Love Islands…The Collection. Jane PorterЧитать онлайн книгу.
a snake in the pit of his stomach. He could see the tension in her face, the doubt and unease, and he knew what she wanted him to say. But he would never say it. He couldn’t.
His chest grew tight. He felt hard, cruel, knowing how much he was about to hurt her. But he couldn’t give her what she needed.
Meeting her gaze, he smiled at her coolly. ‘I’m not sure I understand the question, sweetheart. Nothing’s changed except our location.’
He watched her eyes widen.
‘I don’t care about the location—’ she began.
‘So it’s about the money?’ he said smoothly.
It was as though he had slapped her.
‘The money? No, it’s not about the money!’ she protested.
Her face was flushed and he could see a pulse beating at the base of her throat.
‘It’s about us.’
‘“Us”?’ he repeated softly.
‘Yes. Us. You and me. Doing a tour of South America. How does that work, Malachi?’
She stared at him defiantly, but he heard the catch in her voice.
‘I’m saying let’s go to Rio. And then we’ll take it from there. One day at a time.’
Her face shifted, softened. ‘So you want to try again? Properly, I mean?’
He felt his chest clench painfully at the question. The hope in her eyes took his breath away. For a moment it made him hope and believe that it could work. That maybe he could need her and love her and care about her as she cared about him.
And then, slowly his hope faded, his eyes slid past her to the spiral staircase leading back down to their suite and to escape. It was no good. He might have let Addie get close, closer than anyone ever had, but he couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle caring or needing or loving. He’d tried for so many years with his parents and look where that had got him.
But she didn’t need to share his fear and pain and guilt and anger. Slowly, deliberately, he met her gaze. ‘I don’t remember saying that.’
Addie looked at him in confusion. ‘You said we’d take things one day at a time. You just said it.’
‘I meant carry on as we are one day at a time. Or a week at a time, if you prefer. Obviously there won’t be the same financial terms, but I’m happy to give you an allowance.’
She felt dizzy; her breathing was all wrong—jerky and out of time. For a moment she felt flattened. Earlier, standing by his side in that beautiful gilded room, she had actually started to believe in them...in their future. But now she realised that whatever future they might have had it had ended before it had ever begun.
‘A week at a time...?’ she echoed. Her heart seemed to be shrinking, its beat slowing. Was he actually offering to keep her on as his mistress on a weekly basis?
‘If you prefer.’ He shrugged. ‘We can see how it goes.’
She nodded mechanically, unable to speak. And then, glancing down, she realised he was still holding her by the waist. Breathing in, she reached down and pushed his hands away.
‘You utter bastard,’ she said slowly. ‘What is wrong with you? How can you sit there and suggest this? That I be your mistress on some kind of zero-hours contract like I’m a chambermaid?’ She shook her head; her stomach was churning.
His eyes were cold. ‘You’re being irrational. I’m simply offering the same deal with slightly modified terms. If it’s the money that’s a problem—’
‘Go to hell!’ she snarled. Her hands curling into fists, she took a step backwards. ‘I can’t believe this,’ she whispered. ‘I actually thought we could try again. That we could give our marriage a second chance. I must have been out of my mind.’
‘If you thought I was going to renew my vows to a woman who slept with me for money, then I’d have to agree with you,’ he said coldly.
Stepping forward, she slapped him across the face.
For a moment there was no sound except the distant downtown traffic and her frantic, uneven breathing.
Her eyes were wide and stunned, as though he had slapped her. ‘I can’t do this any more. I know loving you is hard. I did it before and it nearly broke me. I wanted to keep fighting for us. But I can’t. I’ve got to think of myself now, and you will never give me what I need—how can you? You don’t have it to give, Malachi.’
He took a step towards her, his eyes fixed on her face. ‘You need to calm down.’
She stared at him, her whole body trembling. ‘No. I need to leave.’
Turning, she began to walk, then run towards the staircase.
‘We have a deal, Addie.’ His voice was like ice.
Her foot was on the top step as she turned to face him. ‘So sue me. And while you’re at it you can divorce me too.’
And, grabbing hold of the rail, she ran lightly down the stairs.
STORMING BACK INTO the suite, Addie stared wildly around the elegant room, blind to its beauty. Tears of anger and disbelief were burning her throat and she barely knew what she was doing. All her efforts, every thought, every breath, were concentrated on one goal. Getting as far away as possible from the man who had broken her heart for the second time.
Even though it meant she would never see him again.
A wave of misery hit her head-on and she had to press her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out loud. For one mad moment she thought about running back upstairs to tell him she’d changed her mind.
But if she stayed, if she accepted his offer, what did she think was going to happen?
Surely she didn’t actually believe that Malachi was going to wake up one morning and miraculously be in love with her? If love meant honesty and trust and sharing more than just bodies then he didn’t know how to love. Seeing him with his parents, feeling his pain and confusion after their party, had felt like a defining moment in their relationship. As if from then on things would be different between them. Only it could never be any different. She saw that now—saw that he was way too damaged, too detached, ever to love her as she needed to be loved.
His insulting offer to renew their ‘deal’ had simply made that fact undeniable.
She let out a long, slow breath. Facing the facts, while not pleasant, at least made her options clear. She had made a mistake—a stupid, humiliating mistake—by agreeing to his stupid, humiliating deal. But at least she had only traded sex for money. To stay would be a far bigger mistake, for she would be trading her self-respect for a bunch of worthless dreams.
She wasn’t going to give her heart to a man who thought a woman’s role was to look beautiful and glamorous and provide sex. Nor was she going to shed any more tears.
Catching sight of her handbag, she snatched it up gratefully. It had everything she needed: money, and most important, her passport. She wanted nothing else—not even her own clothes; all of them were unwearable now anyway—sullied by that horrible, insulting offer he’d made to her.
Stepping into the waiting lift, she squared her shoulders. But as the lift slid slowly to a stop she felt some of her bravado fade. Now what? She couldn’t just sit around in the reception area. But the hotel was nowhere near the airport. And although she might have braved public transport during daylight, she didn’t feel confident about tackling the metro on her own in the early hours of the morning.
There