Lessons in Rule-Breaking (14 page)

Was she feeling the same tension that he was?

He shrugged off his concern and nodded at her stiffly. ‘Okay. See you later.’

* * *

Jess sat in the middle of the bed with all her notes spread around her. She was hyperaware that this was the last day they had together, but she had to get this article written. This was why she’d come here, after all.

Xander had seemed to become increasingly distanced from her over the last couple of days, which had unsettled her, and she’d thought the best thing to do right now was to get away from the intensity of their situation for a while and try and get her head straight.

This piece on Xander had to be the very best thing she’d ever written or there was a very good chance she’d be booted off the magazine as soon as she got back.

As she scanned over and over all the notes she’d written since she’d arrived a stultifying fear started to grip her. What if she couldn’t do it? The words began to blur together and the more she read, the more panicked she got.

After about half an hour of trying and failing to write one single usable sentence, she gathered up every piece of paper, shuffled them into one tidy sheaf, then threw them across the room in frustration.

She watched as they floated down like overlarge snowflakes and settled onto the cold, tiled floor.

This was ridiculous. How the hell was she ever going to be able to write a thing? Closing her eyes, she took a moment to think back over the time she’d spent here with Xander, about his passion and fears, and his determination not to be beaten down by them and finally how he’d made her feel by including her in his life. How he’d brought out a side of her she’d never known was there.

A deep, bolstering warmth pulsed through her.

Pulling her laptop towards her, she let her fingers move over the keyboard, writing whatever came into her head without letting conscious thought intrude, without giving in to her fear about whether what she was writing was any good or not. Instead, she concentrated on how Xander made her feel about herself.

And the words began to flow. It was as if she’d finally keyed into something—opened a previously locked door in her brain; now all these intense thoughts and feelings, which she’d been suppressing for so long, began firing round her brain.

She wrote and wrote and edited and wrote some more until there it was—the best thing she’d ever written. Reading it back, she had tears in her eyes. It had warmth and humour and, best of all, fire and life. She knew in her gut that Pamela was going to love it—that it might just save her career.

She also knew without a doubt that she was totally and utterly in love with Xander.

And that she’d failed to follow the most basic rule of all: don’t fall for a guy who’s incapable of loving you back.

Somewhere in the back of her brain she’d harboured the hope that the time they’d spent together had meant more to him than any of his previous nonrelationships, and that this time he wanted more.

That he wanted her as she wanted him.

But she knew she was kidding herself—just look at how detached he’d been with her this morning. This relationship was only ever a temporary thing for him. For both of them. A whimsy, a folly, a lark.

What had he called it?

A blip in their timeline.

He’d made that very clear.

She had to pull herself together.

Not giving herself time to fuss and start fiddling with a word here and a word there, she attached the document she’d just written to an email to Pam and hit send, and it was gone—her future—off into the ether.

Her time here was finished.

All she had to do now was say goodbye.

Feeling as if her feet were made of lead, she searched the house for Xander, finding him painting madly away in his studio, in what seemed to have become his usual zoned-out state over the last couple of days. She watched him for a few minutes, taking in the graceful fluidity of his movements as he swiped his brush across the canvas. He was frowning hard in concentration, his handsome face shuttered and drawn as he poured his soul onto the canvas.

He barely glanced up as she moved into the room.

She understood his utter absorption in what he was doing—she’d felt the same about her writing—and it was amazing to see him in such a frenzy of excited activity after being so agitated about not being able to make the magic happen before now. She liked to think she had something to do with that, in some small way.

Finally, he glanced up from what he was doing and noticed her standing there.

‘Hey, Jess, how long have you been there?’

‘Only a couple of minutes,’ she said quietly.

He nodded distractedly. ‘The exhibition’s taking shape. It’s all coming together.’ The look in his eye was almost manic.

‘Well, I’m really pleased for you,’ she managed to force past the lump in her throat.

‘Jess?’ He was looking at her as if he was worried she was about to cry—which was pretty much on the money.

Pull yourself together, woman.

She didn’t want him to see how upset she was about the inevitable end of their time together.

Glancing away, she smoothed her hair down against her head and fought against the growing tension in the back of her throat. She couldn’t look at him any more. If she did he’d see just how much she was struggling to keep it together.

‘I finished my article,’ she said, attempting to keep the misery out of her voice.

‘Oh, yeah?’ He looked at her, his eyes blank, his mind obviously still on his painting.

‘Don’t worry, I gave you a good write-up and I didn’t include anything too salacious.’

He smiled. ‘Great, that’s great, Jess. Congratulations.’

He looked back at his painting as if he’d said all there was to say.

She was being dismissed.

So this was it, then. The end of the affair.

‘Okay, then, I guess I’d better let you get on with finishing your picture. Will you let me know when you’re exhibiting? I’ll leave my contact details on the hall table. I’d love to finally get to see what you’ve been working so hard on.’

He looked up at her again, the hazy look in his eyes clearing as if her words had finally penetrated through to his brain.

‘Hell, Jess, sorry, I was right in the middle of a thought here. Yes, of course I’ll let you know.’

There was a steely look in his eye now, as if he’d hardened himself against her.

A hot wave of despair crashed over her.

She needed to get out of there before she made a fool of herself and did something stupid and crass like asking him to be her
boyfriend
.

‘Okay, then. Well, it’s been a blast. Good luck.’ Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked away from him, before he could see how much she wanted him to ask her not to go.

All the way through packing her suitcase she wondered whether he’d come and stop her.

As she walked down the corridor, then out of the villa, then got into her car, with her heart hammering against her chest, she wondered whether he’d come running up at the last moment and say, ‘I want you to stay.’

Then as she drove the car slowly out of the driveway and crept down the lane to the main road, her breath short and a hard pressure behind her eyes, just waiting to spill over into tears, she wondered whether she’d see him in her rear-view mirror, running after her car.

But she didn’t.

He wasn’t coming. He was letting her go.

NINE

Xander spent the
next couple of days trying to convince himself it was a good thing that Jess had gone. He needed to concentrate on getting the paintings finished and having her around would have been disruptive.

But he couldn’t convince himself.

The loneliness bit at him, sinking its teeth deep and leaving him on edge and distracted.

After a couple more days of failing to summon the energy to finish the final painting he decided that Italy and seclusion weren’t working for him any more. He needed sparkiness and life again and that meant going back to London.

As soon as he arrived back he went straight out to a party some friends were holding at a bar in Sloane Square, expecting the buzz of the city to perk him back up, but it didn’t work.

He felt tired and drained and ended up going home unfashionably early, telling his friends it was because he’d expended so much energy on his art recently, but even as the words left his mouth he knew that wasn’t the real reason. Normally when he was excited about a piece of art he was working on he was full of adrenaline—wanting to talk about it with everyone he met—but he felt protective about this exhibition for some reason.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

* * *

Jess had returned to London in a state of bewildered confusion.

Walking back into the buzz of the
Spark
office had been a shock to the system after the peace and tranquillity of Lake Garda and it took her a few days to get back up to speed with the London pace of life.

To her annoyance she’d found Pamela was off sick with the flu when she first arrived back and so hadn’t even looked at the piece she’d written yet—perhaps it was karma catching up with her for playing hooky. The thought that she could have stayed for a couple more days with Xander flittered through her mind, but she knew that would have only prolonged the anxiety of having to say goodbye.

Despite her determination to get over Xander and move on with her life, she was having an awfully hard time getting him out of her head.

Spending time with him had been life-changing—letting loose without the fear of being judged had excited her more than she’d ever felt possible and she’d loved being touched and explored and worshipped, and having his delighted permission to do the same back to him. He’d woken something inside her that had been slumbering for years.

For the first time in her life she’d felt desired, sexy. Beautiful.

She found she was walking around now with her head held higher, making herself look at the world around her instead of staring down at the floor as she had before she’d met him. He’d opened up a whole world of possibility in her mind. Sex
was
something she could enjoy, and while it wasn’t the be-all and end-all, it added an edge of excitement to her life that had previously been missing. Now she’d experienced great sex, she could barely believe she’d gone without it for so long.

The world seemed full of new possibilities, alive with promise.

But on the flip side, no Xander making her heart race and her blood pump with excitement just by being close.

She realised, of course, that she’d run away from him again, only this time he hadn’t chased her. Perhaps he’d thought there was no point, that she didn’t want him to ask her to stay? He wasn’t a mind reader, after all, so how could he have known what she wanted?

She should have told him how she felt.

If she’d learnt anything over the last couple of weeks it was that she needed to put herself out there, to open herself up to new experiences if she wanted the opportunity for something good to happen. She couldn’t just sit back any more, with her head in the sand, and wait for things to happen
to
her.

Pamela finally came back after a couple more days off sick and Jess waited, nerves jumping, to be summoned into her office.

‘Well, Jess, I’ve read your piece on Xander Heaton,’ Pamela said as Jess perched carefully on the edge of the seat facing the editor’s desk. Jess managed a smile despite her jaw being clenched with anxiety.

She just wanted it to be over with so she could move forward. If Pamela still thought she couldn’t cut it at
Spark
and she had to go back home and start again she wanted time to come to terms with the toe-curling horror of it.

‘Well, you did it, you impressed me,’ Pam said, and Jess felt a lightness in her chest battle with the heaviness that had been keeping her company since she’d left Italy. ‘This is exactly the kind of writing I’d been hoping to see. I don’t know what happened out there, but whatever it was it’s had a big effect on your style. I like it, Jess, well done.’

It was a big deal to her to hear that kind of praise from someone as tough as Pamela, and her eyes welled with grateful tears.

‘So I get to keep my job here?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘Absolutely,’ Pam replied.

Jess breathed a huge sigh of relief. At least that part of her life was on the right track again.

‘The only thing it needs before it can go in the magazine is a mention of what he’s working on at the minute,’ Pamela said as Jess began to stand up, thinking she was home and dry.

She went hot, then cold in the space of a second. ‘I—I don’t know what he was working on,’ she stammered. ‘At least, he never let me see the pictures. He was really insistent about that.’

The look of displeasure on Pamela’s face made her stomach sink.

‘Well, you’ll just have to go and see him and tell him you have a couple of follow-up questions. See if you can get a gander at the pictures while you’re there,’ her boss said flippantly, as if that would be the easiest thing in the world. ‘From the tone of the article it sounded like you got to know him pretty well.’ She raised a discerning eyebrow. ‘Use your influence, Jess.’

Her chest felt tight and her lungs seemed to be having trouble drawing air. ‘You want me to go all the way back to Italy to find out what he’s working on?’

Pam gave her a withering look. ‘Don’t you read the gossip columns? He’s back in London. Although they’re all chatting about the fact he left a party early for once instead of indulging in his usual bad behaviour.’

‘Xander’s b-back in London?’ Jess managed to stutter through frozen lips.

When she’d thought he was still in Italy it had been easier to keep her heartache under wraps, but it felt as if he were close enough to touch now—close, yet still so far away.

Pam sighed and looked at her as if she thought she was talking to a total idiot. ‘Yes, Jess. So get your hide over there and source what we need so I can put this issue to bed.’

Sliding off her chair and standing up on jellylike legs, Jess gave her editor a stiff nod. ‘Okay, Pam, I’ll see what I can do.’

* * *

Jess stood outside the door to Xander’s studio, her body quivering with nerves and her heart in her mouth.

She had no idea how she was going to play this. She also didn’t know how he was going to react when he saw her again. They hadn’t exactly parted on bad terms, but there hadn’t been a fond farewell either.

Perhaps this was fate or serendipity, or whatever you wanted to call it, handing her an opportunity. Perhaps when he saw her he’d realise how they were meant to be together and ask her not to leave again.

Perhaps.

Only one way to find out.

Before she lost her nerve, she lifted her shaking hand and banged hard on his door, hoping he was in there.

After a couple of seconds the door flew open to reveal Xander in all his splendour, regulation paintbrush in hand and a look of acute surprise on his face when he clocked that it was her on his doorstep.

‘Jess!’ His beautiful voice rumbled through her, waking up every nerve ending and sending a rush of pure longing south through her body. He was even more gorgeous, more virile, than she remembered. It had been less than a week since they’d last seen each other, but to Jess it felt like a lifetime since she’d been allowed to touch him.

She wanted him back. So badly it physically hurt.

She needed to be cool here, collected and poised. No way was she going to go to pieces and make a fool of herself.

Opening her mouth to speak, she froze, totally at a loss for what to say now she was standing there in front of him again.

Say something, Jess. Anything.

‘I love you,’ she blurted, her brain too late to catch up with her mouth and circumnavigate the damage she’d just wreaked.

He just stared at her with those mesmerising eyes of his and didn’t say a word. There wasn’t even a flicker of emotion on his face.

Her heartbeat accelerated as she waited for something—anything—to give her a clue about how he felt about her laying herself on the line like that.

There was a sound of heavy footsteps behind her and, grateful for the distraction from her humiliation, she broke her awkward eye contact with Xander and turned around to see a thickset, silver-haired man reach the top of the stairwell and raise a hand in greeting to them both.

‘Xander, glad I’ve caught you in. I’ve been speaking to the guys at the Brick Lane gallery and they have a couple more questions about how we want to set the exhibition up. I was in the area so I thought I’d drop in for a quick chat about it.’

Jess heard Xander clear his throat behind her. ‘Sure, Paul, yeah. Tell you what, come down to the kitchen with me while I make a drink for my guest and we’ll chat on the way.’

Jess’s skin prickled as she felt him move from behind her and she watched in stultified silence as he walked towards his visitor.

He turned back to look at her, his face still devoid of any emotion.

‘Jess, why don’t you wait in my studio? I’ll be back in a minute and we can talk,’ he said levelly.

She gave him a nod and a tentative smile, then watched him disappear down the stairs after his visitor.

Stumbling into his studio, she closed the door behind her and put her head in her hands. She stared at the floor in horror, utterly incredulous that she just
told him that she loved him.

Well, at least no one could accuse her of beating around the bush.

What must he be thinking right now? And what was he going to say when he finally came back into the room?

Her heart thumped against her chest as she considered the possibilities. Rejection or acceptance. Whichever he chose, it was going to turn her world upside down. Again.

She paced the room for a minute trying to get her head together, managing to knock into one of the paintings propped against the wall and jumping back when it fell flat against the floor with a clatter.

Picking it up, she propped it back against the wall and knelt there for a moment, breathing slowly and deeply. As she stared at the back of the painting it suddenly occurred to her that she was alone, in Xander’s studio, surrounded by his exhibition paintings. Well, she might as well get what she’d come here for while he was out of the room. Even if he gave her the brush-off she could still go back and give Pamela what she needed for the article before heading off home to crumple into a sobbing heap.

She walked unsteadily over to where his largest paintings stood, their paint-stained tarpaulins hiding them from sight. Her hand shook as she pulled up the bottom of one of the tarps to reveal the painting underneath.

Her heart rattled in her chest as she stood there, staring at it, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. It was a picture of her, standing naked, covered in paint with an embarrassingly provocative look on her face.

She could barely breathe, the horror of what she was seeing making her chest contract painfully.

Turning round, and with a sense of impending dread, she lifted up the tarp on the painting propped against the easel in the middle of the room. It was another one of her, lying trussed up to his bed, fully clothed in her linen suit and another image of her naked body above that in some subversive sexual pose.

He’d taken their most intimate, most intensely personal moments and was intending to use them for commercial gain.

The thought of these pictures being displayed in public view, her face clearly recognisable, made her want to vomit.

He didn’t care about her at all; he’d been using her.

* * *

Xander somehow managed to deal with his agent’s jovial banter and answer his questions about details for the exhibition while Jess’s declaration that she
loved him
whirled like a tornado around his head.

He’d been amazed and strangely uplifted to find her standing there at his door, and seeing her again had brought home to him just how much he’d missed her company. But her announcement had thrown him for six.

Even though she’d clearly let it slip by accident—in her usual impulsive fashion—he could tell from the look in her eye that she meant it.

And it scared the crap out of him.

For the first time in his life he had no idea how to deal with a situation. Usually he’d just blow a woman off if she suddenly announced she was in love with him, but he didn’t want to do that with Jess. She meant more to him than that.

He just wasn’t sure how much more.

They needed to talk about this, that was for damn sure.

After finally getting rid of Paul, he walked back into the studio to find Jess standing in front of the final painting he’d been working on for the exhibition—the one of her sexual epiphany. His first instinct was to stride over there and pull the tarp back down and yell at her for peeking, until he saw the look of bewildered disbelief on her face.

‘You sketched me naked? While I was asleep?’ She sounded so shocked, so hurt, it stopped him in his tracks. He approached her with his hands held out in a placatory gesture, as a dark, disturbing burn wove through his chest and pooled in his belly. ‘Jess, it was amazing. I had this moment of clarity—I haven’t been this excited about a painting in a very long time.’

She stared at him, aghast. ‘You thought it would be okay, when you knew how much I hated showing my body? I haven’t exactly been coy about that, Xander, but you thought you’d go ahead and do it anyway without me knowing about it?’