The chauffeur deposited their luggage on the kerb, tipped his hat. ‘Would you like me to take them into the house, sir?’
‘No, that’s grand,’ he said, dragging a roll of bills from
his pocket and flicking out a tenner. ‘Thanks for your help, Joe.’
He watched the long black Mercedes drive away and settled on his course of action. He’d keep her with him for the next little while. He wanted her with him, in his house. But he’d make damn sure she didn’t get any closer. She was too close already.
He shoved one of the smaller suitcases under his arm, picked up the two larger. ‘Let’s take these up to mine. We need to talk.’
She blinked lids still heavy with sleep, her cheeks coloured. ‘You know?’ she said.
‘Know what?’ he asked.
Then she looked past him, her eyes widening, and all the pink leached out of her face. The small carry-on bag she carried clattered onto the pavement.
‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing past him.
He glanced over his shoulder and spotted the For Sale sign. He’d forgotten all about his conversation with the estate agent three weeks ago. He turned back and saw the horror on her face and the sparkle of unshed tears. Something fierce and protective clasped his heart—and not for the first time.
‘You’re moving out?’ she said, her voice so quiet he could barely hear it.
His first instinct was to tell her he wasn’t. He didn’t want to any more. But the minute the need to calm and to nurture welled up inside him, the panic closed around his throat. What was wrong with him? He didn’t want anything permanent. He didn’t need the responsibility. He’d had permanent before, he’d had responsibility and he’d failed at it spectacularly. He couldn’t risk it again. This was his get-out clause. He couldn’t afford to throw it away.
He shrugged, forced himself to ignore the misery in her eyes. ‘Sure. But with the market as it is, it’ll take a while to sell.’ Long enough, he hoped, for him to get over this infatuation once and for all. ‘Until then we can continue to enjoy each other. It’s been fun so far,’ he said, struggling to keep the seductive smile in place.
Daisy felt as if she’d been punched in the gut.
He was selling the house, moving out, and he hadn’t even bothered to tell her? And he was looking at her now, his face calm and nonchalant, as if to say, ‘Why would I?’ It was the same stubborn look he’d had on his face when she’d asked him why he had never contacted his movie-star brother. She looked down at the ring he’d given her and realised just how delusional she’d allowed herself to get.
She gulped down the tears tightening her throat, straightened her spine. ‘No, thanks. I’d rather make a clean break,’ she said. ‘Here.’ She tugged the silver band loose and held it out to him. ‘I should give this back to you.’
His jaw tightened as he looked down at the ring. He put the suitcases down, but made no move to take it. ‘Come on, angel. Don’t overreact. This isn’t a big deal.’
Maybe not to him, she thought, her heart shattering inside her. Her fingers curled around the ring and she felt the tiny diamonds cut into her palm.
‘Actually it is a big deal. Because I’ve fallen in love with you, you stupid moron.’ It wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to tell him, but even so his reaction was worse than any she could have imagined.
His mouth dropped open and his skin paled beneath the tan. ‘Whoah, what’s that now?’
Horrified. He looked horrified. Well, at least she had the answer to her ‘What if’.
Biting down on her lips so hard she tasted blood, she lifted his hand and slapped the ring into it. ‘It’s okay, Connor. It’s my mistake. I’ll go quietly. I’m not even going to make a scene.’
She thought of all the scenes her mother had made, all the scenes she’d had to witness over the years, and forced the vicious pain back, buried it deep. The only thing she had left was pride—and she couldn’t afford to throw it away, because she had a feeling she was going to need it.
She picked up her bag to leave, but he took her arm, pulled her round to face him.
‘What’s this now? You don’t love me. That’s rubbish. Since when?’
He didn’t sound horrified any more; he sounded angry. He wasn’t the only one.
‘Don’t tell me how I feel. I do love you, Connor. But you know what? I’m not asking for anything in return. Especially as it’s pretty obvious you don’t want to give it to me.’
She yanked her arm out of his, but he grabbed her back. ‘Hold on a minute. You can’t tell me you love me then storm off. That’s madness.’
‘Yes, I can, because you don’t love me back,’ she shouted, then realised she was making a scene after all. Damn it. ‘Well, do you?’ she whispered.
He flinched and she felt nausea churn in her stomach.