Irate, James ended the call. He was appalled at the fact that her own damn family had no idea where she was. Was it that they really didn’t care? Or were they too bound up in their own business? Either way it wasn’t good enough.
His heart burned. She deserved so much more than that. She deserved to be loved. Damn it. He’d love her.
Just as soon as he could find her.
He glanced round the bedroom once more. His iPad was on the bedside table. He snatched it up. The Internet browser opened on the last site it had been on. James froze as he read the headline. He clicked back a few pages in the history file.
Shit.
That stupid picture of him and Caitlin. Those wretched people with nothing better to do. It had bothered him—because of what he’d seen on his own face. But it had bothered Caitlin for a whole other reason.
Oh, God, he was such an idiot.
Once again she’d had been left to deal with something like this alone—the vitriol, the painful words. No wonder she’d run. All her life she’d lacked emotional support. And James had failed her too.
He was useless.
He breathed in and tried to think. Where would she go? In a city of millions, where would he find her?
THIRTEEN
Caitlin walked through the studio, amazed all over again at the incredible sight of so many people—tailors, seamstresses, milliners and assistants working to get the hundreds of costumes required ready.
She’d done the necessary. Rebooked her return flight—sucking up the change fee—so she’d be back in London by the end of the week. Then she’d crossed her fingers that Peggy didn’t read the trash on Twitter. She contacted her and asked if she could take her up on that offer to see the costume department.
So here she was. At the Met costume studio, blown away by the skill and expertise, the vast vaults of costumes stored so they could restage a previous production. It was like Aladdin’s cave, or the lost tomb of Cleopatra or something—filled with treasures and inspiration. She spent a couple of hours being shown around by an assistant as jazzed about the place as she was.
It was exactly what she’d needed.
But once her visit ended, she went to the station and boarded a train to Queens. She’d found the cheapest hostel she could, sharing a dorm with five strangers. She’d barely slept these last few nights. Not because of the noise of the trains on the tracks right next door, but because the minute she closed her eyes, she thought of James.
The sooner she got back to London, the better. Whatever it took, she’d get herself back together. Seeing that costume studio today had spurred her. She’d build a career. And she’d get on with it. Alone. Independent.
She walked up the stairs into the hostel, going straight up to the first floor. She passed the other dorm-room doors—hers was the last.
‘Caitlin?’
She froze partway down the corridor, then turned.
‘James?’ She stared at him in total confusion. But she wasn’t imagining things. He really was there—all stubble and smoky eyes and crumpled grey tee. ‘What are you doing here?’
Why was he here and looking so fabulous and intense and magnetic just when she was kidding herself she could get over him?
‘What do you think?’ he exploded, taking five energy-filled strides closer. ‘Finding you.’
Oh. She swallowed.
‘You left,’ he accused.
No. He’d left. ‘I left a note,’ she said coldly.
‘That told me nothing.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘That you’re okay. For starters.’
Of course he did. Mr Hero himself. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m okay.’ She struggled to pull herself together. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I didn’t think that—’ He’d care.
His lips compressed. ‘You have a shockingly low opinion of me. And an even worse one of yourself.’ He glanced behind her and frowned.
Caitlin turned and saw another traveller walking towards them. James wrapped a hand around her upper arm. She flinched and turned back to face him. His fingers instantly loosened, stroked, but then he walked, urging her to come into the room with him.
She did, knowing it was better to have this conversation with some degree of privacy. It wasn’t a dorm room, but a tiny space with room for only a bed and a chair. Single occupancy. Double at a squeeze. Nothing like the magnificent room they’d shared in his condo.
‘Of course I was worried about you.’ He shut the door and turned to her. His face was paler than usual, it made the line of his scar all the more obvious. ‘You’re not interested in whether I’m okay?’
‘I can see that you are.’ She tried to shrug.
‘Do I really look okay to you?’
She glanced back at him swiftly. He sounded angry. Well, she was fast joining him on that one. She didn’t want him here. Didn’t want him feeling as if he had to ensure she was ‘okay’. That wasn’t anywhere near enough for her. And she sure as hell didn’t want him thinking he could pick up where they’d left off. No way could she touch him again—the fling was flung. And just because they were in a bedroom again, didn’t mean she was going to let him—
‘What’s the problem?’ She yanked on the toughest shell she could. ‘Blue balls?’
‘Caitlin.’
To her annoyance, the man smiled.
No. She wasn’t letting him do this to her. She wasn’t falling for his charm again. For his tease and flirt. For his gorgeousness and good humour and generosity.
It wasn’t enough.
There was only one thing she could do—push him away. Hard. Fast. For ever.
‘Look, it was just sex, James,’ she said as blithely as she could. ‘That convenient holiday-fling thing. We were sharing the room, why not have a few frolics at the same time?’
He stared at her. To her discomfort, his expression only grew even more amused.
‘Oh, Caitlin.’
‘Don’t go thinking it was anything special.’ She shook her head and backed up as he walked towards her. The backs of her legs bumped against the metal-framed bed.
‘You think you can do the bad-girl act and push me away?’
‘It’s no act. I am what I am.’ She shrugged, curling her damp fingers into fists.
‘Nothing is black and white. No one is a stereotype. You’re not all bad girl. And I’m sure as hell not all hero.’
But he was. He so was. He couldn’t help himself.
‘You know I’m far from perfect,’ he reminded her.
She switched tack. ‘Quite right. I was getting bored already.’
‘That so?’
‘Yeah. I’m ready to change it up.’
He took the last pace to stand directly in front of her. Reached for her. ‘You think some other guy can turn you on the way I do?’
She stood like a stone, refusing to move. To be moved. ‘So we do good sex,’ she said crassly. ‘We can make each other come in record speed. So what? You can’t construct a relationship built on something so ephemeral. So meaningless.’
His eyes gleamed. He didn’t seem bothered by her crude bluntness. ‘It’s a starting point.’ He was too calm. Being too damn reasonable.
She didn’t want him to be reasonable. She wanted to push him away. Had to push him. ‘But it’s sand, not rock. Sexual appetite will wash away. And there’s nothing else to us. There never has been.’
He put his head on the side, ran his hands down her arms. ‘You really want me to believe that?’
Caitlin’s heart stopped. To believe her? To believe in her lies? She suppressed all the pain. But she’d suppressed too much pain, for too long. ‘It doesn’t matter to me what you believe,’ she choked.
‘So you’re going to walk
away?’
‘I’m not walking away from anything much.’ Blinking, she determinedly stuck to her line, wishing like crazy that he’d walk away right now. ‘A bit of sex. A few laughs. But that’s it. There’s nothing more to this and never has been.’
‘People might have accused you of all kinds of things, but I never thought you were a coward,’ he said quietly.
‘I’m not a coward.’ She shook with defiance. She wasn’t. She’d tried and tried and she’d keep on trying.
‘Yes, you are,’ he said softly. ‘You run. You hide. You won’t stand up and say what’s really true. What you really feel. What you really want.’ His hands slipped up and gripped her shoulders. ‘And I don’t blame you for that. You’ve been hurt. Your dad. Hannah. Dominic. And me.’
Caitlin bit on the inside of her lip. Hard. Stupid when she was already trying to blink back tears. But she had to stop herself from speaking. From breaking down.
‘I hurt you.’ He stepped forward, right into her space so she could feel his heat. His rock-solid strength. ‘I left you when you needed me. And I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’
She stared up at him—at his dark, dark, beautiful eyes. She tried to swallow the lump of jagged glass in her throat.
‘Caitlin.’
She closed her eyes. ‘Please leave.’
‘No.’
‘Please leave. Now.’
‘No.’
Couldn’t he do that for her? Couldn’t he leave her with that illusion of dignity before she sank to the floor and howled? She opened her burning eyes and pleaded.
‘I can’t do this,’ she begged him. ‘Please don’t ask me to do this.’