Page 50 of Richard

They would be curious about her and end up finding out the sordid details of her aborted wedding. Her sister and Trevor would become involved in the entire scene. It had the makings of a salacious story. Two people in their forties getting together in this fashion.

“Collette?” He was staring at her with a frown.

“I need time,” she told him huskily.

His expression hardened; his face expressionless. “If you insist.” He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “We should be getting ready. We leave in half an hour.”

Collette wanted to call out to him as he left the room. She wanted the reassurance of his arms around her, convincing her that he would never break her heart. She had hurt him, and she hated herself for doing that. But she couldn’t afford to be hurt again. Never again.

Biting her lip, she got off the bed and went to take a shower. He did not come into the bathroom with her, not like he did before, and she felt bereft. When she came out of the shower, she noticed that every article of his clothing had disappeared.

Dressing swiftly so as not to be late, she packed her bag and met him downstairs. He had his back to her and was staring out the window. Not sure if she should say anything, she just stood there inside the doorway and watched him.

Her eyes wandered over the broad shoulders tapering to the narrow waist and the way he filled out his jeans. His legs were long, and she knew from experience that they were muscular and strong. His hair was immaculately groomed.

He turned then, hooded green eyes taking in her form. She was wearing a russet-colored sweater over her jeans and knee-high boots. She had pinned back her hair at the back of her neck and was wearing lip gloss, only.

“Ready?” His voice was cool and polite and reminded her of when she first met him.

She found herself longing to hear the Richard she had come to know in the last few days.

“Yes.”

“Good, the pilot is here.”

Taking her case, he went toward the door and opened it to let her precede him. She sat in miserable silence as they made the journey back home. He had not said a word to her the entire time, not even when they left the plane and were driving from the hangar.

His face was hard and uncompromising, his sensuous lips tight. She was so mired down in her misery that it was only when they pulled up at her gate, she noticed that he was dropping her off.

Pride prevented her from asking him why, and when she alighted the vehicle, she refused to allow him to see how hurt she was. He walked her to the door and waited until she had unlocked it before handing her the case.

“When you are ready to let go of the past, give me a call.” Without waiting for her response, he turned and bounded down the steps.

She waited until she was inside and had locked the door before allowing the tears to fall.

*****

His mood was mercurial. All the way home, he had to quell the urge not to go back and demand that she marry him.

But he had his pride and all of this, the love overflowing in his heart, the intense passion, the strange need to cradle her and protect her from everything and everyone. All of it was new to him and he had gone against everything he had believed in.

In less than a month, he had fallen head over heels in love for the first time in his life and had proposed like a lovesick teenager.

Pulling into the parking lot of his building, he sat behind the wheel, glowering at the foreboding weather. She had spoiled sleeping alone for him. He had made love to her countless times over the weekend, but his body was still yearning for hers.

He could taste her on his lips, still feel her tightness wrapped around him.

“Christ! You are a damn fool,” he muttered. If she had said yes to his proposal, he would have whisked her off to Vegas and tied the knot. But he was burning with anger that she had rejected him.

He was taking it personally, dammit, it was personal. And he was pissed that she was allowing her past to get between them. Shoving the car door open, he stepped out and strode toward the entrance of his loft.

*****

Collette felt as if she was existing in a vacuum. Her body felt sluggish. She had cried until she was weak and disoriented. And she was miserable. It took her half an hour to make her way into her bedroom, her feet dragging on the steps.

Dropping the case in the middle of the room, she sat on the sofa and tugged off her boots. Everything she was wearing was from him, even her underwear. He had thought of everything.

Richard McBride had marched into her life and upended it. She had been going on about her business, telling herself that she was healed, and then he came along. Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

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