“You’re my girlfriend,” he answered, as if that said it all. And maybe it did—she couldn’t deny that hearing him say it sent a little thrill through her.
He rubbed a hand over his face, cursed thoroughly. “Cynthia was my fiancée, way back when.”
He’d been engaged? The news sent Rhiannon reeling, had her adjusting everything she’d ever thought about Shawn and his commitment issues. But why hadn’t he told her he’d been engaged—why had he kept it a secret? She couldn’t call him on it—after all, she’d kept a much bigger secret—but still, it made her wonder.
“Oh. Okay.” She knew she should leave, should head out the door without asking any more questions. He was certainly entitled to his privacy. She even started to go, but in the end, she couldn’t walk out the door she’d opened. Not before asking, “So, why did you break up?”
She actually saw him brace himself, as if expecting a powerful blow. It scared her more than anything else had, the fact that he obviously still had powerful feelings regarding Cynthia. “We didn’t.”
“I’m sorry?”
“She killed herself, three months before our wedding. She was clinically depressed and nothing I did could reach her. I came home one afternoon and found her. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I dreamed about her now—it’s been a long time since I’ve had one of those nightmares.”
Horror shot through her as his words sunk in. Wedding. Killed herself. Found her. Nightmares. Shawn’s happy-go-lucky facade had been hiding a past almost as dark as her own. He’d moved on, obviously, better than she had, but still, he had suffered. And her breakdown last night had brought it all back.
She thought back to the way he’d looked this morning when she’d found him, drawn and pale and miserable. She had done that to him. She had brought all the pain of his past back to him, in spades.
“Oh, no. Oh, I’m so sorry, Shawn. I never meant—”
“Never meant what?” He looked confused. “Rhiannon, this isn’t your fault.”
“I have to go.”
“What? Now? Don’t you want to talk?”
“I can’t. I—” Her head was spinning with the amount of destruction she’d caused, with the amount of pain she’d brought down on Shawn because she was too weak to handle her own past.
“I’m sorry.” She reached a hand up, caressed his cheek. “So very sorry.”
And then she ran, desperate to get to her car—and out of Shawn’s sight—before she broke down yet again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SHAWN STARED AFTER RHIANNON, too shocked by the events of the past few minutes to even chase after her. Stalking into the kitchen, he grabbed his phone and dialed her cell number. It rang a few times before voicemail picked up and he bit back a curse. “This is Shawn,” he said after the beep. “Call me. We need to talk.”
What the hell had spooked her so badly? Sure he could have told her about Cynthia with a little more finesse, but what did she want from him? She’d blind-sided him with the name when he’d still been half-asleep and the story had just kind of poured out of him.
Was that any reason for her to take off like that, without even telling him what had her so upset?
Furious with himself for falling asleep before he and Rhiannon could talk, furious with her because she’d used Cynthia as an excuse to run away, he reached for the phone and dialed again. She still didn’t answer and he left another message. And another one and another one.
All through the day he kept calling, waiting for her to pick up. How long did a damn wedding take, anyway? he wondered as he drove to Robert’s around eight that evening. Surely she’d gotten one of the million messages he’d left for her by then, but still she hadn’t bothered to pick up.
By the time he’d gotten to his friend’s house, he’d moved from frustrated to annoyed to downright angry with her. Was this what he was supposed to expect from now on—that whenever she got upset with him she just froze him out? Ignored him like he was some pesky fly who wasn’t worth her time?
Like hell. If she thought this was how she was going to act every time they fought, then she was in for a rude awakening. Because he was done putting up with her crap.
He knocked on Robert’s door harder than he needed to, then waited impatiently for his friend to answer. The sooner they got started, the sooner Poker Night would be over and he could head over to Rhiannon’s and demand to know what was going on in that mixed-up head of hers. Because obviously something was, and he’d missed out on it.
“Whoa, dude, who pissed in your cornflakes?” Robert asked as soon as he opened the door. “You look like you could chew through a metal rod and then start on a skyscraper.”
He slammed the six-pack of beer he’d bought into Robert’s hands. “Nothing. Are the other guys here?”
“Yeah. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sorry. Let’s get started.” He shrugged out of his jacket and headed to Robert’s game room, where they always played.
“All right, then.” Robert followed him up the stairs. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. I guess I don’t have to ask how you’re doing?”
Shawn shot him a look that had his friend shutting up posthaste. When he made it to the top of the stairs, it was to find the other three guys they played cards with—Jackson, Luc and David—lounging around on the sofa and cracking jokes.
“You ready to play?” he grunted.
All three looked up in surprise. “Yeah, sure,” Jackson stood up, extended his hand. “How’ve you been?”
Shawn shook his hand. “Fine.”
The other men exchanged a look and Robert said, “Woman problems.”
“Obviously. What’s the matter? You juggling too many again, Shawn?” Luc parked himself at the table with a laugh.
“Are we going to play or what?” Shawn responded.
“Absolutely.” David grabbed the cards and started to shuffle. “What’s the minimum bid?”
“Twenty,” answered Robert as he settled himself at the table next to Shawn, plopping a beer in front of each of them.
“Right.”
As his friends laughed and joked around him, Shawn glowered and drank his beer. He felt like a total asshole, but he was still too mad at Rhiannon to concentrate on anything else. Of course, the guys didn’t seem to mind because by the time the fourth hand rolled around, he’d already dropped two hundred bucks.
They were a couple of hands from the end when David said, “You know, much as I like taking your money, Shawn, I’m starting to feel a little guilty. You want to tell us what’s got your panties in such a wad, or are we supposed to guess?”
He folded, pushed back from the table. “Look, I’m sorry, man. I need to go. My girlfriend—” He stopped because he didn’t know how to go about explaining how complicated his and Rhiannon’s simple relationship had suddenly become. “I should probably go straighten things out with her and spare you my attitude problems.”
When none of them said anything, when even Luc refrained from messing with him, Shawn figured he must look as wrecked as he felt. He let himself out the front door and drove over to Rhiannon’s place. He called her one more time from the road and when she still didn’t answer, his anger shot back up to the stratosphere and stayed there until she opened her apartment door.
“I’ve been calling you all day,” he said with no preamble. “You couldn’t pick up the phone and talk to me?”
“I was working.”
He eyed her pajamas. “Really? You’re working now?”
“You said you were going to a poker game tonight—I didn’t want to be one of those women who called a guy when he was with his friends.”
“I left early.”
“I can see that.” She stepped back, opened the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”
He didn’t bother to answer her, just stormed into the condo. “You want to tell me what’s going on, Rhiannon?”
“I’ve been busy all day—”
“So busy you couldn’t a
nswer a phone call? You’ve never been that busy before.”
“You don’t need to get sarcastic with me.”
“Then tell me what the hell is happening here! I thought after last night that we were getting somewhere, you know? But now you’ve shut me out more completely than ever and I want to know why.” He closed the distance between them. “I’m sorry I said Cynthia’s name today. It didn’t mean anything—”
“I’m not upset about that.”
“You’re not?” He eyed her carefully, tried to figure out what was going on in her brain. “Then, what? Because you’re not going to convince me something didn’t set you off.”
“It’s nothing. Really,” she continued as he started to protest. “I just got overwhelmed with everything that happened, you know? It was a crazy night and I needed some space.”
He did know—he’d spent half the day going over everything that she’d told him and trying to figure out where they were supposed to go from there. He loved her, wanted her, but she was still holding herself away from him. Afraid to trust, afraid to love. He understood, but understanding didn’t make it any easier for him to accept.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep this morning—we never really got a chance to talk.”
She shrugged, but the smile she sent him was real—even if it was smaller than he was used to. “I’m sorry I fell asleep last night. Believe me, that wasn’t how I’d planned on the evening ending.”
“Rhiannon, it’s no big deal. I can wait.”
She nodded, looked away. “You want something to drink? I think I’ve got a half-open bottle of wine in the fridge, if you’d like a glass.”
“I don’t want wine.” He wrapped an arm around her waist—slowly, carefully—and pulled her toward him before settling on the sofa, Rhiannon in his lap.
“I just want to hold you for a while. Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “It’s more than okay.”
“Good.” He tucked her head under his chin and settled back on the sofa to watch whatever chick flick she had on the TV. And wonder how he was going to get into Rhiannon’s head long enough to figure what was really going on in there.
SHAWN WAS ASLEEP. Not dozing like he’d been at his house that morning, but really truly asleep. Rhiannon slowly disentangled herself from him—making sure not to wake him this time—and then went into her bedroom to retrieve a blanket for him.
As she was covering him, she couldn’t help looking at Shawn—really looking at him, for the first time since he’d shown up at her apartment. If possible, he looked worse than he had earlier that morning.
His skin was sallow, his eyes sunken, and the dark circles from earlier had somehow gotten deeper. As she looked at him, she remembered what he’d said weeks before, about serious not being a good look for him. He’d been right. He looked like he’d aged ten years in the past twenty-four hours.
She’d messed with his head and his body and his emotions, had gotten them both so turned around that neither of them knew which way was up. She hated herself for dragging this strong, beautiful, kindhearted man into the mayhem with her.
She just wished she knew how she could fix it. That’s what she’d been thinking about all day, as she’d dodged phone call after phone call. How to get herself—and him—out of the mess their relationship had become.
Because he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve getting stuck with her after he’d already lived with the suicidal Cynthia. How much could one man be expected to take, after all?
Oh, she knew Shawn, knew he would never complain about the truckload of baggage she brought with her. Just like she knew he was too decent to break up with her now, when she was at her most vulnerable. But he had to be feeling trapped—how else could he be feeling after finding himself with another screwed-up girlfriend?
He’d seemed shocked that he had dreamed of Cynthia that morning, but she wasn’t. One night with her and her myriad neuroses and he was right back there, in the middle of the nightmare he’d lived with Cynthia.
No, Shawn wouldn’t walk out on her now any more than he had walked out on his fiancée. But that didn’t mean it was right for her to let him stay. They’d both been clear when they had started this whole thing—they were both looking for a bit of fun, something casual. Something relaxed.
Well, after last night there was nothing casual or relaxed about their relationship, and that wasn’t fair to Shawn. She’d sprung her nightmare on him, wrapped him up in it and hadn’t so much as asked him if he wanted to be there. She’d changed the rules and he was too nice of a guy to change them back.
So she’d have to do it for him.
She sat there watching him for most of the night, trying to figure out the best way to break things off. By the time the sun finally came over the horizon, lighting up her apartment with the roses and lavenders of early morning, she knew exactly what she was going to do.
So, after taking a quick shower and getting dressed for work, she wrote Shawn a casual, friendly note. Shawn, I’ve got an early start today so I snuck out while you were sleeping. Feel free to stay as long as you like, and lock up on your way out—there’s an extra key above the fridge. I’ll be in touch soon about the party. Then left the apartment without a backward glance.
She spent the morning at work thinking about how she wasn’t going to think about Shawn, and when Logan stuck his head in her office to tell her that Shawn was on the phone, she was almost relieved. At least now she could put her plan into action.
“Tell him I’m tied up with a client and that I’ll call him back.”
Logan’s brow rose quizzically. “But you aren’t tied up with a client.”
“I’m about to be.” She picked up the phone and started to dial.
“Rhiannon.” She paused as Logan’s voice cut through the ice she had wrapped around herself that morning.
“What?”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Of course, why?”
“It’s just— Shawn’s a great guy.”
He was, absolutely, which was why she was going to end it with him as coldly and bloodlessly as possible. He deserved better than what she could give him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SHAWN WALKED AROUND his backyard, staring at all the carnival games set up and wondering if today was going to be the day he finally saw Rhiannon. It had been eleven days since she’d left him sleeping on the sofa in her apartment, six days since he’d seen or spoken to her.
He’d done everything he could to talk to her—had staked out her condo, had shown up at her workplace, had called and emailed and sent flowers. All to no avail. She’d cut him completely out of her life and without so much as an explanation.
Oh, he supposed the voicemail she’d left him on the third day counted, in her mind, as an explanation, but it sure as hell didn’t count that way for him. I’m sorry. I’m not ready to do this after all. But ten words didn’t exactly provide the means for a dialogue.
That was Rhiannon for you. Once she made up her mind, there was no changing it—or at least, that’s what Logan had told him when he’d tried again and again to get into her office to see her.
He didn’t believe that, couldn’t believe it. He loved her too much to just give up on them because Rhiannon was scared. He’d find a way to fix things between them. He had to, because spending the rest of his life without her didn’t bear thinking about.
He’d been waiting for this morning for what seemed like forever, had planned on cornering Rhiannon when she got here to oversee the set-up and make her talk to him. She must have known, because she’d sent Logan instead. Her boss had promised him that Rhiannon was going to be at the party later that afternoon, but the look on his face told Shawn all he needed—and didn’t want—to know.
Rhiannon had closed herself off completely and Logan didn’t think there was a chance in hell that Shawn could reach her.
He glanced at his watch. It was one-thirty—two hou
rs before the first guests were set to arrive and fifteen minutes after Rhiannon was supposed to be there. There was still no sign of her. Not that he was surprised. It would be just like her to try to sweep in five minutes before the guests were due and then claim to be too busy to talk.
Well, he wasn’t putting up with it any longer. He felt like he’d done nothing these past few weeks besides wait for Rhiannon. He’d waited for her to see him. Waited for her to want him. And now he was waiting again—for a chance to convince her to give them one more try.
Too bad he didn’t have a clue how to go about doing that.
He picked up a beanbag, threw it as hard as he could into the giant shark’s mouth in front of him. It hit with a satisfying thump and before he knew it, he’d picked up all of the remaining beanbags and was firing them at the shark, one right after the other. Some made it in the mouth, some hit outside, but it didn’t matter. It was the act of throwing something—of doing something besides impotently waiting—that he’d been looking for.
“Shawn.”
At first, he thought he had imagined Rhiannon’s voice, but when he turned toward it, there she was, dressed in a long-sleeved, scarlet blouse and a pair of skintight jeans that showed off her incredible legs. Her hair was up today, but the wind had coaxed a few strands into tumbling down around her face and shoulders. She looked beautiful and sexy and so good that he could barely believe she was real.
“The caterers are setting up in your kitchen,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind that I let them in.”
He had a speech planned, one he’d worked on for days as he’d tried to figure out a way to get her to listen to him. He opened his mouth, prepared to start with it, but what came out instead was, “That’s it? After eleven days of pretending I don’t exist, all you have to say to me is that the caterers are in my kitchen? Have you lost your mind?”
“Can we talk about this later? I’ve got party details—”
“Screw the party.” He stormed across the lawn at her, grabbed her elbow in a none-too-gentle grip and all but dragged her into the house and down the hall to his bedroom.