Love Islands…The Collection. Jane PorterЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Eyes narrowed, Malachi stared angrily across the empty roof garden. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. What did she expect from him? In fact, why did she expect anything from him anyway?

      His mouth curled in frustration. Throwing all those accusations at him and storming off like that. It was just like their wedding all over again.

      And saying she wanted him to divorce her? The blood pounded in his ears. He had never even thought about a divorce. Probably he never would have if she hadn’t thrown it in his face—

      That thought was still uppermost in his mind when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Skin tingling, half expecting it to be Addie, he pulled it out. Glancing at the screen, he felt his stomach tighten. It was a message from his father.

      We’re in New York, at the Aviation Club. Serena says to tell you we’re having a party on Saturday. If you can behave, you’re welcome to join us. Bring that sweet little redhead if you like. I attach a peace offering—

      Malachi stopped reading. There was more—something to do with a money transfer—but he didn’t care enough to finish the message. Opening up the attachment, he watched the bodies on the screen in silence. Abruptly, he switched it off.

      He could almost hear Henry’s cool, detached voice inside his head. Bring that sweet little redhead if you like. It knocked the breath out of his body that his father could actually suggest that. He had tried so hard to make it clear to Henry that Addie was out of bounds. So why—?

      Lifting his head, he stared bleakly up at the moon, its pale, pure beauty making his heart contract. He knew why; he’d known why since he was a small child, only he had never wanted or been able to confront the truth before. But it was simple really.

      For Henry and Serena drama and tension were more important than love and loyalty. For them life was a series of spectacles for which anything could be sacrificed—including their son’s happiness. And when things—or people—got messy or boring, they simply got rid of them and moved on. The ground felt suddenly unsteady beneath his feet as he remembered what it had felt like: the unspoken threat, the fear that one day they would get rid of him.

      Shakily he ran his hand over his face, panic swelling inside him. Only with shock he realised that he wasn’t panicking about losing his parents.

      But about losing Addie.

      It hurt. Just thinking about her not being there.

      Hurt because he loved her.

      His heart gave a jerk as finally he faced the truth.

      He loved her.

      His face was impassive but his whole body was shaking. Why hadn’t he realised?

      He’d spent his entire life reading people. Spotting their weaknesses, their deceits and delusions. Yet he’d failed to notice that he was in love.

      Worse, he had bullied and manipulated the woman he loved into being his mistress, using her loyalty to her charity to get his own way.

      For a moment he stood frozen and then he turned.

      He needed to explain, to apologise, to tell her how he felt. Now. Before it was too late.

      Heart pounding, he started to walk, then run towards the staircase.

       But where was she?

      Downstairs, Malachi stared uneasily around the empty suite. He had imagined Addie to be hurtling around the room, tossing clothes into her suitcase. Only the bedroom felt still and lifeless. Slowly he checked the other rooms, his pulse racing. But she wasn’t there.

      She couldn’t have actually left—

      Feeling sick on the inside, he checked the rooms again. And then his heart jerked as he pulled open the wardrobe door. Her suitcase was still there—and all her clothes and shoes. He felt almost numb with relief. She would hardly abandon all her stuff if she was leaving him. At the very least she would take her handbag.

      Glancing round, his heart missed a beat. It was gone and so was Addie. His breath felt suddenly tight and panicky in his chest and, crossing the room in three quick strides, he picked up the phone and rang Reception.

      ‘Mr King. How may I help?’

      ‘Miss Farrell—’ he began.

      ‘Yes, sir. The limousine has already left.’

      He went cold.

      ‘Left? When? Where?’ The stunned silence at the end of the phone echoed inside his head. ‘Where has she gone?’ he demanded hoarsely, not caring that he sounded nothing like his cool public persona.

      ‘To the airport. She left ten minutes ago.’

      He barely heard the receptionist’s trembling reply. Inside his head one question was repeating itself over and over again.

       What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?

      More importantly, what was he going to do now?