The Value of Vulnerability (41 page)

“I’ll be right there,” she told him as he slid from the bed and tugged on his jeans.

With a
brief kiss, he left her.

She considered her approach as she dressed. There was still a slim chance—her heart battling her head with visions of him declaring undying love for her—and she did not want to lose it. Checking the bedroom
, ensuring she had left nothing behind, that her not-quite-yet-inevitable leave-taking could be done without fuss, she contemplated her watch.

Removing it, she set it on the bedside table.

She picked it up.

Set it down.

She swore aloud, hating the indecision.

With a sigh, she donned it at last. It had her name on it, after all. He couldn’t recycle it with the next woman who came along. But maybe she’d be lucky and this would all work out. Maybe there would never be another woman for him. Only her.

She caught her reflection in the mirror over the bureau.

You look miserable and scared
.

Nobody wanted to be with someone like that. Closing her eyes, she inhaled a tight breath, shaking her hands rapidly. Opened her eyes, stretched her arms, smiled into the mirror.

Much better
. “No sulkiness,” she ordered her reflection, and actually felt better.

She followed him to the kitchen.

“Try this,” he said, and popped a cracker with something that looked a bit like salsa into her mouth.

“Mm. That’s good! What is it?”

“Eggplant caponata, according to the jar.”

She smiled widely. “You didn’t whip that up yourself?”

“Well, I would have,” he said, “but there wasn’t time.”

Maintaining the smile, she hauled herself up onto the counter. There had been many nights like this, snacking in his kitchen while they talked and kissed. Many times, they had had sex here—against the wall was always a favourite, or on the floor
. On the breakfast table once, even. So easily immersed—but sexually. Only sexually.

They’d never had sex in the dining room. Never got to play
Master and Saucy Village Wench
.

“Wine?” he asked. His gaze flicked over her, obviously noting her complete state of dress. Usually she just wore one of his shirts on these kitchen adventures.

“Just water, please.” Legs swung lazily, marking time. “My dad’s planning an early spring barbecue,” she said. “I told him it’s going to snow again, but he’s insisting that Saturday will be perfect weather. I’ve been instructed to invite you,” she told him lightly. How many invitations had she extended? She had lost count.

He smiled as he handed her the requested water, his eyes not quite meeting hers, and fed her another cracker spread with caponata. “I
will have to check. I’m supposed to be up in Sudbury at some point, and have been delaying it. You should come with me. A pretty drive—well, better in high summer, of course. Conor has a cottage in the Muskokas. Said we were welcome to it this weekend. We could spend a couple of days there, then finish the drive to Sudbury for a couple more. That leg of the journey will not be very interesting for you as I have meetings, but I like having you with me. And I know for a fact Xcess owes you some—many—lieu days.”

It was a pretty long speech for him, indicating
his awareness that something was up.

He had no objection to her company
. She knew that. “Well, that’s very kind of Conor, but I have to attend the barbecue. I’m the official fire-extinguisher officer.”

“Employ that much?”

“Just once,” she laughed.

He smiled warmly in response. “I was thinking, if you wanted to book some time off—some of those lieu days—that you would like to vacation with me this spring. In Rome.”

She started.

“A week in late-April,” he went on. “I have a conference in Russia, so after that. We could see the Pantheon together. It was the Pantheon you wanted to see, was it not?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“Is that ‘yes’ to the vacation?”

“I’d love to go with you anywhere you want,” she said simply.
Why don’t you want to go with me anywhere I want?
“Let me know the dates you have in mind, and I’ll see what I can swing.”

“Perfect.”

Sipping her water, she landed on another tactic. “Ford, who’s Gerard?”

Shutter. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Nick mentioned him tonight. Remember? Some story from back in the day.”

He shrugged. “He was a friend. We went to school together. I gave him a job. I fired him.”

“Yoikes. What for?”

“His arrest interfered with keeping regular office hours.”

Her lips parted. “Do you want to talk about it?” Though obviously he did not.

“There’s not much more to say than that, Erin. We were as close as brothers, and had been since childhood. Now he’s in prison.”

Prison!
Ford did not do things by half. It was not enough to rid himself of a traitor, he must mete out full justice. Though at least he had involved the authorities in that case. “What’s he in prison for?”

“Hm, let me think. Insider trading, corporate espionage, forgery, theft over five thousand. Oh, and misdemeanour pot possession, but that was unrelated. Probably only got a fine for that.”

“Should be legal, in any case.”

“Well, now. There’s an argument for you,” he teased, deliberately lightening the mood, and kissed her. “Now you know all of my secrets.”

But her mood remained sober. “People share information about themselves for lots of reasons. Sometimes to disseminate. Sometimes to hide. Sharing bits that look like intimate revelation. But the detail doesn’t matter. It’s the emotion behind the event. You list these things as if they happened to someone else.” She touched his face gently. “I know people have hurt you and let you down. Technically—academically—I know it pains you. But I can’t see it or feel it.” Her hand moved over his heart. “I want to know you. Know your heart. I can’t if you don’t let me.”

He clamped his hand over hers and pulled it away, releasing it as soon as he was free of her touch. “You promised to never ask again,” he said coldly. “In this very room
. On that very spot.”

“That was months ago, Ford. I can’t keep the promise.”

“Keeping promises presents a problem for most people,” he retorted with cynically amused derision. He shook his head, a rapid movement as if he sought to clear his thoughts. “You are asking me for . . . I don’t even know what you want.”

“Liar,” she accused gently. “I’m asking for the impossible. I want you to be open with me. Vulnerable, if you will.”

“Vulnerability carries a high price, sweetheart,” he returned with deadly softness.

“That means it has value.”

He snorted. “Tell me, Erin. What is the value of vulnerability? Because never in my life have I seen a moment where it did, or could have, paid off.”

“That isn’t true and you know it. You took a chance—were
vulnerable
—when you started buying up companies to gain control of BHG. You do that kind of thing all the time, running a gamble, setting yourself up for failure. It pays off often, doesn’t it?”

“That is very different.”

“I know. That’s just money and power. Accessories. Like cufflinks. Like a woman on your arm.” She ploughed ahead, stopping his objection to that. “I’m asking for something far more dangerous. Your essential self.”

He swallowed, and with a surge of hope, she watched him rein in his emotions. It was the first time she had ever come so close to the real Ford for more than a brief flash. And the scary son of a bitch was balanced—for one startling beautiful moment—with a confused human being.

So she encouraged it. “We all have those issues. Everybody has dealt with a despicable relation, a betrayal by a trusted friend, and a romance gone wrong. Who hasn’t been hurt?”

He glared, amused and annoyed all at once. “My dear girl, you have led a charmed life.”

Whoa, condescension!
“Perhaps a bit charmed. It’s a matter of opinion. Anyway, despite leading a
charmed
life, even I had the evil relation, the cheating partner, and a friend who betrayed me. Okay,” she teased now, “so it was only Sally Pelak in eleventh grade with Davey Finch, but it still hurt. Dammit! She knew I was crushing on him!”

“Tragic,” he chuckled tightly.

“Tragedy is all a matter of time and place. It was definitely tragic at the time. But none of that stopped me from trying to be a whole person. Or making new friends, or loving my family, or attempting romantic relationships.” She gestured vaguely at him, and perhaps put too much emphasis on ‘attempting.’

The wry grimacing smile she didn’t care for was back
. She hadn’t seen it much recently. “I’ll concede you have been through the ringer,” he mocked lightly.

Then stopped.

“My apologies,” he said. “But your disposition is unusual. Events that would tear someone else apart roll off you. And there are degrees of damage—”

“Yes, yes. I’m not going to involve myself in one-upmanship with you over damages. I’m just saying that being hurt is commonplace.” She had opened up to him about all of her past hurts, from Grandma Russell to the details about Anthony, for the hurt was past and hadn’t left more than a thin film of scar tissue. It was
over, and she had handled it.

Maybe her damages were trite, as he alluded. Who could say about something so subjective? It wasn’t her fault she was resilient—and maybe
she was more resilient than most. Still, she could empathise with being hurt. The problem was that while she sloughed injuries off, keeping baggage to a minimum, for him, each was layered the former.

He said: “You still have not told me the
supposed
value of emotional vulnerability.”

It stung, that contemptuous tone did. “When you let down your guard enough to let someone in, to be vulnerable and take the chance—” She hesitated, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “If you were to do that with me, Ford, you would find that when your walls went up again, they would close around both of us. You would never have to be alone inside your barricade again. That is what I promise you now. Haven.”

He groaned faintly and palmed his face. “
Erin
.” He cursed softly. “What are you doing to me? Don’t change it up. Keep your first promise. Prove a track record at least.”

She drew a breath, preparing to ply the only weapon she had. “I can’t keep the first promise,” she iterated. “I was running on emotional economy when I made it. Now I’m blowing the budget.” Screwing up her courage, she said: “I have to break the first promise to make the second. I’m in love with you, Ford.”

Amber eyes glittered as they turned to her. His face was still, though a pulse twitched in his jaw. She met his gaze with open trust, silently begging him to believe her, doubting that he would.

“
Bloody hell!
” he exploded. He swung away from her, thrusting his hands through his hair. “Bloody hell. Why did you have to say that? Why can’t you just keep things at the status quo?”

“Because life isn’t static, Ford,” she laughed in surprise, his reaction completely unexpected. Only two had occurred to her: disbelief or acceptance. This was neither. She wasn’t sure
what
it was. “You’ve asked me to move in! Why was that, if you wanted to retain the status quo?”

He swore. “It’s not that simple.”

“It really kind of is.”

He wiped a hand over his mouth and jaw as he leaned against the opposite counter. “Erin.”

It struck her then that her revelation had come as a complete shock to him. Loving him was so much a part of her now that she thought the entire world witnessed it. He apparently lived in a parallel universe.

“Erin,” he said again, his voice calm. “Things are great between us as they are. I want you to live here so that . . . Well, it’s safer for you to begin with. And we can be together, enjoy each other’s company every day. What can be gained by changing it?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Gained? Why, everything.”

“Or lost,” he added evenly.

“Yes, Ford. It’s called risk,” she said, impatience colouring her voice.

“It’s called disaster,” he retorted. “These are—”

“If you dare say
early days
, I swear I’ll scream. Early days were done for me a long time ago. I need to move on, with or without you. I realise that’s harsh, but I have no option. A year from now—even if I’m living here—you’ll still be telling me ‘early days.’ You like the comfort of our affair. I do, too. But I’m getting the shell. I want the man.”

Some part of that struck him, but not positively. “You tell me you love me, but then complain that it is a shell you love,” he snapped impatiently. “How can you know what it is you’re feeling?”

“Because I know love. I’ve had it all my life, from friends and family. What I feel for you—Ford, it’s all of that and much more again. Everything else fades by comparison.” How could she convey the strength of it?