* * *
I give her a half-hearted wave goodbye and stumble to the kitchen, the cool blast of refrigerator air tempting. I resist the urge, closing the door, a Voss in hand. I straighten at the sound of footsteps. Twisting off the water bottle’s cap, I step sideways, stopping Drew on his path through the kitchen. “I’ve been thinking…”
* * *
He sighs, his steps halting, and he moves back a pace. Weeks ago, it would have offended me. Now, I’m used to the constant readjustment of distance, the wariness in his eyes, as if I’m dangerous, a threat just waiting to implode.
* * *
“Nathan wanted a wife. Why?”
* * *
“It doesn’t matter.”
* * *
Three words that raise my suspicions even higher.
* * *
“Is it a citizenship thing?” I step closer, tilting back the bottle, chugging a sip of cool water, and his eyes move briefly to my neck, then back to my face.
* * *
“No. Stop asking questions, Candy.”
* * *
“Some inheritance requirement? I read a book about that once, where the guy had to get married before he was forty. Or…” I widen my eyes. “I read once that wives don’t have to testify against their husbands. Is he planning some sort of—”
* * *
My bottle hits the floor, water splashing against my legs as he grips my shoulders, slamming the refrigerator door closed and shoving me against it, his face close to mine. I tense, my eyes darting to his furious green ones, taking a quick gasp of air before closing my mouth.
* * *
“Shut up,” he whispers, the words a growl against my skin. I realized so many things in one brief second—his hard body against my own, the unforgiving ridge of his muscles impressive and rough against my damp clothing. The peppermint flavor of his breath, hot in my ear, yet finding its way to my nose, and I inhale his scent—a blend of grass and sweat and mint that is intoxicating.
* * *
His hands, originally against my shoulders, have moved. One now cups my neck, pulling my head to one side, the other grips my ass, his large hand slipping under the loose hem of my shorts and grips my bare skin tightly against him, fitting our bodies together in one unending connection.
* * *
His breath, that hot air that was against my ear, moves along the curve of my neck, his head lowering to my skin, his breaths quickening to match the fast beats of his heart, which thud hard against my breasts.
* * *
Oh, and that arousal. Hard and hot, a brand against my leg, my body twisting underneath his hands in order to put that arousal where it belongs, tight against my sex, the thin material of my shorts doing nothing but increasing the pleasure when I involuntarily grind against him.
* * *
He swears, his hand forcing my head to straighten, his mouth hesitating over mine.
* * *
I need it. I need it for no other reason than that I am bored, and he is here, a man who seems so simple compared to Nathan, so basic in his wary distance, his wandering eyes. I need his lips on mine, need that hard cock in more places than against the silk of my shorts. I grind again, one small movement that confirms the size of his need. He groans, and his hand tightens on my ass, pulling me against his cock as he thrusts against me.
* * *
His mouth makes the final move and closes the distance, his kiss almost desperate when it collides with my lips.
* * *
My heart pounds, body strums, and my brain screams in protest. Then Drew pushes off me, stepping back, and the moment is broken.
* * *
We stare at each other, the distance between the island and the fridge too small, our bodies too close. I must look like a mad woman—my hair wild from his hand, eyes needy, mouth panting. He stares at me as if he's afraid, his hands gripping the granite of the counter’s edge, his chest heaving. He suddenly moves, holding up his hands and moving slowly away. “Just … Fuck! Just stop asking questions. Please.” He moves away, and a moment later, a door slams in his wing of the house.
* * *
I worked at Sammy’s for three years. You’d think that length of time spent before men, gauging their level of arousal, would have taught me something—maybe the difference between harmless flirting and a danger zone. It would have given me enough experience to steer me in a direction other than the one I am in right now, which definitely feels like danger.
* * *
My hands shake. I hold them before me, staring at the tremor. I sink to the kitchen floor, picking up my water bottle, my tennis shoes slipping through the slick pool of water. I finish off the remaining amount, waiting for my heart to calm. I need to get to my room, need to separate myself from him, from this kitchen, from the freaking smell of Nathan that always lingers in this house. I need to take a shower, to lie down. I stumble to my feet, shoving the water bottle into the trash, and focus on putting one foot ahead of the other. I make it to the door and then to the deck, two questions dominating my mind, possibly the most dangerous ones of all.
* * *
What if Nathan finds out?
* * *
What if it happens again?
CHAPTER 26
8:30 AM. The phone rings. It’s a foreign sound, Drew or Mark typically walking over if anything is needed. I set down the toothbrush, scooping a mouthful of water into my mouth, and hurriedly rinse. Spitting into the sink, I hurry to the desk, and pick up the receiver. “Hello?”
* * *
“Mr. Dumont would like to leave in fifteen minutes. Will you be ready?” Drew’s voice is cold and efficient.
* * *
“He wants me to go with him?”
* * *
“Yes.”
* * *
I hesitate, looking down at my outfit, a Rosit Fenton ensemble. Cropped silk pants and a cardigan set. Bland boredom, which Nathan seems to prefer. “I’ll be there shortly.”
* * *
I hesitate in the moment before I open the door, seeing him through the glass, in the dining room, a dark figure in navy. Does he know about Drew? Is this about my father? Where could we be going? I step into the cool confines of the house, holding my head high, fighting to keep my features relaxed. He has a phone to his ear, his words low, and he turns at my entrance, his gaze drifting over me. He nods in approval, and a stab of irritation hits me. Will we ever be the couple that hangs out in sweat pants and pajamas? Will he ever crack a joke, or even a smile? Will I ever see Napa Valley Nathan in the privacy of our home?
* * *
He waves his hand, beckoning me to follow, and we step into the bright sunlight of the front drive, where Drew and the Maybach await.
* * *
The Maybach. I am surprised, the limo our typical vehicle, the Maybach used when Drew and Nathan are alone. I arch my eyebrow at Drew as he opens my car door.
* * *
“Guess it’s not that kind of trip, princess.”
* * *
I hope my quick entrance into the car hides my flush. Nathan does typically use the space of the limo to satisfy his sexual needs. In retrospect, maybe that’s the only reason we take the limo. We certainly don’t need that much space.
* * *
In the back of the Maybach, Nathan seems too close, the area not large enough for his ego and my nerves. I clasp my hands in my lap, cross my ankles, and try to relax.
* * *
Nathan ends his call and glances at me. “I have to go to the courthouse to sign some documents. I thought we could kill two birds with one stone and get your new identification.”
* * *
I nod, our marriage ceremony completed over a month ago. “I don’t have any of the paperwork with me.”
* * *
“Mark has everything we’ll need.”
* * *
Of course he does. Mark seems to walk around with every piece of paper anyone might possibly want. He knows t
he caloric content of french fries, historical weather patterns, and every maitre’d and city official in Nashville. It’s creepy how smart he is, the gift softened by his complete inability to carry on a coherent conversation. I tried to chat with him at a red light once, and somehow ended up hearing him recite pi to fifty-two decimal places.
* * *
Nathan gets on the phone, and I settle into the seat.
* * *
We leave the courthouse two hours later; my name officially changed, a shiny new driver’s license in hand, one that screamed CANDACE DUMONT in giant block letters. It is crazy, but looking at that license, I finally realized what I’ve done. Married a stranger. Given up on true love. Sold my future in exchange for financial security and a few orgasms a week. I tighten my hands on my license to keep them from shaking.
* * *
“I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat, and then Drew can drop me at the office and take you home.” Nathan leans forward, his hand wrapping around my knee. I unzip my purse, shoving the license in with fingers that only barely tremble.
* * *
I force a smile. “Lunch sounds good.”
* * *
In the mirror, Drew’s eyebrows knit in something akin to worry.
CHAPTER 27
Nathan is in the best mood I have seen him in. Unlike the forced happiness that we adopt in front of the cameras, his exuberance seems genuine, his kind looks and loving smile painless in their delivery. We sit outside; he orders margaritas and beams at me across the table, his smile infectious, my own mouth curving in a bewildered response.
* * *
“Candace Dumont,” he says the name in wonder, leaning forward and gripping my hand, staring at the stone there. “We should go somewhere and celebrate. Take the honeymoon we never took.”
* * *
The honeymoon we never took? I take a sip of water, hoping that the alcohol is on its way, wondering who this man is and what he has done with my serious, all-business husband. “A honeymoon?” I can’t think of a more creative response.
* * *
His grin weakens a little, and he shrugs. “The press would enjoy a honeymoon. Plus, I have business in the Caribbean. You’re coming.”
* * *
I am able to mask my irritation with the arrival of our drinks. I sip the margarita, and glance around the restaurant. I shouldn’t be irritated. I should be grateful for the trip, for an opportunity to go somewhere with this beautiful man. The mention of press means photos. Photos mean charismatic Nathan, loving smiles, and soft caresses. Photos mean a weekend like Napa—a weekend that will break my heart in its perfection. “When will we go?”
* * *
“Next month. I have a land deal that I need to close first. Once that’s taken care of, I will be able to take a couple of days off. Plus, it will take some time to get you a passport.” He picks up the menu. “I’ll have Drew make the arrangements.”
* * *
I want to ask if Drew will be joining us, but worry the question will seem odd. Instead, I settle into silence, placing my order, and saying little else.
* * *
It’s the first meal we have shared without others present. We’ve had a couple of double dates—arranged for business purposes—dates on which Nathan was on his best behavior. More common has been group outings—a party, a dinner, a tour of a new development, charity events. Group outings are easy for us, the crowds allowing us to mask our limited knowledge of each other, our lack of inside jokes, pet names, and shared history. For some couples, silence is comfortable, everything already discussed, shared, communication possible without speaking. For us, silence is all we have ever known. I do not speak because I don’t know what to say. He doesn't speak because he has no interest in talking.
* * *
“Does Nathan talk to you?” I am tucked into the backseat of the Maybach, staring into eyes in the rearview mirror. It’s the first question I’ve asked him since the kiss. It’s funny how I now consider questions dangerous behavior.
* * *
His brow furrows. “Talk?”
* * *
This is new—an opening to discussion, something out of the ordinary for Drew. I lean forward. “You guys spend a lot of time together. With me, he is always quiet. Does he talk to you?”
* * *
“Yes. We’ve known each other a long time.” His eyes are now straight ahead.
* * *
A long time. That prompts a stack of new questions in my mind. I mull over them, trying to decide which is most important, which he is most likely to answer. Then he speaks, the question surprising me.
* * *
“What did he say to you? At lunch?”
* * *
I blink, the question so foreign and strange. I feel a childish urge to refuse to answer, to withhold the information until he gives me some. I look out the window. “Very little. We’re going to go on a trip to the Caribbean.” My mouth curves without prompting—a quiver of excitement lighting up my body. I had the entire meal to think about it: a trip, the island sun, cold frozen drinks, nights spent in Nathan’s bed, his hands on my body, mouth on my skin. I have never been out of the country, have only seen ads on television showing peaceful sunsets, steel drum music, and couples who are head over heels in love.
* * *
I snap out of my daydream, realizing that Drew has not spoken. I look up, my angle allowing me to see his profile, the tightness in his jaw alerting me that he is annoyed. The emotion baffles me. He keeps his face forward, then his jaw moves. “That’s interesting.”
* * *
This is the first conversation that Drew has ever instigated. My mind races. I’m searching for a question to ask him, wanting to grasp this opportunity before talkative Drew slips away. Since I married Nathan, the questions have stacked up, a teetering mountain of them in my mind. “Would you go?” The words jut out of my mouth, the question that I was too scared to ask Nathan, but one that I need the answer to.
* * *
He doesn’t respond, and the silence is uncomfortable, long, and thick. “Nathan mentioned it was a business trip, and that you’d handle the arrangements. I just thought that maybe …” I abandon the useless sentence. I shouldn’t have to explain my questions; he never bothers to explain anything. He is still mad, his jaw continuing to do that clenching thing, the tension stifling in the car.
* * *
“I don’t know if I am attending, but I typically don’t.” He flexes his hands and tightens them on the steering wheel. “When does he want to go?”
* * *
I don’t know how I should feel at his words. Elated that Nathan and I will have the time alone? That is the proper response. Certainly the response that a committed, doesn’t-look-at-other-men wife should have. I glance out the window, the city turning into suburbia, our Maybach catching the eye of ordinary life. I almost forget to respond, Drew’s expectant silence reminding me. “Uh … in a month. I need to get a passport.”
* * *
His reflection almost hides the darkening of his eyes, the scowl across that face, the temperature in the car cooling slightly. Anger. I have no idea where it is coming from, and no idea at whom it is directed; I didn’t even ask a lot of questions. I look out the window, pressing my body against the curve of the seat, wanting to put distance between me and the black cloud who is driving. Inside my mind, the questions scream for attention, their shrill shrieks causing my head to ache, building a pain in my temple that urges me to shut my eyes.
* * *
Blackness.
Road noise.
The soft sounds of music.
The headache fades, lulled to death by sleep.
* * *
I awaken in Drew’s arms, his face close to mine, his arms gently lowering me into my bed. I don’t think. I don’t speak. I reach up, and before my mind can say a word, pull his mouth to mine.
CHAPTER 28
There is not a moment of hesitation i
n his kiss, his hands releasing me, his mouth following mine as I fall the final inches onto the bed. He moves above me, our lips moving, tongues intertwining, mouths crushing, tasting each other fully.
Trophy Wife Page 11
