Page 4 of Reluctant to Love

2

Roderick

Her words cut me deep but I deserve them and so much more.

“You look tired so I’ll just show you where the bedroom is,” I tell her.

She follows me to the second bedroom and I finally let go of her suitcase. She doesn’t meet my eye, just grabs the handle and slips into the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

I meant it when I told her the suite was large enough for the two of us. It’s a little over-the-top but when I saw her in the lobby, her face red with anger and embarrassment, I silently thanked my publishers for their insane generosity.

Honestly, I didn’t think she’d accept my offer. I expected her to flat out refuse but maybe this is fate’s way of giving us a second chance.

There are so many things I need to tell her. I have sins to atone for and I’ll perform any penance she demands.

For a long while, I stand there in front of the closed bedroom door, staring at it until at last, I turn on my heel and retreat to the opposite side of the suite.

Some people are unforgettable and then there’s Eleanor Jessup. She transcends that term.

Every memory I’ve conjured of her over the years doesn’t do justice to having the real thing right in front of me.

She’s still so unbelievably beautiful. The moment I spotted her in the lobby, my heart sputtered back to life. Just the sight of her auburn hair and icy blue eyes was enough to give me hope.

I can win her back.

As we made our way up to my room, a thousand questions were on the tip of my tongue, but I kept my distance. There’s no need to push her, to scare her away.

I undress, careful to place my suit back on the hangers and then shower quickly. Being a best-selling author has its perks and privileges, but I also have to pay my dues. Tonight’s dinner with my publisher and several book distributors was exhausting but now, I’m wide awake and it’s all because of Eleanor.

Several times, I stop myself from throwing open my bedroom door and banging hers down. I ache to have her in my arms again and my mouth waters at the thought of kissing her after so many years a part.

None of that can happen though until I explain myself. Until I explain why I lied to her for so long.

The only problem? She might not let me.

I channel my energy into writing because I’m on deadline. This fifth and final book in my fantasy series based the a medieval French story of Tristan and Yseut has been the hardest to write. I’ve been struggling to put an end to such an epic story of love and betrayal.

Maybe it’s because of Eleanor, because things between us were left unfinished.

I read the last chapter I wrote and then look at my outline for the next chapter. I know what should come next but it doesn’t feel right.

I slam my laptop closed and toss it aside. My gaze flicks to the door. Fuck it.

For years, I wrestled with myself for just letting her go without a fight. There were so many nights when I just wanted to get in my car and drive to wherever she was, to beg her for a second chance. Now that she’s so close, I can’t let a single moment pass without at least trying.

I push myself off the bed and stalk my way to the door. My hand overs briefly over the handle before I yank the door open and stomp across the suite, ready to bang it down.

“Go away,” she says in response to my persistent knocking.

“I can’t,” I reply. “I need to talk to you.”

“You had your chance four years ago.” Her voice is muffled through the closed door but at least she’s talking.

“I know and I blew it. You deserve an explanation and I’m finally ready to give you one.”

The doorknob rattles as she opens the door. “You’re finally ready? What makes now any different than four years ago?”

I step back, blown away by the woman standing in front of me. She’s fresh faced, her skin pink and glowing, and she’s changed into a pair of black shorts and a thin, white camisole. I can see the shadow of dark ink along her rib cage and abdomen.