On the First Night of Christmas... (15 page)

She picked up her sandwich and took a bite as he swallowed the last of his down. He took another swig of his water, swiped the spot of mustard from the corner of his lips, then dumped his napkin on the empty plate, a considering look in her eyes.

‘No need,’ he said. ‘I don’t have any shopping.’

She gulped the bite of her sandwich down, trying not to be too disappointed by the news. ‘That’s a first. I’ve never met a man who has all his Christmas shopping done before Christmas Eve.’

‘I haven’t done it already.’ He tapped his thumb on the side of his plate. ‘I just don’t do any.’

‘What do you mean you don’t do any?’ she said, disappointment replaced by shock as her eyes widened. ‘What about your family? Your friends? Don’t you get them presents?’

He didn’t seem fazed by the question, even though the very thought of not buying anything for people you loved was unthinkable to her.

He shrugged, the movement stiff. ‘I don’t have any family. And my friends know I don’t like to receive anything, so they don’t expect anything in return.’

‘But how do you celebrate Christmas, then?’ she asked, shock giving way to astonishment and an odd sense of sadness. She didn’t have any family any more either, not since her mother had died. Her father was still alive, but she’d given up on him years ago. Even so she’d filled the gap with a wide circle of friends—and Christmas had always been the perfect time to catch up and enjoy each other’s company. She loved the ritual of the season, the sense of love and companionship she shared with the important people in her life. How could you really participate in that without the giving and receiving of gifts? They didn’t have to be expensive. She’d splurged this year because she’d had a couple of successful commissions and had begun to make a name for herself as an illustrator. But she could still remember previous years when all she’d been able to afford were home-made stuff or bargain gifts, and she’d still enjoyed doing her Christmas list just as much.

‘Simple,’ he said, his voice devoid of emotion. ‘I don’t celebrate Christmas.’

‘You don’t …’ She paused, nonplussed by the blank look on his face.

Of course she knew there were people who hated Christmas, usually for specific reasons. It could be a stressful time, especially when your family life wasn’t great. And whatever Ms Tremall had meant all those years ago by a ‘bad home’ she suspected Jace’s family life might have been the opposite of great. But he didn’t sound as if he hated Christmas, just as if he were indifferent to it. Which somehow seemed even sadder.

‘But you must have celebrated it with your wife?’ she asked, her skin flushing a little at the boldness of the question.

She hadn’t meant to probe. She knew however curious she was about his past, she didn’t really have the right to ask him personal questions, but instead of clamming up as he had before, he simply leant back in his chair and studied her for a moment.

‘We weren’t married that long,’ he commented. ‘You know, if there’s something you want to ask me about my marriage, why don’t you just ask?’

Her skin heated. Had she been that obvious? Clearly, she had been if the implacable look in his eyes was anything to go by.

But despite feeling exposed, despite knowing she’d been caught asking something that was none of her business, and despite being certain that Jace’s offer to ask him about his marriage was disingenuous, the rapid ticks of Cassie’s heartbeat rose in her throat and she recalled the look in his ex-wife’s face five days ago. And admitted to herself that the naked pain in Helen’s gaze had niggled at the back of her mind ever since that day.

‘All right, I have got something to ask,’ she said softly, forcing the question out before she could stop herself. ‘Did you love Helen when you married her?’

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘D
ID I
love
her?’ Jace choked out a laugh, and wanted to kick himself for being so stupid.

Why had he opened himself up to this? He always kept things casual with women he slept with, and opening up the can of worms that was his marriage could get a little heavy. He should probably just lie. He’d done it before, because it had been the easy way out.

But somehow the earnestness in Cassie’s expression and the gently asked question made him hesitate. And then he really wanted to kick himself, because, however easy or convenient it was, he knew he couldn’t lie to her. Which was all wrapped up in watching her spend an hour devoting so much time and energy to getting presents for people he didn’t even know. He now knew just how sweet and genuine she really was—which meant it would probably be wise to let her know exactly the kind of man he was.

They had already agreed about the terms of their relationship, and that was great. But he’d seen the way she’d looked at him, knew that he was a first for her when it came to no-strings sex—and he didn’t want any confusion about what was really going on here.

‘No, I didn’t love her,’ he admitted flatly, careful not to put any inflection into his voice. The facts spoke for themselves. He watched the look of confusion cross her expressive face.

He could have added in his defence that as far as he was concerned there was no such thing as love. But once you said that, women had a bad habit of trying to persuade you otherwise. Or worse, find out why you thought that. Something he wasn’t about to get into. Because if the subject of his marriage was a can of worms he didn’t like prising open, the subject of his childhood was a whole barrel of them.

‘But if you didn’t love her, why did you marry her?’ she asked.

The delicious pastrami sandwich he had eaten sat in his stomach like a ball of lead.

He swallowed heavily and looked down at his plate. He probably should have expected the question, but it didn’t make it any easier to answer.

‘Her father provided the start-up investment for Artisan. He found out I’d been screwing Daddy’s little girl and gave me an ultimatum. Either I make an honest woman of her, or he was pulling the finance.’ He met her eyes as he said the words. He’d done what he had to do to get out. And okay, he’d made mistakes. Succumbing to Helen’s questionable charms being a whopper. But he’d paid the price for his stupidity and his lack of restraint. So why should he feel guilty about it now?

‘Basically, I married her for her father’s money. And not all that surprisingly, the marriage only lasted six months.’

Cassie didn’t look disgusted or even all that judgemental about what he’d told her, but annoyingly he still felt the need to justify his actions. Not something he’d ever done before. ‘Luckily, the company was a lot more successful. It was my ticket out and I took it. Whatever I did to get it was worth it.’

‘Your ticket out of what?’

‘Just out,’ he hedged. ‘It’s an expression,’ he added. He definitely wasn’t getting into that. ‘Anyway, Helen’s father died two months ago and left her his shares and his seat on the board of directors. Which is why I’m in London, selling the company.’

‘So you don’t have to deal with Helen?’ she said, making it sound like theirs had been a real marriage.

‘Nothing that dramatic. I can handle Helen fine,’ he said easily. ‘Unfortunately she has a problem handling me. Or rather leaving me alone. And anyway, it was time to let the company go. I was going to expand anyway. I’ve got more control if I start afresh, with a new board of directors. New designs. My own finance. And I can cut my ties to London for good.’

‘Did Helen know?’

‘Did Helen know what?’

‘That her father had forced you into the marriage?’

‘He didn’t exactly force me.’ He laughed, but heard the bitterness that he thought he’d got over years ago. ‘More like persuaded. There were no shotguns involved.’ He stretched back against the chair, glad to have steered the conversation away from anything too revealing. ‘But to answer your question, yeah, Helen knew,’ he said, thinking of the lies Helen had told her father, about how Jace had taken her virginity. ‘She was used to having Daddy get her what she wanted,’ he continued. No need to tell Cassie exactly how stupid he’d been—and railing against all the wrongs his ex-wife had done him had never been his style. His marriage hadn’t meant enough to him to make vilifying Helen all that worthwhile. ‘And for some unknown reason, she wanted my ring on her finger.’

‘She must have loved you,’ Cassie murmured.

He swigged the cool, clear water, astonished by how sincere she sounded. Did people really believe all that rubbish? But he could see by the forthright tilt of her chin, the conviction in her eyes, that she did.

Funny that her gullibility should seem enchanting though, rather than simply naive.

He jerked his shoulder. ‘Maybe.’ He didn’t care either way whether Helen had loved him or not.

What was a little disturbing, though, was realising that he did care what Cassie thought of him now she knew the truth.

‘Eat up,’ he said, nodding at Cassie’s sandwich, which she’d barely touched. He stood up. ‘I’ll go get us some coffee, then we can grab a cab.’

He wanted to get back to the hotel … where he knew lots of good ways to avoid any more dumb conversations about his past.

Cassie picked at her sandwich and watched Jace walk away.

He stopped at the diner’s retro counter, his shoulders stiff and unyielding as he spoke to the waitress. Taking her napkin out of her lap, Cassie folded it neatly over the remains of her meal as confusion made her stomach churn. What she’d learned about Jace and his marriage had killed her appetite completely.

He’d been surprisingly open, answering all her questions despite his statement on their first night that he didn’t like talking about it. And now she could see why. Despite his flat, emotionless tone, and the apparent ease with which he’d told her he’d married his wife for her father’s money, she couldn’t help thinking that what he’d revealed raised a lot more questions than it answered.

He clearly wanted her to believe that money had been his only motivation, but she knew it was a lot more complicated than that. For despite his obvious wealth, he didn’t seem like a man who was motivated by money. He didn’t even like to shop, for goodness’ sake. Which meant that it hadn’t been the money, it had been what the money represented—the opportunity to escape—that had really been driving him. So why had he been so desperate to escape? And what had he been so desperate to escape from? So desperate that he’d been prepared to endure a loveless marriage.

He wanted her to believe he was shallow. An opportunist. But she knew from the other things he’d said about the web design business that had been his ticket out that he’d worked extremely hard to make it a success.

As a teenager, she’d conjured up lots of badboy fantasies about how all he really needed was someone to love him and support him. Someone like her. All of which had been ridiculous, and had had much more to do with her need to be needed than anything else.

But maybe there was a grain of truth in some of it. Because she could see now that surly disaffected boy hadn’t disappeared completely.

He walked back through the tables, carrying a tray laden with her latte and his espresso. With his shoulders slightly hunched and his dark hair falling carelessly across his brow, she suddenly had a vivid picture of him at seventeen, the day he’d come into school with a vicious cut across his brow and a black eye. Everyone had assumed he’d been in a fight.

The rush of tenderness made her stomach lighten and an idea formed in her mind. A wonderful idea that she should have thought of sooner.

‘You didn’t finish your sandwich,’ he said as he placed the coffees on the table.

‘I know.’ She grasped her handbag, slung it over her shoulder, then took a quick burning sip of the latte. ‘I hate to eat and run, but I have to dash. I should take this haul back to my flat and wrap them. My best friend Nessa’s doing Christmas lunch tomorrow and everyone will be there.’

He sipped his espresso. ‘All right, I’ll see you at the hotel later.’ It wasn’t a question, but she could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and the tenderness wrapped around her heart, warming her more than the latte.

‘You want a hand getting all that loot into a cab?’ he asked as she gathered up the array of different bags, struggling to hold them all.

‘I’ve got them. I’m an expert at this, remember.’ Leaning over him, she gave him a quick kiss.

His hand settled on her waist, and he tugged her closer, turning the kiss from quick to burning in a heartbeat. ‘Don’t be too long,’ he said when he let her go.

As she dashed off past the displays of Japanese noodles and exclusive French wine she could feel him watching her, and a wide grin spread across her face.

Jace Ryan was going to celebrate Christmas this year. Whether he had planned to or not. Because it was way past time he discovered how much he had been missing.