The Rejected Wife: Chapter 15

“I need to figure things out.” His jaw is rigid, his features closed. And those heterochromatic eyes are cold. Colder than I’ve ever seen them. He looks so remote. So unlike the man I met earlier today. I glance at the clock on the oven and realize it’s almost midnight.

Exhaustion drags at the edges of my mind. I yawn.

His gaze narrows, and he scans my face. “You’re tired.”

“It’s been an eventful few hours.” I try a small smile, but he doesn’t respond. Another shiver runs up my spine. That frisson of discomfort that settled behind my breastbone when the doorbell rang intensifies.

“Tyler?” I search his eyes. “Talk to me.”

“You should leave. I’ll call my chauffeur and have him take you home.” He looks away. My heart sinks into my stomach.

“What do you mean, you’ll call your chauffeur?” I cry.

He rises to his feet, staring straight ahead. He’s not meeting my eyes. Oh, my God. My heart drops to my feet with a thump. “Tyler?” I feel the hysteria bubble up in my throat and manage to rein it back. “What is it? What are you really thinking?”

His expression grows even more remote. “It’s late. And as you said, it’s been a lot to deal with. You should head home.” He rises to his feet and heads off in the direction of his bedroom. Because that’s where he left his phone? On the bedside table, while he was making me come on his fingers and his tongue, and where he almost fucked me with that massive cock of his. Despite being pissed off with him, my pussy reacts to the image of his monster dick by squeezing in on itself.

I shove the images aside and scramble up to my feet. With a last look at the cutie-pie asleep in her carrier, I follow the big man in.

“Tyler,” I begin to call after him. Then, in deference to the sleeping child, I flatten my lips and march into the bedroom in time to see him snatching up his phone from the side table.

His fingers swipe over the device, then he holds it to his ear. “Yes, I need you to take my guest home.” He listens. “Ten minutes.” He pockets the phone and turns to me.

His expression is remote. His face could be carved into the side of a mountain.

Icicles form in my bloodstream. My heart seizes up. My instincts jangle with foreboding. I know this is not going to end well for me. But I have to be strong. I need to be strong. I push aside the premonition and focus all my attention on this gorgeous, larger-than-life man in front of me.

“Tyler, I am not leaving.” I set my jaw. “Not until you tell me what’s bothering you, and why you’re so insistent on sending me away, when a few hours ago you were—” I swallow. “You claimed that you loved taking care of me. You hinted that you wanted something more long-term with me.”

“That was before—” He nods in the direction of the living room.

“It’s a baby. Her name is Serene. Can you, at least, bring yourself to say that?”

A muscle pops above his jaw. The skin around his eyes stretches.

“I know this is all a shock. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to find a child abandoned on your doorstep, but if you talk it out⁠—”

“I don’t want to… Not yet. And not with you.”

The vehemence in his voice takes me by surprise. Where is the tender lover? The man who was so conscientious about my tastes, enough to take me to the kind of bookstore he knew I’d love?

I scan his features again, take in that gaze fixed on something other than me, and shake my head in frustration. “Just tell me what you’re feeling. I can help.”

“You can. By leaving.” He folds his arms across his chest.

I stiffen, feeling like he just slapped me. But I’m also aware that he’s hurting inside. Which is why he’s lashing out at me. I take a step forward, and another, until I reach him. Standing in front of him, I realize, again, how big this man is. How massive, how immovable. The heat leaping off his body could power the electric supply of a city; that’s how intense it seems.

Pushing aside my nervousness, I place my hand on his forearm. It feels like I’m touching a wall. “Tyler, you can’t push me off like that. I need to know what’s brought about this… Sudden change in attitude.”

For a few seconds, we stand there, him looking off into the distance, and me taking in his gorgeous face.

“You told me you wanted me. You said… I’d regret it if I didn’t come home with you. You told me to take a chance on us⁠—”

“And that was before. Things change.”

He sounds so firm. So confident. And his features are so emotionless, I almost believe him.

“You wanted us to get to know each other better. You were so sweet to me. So caring⁠—”

“None of that was faked,” he admits. “I wanted you. I felt something for you. It felt monumental when we met⁠—”

Oh God, he’s talking about us in the past tense. Like what we have is over before it’s even begun. My heart beats with such force, I can barely hear my own thoughts. I draw in a sharp breath, calm myself, then tip up my chin.

Something shifts in him—subtle but unmistakable. He seems to wrestle with whatever’s going through his head, jaw tight, shoulders tense. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower, heavier.

“But as you can imagine, I’ve got a lot to deal with—” He gestures toward the child. “I need to figure out what comes next. It’s not unreasonable for me to ask for a little space…is it?”

“Of course not. Your entire life has been turned upside down. Until yesterday, you were a single man, living life on your terms. Today, you need to figure out what your relationship to this child is. It’s not easy.”

His beautiful throat moves as he swallows. A nerve tics at his temple. He looks both remote and confused. Both standoffish and in need of reassurance. But the look in his eyes—it’s one of determination.

“Look Priscilla, I meant what I said then. But that was before”—he waves a hand in the air—“before all this. I need to figure things out. Need to track down the person who left that…kid here. Need to find out if there’s any truth to the claim in the letter. Which means, I won’t have time to think about anything else. Not even you.”

Of course, I know that. “The child takes priority. That’s the right thing.” I nod. “It’s what I’d have done in your position.” Still, I can’t stop my stomach from sinking. To have met the man who I thought was my future, only to have him ask me to leave less than twenty-four hours later is…unexpected.

Some of my misery must show on my face, for the skin around his eyes softens. “I need to figure out what to do. There’s a lot I need to resolve. I need space to think about what to do next, Priscilla.”

He called me Priscilla. Not Cilla, but Priscilla. That convinces me how much things have changed between us. And the fact that he needs space? It’s completely different from what he told me when he asked me to come home with him. When he implied that he wanted me in his life.

“This is not how I’d have wanted to part, but perhaps, it’s for the best. Perhaps, our timing is off just now. Perhaps”—he shifts his weight between his feet—“perhaps, when things settle down…” He trails off. A muscle moves at his jaw. His lips firm. Those gorgeous, mismatched eyes grow remote in a way that sends chills down my spine.

He’s asking me to leave. Oh, he’s implying that he might call me when things settle down, but will he? Does this mean he still wants me? He’s implying he just needs time, and there’s no reason not to believe him, right?

A message pings on his phone. He glances down at it, then back at me. “The car’s here.”

“So that’s it, huh?” I attempt a smile and fail.

He holds my gaze with a depth that makes my breath catch. The ice in his eyes, melts. For a few seconds, I see something flash in them. Something poignant. Something which has hope bubbling up in my chest. Then it’s gone. That mask is back on his face. The one that makes him seem so completely different from the vital, caring man I was sure I’d met. The man I’m sure he still is.

“Perhaps, the emotional punch of having a baby delivered at your doorstep is making you act like this. But it would be a lot easier for me to understand if you’d try to explain your thinking to me.” I square my shoulders, jutting out my chin. “I want to give you the benefit of the doubt… But honestly, I’m not sure what to think anymore.”

For a few more seconds, our gazes hold. He curls his fingers into fists at his sides. Once again, he seems on the verge of saying something. Only he doesn’t. He flattens his lips and ensures there’s no expression on his face. Then he pivots and walks out of the room.

What the hell just happened? My head spins, trying to make sense of everything. A headache drums against my temples. I pull myself together, stepping into my flats, which he dropped by the side of the bed, scan the room to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. Consider leaving something… Then, turn and hurry after him.

I reach the living room to find he’s holding up my purse. That’s how quickly he wants me gone?

As if in a dream, I approach him and take my handbag from him. It all began with this bag… And it looks like it’s going to end with it, too.

He stalks to the door of the apartment and holds it open. I take a step in his direction when a mewl sounds from the bassinet. I glance at the baby to find she has her eyes open and is watching me. She yawns, and my heart melts. I want to lean toward her, but I force myself to keep going.

The baby must sense the tension in the air for she lets out another wail. My pulse rate spikes. My heartbeat ramps up.

The child is not my problem. She’s not. He’s made that clear. And I’m not going to stay where I’m not wanted. It doesn’t stop my stomach from bottoming out while stupid tears clog my throat.

I keep my gaze straight, and head past the door he’s holding open. As I reach the threshold, the baby sends up another cry. Damn it. The pressure builds behind my eyes. I would have to be made of stone not to throw a final glance at the child over my shoulder. Every fragment of my soul wants me to stay…but he wants me gone. The man I was sure was the one wants me gone.

And I’m not such a self-sacrificing idiot that I’m going to beg him to allow me to stay and soothe the child until she stops crying.

I reach the elevator and punch the button. I stare woodenly at the doors. The silence stretches. I curl my trembling fingers around the straps of my handbag. Come on. Come on. If I stand here any longer, I’m going to lose it. And if I let him see me crying, I’m going to hate myself.

The doors slide open. Thank God. I step inside and turn to face him. I try not to look at him, but he’s standing right in my line of view. Big, and solid, and delicious. And goddamn him—I sneak a look at his face. I see the burning gaze in his eyes. The regret. The need. The frustration.

Tell me to come back inside. Please?

He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is “Goodbye, Priscilla.”