Losing Control Page 2

  Not for the first time I wonder... Would this be happening if Cain had inherited the shares? If he’d been forced to come back, to get involved? What if I’d taken him up on his departing offer of calling on him if we needed anything?

  Not that he’d made that offer to me. No, it was what he told Marie on his one and only visit, the day after the funeral. At least I think there’s only been one—the one she’s spoken to me about. But then, would she have told me if there had been more? Would she have wanted to risk any more upset, any more pain...?

  And there you go, thinking about him when you should be focusing on what matters...

  ‘Maybe you should call him, you know. Just...’

  I know Janice means Cain. It’s not just me thinking about him; the majority of the company are. His success knows no bounds, even when compared to ours.

  ‘I don’t need anyone’s help, least of all his.’ I smile to soften the acidity of my words.

  She nods as she clutches her tablet to her chest. ‘Forget I said anything.’

  ‘I will.’ I go back to my screen.

  ‘Night, then.’

  I don’t look at her, only nod. There’s too much emotion in my face, in my voice. I can’t bring myself to speak any further. I’m tired and far too bitter not to say something about Cain that I’ll later regret.

  She leaves, closing the door softly behind her, and I feel a stab of guilt at my brusque treatment of her. It’s not her fault I’m tetchy. It’s all Cain’s.

  We’re supposed to be ancient history, our relationship a whole other lifetime ago. So why, three months after the funeral, does his reappearance still have me reeling? And not just with shock, but with a multitude of feelings that I’d thought long since dead?

  I rub at my face, my eyes, try to focus through the burning haze to read my computer screen. But it’s no use. I’ve been staring at it for almost twelve hours and my eyes are protesting now. It really is time for home.

  Matthews, my head of technology, can wait—just as Janice tried to tell me.

  And as though I’ve conjured her back, there’s a tap at my door.

  ‘Yes?’ I push out of my seat, start to rise, then freeze, my hands clutching the chair-arms for support. ‘Cain?’

  He fills the doorway to my right, the precise cut of his dark suit speaking of its price tag, the flint shade of his shirt an exact match for his eyes, which seem to glint at me from across the room. There’s not a black hair out of place in its brushed-back style. His face is clean-shaven, his collar open—even his hands are relaxed inside his pockets. He’s so at ease, in control... Nothing like the broken man I saw three months ago.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  I swallow, a shiver of fear running down my spine. It’s not rational. This is my domain—my office, my company.

  What can I possibly be afraid of when it comes to him?

  Nothing can hurt me more than he already has.

  Nothing.

  ‘I was about to leave for the night.’

  ‘For the night? Hell, Alexa...’

  And there it is—a slight crack to his calm exterior. He rakes his fingers through his perfect hair, a heavy sigh leaving his lips—lips I don’t want to remember as though I devoured them only yesterday when over seven years have passed. But my body remembers. The rush of warmth low in my abdomen tells me so.

  ‘You might as well stay a little longer and you’ll be on a new day.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  His hands are back in his pockets as he pins me with a glare, half-censorial, half-something else that I don’t understand and don’t dare analyse. I got him so wrong before that I don’t trust my instincts where he’s concerned now. I won’t even risk trying to read him.

  ‘It means you should have left hours ago.’

  I settle back into my seat, refusing to rise to the anger that flares at his surprising concern.

  Yeah, it’s anger that has you so worried...

  ‘You gave up any right to have a say in my working hours long ago, Cain—or do I need to remind you that you walked out on me seven years ago?’

  Too personal, Alexa.

  But at least he can’t see my insides wince at the revealing nature of my anger.

  ‘You walked out on us all.’

  There, that sounded better.

  ‘I did what I felt I had to...at the time.’

  ‘And now?’

  For the briefest of seconds his lashes flutter, as though I’ve inflicted a physical blow, but then it’s gone and I realise I imagined it. I also realise that whatever glimpse I thought I had three months ago of a man in pain, or just now of a man who cares about the working hours I keep, he doesn’t really exist.

  This is Cain.

  And he only cares for himself.

  ‘Going over old ground isn’t the reason I’m here.’

  I’m disappointed with his evasive answer. The rejected part of me—the part left to survive after he fled, the part that gave birth to our stillborn child without him—wants to have that argument. Wants him to acknowledge what he did and to see him beg forgiveness.

  But only a fool would expect such humanity from Cain, and I’m no longer that fool.

  ‘So, what is the reason you’re here?’

  I cross my legs and turn my chair slightly, angling it to face him. I don’t miss how his eyes sweep my length. I’m wearing a teal satin blouse, buttoned almost to the collar, and a black skirt to the knee. All perfectly respectable, but I swear I see the flicker of what I know is dangerous, what I should ignore... Only the ache kickstarting down low has other ideas.

  I watch his throat bob. His eyes strike mine, a second’s fire, and then nothing. The mask slips back into place.

  Cold Cain. Composed Cain. Downright callous Cain.

  This is the man I can deal with.

  ‘I haven’t got all night and, as you so rightly pointed out, I should have left hours ago,’ I remind him, sickly-sweet. And then I have to wonder... ‘How did you know I was here, anyway?’

  ‘My mother. I paid her a visit first.’

  My mouth quirks up. ‘You paid her a visit—how awfully dashing of you.’

  His eyes flash, and his annoyance is like catnip to me. We never argued, Cain and I—not really. Unless you count that one occasion. The occasion that ended it all. And it’s oddly thrilling to do it now, when I owe him nothing—no love, no respect, no loyalty.

  ‘She told me you’re often here until the early hours of the morning.’

  He looks to my desk, the spread-out papers, the mess, and I fight the urge to scoop it all up into something orderly. He has no right to judge me. And I’m a scientist through and through—ordered chaos is how I live my life.

  ‘Although I have to admit...’ his eyes come back to me with some hidden question burning deep ‘... I’m surprised to see you here. I half expected it to be some cover for your extra-curricular activities.’

  His words spike both ice and fire into my blood. ‘Are you insinuating I’ve lied to Marie to cover up an affair?’

  He shrugs. ‘Can you blame me? The second I left you jumped into bed with my brother. Why shouldn’t I think the worst?’

  My stomach lurches. ‘What would you know of it? You were long gone—completely off-grid, no contact number, nothing.’

  ‘Oh, I came back. To see a ring on your finger and my brother at your side.’

  ‘You...?’ I can’t even swallow. I feel dizzy, sick. ‘When?’

  ‘Three months later. Can you imagine my surprise at returning home only to find you were all out at the registry office, of all places? Of course I had to go there myself to truly believe it. And there you were, the blushing bride, all innocent and happy.’

  A laugh chokes out of him and the blood leaves my face, my pulse slowing down as I piece the nightmare together.

  ‘It didn’t take you long at all, did it?’ he says.

  I don’t want to believe he truly witnessed that scene, but his anger is so visceral, so real... ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘Like what?’

  His mouth is a grim line, his eyes hard, unreadable. And, Christ, do I want to read them now.

  ‘Congratulations on your fucking marriage. I’m so happy for you both!’

  I jump at his profanity, the force of it, and shake my head. The movement is negligible, but it’s all I can manage as I’m transported back seven years to the life his brother offered me. Me and my unborn child. He was my best friend, my rock, offering me everything I could wish for to give my child a stable, loving home. Everything I didn’t have growing up.

  ‘And what do you know, Alexa?’ His tone is hard, scathing. ‘It’s been three months since Liam died, which means you likely have someone else lined up to take his place by now.’

  I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. His insult sends fire through my bloodstream. My ears are ringing with its pounding beat. I force in a breath, two, feel my eyes sting as I stare him down.

  Don’t let him win. Don’t sink to his level.

  I rise out of my seat and turn my focus to the computer screen, shutting it down. The silence in the room stretches...heavy, loaded...but I don’t trust my voice. Not yet.

  And then he moves and he’s standing beside me, his proximity like a drug I can’t resist, can’t get enough of even now.

  ‘Now I think about it, Lexi...’ His voice is low, and the use of the name he gave me all those years ago is purposely teasing, crushing, cruel. ‘Maybe I’ve come back at just the right time to take on that role.’

  I twist on my heel, my hand gliding through the air to make for his cheek—of all the goddamn nerve—but he’s quicker than me. He grabs my wrist a split-second before it collides with his arrogant, self-assured face and I’m panting, the ragged sound the only thing I can hear.

  He’s so close, I can feel his breath brush against my forehead, feel the heat of his body through his shirt, the old familiar scent of his cologne invading my senses.

  I breathe him in—just a second’s weakness—as my lashes lower and I’m transported back to a time before. A time when I didn’t have to resist this persistent pull, this inherent need, this impulsive ache.

  ‘Lexi...’

  His voice is husky and it grazes over me like sandpaper, calling to the very heart of me. I wet my lips and look up, scared of what I’ll see, hungry for it all the same.

  His eyes burn into mine, his desire etched in every hard line of his face. And then his gaze falls to my fingers in his grasp, to the ring still on my finger, and I remember who he is—what this is. I clamp my eyes shut and shake my head, as though that will rid me of him.

  ‘Don’t touch me.’ I pull my hand from his grasp and back away. ‘Don’t ever touch me again.’

  I force my focus onto my desk, shoving papers into my bag and praying he doesn’t spy how my fingers tremble, how my entire body quakes.

  ‘Why don’t you do us all a favour and disappear off again, Cain?’ I don’t look at him as I say it. I don’t dare. ‘It’s what you do best.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  I still, my hands deep inside my bag as I process what he means. I can feel my pulse beating in my neck, my lips drying up and my throat clamping tight.

  I chance a look. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It means I’m here to stay.’

  He walks away, over to the window that stretches along one wall of my office, but it does nothing to ease my panic.

  ‘Stay?’ I fight to keep the tremor out of my voice. ‘Stay where?’

  He doesn’t say anything, simply stares out at Dublin’s Liffey River and the bustling Beckett Bridge. It’s as though I’ve lost him to the view as its myriad of lights dance in his darkened gaze and form shadows across his face.

  I part my lips to speak, to draw him back and get answers, but then he turns to me and the intensity of his eyes alone dries up my words. My knees weaken and I lock them tight, forcing my mouth closed again as I wait for what he has to say.

  ‘I’m back, Alexa, and this time nothing can stop me taking all that I’m owed.’

  * * *

  I wait for her to erupt, to demand my explanation and tell me to go to hell.

  Instead she frowns, her brows drawing together as her hand—the one that still bears my brother’s ring—rises to her neck. It taunts me. Fires my blood with the need to possess, to take back what was once mine. But she’s no object. I have no hold over her.

  Only, my body can’t be told so easily.

  She wets her lips, and when she speaks it’s with a calmness I’m sure she can’t feel. ‘What, exactly, do you think you’re owed, Cain?’

  Her question chimes with my mental rampage. Calls my mind back to my choice of words seconds before. The double meaning is glaringly obvious to me and I wonder if she has any idea of it.

  If I’d thought about it first maybe I would have been more careful, masked the personal entirely with business—just business.

  But I was angry, bitter, my mind lost to how different things might have been—no, should have been.

  Her by my side, wearing my ring.

  My younger brother still alive and working alongside me.

  My father proud, my mother prouder.

  But, no. I’m back as the black sheep, half my family gone, and now... Now what?

  Now I’m staking my claim to the business and...

  I look to the single gold band around her finger. ‘You don’t wear an engagement ring.’

  Her frown deepens. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  Hell, I have no idea. I came to discuss business. Instead I’m caught up in her, in the personal. In what we once had and what I lost.

  ‘I’m just curious.’

  She lowers her hand and rotates the gleaming metal between her thumb and forefinger, brandishing her love for another man with every twist. ‘I didn’t need one.’

  I laugh; it’s a bark. Harsh. Brutal. ‘No one needs an engagement ring, Alexa. It’s just expected...a loving gesture—’ My voice catches and I mask it in a barren smile. ‘It’s tradition.’

  ‘It was enough that he proposed.’

  ‘Enough?’ I stare at her, incredulous, my anger getting the better of me. ‘How very romantic. You science folk really are clinical, through and through.’

  Her eyes snap to mine, bright and fierce. ‘If you’ve come here to lay into me and rip apart Liam’s memory, you can leave right now. You don’t get to speak ill of us—especially not him.’

  ‘Why? Because he was so talented at everything? So good? The proper little Catholic boy my parents always wanted but had to wait two extra years for?’

  She releases the ring and flexes her fingers. I know she’s itching to swing for me again. Funny, I’ve never thought her capable of violence.

  Shows how much I knew her then.

  And how little I probably know her now.

  Or is her love for my brother so strong even in death that she just can’t bear it...?

  Ice pierces my heart, rebuilds my defences, reminds me of why I hate her.

  ‘He was a better man than you’ll ever know or understand.’

  Her soft-spoken words cut deep, her meaning clear.

  ‘Of course.’ The words thrum out of me. ‘I couldn’t possibly know because I wouldn’t know what it takes to be a truly good man.’

  I raise a brow at her in challenge. I want her to refute it, tell me I’m wrong...

  ‘Yes.’

  The simple syllable vibrates with budding fury, making her affirmation all the more powerful, and I cling to it. To her honesty. To the fact that there is nothing between us any more. Only a mutual hatred that I can use. I need all the hatred I can get to keep my guard up. To resist this crazy pull that won’t quit.

  But what right does she have to be angry with me, when all is said and done? She’s the one who betrayed me. Yes, I walked away—but I came back for her. She was the one who moved on. With my brother, of all people.

  ‘And you think I should’ve just rolled over and accepted your relationship with him, the better man?’

  She looks at me and I see her anger waver.

  ‘Don’t hesitate now, Alexa. You’ve stuck the boot in—you might as well keep on going.’

  ‘I didn’t... I don’t...’

  ‘You don’t what?’

  She says nothing, and my patience for this conversation is over. I never should’ve let it start in the first place.

  ‘I’m sorry if you find me critical of your marriage to my brother but, given the circumstances, I would have thought it understandable. Even for someone like you.’

  ‘Someone like me?’

  ‘Did the affair start before I left? Or did you wait until a few days after I left?’

  Her hands clench and her cheeks flare. ‘We never had an affair.’

  I pocket my fists and ignore the way my gut writhes at the idea, at the conjured-up images of the two of them together that I don’t want to see and am powerless to prevent.

  Maybe this is what I need.

  Answers to the past before I can move on.

  We’re going to be working together—that’s a given. My mother has already handed over my father’s shares, and Alexa can’t change the fact that we’ll be equals as far as this business is concerned. I’ll need my head clear to do what’s needed, what’s right for the company. Not enshrouded in anger, jealousy...intolerable desire.

  ‘We didn’t have an affair, Cain.’

  ‘So you say.’

  She shakes her head. Her cheeks are streaked with colour. She looks guilty as sin to me. It should make me despise her, but instead I’m thinking of how much she looks like she used to in my bed—the same colour in her cheeks, her eyes bright, her hair wild about her bare shoulders as she called out my name in sheer ecstasy.