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ROMANGARNERSTOODat the floor-to-ceiling window of his executive office in the Garner Building and stared down at the River Thames as it wound through the City of London thirty-two floors below. A light summer rain was falling, obscuring the stunning view he’d worked his ass off to earn. But it didn’t really matter, because nothing seemed to matter any more.
He felt like crap.
He’d cancelled the trip to New York he’d planned to take with Milly, not able to face the loft apartment—or dealing with the thousand and one things he’d left hanging in the US for over a month—without having Milly there with him, the way he’d imagined.
Without her vibrant personality brightening up the soulless concrete and steel design, and the empty spaces in his heart—which he hadn’t even known were there until he’d met her.
He raked his hand through his hair. And cursed under his breath.
How come he could still smell her? That intoxicating aroma of sex and flowers with the slight hint of turpentine from her art that had driven him wild on Estiva and made him want her, always. And how come he could still see the devastation on her face, when he’d walked away from her that evening in Wiltshire, after shooting everything to hell, deliberately?
He’d done her a favour, damn it. Done thembotha favour. He had nothing to offer her. Or any woman. He never had. Never would.
He’d always been broken. He could see it with such clarity now. He’d always shied away from commitment, from intimacy, for a very good reason. It was way too much trouble. And offered way too much opportunity to get hurt the way he’d been hurt as a boy. And he was right about the romantic declaration of love she’d thrown at him out of nowhere. She didn’t love him, she didn’t even know him, not really. They’d had two glorious weeks of sex and sparring, shared a few half-hearted home truths. That was all. And however jaded and tough and independent she thought she was, she had no idea how the real world worked. Or she wouldn’t have fallen for a man like him, decided to trust him, so easily.
But even if all the rational arguments, the qualifications and explanations for the way he’d deliberately used and humiliated her made total sense in his head—because he’d done it for her own good—he couldn’t seem to come to terms with the thought of never seeing her again. Never touching her or having her wake up warm and willing in his arms. Never being able to tease or tempt her, or watch her paint as if her life depended on it... And he couldn’t lose the scent of her in his nostrils. Like a phantom, torturing him, making him hard and ready when he woke up sweaty and yearning for her in the night.
He couldn’t sleep now, couldn’t eat, couldn’t even throw himself into work because he didn’t care about any of it any more. He felt more exhausted now than he had while he was struggling with the burn-out.
And worst of all, he couldn’t forget her—not her forthright, snarky, endlessly funny and challenging personality, not her succulent, seductive, responsive body, or her open, generous and honest heart.
He missed her, so much. And he was scared that would never change.
Not so much because of the stupendous chemistry they shared, or all the ways she had lit up his life—energising and invigorating him and making every single day seem richer and better and more exciting than the last—but also the way she had stuck by him.
Because no one had ever done that before. Not unless he was paying them.
She’d stood up to her family on his behalf, and made him want more. In the end, it had terrified him enough to make him determined to push her away as soon as he’d left Cade’s study.
Why, then, did he keep reliving the moment she’d told him she loved him? The way she’d hugged him and held him, when he’d needed it the most. In those raw, visceral, terrifying moments after he’d finally slammed Cade with the truth... And realised the guy hadneverknown who he was.
And why did some daft part of his heart want to believe that declaration still?
Because thinking about it incessantly was starting to drive him insane.
The intercom on his desk clicked on, and his PA’s voice echoed round the office.
‘There’s a Mr Brandon Cade here demanding to see you, Mr Garner. He has two solicitors with him.’
The name got his attention. And sparked his fury.
He swore again. But the fury died as he strode across the room, feeling weary right down to his bones.
He was too tired to deal with this nonsense now. But he supposed he was going to have to. After all, he’d been waiting for some kind of response to his accusations ever since he’d made them. He hadn’t expected Cade to turn up in person. But the legal team didn’t surprise him. He was probably going to get served with a lawsuit, now, for having the gall to suggest the Cades’ precious blood flowed in his veins.
‘He doesn’t have an appointment. Shall I insist that he make one?’ his PA asked, knowing Roman was not in the mood to see anyone, and hadn’t been ever since he’d returned to the office a week ago.
He toyed with the idea of sending Cade packing. It would serve him right for showing up unannounced. But he couldn’t even find the energy to despise Brandon Cade any more. Which just went to show how low Milly Devlin had brought him.
He snapped on the intercom. ‘No. Send him and his vultures in and hold my calls.’
He might as well get this confrontation over with. After all, everything else had been shot to hell, why not let his half-brother join the feeding frenzy?
Cade entered the office first, wearing a dark, double-breasted designer suit. His gaze was flat and direct, but seemed surprising neutral. Then again, he got the impression Cade wasn’t a man of strong emotions, unless his family was involved.
Unlike Roman, apparently.
Roman held out an arm to indicate the sunken seating area in the far corner of the room. ‘Take a seat. If you want a drink you’ll have to help yourself,’ he all but snarled, as a young man and an older woman, also sharply dressed in business attire, followed their boss into the open-plan space, both carrying briefcases.
