Upstairs, she opened the apartment door, kicking aside boxes of stuff she’d packed in preparation for leaving for Tokyo.
“You can go now,” she said, slamming her keys down onto the table beside the door. “I’m home. Safe.”
He ignored her, walking past her and down the hallway to her kitchen. “You need something in your stomach. Otherwise you’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”
She stared after his tall figure as he disappeared into the kitchen. What the hell? First, he rejected her as violently as possible, then pretended nothing had happened. And now he was going to look after her?
No. Fucking. Way.
Ellie stormed down the hallway.
In her little kitchen, Hunter had gotten out a glass from one of her boxes and was in the process of pouring her some milk.
“No,” she said fiercely, slapping her hands down on the other side of the breakfast bar. “I told you to go. I did not tell you to go into my kitchen and start pouring me milk!”
Hunter pushed the glass over the bench to her. “Drink it, sweetness.”
“I’m not a child, Hunter! Drink it yourself.”
“Don’t be difficult.”
“And don’t you act like my touch is going to infect you with some kind of horrible disease!”
For a moment a weird tension crackled between them. Then he said, “It’s never going to happen between us, Ellie. Do you understand? Never.”
It hurt. Hurt like a bastard. “Why not?” she demanded, uncaring now about what she let slip. It wasn’t like the whole situation could get any more painful. “Is it because I’m Vin’s little sister? Because you used to babysit me?”
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That’s part of it.”
“What’s the other part then?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t want you. I never have.”
Shit. Wrong again. It could get more painful.
Don’t cry, dammit. Don’t be so pathetic.
“Why?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Am I not pretty enough for you? Not sexy enough? Is that it?”
“No, Christ Ellie, no. It’s not any of those things. I don’t…feel that way about you, all right?”
“And I can’t change your mind?”
Something moved in his eyes but it was gone before she could tell what it was. “No. I’m sorry, you can’t.”
Ellie swallowed. “Okay, fine.” She struggled to keep her voice level as years of forbidden fantasies came crashing down around her ears. “I got it. Loud and clear.”
“I’m not saying this to hurt you.”
“Well, you have.” Oh she’d love to pretend she didn’t care, but the fact was that she did. Very much. And there was no reason for him not to know that.
His expression betrayed nothing. “You’ll get over it.”
No, she wouldn’t. She’d spent ten years wanting him, two of those with another guy in an attempt to move on. That hadn’t worked and she suspected nothing else would.
Ellie pushed herself away from the bench, the alcohol curdling in her stomach, making her feel vaguely nauseated. In the same way as all the curdled emotion with Hunter was making her tired. No, not tired, exhausted. Goddamn bone weary.
“I need to go to bed now, Hunter,” she said flatly. “Thanks for the chat. It’s been…edifying.”
For a moment he looked as if he might argue the point but all he said was, “You okay by yourself?”
“Of course I’m okay by myself.”
Slowly he came round the bench, pausing beside her, and her whole body went tight with the need to press against him. To touch him as she’d touched him back in his truck, the hard warmth of him beneath her hand. But she didn’t look up at him. Refused to acknowledge he was there.
“Let me see your wrist.”
She stared hard at the glass of milk in front of her. “Why?”
“I was rough when I pushed you away. I probably hurt you.”
“No you didn’t,” she lied.
Hunter muttered something under his breath, and before she could move, long, warm fingers circled her wrist, pulling it toward him. Ellie froze, every nerve ending alive as he pushed up the sleeve of her jumpsuit, examining the pale skin of her arm. She almost shivered as he ran his fingertips carefully over the delicate bones of her wrist, testing gently.
Bastard. How could he do this to her? How could he tell her he’d never want her the way she wanted him, then touch her, knowing how she felt? Touch her so carefully. So gently.
Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.
Ellie jerked her wrist from his fingers, no matter that it hurt. Then she looked up into his dark, handsome face. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she said, enunciating each word. Taking pleasure in them.
Deep in his eyes, something flared, glittering, and a second passed where it felt as if anything could happen. Anything at all.
But then he shrugged. Stepped back. And the moment passed. “I’ll see you around, sweetness.”
A minute later she was left in the silence of the kitchen with only a glass of milk, a sore wrist and an ache in her heart that didn’t ever seem to go away.
“You’ve had the invitation three weeks, Hunter, and you still haven’t RSVP’d. Can I assume you’ll be attending?” Philip Chase’s voice was, as ever, smooth, civilised and polite. Sounding every inch the respected corporate lawyer he was. The lawyer in his wood-paneled office, shelves full of bound law reports, sitting in his massive office chair, adjusting the waistcoat of his three-piece suit. His silk tie would be knotted exactly so, his handmade Italian leather shoes shiny. Image was important to Hunter’s father, part of the edifice of respectability he cultivated. The façade of wealth and privilege he used to hide so many things. It made Hunter sick.
“I don’t know,” he replied, keeping his tone casual, leaning against the dusty bonnet of his truck, the metal hot against his sweat-slick bare skin, tool belt heavy around his hips. “I have a fuckload of work to do.”
His father didn’t rise to the bad language bait. But then he never did. Philip Chase was made of Teflon—everything slid right off him. “That is not a good enough excuse. You’re expected.” A hint of disapproval tinged his tone.
Hunter shifted against the side of the truck, staring sightlessly out over the busy construction site and the house Fox Chase was currently building. Anger twisted inside him, the same formless anger he always felt whenever he spoke to his father. Whenever he had to deal with anything that involved his family. An anger that had no target because he wasn’t supposed to be feeling it in the first place. With a conscious effort, he swallowed it down. “I’ll take a look at my schedule,” he said after a moment.
“Well, I appreciate that, Hunter,” Philip replied with careful emphasis. “Justin will be most disappointed if you don’t come. And so will I. It’s a happy family event and I’d like you to be there.”
Of course his father wanted him to be there. Philip liked to present a united front because that’s what he liked the world to see, regardless of how screwed up the family behind the front actually was.
“Well,” Hunter said smoothly, edging the words with a touch of sarcasm, “we wouldn’t want to disappoint fucking Justin, now would we?”
There was a small, offended silence.
“Don’t say things like that,” his father said tersely. “You’re not a sulky teenager anymore.”
In his father’s study, the door closed, his heart beating hard and fast. Sick with fear at what he’d said. And Philip’s imperious face, taut with anger.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want to hear such filthy nonsense from you.”
“It’s true, Dad! Why would I lie about something like that?”
“No, not another word. Get out and take your lying tongue with you.”
Hunter closed his eyes, forcing the memory away. No, the memories had no power over him. Not now. “Yeah. Whatever. I’ll be there, okay?”
“Good. And will you be bringing a date?”
“Maybe.” Perhaps he could find some slutty blonde in an inappropriate dress to bring. His father would love that.
“If you do, let us know as soon as possible, please. Liz will be finalising the seating plan in the next couple of days.” Philip sounded as if he were speaking to his PA or some other work minion.
The sun-warmed metal of the truck burned against Hunter’s bare skin. But this time he didn’t move. “Sure, Dad.”
An uncomfortable silence fell.
“It will be good to see you, Hunter,” Philip said after a moment. “You hardly ever visit these days.”
“I have a lot of work on. You know that.”
“I didn’t think the construction industry was that busy.” Philip’s usual distaste for what he saw as manual labour was more restrained than usual. “It’s been nearly three months since we last saw you.”
Three months? Christ, it felt like only yesterday. “The business is growing. It’s time consuming.”
“Yes, well. I suppose we can talk about that at the wedding.”
No, they would not talk about that at the wedding. They would not talk about anything at the wedding. Not if he had anything to do with it. “Fine, Dad. I gotta go.”