A Valentine Kiss: A Marriage Worth Saving / Tempted by Her Tycoon Boss / The Unforgettable Spanish Tycoon

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ she said, again more quickly than he thought she needed to, and again he wondered what he was missing.

There had to be something... The stirring in his brain seemed like a distant memory, but he couldn’t recall it to verify whether that was the truth, and he didn’t know if it had anything to do with what was currently happening between them. But it must—why else did he feel as if he was having a conversation without knowing all the facts?

‘It’s probably because this is unplanned,’ she continued. ‘Why are we going there now?’

‘I have something to show you,’ he replied, forcing himself to ignore the dull thud of unrecalled memories and focus on what his intention had been from the beginning. ‘Did you ever see that pathway in the backyard, just next to that huge tree we planned to turn into a tree house for the little grape?’

He heard her sharp intake of breath before he realised he had used the pet name they had given their child after finding out they were having a boy. They had been so happy, he thought, pain tainting the memory. It had been the first time they had considered names for the baby, and he had teased her, calling him ‘the little grape’ since their child would one day have to take over the vineyard.

Mila had protested, of course, and with each objection had come a splutter of laughter that had warmed Jordan’s insides so much that the name had stuck. They’d had a list of real names, of course, but they had never got the chance to decide on what they would call him.

‘Yes, I remember,’ she said hoarsely, and he reached for her hand, not caring about the unspoken rules that meant he shouldn’t.

‘I’m sorry, Mila, I didn’t mean to—’

‘It’s okay.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I think it’s time we weren’t afraid to refer to our son.’

He tightened his hand on hers and then let go, unable to keep the contact. His son was always in his thoughts—and always would be. He couldn’t escape the way it had felt to hold his dying son in his arms when he’d been barely big enough to fit in Jordan’s hands.

But she was right—he had been afraid to speak about him. And there was a lot more to it than just the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. No, admitting to Mila earlier that he’d been scared when they’d found out she was pregnant was only the tip of the iceberg. It hadn’t fully left his mind since their conversation, and he’d realised that, as he’d initially thought, he had been scared he would turn out to be the same as his father. And that was part of the reason he’d left for Johannesburg.

Jordan knew Greg had loved him, but his childhood had been tainted by his father’s grief. Grief that had made Greg into a bitter and sometimes angry man. The years after his mother had died had been filled with tension for Jordan—he’d sometimes felt as if he was walking on eggshells when he was around Greg. As a child, Jordan hadn’t understood why his father would never look at him in the eye, or why Greg had spoken at him instead of to him. If he’d ever spoken to Jordan at all.

He had started behaving badly because of it, which had strained his relationship with Greg even more. It had also led to the night that would be burned in his memory for ever. The night that had changed Jordan—and his father—with only a few words.

Jordan vaguely remembered a time when laughing had been easy for his father. When there had been an open affection between them. But those memories were so faded he wondered if he’d made them up. The memories that were clear were of a steady man—a sombre, reserved and often difficult man. It clearly highlighted the fact that when Jordan had lost his mother, he’d lost his father, as well. And that had led to Jordan not being able to grieve fully for his mother because, frankly, his father had done it for both of them.

He hadn’t thought about it until Mila had told him she was pregnant, and then suddenly he’d spent nights worrying about whether that grief for his mother would pop up once Mila had had the baby. Whether that grief would turn him into the kind of angry man his father was and spoil his son’s childhood and Jordan’s marriage.

It had made him worry that they’d rushed into marriage, made him think that he should have considered those possibilities when he’d been able to do something about them.

And when they’d lost the baby his fears had only intensified. He’d lost someone he loved, just as his father had, which surely upped the chances of Jordan turning into Greg. So Jordan had left. Escaped. Or, as he’d recently realised, run away...

‘He’s not alone, you know,’ Mila said suddenly as he pulled into the driveway of their old house. ‘The little grape’s with our parents.’

He glanced over and saw a tiny smile on her lips. It made her look peaceful, he thought, and a large part inside him settled at the thought. It brought him peace, too.

‘That’s a really lovely thing to think about, isn’t it?’

She smiled at him, and something in his heart eased. Was that because she’d smiled at him—a sweet, genuine smile that he had only been privy to that day—or was it because it comforted him to think about two generations of his family together?

‘He’ll have met your mom,’ Mila said softly. ‘I always wished I could have met her, you know. Your father used to talk about her sometimes.’

Jordan could tell that Mila was looking at him, but he stared steadily ahead. He didn’t want to talk about his mother. That would mean telling her about his father. About his childhood. About his fears.

‘She sounded amazing.’

He didn’t respond, and then he tilted his head. ‘Come on. Before it gets dark.’

He got out of the car, aware of the disappointment that shrouded her, and waited for her to join him as he stood outside the house they’d lived in during their short marriage. The first time he had seen the house he had thought it timeless and elegant—exactly what he had been looking for for his sweet, beautiful bride.

A marble pathway led to large oak doors that looked newly polished yet still antiquated. Large glass windows overlooked the road, and gave the white façade a modern feel. The pathway was lined with palm trees, which had always made him feel as if he was walking into an oasis of some kind. It still looked the same to him now, though all the memories made him feel more than he had the first time he had seen it.

Now he thought about those days when they’d had breakfast on the patio, just as the sun went up. She had always moaned about getting up that early, but the peace on her face when she was curled up on a chair, a cup of coffee in her hand, made him think she’d thought it worth it. He remembered walking hand in hand with her through their garden, where the roses that were planted there were always the perfect gift for her. And he could still see her lying next to the pool, the slight swell of her stomach obvious in her swimming costume. Could still feel the surge of protectiveness that had gone through him when he’d looked at her.

‘It looks the same...but it feels different,’ she said beside him, and he looked down at her to see a mixture of emotions playing over her face that had him grabbing for her hand.

He could feel that she was shaking, and just like that he realised what he’d been missing in the car—why she’d been anxious about coming back.

‘It reminds you of your fall, doesn’t it?’

She didn’t have to answer him—he could see the truth of his words on her face.

I’m an idiot, he thought, and wondered how he hadn’t thought about it before.

His mind had been too focused on showing her the secret he’d kept since he’d found out that she was pregnant. He hadn’t wanted today to end, hadn’t wanted her guard to come up, and in the process his actions to prevent it had hurt her.

He was a selfish man, he thought in disgust.

‘I sometimes still dream about it,’ she said quietly, and he immediately wanted to hold her in his arms.

But her words told him that she was forcing herself to face it—it was that fire he’d noticed in her when he’d returned again—and he told himself to be content with holding her hand.

‘I can feel myself falling, reaching for a railing that wasn’t there for support. And then the impact of rolling down the stairs.’ She drew a shaky breath. ‘I still feel foolish for falling down five steps.’

‘It had been raining,’ he said immediately, his heart clenching in pain at the anguish—the guilt—that he heard in her voice.

She ignored him. ‘I lay there, my breath gone, with shock keeping me from feeling the true pain of what my body had just gone through, and I felt warmth between my legs and realised...’

Her hand was so tight on his that he could tell there was no blood flowing through it, but that didn’t matter to him. Not when he could feel the pain of what she had gone through—what she had never spoken of before. Not when he could hear the quickness of her breath. He drew her in, though she didn’t seem to notice.

‘I realised that something was wrong...that I had done something wrong...and then I saw you, and your face told me that I was right.’

Tears fell from her eyes and he didn’t care this time if he was interrupting her. His arms went around her and she sobbed—heart-wrenching sobs that broke everything inside him each time he heard them.

‘I’m sorry, Jordan. I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful. I’m sorry I didn’t slow down like you asked me to. I’m sorry I didn’t look after him like I should have.’

‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Mila.’ He felt his own tears as he said the words. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you to slow down. It was just...fear. My own. I think I was hoping to slow us down.’ He paused, held her tightly. ‘Everything was happening so quickly.’

He could feel her body shake, knew his words weren’t having any effect. So he told her the facts, hoping their simplicity would help her.

‘You were walking down stairs we’d both used a million times before. It had been raining—a light summer rain that had come from nowhere. You slipped. It was an accident.’

He said the words over and over again—to himself just as much as to her—until her shaking dissipated and everything went still. They stood in each other’s arms longer than was necessary, their grief finally—finally—something they shared.

Not completely, a voice reminded him, and he stepped back. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as a reminder of what he needed to tell her—worse now that he knew about the guilt she felt. And the expression on her face—the completely exhausted expression—tempted him to ignore it, to tell her some other time.

But he knew that was just an excuse. He wouldn’t ever get to that other time—not when he had been meaning to tell her since the accident. And now she had bared her soul to him he knew he couldn’t keep it a secret from her any more.

‘There’s something I need to tell you.’ He said it quickly, afraid that he wouldn’t get through it otherwise. ‘I had to give them permission to operate on you, Mila. You were bleeding from the abruption, losing consciousness...’

He shook his head.

‘Waiting for the bleeding to subside would have put you and the baby at risk.’ He took a shaky breath, not daring to look at her—not yet. ‘I had to approve the C-section knowing there was a chance our baby wouldn’t survive. But I couldn’t take a chance on losing both of you...’

His voice had gone completely hoarse at this admission of something he had carried with him for what felt like for ever, and he forced himself to look at her before he lost his courage. She was staring at him, those eyes more haunting than ever before, carefully blank of all the emotion he wished he could read in her.

Her hand reached up, and he braced himself for the pain of a slap, but she only brushed away the remnants of her tears from her cheeks. Then she cleared her throat.

‘I know.’

He looked at her, his eyes wide. ‘What?’

‘The doctor told me when I went back for my check-up. And then I asked Greg about it and he confirmed it.’

‘Your check-up was...’ He sorted through the memories ‘I was still here, Mila... Why didn’t you tell me you knew?’ He couldn’t believe that the burden he had been carrying with him for such a long time wasn’t a secret after all.

‘I was waiting for you to tell me.’

The look she aimed at him made him feel like a schoolboy.

‘I wanted to, but I was afraid—’

‘That I would blame you for it?’

He nodded, and she folded her arms.

‘I did. I thought it was your fault that I didn’t get to see my son alive. Why do you think I asked for space?’

He was dumbfounded, the words of apology, of excuse, he’d prepared were wiped from his mind.

‘I thought you would go and stay with your dad for a while, and I would be able to deal with all the feelings. I was raw, hurting and in more pain than I thought possible. I just needed time.’

She looked at him, and he saw her anger.

‘But then you left me completely. And instead of space I got divorce papers.’

‘You’re angry with me...’ But he’d known that, he thought. Deserved it.

‘Yes, I am. But not about you giving them permission to operate. What choice did you have?’ She shook her head. ‘We both might not have survived if you hadn’t.’ She paused, kicked at a stone. ‘I was angry about it. But only because I wished I could have held him during those seventeen minutes he was alive.’

Her breath caught at that, and Jordan wished he could hold her again.

‘And then I thought that if it couldn’t be me—and since I was still under anaesthesia then it couldn’t have been—you were the only other person I would have wanted it to be. So after a while I forgave you.’ She looked at him stonily. ‘It wasn’t your fault either, Jordan.’

‘I can’t believe you’ve known all along. I’ve been carrying this with me ever since I...’ He trailed off when he saw her jaw set and she looked away. And then he realised that she’d said that she wasn’t angry with him about that any more. ‘Why are you angry at me, then?’

‘You really don’t know?’

He opened his mouth to answer, but she waved him away.

‘If you can’t figure it out then you don’t deserve to know.’ She set her jaw. ‘Can we just leave now, please?’

‘No, we can’t.’ He felt uncomfortable, but he said it because he’d shared one of his deepest secrets with her, which he wouldn’t have done with anyone else, and now she was pulling away. Even though he didn’t want to delve any further into emotion—his insides were raw and knotted from what had already been said—he persisted. ‘I want you to tell me what else I’ve done wrong.’

‘So you can continue with this victim mentality you seem to have going?’

Anger sparked, deep inside him, and pumped through his body with his blood. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Every tragedy that’s happened to you, you somehow blame yourself for it.’

He could see the anger in her, too, but that only fuelled his own.

‘You blame yourself for approving an operation that saved my life—that gave your son his best chance at living—and you blame yourself for your father’s death. Oh, did you think I couldn’t see the weight of guilt crushing you?’

He kept his face clear of the turmoil he felt—the anger and truth in her words were daggers piercing his insides—and wondered how she had realised what he felt about his father’s death.

‘You think that his heart attacks were because you left. Because you didn’t keep in touch over the past year. You hate it that he died without fixing whatever was wrong between you.’

‘Stop!’ he said, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

‘Why?’ she demanded, her face flushed from her tirade. ‘You were the one who wanted me to continue, remember?’ She didn’t wait for his affirmation before continuing, as though she was purging herself of everything that she felt. ‘Do you want to know what I’m really angry about, Jordan? It’s because you ran away when I needed you the most.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘You made me feel like you left because I had lost our child.’

She was trembling, and he itched to touch her, to comfort her, even as her words shook him. ‘Stop saying that! Stop blaming yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.’ And she’d made him see that it wasn’t his either.

‘If that’s not the reason, then why did you go?’

‘I was running—just like you said,’ he shot out, and immediately stilled.

‘Why?’

‘Does it matter?’ he said, exasperated. He couldn’t deal with the emotion any more. ‘I’m back now.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘Yes, it matters, Jordan. And here’s why.’

She grabbed the front of his top, and before he knew it her lips were on his.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SHE’D DONE IT out of desperation, to pierce through that controlled façade he clung to even though she could see that he felt beneath the surface. She wanted him to feel the earthquake that was happening inside her, to know the emotions that sprang from the hole the quake had opened, and the only way she knew how to do that was to kiss him.

But as she sank into the kiss she thought that she was a fool for being so impulsive, for letting go of the control she’d fought for around him. And then she stopped thinking, pressing her body closer to his as she tasted him.

The same...he tasted the same. Of fire and home and pure man.

Her anger had turned into passion, so there was no gentle sliding back into the heat they had always shared. No, they jumped straight into the fire, greedily taking each other, their hands moving over bodies that had changed yet were somehow still the same.

When he lifted her from the ground she went willingly, her arms around him, refusing to lose contact with him. She barely felt the wall that he pressed her against, her senses captivated by what his hands were doing. He pushed aside the jacket she had on, his tongue playing with hers in a way that had her moaning, and the sound seemed to burn away the last of his patience with her clothing.

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