His eyes met hers and she knew.
"You went without me." The knowledge of it hurt her, making her numb.
"I wanted to be alone."
She started to turn away again, but he dragged her closer. "I need my wife," he said through his teeth. "I'm sick and tired of flying solo when I'm not. I want you with me. I'm tired of sleeping alone. You're running out of time."
Her eyes blazed at him, and she did her best to cover the fear. "What does that mean?"
"Figure it out." He let go of her and took a step back. His eyes spoke volumes as they wandered over her exquisite face. "We'll discuss it more when we reach Scotland." One thick brow arched. "If you're still planning on it."
"Do you want me there?" She angled her chin and struggled to keep the hurt off her face.
"You know the answer to that." Without waiting for her, he walked away.
Chapter 10
She didn't leave, not right away. Turning around, she started towards the boardwalk and watched as the seagulls soared upwards, wings fluttering. They made bright dots against the heavy gray of the sky. Boats bobbed on the restless water and a few distance away, she could see a lone man riding the waves on a jet ski.
A chill drifted in from the open bay, prickling her skin even through her jacket. For a moment she stood perfectly still, letting the briny air sting her cheeks and whip a tangle of hair across her lips, tasting the salt and her own uncertainty. She pressed her palm to the cold metal of the railing, watching sunlight flicker in the eddies, searching for answers in the infinite motion of the water.
She heard the echo of Leon's words, the blunt ache in his voice, and despite herself she closed her eyes, breathing in the memory. His hands, the tremor of restraint, the familiar need drawn tight as wire between them. The ache in her chest was sharper now, tempered by longing and the weight of choices postponed.
The jet ski curved in a wide arc, its rider a dark silhouette against the shimmer, and she envied the ease of that movement, the reckless speed. If only she could outrun this ache, this gnawingsense that something precious was slipping away beneath the surface.
She pressed forward, moving with slow deliberation along the weathered boards, footsteps muffled by the hush of the wind. Seagulls wheeled and cried above, their voices a sharp counterpoint to the soft rush of waves and the low hum of distant engines.
At the far end of the boardwalk, she paused again, staring out towards the horizon where the sky met the sea in a bruised line of violet and steel. Scotland felt impossibly far away, and yet, somewhere in that distant promise, the next chapter waited, half-written and uncertain.
She drew in a long breath, squared her shoulders, and let the slow certainty settle deep in her bones. Whatever waited for her on the other side of the ocean, or in the unspoken spaces between herself and Leon, she would meet it head-on, her heart both heavy and fiercely alive.
The air of impending doom was upon her, and nothing was shaking it loose. She felt as if she was standing on the edge of a precipice, about to take a dive, with nothing more holding her than sheer will, but even that was slipping away. Easing outa breath, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Hunching her shoulders, she made her way back to her car.
*****
"I'm beginning to feel invisible." Constance toyed with the rim of her glass as she stared at the man across from her.
"Sorry." He managed to smile with great difficulty. "I have a lot on my mind."
"That much is obvious." Leaning forward, she was aware that the motion shifted the tight bodice of her dress to reveal the white orbs of her breasts. She had dressed with perfect care this evening, with the shameless intention of persuading him into her bed. When she had called and invited him to dinner, that had been the specific purpose, but now she was not even sure he knew she was there. It was annoying the hell out of her.
"Darling, there was a time when my considerable charms would have us both naked and breathless by now. You said you're involved with someone, but here you are having supper with me. Where is this 'someone'? And why haven't the papers beenall over the relationship of the gorgeous and utterly sexy Leon Whitlock?"
Leon's gaze dropped to his hands, fingers tangled around the stem of his glass, knuckles white with tension. He should not have come. Even being here with her like this felt like a betrayal to the woman he had made a vow to, the one who occupied every inch of his mind. He had left her standing at the harbor, looking lost and alone, because of how pissed off he had been. He still was, truth be told. He was tired of the waiting, of playing second fiddle and was going to force her to decide as soon as they were together again.
The muted light of the dining room flickered across his face, drawing shadows beneath his eyes that looked everywhere but at Constance. For a moment, silence pressed between them, thickening the air, and she wondered if he might simply get up and leave, walk out into the night without a backward glance.
Instead, he held her gaze. "Sometimes I think I've forgotten how to do this," he said, voice low and rough. "How to be present. How to want anything uncomplicated." There was a flicker of apology there, but also a stubbornness she remembered from years before. A refusal to give up ground he wasn't ready to lose.
Constance allowed herself a thin smile, bitterness threading her words. "I'm not asking for a fairy tale, Leon. Just honesty. Or at least a little attention. If you can't give me that, then..." She stopped herself, unwilling to finish the sentence, unwilling to beg.
He looked up at her at last, searching her face as if looking for a map through his own confusion. "You deserve more than scraps from someone who's still figuring out where they belong," he admitted. "I'm sorry, Constance. That's all I have right now."
She watched him, her disappointment settling in like cold rain, and realized with a jolt how much she'd hoped he would fight. Just a little, just enough to make her feel seen. But Leon simply sat there, weary, beautiful and lost, and the ache in her chest shifted from longing to acceptance.
"Then let's not pretend," she said quietly. "Let's just have dinner." She lifted her glass in a silent salute, her smile rueful, and Leon clinked his own against it, the sound soft as regret.
"Why don't we talk about my favorite topic? Me." Her charming smile had the tension easing from around his heart. He could deal with this, with them getting back to what they had been to each other over the years. Smiling at her, he settled in to enjoythe meal and her wicked wit that had always managed to charm him.
