‘Give me a break,’ he scoffed. ‘What does that even mean? Love’s just a word people use to justify lust or dependency or both,’ he said.
‘That’s ridiculous. How can you say that? Haven’t you ever been in love?’ She looked even more astonished, but what annoyed him was the distinct note of pity.
‘Are you telling me you have?’ he countered.
‘Of course, I have.’
‘Who with? Who have you been in love with?’ he challenged. What kind of guy would be able to trick Ruby into thinking she was in love?
‘What? Do you want a list or something?’
‘Yeah, I guess I do,’ he said, surprised by the twinge of jealousy.
‘All right, then. Fine.’ She plopped down on the bed and crossed her legs. ‘Jackson Dalton was my first love. He lived across the road from us and had these dreamy brown eyes and incredibly cool dreadlocks. And…’
‘You see, that’s lust, pure and simple. You fancied this Jackson guy.’ Like all women, Ruby had fallen into the trap of thinking her baser instincts had to be justified by purer, more altruistic emotions.
She cocked an eyebrow. ‘So suddenly now you’re an expert?’
‘I’m just stating the—’ ‘Yeah, I know what you were just stating, Westmore. Get your mind out of the gutter. I was eleven. At that age even I didn’t know about the joys of sex. He walked me home every day after school. He told me about how he was going to play for Spurs and I told him all about my plans to open the best Italian restaurant in London. We never even kissed. It was the least lust-inspired love affair I ever had.’
‘What you’re talking about is puppy love.’ He thrust a finger at her. ‘Where’s Jackson now if he was so important to you?’
She grasped his finger. ‘Quit cross-examining me, barrister. He moved to Manchester when I was twelve.’
‘How convenient,’ he said.
‘God, Westmore. Cynical, much?’ She huffed. ‘Are you seriously telling me you never loved any of your girlfriends? Ever? How is that possible? According to your sister you’ve had billions.’
‘Billions is a slight exaggeration,’ he said laconically. ‘But I can safely say, I have never been in love and I intend to make damn sure I never will be.’
She didn’t say anything for the longest time. ‘Cal,’ she whispered. ‘That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’ The sympathy in her eyes made him stiffen. ‘Why not? Why wouldn’t you want that in your life? To have a connection with another human being that matters? How can you reject out of hand the one thing in human existence that can make you feel fantastic and doesn’t cost a thing?’
‘Doesn’t cost a thing?’ he sneered, the bitterness he’d thought he’d buried years before scolding his throat. ‘It costs plenty. What about pride and dignity and self-respect?’ Wow, someone had really done a number on him. That was the only explanation, Ruby thought sadly. How could anyone want to close themselves off from all the wonderful things that went with falling in love?
The companionship, the sense of connection, the sweet comfort of familiarity and routine when you’d been dating someone for a while. Of course, there was usually
a price to pay when you fell out of love again, she thought, remembering the sense of failure when she’d finally had to admit to herself that Johnny, like Ty, her teenage boyfriend, and even her first love Jackson before him, wasn’t the one after all. It had hurt, but that cruel moment of disillusionment and disappointment had never been anywhere near as bad as the wrenching pain of losing her mother or her brother.
‘Who was she?’ she asked, unaccountably angry with this unknown woman.
‘Who was who?’
‘The woman who destroyed your faith in relationships?’
His brows lowered, his confusion clear. ‘There wasn’t a woman. I told you, I don’t fall in love. That’s for fools and romantics. I’m neither.’
The flat defensive tone tugged at something deep inside Ruby. The hard expression on Cal’s face reminded her of Nick, and all those times she’d seen him try to hide his hurt and vulnerability behind a scowl.
She pressed her palm to his cheek, sympathy for him overwhelming her. ‘Cal, there has to be a reason why you don’t trust anyone. Is this something to do with your parents—and the disastrous marriage you told me about? Is that why you’re so cynical?’
He drew back. ‘It’s not cynicism. It’s realism,’ he said, the bitterness making his eyes glitter. ‘They put Maddy through hell with their constant rows and reconciliations.’
‘And they put you through hell too.’
‘No, they didn’t. Because I knew their marriage was a sham. I knew he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. That he made promises he couldn’t keep.’
‘How did you know?’