Page 57 of Unmasked

He cursed under his breath as he came around the desk. “I don’t want to lose you. But that doesn’t mean I have anything more to give.”

“You have plenty to give, Damian. But you refuse to take the risk.” She retreated, taking a step back for every one he took forward. “Or maybe it’s that I’m not worth enough for you to try.”

* * *

Her resigned tone twisted like a blade in his gut. Lainey was the most generous, beautiful, interesting person he knew, and that she felt worthless made him want to rage. His reluctance to enter into a relationship had nothing to do with her.

“It’s not about that.”

“It’s probably for the best, anyway,” she forged on, her eyes glimmering. “We’d never be equal. I’d end up living in fear, waiting for you to find someone better.”

“There isn’t anyone better, that’s precisely the point.” The words came out in a rush—too loud and too close to the bone.

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why don’t you want to be with me if there’s no one better?”

“Lainey, what do you want me to say? I never promised you anything, and there was a bloody good reason for that.” He reached for her, but she stepped away so sharply that he froze on the spot. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I do. So much. Too much, which is exactly why I wanted to keep things platonic.”

“I never realised how selfish you were,” she said. “How self-preserving.”

Jenny had looked at him the same way the morning after he’d found her with Ben, when she’d packed her bags to leave for good. Those wide, accusing eyes and that defensive posture that’d screamed why didn’t you try harder? had frozen him with guilt.

He wanted to fight, but there was nothing left. It would take him some time to process what’d happened—to figure out how to move on. How to repair his relationship with Lainey so that she stayed in the box he needed her to be in—one that wouldn’t allow her to get too close.

Walking away now was the smart thing to do—to give them both space to let the heat die down. He had no idea if he could fix things in a way that didn’t make her feel rejected.

But he knew one thing for sure: that wasn’t going to happen today.

“Self-preservation is important,” he said.

“Apparently.” Her eyes dragged over him, tears shimmering in a way that made her hazel irises look more green than golden brown. She was so beautiful it was painful to look at her. “Seems like I needed to learn that lesson.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, using every ounce of willpower to jam his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t bundle her up in his arms.

“But you did,” she said. “I blame me, though, not you.”

His head and his heart were at war—one telling him to comfort her and the other telling him to pull the trigger. To end it. He was immobilised by competing tensions—the desire to move forward in opposition with the fear of the past repeating itself.

Words danced on his tongue, so close to tumbling out that he had to hold his breath to keep them in.

I want to be with you.

No. It was guilt and desire talking, and he knew they weren’t his allies. He had to stay strong.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re right, you never promised me anything. I must have heard what I wanted to rather than listening to what you were actually saying.” She headed to his door. “I guess I’ll see you around...or not.”

A second later the door shut with a soft snick and Damian stood stock-still, his hands itching to throw something as he listened to her fading footsteps. When the elevator dinged in the outer office, he returned to his chair and slumped down.

He tried to tell himself he’d done the right thing. So why, then, did he feel like the world’s biggest bastard?

* * *

Damian had a go-to when it came to dealing with problems of the heart: denial. Along with that came an increase in workload so that he didn’t have time to think about all the ways he’d fucked up his life. Because there were many. Damian was sure he was successful in his business in spite of himself. In relationships...not so much.

Corinna and Imogen had thrown Lainey a going-away bash the day before, rounding up all her friends and family for a sensational send-off. He hadn’t gone. Instead, he’d sat in his suite and pored over the photo that had been waiting for him at the hotel’s concierge desk. It was old, slightly discoloured. But he remembered the occasion well. New Year’s Day, all those years ago.

She’d left this morning, flying from Melbourne to London via Dubai. According to Google, they’d departed on time and she’d been in the air exactly seven hours and forty-six minutes. He’d set up a notification on his phone so he’d know when she landed.

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