“This is our life now,” he corrected. “Our life together.”
Chapter Eight
Slowly leaning forward, Muffy gently placed the antique teacup saucer on the white marble Pierre coffee table. Her left hand subtly shook as she tightly gripped the small teacup with her thin fingers. Looking at her children sitting silently on the Francesco Molon Velvet sofa, she blinked several times before speaking. “Your father and I have decided to separate. We have amicably agreed on how the assets will be divided; however, we have not been able to reach a decision on who gets the three of you.”
“You’re divorcing?” Rebecca cried, her big grey eyes moving from her mother’s face to her brothers and then back again.
“Separating,” Muffy corrected. “Divorce is such an ugly word.”
The young girl shook her head disdainfully. “Separation leads to divorce.”
“Well, ours won’t,” Muffy sighed, seemingly exhausted with her daughter’s reaction to the news. “In any regard your father and I have decided that we will let each of you choose with whom you would like to live.”
“We get to choose?” Nicholas asked, unbelievingly.
“Your father and I feel like that would be best.”
“So, you won’t separate us?” he pressed, his tone skeptical, apprehensive.
“No, Nicholas. We will not separate you.”
“How long is this ‘separation’ supposed to last?” Caleb asked.
“Caleb, surely you don’t expect us to know such a thing?” Muffy giggled, her tone oddly light given the seriousness of their conversation. “Such a silly question,” she mused, raising the teacup to her thin painted lips.
Caleb’s dark brows furrowed, causing his youthful features to harden. “Is this a joke to you?” he yelled at his mother.
“Of course not. We−”
“Why just stop at separation? Why not just get divorced? You’re both miserable as hell . . . everyone can see it. So, why not just get divorced?”
“Caleb! Watc-c-c-h your man-ners,” Spencer slurred from the arched doorway. “You do-o not raiz-z-e your voice at your mother,” he shouted.
Muffy jumped at the sound of his voice. Closing her bright silver eyes briefly, she took a deep calming breath. Turning her thin frame to face him, Muffy said, “Spencer, I thought we agreed that you’d stay upstairs while I spoke to the children.”
Nicholas’ molten gaze jumped to his father. Silently, he watched the older man’s every move, his eyes calculating the distance between his father and his mother. When his father was drinking, it was best for his mother not to be too close.
“And let-t-t you man-i-p-ulate them into living with you,” Spencer laughed sardonically. “Not-t-t a chan-c-c-c-e-,” he returned, stumbling his way into the living room.
“Spencer,” Muffy sighed wearily. “Please just go upstairs,” she begged. “We will continue this discussion tomorrow.”
“Didyoutellthem?” Spencer asked, his words spilling from his mouth too quickly, making his syllables barely distinguishable. “DIDYOU?”
“Spencer Elliot! You stop! You stop it, right now!”
“Tell us what?” Caleb frowned.
“YOUR-mother- would- ra-a-ther-slee-e-p-around-than be MY-wife-or-your-r-mother.”
Rebecca raised her chin defiantly. “You’re just drunk,” she reprimanded.
“Ask-her-yourself . . . see-if-she-denies-it.”
“Spencer. The girl is only ten. Do not speak to her as if she were an adult.”
Caleb stood then. “A drunk for a father and an adulterer for a mother−we really hit the jackpot,” he snorted. Taking Nicholas by one hand and Rebecca by the other he pulled them to their feet. “Let’s ask Esmerelda to take us out for a bit.”
“We’re-in-the-middle-of-a-family-conversation,” Spencer garbled incoherently. “SITDOWN!”
“Family?” Caleb laughed then. “We are family,” he said, lifting Nicholas’ and Rebecca’s hands. “The two of you are toxic tragedies that make an appearance in our lives when it’s convenient. How would we even decide who to live with? We don’t even know you.”
“Caleb, you have to live with one of us,” Muffy said stifling a sob. Blinking back tears, she fought to keep her composure. “You’re all just children.”
“I’m sixteen. I can get emancipated.”
“Cal−”
“Emancipate me and I will take care of Rebecca and Nicholas. You can live your lives and we can live ours.”
Dropping her head, Muffy allowed the heavy tears to fall down her thin pale face. “I can’t lose you, too,” she wept.
Nicholas watched her intently. In that instant, he wanted to reach out to her, hug her in his small arms, tell her that everything was going to be okay− even if he didn’t believe the lie himself.
Nicholas opened his eyes and was immediately greeted by the darkness of the room. Inhaling deeply, he sat up in the bed working to control his rapid breathing. Fifteen years later, and he was still haunted by the memories of his childhood. Kicking the heavy comforter away from his overheated body, Nicholas blindly reached for the lamp on the bedside table to the right of him. Sleeping was not an option, and he needed a reprieve from the thoughts working to destroy what little peace of mind he had left.
The sudden brightness caused Charlotte to stir in her sleep, her slight movements under the thin canary yellow quilt immediately catching his attention. Repositioning his body, Nicholas turned on his side so that his face was only inches from hers. Quietly, he studied Charlotte as she slept. She was without question the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She exuded sensuality and he would never be able to get enough of her. It had only been a few hours since they’d been together, yet, he needed her, again. More than anything he needed to be wrapped in the warmth of her body, buried in the middle of her core . . . so deeply immersed in pleasure that his nightmares would be forgotten even if only temporarily.
Pressing the weight of his muscular frame against Charlotte’s leaner one, Nicholas softly murmured her name, his breath warm against her cheek. “Dimple,” he whispered. “Make love to me.”
A small smile touched Charlotte’s mouth even before she opened her eyes. Nicholas moved then, pressing his mouth against hers, he skillfully parted her lips with the tip of his tongue, kissing her deeply, causing a low moan to escape past Charlotte’s lips. The sound only added to Nicholas’ need, only intensified the ache he felt from wanting her. His need outweighing any desire he had ever felt. Nicholas’ body hardened, his manhood thickened, his muscles tightened from the anticipation of entering his wife’s tight sheath.
Easily pulling her on top of him, Nicholas rested his head on the pillow. “I want you on top,” he said, his voice thick with need. Staring up at Charlotte, his mercury gaze traveled down the length of her torso, only a pink laced teddy separated him from her ample breast and soft skin. Raising his right hand to her neck he squeezed gently, his strong fingers holding her in place just briefly. A shudder of pleasure traveled down Charlotte’s spine causing her body to tremble as jolt after jolt of electricity sparked through her bloodstream.
Nicholas’ smile was a sensuous one. “You like that, huh?” he breathed, as he slowly dragged his fingertips along her collarbone, her chest, her breasts, unhurried movements deliberately meant to drive her out of her mind with need. To make her hungry for him, wild for him just as he was hungry and wild for her. To make her desperate. Without pause his fingers moved down the length of her toned body stopping only when they reached her heat. Sliding his hand under her nightie, Nicholas kept his silvers on her browns as he slid one finger, two . . . three− into her welcoming sex. “I want you crying out for me,” he groaned, his voice a velvet seduction.
Charlotte bent her head to the warmth of his mouth, hers dancing erotically with his as the caress of his fingers brought her to a fever pitch. Finding a rhythm of her own, she rode his hand, indulging in her body’s needs. The sensation of his hands, his mouth, his words
were enough to bring her over the edge. Her orgasm was immediate. Nicholas felt her release through the tightening of her muscles and the liquid heat that moistened his skin. Raising his left hand to the nape of her neck, he tightened his fist in her hair, pulling her head back so that she was staring down at him. Withdrawing from her sex one finger at a time, Nicholas brought his hand to his mouth, tasting her essence− the sweet nectar glistening on his skin, evidence of her arousal. The act made Charlotte’s mouth water, made her hot all over again.
Nicholas wanted every inch of her body, wanted her to ride every inch of his. Adjusting his frame, he pulled out his thick cock and began to stroke the length of himself until his erection swelled in his palm. His size still intimidated Charlotte, and the reoccurring insecurity of not being able to please him caused a small frown to harden her delicate features. “Ride me,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Fuck me until I can’t think about anything else other than being inside of you. Okay?” he asked, stroking the tip of his erection against her already swollen clitoris. “I need you to make me forget.”
Chapter Nine
Charlotte stirred restlessly, the sound of Nicholas’ heavy breathing tearing her from her sex- induced coma. She had been dead to the world, her body pleasantly sore in all the right places. Opening her eyes, she was greeted by blackness, the sun hours away from kissing the earth. Squeezing her thighs together Charlotte couldn’t help the faint blush that rose to her fair cheeks, her entrance throbbed, her clitoris pulsated, still sensitive from hours of love- making.
With a small smile on her still swollen lips she repositioned her body, moving closer into Nicholas so that her legs intertwined with his and her head rested on his muscular chest. She was spent and thoroughly used, happily used by the man who had undoubtably stolen her heart. Charlotte didn’t know what had come over Nicholas, but whatever it was− it would surely be the death of them.
Silently, she wondered if mind- shattering sex had ever been responsible for ending ones’ life. While their intimate time together had always been nothing short of pleasurable, the previous night was something all- together different. Nicholas had taken her to a different stratosphere of ecstasy, and she hadn’t quite come down from the pleasure of it all.
Still, pleasure aside, mind- numbing sex aside, Charlotte couldn’t shake the feeling that Nicholas was keeping something from her. Whether it was her womanly instinct, or paranoia, she didn’t know, nor did she care to put a name on it. Regardless of what it was, it was real, and Charlotte couldn’t stop the distressing suspicion that something wasn’t right. But what? she wondered. He had said that he’d wanted to forget . . . forget what? What wasn’t he telling her? Closing her mind to the painful suspicion− that would no doubt terrorize her thoughts, she placed her small hand on his head.
Her gentle fingers absently played in the thick chestnut brown mass, interweaving through strands until their tips reached his scalp. He stirred then, Charlotte’s tender touch pulling him out of his unconsciousness.
Shifting his body weight, Nicholas draped his heavy arm across her smaller frame, pulling her closer into him. “What are you doing?” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes, his tone was quiet, exhausted.
“Playing in your hair,” she answered, her fingers still moving, winding, tousling in the silky fullness.
“That’s apparent,” he breathed, smiling into the hollow of her neck. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“I can’t sleep.”
Nicholas frowned in the darkness. “Why not? What’s the matter?” he asked.
Shrugging her thin shoulders against his chest, Charlotte sighed. “Nothing’s the matter. I just can’t sleep.”
Nicholas knew her words to be an untruth as soon as she had spoken them but decided against questioning her any further. Afterall, what right did he have to chastise her for falsehoods, for hidden thoughts when he had so many of his own to account for? The past few months had been a vortex of lies and he was trapped in the center of it all, unable to unravel the webs of deceit and betrayal, unable to break free− too much was at stake and losing the only woman he had ever loved was not an option. Opening his eyes, Nicholas blinked rapidly, attempting to adjust his vision in the darkness. “Let’s go for a run,” he suggested suddenly, breaking the silence.
“A run?” Charlotte repeated. “It’s late.”
“Or early, depending on how you look at it.”
“I don’t−”
“Running clears your mind. And it seems like you have a lot of thoughts going on at once,” he said softly. As do I, he thought. “A run would help.”
Charlotte considered his words. After a long pause she finally said, “You didn’t get much sleep, either. Are you sure you want to go for a run?”
“I’ll run with you if it means you’ll be able to get some rest.”
“That’s sweet, but you don’t have−”
“I want to,” Nicholas interrupted, already moving away from her, altering his weight before swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. Reaching for the end table lamp, he turned to face Charlotte, his eyes burning from the brightness of the light. “Come on,” he ordered. “Get dressed.”
Charlotte rose to her knees before climbing off the mattress. “Shower first,” she said, needing to feel the cool freshness of water on her skin. The sweet smell of sweat and sex lingered between her thighs causing her to feel a heaviness there, her core sticky from the remnants of their lovemaking.
“Won’t it make sense to take one when we get back?” he asked.
“Yea . . . that’s not an option.”
Nicholas eyed her curiously, his silvers penetrating. “Why not?”
The way he looked at her stole her breath away. “I feel us in between my thighs and I’m sticky. It’s actually quite uncomfortable.”
Nicholas laughed then; the sound youthful to both their ears. “Oh.”
“I won’t be long,” she promised, standing on her tippy toes to kiss the side of his mouth. “Ten minutes tops.”
“Take your time, Dimple. I’m not going anywhere.”
***
Turning onto his left side, Nicholas stretched his long legs against the invitingly soft Egyptian Cotton bedsheets, easily pushing the tangerine comforter away from him. Reaching out to the space that once occupied Charlotte’s petite body he felt the emptiness her absence left behind. She was gone. Nicholas opened his eyes abruptly.
Unapologetically, the sun shone brightly into the intimate bedroom, illuminating the tarnished beach furniture and temporarily blinding him. Squeezing his eyes shut to the sudden attack, Nicholas turned away from the curtain drawn windows and blindly felt for his Blackberry on the bedside table. Where did she go? He wondered. Running, again? No way. We ran two miles a few hours ago. Opening his eyes once more he keyed in the password to his phone, surprised when the small screen lit up with an overwhelming bombardment of phone calls and text messages. 27 missed calls and 19 unread text messages. Frowning, Nicholas went to his call log and then his messages− Alec. Every call, every text, had come from the man he had hired to keep him informed about the two nuisances he couldn’t seem to be rid of. Sitting up, Nicholas threw his toned legs over the edge of the mattress so that his feet touched the cool wooden floor. Sighing, he dialed the other man’s number, his heart in his throat as he waited for the line to connect.
“Mr. Elliot,” Alec answered. His tone was calm despite the alarming amount of times he had called. “The woman you wanted tailed− Blithe Sullivan . . . she was in a car accident eight days ago. It was a hit and run. She suffered a major injury to the chest which caused bleeding around her heart and lungs and a minor injury to the head. She underwent emergency surgery shortly after being admitted. Her condition was listed as serious until three days ago. She is now stable.”
Nicholas was silent for a long stretch of time. Too long. He had heard the man’s words, but his brain just wouldn’t allow him to make sense of them.
“
Mr. Elliot?” Alec called when the silence became uncomfortable. “Are you alright?”
“The surgery? What did it entail?”
“Corrections made to the chest−” Alec began.
“The abdomen? Did she receive any injuries to the abdomen?”
“No, sir.”
“And Dean Proctor?”
“Still quiet.”
“Continue to keep eyes on them both, especially Dean. I’ll be back in the city tomorrow.”
Chapter Ten
An hour later Charlotte jogged across the cedar walkway that separated their villa from the beach. The sight of Nicholas standing on the porch with their luggage alongside him brought her up short. Stopping abruptly, Charlotte knitted her brows, perplexed. “We’re leaving?”
“Yes,” he answered, grabbing hold of as many bags as he could manage, before quickly making his way to the black Jeep Wrangler parked on the lot beside the house.
“Why?” she called after him. “Did something happen?”
“I have to get back to work.”
Charlotte moved then, her long legs allowing her to quickly catch up to him. “Work? I thought you said Fissicle could handle everything?”
“I was wrong,” he said, throwing their suitcases on the backseat. Avoiding Charlotte’s hard gaze Nicholas attempted to make his way back toward the porch, but the act was in vain.
Stepping in his direct path Charlotte raised her sweaty hands to his tanned face, forcing him to look at her. “What’s happening?” she asked, needing the truth. “You wouldn’t be rushing back to Manhattan after suggesting that we make this a ‘permanent situation’ something had to have happened.”
A Winter's Secret (A Winter's Tale Book 4) Page 6
