The Dare Collection: February 2018. Anne Marsh

Fuck, he was trying to lure this woman into a long-distance relationship—not scare her away. ‘I’ll apologise. I hope to encourage her to work for Able-Active. Perhaps a rewarding position will make things easier for her.’

      Her shrewd stare pinned him. ‘Yes. And it will give you some common ground—something you can work on together.’

      He shrugged, heat blooming in his chest. She cared—about him, about Able-Active, about his mother. No matter how hard she tried to deny it. Why else would she worry over his relationship with Marie?

      She leaned closer, her warm fragrant skin buffeting him, softening the blow of her words. ‘It’s okay, Alex.’ Her voice dropped to a low murmur. ‘You both miss Jenny. But it wasn’t your fault.’

      His mouth filled with ash; his muscles tensed. ‘I thought we were just fucking? How do you know what I feel?’

      How could she see into him so clearly? Into his darkest places? How could she know him so well?

      The jibe hit its intended mark and Libby winced. But she recovered quickly, rounded eyes as dark as night peering into his soul.

      ‘I know you feel somehow you let her down. But, Alex, you were a child. Not responsible for your parents’ marriage. Not responsible for your sister. I’m certain you were an awesome brother to her.’

      Remembering all the times when as a teen he’d ignored his family, how he’d detested the staring of strangers, how he’d abandoned family outings to hang out with his friends, he swallowed acid.

      ‘How can you know that?’ He didn’t.

      Her eyes glowed. ‘Because you’re an awesome man. Honourable, caring, fun. That came from somewhere.’ She placed her palm flat on his chest, its warmth branding him through his shirt. ‘In here. It wouldn’t be there now if it hadn’t been there then.’

      She touched his neck, the tip of her index finger finding the hollow at the base of his throat.

      ‘I understand. Your mother is hurting. You’re hurting. Don’t you see? You both feel like you’ve let the other down. Stop. Embrace the time you had with Jenny. Remember her together.’

      ‘You might be right.’

      He mashed his lips together. She claimed she didn’t want him as anything beyond a fuck buddy. Didn’t want to see him any more. But suddenly she was an expert on his pain?

      ‘And what are you hiding from, Olivia?’ He had eyes too.

      Her hands fell from him, a flash of hurt in her eyes. Libby looked down at her feet, gave a gentle shake of her head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m crossing the line.’

      No. She was right about him. Spot-on. He’d charged around throwing time and money at Able-Active, trying to make a difference, to make something he could feel proud of. And he didn’t want a line where Libby was concerned.

      He cupped her hip, drawing her close. ‘I think you see me pretty clearly.’ His lips brushed her earlobe, but the slug of triumph at the flurry of trembles that skittered down her spine was short-lived. ‘But I see you too.’

      She didn’t move, her stare eating into him.

      At last she nodded. ‘I know what it’s like to lose someone.’ Her huge dark eyes shone in the lights around the terrace. ‘I understand the guilt.’

      His fingers curled until he forced them to relax in case he hurt her. ‘Want to tell me?’

      The barest shrug.

      He held in a curse, scanning the now deserted terrace. Their timing sucked. Everyone else had moved inside for dinner.

      His hollow stomach lurched, his appetite long gone. ‘Are you hungry?’

      She shook her head, folding her arms across her chest to grip the opposite bicep. Goosebumps decorated her arms. He reached for his blazer from the back of a chair and draped it across her shoulders.

      ‘Me neither.’ He gripped her elbows, drawing her close. His hand moved to brush back her hair, which lifted in the cool evening breeze. ‘Let’s continue this conversation inside.’

      Was this the chink he’d hoped for? Was she letting him closer? Opening up that last guarded part of her? Would she retreat? Push him further away?

      She nodded, taking his hand. He clasped her fingers, aware that the pressure bordered on being too tight, but unable to stop himself. They skirted the house, cutting across the rose garden, fragrant in the falling dusk, and entered the guest wing via the French doors that led directly into the living room.

      The silence crushed him. Libby pulled her hand from his grasp and moved away to the sofa. He poured them both a glass of brandy, gulping back a mouthful before joining her. The spirit warmed his belly, calming him. She was still there, rolling his stomach with her too-big eyes.

      She accepted the drink wordlessly, her face pale.

      After several beats, during which they stared across the chasm, he leaned close and kissed her, tasting the liquor on her soft lips. He couldn’t not kiss her.

      ‘You don’t have to tell me.’

      He could guess. Pain shored up the last part of her heart, holding it hostage. He pulled back a fraction, his finger twirling a thick coil of her glossy hair.

      ‘But I want to know everything about you. I ache to know. All about you—what makes you tick, what pisses you off, what brings out that dazzling smile of yours.’

      She smiled, a dimmer smile than he knew she was capable of, and then sobered.

      ‘I had a fiancé. Callum.’

      Boom. A blow to the chest.

      Her eyes shone bright; her sad smile was apologetic. ‘He was a lot like you—driven, adventurous, fun.’

      Saliva dried in his throat.

      Her smile widened, as if she were remembering. ‘I embraced it. We had good years.’

      The brandy turned to bile in his throat, and something dark and vicious twisted inside him. She was still in love with someone else. Some guy. Callum.

      Libby filled her lungs. He braced himself for the blow. An end to his hopes for them.

      ‘A week before our wedding we…’

      She took a gulp of brandy, winced, placed the glass on the table and shrugged off his blazer. Her stare clung to his, as if she were daring herself to speak without the emotion swimming in her eyes.

      ‘He died. A motorbike accident.’ The last words appeared in a rush. A verbal ripping off of the bandage.

      Alex’s brain fought to tease her words from the rage of emotions tumbling inside him. He placed his brandy glass on the table. Alcohol wouldn’t help.

      ‘The one you were in?’

      She nodded, her gaze fixed on her hands in her lap. ‘I escaped with scratches. He died almost instantly.’ Dry eyes lifted to his. ‘He slid under the wheels of an oncoming truck.’

      He gripped her tight, needing to feel her in his arms as much as he wanted to offer comfort. ‘Olivia. I’m so sorry.’

      She felt so right there. His chest ached as if the mouthful of brandy had burned through flesh and bone.

      She was still for so long he wondered if she was shedding silent tears, but his shirt under her cheek remained dry and her voice when she spoke was low, but steady.

      ‘I understand how you feel about Jenny. Survivor guilt. Not a day goes by when I don’t feel its claws in me. Even three years later.’ She lifted her head, spearing him with a sincere, searching stare. ‘But it was an accident. One I didn’t cause and wasn’t responsible for. It could just as easily have been me who died.’

      Words