I curled up, head pressed to my bedside table, trying to survive every second of feeling like I might die.
As a boy, I’d suffered from panic attacks that my father dismissed as weakness and my mother tried to coax me through. They’d dissipated with adulthood, the last one being the day I buried my mother. There was nothing for it but to endure the absolute certainty that I was about to die.
Of course, I did not die.
I came out of it only to face the clusterfuck that had caused the panic attack in the first place.
Eventually, I got through the Sarah-induced attack, but by the time it was over, I was drenched in sweat and utterly exhausted.
I crawled onto the bed, turning my face into Sarah’s pillow and inhaling her perfume.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I felt an overwhelming sense of self-loathing I wasn’t sure I could come back from.
Why did I let Sebastian’s words get to me? He had Sarah all wrong. He thought she was some kind of charity case I’d picked up and was using.
She wasn’t, and I wasn’t using her.
Why did I let my damn fears win?
“It’s not too late,” I whispered gruffly, practically burrowing myself into her scent. I could explain. I could … I could get her back.
I had to.
Because as mortifyingly scary as giving myself to her was … it was nothing like this terror that swept over me at the thought that I might have lost her forever.
Twenty-Two
SARAH
To keep busy, I put up the Christmas tree and decorations because Jared hadn’t gotten around to it. He probably wouldn’t bother with them at all if it was just him.
I’d always been the one to decorate the farmhouse every Christmas, and I had a particular way of decorating the tree that meant I did not welcome help. Grandpa and Jared used to tease me mercilessly, adding baubles when my back was turned and waiting for me to spot them. Which I always did.
Grief thickened my throat and tears burned my eyes. Our first Christmas without Grandpa. I wondered what he’d think of me and how I’d let myself get swept up in Theo’s charm and seduction.
I was supposed to be smarter than that.
Jared had known without me saying a word when I turned up at the farmhouse first thing this morning. I’d gotten a night train from London to Inverness and then a cab from there. Dead on my feet, Jared had just led me to my old room, and I’d passed out. I’d woken up around six hours later with a note from him that he was out repairing one of the farm’s dry stone walls and that I just had to call him if I needed him.
Not feeling very hungry, I’d forced down toast and then stared sullenly around the kitchen. I should be writing. I still had a deadline, but I couldn’t stop picturing Theo’s bland expression as he passed me off to his friend.
Even if he cared a little … it couldn’t be enough. To just give me away like that.
How fucking dare he.
It made me sick to my stomach.
He’d probably gone home with that redhead.
I was a moron for thinking he felt more for me.
Every time I let my mind replay the previous evening, I experienced this gnawing pain in my chest and a pit in my stomach. I couldn’t stand it. So I decided to decorate the farmhouse for Christmas. It would be a nice surprise for Jared and a good distraction for me.
It wasn’t much of a distraction. Every other minute, with apparently no control over it, I’d experience a flashback of last night. Or one from the weeks before it, when Theo made me feel seen and cherished and sexy.
How he must be laughing at me now.
And his so-called friend, Scott, who took me to his flat, a five-minute walk from the hotel, all charm and flirtation, until I froze, terrified at his front door. The thought of letting another man touch me was nauseating, and I just wanted to be alone. Scott had gone from sweet and funny to cold and irritated within an instant, though he’d walked me back out onto the street and called me a cab. He had, however, slammed the cab door behind me, to make it very clear he was angry I’d gotten his dick’s hopes up.
