Heidi Rice - Back in His Bed

“You didn’t want me to stay. You were just as miserable as I was.”

“Did I ever say that, Bren?”

“You didn’t have to.” Her voice broke on the last word, and Brenna cleared her throat. “You’re right. We should just forget this.”

Oh, no, he wasn’t going to let Bren retreat. Not after tossing down the gauntlet. “Here’s a newsflash for you. You left. You served me with divorce papers. Don’t blame me for your broken heart when you’re the one who walked out.”

Brenna pulled back as if he’d slapped her. Then her eyes narrowed. “You’re saying it was all my fault? Don’t even try. It takes two people to make a relationship fail that spectacularly. I loved you, Jack, and it hurt too much that you didn’t love me.”

Had he heard her correctly? “You think I didn’t love you?”

“You wanted me.” She made it sound distasteful.

“I’m not denying that. But if you want to talk pain and heartache, try your wife telling you she’d rather live at a damn vineyard in Sonoma than with you. We can divvy out blame however you want to for the rest of our problems, but don’t try to tell me I didn’t love you. Because you’d be wrong.”

He was rewarded for his honesty when Brenna’s eyes grew wide. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again with a snap. “Maybe we were better off when we weren’t speaking to each other.”

No one could wind him up like Brenna could. This debacle of an evening was proof of that. “I’m inclined to agree with you.”

“Then why—?”

“I think we’ve taken this discussion as far as it can go. No sense circling back and rehashing the past again. When you’re ready to sign the sale papers, let me know.” Picking up his towel from where he’d dropped it earlier, he draped it over his shoulders and left her standing there, glaring at him.

It certainly wasn’t for the first time. Oddly, though, this time he felt as if he deserved it.

Watching Jack walk away was like reliving yet another painful scene from their marriage. Except this time there wouldn’t be the fabulous make-up sex later on.

Knees shaking, she made her way carefully to the table and sank into a chair. She heard the door to the house close, and now, safely alone, she let her head drop into her hands. So much had been thrown at her tonight, and she wasn’t sure she could process it all.

This was a nightmare—the kind she couldn’t wake up from. She’d been so close—too close—to giving in to the sensual pull of Jack that if he hadn’t whispered his indecent proposal into her ear at that exact moment she’d probably be happily under him right now.

But to have him offer her…God, it didn’t bear thinking about. She didn’t know which was worse: the fact Jack thought so little of her now he believed she’d be willing to sell herself for Amante Verano, or the fact she’d seriously considered it for a nanosecond.

And how to explain the pain that had shot through her when he withdrew his offer altogether?

No one could rip her apart with the effortless efficiency of Jack Garrett. She’d thought—make that hoped —time and maturity would have made her immune to him. Or that he’d forgotten how.

Tears burned in her eyes. No , she told herself angrily as she took deep breaths. She would not cry over him again. She’d long ago grown weary of crying after one of them walked out, and she was finished with that. It had to be the rehashing that had her so close to blubbering again.

She’d loved him so much back then, but over the years she’d decided it had been a one-sided affair. To have him say he’d loved her? To hear that she’d hurt him when she left? That was a one-two punch she hadn’t seen coming, and her head was still reeling.

Once upon a time she’d believed her love for Jack could solve anything life threw at them. But the cold reality of their endless cycle of fight-truce-sex-fight had shown her how big the gap between them really was. The inability to bridge that gap had always been her secret failure, the thing she’d never admitted to anyone.

But for a few minutes tonight she’d thought they’d almost built that bridge. She’d briefly felt that old connection—the one they’d had in the very beginning, when they could talk for hours about everything and nothing. That feeling had been buried quickly in the ensuing mess, and she felt a pang of disappointment at the loss.

Brenna sighed and lifted her head. Everything looked exactly the same, seeming to belie the upheaval she’d just gone through. The glowing lights from the pool, the bubbling hot tub, the chirp of the crickets and the smell of the flowers created a serene setting designed to soothe—exactly what she’d come looking for tonight. But it was wasted on her now.

Her insides tumbled over each other and her head ached from the emotional extremes and pressure. Even her wine couldn’t calm the storm within her. Grabbing her robe, which she didn’t bother putting on, she concentrated on making her shaky legs move her back to the privacy of her bedroom quickly.

Because, damn it, Jack had made her cry. Again.

“‘EVERY day is a beautiful day at Amante Verano.’ Isn’t that your motto?” Dianne sing-songed the greeting as she poked her head around the lab door and extended a steaming mug in Brenna’s direction.

Brenna accepted the coffee with a grateful smile. After another restless, miserable night, the heady aroma of Di’s high-octane brew was a welcome jolt to her sluggish system. “Ever since you printed it on my coffee mug it is.”

“Then why do you look like someone kicked that puppy you claim you’re going to get?”

She wouldn’t be able to avoid this conversation for long. She might as well go ahead and get it over with. “One guess.”

“Jack.” Dianne pushed a rack of vials and testing supplies to the back of the counter and pulled herself up to sit, her legs swinging gently. “Are you two still fighting? Come on, Brenna, surely there’s a better way to sort this out?”

“I wish. Every conversation—no matter how nice I try to be—always deteriorates into a shouting match. And last night was a nightmare. I thought exes were supposed to get more civil as time progresses. Not us.” Brenna shook her head and leaned back in her chair.

“Unfinished business, I think.”

Brenna stared into her coffee. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Dianne snorted. “Try that with someone who didn’t witness the whole thing. I watched you fall goofystupid in love, elope, and then divorce in less than six months. I also know what that did to you—even if you tried to hide it from everyone else.”

Her stomach was hollow enough at the moment. She didn’t need Dianne making it worse. “Where’s Chloe?” she asked with forced cheerfulness.

“With her father, learning the intricacies of wine-making, testing and probably teething on your new digital refractometer. Now, don’t change the subject.” She shook her head in disappointment. “It was a weak attempt, anyway. No points for effort.”

“I thought it might work there for a minute,” Brenna grumbled.

“With someone else, maybe. But you can’t fool me. Now, spill. What is going on with you two?”

She certainly wasn’t going to go into detail. She still hadn’t made sense of it yet herself. “You know the basics. Then, last night, Jack offered to give me his half of the winery.”

Dianne lit up and she clapped her hands. “That’s fantastic! It’s not perfect, I know, but it beats…” She trailed off as Brenna shook her head slightly. “Oh, no. There’s a ‘but,’ isn’t there? I hate the ‘but.’”