The Pleasures of Winter (33 page)

Abbie felt as if she had been punched. Twelve years ago Jack would still have been in college. There was no way that he would strike anyone unless they were involved in a BDSM relationship. She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea washed over her. Was that why Jack was so paranoid
about his privacy? Why he had insisted on a clause in their agreement about not revealing details of their relationship? Safe, sane and consensual was Jack’s mantra. He would never become involved with someone who was unwilling. Had the girl in Ireland betrayed him?

Abbie looked at the byline: Matt Lawson and Abbie Marshall. ‘I didn’t write this.’

‘No, but you found it. Good work getting the tip-off. Josh Martin was right, you’ve got great instincts for a story. We just filled in the gaps. It’s just gone to print. We’ve just been on to his agent, Zeke Bryan, but he’s playing dumb.’

Oh dear god. Jack would think that she had written this. She had to speak to him. She grabbed her purse and punched in Jack’s cell phone. ‘Come on, please answer. Please answer.’ It went straight to voicemail.

OK, she would go there, explain to him what had happened. Jack could call the newspaper to confirm how they got the story. It would be OK.

The cab dropped her outside the metal gates and Abbie buzzed the intercom. There was no reply. She pressed the buzzer again and Ben answered. Oh thank god. ‘Ben, it’s Abbie, please let me in. I need to talk to him.’

‘Mr Winter is indisposed, ma’am. He’s not available to visitors.’

Abbie tapped impatiently on the metal plate. ‘Please, Ben. I’m not visitors. I need to talk to him.’

She heard a reluctant sigh and the low sound of a motor running as the gates opened. Abbie raced up the driveway
to the house and found Ben waiting beside the limo, her bag at his feet.

‘He says to take you back to the hotel. He doesn’t want to see you.’

She could feel the tears pricking behind her eyes. Jack had to see her. She had to explain what happened. ‘I can’t do that, Ben. Not until I speak to him.’

Ben shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t recommend it. He’s inside, punching the hell out of whatever he can get his hands on.’

‘In the gym?’

‘No, ma’am. He’s already trashed that. The cleaning staff are going to be busy this week.’

Abbie stepped into the hall. The shattered remains of a glass sculpture lay on the black and white tiled floor. The piece was one of a matching pair she had admired when Jack had shown her around the house. She heard a crash and followed the noise. In two hours he had turned from being her playful, tender lover into this fierce creature that the paparazzi liked to see: wild, angry and drunk, pacing around like a hungry lion. The whiskey bottle in his hand was half empty. He picked up a photograph and threw it at the wall as she entered.

Abbie flinched back and stumbled, dropping her jacket and purse with a clatter.

His head shot up when he heard it and his face filled with rage. ‘You bitch, Abbie. You lying, deceitful bitch.’

Jack crumpled the printouts he was holding into a ball and threw them with as much force as he could muster. ‘It’s going to be all over the press, and the TV stations have already picked up the story too. Zeke has been fielding calls non-stop.’

‘Jack, I didn’t –’

He snarled, ‘Don’t. Don’t lie to me, Abbie. I thought a cheap gossip piece was too sleazy for a news journalist like you to put her name to?’

Abbie winced at the insult. Jack was furious. His eyes were red-rimmed, as if he had been crying. ‘Jack, listen to me. I didn’t—’

‘Jack, listen to me,’ he mimicked her cruelly. ‘I
did
listen to you, Abbie. I listened to you when you told me you cared about me. Listened to you when you said I could trust you, that you would never betray me. I loved you, for Christ’s sake.’ He took a deep swig from the open bottle. ‘Loved you.’

He dropped the whiskey and lowered his face into his hands. Transfixed, Abbie watched the liquid spill on the pale silk cushions.

His words were like a punch in the gut.

Jack loved her. Had loved her.

He didn’t believe her.

He would never trust her again.

Jack raised his head. The blue eyes that had blazed with lust for her were cold and empty.

‘Get out of here, Abbie. Just go. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone as much as I hate you right now. I never want to see you again.’

Abbie backed away from him. She scooped up the things which had fallen from her purse, shoved them back in, and fled.

Ben drove her back to the Four Seasons. She tried calling Zeke Bryan to explain, but his secretary said that he was too busy to take her call. Abbie sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her suitcase. It had arrived at her hotel room only minutes after she had. Jack obviously wanted every trace of her out of his life. There was little point in unpacking it. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stay in LA while Jack was here. To see him, to know that he despised her, was more than she could bear.

With shaking fingers she rang the airport. They could get her on a flight later that evening. After that she rang Josh and left a message that she was taking an indefinite leave of absence, effective immediately. She would take some time out, maybe do a bit of freelancing.

The trust fund that she had ignored for years became as seductive as a chalet in an ice storm. It would soon be Christmas. She couldn’t bear the thought of sitting around the table for a big family dinner, pretending that she was happy. She could just imagine Miffy’s pitying looks at the Christmas Eve cocktail party and the last thing she needed was to run into William and his mother. No, Christmas in New York was not an option. She would talk to Kit. Maybe they could go someplace together for a few days.

The first snowfall of the season started just as the cab pulled up outside her apartment early the next morning. Winter had most definitely arrived. The thought of it made her tearful. Without Jack, her apartment felt empty. Even there she felt his loss. There would be no more chats, no late-night phone calls, no teasing about what colour lingerie she was wearing. There would be no one to nag her about having food in the freezer or knocking her terrible taste in romantic comedies.

There was just her, alone without Jack. She had never felt so lonely. Abbie tossed the suitcase on the couch, sending a cushion tumbling to the floor. A single white feather floated free and drifted in the air before landing on the coffee table. Abbie picked it up and brushed it against her skin. There was no escaping him.

She had far too many memories of a man who had only spent a single night here. The touch of his mouth on hers. His rough hands as he took her, driving her wild with passion. She lay on the bed and dozed for a few hours, exhausted by the trauma of the previous twenty-four hours, but she couldn’t sleep properly. She couldn’t bear to be alone with her thoughts. Jack had brought her such joy, but all that was left now was torment.

Abbie got up and changed into her jeans and boots. She found a heavy jacket in the cloakroom and shrugged into it. The winter season was just beginning and it would torture her until next spring, just as she wished its namesake would. She pulled the door behind her and set out for Kit’s place.

The lights of her friend’s loft apartment shone brightly to brighten the gloomy winter day. Abbie tramped up the
stairs and rang the buzzer. Inside she could hear music and it wasn’t the indie stuff that Kit usually played. Kit must have company – she should have called first.

The muffled sound of laughter came from behind the door as it jerked open. Kevin’s jaw dropped when he saw who it was. He was bare-chested, his skin was damp and a towel hung low on his hips. Behind him, Kit asked who was there.

Kit was with Kevin now. How could she have forgotten that? There was no point in talking to her. Jack and Kevin were best friends. She would hear about him all the time: his latest escapades, who he was dating and how much he despised her. Abbie turned and fled.

Pelting sleet struck her face as she walked aimlessly through the shoppers. She could no longer hold back the tears, and so she stopped trying. Abbie walked for miles, ignoring the occasional stare from a passer-by, suppressing the instinct to stomp through the groups of carollers. How was she going to get through months of this?

Back at her apartment, she opened the freezer door. One tub of Rocky Road ice cream and four pre-packed meals for one stared back at her. She slammed the door closed, poured herself a glass of wine and turned on the TV.

Jack’s face stared back at her and she turned up the volume. ‘In an update on today’s big story from Hollywood, it has been revealed that Jack Winter is out of the running for the coveted lead role in the multimillion-dollar remake of
The African Queen
. In a statement issued today by his agent Zeke Bryan, the actor was said to be devastated by the recent reports about a sex scandal …’

Abbie switched off the TV; she couldn’t listen to it any
more. The role that Jack had craved would go to someone else. Another reason for him to hate her guts. She couldn’t forget his face: the hurt, the anger, the vulnerability. Jack had trusted her and thought that she had betrayed him.

He hadn’t wanted to listen to her explanation. The bottom line was that Jack Winter trusted no one and without trust there could be no relationship. He told her he never wanted to see her again – that he hated her. There was no coming back from that. Abbie’s cell phone vibrated on the table. Four missed calls. Kit’s number appeared in the display after each of them. She couldn’t face talking to her now. She would call her tomorrow.

Abbie paced the floor of her apartment and stared at the snow falling outside, blanketing the pavements. Across the street, she could see a Christmas tree in an upper-floor window. She hugged her sweater around her. How was she going to get through this?

She rinsed the wine glass and put it on the drainer. She would have to let the cleaning service know that she was back in New York. As she switched off the sitting-room lamp on her way to bed, a winking red light caught her eye. She was sure that she had forwarded her calls. She pressed the button.

‘This is a message for Ms Abbie Marshall. Ms Marshall, I’m afraid Mr Tom Breslin will not be available to meet you any time soon. He has been posted to Ireland. If you call again, one of the other staff may be able to assist you with your questions.’

Ireland? Abbie sat down on the arm of the couch. Why had Tom Breslin been posted there? She drummed her fingers against the desk while she thought. Ireland was
small – she could track Breslin down there, and it wasn’t as if she had a lot to do in New York except be miserable about a man who didn’t love her.

Her uncle Martin and aunt Barbara lived in Ireland. She hadn’t visited them in years but during their annual visits to New York, Barbara was always urging her to come and stay with them. Barbara was her mom’s sister. She had fallen in love with an Irishman too – Abbie wondered if there was something in their genes.

Ireland was the best solution. There was nothing left to keep her here. Mind made up, she punched in the number for the airport. There was a flight to Dublin leaving at 11pm. She booked it and got packing. There was no answer from Martin and Barbara when she called their home so she left a message. If they couldn’t have her, she’d stay in a hotel. She could follow the Breslin story; it might help to take her mind off Jack Winter.

The concierge summoned a cab and the ride to the airport was uneventful. At the check-in desk a smiling girl in a blue-green uniform handed her a ticket and wished her a pleasant flight. Abbie blinked back the tears. The accent sounded so much like Jack’s that it made her heart ache.

She hadn’t thought of that: what would it be like being surrounded by people who all sounded like Jack? But it was too late to change her mind and she allowed herself to be shuffled through security and on to the plane.

The stewardess handed out blankets and pillows to the passengers. Abbie’s eyes closed almost as soon as they climbed into the air. There was only one saving grace. She was heading to the only place in the world where she would never run into Jack Winter.

Jack had ceased measuring time; it had become meaningless. Now the only thing he counted was bottles. But he stopped counting when the number got high. He didn’t care any longer.

Abbie had betrayed him. Every time he remembered that, his gut twisted again and the only way to numb the pain was to drink more. He was vaguely aware that eventually he would run out of whiskey and would have to face her deception. But not yet.

He lifted the bottle to his mouth and took another swig, then flopped back on the couch. He could picture her bending over it as he had inspected her marks after their first session in the playroom, and her astonished response when he pressed the dildo into her ass. He remembered the things he had planned to do to her. He punched the back of the couch. It absorbed his blow, mocking his efforts. He contemplated going to the kitchen and finding a knife to slash it with. Later. When he had finished this bottle and needed another.

He took another mouthful and let it slosh around his mouth before he swallowed it. He scarcely noticed the bite of the spirit any more.

Bitch!
How could she have fooled him like that? He was good at spotting bitches. Ask anyone. She must be a new breed of super-bitch, bred in a laboratory to fool him. She
could look so innocent and still be a bitch. How did she make her eyes dilate like that when he touched her? Even the memory caused his dick to give an interested twitch. Down boy. We don’t do bitches.

He had to stop thinking about her.

OK, think about the bad stuff. Think about how she disobeyed his orders in the jungle and put everyone in danger. How she insisted on dragging around that bloody laptop. How it rubbed her shoulders raw.

No, don’t think about her breasts bouncing gently as she walked. Don’t think about them swaying when he burned the leeches off her. Don’t think about them cuddling into his hands when she finally slept. And definitely don’t think about how her ass felt under his hands in that cave.