Nancy Holland - Owed - One Wedding Night

When she first walked in – dark circles under her eyes expensive make-up couldn’t hide, pale-blonde hair twisted up on her head, wearing the same black suit she’d worn to her father’s funeral – he’d been stunned by the double whammy of tension in his gut and a pang in his heart. But before he could decide whether to take her in his arms or start raging about what she’d done to him, he realized how nervous she was. That one moment of sympathy had earned him twenty minutes of feigning the cold indifference toward her he wished he felt.

He’d avoided her for the last three years because he knew seeing her again would turn him inside out like this. A need that was far more than physical still gnawed at his gut.

Every time she’d traded verbal jabs with him the way she used to, his libido had jumped into overdrive. It had been all he could do not to grab her and take her in every way a man could.

Madison had always had that effect on him. Erotic memories flooded his mind, hardened his body, before he could stop them.

He banished them in an instant with the memory of standing at the church door, where her father had told him in a red-faced rage, “The little bitch isn’t coming. She says she’s sorry. Sorry! After all the money I threw away on this fiasco.”

Then her father had taken Jake’s arm, dragged him to the altar, and made him stand there while the preacher announced to the hundreds of people in attendance that the wedding was off.

Now Madison expected Jake to loan her mother money because he was “a fair man”. She’d been pushing the limits to expect him not to throw her bodily out of his office the minute she appeared in the door.

So why ask her out to dinner? He had no intention of loaning her, or her mother, a penny. And he certainly had no intention of letting her flaunt her plan – a product of the MBA, which had been so much more important to her than he was – over dinner.

She’d hurt him so badly the scars hadn’t completely healed three years later. The impulse to hurt her back pounded through his brain, but he wasn’t that kind of man.

No, he hadn’t asked her to dinner to get his revenge. He’d done it simply because the idea of not seeing her again was more than he could bear.

Madison’s hands were shaking so hard she could barely get the key into the ignition of the beloved vintage Ferrari that was the last remaining sign Jake Carlyle had once loved her.

If you could call it love when he couldn’t understand why she wanted to get the education she’d need to build a career at Dartmoor, the way he had at Carlyle & Sons.

In any case, love surely was not the reason behind his dinner invitation. A sincere concern for her mother’s welfare, if not her own, maybe.

Or simple lust. As if she’d hop back into his bed after everything that had happened.

She started to hand the parking attendant a credit card before she remembered her new rules and pulled a ten out of her wallet instead. The car behind her honked at the delay.

She took her time collecting her change before she drove on, then refocused on Jake’s dinner invitation. She didn’t know what he had in mind, but she did know how angry he’d been when she didn’t show up for the wedding. And how humiliated. Her father had described it all in great detail, along with his own disgust, before he’d cut her out of his life for good.

Jake was probably out for revenge, and yet she’d said yes. The remote possibility that he might loan them the money had only been part of it. An hour or two with the only man she’d ever loved, with or without the loan, had for one weak moment seemed worth whatever revenge he planned to take. Besides, what horrible things could he say to her that she hadn’t already said to herself a hundred times?

Maybe once she survived this dinner and he’d had his revenge, she could forgive herself and get on with her life. Still, the prospect of life without Jake had never looked more bleak.

“Ms. Ellsworth.” The maître d’ at the Yacht Club greeted Madison with genuine warmth. “It’s been quite a while since you graced us with your presence.”

Three years, to be precise. After the non-wedding, she’d stayed away for fear she might run into her father, until he’d given up his membership and sold the yacht. Then she hadn’t had any reason to come here at all.

“It’s nice to see you again, too, Marcel. I’m here to meet Jake Carlyle.”

Marcel was a true professional. The only sign of surprise was a momentary widening of his eyes. “Of course, Ms. Ellsworth. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

None of the people who passed through the lobby in a range of attire from swimsuits to thousand-dollar business suits gave her a second glance. Apparently she’d struck the right fashion note for dinner with her ex-fiancé – a navy-blue silk dress with pearls and dressy black sandals that matched the large purse holding her tablet computer. Business-like but feminine.

And this was just business, of course. Either the literal business of the loan Dartmoor so desperately needed or, more likely, the business of letting Jake have his moment of revenge.

The Yacht Club was the perfect place for it. Everyone they knew would either be in the building or hear about it the next day from someone who was. Strategic planning had always been Jake’s strong suit.

“Madi.”

Another clever strategy. He’d thrown her off-balance by appearing from the deck behind her rather than from the bar. She turned to face him.

Dear lord, the man was gorgeous. Shirt open at the neck, hair tousled by the wind, blue eyes crinkled against the brightly lit space – he was every woman’s dream. Her dream.

And her nightmare. Walking away from this man was the hardest thing she’d ever done. The hole it left inside her still bled at odd moments. Now, for instance. She could only stare at him while he waited for a simple greeting she couldn’t quite muster.

He smiled, but not the smug smile she half expected, one that showed he was well aware of the effect he had on her. No, he smiled at her as if seeing her made him happy, as if she brought the kind of joy into his life he used to bring into hers.

She might have stood there forever if Marcel hadn’t reappeared with a bow and led them to a secluded table in the dining room that overlooked the rippling waters of the bay.

She endured the stares and mutters of the people they passed, used to living with the scandal her father had created. Thankfully Jake didn't act as if he noticed any of it.

“Do you get out to sail often?” she asked, for lack of anything else to say once the server had taken their drink orders.

A potent mixture of grief and anger crossed his face. “I don't sail anymore at all.”

She’d forgotten. His father had died sailing alone on the bay.

“I’m sorry.”

“I won’t say it gets easier, but you do learn to live with the loss.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

She could imagine learning to live with her father’s death. It was what he’d done while he was alive that she found so hard to forget – or forgive. Probably because she was still living with the consequences, including this awkward dinner.

Jake reached across the table to take the hand she’d unconsciously extended toward him, as if to comfort him. His face took on the same look of intense interest as before, as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered. She wished.

He lifted her hand to his lips with the quirk of a smile.

“But let’s not dwell on the past. Any of it.”

She jerked free of the 110-volt charge that shot through her system, expecting to see scorch marks on her hand.