Page 210 of Modern Romance Collection Books (5-8)

‘Carrie...’

‘Do not!’ She pulled her whole body out of his reach as he followed her hasty retreat from the kitchen with a thudding stride. ‘Do not touch me. Do not talk to me. Because no matter what you say it’s never going to change. How you look at me...the way you see me. In your eyes I will never be anything more than his daughter.’

Even in that moment, even looking at him with exasperated eyes, Carrie thought how achingly beautiful he was. But all he ever saw was her father.

‘The only thing I want you to do right now is to leave me alone. And stop pretending to care.’

Once again he made no response before she turned and launched herself up the stairs, firmly pressing the door to her room closed and resenting the lack of a lock on the door. Not that she thought he would make any attempt to come to her, but Carrie wanted to physically complete the action of locking herself safely away from him.

Realising that every inch of her was trembling, she set herself down on the edge of the bed and dragged a sheepskin throw around her shoulders. She fixed her gaze on the verdant valley beyond the window, and when she felt her hand was steady enough reached for the glass of water on the bedside table.

Hot, hateful tears scorched her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as the depth of her stupidity pierced her all over again. She had prised herself open and revealed to him her heart, her scars, her fears. And with that caustic reaction he had thrown her trust and vulnerability back at her. Would she never learn?

Carrie assumed he would apologise, the same way he had before. He would blame too many emotions, too much stress, maybe. But she didn’t want another apology. She wanted him to be different, to be better.

And therein lay the problem.

She was waiting for him to be the man she’d met in Paris. Only that Damon didn’t seem to exist. And she couldn’t keep on waiting and hoping. Not again.

It was exactly what she’d done with her father—hoping and waiting for him to be a better man, a better father. A father who cared and who made time for her. She had waited and waited...and she was still waiting.

Carrie would not consent to subjecting herself to the same torment with Damon.

It might have felt like a fairy-tale when they’d met, but there was never going to be a fairy-tale ending for her and Damon.

CHAPTER NINE

ITWASNOUSE.Eyes wide, Carrie knew she wasn’t going to achieve any more of the fitful pockets of sleep that she’d managed throughout the night, so she flipped back the covers, slid her feet from the bed and, trying to make no sound at all, crept across the floor and eased open the door.

Firing glances left and right, to make sure the corridor was clear, she tiptoed down the stairs, making for the kitchen in search of an activity to occupy her mind and her hands—the only activity that would satisfy in her state: baking.

But she came to an uncertain stop when she saw the kitchen was already occupied. The doors were pushed back entirely and Damon was leaning with one strong shoulder against the wall, his attention fixed on the horizon, where the sun was cresting the gentle slopes of the mountains.

Her heart thudding, Carrie started to retreat.

‘Don’t leave.’

She stopped, the words commanding her even though they were the very opposite of what she wanted to do.

‘You don’t need to leave.’

He turned as he spoke and the moment their eyes locked Carrie felt all the pain of the previous night weave through her afresh, but the impact was dimmed by the sight of something dark harrowing his expression.

‘You’re awake early.’

‘I haven’t been to sleep,’ he admitted, eyes pinning her with their haunted darkness.

Carrie nodded and averted her gaze, walking towards the cupboards. ‘I was thinking of making some breakfast, if you’re hungry. Maybe pancakes. Or bagels.’

Opening a cupboard, she reached in and retrieved whatever her hands touched, too aware of Damon closing the distance between them to be able to concentrate. She didn’t want him near her because she didn’t know what she would do. The urge to slap him was very real, but so was the desire to sink against him, cling to his hard body and cry out all her pain.

‘I know you don’t want an apology,’ he began, sounding shaky and very unlike himself, ‘but I want you to know that Iamsorry for last night. For jumping to conclusions. And for hurting you.’

Tears pricked at her eyes. The words were kind, but as she had feared they were not enough. They weren’t the words she wanted, nor the ones she needed.

‘Let’s just not dwell on it, okay?’ she said, feeling exhausted at the thought of going round and round again and getting nowhere. ‘It’s not like it was anything new. Let’s just focus on how we can work together for the good of our child.’

She was letting him off the hook, so she didn’t understand why Damon’s expression remained bleak, his shoulders pitched high with tension.

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