The cruelty of that comment hit her hard. Her chest felt like someone had sliced it open with a knife, and at that moment, she realized just how much she cared about this man. Damn it, she’d fallen in love with him. Her heart squeezed in pain and humiliation. God, she was so stupid.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked quietly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Do you even feel
anything
for me?”
He hesitated, and her heart ached again.
“Do you?” she demanded.
Ryan’s gaze didn’t waver as he gave a slight shake of the head. “No,” he finally admitted.
Tears pricked her eyelids. She quickly blinked them back. Anger joined the sorrow swimming in her gut, and she narrowed her eyes at him, unable to accept what he’d just said. “You’re lying. You do have feelings for me.”
“You turn me on, sure,” he said callously. “But I don’t love you, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He grimaced. “Fuck, we both know I’m in love with someone else.”
The knife in her heart twisted several more times, leaving her chest raw and empty. “Jane,” she said softly.
“Yes.” He averted his eyes. “It’s always been her, all right?”
“Were you using me to try and get over her?”
58
Heat of the Night
He nodded.
The tears returned, this time doing more than stinging her eyes. They streamed down her cheeks and she viciously swiped at them with the back of her hand. She took a deep breath. “Go then. You obviously don’t want to be here, and frankly, I don’t want you here either, so just go, Ryan.”
His blue eyes flickered with regret. “I’m sorry, Annabelle.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said bitterly.
He started to reach for her, then seemed to change his mind. “It was fun at least, no?”
Anger ignited in her body. “Yeah, loads of fun,” she answered darkly. “Now do me a favor, Ryan, and get the hell out of my house.”
It was past midnight when Ryan let himself into his apartment, his suit rumpled from the flight and his heart battered from everything he had put it through tonight.
You did the right thing
, the voice in his head said, but he didn’t feel reassured. Had he done the right thing? He couldn’t get the image of Annabelle’s tears out of his mind, and it killed him knowing that he’d hurt her.
But she would be better off in the long run, right? He didn’t belong in her world, and he would never fit in to that wealthy lifestyle of hers. Her father had made that pretty damn clear. Annabelle would be fine.
She’d probably get back together with that asshole Bryce, move into a big mansion, and have a luxurious life. He was sparing her the embarrassment of being with some military bum who made in a year what her father probably earned in a week.
You are not good enough for my daughter.
Gregory Holmes’s harsh words continued to buzz in his brain. He groaned softly, then pulled his tie from his pocket and hurled it across the room. He stalked into his bedroom, where he tore off his suit and slid into bed, naked and pissed off. The moment his head hit the pillow, the scent of orange blossoms filled his nostrils, which only made him angrier. Damn Annabelle and her snobby parents and her sexy orange blossom smell and all that sexy sarcasm. He groaned again, the sound muffled by the pillow, and then in an uncharacteristic burst of fury, he threw the pillow across the room. The damn thing hit the stack of DVDs atop his dresser, sending the pile crashing to the floor.
With the instincts of a well-trained Navy SEAL, Matt suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking alert and urgent. “What happened?” he demanded.
Ryan let out a hysterical laugh. “Nothing. DVDs fell, that’s all. Sorry if I woke you.”
Matt studied him, a worried expression filling his face. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing,” he said again.
“You have crazy eyes, man. The same look you had on your face during that last gig in Afghanistan.”
Matt furrowed his brows. “Weren’t you supposed to come back from San Francisco tomorrow night?”
59
Elle Kennedy
“I left early.” Then he thought, to hell with it, and added, “I broke up with Annabelle.”
Matt’s eyes widened. “What? Why the hell did you do that? We both know you’re crazy about her.”
He smothered a sigh. “I’m crazy about Jane,” he corrected.
His friend went silent for a moment, confusion practically radiating from his body. “No, you’re not.”
A shrewd glint entered Matt’s eyes. “You don’t have that lovelorn little boy look on your face anymore when you say her name.”
“Fuck. Just mind your own business, O’Connor. Annabelle and I are over, and that’s that.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone. “If you want her around that badly, you date her.”
Matt raised both eyebrows. “Wow.”
“Wow what?” he grumbled.
“You’re in love with her.”
Ryan gritted his teeth. “Would you go back to your room already? I’m trying to sleep here.”
“No, you’re not. You’re trying to sulk.”
“Fuck off, Matt. Just leave this alone.”
Matt shook his head, but rather than pressing the subject, he simply walked away. A moment later, Ryan heard Matt’s bedroom door shut with a soft click.
Damn it. Matt was wrong. He wasn’t in love with Annabelle. He couldn’t be. Two weeks, that’s all they’d spent together. Had some sex, shared some laughs—that wasn’t love.
Was it?
He settled back in his bed, staring up at the ceiling in dismay. No, he couldn’t love her. And he just prayed that Matt really would leave it alone. He didn’t need his friend harassing him about this break-up, if you could even call it that, and he certainly didn’t want to think about Annabelle anymore. It was over.
Done. Better off forgotten.
But apparently the words
leave it alone
weren’t in his best friend’s vocabulary, because when Ryan walked into the kitchen the next morning after a sleepless night of tossing and turning, he found none other than Jane sitting on one of the stools in front of the narrow counter. She wore a turquoise sundress, her red hair hung in a loose braid down her back, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel a burst of longing when he saw her.
“So how’d you fuck it up?” she asked when she saw him, cutting right to the chase.
He ignored the question, heading for the fridge. He pulled out a jug of orange juice, poured himself a cup, then leaned against the sink as he took a deep swig of juice. “Don’t you have better things to do than bug me at—” he glanced at the clock on the microwave, “—seven o’clock in the morning?”
“Nope,” she replied breezily.
He drained his glass and dropped it in the sink with a clink. “Did O’Connor call you?”
60
Heat of the Night
“Yep.” Her blue eyes searched his face. “He said you dumped Annabelle and asked me to come over to slap some sense into you.”
“Trust me, ending it made perfect sense,” he muttered under his breath.
“I don’t believe you.” Her chin jutted out in its usual stubborn pose. “Annabelle is awesome. She’s funny and smart and it was obvious you two really hit it off. So how on earth does it make sense to just dump her like a piece of—”
“Her father tried to bribe me to get out of her life,” he cut in, his voice hard.
Jane’s jaw fell open. For once in her life, she was actually speechless, and Ryan could see her brain working overtime, trying to figure that one out.
“No way,” she finally said, sounding horrified.
“Yes way.”
Hopping off the stool, Jane marched over to him, took his hand and dragged him into the living room, where she made him sit on the couch. She flopped down beside him and said, “Tell me everything.”
So he did. He told her about the trip to San Francisco, about the goddamn palace Annabelle’s parents lived in. The way her mother had looked down her nose at him, the fun chat with Annabelle’s dad. He even threw in Bryce’s surprise the-wedding-is-back-on announcement, just for kicks. When he finished, Jane looked utterly amazed.
“That sounds…terrible.”
“It was,” he confirmed. “Really awkwardly terrible. Now do you see why I ended it?”
She looked at him in disbelief. “No, I don’t, actually. When the hell did you become a coward?”
His skin prickled with offense. “I’m not a coward.”
“Yes, you are. You felt out of your league, got all insecure, and took off like a scared little bunny rabbit.” She softened her tone. “Look, I know you didn’t have the most luxurious of upbringings, and I’m sure being around all those rich people was overwhelming, but come on, Ryan, you’re better than that.
You’re better than
them
, and you should have fought for her instead of letting her father scare you off.”
Ryan suddenly regretted ever telling Jane about his childhood. He should have known she wouldn’t understand. She came from a great family, and even if she hadn’t, she seemed to fit in wherever she went.
He could see Jane getting along splendidly with Annabelle’s snotty parents, that was just the kind of person she was. But him? He would never fit in with those snobs.
“I just don’t get how Annabelle didn’t see through your bullshit break-up speech.” Jane shook her head in bewilderment. “She seemed pretty sharp when I met her at the hospital.”
Guilt swarmed his gut as he remembered what he’d said to Annabelle.
It’s always been her.
He quickly avoided Jane’s eyes, scared she might read his mind, which of course she did.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” she said with a sigh.
“No,” he lied.
61
Elle Kennedy
“What the hell did you tell her to get her to believe your crap, Ryan?”
He stared at some random point behind her head, determined not to meet those keen blue eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Ryan.”
“Jane.”
He nearly jumped when he felt her hands on his chin. She forced him to look at her, her hands warm against his jaw. “What did you say to her?” she asked sternly.
Swallowing, Ryan met her gaze head-on. “I told her I was in love with you.”
She let out a startled expletive. “For God’s sake, Ryan, why the
hell
would you—” She stopped abruptly, searching his expression. “Oh fuck, you actually believe you meant it.”
Irritation climbed up his body, hardening his chest. “Maybe I did mean it.”
Jane shook her head, the sympathy in her eyes making him wince. Great, she felt sorry for him. How fucking wonderful. “I know we had a little flirtation going when Beck and I broke up all those months ago, but come on, Ry, you’re not in love with me.”
“Maybe I am,” he said roughly.
“No,” she disagreed. “Maybe you think you are, because I’m the first woman you’ve ever opened up to, but we’re best friends and nothing more. Deep down, you have to know that—”
He kissed her. He hadn’t planned on doing it, didn’t think about the consequences either. One second he was looking into her gorgeous blue eyes and the next he was covering her mouth with his. He’d fantasized about this moment for months, wondered how it would feel, how she would taste, but the moment his lips met hers, reality crashed into him like a tidal wave.
“Fuck,” he said hoarsely, quickly breaking the lip contact. He averted his eyes again, ashamed of what he’d just done. He wanted to slap himself, not just for forcing a lip-lock on his best friend, but because he knew now, with total certainty, that he’d just kissed a woman who was the equivalent of a sister he didn’t have.
A woman who rewarded the unwanted contact with an angry scowl. “What. The. Fuck,” she snapped.
“I’m sorry.” He sucked in a ragged breath, cringing when she scooted to the other end of the couch. “I thought—shit, Jane. That was a crappy thing to do.”
“Beyond crappy,” she grumbled. Then, to his extreme surprise, she started to laugh. “Felt rather incestuous, no?”
A laugh slipped out of his own throat. “Uh, to say the least. I’m sorry,” he said again.
Jane’s laughter died, replaced by a long sigh. “I forgive you.” She paused. “Now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, can you please get on a plane back to San Francisco and win back the woman you
actually
love?”
62
Heat of the Night
He hesitated, the idea so tempting he nearly launched himself at the phone to call the airline. But he reined in the futile urge. “No,” he finally said.
“Why not?” She sounded frazzled.
“Because this doesn’t change anything. Maybe I misunderstood my feelings for you, but I know exactly where I stand with Annabelle’s family. Her dad tried to pay me off, for fuck’s sake.”
“Well, screw him,” Jane retorted. “You love Annabelle, not her dad.”
“I don’t belong in her life, Jane,” he said softly.
She sighed again, slowly sliding back toward him. This time when she touched his cheek, her fingers were gentle. “Then you know what that makes you, Ry?”
“What?” he asked hoarsely.
She dropped her hand, the disappointment on her face unmistakable. “It makes you a goddamn fool.”
63
Chapter Eight
Annabelle spent the morning in her childhood bedroom, trying to figure out what the heck to do. Her heart felt like someone had smashed it with a hammer, and she still couldn’t believe what a fool she’d been, actually believing that she and Ryan had more than a fling going. Somehow, during their two weeks together, she’d fallen for him.
But he hadn’t fallen for her.
She sat down at the edge of the four-poster bed, looking around the bedroom in dismay. Decorated in shades of cream and yellow, the room boasted an antique dresser, a huge desk built into the wall, and a walk-in closet that was bigger than Christina’s bedroom back in San Diego. Everything was neat and pristine—her mother didn’t allow clutter—and, growing up, Annabelle had hated this perfect, impersonal room.
She was probably going to have to move back in here, until she found a place of her own, and she was not looking forward to being under the same roof as her parents again. But what choice did she have? No matter what Bryce said, she was not going to marry him. No matter how things had ended with Ryan, her time with him had shown her that she didn’t want to be with Bryce. She wanted a man who gave a damn about her, who made her feel beautiful and special, who made her laugh and appreciated her, and Bryce Worthington was not that man.