Five or six days? She’s leaving me so soon?
“I couldn’t bear to start something that had no future, so this is not going to happen,” she added.
Five or six days? After the euphoria of finally being in her company again, it was like being doused with iced water. He sat stunned for a few moments, absorbing the disappointment, struggling through the morass of problems that kept them apart.
One of the staff approached their table and Christian somehow managed to flash Fiona what he hoped was a casual grin. As he loosened his clasp on her hand, the intensity of the atmosphere changed and he felt her slipping even further away.
Then the waiter began to acquaint them with the sumptuous feast to follow.
“Rome on Tuesday?” he asked once they were alone again.
“That’s the end of my leave.” She angled her chin at him as though challenging him to disagree. “I seem to remember you couldn’t wait to get rid of me a few weeks ago.”
“You were too dangerous. It was too soon.”
“It’s still too soon,” she insisted.
“And you’re still too dangerous. But maybe this is the only chance we have—away from the world and all its petty conditions and condemnations.”
He fell silent as the wine waiter arrived to pour the first of their wines—a Marlborough Sauvignon Gris—and listened impatiently to the description, wanting the man gone so he could return his attention to Fiona. He’d chosen most of the contents of the Lodge’s cellar himself, for God’s sake.
“Yes, it’s the rest of the world we have to worry about,” she replied once the man had bustled off. “For all sorts of reasons we’re an impossible combination.”
“And for all sorts of other reasons we need each other.”
Her eyes whipped up to his and she sent him a long very candid stare. Finally she shook her head.
“We can’t, Christian. It was bad enough leaving you before Christmas. That was after just a few days, and for most of them I was very sore and hardly knew what I was doing.”
His masculine pride rebelled at that. He didn’t want to let her hide behind her injuries—not when he’d been so lost in grief his composure and resolve had been ripped to shreds. He’d laid down his heart for her to walk all over, taken the risk, and gambled to win.
“Did you know what you were doing in the bathroom when you reached out for me?” he demanded.
Had he been mistaken after all? Was she so concussed and confused that he’d misread her intentions entirely? He waited for her answer, hardly daring to draw breath.
“Yes, I knew what I was doing then.”
Her voice sounded barely above a whisper, but it was enough to allow him to breathe again.
“And it just about killed me having to leave you after those strange magic days,” she continued. “I couldn’t do it again. Don’t ask me to repeat that pain.”
Christian bowed his head for a moment at the raw honesty of her words.
“What are we going to do, Blondie?”
He watched as she lifted her glass and took a sip of the superb wine, buying time to consider her answer.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “We’re going to do nothing at all. We’ve no other option.”
Fiona felt the blood leave her face as she forced the hopeless hateful words out between her lips. Yes, nothing was the right thing. Nothing was the best thing. But it was the coward’s way out. Christian had lost his beloved wife. Nicky had lost her adored mother. She could assuage the hurt for both of them, even if only for the next few days. But it would be at a terrible cost to herself.
She knew she must look pale with dread and strain after her cruel refusal.
But she was right. She knew she was right. However much Christian attracted her, he was Jan’s recent husband and nowhere near free to take up with his sister-in-law. He was forbidden.
It was a huge relief to see the waiter arriving with their first course. Finally she had the excuse to look down onto the food instead of having to avoid Christian’s dark gaze on the other side of the intimate table.
She took another sip of her crisp wine, sampled the mini-tapas, and couldn’t stop a groan of appreciation as the flavors exploded on her tongue.
“They’re seriously good,” she exclaimed, glancing up at him again.
“So our guests continue to tell us.”
“They beat anything from the chefs on the boat.”
“Bulk catering.” The twist of his lips told her what he thought of that.
She settled back in her chair and looked across at him once she’d finished her small but delicious portion. His expression was curiously serene for a man whose attentions had just been rebuffed.