Mr. Insatiable (22 page)

“I wanted to spare you this, son. She’s a lovely girl, but she can’t give you what you want.”

“How do you know?”

“Patrick told me. When she was assaulted, the bastard gave her an STD. The doctors treated it, but not before it damaged her ovaries.”

Bile rose in Kit’s throat. “Does Tris know?”

“I think so. But nobody else. Only your mother and me.”

Kit stared at him, feeling hollow inside. He remembered talking to her about the importance of having his own children years before–he’d told her then he would never consider adopting, but she’d never said anything. Why hadn’t she told him?

He knew he should be honorable and declare it didn’t matter, but the words stuck in his throat. The urge for a baby of his own flesh and blood was overwhelming. He wanted his child to have roots, to know who his real parents were, to have what he hadn’t had. He wanted to watch his wife’s belly grow, to go to ante-natal classes with her, to stand at her side when she gave birth. He’d imagined Enya’s face as she held that baby, imagined the two of them exultant at the birth of their child. But it was never going to happen. Enya had known and she’d tried to tell him. But he hadn’t listened.

“I’m sorry, son.” John rested his hand on Kit’s arm. “Look, I think it’s best if I take her home. The two of you can talk later.”

Kit couldn’t think. He felt that he should hold her and comfort her, because he knew she must be hurting. “I should go to her.”

“And say what? You’re sorry? You think that’s going to help?”

Kit knew his father well enough to know he was being handled, but at that moment he couldn’t find it within himself to argue with him. He felt foolish at having declared his love, and angry at her for keeping such an important secret. She’d known they couldn’t be together, but she’d still slept with him, making it even more difficult for them to make the final break. How had she made love to him so passionately when she knew it couldn’t come to anything? When she knew she was going to leave him? She’d used him for sex, like a therapist, to make her feel better–had she been laughing behind his back all along? His disappointment and hurt was overwhelming, and he didn’t want her to see it.

“Okay.” His voice was strangely hoarse. “Tell her...” His voice trailed off.

John seemed to understand. “I will.” He walked out, closing the front door behind him.

Chapter

18

Enya sat rigid in the car as John got in beside her and said nothing when he started the engine and pulled away from Kit’s house. She watched the wipers trying to sweep away the rain that lashed at the window. He drove through the busy Auckland streets, not talking, but as they passed beneath the motorway, he sighed and glanced across at her. Enya turned her head away, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood. She didn’t want him to see her tears, but she couldn’t stop them pouring down her face.

“I’m sorry,” John said.

She gave a short, sharp laugh. “For what? For having your son’s best interests at heart?”

“No. I’m sorry that the piece of scum who assaulted you left you infertile too.” John had been the prosecuting lawyer in the courtroom when the man who attacked her went to court. John had made swift work of convincing the jury of the man’s guilt and securing a guilty verdict, but he was unable to persuade the judge to give him more than eight years. Two more years and he’d be free. Whereas she was cursed for the rest of her life.

She closed her eyes, determined not to feel sorry for herself. She’d never let self pity rule her life, and she wasn’t about to stop now. Her relationship with Kit in China had been a fleeting thing, a flicker of beauty, like a firework in the sky that took your breath away but burned out a moment later. She’d told him she wasn’t for keeps–if he’d misunderstood that, it was his fault.

“He’ll get over it,” she said flatly.

“Yes, he will. Eventually.” He pulled up outside her house and left the engine running. “But you should know, Enya, he does love you.”

“I know.” She met John’s grey eyes. “But not enough.”

* * * *

There was a bottle of extremely rare MacLeod’s 1997 Laphroaig whisky in the cupboard over the sink. The wrapper around the top was untouched, and the bottle glowed a light amber in the fading light. Kit had been saving it for a special occasion.

By sunset, it was a third empty.

He lay on the sofa, a half-full whisky glass resting on his chest, staring up at the ceiling but seeing only Enya’s face framed by her beautiful copper curls. When the knock came at the door, he jumped. He got to his feet unsteadily, wondering if it was her, if she’d come back to talk to him. Heart pounding, he went to the front door and opened it. It was Tristan.

Kit stared at him. “You’re in Fiji.”

“I
was
in Fiji. Flew back this morning.” Tristan looked at the glass in Kit’s hand. “How many of those have you had?”

“Enough.” Kit didn’t step back. He didn’t want Tristan to come in, didn’t want company. He wanted to lie there and slide into oblivion with the help of the Laphroaig bottle. “What do you want?”

Tristan met his gaze, his green eyes so like his sister’s. “I want to talk to you about Enya.”

So Tristan knew about Kit and his sister. Had she told him?

“Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed. You going to let me in?”

Kit looked at him warily. Was he angry? He didn’t look it. “Dunno. Are you going to flatten me if I do?”

Tristan looked amused. “Do I need to?”

Kit sighed and stepped back. “Come in.”

Tristan walked past him and along to the living room. He sat in one of the armchairs opposite the sofa and pointed at the bottle standing on the table. “I thought you were saving that for a special occasion.”

Kit sat heavily on the sofa. “I was. Desperate measures.” He finished off the glass and poured himself another, gesturing to Tristan with the bottle.

Tristan shook his head. “I drove here.”

Kit sat with one arm along the back of the sofa and sipped the drink. He met Tristan’s gaze and waited. They’d known each other a long time—the same amount of time as he’d known Enya, obviously, but he’d spent far more time in Tris’s company. They’d gone to school together, shared a room at uni, even shared a girl, although he doubted Tris would remember much about it as he’d been even more drunk at the time than Kit. Kit had supported him after Enya’s assault when Tris had been depressed, knotted with anger and guilt at what had happened to his sister. And now they ran a business together and saw each other nearly every day. He could count the amount of times they’d argued on the fingers of one hand. They were as close as brothers. And now Kit had done the unthinkable by seducing Tris’s sister, and he’d put the whole of his life into jeopardy. He could lose both Tris and Enya because of what he’d done. His chest tightened at the thought.

Tristan still hadn’t spoken, and Kit couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “How is she?”

Tristan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You know Enya. She put a brave face on it, told me she was fine. Got angry, told me to fuck off. Then burst into tears. She wouldn’t tell me why, but the two of you have got back from a trip–it doesn’t take a genius to work out the gist.”

Kit leaned his head on the back of the sofa. Perhaps he was having a heart attack. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable.

“What happened, man?” Tris prompted.

“It’s not what you think.”

“You mean you didn’t seduce my sister and have sex with her in China?”

“Okay...maybe it is what you think.” Kit lifted his head. “Are you going to hit me?”

Tristan frowned impatiently. “Dude, come on. I know you well enough. You’ve always been crazy about her. I’m just surprised it hasn’t happened before now.”

Kit stared at Tristan mutely, dumbfounded and embarrassed.

“
Has
it happened before now?”

“Only once. At your wedding.”

Tristan studied him. “Huh. So that’s why you weren’t in your room.” His eyes narrowed. “Were you in hers when I knocked on the door?”

Kit didn’t see any point in denying it. “Yes.”

“I see.” Tristan frowned. “But you and her–you hadn’t got together before then.”

“No. And we didn’t plan it. It wasn’t like we went behind your back–it just happened.”

Tristan tipped his head. “Are you under the impression that I’m mad at you?”

Kit blinked. “Well, aren’t you?”

“Kit, for fuck’s sake, I’ve already said I was surprised it hasn’t happened before now. It was only a matter of time.”

Kit shook his head. “I would never have...I mean, I didn’t mean...” He paused as Tristan rolled his eyes. His chest burned. “Why didn’t you tell me? That she couldn’t have kids?”

Tristan was silent for a moment, as if he’d suddenly realized what the problem was. “I didn’t think it was any of your business.”

“No. I suppose it wasn’t.” Sadness rolled over him. “I wish I’d known, though.”

“What difference would it have made?”

“I wouldn’t have...” His eyes met Tristan’s.

“Fallen in love with her?” Tristan smiled. “Dude, she had you the day she met you, age ten. You may not have noticed, but everyone else did.”

Kit tried to protest. “I never planned this to happen. I would never have made the first move, I swear.”

“Yeah, I knew it would be up to her. The hussy.” Tristan grinned.

Kit gave a half-hearted laugh and sipped his whisky. He let it sear down to his stomach. The pain in his chest had subsided, although every time he thought about the fact that he’d upset Enya, it tightened again. “Do you ever think about him now?”

“Who?”

“The guy who assaulted her.”

Tristan stared at him before dropping his gaze to look at his hands. “I did. I wanted to kill him.”

“Yeah I know.”

“But now?” Tristan shrugged. “It wasn’t fair, or right. But it happened. Your dad got him sent to prison. We dealt with it, and we moved on. What else could we have done?”

Kit leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling again. “When it happened, I forced myself not to think about him. I wasn’t her brother, and I felt it wasn’t my place–I tried to support you, and her of course. But now, I keep thinking about him. Because of him, she can’t have children. She doesn’t deserve that. I keep imagining her pregnant, or with a baby in her arms–the picture won’t go away, but it’s never going to happen. It’s tearing me up inside, Tris.” He stopped before he made a fool of himself and drank the rest of the glass in one gulp.

Tristan sat back in the chair. “You can’t do that to yourself. That way lies madness.”

“I know. And I don’t like how it makes me feel.”

“How does it make you feel?”

“I want to kill him. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone before.”

“I can’t imagine you killing anyone. What are you going to do, talk him to death?”

Kit closed his eyes. All he knew was that if the animal that hurt her was in the room now, he’d happily put his hands around the man’s throat and squeeze the life out of him.

“Jeez,” Tristan said, “you’ve got it worse than I thought.” He sighed. “Look, what you do now’s up to you. I know you’ve always wanted a family of your own–I get that. I do think you and Sasha are a perfect example of how adoption can work, but I also know you’re probably the best case scenario and lots of families have trouble. Yes, Enya’s my sister, and yes, she’s madly in love with you, but I don’t want that to influence your decision.”

Kit lifted his head and glared at him. “Are you trying to make me cry?”

Tristan laughed. “Kit, either way, it’s not the end of the world. She’ll get over you. Things won’t be the same–how could they? You both knew that before you jumped into bed. But we’ll always be a family. We’ll always be there for each other. I just wanted to come around today and tell you things are good between us either way. I knew you’d probably be planning a ritual hari-kari or something similar.”

Kit’s eyes grew hot. He’d definitely drunk too much. “Fuck off, Tris.”

Tristan laughed. He stood and walked past Kit, patting him on the shoulder. “Enya’s gone away for a few days. She’ll be back on Tuesday–you can talk to her then.”

The front door banged. Kit pressed his fingers into his eyes, trying to stop the tears. He wasn’t going to cry–he wasn’t that much of a girl.

Where had she gone? Maybe up to the beach house her parents owned in the Bay of Islands. What was she thinking about? How to get over him?

He ought to be thinking the same–working out a way to get back to being friends. How to move on. Perhaps he should go out tonight, find a girl, and wipe the memory of Enya from his mind and body.

But the thought sickened him. He didn’t want to hold another girl–he wanted Enya, with her pale skin, her fiery hair, her courage, and her sassy attitude. He wanted to watch her skin blush prettily as he gave her pleasure, then hold her tightly in the night and keep her safe. He didn’t ever want to let her go.

He wanted her more than he wanted a family.