wanted him.
Grabbing her small suitcase from where she’d stashed it in the wardrobe, he stuffed her clothes roughly into it willy-nilly, not caring how much it hurt his rib to do so—in fact, welcoming the pain it brought because it momentarily overrode the ache in his heart—then went to the bathroom and scooped all her toiletries into it too, forcing down the lid and roughly zipping it up.
Picking up the case, he strode to the front door, opened it, then tossed it into the hallway, where it bounced a couple of times before coming to rest on its side, looking battered and forlorn in the grandiose, brightly lit space.
Pushing away a rush of anguish, he slammed the door on it and strode into his kitchen, grabbing a glass tumbler out of the cupboard and splashing a good measure of whisky into it.
He knocked it back, feeling the burn in the back of his throat and registering the warmth as it hit his stomach, though deriving no pleasure from it whatsoever.
Pouring himself another large shot, he took it into the living area and slumped down onto the sofa again, staring out of the window at the dark night sky, which had become stormy with wind and rain that lashed against the glass, trying not to think about how painfully alone he was here in this big echoing apartment.
Despite the way Elena had treated him, his traitorous body still ached for her. His throat was tense from holding back the urge to rage and swear at the world, his chest tight with sorrow and frustration.
He knew, with ringing clarity now, why he’d deliberately sabotaged his engagement to his ex, Adela. He’d been afraid to trust her love for him for this very reason. His survival instinct had kicked in and he’d pushed her away before she could do it to him first.
Because he’d been afraid of something like this happening to him again.
The sad truth was he’d fallen for Adela in the first place because she’d reminded him of Elena. Adela had exhibited many of Elena’s traits; she’d even looked a bit like her, but of course he knew deep down that she could never be her. That was why he’d broken off their engagement. It wouldn’t have been fair to Adela to have always been second best in his heart.
Perhaps he was destined to always be alone. It would at least be easier that way. Like it had been when he was younger.
He was also acutely aware now that keeping his relationship with his mother at arm’s length had had a serious effect on the way he dealt with all his close relationships to this day.
At least after her cancer was diagnosed he’d made sure to visit her more and they’d brokered a kind of unspoken peace between them. He’d never totally understood the life choices she’d made, but he’d come to finally accept them, and her. During those sad, desolate hours at the end of her life she’d made it clear to him that she’d always loved him and that she regretted the distance that had always been between them.
It had torn him up inside, the futility of it, because she was gone now and all he was left with was a sense of deep sorrow for the time he’d wasted spurning her instead of loving and accepting her for who she was.
And now he’d lost the woman he’d hoped to spend his future with too.
The woman he loved.
Knocking back the second whisky, he closed his eyes and tried to blank his mind of her—to shut out the pain and grief that made him feel as though someone had stripped him to the bone—but it was no good; he knew there was no forgetting Elena Jones.
* * *
Elena paced the streets, barely noticing the rain as it began to fall steadily from the sky, seeping into her new dress and plastering her hair to her head.
How could things have gone so wrong so quickly? She’d known before, of course, that there was a chance they might when she’d thought his memory was still missing, but for him to have lied about remembering her, then shown her how wonderful they could be together, only then to regain his memory and reject her was devastating.
Lightning flashed overhead, shocking her out of her frustrated, meandering thoughts, and she ducked under a nearby awning of a restaurant where a few other tourists had gathered, taking shelter from the storm. What was she doing? Moping around Barcelona in the rain wasn’t going to solve the problem; the only way she was going to get him to listen to her was to turn up at his apartment and refuse to leave until he did.
She wasn’t going to run from him again, not this time. She was going to do what she should have done all those years ago—be brave and fight for what she really wanted, no matter the consequences. She’d never be able to forgive herself if she didn’t, not now she knew what she’d be missing—a positive, life-affirming partnership with the man she loved.
Seeing an available taxi driving down the street, she ran back out into the rain and hailed it, jumping into the back seat and giving the driver Caleb’s address in a voice shaking with nerves and determination.
She would not give up on them. Not this time.
The journey seemed to take an age as they joined the slow-moving traffic and more and more people jumped into taxis to shelter from the rain. Elena tapped her foot anxiously, wondering what sort of reception she’d get when he opened the door and found her standing there. Would he be angry, cold, indifferent? Or, now that he’d had some time to calm down and reflect rationally on it all, would he be relieved to see her?
She hoped so.
Oh, how she hoped.
The taxi finally drew up outside his building and she shoved the fare towards the driver, telling him to keep the change in her haste to get to Caleb, and dashed across the pavement and up to the entry door to his block. Pulling out the spare key card that Caleb had lent her that morning, so she could get in and out while he was out at work, she pressed it against the pad and sighed with relief when the door lock clicked open. She wouldn’t have put it past him to have the code reconfigured to keep her out.
The lift was already at ground level and it took her straight up to his apartment. Walking into the hallway, she came to a surprised stop when she saw a suitcase lying haphazardly in the middle of the floor. She frowned at the incongruity of it, wondering absent-mindedly what it was doing there. And then it hit her like a fist to the gut.
It was hers.
Caleb must have packed her things and thrown them out here in case she had the gall to return for them. Well, she wasn’t going to let that deter her. Marching up to his door, she hammered loudly on it, her heart thumping in her throat as she stood there listening for his heavy footsteps coming towards her. It occurred to her wildly that she wasn’t exactly looking her best at the moment—a lot like a drowned rat, in fact—but she shoved the thought away, knowing this was no time for vanity.
The door swung open and she looked up into Caleb’s handsome face, forcing herself not to take a step backwards as she registered the anger in his expression.
‘Your things are behind you in the hall,’ he said curtly, the bitterness in his voice making her stomach roll.
‘I’m not here for my things; I’m here for you,’ she stated baldly, keeping her gaze locked with his and her chin determinedly up.
A range of expressions passed over his face: from bemusement to resentment and finally, and most worryingly, to incredulity.
‘Let
