Sweet Lies

‘You’re looking well,’ she returned, hating this banal conversation, but she was at a complete loss as to what to say under the circumstances. He did look well, too, she mused. The years had only added to his strength of character. His body was as firm and lean as ever, but he had always enjoyed sports of all kinds—a real outdoor man, she remembered with painful clarity. ‘Older, perhaps,’ she finally acknowledged, fixing a smile on her face.

‘None of us is getting any younger,’ he agreed with a smile, then added seriously, ‘And yet there was a time when we couldn’t wait to be older, remember?’

Remember? How could she ever forget, when she carried with her the constant symbol of their love? It had been love—at least then. Until he had gone to America and fallen in love with someone else, all in a matter of a few months. They had loved each other deeply and that was the reason why she had never told him. She had not wanted to stand in his way.

A grey veil of unshed tears filmed her eyes as her mind drifted back to that fateful day. It hadn’t been a deliberate ploy, but once she had found herself pregnant, Megan had thought that no one would stop them marrying. She had longed to tell Darrow, to see the pleasure on his face when she told him the wonderful news.

But he had had news of his own, she remembered with pain. A chance of a lifetime. He had won a writing scholarship—a year in America. She couldn’t have told him, robbed him of his chance to become a writer, stood in the way of his ambition. She had known how much that meant to him, and besides, he’d be back, so she had foolishly thought.

‘Some of us grew up very quickly anyway,’ she said with sudden bitterness as she recalled how he had betrayed her.

At first he had kept in touch. Letters had arrived three or four times a week, and Carrie had been mentioned in every one. Then nothing for one whole month, not a line, and she had known. She had understood what had happened.

He had mentioned Carrie, a girl he had met, in all his previous letters and they had obviously been seeing a lot of each other. Megan had known that she couldn’t compete with an attractive American who had wealth and position while she had nothing to offer to him—and how that had hurt. The pain of separation had been almost unbearable, but the realisation that she had lost him forever had seared her very soul.

She watched him stiffen now at the sharpness of her voice and it gave her a grim pleasure. ‘I was glad to get away,’ she added, throwing at him a final insult, reminding him that she too had found someone else even if her relationship with Karl had only been a fiction to save her pride. She was delighted when she saw that it irritated him.

‘So why come back now?’ he questioned. There was a trace of hidden anger in his tone, an unspoken accusation that he was unable to make. Megan felt a sudden surge of anger through her body but she quickly masked it. She had to remain as cool and as distant as he. She would never, ever give him the satisfaction of seeing her respond to him, no matter how difficult that might be.

‘My mother—’ she began simply, but he cut in, embarrassed by his own insensitivity.

‘I forgot, I’m sorry, Megan,’ he reassured her, for a fleeting moment looking like the young man she had known, so that the ice around her heart melted a little, warmed by his sympathy. He pushed his thick dark hair from his face, revealing an attractive touch of grey to his temples, a sad reminder that time had indeed travelled on, forcing an unbridgeable chasm between them.

She remembered that hair, falling gently between her eager fingers, soft and warm, and a faint tint of colour rose to her face at the memory which sprang so easily to mind. She promptly tried to dismiss it, struggling to return her thoughts to more neutral ground. She smiled briefly as their eyes met and held with the strong tie of the past. She dropped her head, turning away, knowing that he had seen the misting of her eyes in memory of what might have been. They had been so young, so in love…

The years they had been apart seemed to vanish as Megan’s mind drifted back to those heady, magical days when everything had seemed so perfect.

Darrow, despite everyone else’s doubts, had kept in touch with Megan the whole time he was at university, but the separation caused by his year in America had proved his love for her was not strong enough. He had found someone else and abandoned her—not that she would ever have let him know that. Her pride wouldn’t have let her. She had played him at his own game. She had exaggerated her friendship with Karl, the attractive German hitch-hiker who had been taking a walking holiday in the Yorkshire dales and had stayed for the rest of the summer, doing casual work at the local boat-yard.

‘Megan,’ he said huskily, moving closer, taking full advantage of her momentary lapse. A shudder of anguish tore through her body and she raised her hands before her, to prevent him from touching her. Megan knew her barriers would never be strong enough to cope with his touch.

She was already too vulnerable, weakened by the flood of emotions that were sweeping over her. It had been such a difficult year. Luke had been stricken by a general malaise that had baffled doctors for a time before their diagnosis of glandular fever. Then there had been her mother’s sudden death, and now her return home, after all those years of being away.

‘Don’t,’ she ordered, but her voice was weak and it sounded more like a desperate plea, whispered in hope. ‘Darrow, my mother’s death…coming back here…’ Her voice trailed off as his strong fingers curled around her wrists, drawing her hands down. His impetuous action caught her off guard, and the impact of the sudden warm touch on her skin riveted her to the spot.

‘Why not? Why have you come back?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘You knew I was here. Didn’t you…?’ His tone had taken on a steely edge and his grip had intensified, forcing an immediate denial from Megan. Her eyes darted to his, searching his face for compassion but finding none, and his question troubled her; what did he think she had come back for? She struggled fruitlessly against his stubborn strength.

‘No, you’re wrong; I had no idea,’ Megan protested, alarmed by the thunderous clouds that swirled in the darkest depths of his eyes. She tried to pull away but her actions were futile; he was far too strong for her and her reaction only served to fuel his temper.

‘Then why now?’ he derided with a cruel sneer, the contempt etched clearly on his ruthless face, pulling her closer till their bodies almost touched. Megan tensed every fibre of her body as the haunting aroma of his aftershave teased her nostrils, flooding her with agonising memories.

‘I’ve told you—I’m here to sort out my mother’s estate,’ protested Megan, confronting his anger with complete candour, and she saw the flickering realisation in his eyes as he released her, his anger suddenly appeased. For a split-second she had seen the cool mask of indifference fall away and she stepped back in confusion.

‘Of course. I’m so sorry about your mother.’ His voice was now smooth and good-tempered, as if his outburst had never happened, which increased Megan’s confusion still further.

‘Don’t be,’ Megan replied quickly, as eager as him to put the strange incident behind her. ‘We never really got on, were never that close,’ she confessed, without a trace of remorse. She had come to accept their differences a long time ago.

It had been partly her mother’s fault that she had had to leave Rannaleigh; they would have never agreed about the situation. She had always been far too conventional for her mother, a disappointment in so many ways, yet they had kept in contact, grown closer over the years. Her mother, who had doted on her grandson, had made numerous visits to London, but Megan had never felt comfortable with the idea of going back to Rannaleigh, and by then her mother had understood her reasons and supported them. It was one of the few things they had come to agree on. Megan’s mother had respected her daughter’s independence. It had been the one thing they had in common besides their love for Luke.

Darrow remained silent, his expression fathomless, his dark eyes brooding.

‘I couldn’t make the funeral,’ she explained painfully, filling in the silence that only seemed to increase the tension between them. ‘But I’ve come now,’ she added lightly, her features impassive, displaying none of her inner hurt. But he caught the note of tension in her voice and his lips parted into an understanding smile. Megan dropped her own gaze, unable to bear the compassion in the shining eyes.

‘She was a strong individual, your mother,’ he said graciously. ‘Unfortunately she expected the same from everyone else,’ he concluded, a grimness entering his tone, and Megan knew he was remembering the painful scenes between herself and her mother which he had been an unwilling spectator to.

She felt her cheeks grow hot as a vivid flash of those adolescent arguments flashed through her mind. Yet, despite everything, in the end her mother had been right. Darrow was not to be trusted. Megan had been forced to admit it. They had been too young to be truly in love and when Darrow’s love had been tested he had failed her so spectacularly that she still remembered the twist of the knife searing her heart.

‘Are you planning on staying?’ His eyes narrowed on her face and she wondered where his source of annoyance was coming from. Surely she was the injured party, not him, and she felt a justifiable anger niggle inside her, deep down in the hidden well of emotions that she knew would belong forever to her first love.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully. Until that moment she had thought of it only as a passing visit; now her heart seemed to be aching to stay. ‘I don’t think so.’

She desperately scanned his face, but found nothing to encourage her to change her mind. She swallowed the painful lump that caught in her throat at the realisation that she had hoped to find some trace of affection. ‘There’s nothing for me here. There never was,’ she added, a trace of bitterness entering her tone, and her eyes met his in silent confirmation.

‘Wasn’t there?’ he snapped tautly. His anger was now well under control, but Megan could see the signs of its brittleness. His eyes had darkened into swirling inky pools of molten fierceness that betrayed his growing fury.

‘It was all such a long time ago, Darrow.’ She looked away as she shook her head, hating the sense of betrayal that was resurfacing after all this time. ‘I have to go. Excuse me.’ She flicked an anxious glance towards the door, suddenly agitated.

‘Wait,’ he ordered, his arm outstretched to prevent her moving. ‘I want to talk to you.’ His look was hard and demanding, his tone honed with the sharp steel edge of command.

Megan froze, responding instinctively to the authority in his tone, then hated herself for her weakness. She was no longer the silly girl he had known, susceptible to his overpowering strength.

‘There’s nothing to say,’ Megan snapped back, suddenly fearful. She couldn’t afford to be alone with him. How long could she trust herself in his company without the past coming back to haunt them? They were strangers now, she inwardly argued, despite the disturbing effect he was having on her. What do I know of him? He must have changed. Have I? she mused desperately.

‘I think there is.’

Megan gasped as she fought to save her breath, suddenly fearful, and without being aware of her action her eyes flew quickly to the door as an icy grip tightened around her heart. She knew she could not afford the luxury of basking in the past. There was her son to consider.

Yet even now, after all these years, and though she felt her defences weakening against him, she knew it was not only herself she had to protect from this dangerous man. She moved slightly away, carefully surrounding herself in a protective layer that she hoped he would find impregnable. His smouldering eyes held her trapped, and Megan tried to pull away as she felt her pathetic barriers begin to melt.

‘Have dinner with me tonight?’ he asked gruffly, his tone full of tension, a pulse throbbing in the strong line of his jaw. ‘Here in the hotel,’ he added quickly, seeing the refusal already present in her eyes.

‘No,’ she objected, too quickly, betraying her fear, her eyes straying to the door as she thought of Luke. He seized on her fear with characteristic aggression, a smile of victory already curling his sensuous mouth, revealing a set of perfect white teeth.

‘For old times’ sake,’ he crooned, his voice dangerously soft and a hidden invitation swirling in the slumberous depths of his hypnotic eyes. Megan nearly weakened, drowning all her doubts in the familiar glow of his heated gaze, her own eyes softening in response. ‘It’s the least you owe me.’

Steel had entered his voice, a harshness she had not expected, and her eyes leapt to his face, troubled by his words. But the freezing look of contempt that glistened in the icy depths of his eyes prevented her from speaking. She frantically searched his face, looking for a glimpse of the man she had once known.

‘Well, Meggie?’ he taunted, using her familiar pet name to weaken her still further. He had sensed her distrust and was playing on it, his eyes shining now with teasing laughter, and in that brief moment she caught a sudden flash of the man she had once known and loved. He reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder, and Megan’s stomach twirled with an instinctive excitement at the impact his unexpected touch had on her. And in that transient moment she might have weakened, but the door suddenly swung open.

An icy draught of cold air blasted towards them, chilling the warmth that had begun to grow between them. They both turned simultaneously to see a tousled-haired youngster with a harsh look of resentment on his face. He fixed his cold eyes on the pair of them, his disapproval at their close proximity apparent in his narrowing eyes and mounting frown.

For a moment he said nothing. His stare flicked quickly to Darrow, making a swift but comprehensive inventory of him, before he turned his attention back on to Megan. A look of scorn flickered across his face and he raised his eyebrows in mockery.

‘You’ve been ages,’ he said sullenly, directing his accusation at Megan and deliberately cutting out Darrow’s presence.

‘I’m sorry,’ Megan stated briefly, annoyed by his obvious rudeness. ‘I thought you were asleep,’ she concluded, casting an anxious covert glance at Darrow to see his reaction to her child. His eyes shone with curiosity, a quizzical expression on his face as he studied him with deep interest.

‘I woke up.’ It was a bald statement accompanied by another look of resentment, the dark brows drawing together over the glitter of frustration in his eyes.