Everything You Are (28 page)

To never go back... no, he couldn't accept that. “So you're not ever going to love me again?”

“You can be so stupid sometimes. I never stopped loving you, I'm just... hurt and...” She sounded so weak and fragile.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. “I know.”

“No, you don't.” She snuggled against him, her hands holding onto him. “You don't. I thought you didn't want me anymore, and that knowledge dug such a big hole in my heart. I still feel it and my heart still feels like it's ripped apart, even though you’re here and even though you told me that you love me. I don't know how to fix it, it still hurts, and I don't know how to make the pain go away.”

“I'm sorry, Pukki, I'm so sorry. I told you that I love you no matter what, and that I always will.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head, his arms holding her in a tight embrace. He was never letting her go and he would make this right. He would. “I thought that I showed you how much you mean to me, and I believed that you would see that everything was just a charade.”

“Now it's my fault?”

“No. No, of course not. It's not your fault. That's not what I'm trying to say.”

“Then what are you trying to say?”

“That I'll make it up to you, somehow. It will just probably take a little longer since I'm such a clueless dolt.”

“Just a little lower,” Jane said and when the fingers slid lower, rubbing the small of her back, she moaned. “That feels so good.” She and Mark were in her room, in Ann's house. She sat on the edge of the pastel-green loveseat, and Mark was behind her.

“So, how are you and Ian doing? Are you still mad at him?”

“I'm not mad at him, not anymore anyway.”

“But you're not ready to forgive him yet?”

“I'm not sulking.”

“What do you call it then? He told you that he only did it because he thought you were in danger.”

It had shattered her, the knowledge that Ian didn't want her anymore; she had no trouble admitting that to herself. Love had made her weak and dependent. In the moment she sobbed by the wall of Ann's estate, she hated the love she felt for Ian and she hated the fact that one person's rejection could break her so easily. It had hurt so much and she selfishly wanted him to experience the same pain. “I love him, but I'm just not ready to close the gap between us, not yet.” She had been going to his bed every night, though. Weak and dependent, that's what she was, weak against his charm and dependent upon his warmth. She needed him like lungs needed air and like plants needed sunlight. “Not until he tells me what's going on. How can I trust him, when he's not willing to trust me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“There's something going on. Something that has to do with Ian's trips abroad and to the company's factories. And could also have something to do with the hand I felt on my back before my fall down the stairs, and, I believe, with Ian's elevator accident.”

“Are you saying that's all connected?”

“It seems so.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, but it makes sense. Tell me, does the name ‘Linda’ sound familiar to you? I mean in connection with Ian's family.” Mark had been following Ian's life in the magazines and newspapers quite closely even before she became Ian's assistant, and he had a very good memory.

Mark's hand stilled.

“Mark?”

“I'm thinking.”

“Can't you do both; massage and think?” Jane lifted her eyes to the telly, where two redheaded boys practised their
Bankai
in the first season of
Bleach
, the Japanese anime Mark was a fan of, and which they had re-watched dozens of times.

Mark resumed massaging her back. “Wasn't that the name of the girl the cook -- the cook's name is Beth, right?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn't that the name of the girl Beth mentioned that time at the picnic?”

“Did she?”

“Yes, when she was explaining how in the old times things were different and that just being in love with the master could end up ugly for the help.”

“Really? I don't remember that. I do remember you asking Ian if his parents would be against it if he hooked up with a prostitute.”

“But you have to remember. Beth said that Linda was her friend who wanted to become a cook too, and that she was teaching her in her free time. And then she stopped coming to the lessons and Beth found out that she had fallen in love with Ian's father, and then Linda disappeared later and she didn't know what happened to her.”

She didn't remember that. She had probably been too busy staring at Ian.

“I thought how sad it was; that's probably why I remember it.”

Ian told her that his father had been in love with somebody before he married his mother. Could it be that it wasn’t just that Linda was in love with Ian's father, but that Ian's father had returned her feelings? If that was true, what did that have to do with Ian and Ann's investigation of Linda’s step-sister, who disappeared? Because they thought she had something to do with the problems in the company and Ian's accident? Who was Linda's step-sister anyway?

Mark's hands kneaded their way up her back and then at the spot where her neck met her shoulders his fingers pinched the folds of her skin and flesh and held them.

A soft sigh left her mouth. It hurt, but it felt so good too. “Oh, yeah, just right there.”

“What are you two doing?” Ian's voice came from the side. He was barging into her space again. He could at least knock and then wait for her to ignore him. It was her own fault; she knew how he was and she left the door unlocked regardless.

She glanced at him over the end table before her eyes snapped to the screen.

“Just watching telly,” Mark said.

“Can I join in?”

“No,” Jane said.

“Yes.” Mark nodded.

Over her shoulder, she scowled at Mark, who innocently shrugged.

Ian closed the door. Ignoring the two empty armchairs, he went around the loveseat and sat in the spot beside them, forcing them to shift to accommodate his large body. Ian wore a pink shirt with the first two buttons opened and grey pants, part of a suit, which meant that he had come to her room first thing after he arrived home from work. He carried a blue and pink gift bag in his hand. He put it on the table. “Jane, I have a present for you.”

“Isn't that nice?”

“Shut up, Mark,” Jane hissed before she glanced at Ian over her shoulder. “I told you that you can't buy me.”

“It's not about that.”

“Than what is it about?” Her eyes went to the bag.

“Just look at it.”

She didn't, but Mark reached over her and grabbed the bag. She could hear the rustle as he browsed inside.

“What is it?” Mark asked.

“Maternity Support Belt,” Ian said. His fingers touched Jane's shoulder. “For your back.”

That
was
nice of him. She murmured something that should have sounded like a thank-you, but it came out more like grumbling. She flicked Ian's hand off her shoulder then patted her shoulder to indicate to Mark that she wanted him to continue with his massage. “Please?”

Mark continued to rub and knead her back while she leaned forward. With her elbows on her bent knees, she enjoyed the touch of Mark's magical fingers in silence. Mark chatted with Ian, but Ian's voice sounded strained and slightly irritated. She peeked at him twice and saw an ugly crease in his forehead. What was his problem?

“Okay, please stop,” Ian said.

She glanced at him.

“Stop what?” Mark asked.

Ian waved at them. “This.”

Jane's eyes narrowed.

“I can't take it anymore.” Ian's fingertips glided alongside his chin, he frowned. “The sounds that she makes... It's very distracting.”

“Oh.” Mark smiled. “Should I go and leave you two alone?”

“What? No.” Jane sent Ian an ugly look.

Mark climbed over Jane off the seat. “I think that's my cue to leave.”

“No, it's not,” Jane said.

“Yes, it is.” Mark smiled.

Jane stood. “Why?”

“Because.” Mark strode to the cabinet by the door, where he had left his messenger bag. He slipped it over his shoulder.

“Come back,” Jane demanded.

“I'll drop by day after tomorrow, if that's okay with you?” He grinned. “I would come tomorrow, but, you know, I have this thing.”

“A date, not a thing.” And Jane was looking forward to hearing everything about how it went with Noel.

“Yes, a date.” Mark's mouth stretched into a wide grin. “See you soon.” He waved and then he was out the door, shutting it behind him, and she could hear his steps as he strode across the hallway.

She sat down, not in the loveseat, but in the armchair beside it. “You just cost me a massage. Thank you very much.”

“I could give you a massage.”

“You only rub my back, you don’t massage it, so I'll pass, thank you.” Jane crossed her arms, expecting Ian to get up and leave. But he just sat there.

Silence enveloped them like a comfortable blanket, broken by a voices coming from the telly. There was tension in the air, just a hint.

Her eyes went to him and she openly stared at him, admiring the outline of his face, the arch of his thick eyebrows, the line of his straight nose and the curve of his full lips. He had a beautiful face, really beautiful. She eyed his shoulder and his strong arm. And a perfect body. He had lost some weight, but he was still well-toned and looking like a Viking god. He had this serious side and goofy moments, and he was so generous. And he loved her. Or so he said. She should have been drooling over him -- which she was, on the inside -- and jumping on him. She wanted to -- not to jump on him, but to climb into his lap and snuggle close to him. There was a perfect spot for her to rest her head, just between his shoulder and neck.

“Don't look at me like that, please.”

“Like what?” She folded her legs under her.

“Like I belong to you.” His eyes, the blue of the summer sky, burned into her. “Which I do, you know. But when you look at me like that, I want to show you just how much I belong to you.”

“That sounds like a threat.” Her eyelids lowered as she studied him.

“I would never dare threaten you when so much of my happiness depends on you.”

She leaned the back of her head against the edge of the chair, wrapping her arms around her middle. She had no reply to his words, except 'I love you,' which she wasn't willing to say out loud.

He stood, limped over to her and he caged her with his body and with his hands curled on the armrests. “I was pondering how to make it up to you.”

“And?”

“I was wondering if worshipping you with my body would work.”

She swallowed and closed her eyes, but she could still feel his gaze like a brush of fingers against her skin. She wanted him, right now, the desire burning in her like a flame that was just about to spread into fire.

His breath ghosted against her forehead then it breezed down her nose to linger over her lips.

She could have opened her eyes, but she knew that if she did, her hands would reach out for him and she would ask, no beg him to kiss her and show her just how much he belonged to her. She was holding back, torturing herself, why?

“I'm yours,” he said. “Have been since the moment we held hands in Italy, I just didn't know it then.” His mouth touched her lips for a short moment, gently, softly. “When I was in the hospital, I tried to imagine my life without you. I never knew what loneliness was before I met you, but now I can see and feel it so clearly. The darkness, the coldness and the emptiness. But I would embrace it all, gladly, if it meant that you would be safe.”

Her eyes snapped open and her hands framed his face. She pulled him down and pressed her mouth against his in a kiss into which she poured all of her want, all of her frustration, anger and love. Her tongue danced in his mouth, she tasted him as if she was starving and she was. She was hungry for his love and for his touch.

Their mouths drew apart and the eyes she had closed at the kiss opened. Her hands stroked down his jaw and neck. She let one of her hands rest on his shoulder while she caressed his jaw. “You should shave.”

“I guess.” He took her hands. He furrowed his brow. “I love you, Jane; I would do anything for you, even rip you out of my life if that would ensure your well-being.”

As much as his words filled her heart with light and joy, they also awoke irritation and reminded her why she was holding a grudge. “You're making all these decisions that impact not only you but me, without asking how I feel about it. Don't I have a say in this? Doesn't my opinion and what I want count?”

“Of course it does.”

She wiggled her fingers out of his hold. “You just say it does, but it doesn't. You only do what pleases you. That time in Italy, we bought that black dress, even though I would have preferred that blue one --”

“I bought that blue dress.”

“What?”

“It's in my wardrobe at home. I would have given it to you, but then you said that you don't want any gifts.”

He bought her that dress? “But why didn't you give it to me right away, so that I could wear it at that dinner?” She shook her head. “No, wait.” He was trying to sidetrack her. “What about the sightseeing with that Italian boy?”

“There's no way I would have allowed you to go out with that player.” His jaw tensed.

She groaned and slipped out of the chair and past him. She faced him. He just didn't get it. “What about the fact that after you found that I was pregnant you insisted that I move in with you and you didn't let go until you had me under your roof? You told my mother about my pregnancy even though I asked you not to. And the engagement thing. I didn't say ‘yes’ and yet you're explaining to everybody that we are engaged.”

“But isn't your ‘yes’ just a technicality? Don't you want to marry me?”

“That's not the point! You're doing what suits you, regardless of how I feel. You even got me into your grandmother's house and you're holding me captive here.”

“But it's for --”

“-- my own good, yes, I heard that the first time you said it.”

He tossed his hands in the air. “What do you want me to do? I'm not going to allow you to get hurt.”