over her face. He held out his hand. ‘Come on, you need some sleep. You’re exhausted.’
After a moment she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the bedroom, but each step felt like an effort.
She looked at the bed but didn’t move. ‘Will you make love to me, Raoul?’ She asked it without looking at him. ‘God knows, I could do with a bit of sympathy sex.’ And she wasn’t too proud to beg, but then she never was with Raoul.
Her love for him suddenly welled up inside her like a solid wall of emotion, and the intensity of it brought tears to her eyes. He didn’t want her love, the only thing he wanted from her was a child and she couldn’t even give him that.
She heard the sound of his rasped exclamation and turned her head. As she did so his mouth found hers; the kiss was deep, filled with passion and yet incredibly tender.
He laid her on the bed and without a word peeled away her nightclothes before taking off his own clothes and joining her in the bed.
She felt his whisper-light kiss on her face, against her closed eyelids. She kept her eyes closed as he pulled her to him, giving herself over completely to the pleasure of having his hands on her, his mouth on her. Raoul always knew where to touch her, how to touch her.
And when her body was ready, when the heat inside her built until only one thing could cool it, he slid into her, moving with deep strokes, letting them both enjoy being one. The combination of tenderness and passion brought tears of joy to her eyes as they shared the moment of ultimate bliss, their fevered cries blending into one.
As she felt him curl up against her back she reached behind her and caught his hand, curling it around her breast. She fell asleep with his hand on her heart and felt safe and loved, even though deep down she knew it was an illusion.
* * *
Finally, Lara got a tearful call from her sister. But the tears were good ones—Emmy was going to be all right. She rang Raoul immediately, wanting to share the good news, so it was frustrating when he didn’t pick up.
She decided on impulse to cook him a special meal to celebrate. She had started to get to know some of the local stores and the novelty value of shopping in a new city had not worn off.
She got a bit carried away and bought way too much food. The bags tucked under her arms were bulging and heavy and there were still another few blocks to go before she reached the apartment building. About to admit defeat and hail a cab, she realised she was standing outside a coffee shop and realised why the name looked so familiar. A guide book she had bought had said that a coffee and Danish there while watching the world go by were an essential New York experience.
Seated at a table in the window, Lara savoured her Danish and her coffee. She wasn’t convinced by it—the coffee tasted a bit funny—but she was definitely enjoying watching the world go by.
She was taking another bite of her Danish when she saw them. The pastry fell from her fingers.
Across the road on the steps of a hotel, her husband was kissing a dark-haired woman.
Lara felt as if someone had just thrust an icy hand into her chest. The merciless fingers were squeezing her heart until it felt as though it would burst.
Was this how her mum had felt?
But I’m not my mum!
I won’t be her, I’m not going to run away and pretend I didn’t see. Shoulders squared, she got to her feet, the smooth lines of her face set with resolve. She’d had enough pretending.
‘You forgot your groceries! Your bill!’
‘Keep the groceries...’ She pulled a bundle of notes from her purse and pushed them at the waiter. ‘Keep the change!’
The lights changed and she ran; she was panting by the time she reached the other side of the street. Then, weaving her way through the scrum of people, she almost collided with the woman who was no longer in Raoul’s arms but only a couple of feet away.
Lara registered several facts. The woman was Naomi and Raoul looked furious.
‘Lara!’
She held up her hand. ‘Later.’ Turning her back on him, she faced the other woman. ‘Look, I have no idea what your problem is, and frankly I don’t want to. Just get the hell out of my life and leave my husband alone!’
A strangled squeaking noise left the woman’s throat.
‘Never make a redhead mad.’
Swallowing, Lara turned slowly back to Raoul. ‘Never kiss women who are not your wife in public.’
His smile died. ‘I was not doing the kissing, cara, she’s deranged...’ Eyes hard, he turned to Naomi. ‘I am sorry your husband is divorcing you, but we do not have a relationship, we have never had a relationship, and I am not in love with you.’
‘Believe him, Naomi, I do.’ Whatever came between them, it would not be Naomi!
She barely registered the other woman’s leaving as she took a step towards Raoul. ‘And I was angry and hurt and...pretty much the way any woman who saw the man she loved kissing another woman would feel.’
She saw him stiffen.
‘Lara—’
She ignored the warning in his voice. ‘You don’t want to hear this, I know, but, you see, I have to say it anyway. I’m sick of pretending, Raoul. I love you, and I can’t help it, and if you can’t love me...’ She bit her lips and shook her head. ‘Well, I’d prefer to know—’
Looking at the appeal in the luminous eyes lifted to his, Raoul wanted to say he loved her, but the years of hardening his heart from the emotion, the knowledge of how it could destroy a man when it went wrong, stopped the words coming.
The seconds ticked by, and the fast thud of her heart slowed as her hope died, as Raoul stood there, silent, the muscles in his jaw flexing. A light drizzle had started, which was plastering his dark hair to his head.
She could wait for ever and he still wasn’t going to say what she wanted to hear. Well, at least now she knew.
‘It’s fine,’ she said, dying a little inside.
He squeezed his eyes closed to shut out the sight of her slender back as she walked away, fighting the irrational urge to follow her. It couldn’t work, he reminded himself. He was the man he was, and incapable of returning what she had offered him.
And unworthy!
Why...why did she have to say it...?
* * *
Lara unlocked the door of the apartment and ran straight into the bathroom where she threw up violently.
After rinsing her mouth, she walked into the bedroom and, with a heart as empty as her stomach, she packed her belongings.
The note was short and to the point.
I’m going home. Please don’t try and contact me. A baby deserves two parents who love
