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.
“Because…” She stopped and her gaze slid to the side.
He pushed closer. Her gaze snapped back.
“Sally’s fine,” she answered. “She’s going to be okay. And this isn’t my home, this isn’t my life. I have a home and a life in Chicago. I need to get back.”
He stared at her.
When she spoke again, it was softer and the hostility was gone. “They shouldn’t get used to me.”
“Too late,” Prentice returned, watched as her eyes closed and felt his already heightened anger rising even further. “So this is it?” he asked. “This is what you’re going to do now?”
Her eyes opened again and he saw confusion.
“Pardon?”
“Slide into their lives, light up their worlds, slide out, leave me to deal with their disappointment while you send boxes filled with expensive presents from wherever you are, making certain they’ll be thinking of you even though they’ll never be certain they can have you?”
Her face filled with shock and her mouth opened to speak but she didn’t when his anger boiled over.
He let her go and took a step away.
“All right, Elle, if I can guide them through losing their mother, I can guide them through losing you, repeatedly. At least I have practice with that.”
He regretted his words again when her face assumed an expression like she’d just been struck.
But he was angry enough that he didn’t take them back. Furthermore, they were the fucking truth.
He watched as she rearranged her features but she couldn’t quite hide the hurt.
Then she whispered, “What do you want me to do?”
“Don’t leave,” he replied instantly.
Her eyes grew wide.
“You want me to… to… to move here?”
Christ, how had this come about?
But he knew. This came about because this was Elle and every situation with Elle deteriorated to something out of his control.
He glared at her for a long moment before he answered, “No. I don’t want you to move here. But I want you to stay until Sally’s fit again. Until there’s a good time to explain the situation so they know what you are to them and what they can expect.”
“What am I to them?” she asked him, now sounding confused.
He simply stared at her.
She definitely was mad.
When she continued to gaze at him in that baffled way, he enquired with disbelief, “You’re serious?”
“I –”
He tried to gentle his tone when he said, “Think about it, Elle. You lose your mother and, a year later, a glamorous woman who understands your loss floats in the front door baking cakes and telling stories about your Mum and varnishing your fingernails. You lost your Mum, Elle. If you had a woman like that come into your life, what would she be to you?”
Her eyes skittered to the floor; she examined it for awhile before she sighed.
Then she murmured in a voice so soft, he barely heard her, “I really messed this up, didn’t I?”
For some reason her words disturbed him so much his anger immediately evaporated. They were uttered in a way that made it seem she took sole responsibility for everything that befell her, Prentice and his children when practically none of it (but her leaving him the second time) had been in her control.