He clamped his jaw shut and eyeballed her. She glared right back at him—she wasn’t giving way. She’d been strong for so long, and she refused to weaken. She knew what was right for her. And she absolutely knew what was right for him—and that wasn’t her.
The blades splashed and the boat began to surge through the water. The warmth and beauty of the morning broken.
“You’re a coward,” he spoke through his teeth, his muscles rippling.
“I’m as protective as you are.” She couldn’t let anyone get too close. She had to protect those she loved.
He shook his head, his expression grim as he powerfully pulled the blades. “You’re going to live your life not taking any chances?”
“Not a relationship, never commitment, certainly no family of my own.” She was never having children—never letting them suffer through what she’d suffered through. And she’d never love the way her father had loved—too deeply to survive the loss of it. She had to live more lightly than that.
She looked at him but he was too angry to look back at her. He lowered his gaze and focused on rowing them back to the club. He could have qualified for the Olympics himself with the speed with which he did it.
Libby got out the boat without looking at him. It was the right thing to do—better a little hurt now than devastation later.
“I’m sorry,” she choked as she passed him.
More sorry than she could express.
…
Nine days. Nine days was all it had taken to flip his life upside down. Jack stalked back to his apartment, stunned with how quickly everything had fallen apart. The leaden feeling in his chest didn’t lighten when he saw the black cab parked outside.
“How long you got?” he patted Tom’s shoulder.
“Only the night.” Tom grinned, clearly happy about it.
“Have you got like thirty pounds of Libby’s muesli in here?” Jack growled as he hefted the case up the stairs.
Waiting at the top, Tom looked uncomfortable.
Jack wasn’t in the mood to be mucked around. “Tom, what’s going on?”
“I exaggerated about how much I needed.”
“You mean you’ve brought most of the muesli I couriered to you back home again? Why say you needed more?”
“Because it was obvious you liked her. I wanted you to have some fun.”
With a grumpy humph Jack barged through his door, chucked the bag to the floor and stomped into the living room. He avoided the machines—instead he slumped into the one sofa at the back of the room.
Tom slowly followed him. Jack glanced at him and away again. He wasn’t in the mood for company and if his little brother wasn’t careful, he might get snappy.
“Do you know what I learned from you, Jack?” Tom gingerly sat on the hard seat of the lateral pull-down machine.
Jack didn’t answer. He really wasn’t in the mood.
“Never to give up.” Tom leaned forward. “You never gave up Jack. You never let me give up. You’ve fought so hard for so long.”
No, Jack hadn’t taught him that. That resilience and determination had been forged within Tom years before. “You learned that yourself, when you got through the cancer.”
“I didn’t get through the cancer on my own.” Tom argued fierce enough to make Jack bristle. “You helped me. Remember you used to sit there and read me stories when I was feeling sick? You took me to training with you. I used to sit on the embankment and watch you rowing on the river and I wanted to be just like you. That’s what got me started rowing. I looked up to you. You were my hero.”
Now Jack sat determinedly rigid. He didn’t feel like much of a hero. Sometimes he felt like he’d he hadn’t been there enough for Tom and Anne and that when he had been around, he’d been too hard on them. But he’d tried—as he’d tried with Libby. But it hadn’t worked.
“After Mum and Dad died you just took complete control,” Tom continued. “When I screwed up and it all went to my head and I got in with that party crowd a couple of years ago, you were there for me. You never gave up on me. You never gave up on Anne. You’ve never stopped fighting for us and for what we needed. So don’t you dare stop fighting for what you need.”
Jack looked at the man who’d once been the scrawny kid that he’d piggy-backed around. Hell, he’d always be his baby brother. He couldn’t trust that his voice would work.
Tom stood. “You might be older than me, but I’m allowed to lecture you sometimes too.”
Tom was right of course. Jack didn’t give up. He’d never given up. What had he been thinking these last thirty minutes? Why the hell had he just walked away?
Because he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been feeling. And all he’d been feeling was hurt. She’d rejected him. And why was that? Because she was afraid? Or because she didn’t feel the same way he did?
She knew why he’d given her the key, why he’d made that offer. Because he cared about her. It wasn’t just a desire to help a friend. It was the same way he’d do anything to help his brother and his sister. Because he loved them. And he loved her—not brotherly.
Hell. Could it happen that quick? Really? Or was it just lust making him cross-eyed? But while he’d had the best sex ever with her, he also adored her passion for her product, her humor, her quick lip, and her generosity and desire to help Tom… everything about her won Jack’s heart.
His nerves skittered. Maybe she just wasn’t that into him? But she’d laughed at his lame jokes, she’d eaten him up with her eyes and body—warm and lush and welcoming. It felt good—a natural, right fit. He couldn’t believe that only he felt that between them.
She was running scared. Well, he was scared too—more than he’d ever been in his life. Not even when he’d wondered how the hell he was going to care for his kid siblings had he been this scared. But he was wrong to walk away from the fight.
…
A pain pierced between Libby’s ribs like someone had stabbed her with a knife. But it wasn’t just the pain that bothered her, it was the poison of fear. It worsened with every step she took—so she stopped taking steps. She stood with both hands gripping the railing and watched the rowers on the river. She could hear the calls from the coxes, could see the effort the men and women put into each pull of the oars. Throngs of people in shorts and pretty floral dresses passed her on the bridge, ice creams in hand. She had no idea how long she stood there, in the middle of the bridge that overlooked the club, unable to walk to either end.
“Answer me something. That guy, your ex who asked you to marry him. Did you love him?”
She jerked round so quick it hurt. Jack. Jack back and looking fierce and proud and determined and so very hot.
“Is the reason you said no because you really loved him and couldn’t cope with the idea of losing him?”
Libby’s eyes filled. “If I’d really loved him, I could never have said no. I could never have walked away.”
He reached for the railing, gripping it hard as he looked at the muddy water churning beneath the bridge.
“I’m scared, Jack,” she said quickly. “But I can’t walk away from here.” From you.
“You’re a very strong person,” he answered. “You have circus skills.”
She shook her head. “But you have dealt with enough,” she said vehemently. “What if my heart breaks in middle age like Dad’s did? Or what if I have a child and he or she has Mum’s condition? That’s not fair on anyone.”
“I know how cruel fate can be,” he answered. “And I know that you have to fight on. I know that you have to find happiness in the little things. Take pleasure in the lovely every da
y you have it.” His fingers curled tighter until his knuckles were as white as hers. “Don’t waste a day, Libby. Don’t waste a single day.”
She let go of the bridge. “Jack—”
“I know loss,” he interrupted in a low voice. “I know what it is to survive and to just survive. And that’s not enough. Not for you. And it’s not enough for me either. These last few days I’ve had more fun than I’ve had in years. And I don’t mean in bed. I’ve been working so hard for so long, and you’ve given me balance. It comes from relationships Libby—you can’t hide from them. You’ve got to take them on, put your head down and charge. You heal my heart. Isn’t that making the kind of difference you wanted? Because who knows how long any of us have? We don’t. That’s why I’m not wasting any more minutes away from you.”
Somehow she’d moved. He’d been speaking so softly, compelling her closer. And now she was near enough to feel his inviting heat. She gazed into his eyes and the brave promise in them. Finally he lifted a hand and touched her hair—so gently.
“I found out something in my Google snooping you know,” he breathed even more quietly.
“What’s that?”
“That Libby is short for Liberty.”
“Oh,” she groaned. She hated her full name.
But he smiled, a half-laugh rumbling, his expression warm and kind and willing her to take him on. “Liberty. Set your heart free. Love me.”
It was knocking in her chest right now, every thump hurting. It didn’t want to be constrained. But if she gave it to him, he’d capture it forever—and wouldn’t that be even more of a risk? For both of them?
“Can you handle this?” he whispered.
It was hard to breathe, hard to think. She could only feel. But now pleasure and excitement and anticipation pummeled her fear into submission because he was smiling at her and offering so much with his arms spread wide. She wanted—and she wanted this brave, strong, honest man. And she couldn’t walk away.
“Let’s just take it…each day.” She half sobbed and took that last step into his embrace.
His arms wrapped around her, bringing her home. His lips brushed her forehead for the briefest of seconds as they had that first day when she’d bumped it. Then he lifted her face to his and kissed her. She didn’t open her eyes again for a long, long time. But when she did she saw he had the satisfied look of a successful man who’d won what he wanted. Her heart soared as he whispered his promise.