At Any Price(102)

The cords on his neck pulled taught and his hands clenched into fists. He shook his head at me. “Unbelievable,” he whispered. We watched each other for long, tense moments, my fingernails clawing at my palms. I was flushed. He was pale. I was full of rumbling rage. He was simmering with quiet fury. We made an odd contrast in opposites.

His mouth tightened, and he shook his head. He turned from me and went to find his shirt where he’d hung it across the back of the chair by the desk. With short, jerky movements, he pulled it on and buttoned it.

I was anchored in my spot, unable to move, unable to speak. All I could do was feel—feel this pounding wave of agony washing over me as he withdrew, those hurtful words still saturating the air between us.

He grabbed his shoes, sat down and slipped them on. I watched, mute and helpless. Those words were like the threshold we’d crossed together earlier—something to hang between us forever, to link us together and push us apart. They could never be unspoken.

“Adam,” I whispered, suddenly fearing what he wouldn’t say more than what he would.

He looked at me, his eyes blank, cold. “You were right. What was I thinking? I’d finally decided I wanted a woman in my life. You’re just a sad, scared little girl.” He stood and spun, heading for the bathroom. And I was rooted, unable to move, breathe, think. Unable to focus on anything beside the pain blossoming inside me.

Minutes later, he reentered. I had gone to the couch, holding my knees to my chest, my mind racing with what to do, what to say. He walked to the door and turned back to me just before leaving. “I’m moving to another room for the night. I suddenly lost my desire to sleep here.”

I tipped my forehead onto my knees and he waited just a minute before jerking the door open and slamming it closed. I was cold inside. I could cry if I allowed myself, but the tears didn’t come. I squeezed my knees tighter to me, wondering what this meant. What would the plane ride home be like, sitting next to him, silent, seething?

And after that, after he dropped me off, then what? Never see each other again? That had been my clever safety mechanism, clearly delineated and structured from the start. But there was no deal to conclude. So what would be our conclusion? Complete and total estrangement—as if the fairy tale had never existed at all?

A tiny shard of glass pierced the center of my chest and my soul was bleeding. I didn’t want to think about it. Somewhere along the line, I moved to the bed and curled into a tight ball and fell into a restive, dreamless sleep.





Chapter Fifteen




I shouldn’t have worried about the plane ride home because he didn’t go home with me. In the morning, the majordomo brought me a note with my breakfast. It was a hurriedly scrawled and impersonal card, signed by Adam, saying he had business that would keep him in the region for another week and that he’d seen to all the arrangements to get me home safely.

Furiously, I shredded it, frustrated at his lack of willingness to compromise. It was all or nothing with him. So we would become strangers again because he had decided we should be strangers. My chest seized again in memory of our confrontation the night before. We’d hurled hurtful words like daggers and the wounds were still fresh, stinging. They might never heal.

Every time I looked at the empty seat next to me on the way home, something twisted in my heart. Already the space where he’d occupied my thoughts and musings felt like an empty, echoing room.

And then there was the annoying fact that every time I shifted in my seat, the twinge I felt was a reminder of all that had gone on between us and I relived every touch, every heated whisper, every kiss. I ached from the inside out.

***

Under normal circumstances, I would have gone to Heath’s house, probably by way of a supermarket, fetching myself a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and commiserated with him. But I was still angry with him about the e-mail he’d sent to Adam—the one that had sent us spiraling down this crazy path in the first place.

Instead, when I got home, I showered, closed all the curtains and slept the remainder of the day and into the next day. I didn’t bother to turn the phone on until I woke up at noon.

And of course, there was a message from my mom instructing me to call her as soon as the weekend was over. As it was Monday morning, I complied, riddled with guilt that I’d been ignoring her so much since the whole thing with this auction had begun.

I tried to ignore that hollow, aching feeling in my chest whenever I thought about Adam. I tried not to think about him as much as possible. I didn’t succeed very often. My mind seemed drawn to him, like white blood cells swarming on an infection. I laughed at that simile. How very appropriate. My obsession with Adam, this persistent soreness, was not unlike an infection.