The Other Man. Karen Van Der Zee
d="u383641b0-08bd-569d-9453-ba876f73101d">
Table of Contents
“It was finished twelve years ago.”
Aidan’s mouth turned down. “Oh, was it, now?” His voice was low. “Then why did you come to my house?” He moved closer, his eyes locking with Gwen’s.
Gwen’s heart began to beat wildly. He was too damned intimidating. Too male, too overpowering.
“Stay away from me,” she said shakily.
He looked at her with hooded gray eyes. “What are you afraid of?”
Ever since KAREN VAN DER ZEE was a child growing up in Holland she wanted to do two things: write books and travel. She’s been very lucky. Her American husband’s work as a development econo-mist has taken them to many exotic locations. They were married in Kenya, had their first daughter in Ghana and their second in the United States. They spent two fascinating years in Indonesia. Since then they’ve added a son to the family, as well. They live in Virginia, but not permanently!
The Other Man
Karen Van Der Zee
THE MAN was looking at her, silvery gray eyes probing her face, meeting her eyes. Gwen’s heart stood still. She recognized the eyes, if not the rest of him—the unshaven chin, the longish hair.
Aidan. Her body turned to liquid—she couldn’t feel her limbs and muscles anymore. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All she felt was a wild, overpowering emotion that made her heart pound and her blood churn through her body. Was it fear? Anxiety? Pain? Oh, God, she thought, don’t let me faint into my soup. Not with a restaurant full of people watching.
Desperately, she sucked in a gulp of air and tried to focus on Joe’s voice rambling on about the book they’d worked on together.
“Yes,” she said, having no idea what she was agreeing to. Her hand clenched rigidly around her soupspoon, she glanced out the window in an effort not to look the other way, at Aidan. The small, rustic restaurant perched on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific and she watched the turbulent waves crashing on the rocky outcrops, spraying up white spume. It was June and the days were long and she’d been looking forward to seeing the sun set, but dark, ominous clouds had gathered in front of the sun and the sky looked bruised and angry. Gwen gave a convulsive shiver. She wanted to go home,
to the safety of her house. But they’d only just been served their food and she couldn’t ask Joe to drive her back so soon. It was nice of him to take her out. He had meant well. You need to get out, Gwen, he had said. You need some time for yourself.
It took all her strength not to glance over at Aidan. She focused her eyes on her food. Concen-trating hard, she ladled in some of her soup—rich, creamy clam chowder. Her favorite soup, soothing and delicious. She was going to choke on it. She put her spoon down, her hand trembling. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t breathe.
Twelve years since she’d last seen Aidan. What was he doing here now? She glanced back at him— the need was too strong. There was gray in his hair now, hair that was a little too long and unruly. He looked older, more muscular, tougher. All the polish and shine were gone. Even his silver-gray eyes had a tarnished look about them. His face was brown and more angular than she remembered.
He was with a woman, an attractive woman in her thirties with short black hair and large, ex-pressive eyes. She was talking animatedly, using her hands, looking serious.
His wife.
It shouldn’t hurt, of course. She shouldn’t feel this sharp, jagged jealousy in her chest. She’d known he had a wife for years, but seeing her now made it more real.
My own fault…my own fault…
Aidan turned his head suddenly, as if he’d felt her regard, and again their eyes met. Her heart gave a sickening lurch. She stared, mesmerized, not able to look away from the pale, hypnotic gaze of his eyes.
“Gwen? What’s wrong?” Joe’s voice was worried.
Tearing her gaze away from Aidan, she pushed her chair back. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
Her legs were trembling so much it was a miracle she made her way out of the restaurant dining room and into the ladies’ room without collapsing be-tween the tables. She suppressed an hysterical little giggle, imagining the scene. Leaning on the cold ceramic of the sink, she closed her eyes. Calm down, she ordered herself. Get a grip on yourself. So he’s back. Big deal. Twelve years is a long time. It’s all history now. Think of something else—the book, the baby, anything.
Turning on the tap, she ran cold water over her wrists, splashing water on her silk dress. Periwinkle blue, matching her eyes.
She looked at her face in the mirror. She was ashen and her eyes had a wild, desperate look in them. She closed her eyes and moaned, seeing the man’s face in front of her lids. He looked strange with that dark stubble on his chin, but his eyes she would have recognized in a crowd.
Aidan.
Tears flooded her eyes. “Aidan,” she whispered, wanting to hear his name. “Aidan.”
She didn’t want to feel this way, this terrible pain—a pain full of longing and regret. Where had all that come from so suddenly? So intensely? These feelings shouldn’t have been