Honest Betrayal (15 page)

He resumed his meal. “I thought women liked men who could provide.”

“They do, but money isn’t enough.”

“Money helps.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t keep a marriage together.”

“If two people who are compatible get together, marriage can work. Especially if their essential needs are met.”

She shook her head, firm. “That’s not enough.”

“What else is there?” He held up a hand. “Besides love.”

She lowered her gaze and stabbed a grape. “There also has to be a mutual regard and a willingness to surrender.”

“A willingness to surrender?”

“Married people call it compromise.”

“So you’re not willing to compromise?”

“Neither are you.”

“Why would I need to? I’d be in charge.”

“How long do you plan to be married? Three months, a year?”

“I’d like it to be forever.”

He said the words with such sincerity Brenna could no longer be glib. She met his eyes. “Compromise is the ability to concede without feeling weak, to consider the needs and desires of the marriage above your own.”

“But a marriage should reflect your needs not hinder them.”

“A marriage is about two people not one.”

“Yes, the head of the household and his partner.”

She groaned. “As you speak, don’t you ever feel the noose being fitted around your neck?”

“I am in no way lessening the role of a wife, but you cannot have two chiefs.  There are marriages where the husband concedes to the wife, but that isn’t me.”

“And I won’t concede to anyone.”

He thought a moment. “Concede isn’t the right word. Agree. I won’t make unnecessary demands. I would take good care of you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Yes, you do.”

Brenna let out a breath, exasperated. “Sometimes I wonder if you see me or a hologram. The wife you’re looking for is certainly not me.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“True, but you have all the qualifications I would want in a wife. It doesn’t take months to be certain. If the right facts are available in a decision making situation you grab the opportunity. It’s similar to finding the perfect employee and hiring on the spot.”

Brenna gripped her fork, keeping her voice level. “You think of a wife as an employee?”

Hunter thought for a moment unaware of the hard edge in her tone. “Yes and no. There are similarities. Marriage is like a business. There’s a contract and expectations from both parties. You create a product that happens to be children.”

“Then the discussion is over.”

“Why?” 

“I don’t want to have kids.”

His eyes swept over her face trying to catch her in a lie. “But you’d make a wonderful mother.”

“You don’t know that. I might whack them with my cane when I’m in a bad mood.”

He pushed his plate aside then rested his elbows on the table. His eyes watched her with intense speculation. She knew it was a dangerous look. She could almost feel him stripping her bare. “You’re not telling me something.”

Brenna was desperate to change the subject before he completely exposed her and she lost her temper. “Are you finished with your breakfast?” She reached for his plate.

He grabbed her hand. “I don’t believe you don’t want children.”

She snatched her hand away, but knew she was trapped. She tried to break down the invisible snares with anger.  She pushed herself from the table. “I don’t care what you believe! I don’t care that you and my mother and most of the world see me as a failure because I’m not married or have aspirations to be so. I don’t care that you pity me or think I’m pathetic.”

His voice was soft, although his eyes were hard. “I don’t think that.”

She gripped the table her voice low with venom. “You’re missing the point.
I don’t care.
I don’t care about you. I don’t care if you have a weird view of marriage because even if I did want to marry, I’d never marry you. Ever. Is that clear?”

He didn’t answer right away, letting a few moments of silence chill the room. Eventually he said, “Very.”

 She stood. “So I wish you the best of luck on your search. I hope you find the best employee, I mean wife, you can buy. Someone who will settle for the salary you’ll provide her in order to assure her loyalty to you. I’m sure there are plenty of women ready for that career. Becoming Mrs. Hunter Randolph will be quite an achievement.”

Hunter leaned back in his chair, running his forefinger back and forth along the table. He sat with an unsettling calm that made her wary; he had the patience of a predator waiting to strike. “And just what will you do while I’m on my mercenary quest?” he asked in a neutral tone. “Hide in that beautiful office of yours and fix other people’s lives so that you don’t have to focus on your own?”

Brenna grasped the back of the chair. “I’m good at what I do and I help a lot of people.”

He lowered his gaze his voice never changing. “No doubt. After all you’re helping me.” His eyes captured hers. “But you’re scared of life.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Too scared to make this real.”

“There is no this, no us, no relationship. There’s nothing between us but a bargain.”

“You think by denying it, it will go away?”

Her palms began to sweat. “You’re trying to trap me, but it won’t work. Your name suits you, but you will not be able to capture this prey. I know you, Hunter. I know that you’re addicted to the chase. It’s a high for you. An emotion so potent it could be mistaken for lust. Your passionate nature escapes, but you’re too much in control to let it rule you. So you analyze it and make it suit your purpose. You can fool yourself into believing you want me, but you cannot fool me. You hate that I’m in control of this.”

Hunter rose to his feet and came towards her. Inside she trembled, but she never moved. His voice grew cool as though a weapon to paralyze her in place. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes had the same affect. “Admit that you’re afraid.”

Brenna boldly met his gaze. “I’m not afraid of you. I’d no sooner fear my shadow.”

“I didn’t say you were afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

He raised a mocking brow igniting her temper more.

“You have no idea what I had to survive. The rubber cane was only a fraction of the taunts and torture. The names are still in my head. The kids threw them at me like stones and they penetrated. They thought I was without feeling because I continued to hold my head high. I think it disgusted them that I—a freak—would have the gall to think something of myself. I can close my eyes and remember every humiliating moment. And the look on my brother’s face when he’d try to get them to stop. He couldn’t. But I was smart and got good grades. I joined clubs and made friends. Despite the surgeries, despite the part time job after school to pay for medical bills I survived. I’m not afraid of my past or my future. You’re the one who is afraid. So afraid to disappoint your family that you’re willing to marry a stranger to please them.”

“I don’t take marriage lightly. You should be flattered I asked you to marry me.”

Brenna’s voice cracked. “Flattered? You mean grateful. Don’t worry, I am.” She fluttered her lashes. “I’m very thankful kind, sir. It fills my desolate life.”

He glanced away frustrated. “You’re so quick to take offense. Why—” He stopped as something became clear. “I know what you’re afraid of.”

“What?”

“You’re afraid to be loved.”

Brenna stiffened. “And how would you know that when you don’t love anything? Was that why your first marriage failed? She was so starved for love she left you? I know why Janice did.”

His eyes flashed, he gripped her wrists until the heat of his palms threatened to scorch her. He was no longer a hunter, but a storm of emotions left too long shimmering beneath the surface. His voice carried the weight of his heart. “The marriage failed because
I
loved
her
and she didn’t love me. I loved Angelina more than...” He bit back the words. “Anyway, she left me.” He pulled her closer his breath warm against her face. “I loved her eyes, her voice.” His lips brushed against Brenna’s neck—wet, warm, wanting. The caress tender, yet painful since it was not meant for her.

“The color of her hair.” He ran a hand through hers. His fingers gentle, yet every strand felt as though it was being ripped from her scalp. “Her lips, her hands were so light and small in mine.” He brushed his lips against her knuckles. His hands slid to her waist, his lips capturing hers as the passionate love he’d felt for Angelina spilled out, shattering Brenna until she felt she would crumble into dust.

“I learned that women marry for other reasons than love. I didn’t care as long as she was with me. As long as she was mine.” His voice grew quiet, echoing with remembered pain. “But love wasn’t enough to keep her so I let her go and the marriage ended.” His eyes held hers. “And I vowed the next time would be different.”

 He released her, the storm dissipating as suddenly as it had come. Brenna gripped the chair to keep from falling. His tone turned neutral almost bored. “Do you see how suited we are together? You’re afraid to be loved and I refuse to love ever again.” His tone deepened. “I admire you.” He watched her lips thin and sighed. “But not even that small compliment is something you can accept. So you’re right. I do pity you.”

She slapped him—hard. A thin line of blood trailed down the side of his mouth.  She smiled coldly. “Do you pity me now?”

He gripped the side of her neck, his thumb grazing her jaw. “You expect me to hurt you because you believe men and women are equal. But I’m not your equal. I’m stronger.” He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “I could knock you to the ground with one swipe of my hand.” He brushed her other cheek. “And you know that. You know that I could hurt you very much. And a part of you wants me too because that’s the language you understand. The language of pain. You understand taunts and torture not tenderness.”

Brenna let her gaze fall no longer able to meet his. “I will not be pitied.” She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Hunter dabbed at the blood on his chin. “No.”

“Would you like me to slap you again?”

His tone was as cool as frost. “I’d like to see you try.”

She turned away. “I’ll call you a cab.” She ignored her trembling fingers as she checked the phone directory and dialed. When she was through, she saw Hunter hadn’t moved. He stood staring at the ground his lip swelling, a purple bruise forming. She grabbed a napkin and handed it to him. “Wipe your mouth.” She clenched her teeth, hating herself for caring. “I’m sorry.”

“An apology carries more weight when you mean it.”

“I do mean it.” She grabbed her purse and handed him several bills. “For damages.”

He frowned at the money. “Twenty dollars? My face is worth at least a thousand.”

She gave him a few more bills. “Here’s fifty. Now shut up and finish your breakfast.”

He sat quietly for awhile then said, “I wish I knew where Byron was.”

“Why?”

“I feel like hurting him.”

“I didn’t realize you were violent.”

He lifted a brow. “I could say the same.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

He glanced up at her. “Now I believe you.” He returned to his breakfast. “I think you were saving that slap for him.”

“Because he pitied me too?”

“Yes, and because you loved him and he didn’t love you.”

Brenna sat down, clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking. “Do you know why people like me hate pity? Because pity means ‘something to be regretted’, something to be sorry for. As though we’re a mistake in life and everyone can look at us and say ‘Well I thought my life was bad, but look at you at least I’m not like that’. No matter how much I’ve succeeded. No one wants to be me.” She grasped her leg. “People see this.” She swallowed back tears; he’d never seen her cry. “So promise you’ll never say you pity me again.” She lowered her voice. “You can think it, but don’t say it.”

“I wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.”

Hunter rested his fork down. “I understand that I’m not your romantic ideal. Perhaps I’m no one’s romantic ideal.” He shrugged unconcerned. “That’s okay because I don’t believe the world can function on that. I’m a good man, I work hard and I’m decent to those around me. I don’t like admitting any weaknesses, but I will admit that my previous marriage, although years in the past, was—is—a sore spot. I was good to her. ” He sighed. “So I won’t pity you if you don’t mention her.”

Brenna reached out and touched his hand, hoping the gesture would express her thanks. “Another bargain?”

“Yes.”

She smiled gently. “Angelina lost a good man.” They heard the horn of the taxi outside.

 He picked up his fork, quickly finished his food then stood.

She followed him to the door. “You aren’t really going to take my money, are you?”

“Of course I am.” He stuffed the money in his wallet. “Serves you right. You can’t go around slapping men because you feel like it. Besides it saves me from giving you a reason for really slapping me.”

“Like what?”

He gently touched the side of his face. “Ravishing a woman on top of her kitchen table usually gets me into trouble.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’re right.” His hand fell to his side all humor gone from his tone. “The last woman who slapped me did so because she saw in me something she didn’t want to see.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “A man who thinks she’s wonderful.”

Brenna took a step back. His words were too dangerous to believe. Yet she wanted to. “You think I’m wonderful?” She smirked. “You must be very lonely.”

He pulled her to him, his voice insistent. “It’s more than lust. No, listen to me. This coming weekend will be the last time I’ll ever see you and a part of me is glad because I’m not your Prince Charming and I can’t wake you from this dream you’re in. This dream where you’re just a woman with a bad leg and only successful in your career. A dream where you can’t see that you’re so much more than that. So much heart and compassion you’re too afraid to see.”

Tears built up in her eyes. Her voice was a whisper. “You’re hurting me.”