what?’
A dozen expressions chased across her expressive eyes and finally resolved into caution. ‘She didn’t come. Today,’ she added when he just stared at her. ‘Today was a really big deal and she didn’t come. And I know that the complimentary air tickets were for two because I didn’t use my plus-one either.’
She had no one to bring. His antenna started vibrating with a bit too much interest at that piece of information and so he buried it under a landslide of hastily whipped up umbrage and forced his focus where it belonged. Defending Melissa was second nature.
‘She works. Hard.’
‘I know. You said.’ Then Aimee leaned forward and he got a flash of cream curve as her breasts rose and fell. ‘But so does your father, and I’m guessing he would have moved the earth to be there if it was your mother shaking the Governor General’s hand and being recognised by his country.’
A cold, twisted kind of ugly settled in his belly. It was sixty percent righteousness, forty percent guilt, and one hundred percent reflex. He’d had exactly those thoughts himself. ‘Are you offering me relationship advice? Seriously?’
His subtle emphasis on you didn’t escape her, and the hurt and disappointment in her expression were immediate. As if she’d been suspending breath, waiting for something to happen.
And he’d just been that something.
Shame bit—down low.
‘No.’ She smiled, but it was half-hearted and without the luminosity of before. ‘That would be like asking me to get you out of a stricken vehicle on a mountain. It’s just not in my skill set.’
He hated his own overreaction almost as much as how fast she was to put herself down when challenged. Both smacked of long-standing defensive tools. So her healing was still a work in progress, then.
She went on before he could. ‘But I do know something about people. And subtext. I’m trained to read between the lines.’
‘My relationship with Melissa is not fodder for your book,’ he stated flatly.
‘You think your wife is not material to your life story?’
He wiped his hands purely for the satisfaction of throwing his serviette down onto the table. The international symbol for this discussion is over. ‘I think if you want to include her then we should get her agreement.’
This was where a polite person would step back, oil the waters. Aimee just leaned forward. ‘You’re protective of her.’
‘Of course I am. She’s my wife.’
‘You love her.’
‘She’s my wife,’ he reiterated.
Her perfect face tipped. ‘Why are you so defensive?’
‘Why are you so pushy? Are you upset I didn’t tell you I was married? I met Melissa through one of my brothers, we were together two years and then we got married. End of story.’
Except that was complete bull. There was so much more to their story.
A hint more pink crept into her cheeks. Or was it just that the colour around it had faded? She leaned forward again, lowered her voice. ‘Why didn’t you mention her to me before? There were so many opportunities.’
A dangerously good question. Was it because he’d felt the simmering something between them in their perilous little nest on the mountainside and hadn’t wanted it to evaporate? Was he that desperate for a hint of attraction, even back then?
Uncertainty clenched, tight and unfamiliar, in his chest.
‘It was none of your business.’ Present tense included. How do you like that subtext?
Her face froze and her fists curled into nuggets on the table. She took a moment collecting herself. It reminded him of something …
‘I …’ She pressed her lips together, sat back.
It hit him then—what he was being reminded of. Aimee looked right now as she’d looked back on that mountainside. Pale … stiff. When she’d been in shock, but trying not to let on. It was such a direct echo of how she’d looked all those months ago, hanging off the side of the A10, that he couldn’t help the memories surging in. How close he’d felt to her when she was toughing it out in the darkness. How impressed he’d been at her calmness under pressure. How open she’d been with him about her fears and vulnerabilities. How hard he’d worked to keep her safe.
How connected he’d felt to her.
Apparently mutual.
Even now, after he’d just been a bastard and hurt one of the most open and innocent people he knew rather than manning up to his own inadequacies.
It was palpable.
He shifted to dislodge his body’s intense focus.
‘You know …’ Her face twisted in concentration. ‘I owe you an apology, Sam. I’ve spent so much time dwelling on those hours up in the highlands I think I’ve …’ she physically grappled for the right word ‘… infused them with too much meaning. That day was life-changing for me, but it really was just business as usual for you. No wonder you’re uncomfortable with the nomination. With my obsession on having you in my book.’ She reached forward and turned off the recorder, her eyes averted. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Shame gnawed at his intestines. He was being an ass. ‘Aimee …’
She forced her earnest gaze back to his. ‘I wanted to do something as meaningful for you as you did for me that day. And I don’t have anything to give you other than my interest and the way I see your story fitting into my book. I can’t offer you anything else to express how much you did for me.’
‘You don’t need to.’
‘I do need to. For me. I need to … balance the scales.’ She reached for her handbag. ‘But I’ve forced a connection that isn’t there for you, and I’m sorry.’
Everything inside him twisted. ‘Don’t leave …’
Her laugh was brittle and her hurried words were for herself. ‘I’ve already made a fool of myself with you once. I really should learn from my mistakes.’
That kiss. So she did remember it. ‘Aimee—sit …’
A tiny frown braved the storm of recrimination blustering around it. ‘I wish you all the best for the future, Sam.’ She was on her feet and swinging her bag onto her shoulder, and then a heartbeat later she was stepping away. Walking away. Doing what he should do. What was best all round.
But he knew he wouldn’t. He stood.
‘So that’s it?’ The corner of his lip practically curled. ‘Thanks for saving my life, Sam. Have a nice life.’ Two people at nearby tables tried very hard to pretend they hadn’t heard that.
Aimee slowly turned back to him, her face guarded. ‘You want my firstborn in return?’
Frustration ripped at him. He was screwing this up. Royally. ‘Don’t leave, Aimee.’
She stood like the proverbial salt pillar, indecision etched into her expression. So he battled on. Risked exposing his true self. ‘Your rescue was not business as usual—though it should have been. I don’t know what that means, and I don’t want to read into it, and I absolutely don’t want to do anything about it.’ He sucked in a breath, and the people at the next table abandoned their efforts to not listen in. ‘But you of all people asking me about my marriage was just too …’
He ran out of courage. And words. And air.
Her handbag slipped off her shoulder and she twisted the strap in her hands. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No. Not at all.’ But, yes, he really