Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(55)

"I can't imagine how," I said glumly, "when I can't manage to be around his erection without freaking."

Todd smiled. "A relationship is about more than just an erection. Although, if you ask me . . . wondering what to do with one is a nice problem to have."

After Todd had left I took a long bath, pulled on a pair of flannel pajamas, and poured myself a glass of wine. I wondered where Hardy was at that moment, if he had stayed at the theater after I'd left.

The temptation to call him was nearly overwhelming, but I wasn't certain what I wanted to say, how much I could bring myself to explain.

I resumed my place in the corner of the sofa, staring at the phone in its cradle. I wanted to hear Hardy's voice. I thought of those fevered minutes in the stairwell before I'd gotten afraid, when his hands and mouth had been all over me, slow and searching and tender . . . so good. So unbelievably good —

The phone rang.

Jolted, I set aside the wine, almost spilling it in my haste. I snatched up the phone and answered in breathless relief. "Hello?" But the voice was not Hardy's. "Hi, Marie."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Nick." I felt as if ice crystals had formed in my veins. "How did you get my number? What do you want?""Just to know how you're doing."

His voice was so familiar. The sound of it vaporized the past several months as if they had all been a dream. If I closed my eyes, I could almost believe I was back in the Dallas apartment and he would be coming back from work soon.

So I kept my eyes open, as if one blink would result in death. I stared at the weave of the cream sofa slipcover until each individual thread came into distinct focus. "I'm great," I said. "How about you? "

"Not great." A lengthy pause. "Still trying to make myself believe it's really over. I miss you, Marie."

He sounded contemplative. Something in his voice drew out a dark, seeping guilt from my heart.

"It's Haven," I said. "I don't answer to Marie anymore."

I thought that would provoke him, but he stunned me by saying, "Okay, Haven."

"Why are you calling?" I asked abruptly. "What do you want?"

"Just to talk for a minute." Nick sounded resigned and a little wry. "Are we still allowed to talk?" I guess so.

"I've had a lot of time to think. I want you to understand something . . . I never meant for things to get out of hand the way they did."

I gripped the phone so hard I was vaguely surprised the plastic didn't crack. I believed him. I had never thought Nick had wanted or planned to be the way he was. There were things in his background, his childhood, that had made him a damaged person. A victim, as surely as I had been.

But that didn't mean he was off the hook for the harm he'd done me.

I was filled with regret for what we'd lost . . . and what we'd never had. I felt sick and weary.

"Do you hate me, Haven?" Nick asked softly. "No. I hate what you did."

"I hate what I did too." He sighed. "I keep thinking . . . if we'd had more time together, if we could have been allowed to work out our problems instead of having your brother come in and push that divorce through so f**king fast . . . "

"You hurt me, Nick," was all I could say.

"You hurt me too. You lied to me all the time, about little things, big things . . . you always shut me out."

"I didn't know how else to handle you. The truth made you angry."

"I know. But it takes two people to make a good marriage. And I had a lot to deal with — being rejected by your family, having to work like a dog to provide for you — and you always blamed me for not being able to solve your problems."

"No," I protested "Maybe you blamed yourself. But I never felt like that."

"You were never really with me. Even when we slept together. I could tell you were never really into it. No matter what I did, you never responded to me the way other women did. I kept hoping you'd get better."

Damn it, Nick knew how to get to me, how to reawaken the sense of inadequacy I'd struggled so hard to overcome. Nick knew things about me that no one else did. We would always be linked by our shared failure — it was part of our individual identities. It could never be erased.

"Are you dating anyone now?" I heard him ask.

"I don't feel comfortable talking about that with you."

"That means yes. Who is he?"

"I'm not dating anyone," I said. "I haven't slept with anyone. You don't have to believe that, but it's true." Instantly I despised myself for saying it, and for feeling that I was still accountable to him.

"I believe you," Nick said. "Aren't you going to ask about me?"

"No. I don't care if you're dating anyone. It's not my business."

He was quiet for a moment. "I'm glad you're okay, Haven. I still love you."

That brought tears to my eyes. I was so glad he couldn't see them. "I'd rather you didn't call me again, Nick."

"I still love you," he repeated, and hung up.

Slowly I replaced the phone in the receiver, and blotted the tears by doing a deliberate face-plant into the sofa. I stayed that way until I started to smother, and then I lifted my head and sucked in a deep breath.