No Longer Forbidden? (16 page)

His cold fog grew worse when the car slowed outside a low building. Nic finally came out of himself long enough
to see how gray her complexion had gone, leaving her makeup as slashes of garish color against her waxen face.

“Are you going to throw up?” He reached for the ice bucket.

“It’s stage fright.” Her shaking hand went to her middle. “I didn’t eat, so nothing to toss. It’ll go away as soon as I’m on.” She left the car like a ghost rising from a grave, her movements elegant as always, her collected expression niggling at him.

Was she really not the least bit worried? If timing was so reliable there wouldn’t be an overpopulation problem. Or had she already made a decision that a baby
wouldn’t
happen, no matter what?

He took Rowan’s elbow as they climbed the stairs, consciously easing a grip that wanted to tighten with urgency. His heart pounded.
Don’t, Rowan. Please don’t
.

People were already seated inside—hundreds of them. Once they sat, a man in robes invited them to bow their heads. It was surreal, given his state of mind, but cleansing. This
was
the right thing to do. He should have known, should have trusted that Rowan understood these things better than he did.

As she moved to the podium a few minutes later he noted that she had regained some color, but her eyes were still too big for her face. He watched her with a fatalistic rock in his chest. She was so much better than he was, rising above a difficult childhood like a phoenix, able to sing her mother’s praises, warm and beautiful, while he carried only the ashen darkness of his childhood with him, staining everything black.

He had nothing to offer a woman and a child but the same bleak void he’d grown up in. Making her pregnant would be a disaster. He had no choice but to pray it wouldn’t happen, yet a torturous want crowded into him.
A deep, undeniable ache filled him to be better than he was. Damn Olief for never setting an example or instilling confidence in him when it came to interpersonal relationships. He’d left his son floundering, armed only with a shaky desire to succeed without any skills to back it up.

Rowan’s eyes met his as he struggled with his need to be everything his own father wasn’t. Her voice cracked and her hand came up to cover her trembling lips. Her self-possession began to fall apart and threatened to shatter Nic’s. Purely out of instinct he pushed to his feet, moving to stand beside her. It was like stepping into cold fire. He hadn’t meant to put himself in this position. Public speaking didn’t bother him, but this was different. He never put his emotions on display, and his intense feelings were just under the surface while a sea of faces stared.

He took Rowan’s hand. It was so icy his heart tripped in concern. He closed his fingers tightly over hers. She pointed to a place on the page and he began to read.

“‘Olief tried hard to be a father figure to me …’” he began, the words evaporating on his tongue. Olief
had
tried with Rowan, and maybe that was the takeaway lesson. He had to say goodbye to Olief’s failings as a father and look forward with his own purpose and approach and simply
try
.

Rowan squeezed Nic’s hand with all her might, fighting back the breakdown that had come down on her like an avalanche when she had met Nic’s tormented gaze. He was genuinely worried she’d turn out to be pregnant. She’d seen it back at the apartment, had even tried to brace herself for reassuring him how remote a possibility it was, but dread turned like a medieval torture device in her. He’d be relieved and she would be crushed.

The arrival of the car had saved her, but as she’d stood up here, playing the part of the good daughter, all she’d been able to think was that it was her mother’s fault she
had no periods. Even before the intensity of ballet classes the pressure had been on to mind her calories. Rowan had felt like a hypocrite, talking up the woman she resented deep in her heart. Then she’d looked into Nic’s eyes and known he didn’t want her to conceive, and with equal fervor knew she wished she
could
.

Yet wouldn’t.

It had been too much, and she was clinging to composure by her fingernails.

Nic closed with a few personal words of his own, Rowan swallowed, and thankfully they were able to sit down. But Nic didn’t let go of her hand. Maybe that was her fault. Her fingers were white where she entwined them with his. She stared at their linked frozen hands as one of her mother’s friends rose to sing an Irish ballad.

The worst was over. She only had to get through the reception in the adjoining hall without betraying her inner tension. As they stood to move through the doors that were thrown open for them she disengaged from Nic’s grip. “You don’t have to stay,” she offered, even though he’d said he wasn’t angry about the service anymore.

His dark brows came down like storm clouds, scolding and chilly. “I’ll stay.”

She felt a lash of fear. A wild impulse to bolt from here whirled through her.
Very mature, Ro
. But there was something resolved in his expression. She sensed a
Talk
looming and wasn’t prepared to face it.

“Suit yourself,” she murmured, and let herself be drawn by people who were anxious to express their condolences.

Nic wondered if he had imagined her clammy grip on his hand. She was so willing to have him disappear now. Because she blamed him? She had every right. He was the experienced one—in more ways than one. He shouldn’t have taken such a risk with her.

He wished it was as simple as saying she had provoked him, but that wasn’t right. Hearing she’d been hurt by his neglect had rattled him.
“Maybe if you’d spoken to me …”
But he’d been afraid to speak to her, afraid she would hurt him again with all that he’d told her. He hadn’t liked facing that he was a coward who had avoided her out of fear.

“Does sleeping with me make you hate me less?”

Yes, it did. Which scared him even more and made him profoundly aware of his inability to love. He’d said something crude at that point, infuriated that he could never be what she needed and deserved. The futility of their relationship had struck home and he’d wanted quite desperately, just for a second, to bind her to him in the most irrevocable way possible.

He watched her work the room filled with screen stars, diplomats, business magnates and overgrown titled children. For the first time he didn’t see a spoiled girl demanding attention. He saw a young woman who ensured everyone was noticed, greeting individuals affectionately and putting them at ease.

He did his duty, distantly thanking people for coming, but he couldn’t help acknowledging what a perfect foil Rowan made for his innately brisk demeanor, brimming with natural warmth and beauty. If their lives became bound by a child—

He refused to let the thought progress, still disturbed by the near yearning he’d felt as he’d contemplated becoming a father while saying goodbye to his own. He tracked down Franklin Crenshaw instead, waiting out the requisite expression of sympathy before nodding at the elegance of the wine and cheese reception.

“I appreciate all you’ve done. Please send me the bills.”

Frankie shook his head. “Rowan made all the arrangements. I only opened an account for her.” A rueful smile
twitched the man’s lips. “But I’m not surprised she’s asked you to settle up for her. She doesn’t want to owe me, does she?”

Nic slipped into his investigative reporter guise. “Why do you say that?”

“Because she knows how I’ll ask her to repay me.”

“She can’t dance,” Nic asserted, instantly protective of her injured leg.

“No, but she can act. Look at her. What a way to spend your birthday,” Frankie said under his breath, stealing a glass of wine from a passing tray.

The date struck Nic like a bludgeon, taking his disgraceful behavior this morning to a new realm of discredit.
“Never a good morning or a thank you …”
His insides clenched against more evidence that he failed at interpersonal relationships.

“She’s hanging by a thread,” Frankie said with pained admiration. “No one else sees it, but when that girl can’t find a smile you know she’s on her last nerve.”

Nic took it as judgment.
He
was the reason her stress level was through the roof.

“I bet she hasn’t eaten either,” Frankie mused.

With a soft curse, Nic excused himself.

Rowan was wrung out by the time they returned to Nic’s suite. She could barely unzip her boots and pull them off her aching feet.

Nic shrugged out of his suit jacket, then poured two drinks—brandy, she assumed. He brought them to her and she did what she had done with the coffee, tea, and plates of food he’d handed her throughout the long day. She set it down on the nearest surface.

He sighed.

“Don’t be mad, Nic. I can’t do it,” she said lifelessly.

“I’m not mad, but we have to talk.”

“Not now. I just want this day to be over.” She saw him wince, and regretted being so blunt, but the service had been hard enough without the undercurrents between them. He’d never left her side and she was at the end of her rope. “I’m going to bed.”

Nic picked up her untouched drink as she walked away, considering going after her. But why? So they could continue battling to keep their emotions in check? He was done with crumpled tissues and weepy embraces. His wall of imperviousness couldn’t stand another hit. Ro had it right. Finish the day and start fresh tomorrow.

But his tension wouldn’t ease until they’d talked through the various scenarios and how they’d react to them. He couldn’t imagine sleeping with so much on his mind and resented her for dragging this out. How could she be so calm about it? Didn’t she realize what was at stake? That their lives could be changed forever?

Look who he was dealing with, though. Rowan was the first to turn anything into a joke.

Frustrated, he carried his drink in one hand and tugged at his tie with the other, heading for his bedroom and a fruitless try at sleeping. As he passed Rowan’s door he heard a noise. A deep, wrenching sob.

His heart stalled, then kicked in with a painful downbeat. Filled with dread, he slowly pushed the door open. She sat on the side of the bed, one arm out of her shirt, the fabric bunched around her torso as she rocked, keening, her face buried in her white hands.

The jagged pressure that swelled behind his sternum threatened to clog his lungs. Something between an instinct and a memory pushed him further into the room, even though his feet had gone so cold he couldn’t feel them.

He set aside the glass and touched her arm. “Ro, stop.”

She clutched at him, face running with makeup. “I’m trying,” she choked. “But nothing will ever be the s-same again …”

Her distress threatened his shaky control, urging him to run before his defenses fell completely, but he couldn’t leave her like this.
Actress
, he thought and felt like a heel for thinking she wasn’t affected by all that had happened today. Of course she was. Beneath the beautiful armor and impudent wit was a scared kid who kept taking on more responsibility than was hers to carry.

It struck him that he’d taken advantage of her when he took her to bed. She’d been at a very weak moment in her life. This was why she’d given herself to him. She was losing the life she’d known and now faced even bigger changes.

“It’s okay,” he lied, brushing away her ineffectual hands, desperate to sop up his guilt. He never should have touched her. He smoothed her hair, releasing the scarf when he came to it. “You’re going to be okay, Ro.” His shoulders throbbed with remorse. He stripped her to her undies and eased her beneath the sheet, desperate to tuck her in and close this day for her.

Tomorrow they’d talk. What he needed now was time to come to terms with the injury he’d done her if he’d got her pregnant.

“Don’t leave, Nic, please,” she pleaded, pressing his fingers to her soaked cheek.

He wavered. She was an iceberg. He compromised by toeing off his shoes and dragging his belt free one-handed, remaining clothed as he moved under the covers. With a tight embrace he tried to keep her shuddering frame from falling apart.

“Just until I fall asleep,” she murmured. “Then you can go. I’m sorry.”

“No,
I’m
sorry,” he said with deep anguish, and soothed the fresh tension that gathered in her. “Shh. Go to sleep. It’ll be okay,” he lied again, while the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy circled in his mind like a shark’s fin. “You’ll see.”

CHAPTER TEN

R
OWAN
stretched and the hot weight of blankets surrounding her moved.

When she opened her eyes Nic’s arresting blue eyes were right there, hooded and enigmatic, fixed on hers. His jaw was smudged with a night’s growth of bronze-gold stubble, his hair glinting in the morning sunlight pouring through the uncovered window.

Her breakdown last night came back to her in a rush. The day had been an endurance event of fielding enquiries about her leg and her future. She didn’t have any pat answers, and through it all Nic had loomed over her like a giant microscope, seeming to watch her every move.

The tension hadn’t let up, so it was understandable that after holding them back all day she had let her emotions get the better of her when she was finally alone. Letting Nic find her at such a low point and grasping at him like a lifeline, however, made her feel more raw and exposed than after the wicked things they’d done to each other in the throes of passion.

Flinching in vexation, she sat up to let her hair curtain her face while she tried to minimize how defenseless she felt. “Gosh, was that
your
virginity I just took? I can’t imagine you’ve spent many nights fully clothed in bed
with a female without the precursor of sex. Be honest—not counting this one, how many?”

“She’s back,” he remarked under his breath, pushing away the covers and rolling to sit on the far edge of the bed. “As it happens, you’re not my first,” he stated flatly. “I used to let my baby sister snuggle up to me when she’d had a bad dream.”