“No! Only to you,” her mom replied.
“Well, then it seems there’s no reason to stay.” She knew her mother wouldn’t have taken her father back. She didn’t think… “You’re all welcome to visit. Right?”
There was a chorus of agreement, and if reluctant, so be it.
“And there’s no need for anyone to know where I’ve gone, okay? At least not at first. I mean, our family and close friends should know, but not… I just need some time. And I don’t want to be fielding any contact without you there to support me.”
Her family members all promised, accepting what she didn’t say.
“The kids are going to be so upset to lose their favorite Auntie,” Juli said. “They grow so fast.”
“Come see me. Take a holiday.” She’d miss them terribly, and a year was a long time in kidlet years. But she needed to do this for herself.
“Will you deal with my house, Mom? Rent it or whatever?”
“Juli and I will take care of it, Tori.” Michael eased her mind. “I have likely tenants.”
“I’ll take you to the airport in your car. I can park it at my house until you come home.” Her mother always planned ahead, having been forced to learn how, when her husband left. Victoria shivered at the comparison.
“Thanks, Mom. And you will come visit? Soon? You and Frank? I’ll send plane tickets.”
“Of course.”
The remainder of the evening passed with discussions about Boston and whether a trip to New York was plausible, considering the workload ahead of her. Victoria basked in one last time with her family for the foreseeable future, though Paige and the kids would fill her morning. Logan had fit in so well here, and she suffered a pang of remorse when she again considered that everyone else was grieving his loss as well. It just didn’t pay to let someone in, and she fiercely prayed that her sisters’ husbands remained tried and true. Paige and Juliana weren’t like her, though, so the chances were good.
****
He let himself into her little house, a bit surprised she hadn’t changed the locks, but why would she when she obviously wasn’t sleeping here? Walking through the living room, one of the coziest spaces he’d ever been inside, he thought he noticed some things missing. His pace picked up, and he checked the bedroom. Her cases were gone, the ones he’d seen her pack when she was organizing for the move to his condo.
It had been difficult for her to agree to give up the place she’d worked hard to purchase and then fixed up so carefully. But his condo was larger and more suitable for them as a couple. Logan Doherty and his wife. Because that’s how it must have seemed, though Victoria had gracefully given in. Just as she’d signed off on any interest in the business. That alone should have eased his old man, but instead, he despised her weakness. A weakness for him, Logan, who she sacrificed for so willingly.
The fridge had been emptied and he had to accept his Victoria had moved out. But to where? He’d seen her car at her oldest sister’s—stalking wasn’t something he’d envisioned for himself, but it had meant she was safe, with family. His note was gone… Yet she hadn’t called him. So she couldn’t even grant him some time, she was so hurt.
Pulling his cell out, he punched in a number. “Margaret? It’s Logan again.” He could hear several voices in the background, and strained to hear if one of them was Victoria’s. So many people called her Tori, but her full name was so beautiful. So like her.
In a hushed voice, Margaret said, “Logan, I’ve asked her to talk with you. She won’t. It’s very final. You have to understand… Hell, I don’t understand.”
“I’ll tell you why as soon as I can. I’ll tell you all. I promise. But I want to offer Victoria a confidential promise. That what happened wasn’t because of her—or me—it was beyond my control.” It was because of her, if only in his father’s twisted way of thinking, but that didn’t count. And he sure as hell wasn’t telling her mother that. “I’ve asked her for more time. Tell her that I love her.”
“She doesn’t trust you anymore, Logan. That’s a huge thing. And she refuses to give you another opportunity to hurt her. My Tori learned her lesson well, and nothing any of us say changes it. I’m sorry. Because I believe you. I don’t know why, other than I saw how much you loved my daughter.”
“I love her, Margaret. Not past tense. Not ever past tense. Where did she go?”
Silence. He counted the seconds before she responded, “You know?”
“I’m at her house. She took her things, cleaned out the fridge.”
“I can’t tell you. I promised. We all promised.”
So Robert couldn’t tell him either, despite agreeing to represent him earlier today. Reluctantly agreeing to honor client-attorney privilege after Logan jammed a dollar in his pocket and pronounced him hired for fifteen minutes. The financial insult might have provoked the punch in the mouth, though he suspected Robert had really hit him because of what he’d done to Victoria.
The lawyer was on board now, however, his curiosity piqued to the extent of hearing Logan out. He was horrified at the old man’s perfidy and promised to do what he could, but his loyalties would have been torn… And he was bound by ethics too.
“I’ll find her. And when I do, it’ll be time to tell her.” He gingerly touched his split lip, welcoming the pain.
“You will, I’m sure. But I fear it’s too late.”
Her words, delivered in such a fatalistic tone, scared the shit out of him. She knew her child, better than him, and what he knew told him she could be right. The Victoria he knew would have responded to his note, to any of his desperate communications. He’d destroyed a piece of his woman, and she might not recognize him anymore. He might not know her.
Chapter Four
Logan’s mouth sealed over hers with a perfect fit, his tongue licking along the seam of her lips to slide between them in a possessive movement that mimicked the way his cock stretched the walls of her channel. She arched into his solid body, seeking that thick hardness between her thighs.
Instead, he tore his lips away to kiss along the curve of her jaw and then down the length of her throat, pausing to suck at the sweet spot where her neck met her shoulder. Victoria whimpered with pleasure and ran her hands over the firm flesh of his back. Muscles moved smoothly beneath her questing touch, the heat of him drawing her closer.
He didn’t murmur his usual endearments or the sexy, filthy comments about how he loved her body, especially her lady parts, instead moving lower to pay homage to her breasts. He plumped them with his big hands, offering them up to his talented mouth. Lashing each beaded tip with his tongue, he teased and tormented until she whined for more. For his cock inside of her. “Please. Please, Logan.”
Teasing her with a fingertip, he trailed along her swollen labia, dancing inside the slippery folds to circle her entrance. Her clit ached for his touch and her legs fell open to accommodate him as he found the tiny nub. He drew moisture along to anoint it and slipped back the protective hood. Faster, he worked it, rubbing in tiny circles and her orgasm built. She needed him to fill her. She needed…
Victoria woke, one hand clasping her breast, the other buried between her thighs, on the cusp of a momentous climax. She yanked her hands away from her body and fisted them as her heart raced and the blood pounded in her temples. Struggling to sit, she wheezed in despair, the sound of her breath rattling in the small bedroom.
She stood, wavering until she gained her balance and made her way to the bathroom. A splash of cold water woke her fully, and she accepted she was in Boston, in the company’s furnished apartment, alone. No Logan.
Shivering, she peered at her reflection in the harsh light over the vanity mirror. Her sleep shirt was rumpled, falling loosely over a long, thin body barely maintained by caffeine and the occasional protein bar consumed at her desk. And let’s not forget the banana she nibbled at the insistence of her new secretary, Dawna.
The hollows beneath her cheekbones weren’t as sexy as the ones the model for
The Tattered Bride sported, but she wasn’t going for that look anyhow. Especially with the dark circles under her eyes. Grimacing, she ran her fingers through her cropped hair and left the strands in spiked disarray. The starving, waif characteristics really weren’t her and she needed to do something about that. Soon.
With a sigh, she turned away, having distracted herself enough to forget about her erotic dream. If she let herself think about how Logan invaded her sleep, it was only because she was grateful she could banish thoughts of him during the fourteen- and sixteen-hour days she was working.
There was no point in returning to bed. Six o’clock was just around the corner, and she should make coffee. She set the pot to drip. Though she had a single-serve machine in her office, she liked the lure of a full carafe while she readied for the day. Victoria headed back to the bathroom to shower and spend the ever-increasing minutes to repair the ravages exhaustion and bone-deep despair wrought on her face. Like a bad stretch of weather, a drought, it had to break soon.
Her fingers strayed to her apex where her clit still begged for attention, and in a few minutes she drew out a small, indifferent orgasm. The mechanics of bringing herself off were familiar, but only because she kept waking from those dreams, her body aching with unrequited passion and need.
She stood, bowed beneath the spray of water and summoned the energy to get to the office. It was Saturday—no, Sunday—but she’d get ahead of next week’s schedule and inspire the rest of the staff to perform their utmost. Already they’d nicknamed her The Tireless Bitch, and she hoped it was spoken with affection, at least sometimes.
Part of her longed to crawl back into the double bed and lose herself in the oblivion of sleep, but even that was denied her. Damn him. She avoided any media that might update her as to his life, and her family and friends never mentioned him—at all. It hadn’t been a long time, barely a month since that infamous day, okay, three weeks, six days and sixteen hours, ten minutes, give or take a few seconds, but it felt like yesterday when her defenses were down.
So don’t let them drop, stupid. With a start, she listened to that impatient, inner voice and snapped the water off. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped herself up and rubbed the moisture from her hair with a smaller one.
Winter was around the corner, and she thought she might take a little time to find a suitable pair of boots and a coat, maybe a jacket, too, in preparation. Some warmer clothes for the office. The idea wasn’t terribly palatable, but she didn’t have a personal shopper. Though Dawna would be chewing at her heels soon if she didn’t purchase some suitable apparel. The woman had elected herself Victoria’s mother away from home, and worse, had forged some kind of alliance with her real mom.
A small smile etched her lips as she dug out her makeup. The staff in Boston were all pretty great, much like back in California, although she had to step on Jason a time or two. Once he’d accepted she wasn’t fresh fodder for his man-whoring ways, he’d shown respect for her position.
Smoothing moisturizer over her skin, she sniffed to ensure the coffee was perking, satisfied by the aroma permeating the apartment. She hung up her towels and headed to pour a cup, belting a robe around her as she went.
A dollop of cream and a teaspoon of sugar in the biggest cup she’d found in the cupboard joined the dark brew and she inhaled before taking a sip. It occurred it was the only pleasure in her life, and she took a bigger gulp, burning her mouth.
“Ow.” She startled herself and laughed. “Losing it, Tori. Fucking sad commentary on your life.”
A sob caught her by surprise because she hadn’t cried since moving here, the flight eaten up with reviewing the files Jon provided. The long days of work saw her fall into bed in utter exhaustion to sleep heavily—and dream.
“No.” If she was going to talk to herself, it would be for the better. “You aren’t going back to that.” Back to missing Logan so badly she felt she could cry a river and still never release the pain.
Her determination was effective, because her angst crept back to crouch in the tiny cell she’d built, and the door slammed shut, the lock catching. If she didn’t feed it or let it see the light of day, surely it would vanish, or at least be absorbed and cease to trouble her.
She dressed, in a fairly casual outfit in deference to it being a Sunday, again noting the need to ask Dawna for the name of a good tailor before her skirts fell down, and headed out. The weekend security guy yanked open the door for her.
“Morning, Mizz Sparrow. Going to work?”
“Always, Emilio. Just like you.” She knew he worked two jobs to provide for his family, a wife and two little boys with another on the way.
“You work too hard. You have no … social life!”
“Like you.” She strode past him with a smile.
“But I had one before,” he called after her.
Her confident steps faltered. Before. What was it about today? She had to quit thinking about the past and allowing things to remind her. She walked a few blocks, enjoying the crispness in the air that foretold the coming of fall, before flagging a cab.
The office was empty, as she expected. Jon was probably working back home, but maybe not. She’d spent an hour on Facetime with him yesterday, and he’d confided he and the tennis pro were becoming an item. Her boss in a committed relationship? She’d believe that when it really happened, like if he put a ring on it.
Pulling up the layout and schedule for The Tattered Bride, she gave the final approval. Unheard of, but under two weeks to publication across various venues. Jon had been correct. It was her baby, and she’d poured her grief and loss into the project, finding it to be a huge motivator. If only it had totally cleansed the way she’d hoped, instead of providing only that initial relief.
But model Alexia killed it, and several brands snapped the image up, Victoria’s favorite being a woman’s perfume with dark, sultry undernotes. The book-cover option ran out at the end of the month, but she had no doubt it too would be taken. Hopefully not by another vampire series, although a bloodless tattered bride wasn’t so far off the mark when she thought about it.
Focusing her mind on all the other projects, one by one, she reviewed and made notes on them. The hours went by, and she absently chewed on a protein bar and sipped at another latte.
Her cell vibrated across the desktop, and she jerked her attention away from her work, noting the darkening of the day. “Hello?”
“Are you working on a Sunday?”
“Yes, Mom.” It was great to hear her mother’s voice, even the lecturing one.
“When do you take a day off?”
“I don’t. I’m waiting for you to come visit so we can play tourist.”
“That’ll be tomorrow then.”
Victoria squealed and covered her mouth, casting a glance around her office, regardless she was the only one in the building. “Really? When? What time?”
“I’ll be there after lunch.” Her mother rattled the flight number and details off. “Is it convenient?”
“Of course, it is! Just you, or—”
“Just me. Frank hates flying and your sisters are overwhelmed at work right now.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“Any chance you can take a few hours off?”
“More than a few, Mom. We’re up to date here and everything is under control.” In truth, more than under control. Her staff had days of work ahead of them as a result of her diligent efforts today, and a staff meeting tomorrow morning would confirm deadlines and clear up any questions. “We can go shopping too.”
It was so good to hear her mother was coming, that Victoria decided to go grocery shopping to give the appearance of having food in her apartment. They’d eat out, do the tourist thing, but it would nice to offer her mother nourishment of some sort.
She closed down the office and took a cab to a twenty-four-hour market, filling a basket with things that might never get opened, but gave her a sense of accomplishment. Her hand on a ripe peach, she hes
itated, drawing back as the memory of Logan peeling one for her, the sweet juices running down his hand as he tucked it between her lips… They’d both been naked, in his bed, sticky and—
With a shake of her head, she moved to the grapes and selected a bunch. It was getting easier to banish those memories, the ones that snuck up on her to infiltrate and wreak havoc on her equilibrium. If her hands shook a little and her belly clenched with arousal, it didn’t last long.
Carrying the sacks into her apartment, she put everything away before changing into another sleep shirt. It seemed early to go to bed—and she’d be sure to dream about Logan and peaches—so she flicked on the television, reluctant to stream anything on her phone or laptop. It felt too much like work.
Curled up on the couch with a cup of herbal tea—perhaps minimizing her caffeine intake would mean no more dreams—she scrolled through the channels. She’d flicked past a news station when her brain caught up with what her eyes had telegraphed. Fumbling, she reversed the order but couldn’t find it.
She set her cup down, the contents spilling over to scald her fingers, and she sucked two of them into her mouth, ignoring the pain as she headed for her laptop. Calling up a search engine, she typed in the keywords and held her breath as the information came up, several listings in fact.
Clicking on the latest, she watched as pictures with captions filled the screen. Pictures of Logan, and his mother. A few of him with his siblings, and a few with people she had a vague recollection of. A separate one of his father. All of them recent. She reached a wavering hand toward Logan’s image, touching one fingertip to his face. He looked drawn and fatigued, his face thin and his eyes sunken. She trembled, and couldn’t swallow the saliva pooling in her mouth.
Scanning the information, she grasped the basics: Logan had led a business coup of sorts, rallying the board and shareholders to oust his father. His mother and siblings had backed him and the headlines read like something out of a military takeover. Son ousts Patriarch! Long-time Businessman Stripped of Title! Prince beheads King!
The Tattered Bride Page 6
