“Graham,” I whisper.
“This is happening, Imogen. You need to file for divorce from his ass, and you’re moving on, with me. Next weekend, after the party, you’re staying at my place. Enough pretending like we don’t know where this is going. We aren’t young enough to mess around anymore. We’ll have a small wedding in six-months and start trying for a baby immediately. It’s time,” he announces.
My eyes widen and my mouth drops open in shock. I don’t know what to say. It’s a big assumption, and we aren’t in love. I’m not even turned on by him. Things could change after we move to the next level, but right now? He feels like my cousin.
“Do you love me?” I ask.
Graham’s eyes narrow as his lips purse together. “I don’t, but it doesn’t matter. I respect you, your family, and I’m attracted to you. Our children would come from perfect breeding. It’s the foundation of a successful coupling.”
I scrunch my nose up at his words—successful coupling. How clinical, how unsexy, and how very much unlike Sloane. Graham stands and walks over to me, helping me up from my chair. He’s poised and always a perfect gentleman. I can’t help but think he’s like this in bed, too, and that kind of makes me feel grossed out.
I’m used to hot, dirty, sweaty sex. I don’t think Graham has worked up a sweat anywhere but on a treadmill his entire life. Plus, I feel like we’re making an appointment to have sex, and that just makes it even more awkward and unsexy.
“I’m busy with work the rest of the week, but I’ll be by your place at seven to pick you up for the party,” he announces as we walk out to valet.
“Okay,” I nod.
Graham helps me in the car, and we ride in silence back to my house. As ever the poised gentleman, he walks me to my door and I unlock it, reaching for the handle after murmuring goodnight when he wraps his hand around mine and tugs me away from the door. His finger slides under my chin and tips my head back so that I can look into his chocolate eyes.
“I’m sorry I won’t be available the rest of the week. I wish that I was,” he murmurs. “I’ll make it up to you next weekend,” he grins.
His promise and sly grin should make butterflies flit around in my belly, but they don’t. When his face lowers and his soft lips touch mine, I close my eyes and wait for something to happen, anything. It doesn’t. Graham doesn’t deepen the kiss, lifting his head and biting his lips as if he’s done something salacious.
“Just the taste of you has me wanting more, Imogen,” he whispers.
I wish that I could say the same, but I’m as dry as the Sahara. I tip my lips in a small smile and he takes it as coy instead of disappointing, giving me a wide grin before he shakes his head slightly.
“I can’t wait to have you underneath me,” he rasps.
Inside I cringe. It can’t happen. I have to end this before next weekend, maybe after the party. I can’t leave him dateless, and I refuse to go to another society party alone.
“I’ll see you Saturday,” I offer.
“Saturday,” he nods before he turns and walks away without looking back, leaving me standing on my front porch.
My house is in a good neighborhood, but he’s left me on my porch, not ensuring that I’m safely inside.
What a dick.
I can say with all honesty, as much of a complete asshole my husband is, he’s always ensured my safety.
Always.
With a heavy sigh, I walk inside of my house and unarm the alarm before I arm it again as I lock the door. MadDog left me a message several months ago saying that the threat of the Aryan’s and The Cartel was, for now, gone.
I’m pretty sure that I’m safe and that none of Sloane’s club stuff will follow me here, but this is the city, and I’m a single woman living alone, you can never be too safe.
Making my way upstairs to my bedroom, I flip on the light and look around. It’s perfect. Not a single thing out of place. It looks like a magazine, and I despise it.
Not for the first time, and stupidly, my eyes sweep the floors and I miss it.
I miss the way Sloane would throw his shit around, not caring where it landed. I miss being annoyed as I picked it up and threw his dirty clothes in the hamper.
I miss him.
Even the asshole part of him.
I miss the way we really did love each other. Beneath all the pain we caused one another, there was love, and I miss it. I need to let him go.
He isn’t coming back to me.
Even if he tried, he isn’t changing. He’ll go to other women and we won’t have the family I desire; the family Graham is offering me on a silver platter.
So, I need to find a way to let him go, and to move on completely. Maybe I’ll move away, somewhere where there are no memories of Sloane, and where Graham isn’t—a place where I can completely start over.
Chapter Three
SOAR
Walking into the house, the place I grew up and left, the place I haven’t stepped foot into for the past three years, is sobering.
It looks the exact same, which isn’t normal, considering my mother usually redecorates the whole house yearly, but it’s exactly the way it was the last time I was here.
“I see you decided to grace us with your presence.” My father’s harsh, booming voice fills the air.
Rolling my eyes, I respond to his statement, “I wasn’t on vacation, it’s not like I could just come over any time I wanted to.”
“That bed of shit you made yourself, son. When are you going to get your fucking head out of your ass, be a man, and get a real job?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, not wishing to get into it with him right now.
“Your wife is living alone, fucking other men, and here you are being a goddamn pussy. Do you realize how this makes me look? You were sent to prison for three years, and you can’t keep your fucking wife on a leash? You know how many parties she’s showed up to either alone or with another man? You don’t think about anybody but yourself, Sloane. You’re so goddamn selfish that you don’t think about how that makes your mother and me look; you don’t give a fuck about anybody,” he shouts.
“Sloane,” my mother slurs from the top of the staircase. She’s looking right at my father, but he ignores her, which is par for the course “You don’t know what they’re going through. It’s just a rough patch.”
My father turns his head, and I can practically see the lasers that he attempts to spear my mother with, coming from his eyes.
“Why don’t you get back to your bottle? Doesn’t it miss you?” he sneers.
She snorts. “Your whores missing your money? Because I know they don’t miss that limp fucking dick you’ve got.”
I close my eyes for a second. Listening to them is like a complete fucking flashback to my childhood, except my mother and I would both end the night with black eyes and bruises.
When my father’s voice rises again, I shout at them to shut the fuck up. I can’t listen to it anymore, and all I want to do is go in search of a high. I can’t do that, though, and they’re putting me on the fucking edge.
“You dare to talk to me like that?” my father spits.
“I do, because you’re being goddamn ridiculous,” I state. “Imogen and my relationship has zero bearing on your life. We’re adults. In fact, in case you didn’t realize it, I’m almost forty fucking years old. Whatever happens between us, is just that, between us. I’m here tonight for Kippy and nobody else. So, you two can go fuck yourselves,” I calmly state. I breeze past them and walk out into the back of the estate.
I need to fucking breathe.
IMOGEN
I smooth down the front of my dress and cringe. I can’t believe I let my mother talk me into it. It’s black silk fabric with a halter neck, and the front dips down so low in front that my entire chest—to almost my belly button—is exposed. Two triangles of black silk cover my breasts. Though, since I’ve lost weight, my breasts aren’t as full as they used to be, so it doesn’t really show
anything.
A piece of gold ribbon wraps around right underneath my breasts and the middle of the dress is completely cut out, with another gold band that wraps around my waist, holding it together at my back.
The dress is completely backless. The black silk starts again at my hips and falls to the floor, but there’s a slit on my right side, and it’s cut all the way up to my mid-thigh.
I look like a slut.
Sliding my feet into my gold high heels, I smooth down my wavy, blonde hair before I apply my nude shimmer lip stain and cringe again. I feel like I should be going to some kind of party in Vegas, not a high school graduation.
The bell rings, and I exhale. This is going to be a long night. Not only do I have to deal with society bitches, but I also have to break it off with Graham. I thought about it all week, and I can’t be with him.
It isn’t as though I’m not ready to move on from Sloane, because I think that I could be, it’s that Graham does absolutely nothing for me. I can’t even see being content with him, let alone remotely happy.
“Wow,” Graham breathes as I open my door.
He’s wearing a tuxedo, and it should make my belly do flips. Sloane in a tux always did things to me, but Graham, not so much.
“Hey,” I smile as I step out of my front door and lock it behind me.
“Who picked that dress out?” he asks as his eyes narrow.
I thought he liked the dress originally, but now as I look up into his eyes, I can tell that he’s not pleased at all. In fact, he’s angry.
He wraps his fingers around my elbow, his fingertips gripping me roughly, and tugs me to the waiting car. There’s a driver tonight, and without being gentle, Graham practically shoves me into the back seat.
“My mother did,” I state, though my voice waivers slightly.
“Of course your mother did,” he snorts.
“What does that mean?” I ask, arching an eyebrow as I turn slightly toward him.
“Your mother is a classic aging trophy wife. I didn’t realize from our conversation the other night that that is exactly what you wanted to be. I thought you were different,” he shrugs.
“You do realize my mother comes from more money than my father, don’t you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Money can’t buy class. Your mother is classless, always has been. She can’t help it; her entire family is. Yes, she has more, but her family is nouveau rich. That money was built from luck. Unlike your father’s, which came from generations ago, wise investments of textiles was then rolled into other avenues. I know your family history, Imogen, as you I’m sure know mine. If I wanted a trashy trophy wife, I could have my pick.”
I don’t know his. I hate it all. The bullshit, the status, and exactly the way he described my mother’s money versus my father’s. Like my mother is cheap because her family’s money is new money and not old money.
My eyes lower, as though I feel the weight of his words on my shoulders, “I’m sorry I’m not classy enough for you,” I say, lifting my head and turning it to the side, avoiding looking at him. I can’t wait until this party is over so that I can leave his pompous ass.
“Your father’s family line is impeccable, and your mother’s isn’t atrocious, so there’s nothing to be sorry for. Just, next time we go to a party, I want you to see my stylist instead of allowing your mother to help you,” he says, taking my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
I roll my eyes to the window as he caresses my hand. His skin is smooth and soft, and it is another reason he does nothing for me.
Sloane’s hands were rough. He enjoyed using them on his bike and with whatever else he did for the club. They were also scarred from fighting, and the way they would drag across my skin—the thought still gives me goosebumps.
“We’re here,” Graham announces, taking me out of my day dream.
The driver helps me out of the back of the car, and I wait for Graham to walk around and join me. His hand slips around my waist, and he squeezes me as we walk up the steps into the Huntington mansion.
As soon as we’re inside, I look around for Kip. I have something for him, and I want to make sure that he gets it before he takes off to Harvard.
I see him, and he smiles widely.
“I’m going to say hello to Kipling,” I murmur, disengaging from Graham’s grasp on my waist.
“I’ll be right there,” he mutters, not even turning away from Mr. Shilling. I don’t like Mr. Shilling anyway. He has always leered at me, and he’s older than my grandparents’ age.
“Kip,” I say as soon as I reach his side.
He turns, and I have to keep from breathing funny, the closer I get. He looks exactly like Sloane did the day I met him. His blond hair is a little wild, but still not out of place; his face is clean shaven and young; his green eyes pierce me, and his full lips tip in a cocky grin.
“Imogen,” he whispers as he wraps his arms around me in a tight hug.
He’s even tall like Sloane, and with long lean muscles of a boy-man, just like Sloane was when I met him. It sends my mind spinning back twenty-years.
“I’m sorry, you look so much like him,” I whisper against his ear.
“He’s not dead, Genny,” Kip chuckles as he straightens.
He keeps his hands on my waist and continues to give me his cocky as shit grin as I shake my head.
“I know,” I murmur.
Isn’t Sloane dead, though? To me at least? It feels like I’ve been mourning him for years.
“You look hot as shit, big sister,” he laughs softly. I roll my eyes.
“I have something for you. I wanted to give it to you before you snuck off with your friends and got into trouble,” I say.
“Never,” he gasps, but his green eyes twinkle.
“Anyway, I just thought you might like this,” I murmur as I pull the ring from my clutch.
He holds out his hand, “What is it?” he asks.
“This is Sloane’s class ring. I don’t know, I thought you might want it,” I shrug. “You think it’s dumb, right?”
“No way, Gen,” he says as I drop it in his hand. I watch as he slides it onto his finger. “I didn’t get one. Mom forgot to turn in the paperwork,” he shrugs.
She didn’t forget. Kalli Huntington is a drunk.
“Now you do,” I grin, looking up at him, my eyes filling with tears.
“Don’t give up all hope, yet,” he mutters, sounding far too mature for his age.
I feel a warm, soft, hand on my back, and I twist my neck around to see Graham just behind me. His heat is against my body and still, nothing. I exhale and look over to Kip while rolling my eyes.
“Congrats on graduating and Harvard,” Graham says, his voice deeper than usual.
“Thanks,” Kip says, not looking at him.
Graham is stiffer than normal standing next to me, and I look up to him, and notice that his gaze is focused across the room. I follow it, and my eyes widen at the sight.
Sloane.
SOAR
Bourbon. I always drink it at my parents’ parties, mainly because they think tequila is tacky. My mother prefers bottles of wine, hidden beneath her bed, but that’s a totally different scenario.
Right now, I’m leaning against one of the back walls, halfway hidden in the shadows, watching and drinking.
Then I see her.
Imogen.
Goddamn, her dress shows so much skin that my slacks tighten, and my cock presses against the zipper at the sight of her.
I stuff my hand into my pocket so nobody notices my semi as my eyes track her. She’s walking alone toward Kip, and her right leg peaks out through the high slit of her dress with each step she takes.
Her hair is longer than it was three years ago, her body dangerously thin, and that causes me to scowl. She and Kip hug, and I watch as she pulls something out of her purse and places it in his hand before giving him a small smile.
Fuck me.
She’s still the prettiest woman
I’ve ever laid eyes on. Then I watch as Graham fucking Bayard walks right up to her, his hand sliding around her waist and his eyes pinned to mine.
I give him a grin and lift my chin in his direction as I push off of the wall and make my way toward them. Genny notices me and her eyes widen, as she obviously sucks in a breath.
Fuck me, her lips are shiny, and I can’t help but remember just how well they fit around my cock when she sucked me off.
“Huntington,” Graham practically sneers as he eyes me.
“Imogen,” I rasp, ignoring the fuckwit.
“Sloane,” she breathes.
It goes straight to my cock.
I grin at her, tipping my lips the way I know makes her tremble, and she does. Graham notices. I can feel his eyes narrowing on me, but I only have eyes for my wife.
I reach out and let my fingertips trail down her shoulder. I watch as she shakes, and I can’t help but bite on my bottom lip, thinking about how wet she must be right now—for me, and not for the man she came here with.
“Darling, will you excuse us? I’d like to talk to Sloane alone,” Graham says through clenched teeth.
Kip snorts slightly, but he takes Genny’s hand and tugs her away. When she turns around, my eyes widen at how bare her back is.
Fucking hell, she never dressed like that before. The dress has her mother written all over it, but I could give a fuck less. She looks like one hot as fuck piece.
“Stay away from her,” Graham announces.
“Or what?” I snort. “She’s my wife,” I point out.
This fuck has been trying to best me since we were in first grade. He couldn’t throughout school, and he can’t now. He refuses to accept the fact that I’m better than him in every way possible.
“She’ll be sending you divorce papers, since she’s marrying me in six months. You know, as soon as they’re final,” he laughs as a giant smile appears on his face.
I want to punch him, but my father would have my ass for it. Honest to fuck, I do not feel like dealing with him tonight.
The Notorious Devils MC: Complete Collection BoxSet Page 146
