Page 32 of Love Is: Two Bodies One Soul

ChapterNine

Sittingon the eight o’clock train to London, Xander stared at his own reflection in the darkened window, and relived Lexie’s tongue lashing. Her accusation that he cared for no one hurt. Didn’t she know he cared for her? When she ordered him out of her car, saying she didn’t want to see him anymore, he’d had a horrible feeling she meant forever. As if he weren’t already depressed enough – that was the final straw.

On the underground, still feeling wounded, and claustrophobic in the pungently stale air, Xander inspected his fellow passengers, wondering what sort of Sunday they’d each had. Couldn’t be worse than his, he thought. In fact, his whole weekend had been hell. Ever since mad Friday. Just as he was wishing he could turn back time, his attention was caught by a red-headed woman along the carriage. Was it Kate? Something inside him leapt. If he grovelled, took her for an expensive dinner, would she forgive him? Was this his chance to undo the biggest mistake of his life? He started to stand. Then the petite woman with curly red hair turned and looked his way. She was a stranger.

With a stabbing pain in his chest, Xander slumped back, no longer able to ignore that Lexie had been right. He was a cruel bastard, and worse than that, he was a fool. What he’d done to Kate was cruel beyond speaking but ending with her was the worst mistake he’d ever made. He could hear his sister’s voice saying, ‘And you’ve made some humdingers over the years.’

* * *

As soon asXander opened his front door, he was overwhelmed by a heavy scent. He stopped and listened. No sound. Just the smell. His nostrils twitched, and belatedly he recognised it was Samantha’s perfume. His least favourite thing about her. He’d left her that morning, drowsy in his bed, telling her to tidy up before she left. Pity, she hadn’t opened a window or two.

He walked into his living room and flung the window wide. Cold air blasted in, wet from a fresh rain shower. Xander inhaled, trying to clear the memory of Samantha. A glance around the room told him she’d left nothing except her perfume and the litter of their nights together – dirty plates and empty wine bottles. Domestic Goddess, she was not, but he couldn’t be bothered to clear it away. His bed was what he wanted. A long hot shower to get clean and then sleep. Alone.

Unaccountably the smell of Samantha grew stronger as Xander walked towards his bedroom. He imagined her spritzing the damned perfume along the hall in a weird animalistic marking ritual. She could forget that. No way was this Samantha’s territory. But it wasn’t his either. Not with that smell seeping out of the walls, not without Kate beside him. He was lost without her.

He pushed the door to his bedroom and saw the flicker of candlelight. The flames from tea-lights reflecting on every surface danced in front of him; and stretched out on his bed, Samantha.

Xander cursed silently and said, ‘I thought you’d gone home.’

‘I waited for you.’ She sat up, gathering the sheet around her body, falsely coy.

‘Great,’ Xander said, like he didn’t mean it. ‘Look,’ he went on, moving into his room as if it didn’t belong to him. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like my own space tonight. I’m knackered.’

Samantha tossed back her long dark curls, eyeing him sullenly, not even trying to hide her disappointment that he hadn’t stripped and leapt into bed with her as she said, ‘Xander, I’ve waited all day for you.’

‘I didn’t ask you to.’

‘No,’ she pouted at him. ‘But after a dull day with your old folks and your boring little sister. I thought you’d like to come home to me.’ She deliberately let the sheet fall from her breasts.

‘I don’t like,’ he snapped back, on the verge of losing his temper. ‘In fact…’ he paused, restraining his anger, suddenly feeling sorry for Samantha. There was something very desperate about her. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t Kate and never could be. His body seemed to curl in on itself at the thought of what he’d thrown away. He had to stop this thing with Samantha now. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, but there is no kind way to say this … I don’t like you enough, Sam, for this to be anything more than a weekend fling. An aberration.’

Samantha’s expression changed. She threw back her head, letting out a brittle laugh. Did she think he was joking?

‘Thank you! Thank you for your honesty,’ she said, pulling the sheet around her body again. Then she ruined the illusion of dignity by adding, with a curl of her lip: ‘It’s true what they say about you. You are a complete shit, Xander Scott!’

‘If you say so.’ He shrugged. Nothing she could say could hurt as much as his sister’s words earlier or the damage he’d done himself. Too absorbed in his own pain, he couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care about Samantha’s feelings. He sighed and, turning towards the bathroom, said, ‘I’m going to take a shower. I’d be grateful if you were gone when I come out.’

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