threatening to slit her wrists.
His last memory was of walking out of the
house, glancing back over his shoulder and seeing her fall to her knees, her
face filled with fury and anguish that he didn’t seem to care if she took her
own life. He hadn’t, at the time. Later, he’d rung one of her friends to make
sure she was all right, but it was more out of guilt than out of genuinely
caring whether she lived or died. In many ways, he knew it would have been
easier for him if she had died, although the guilt would have been even worse
then, probably bad enough to ruin any future relationships for him.
Now, though, she seemed calm, and when her
gaze came back to him, her eyes danced with the playful humour that had kept
him coming back to her so many times even though deep down he’d known she was
bad news.
“So how’s it been?” she asked.
He stirred his coffee, which he hadn’t yet
touched. “Good.” He lifted the cup, blew on the coffee, then returned it to the
saucer untouched. It was no good—he couldn’t do this, acting like nothing had
happened. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting Laura,” she said.
He searched his brain—her cousin? “And
while you’re here you thought you’d look me up?” He couldn’t remove the
cynicism from his voice that she happened to be visiting the week before the
wedding.
She tipped her head. “Is that so unlikely?
I haven’t seen you for an awfully long time, Dexy. I know we didn’t end well. I
just wanted to say hi.”
He shuddered at her nickname for him,
remembering how she would whisper it in his ear while they had sex. He shook his
head as if he could rattle the memory out of his head, but it lodged in there
like a tick in a dog’s fur. “‘We didn’t end well’ is the understatement of the
year,” he snapped. “You told me you were pregnant to get me to marry you.”
“I thought I was,” she mumbled.
He said nothing, knowing she was lying. Out
of guilt, her friend had told him the day of the wedding that Cathryn had
admitted to her that she’d faked the pregnancy to get him up the aisle. No
doubt a few days after she had a ring on her finger, she’d have faked a miscarriage
as well.
Nausea rose inside him. He didn’t want to
think about it.
“I’m getting married,” he said.
She smiled. “I know. I’m pleased for you,
sweetie.”
He didn’t believe that for one minute. “Oh
really?”
She shrugged. “It’s been two years. I’ve moved
on too, you know.”
He wondered who she’d got her claws into
now. Some poor sap who had no idea what he was getting himself into. But for
the first time some of the stiffness faded from his spine. Maybe she was
telling the truth—maybe she really was just visiting the area.
“Who is she?” Cathryn asked.
Dex hesitated. He didn’t want to talk about
Honey, not with his ex. He looked at his watch. “I really need to go.”
“Does she make you happy?” Cathryn
whispered. “I know you never believed it, but that’s all I ever wanted.”
“Yes, she does make me happy.” His voice
could have cut steel.
An impish look crossed her face. “Is she
good in bed? Only I know how important that is to you.”
“We haven’t…” The words were out before he
could stop them, and he bit his tongue, cursing himself inwardly, sure she
would start laughing. But her face registered curiosity and interest rather
than amusement.
“You haven’t slept together?”
He pushed the full coffee cup away. “We’re
waiting until we’re married.”
Something crossed her face, gone too soon
for him to catch. “How romantic.”
“I thought so.”
She leaned forward, resting her arms on the
table. The movement pushed up her breasts, showing a generous amount of
cleavage above the low cut top. Was she aware? Of course she was, he decided.
Cathryn had been very conscious of body language and had always utilised it to
her advantage.
He forced himself to keep his eyes on hers
and not to glance
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