And then there was the stomach-curdling knowledge that he bore his father’s genes. As a kid he’d picked fights. As a sixteen-year-old he’d swung one proper punch that had had a devastating impact. Patterns by definition repeated themselves, and the risk that he might turn out like his father was sickeningly r
eal.
But at least the cycle of abuse ended with him. He’d vowed never to marry, never to have children, and to never ever let anyone close enough to tempt him to break those vows. Even if there was no pattern, he couldn’t be a part of anyone else’s life. At least, not anyone he might be foolish enough to allow himself to care about. The consequences were too severe. He couldn’t be relied upon. He let people down. And if he’d ever wished it could be any other way, well, he’d stamped out that kernel of hope and yearning many years ago before it had a chance to take root. Because in the long run everyone was better off if he remained alone.
But God, he didn’t want to be alone right now, he thought, his jaw tight as he stared unseeingly at the city stretched out far below his penthouse, grey and wet beneath heavy clouds and relentless rain. Not with the darkness of his adolescence, the regrets and the guilt closing in on him on all sides. His entire body ached. His head throbbed. The emotions he preferred to deny he had were bubbling fiercely beneath an increasingly fragile surface, and the effort of suppressing them was pushing his formidable will to its limit.
Right now, he wanted to forget who he was and what he could never have. He wanted to forget everything. He wanted to lose himself in the oblivion of a warm body, long limbs and soft sighs. But not just anyone. He wanted Kate.
For weeks he’d buried the memories of the evening she’d spent in his bed. He’d put her in that taxi, set his lawyers to work, and that had been that: funding in place, desire assuaged, problem solved, the details shoved away in a corner of his brain and left to gather dust.
Today, however, with his iron-clad defences suffering a battering and the string of sleepless nights catching up with him, the memories were pushing through the cracks and invading his thoughts in scorching, vivid detail. He kept remembering the silk of her skin and the sounds she’d made. The taste of her mouth and the heat of her body. Her courage, her loyalty and her vulnerability and, most of all, the way that when they’d been talking she’d briefly made him forget who he was.
And he wanted it all again. He wanted her again. With a clawing ache that had his body as hard as stone and was becoming increasingly unbearable.
However, he was just going to have to bear it because while he could want all he liked, there was no way he was going to actually seek Kate out. He would not be that weak. One night was all he ever allowed himself. Two with the same woman represented the kind of risky behaviour he’d always spurned. He would not indulge it. Nor would he ever again put himself in a position that demolished his control, because without control, what was he? He didn’t want to know.
The grim turmoil of today would pass. It always did. He just had to get through what was left of it. Tomorrow he’d be back on track and unassailable for another three hundred and sixty-four days. In the meantime, he’d find solace in work. While many who’d grown up in similar circumstances to his had found oblivion in drugs and alcohol, he’d always found it in the pursuit of success. It had worked for him for the past sixteen years. It would work for him now.
Setting his jaw, Theo swivelled his chair round. In the drawer of his desk he found a packet of painkillers, popped the two that were left and made a mental note to buy more. He turned to one of the three screens on his desk, and was in the process of opening his inbox when his mobile rang.
‘Yes?’ he muttered, forcing his attention to the latest email from the head of his corporate finance team, which came with a stark lack of suggestions for how he might push through the Bridgeman deal.
‘I have a Miss Kate Cassidy in the lobby,’ said Bob, the concierge who manned the desk twenty-three floors below. ‘She wishes to see you.’
As the information hit his brain, Theo froze. His heart slammed against his ribs and his gut clenched. His concerns about the deal evaporated and his head emptied of everything but the knowledge that Kate was downstairs, bulldozing the boundaries he’d established and breaching his space, as if in his dangerously febrile need he’d somehow conjured her up.
But he could not see her. He was too on edge, his mood too dark. Her effect on him was too unpredictable, and the last thing he wanted was to be blindsided again. So he ought to instruct Bob to send her away and keep her away.
Yet what if she was in trouble? What if he had her thrown out and something happened? Could his conscience bear any more guilt? No. It couldn’t. So he’d find out what she wanted, deal with it, and then get rid of her. And it would be fine. She was just one woman. He’d faced far worse. He might have once temporarily lost his mind with her, but he wouldn’t lose it again. Weakness of will led to unpredictability, which led to damage and destruction, and that was unacceptable. So this time he would be prepared. This time he would be resolute and unflinching. This time would be different.
‘Thank you,’ he said curtly. ‘Five minutes, then send her up.’
* * *
How much longer was she going to have to wait? Kate wondered as she perched on the edge of the sofa in the vast lobby of Theo’s apartment building and rubbed her damp palms against her jean-clad thighs. It had already been four minutes and fifteen seconds since the concierge had told her to wait, and her nerves were shredded. Deciding to confront Theo and tell him about the pregnancy was all well in theory, but in practice it was lip-bitingly, heart-thumpingly terrifying.
How would he respond? What would he say? She’d had twenty-four hours to get used to the idea, but it was going to come as one massive shock to him. Would he be pleased? Would he be horrified? She didn’t have a clue, and it was impossibly tempting to get up, spin on her heel, go home and leave it for another day.
But she wasn’t going to do that, she told herself, sitting on her hands to save her nails. It went wholly against her recent resolution to be bold and brave. Besides, she had to tell him at some point, and the sooner she got it over and done with, the better. She might even be pleasantly surprised. And who knew when she’d get another chance? Just because she’d struck lucky with him being home today—a Saturday—didn’t mean she would again, and it was hardly the sort of conversation she wanted to have with him at work.
So she’d wait for however long it took and try to refrain from chewing on her already raw lip. She’d admire her lavish surroundings instead. The giant dazzling chandelier that hung from the ceiling cast sparkling light across the polished marble floor and mirrored walls. The furnishings were tastefully leather and quite possibly cost more than her flat. The difference between the worlds that she and Theo inhabited could not be more marked.
What was he going to think?
‘Miss Cassidy?’ said the concierge a moment later, his voice bouncing off the walls and making her jump. ‘Mr Knox will see you now.’
Finally.
‘The lift on the right will take you directly to the penthouse.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, mustering up a quick smile as she got to her feet and headed for said lift on legs that felt like jelly.
The doors closed behind her and she used the smooth ten-second ascent to try and calm her fluttering stomach and slow her heart-rate. It would be fine. She and Theo were both civilised adults. They might be chalk and cheese, but they could handle this. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t as if she was expecting anything from him. She just had a message to deliver. It would be fine.
But when the lift doors opened and she stepped out, all thoughts of civility and messages shot from her head because all she could focus on was Theo.
He was standing at the far end of the wide hall, with his back to a huge floor-to-ceiling window, feet apart, arms crossed over his chest. The interminable rain of the morning had stopped and sunshine had broken through the thick cloud. It flooded in through the window, making a silhouette of him, emphasising his imposing height and the powerful breadth of the shoulders. Although clothed in jeans and a white shirt, he looked like some sort of god, in total control, master of all he surveyed,