Page 37 of Wicked Obsession

Ryder jerked to his feet, the chair sliding backward with a shriek that made him grateful the floor was marble and not hardwood. She didn’t so much as glance over despite the noise. “For fu—” He stopped short.“What the hell?”

Langley rinsed her cup and put it in the dishwasher before she spoke. “It’s apparent that you and I want different things. I think it’s better that we end our relationship, but I do hope we can remain on friendly terms.”

“Friends?” She was dumping him—again—and she wanted to befriends?

Instead of replying, she headed for the exit and Ryder moved, blocking her. “I hate it when you go polite and walk away. If you’re pissed off, shout at me, tell me to go to hell. Something.”

“So sorry to disappoint you, but I do not shout. Excuse me.” She tried to go around him, but he shifted, stopping her.

“You don’t communicate either.”

Langley stiffened. “I believe I communicated quite clearly. What part of ‘I think we should end our relationship’ was puzzling?”

Ryder clenched his jaw so hard he felt a muscle begin jumping in his cheek. There wasn’t the slightest note of sarcasm in her voice, but the quizzical politeness was worse. At least sarcasm indicated emotion. “That part was crystal clear, but I have no idea how you feel.”

She didn’t react and that infuriated him. He knew everyone wasn’t like his family, that other people didn’t yell to show they cared or that the relationship meant something, but this cold politeness? Ryder didn’t get it.

He did finally understand one thing, though—he loved her. He was so fucking in love with Langley Canfield that he couldn’t see straight, and he had no idea if her feelings for him ran as deep. Ryder didn’t want it to be over between them, but he didn’t know if he should fight for her or if there was anything to fight for.

“Everything is alwaysfinewith you,” he accused, voice low, “and I’m left trying to figure out what the hell that means. Like Saturday night. How hard would it have been to tell me your feet were the problem? Instead, you made me guess why you were sitting at the end of that damn bed in your bridesmaid dress. I don’t understand you, Langley. Little things, big things—you don’t share any of it unless I push.”

Her mask didn’t slip.

Well, that was an answer, wasn’t it? Lookingaway momentarily, he ran a hand over the back of his neck and took a deep breath before meeting her gaze again. “I think you’re right. We do want different things. I want someone who doesn’t shut me out every time I turn around, and you’re not that person. I don’t want to be friends, but we can get along until the threat against you is over.”

Ryder stood aside and watched Langley walk away.

Chapter 15

Langley felt shattered. A part of her had gone deep inside, locking itself away where the pain wasn’t as intense. Another part seemed to be outside herself, detached. Observing. The great room was no escape, not when Ryder had followed her. She felt trapped and there was no way to request one of his friends act as her immediate bodyguard instead, not without tipping her hand on how deeply he’d devastated her.

She stared out the windows at the lake, trying to soothe her pain with the beauty of nature, but it didn’t work. A boat passed near the end of the dock and she wished she was on it, motoring away from here faster than was allowed this close to shore. Langley dropped her gaze.

A copy ofThe Canterbury Taleswas open on herlap, but the words blurred and she couldn’t read. It didn’t help that Ryder paced the room. Every now and then he’d pause to glance down at his phone before resuming his path. If he was as wounded by this breakup as she felt, he showed no sign of it.

You’re a fool,observer Langley pointed out.What other word describes a woman who’s so stupidly in love with a man that she looks for any excuse to believe he feels the same? He saidI never thought of you as a convenienceand you heardI love you.Such an idiot.

She was an idiot, a pathetic idiot.

There was nothing to keep her mind occupied. Reading wasn’t working, the cabin had no televisions, and while there was a theater on the lower level as well as an arcade and a bowling alley, nothing held any appeal. Or at least those things had been there the last time she’d come to the cabin. She had no idea how extensively the house had been remodeled since her previous visit.

Ryder stopped stalking around the room to check his phone again. She didn’t know what he was looking at, only that Finn had appeared, the two men had conversed briefly, and Ryder’s fascination with his mobile had commenced at that time.

Why couldn’t he love her? What was wrong with her?

Perhaps she was too different. She’d grown up like few others had, and she had more in common with the children of ambassadors from other countries than she shared with people who’d been raised in the United States. Until college, she could count the time she’d spent in her own country in months.

Langley didn’t regret her childhood. How could she? Her parents had literally given her the world, and without being pushy, had encouraged her to embrace the different cultures to which she’d been exposed. She’d done things, visited places, and lived in countries most people only dreamed of.

There was a cost, however. She didn’t fit in. She’d never fit in—not abroad and not at home—but she’d managed to surround herself with friends who liked her for who she was. There weren’t many with whom Langley could truly be herself and perhaps that was why breaking up with Ryder hurt so badly. She hadn’t only lost the man she loved, but she’d lost one of her best friends as well.

Blinking rapidly, Langley cursed silently for allowing her thoughts to run along this path. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. Ambassadors’ children didn’t cry in front of anyone.

She’d spent her entire life being the perfect daughter. Some diplomats’ kids rebelled, but shewas close to her mom and dad and she wanted them to be proud of her. She’d wanted to be an asset to her dad’s career and to the United States. No one, not even her parents, knew how stressful the perfectionism was for her, that the meticulous attention to detail had cost her sleepless nights, or the way her brain would spin as she judged her actions against standards no human could reach.Stretch goals,sarcastic Langley pointed out.

Perfection was unattainable, she knew that, but that didn’t mean she stopped trying, did it? She wanted to excel at everything she did. And when she failed to meet her standards, she chose not to point that out to anyone. No one flagged their failings.

Little things, big things—you don’t share any of it.

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