his suitcase for a fresh T-shirt and shrugged it
on, raking his fingers through his hair, his back to her.

 
          
‘Jacob
…’
Her
voice sounded so very small.

 
          
‘What?’
He didn’t turn around.

 
          
‘What
…? What was …?’ She hesitated and then said very quietly, ‘Tell me what
happened.’

 
          
Jacob
shrugged. ‘It was just a dream.’

 
          
‘What
kind of dream? You looked as if—’ She swallowed. ‘Strange.’

 
          
Jacob
almost laughed again, this time the dry, humourless laugh of the utterly
despairing. He turned around. ‘People sometimes do strange things in dreams,
Mollie,’ he told her, his voice sharp with a mocking edge. ‘Did I scare you?’
He made it a question of no real interest to him.

 
          
‘No,
of course not,’ she said quickly.
Too quickly.
‘Your
dream scared me,’ she clarified. ‘It looked like it was … terrible.’

 
          
‘Really?’
He sounded bored now. It was all too easy to
affect these poses, to push her away. He’d had so much practice.

 
          
Mollie
shook her head, her eyes wide. ‘Do you remember the dream?’

 
          
He
hesitated, finding it surprisingly hard to lie. Suddenly it wasn’t so easy any
more, because even now, when he knew he couldn’t, when he knew how he’d
terrified her, he wanted to tell her everything. He swallowed. ‘No.’

 
          
Mollie
nodded slowly, and Jacob couldn’t tell if she believed him or not.

 
          
Mollie
stared at Jacob, wishing she knew what words to say, and that she had the
strength to say them. His face looked blank, bored, yet his body was nearly
quivering with a tension, an anger, that Mollie couldn’t understand.

 
          
What
had he dreamed about? Why had he been making that sound—that horrible sound—something
halfway between a laugh and a sob? It had been such a terrible, lonely, awful
sound; she hadn’t even realised it had been coming from Jacob, and when she’d
rolled over to look at him she’d seen him in the throes of a terrible dream, a
nightmare, the look on his face one of utter agony.

 
          
She’d
assumed for so long that he was cold, emotionless,
even
soulless. Now the idea seemed laughable. She’d thought, even that very night,
that he’d walked away from his family because he didn’t care enough, didn’t
feel their pain.

 
          
Now
she knew he felt too much.

 
          
‘It’s
late,’ Jacob said into the silence of Mollie’s own spinning thoughts. ‘You
should get some sleep.’ He walked towards the door.

 
          
‘Jacob—’
Mollie reached one hand out towards him even though his back was to her. She
felt the moment slipping away from her, the opportunity to question and comfort
and maybe even understand gone—perhaps for ever. ‘Aren’t you going to come back
to bed?’ she whispered.

 
          
He
turned to flash
her a
grim smile. ‘I’ve had enough
sleep for one evening,’ he said, and then he walked out of the bedroom, closing
the door behind him with a final click.

 
          
Mollie
stood there for a moment, the sheet still clutched to her naked body. She felt
cold and alone and afraid. Too afraid to open that door and ask Jacob to tell
her—what? Did she even
want
to know
what caused that dream, what memories and regrets lurked inside of him? Could
she accept the truth?

 
          
Her
own cowardice shamed her. Disconsolate, uncertain and suddenly, unbearably sad,
Mollie turned back to the bed. Curled up on one side, she had a feeling she
wouldn’t sleep any more either.

 
          
Morning
dawned slowly, pale grey fingers of light creeping across the floor of the
bedroom. Mollie shifted, every muscle aching. Her eyes were dry and gritty. She
must have dozed at least a little bit, but she didn’t feel as if she had.

 
          
She
slid from the bed and tiptoed out of the room, glancing around almost furtively
for Jacob. She didn’t see him anywhere though, and she retreated to her own
bedroom, still filled with a miserable uncertainty. She had no idea what to do
now, what would happen next.

 
          
A
stingingly hot shower helped, as did a fresh change of clothes. Her Italian
clothes, a close-fitting cashmere sweater in soft, pussy-willow grey and a pair
of skinny designer jeans bolstered her confidence and gave her courage. She
pulled her hair back with a scarf and repaired her still-pale face with
make-up, then taking a deep breath headed out into the rest of the suite.

 
          
Jacob
sat at the desk in the living room. He had showered and changed as
well,
and now wore an immaculate grey suit that made him
look gorgeous and very remote. He looked up from his laptop as she entered, and
gave her a small, cool smile.

 
          
Mollie’s
heart sank. So that was how it was going to be.

 
          
‘Would
you like some breakfast?’ His voice was scrupulously polite, carefully devoid
of emotion, just as it had been when she’d first seen him at her cottage. He
was a stranger, nothing but a beautiful stranger. He gestured to a table tucked
into the corner of the room. ‘There are muffins and croissants there, as well
as a pot of tea. If you’d prefer something more substantial, I can order it for
you.’

 
          
Mollie
didn’t think she could manage a morsel. ‘No, thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘This
is enough.’

 
          
Jacob
turned back to his laptop. ‘I’m afraid I can’t go to the expo with you today,’
he said in that awful, polite voice. ‘I have some business to attend to. But I
hired a car to take you there.’

 
          
‘I’m
perfectly capable of taking the tube,’ Mollie returned stiffly. ‘I lived in
London for three years.’

 
          
Jacob’s
gaze remained on the screen of his computer. ‘If you have the opportunity, why
not take it?’

 
          
Mollie
swallowed down the words
Because
I don’t want anything from you when you’re
like this
. She reached for a muffin. ‘Are we still returning to Wolfe Manor
tonight?’

 
          
Jacob
glanced up, his body stilling, his eyes so very dark. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly.
‘We’ll go back tonight.’

 
          
Mollie
crumbled the muffin onto the plate. ‘Jacob.’ He waited, saying nothing, and she
made herself go on. ‘Why are you being like this?
So …
remote?
Last night—’

 
          
‘Last
night shouldn’t have happened,’ Jacob cut in, his voice flat. Mollie felt the
blood drain from her face. She should have expected this, based on his attitude
this morning, yet it still hurt, like blood drawn straight from her heart.

 
          
‘Why not?’ she whispered.

 
          
Surprise
flashed briefly across Jacob’s features, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask
that question. She wondered if he would answer it honestly, or at all. ‘Mollie
…’ He began, his voice low, and she knew this was all the opening she would
ever get.

 
          
‘Jacob,
what happened last night was real. I know it was. This—’ she flung an arm out
as if to encompass the tension tautening the very air between them ‘—this
isn’t. This is
fake
.’

 
          
‘You
don’t know what’s real,’ he said quietly.

 
          
‘The
dream wasn’t,’ Mollie told him. She could feel her heart pounding so hard it
hurt. She spoke from a deep instinct that the dream had changed everything.
Ruined it.
And right now she was damned if she would let it.
‘That dream wasn’t real, Jacob. It was just a dream.
A
nightmare.
Why won’t you trust me?’

 
          
He
didn’t answer, just stared at her with that infuriatingly blank expression.
What seethed beneath the surface? Why wouldn’t he tell her?

 
          
‘Jacob,
what do you dream about? What haunts you so, even now? Was it something that
happened in your childhood? Is that why you ran away?’ She felt as if she were
stumbling through the dark, her hands stretched out in front of her like a
child’s. ‘Is it your father? Or Annabelle—’

 
          
‘So
many options,’ he drawled. Mollie recoiled from that light, scornful tone. ‘I
had such an
unhappy
childhood. A
therapist would have a field day.’

 
          
‘I’m
not your therapist—’

 
          
‘You
sound like you’re trying to be.’

 
          
‘No,’
Mollie retorted, her voice rising in frustration. ‘I’m trying to tell you that
we can work through this … together—’

 
          
‘Stop
it, Mollie.’ He snapped his laptop shut, rising from the desk in one graceful
movement. His back was to her. ‘Forget the dream. Forget it all.’

 
          
‘I
can’t.’ Her throat felt as if it were closing in on itself, as if she could
barely speak. ‘Can you?’ she managed. She saw his shoulders stiffen, his body
tense. She waited, afraid to say any more, afraid she might beg. Cry.

 
          
‘I
have to,’ Jacob said. His voice sounded quiet and even sad. She saw his head
bow, his shoulders slump for an instant before he straightened again to his
normal militarily precise posture … just as he’d been doing his whole life.
Being strong.
Taking all the weight.
All the guilt.

 
          
‘No,
you don’t,’ Mollie said. ‘You don’t.’

 
          
He
shook his head, his back still to her. ‘There are things you don’t understand.’

 
          
‘Stop
using that as your excuse and
tell
me.’

 
          
He
shook his head again, and she thought she heard him make a choked sound, almost
like a cry. Yet when he finally turned around, she wished he hadn’t. He looked
so resigned, so resolute, so sad. ‘I don’t want to tell you. If I do, it will
change how you think of me, and I couldn’t bear that.’

 
          
Her
heart twisted, tore. A tear trembled on her eyelash and then slipped silently
down her cheek. ‘And you’re not willing even to risk it?
For
… for us?’

 
          
‘There
is
no us.’

 
          
‘There
could be.’ She
was
begging.
And crying.

 
          
‘No,
Mollie.’ Now Jacob sounded regretful, and very, very final. ‘I’m sorry, but
there isn’t and there will never be. There can’t be.’ He paused, drawing a
shuddering breath. ‘Sometimes I wish there could. I wish I was different but I
know myself and I know what I’m capable of—what I have inside of me. And it’s
not enough for a woman like you.’

 
          
‘What
is that supposed to mean?’ Mollie asked. She heard the brokenness of her own
voice; she couldn’t even hide her heartache.

 
          
‘It
means that you are a warm and wonderful and loving person, and you deserve and
need someone far better than me.’

 
          
‘That
sounds like an excuse.’