Fairytale Come Alive (31 page)

When she cleaned the plate, she asked, maybe a little snotty (but really, he was force-feeding her!), “Happy?”

“Not really,” he returned. “But it’s a start.”

Then he walked away.

Isabella glared at him and then felt eyes on her. Prentice’s Mum was looking at her as was his sister as was Jason and Mrs. Kilbride.

They were all grinning.

“You’re getting too thin,” Mrs. Kilbride called out then she advised helpfully, “Now you should have some of your delicious cake!”

At that, Prentice pivoted on his boot, went directly to the cake, cut an enormous piece, slapped it on a plate and handed it to her.

Dougal burst out laughing.

Prentice tipped his head to the cake.

Isabella glared at him.

Prentice calmly accepted her glare.

His every-colored eyes on her did funny things to her heart rate.

She ate the cake.

Seriously, she needed to get out of there.

As soon as she could.

* * * * *

Prentice

The last partygoer was gone and except for the decorations which Sally didn’t want them to take down yet, everything was clean and tidy and his children were in bed.

Even Sally’s new cat, christened Blackie, was curled asleep at Sally’s feet.

Prentice needed a whisky.

In case he received a middle of the night phone call with bad news that would necessitate him being alert, he’d refrained since Sally had her accident.

With Sally home recovering, still in possession of all her important faculties, now asleep in bed
and
with Elle knocking herself out to care for him, his offspring and his home, including throwing a welcome home party for his injured daughter as well as sleeping in a bed not far away from him, he needed a fucking whisky.

He was considering what to do about Elle as he poured it.

This was a departure since for the past week when he wasn’t worried about Sally, Jason and getting the work done on a deadline that was fast approaching, he normally spent his time considering all the things he’d like to do
to
Elle.

Regardless of the fact that she still looked exhausted and was losing weight mainly because the woman kept so busy she didn’t fucking
eat
, not to mention the fact that she’d left him and his family four weeks ago without looking back and for reasons only known in that crazy fucking head of hers, he couldn’t deny that he was attracted to her.

He didn’t want to be attracted. He wanted to be over it and move on, as she clearly was.

But he was attracted to her.

Very attracted.

In fact, he thought about this so often and there were so many different options, his mind had automatically started cataloguing the things he wanted to do to her. Where he wanted to put his mouth, his hands, his fingers, the different positions he wanted to try, the various rooms and furniture available.

Christ, it consumed him.

He’d never experienced anything like it, not even twenty years ago.

Then again, he hadn’t had her twenty years ago.

He was replacing the bottle when he heard, “Prentice?”

His eyes cut to the door of his study.

Elle stood there wearing jeans that fit her too well (even if she had lost weight) and a stylish but see-through purple blouse with tiny pleats down the front and a camisole he could see underneath. Her feet were bare, her hair was in a messy bunch that had slid to the back of her head and she’d taken off her jewelry but still wore her makeup.

She looked like she could be photographed for a magazine.

Instead, she was casually standing in the doorway of
his
study in
his
home gazing at
him
with soft, weary eyes and, if he took six steps, she could be in his arms.

On that tempting thought and to take his mind from it, his eyes fell to her hands something he didn’t realize he habitually did and he saw she was not clenching them in fists (something he
did
realize
she
habitually did) but she was carrying a magazine.

“Is something on your mind?” he asked, his gaze going back to her tired face.

“Um…” she started then she stopped.

This annoyed him.

The first time she came back she seemed cool and in control except, of course, when they were bickering but even then she’d seemed in control.

This time she seemed less sure of herself, more hesitant and it irritated him because it made her warmer, more approachable and unbelievably appealing.

He watched as she looked to the ceiling then asked, “Is Sally okay?”

“Aye.”

Her gaze came to him and her head tipped to the side. “Jason?”

“Aye.”

“Are
you
okay, um… after all of this?”

He liked it that she asked. Especially since she asked in a way that indicated she cared.

That familiar heavy, warm feeling hit his gut.

He ignored it and repeated, “Aye.”

She stopped speaking then she took in a breath.

With little patience, wanting to be out of her presence, wanting to be outside with his whisky, Prentice asked, “Elle, what’s on your mind?”

She swallowed and then ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip. His body responded strongly to the sight of her tongue.

More of his low volume of patience ebbed away.

“Elle, I’m tired. I want to wind down after –”

“I have something to show you,” she said quickly, taking two steps into the room before she halted. Then he watched as she visibly lost courage, looked at his whisky and asked, “Can I have one of those?”

Careful to shield his still ebbing patience, he poured her a whisky. They walked toward each other, closing the distance between them and he handed it to her.

She took it and belted back a healthy swig.

Too healthy.

After she swallowed, her mouth dropped open, she sucked in breath as if it burned and tears sprang to her eyes.

“It’s meant to be sipped,” Prentice advised but as he was talking she took
another
healthy swig.

He stared in surprise.

This was something the crazy Elle who was friends with the mad Annie would do twenty years ago.

They’d get up to anything.

Much like her comment earlier about voting to push Annie off the cliff.

Elle and Annie, twenty years ago, would say practically anything as well (Annie still would), most of it hilarious.

She finished the whisky on a third swig, shut her eyes tight and winced.

When she opened her eyes to look at him, she breathed, “Good stuff.”

God, she was cute when she behaved like this. And he didn’t need cute Elle sleeping under his roof either.

No, he
especially
didn’t need that.

“Elle –” His patience was running out.

“I have to show you something,” she blurted, interrupting him.

“All right.”

“You’re going to be angry.”

His eyes went to the magazine. Then they returned to hers.

He didn’t speak.

“Likely very angry,” she went on.

He still didn’t speak.

“Probably very,
very
angry.”

“For Christ’s sake –” he clipped but didn’t finish as she flipped open the magazine and showed him a page.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. On it was a photo of Elle, Jason and him walking into hospital days before.

Jason, he noted with pride, held his body with surprising confidence for a boy his age and, even though he looked worried, he was still a handsome lad.

Elle, he noted with annoyance, held her body with unsurprising poise and, even though she looked worried, she was still a beautiful woman.

He didn’t bother studying himself.

Prentice pulled the magazine from her hand and read the caption.

Then he exploded, “
Fucking hell!
”

“I
knew
you’d be angry,” Elle replied swiftly.

He narrowed his eyes on her and snapped dryly, “Oh, you knew that, did you?” Flipping to the front of the magazine and seeing it was a celebrity gossip rag, published undoubtedly on a variety of continents he exploded again, “
Christ!
”

“Annie says I should talk to you. Explain how I deal with this kind of thing,” Elle said quickly.

He looked at her and his tone was biting when he asked, “Aye? You have sage advice on how I should deal with the fact that
my son
, without my knowledge and against my wishes, has his photograph in a trashy magazine? You have experience with that, do you?”

He watched her face pale.

Fuck.

His anger and impatience, this fucking situation, the last fucking week, hell, the last fucking
month
, had pushed him over the edge. He hadn’t thought about his words and he’d gone too far.

Way too far.

“Elle –” he started, instantly filled of regret.

“No,” she cut him off, cute Elle gone, warm, appealing Elle vanished, cool and aloof Isabella in her place.

He wouldn’t have said it two minutes ago but he wanted the other two back.

“As you know, I do not,” she went on. “However, I know what it’s like having
my
photo in trashy magazines without my knowledge and against my wishes. Nonetheless, I’m not a parent so you’re correct, I don’t have any sage advice for this.”

She bent to put her glass on the table and he knew she intended to leave.

He should have let her go.

But Prentice was fucking tired of letting her go.

Therefore, he didn’t let her go.

He slammed his glass beside hers, caught her upper arm in his grip and was surprised at her reaction.

It was violent.

She twisted her arm in a way that he had to release her or he’d hurt her. Which meant to keep her from leaving he had to find other purchase.

So he did.

He put both hands to her hips and yanked her toward him.

Her body slammed into his.

It felt fucking great.

Before he could react to this, she tipped her head back, he saw her eyes flash and she demanded in a voice that was not cold at all. It was heated.

And loud.

Loud enough for the children to hear.

“Take your hands off me, Prentice Cameron!”

Damn, but she looked fucking gorgeous when she was angry.

He didn’t do as she asked.

He shuffled her back toward the open doors. Sliding an arm tight around her waist, he held her front against his side as he reached out, grabbed one door then the other and pulled them to.

Then he pinned her in front of him against the doors.

She was breathing heavily, her breasts pressing against his chest with each breath.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Now, if you’ll give me a fucking second before you run away,
again
, I’ll apologize for being a thoughtless bastard.”

“Fine. Apology accepted. Now step away,” she snapped, giving him a push with her hands at his waist.

He resisted the push by leaning further into her which pressed them together from hips to chests.

Her hands stilled and she tilted her head back further to look at him. He could see from the healthy pink in her cheeks that he had her attention.

“No,” he belatedly replied to her demand. “Now, you’ll explain how I deal with seeing my children and myself in those magazines when we’re with you.”

“You won’t,” she returned, her voice still hostile but now also breathy.

“You can promise that?”

“Yes, I can since you won’t be with me.”

Her words felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

She continued before he could react to that as well. “They’ll probably bother you for awhile after I’m gone. Then they’ll lose interest. You just have to learn to ignore it. It gets worse if you react. Trust me.”

He wasn’t listening. His mind was stuck on her telling him he wouldn’t be with her.

And stuck on her telling him she’d be gone.

“You’re leaving?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said shortly, her tone still that mixture of antagonistic and out of breath.

“When?”

“In a few days.”

“Why?”

Her lips parted and Prentice’s gaze riveted on them.

Therefore he watched them form the words, “Prentice step back.”

His eyes went back to hers. “Elle, answer me.”

She seemed puzzled for a moment then shook her head as if to clear it.