Pleasure Point-nook (12 page)

Fuck no.

He shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t.”

“Alright, then. I’ll leave you to get dressed. And Roan? You might want a shower first.
I’ve seen you look better and the sweet island breeze can only do so much.”

He let out a low chuckle. “I’m certain you have. I shall take your advice.” He sobered
then. “All of it.”

Her chin lifted. “Good. See that you do.”

She turned and left with a small, dismissive wave of her hand, and he would have been
amused if his gut weren’t churning so damn hard.

He had to see Miranda. Had to talk to her. Hope she accepted his apology.

But then what? There was still Jenna to consider. And he wouldn’t—couldn’t—drag her
through another heartache, even if he now understood that he was willing to do it
himself for the first time in ten years. But only if he took that risk with Miranda.

“Well fuck,” he murmured under his breath as he got into the shower.

First things first: he had to see Miranda. Had to. As reckless as it felt not to go
in with a more fully-formed plan—particularly if it could involve his daughter—he
was going to fly in blind. But Joely was right—it was better than not flying at all.

She woke with her head pounding, blinking in the dark room. It was still night, then.
How long had she been sleeping?

The pounding grew harder, louder, until she realized it was someone knocking at her
door.

“Crap.”

She got up, still in her little pink robe. Shuffling through the apartment, she paused
to flip on a lamp, then unlocked the deadbolt on her door. “I don’t know who this
is, but it’s late and I think you’ve got the wrong—”

As the door swung back there he was. Roan. Had she ever imagined he’d come after her?
And damn it, if she had she might have soaked her post-crying jag eyes in a cool compress
or brushed her hair.

She was such a girl.

Even more so because her heart melted a little seeing him standing there, so damn
gorgeous with those incredible green eyes, his dark brows drawn, looking as disheveled
as she’d ever seen him in a pair of low-slung sweat pants and a plain white T-shirt.
More approachable, which also made her a wary. And hell, she was still mad at him,
no matter how damn sexy he looked.

“What do you want, Roan?” she demanded, hurt radiating through her chest, making it
go tight.

“I want to talk about what happened, Miranda. May I come in?”

She stood back, gesturing with a flourish of her hand—she didn’t know what else to
do. And maybe it was time for her to have her say about what had happened. “Be my
guest.”

He moved past her and it took every ounce of will and anger in her body not to breathe
him in. He sat down on the white sofa.

“Sit with me, Miranda,” he said. “Please.”

The anger rose, burning like bile in her throat. “You know what, Roan? You don’t get
to tell me what to do anymore.”

“I wasn’t…that wasn’t my intention. I simply wanted to try to explain myself.”

“There is no excuse for what you did earlier.”

“No. There’s not. Which is why I said ‘explain.’”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

“Miranda…you know I’m a widower. You know the sort of loss that can be. How it can
stick in places you aren’t even aware of.”

“Jesus, Roan. Are you going to tell
me
what it’s like to be widowed? Because I’ve had less than half the time you have to
deal with that, so I think I have a pretty damn good idea of what it’s like. And I’ve
come to realize that at this point it’s a lousy excuse for…anything. Which make it
about half as a good an excuse for you.”

“Yes,” he said simply. She waited for him to say more, but he sat quietly watching
her, a storm in his eyes.

Well, let him be pissed off. Fine. She was plenty fucking pissed. Let him see what
it felt like. She knew she was being childish. She didn’t care.

Finally he said, “Miranda, I know you understand this perhaps even better than I do
at this point. I do. But that’s only one part of what I’m dealing with.”

“What else, Roan? You have some girlfriend in San Francisco?” she asked, the idea
hitting her all at once. They hadn’t discussed being exclusive—of course they hadn’t—but
the words nearly choked her. “Do you have some sub there?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Well, I don’t know you very well, even after…” She had to force the words out as
she remembered the intensity of their time together. “…even after these last days
together. You could have women all over the world for all I know, being the big kink
lecturer and dungeon designer.”

He had the grace to look hurt. “Is that what you think of me? Because I’ll admit I’ve
played with a lot of women. Been with my share. But what you have to understand—
have
to,” he said, his voice breaking a bit, making her heart twist, “—is that none have
touched me in the way you have. None have managed to get inside. Because I never allowed
it to happen. It never even seemed to be an option. And then I met you and there wasn’t
a damn thing I could do to prevent it.”

“God damn it, Roan,” she said, her jaw clenching against the emotion welling inside
her. “Don’t say these things to me if you don’t mean them.”

He got to his feet, came up to her, towering over her. She’d forgotten how tall he
was. How incredible he smelled.

“I do mean it. Every word.”

She bit back the tears, swallowed them down hard. “Then what else are you dealing
with that has anything to do with you and me?”

“My daughter.”

She shook her head. “What?”

“Jenna is sixteen. I met her mother in university in London before I transferred to
UC Berkeley. It was one of those very short-lived things people have at that age.
I didn’t even know about her until after she was born, until I’d moved to the US.”

She could feel her eyes going wide. “You have a daughter? And you haven’t mentioned
her until now?”

“I don’t…I don’t talk about her to too many people. It’s complicated.”

Miranda leaned her back against the wall, the room spinning. “I think you’d better
tell me how it’s so complicated having a child you don’t tell a woman you’re… sleeping
with that you’re a father. People have kids all the time.” He reached for her hand
but she jerked away. “Tell me, Roan.”

He scrubbed at his jaw and for the first time she saw uncertainty stark on his face.

“Jenna was only four years old when I married my wife. Kerri was her name. I don’t
know that I’ve told you that. But I feel as if I have to tell you everything now.”

“I think you do,” she agreed quietly.

“We had Jenna come here, went to London to visit her as often as possible. She adored
Kerri. When Kerri died Jenna went through a terrible time. She’d become so attached.
I can’t tell you how awful it was to see my child’s grief. So much worse than even
my own. She was only seven—far too young to have to go through such a painful loss.
It wasn’t as if her goldfish died, damn it, or even some cousin she barely knew.”
Raw emotion made his mouth a tight line. “I swore I would never put her through that
again. And perhaps in there somewhere I swore the same for myself. So…” He shrugged.
“Complicated.”

“God, Roan.” She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I do. And
I understand that this seems pretty much like it’s insurmountable.”

He shook his head. “I just don’t know. I need some time to think it through. Because
it doesn’t involve only myself. I have to make my decisions based on what’s best for
her.” He let out a sharp laugh. “She thinks I’m an architect. Well, I
am
that. But she has no idea about all the places I design. Nor should she.”

“I’m sure you do everything you can to protect her.” Even as she said the words, knew
they were true and the mark of an utterly responsible and ethical man, her heart sank.

Insurmountable.
And he ‘just didn’t know.’ Her head dropped.

“Roan, I don’t think you really need any time to think about this. This is your child.
I understand why you feel you can’t have anyone in your life, having been through
what you have. Both of you. What is there to think about?”

He moved in, raised her chin with his fingertips, and she felt the tears burning behind
her eyes. “There’s plenty, trust me.”

Did she? Could she?

Don’t cry.

She swallowed, pulling away from his hand. She couldn’t stand it. Her heart was breaking
all over again, without the righteousness of anger to soothe her.

“I think you’d better go,” she told him, no matter how it hurt.

“I just need some time, Miranda.”

“I’m going into Miami tomorrow. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

“I’ll reach you on your cell if I miss you.”

She shook her head. “Can you…please go now?”

He moved toward her again. She flinched. He stopped.

“I am so damn sorry, Miranda. You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I do. Please go, Roan.”

He nodded, moved past her and out the door. She managed to close it behind him before
the tears came, pouring down her cheeks in hot streaks.

Insurmountable.

She leaned her forehead against the closed door.

“Fuck.”

Roan drove down to the beach, barely seeing the dark, sandy road winding in front
of him—he simply drove toward the sound of the sea. He parked, kicked his shoes off,
got out and began to walk down to the water’s edge. He let it wash over his feet,
walking until his calves ached from the shifting sand and the pull of the tide, strong
at this time of night. Finally he stopped and stood staring up at the stars and the
moon shining brightly from behind a veil of silvery clouds. He was in one of the most
beautiful spots on earth, but he couldn’t have cared less. All he could think of was
the conversation he’d just had with the woman he loved.

What if he allowed things to develop between them, allowed himself to love her? Hell,
what if he allowed Jenna to love her? And then things ended somehow. He was certain
he could survive, if not entirely intact, but did he have any right to risk that for
his daughter?

Jenna would adore Miranda.

He adored Miranda. Loved her. Loved her in a way he could barely comprehend. It felt
as if they’d spent five thousand nights together instead of only five. Was that what
the island magic was all about?

But…

What if Miranda got sick and Jenna had to go through that terrible pain once more?
What if he lost the woman he loved again?

He hadn’t expected to love a woman ever again. That had to mean something.

He was going in circles. But every spiral of thought led back to Miranda.

Staring up at the faery brilliance of a star-strewn sky, the powerful and magical
roar of the ocean in his ears, he knew what he had to do.

A cool compress hadn’t entirely taken care of her swollen eyes. Crying herself to
sleep for the second night in a row was something she wouldn’t recover from any time
soon. Physically. Emotionally. She felt spent. Empty.

She didn’t remember this about a broken heart—that feeling of being drained dry, unable
to feel anything at all but tired.

Miranda pulled her suitcase out from the closet. She’d already called Joely and told
her she was on for that shopping trip to Miami. She was meeting her at the plane in
an hour. She blindly threw a few items into the case. Didn’t matter. She could get
what she needed in town. Mostly she needed to get away from this place.

Running again.

Yes. She damn well was. She couldn’t stand to be here while he still was. Maybe she’d
rent an apartment for a few weeks in Miami, take a short leave of absence. She was
due one. And she frankly didn’t think she could really function any time soon.

She got dressed, realizing only when she passed the full-length mirror on her closet
door that she was wearing all black. Impatiently she off pulled the offending dress.

“No one’s died,” she grumbled to herself.

It felt as if someone had. It felt as if
she
had.

Biting her lip, she bit back new tears. The damn crying really had to stop at some
point.

Pulling on a short, sleeveless blue dress, she realized it was the same turquoise
shade as the bikini she’d worn on the beach with Roan. Damn it. She wanted to tear
that one off too when she remembered but stubbornly decided to wear it. She added
a pair of delicate gold and turquoise earrings, slipped into a pair of gold sandals
and she was set.

Miranda left a quick message for Vardalos, letting him know she’d be gone. She had
no idea what he’d do, what he’d think about her sudden departure, but she didn’t really
give a damn at the moment. He could take his job and… No. He’d been kind to her. But
like it or not, she was taking off for a while.

She went downstairs and one of the staff—someone new, thankfully, so she didn’t have
to get caught up in unnecessary conversation—took her to the dock where Joely’s puddle-jumper
bobbed cheerfully. She got out of the cart and the driver brought her suitcase and
set it on the dock beside her.

“Joely?”

When she didn’t get an answer she moved closer to the plane. Stuck to the side hatch
was a Post-it note. It said “Gone fishing. And you have company.”

“What the—”

“Miranda.”

She whirled to find Roan standing behind her.

“What’s going on?”

“A little friendly conspiracy between two people who care about you very much.”

“I’m leaving for Miami,” she said, helplessly, although that appeared to not be the
case.

“Not yet. Not until you hear what I have to say.”

“I heard it last night, Roan.”

He stepped closer. Her pulse was hot and thready in her veins—partly nerves, partly
hope she didn’t want to acknowledge.