He steadily held her gaze. “Come with me.”
But Mitch took her hand, something that looked like pain filtering through his eyes. “Only as far as the grounds. I’ve got to get away from this crowd for a few minutes.”
“Is something wrong?” She couldn’t imagine why Mitch would feel a need to leave. He was a celebrity tonight. She’d been surreptitiously watching him while she danced, and he’d had a steady stream of congratulations, everyone from the governor to movie stars.
“Yeah,” he told her, towing her along. “Something’s wrong.”
He shouldered his way through the crowd, her hand still firmly clasped in his as he cleared a path to the bank of French doors that led to a huge concrete veranda.
It was a warm, humid night, and a few couples were engaged in conversation around the lighted deck, drinks in hand, dresses sparkling along with the laughter.
Mitch glanced around, then headed for the stairs that led down to the gardens and manicured lawn of the River Bend Club.
Clouds had obscured the moon, and the only illumination came from the windows of the club behind them, discrete pot lighting in the gardens and the residential buildings far across the river.
At the bottom of the stairs, her heels sank into the soft grass. “Wait,” she gasped.
He abruptly stopped, turning.
“My-” She shook her hand free from his, lifting her feet one at a time and peeling off her sandals and dangling them from one hand. “How far are we going?”
He gazed out ahead of them. “I don’t know. Until we’re away.” His voice was stark, his jaw clenched, his eyes slate gray.
“Mitch, what’s wrong?” She was getting worried.
“Do you mind if we walk?”
“Of course not.” She fell into step, glancing up at his profile every few feet, wondering if he was going to tell her why he was upset.
Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. “What’s going on, Mitch. Has somebody been hurt?”
“Yeah.” His voice was flat.
Oh, no. “Who?”
“Me.”
“What?” She froze. “How?”
He halted and turned back to face her, voice hoarse. “I spoke to the team doctor today. It’s official. I’m never going to play football again.”
Jenny’s stomach sank. “No,” she rasped.
It wasn’t possible. He’d worked so hard. He’d done everything they’d told him to do. He had the best physiotherapist, the best surgeons. He was young and fit and incredibly healthy.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, is there-”
His voice went raw. “You don’t think I asked them to double-check? To triple-check? To call Sweden and see if there was a new procedure or a miracle cure?”
Of course he’d done all that. What a stupid, stupid question.
“It’s done, Jenny.” Now, his voice was devoid of emotion. “It’s over. I’m thirty years old, and my career is finished.”
“Oh, Mitch.” She blinked back the sting of tears, swallowing hard as her throat closed in.
Mitch’s gaze went to the brightly lit castlelike building behind her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be selfish and drag you into this. You should get back inside.”
“But-”
“Jeffrey’s waiting.”
“Jeffrey will understand.”
“I wouldn’t.”
She stepped boldly forward. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I don’t deserve that.”
It didn’t matter what he deserved or didn’t deserve. There was no way she was leaving him right now. “Do you need to yell? Scream? Get it out of your system?”
“I’m not going to yell at you.”
“You can,” she offered.
“It’s not your fault.”
“That doesn’t matter. If you need to-”
He reached out to her, gently grasping her upper arm. “Stop. You are
“I am so sorry, Mitch.” She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heat, feeling his heartbeat, wishing there was something she could do to help.
“Jenny, don’t.”
But she stepped into the touch and pressed more firmly. “You don’t deserve this, Mitch.”
He gave a weak laugh. “And you don’t deserve the likes of me.”
“I don’t have you,” she pointed out.
“Don’t you?” His deep gaze bore into hers.
He trapped her hand, squeezing it tight against his hard chest, his voice hollow and haunted. “I try and I try. But I can’t seem to stay away.”
The shoes slipped from her fingertips, landing softly on the lawn below. Before she could censor them, her feelings whispered out. “Then stop trying.”
Her voice was deep and throaty. And she realized she didn’t want to censor the words. She meant them with all her heart.
She shifted closer still, her breasts brushing the back of his hand. If there was a small measure of comfort she could give him, even if it was only temporary, she was willing.
His chest heaved.
She walked her fingers up the front of his dress shirt, stopping at the black bow tie.
“We can’t,” he strained.
“We can,” she countered. “In fact, we already have.”
He trapped her wandering hand once more. “This will only make it worse.”
She swore she could feel his hurt throbbing tight in his chest. She couldn’t bear to leave him. “Or, it might make it better.”
“And if it ends?” he rasped. “When it ends?”
“When it ends, I’ll survive. You said it yourself, Mitch. Everything in my life doesn’t have to be planned, controlled and logical. Deep down inside, I’m impulsive and wild.”
He groaned her name.
“Let me be impulsive and wild.”
His hand convulsed over hers, tugging it tight against his chest, the blue flame of his gaze heating her through to the core.
“I wish I could make a guarantee,” he rasped.
She smiled serenely, certain of her decision. “I don’t want a guarantee.”
All the way back to his hotel suite, Mitch expected Jenny to change her mind, or else to evaporate from his dream, leaving him to wake up alone, sweating and frustrated in a tangle of sheets.
But she didn’t.
And he closed the suite door behind them, leaning back against it as the latch clicked into place. He watched her walk across the plush carpet, into the dimly lit sitting area.
