Desired: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  No, she didn’t want any of that.

  She wanted to go further back to the time when they were young lovers, fumbling eagerly at each other’s bodies, eager and willing to test the limits. Valeria twisted out of Gabriel’s grip and pushed him onto his back. Confusion flickered in his dark eyes, but he did not fight her when she laced her fingers in his and brought his hand above his head, pinning it against the cushions.

  She wanted control of the situation.

  A flicker of dread clutched at her. Gabriel would never allow it. As gentle as he was, he was naturally dominant in bed. He had rarely... No, he had never ceded control to her in their bed, not even when they had been young and careless lovers.

  Hesitation flashed across his handsome face, and to her surprise, he relaxed into the chaise lounge.

  Valeria blinked. Anticipation shuddered down her spine. Gabriel must have known, without words, what she needed, and he let her take it. She inched down along the length of his body. Skin glided against skin, the friction setting off delicious tingles through her body. He was already hard and ready for her when she wrapped her warm mouth around his arousal.

  He swore, low and harsh. His fingers clutched at her shoulders, holding her in place. He was instinctively fighting for control, but she refused to give it back to him. She teased him with her mouth and tongue, alternating light flickers of motion with long strokes.

  The harsh breaths torn from Gabriel’s lips cemented her victory. She could make him burn for her as much as she burned for him. She swept her hair aside and glanced at him. His eyes were closed, and he gripped her shoulder with one hand. His other hand fisted against the cushions. He looked like he was in pain...the kind of pain that came from being driven against the edge of ecstasy, from being ground up against the precipice of an impending climax.

  She pulled her mouth away from him, shifted against him to straddle him, and sank down on him. He filled her in the way he had always done, in a way that left nothing wanting, nothing except the love that elevated passion into transcendence.

  He didn’t love her.

  Bitterness coiled into a tight knot in her stomach as she rode him to a mind-blowing, screaming finish. She could feel him tense. In that instant before his eyes closed, in that instant before he plunged over the edge with her, she saw something in his eyes, something that colored her bitterness with confusion.

  It looked like desire.

  It looked like love.

  With a low cry, he came in her. She shuddered, too, as her body clenched around his. Ecstasy tore through her, the heightened sensations fueled by the knowledge that she had taken her husband and driven him to climax.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Her body relaxed against his and prepared to sink into a post-sex cuddle—the very best kind of cuddle. Her mind, wrung by emotion, responded with words that came from her heart, words she scarcely heard. Her brain spun, dazed by the sudden change in their relationship. He had let her take control. He had allowed change to happen. If Gabriel could change, what did it mean for their future as a couple? What did it mean for their apparently doomed marriage?

  Beneath her, he stiffened. He sat up and stared at her as if looking at a stranger.

  Pain ripped across his chiseled features. The devastation in his eyes—

  Valeria gaped. What happened? Hadn’t she said, “I love you?”

  Gabriel drew his breath, a jagged sound edged with tears, that broke apart the intimate silence between them. He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he reopened them, he was once again the cool, distant professional—the flawless provider for his family’s physical needs, the failed provider of all their emotional needs.

  He rose from the chaise lounge, picked up his clothes, and walked away, leaving Valeria staring after him in stunned silence.

  The quiet of Gabriel’s study had always been a sanctuary, but in that moment, it was a prison—the only room in the house that was his own, the only place he could retreat to lick his wounds.

  Making love to Valeria had stunned him. She had taken charge and insisted on control of the situation. She had come alive, vividly, vibrantly alive. She had stunned him with her ability to drive him nearly out of his mind with her teasing touches and her wicked tongue. She had wowed him with reminders of the dazzling, passionate woman he had fallen in love with.

  “I love you,” he had whispered, blown away by her beauty of her flushed face, of her graceful body—the body he loved made even lovelier by stretch marks, the evidence of motherhood, and the two beautiful children she had given him.

  And in an instant, she had crushed him with six words. “I hate that I love you.”

  She still didn’t want this relationship, their marriage. Everything he had done in the past week had not been enough to convince her.

  He should have known better. She had not yet come back to him with suggestions for their family vacation. Was divorce still on her mind even though she had said nothing about it since their lunchtime conversation a week earlier?

  He had to fix it somehow. More lunch dates. More dinners with the family. He could work through the night and into the early morning hours when Valeria and the children were asleep if it meant more time with them on the weekends.

  The headache he hadn’t noticed when he had made love to Valeria pounded through his skull. With a grimace, he reached for the bottle of Tylenol on his desk and washed down the pills with coffee.

  Outside, the sound of Valeria humming a tune as she cleaned up the kitchen drifted back to him through the study door he had left slightly ajar. Pain clawed through him. She had ripped him apart with her words, and she didn’t give a damn.

  He stared in helpless frustration at his desk, piled high with all the work he still had to do to keep his job, to keep paying for the life he and Valeria had built together. Focus. He had to prioritize. He flipped open his computer notebook and reached for his legal files. As he worked through his clients’ divorces, he could not shake off the terror of helplessly watching his own marriage fail.

  Valeria had been the only woman he had loved since high school, but he was no longer certain she wasn’t a stranger. He knew that he couldn’t afford to lose her, but he didn’t know how to keep her.

  Valeria desperately needed to hold on to the pretense of normality, but singing was out of the question. If she tried, she knew her voice would break. Instead, she hummed. She had to do something, anything to keep up the façade. She could not let Gabriel know what he had done to her.

  After the most amazing sex—when he had allowed her to control every element of it and allowed her to feel like a woman in charge of her own life—he had shattered her by walking away immediately after. He had looked at her as if she had done something that had destroyed him.

  She shuddered and prayed no one would ever look at her that way again.

  He had said that he loved her.

  His actions screamed otherwise.

  A single tear trickled down her cheek to splash into the sudsy water that filled the kitchen sink. She heard a door click. Gabriel had closed his study door, locking her out.

  She stopped humming then. There was no need to pretend anymore.

  Chapter 6

  Gabriel stood and shoved his computer notebook and a half-dozen legal files into his bag. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that he was running late. He stifled the sigh even though he was, by then, convinced that the universe was conspiring to keep him from leaving work before 6 p.m.

  For an entire week since his shattering sexual encounter with Valeria, he had tried to leave work in time for dinner with the family. He had only managed two days out of five. The other nights, he had been obliged to attend dinners with clients or lead team meetings that ran late in advance of a court trial the next day. The weekend had been slightly better. Valeria appeared content to entrust the children to him. She, however, had kept her distance. When they were together, the children were with them, giving them no opportunity to talk. The
rest of the time, she had so blatantly avoided him that he lost all desire to close the physical and emotional gap. After hours and days of enduring the chill of their failing relationship, his only instinct was to retreat to buy himself a few precious hours to regroup.

  He could only give so much without feeling like a fool, as if he were pounding his head against an immovable brick wall.

  He was fractions of a heartbeat away from feeling like that fool.

  Gabriel ground his teeth and pressed his fingers hard against both sides of his temple to alleviate the headache that pulsed across his skull. He reached for the ever-present bottle of Tylenol and dry swallowed another two tablets.

  “Gabe?” a familiar voice called from his office door.

  “What is it, Josie?”

  “I had a question for you, about the preparation for the Campbell case.”

  He frowned and listened to her rambling question. Her tight-fitting black skirt hugged her swaying hips as she walked toward him. Her white blouse had two buttons unbuttoned, offering a tantalizing view of her cleavage. Damn it, why was he noticing this? He shook his head. His voice was sharper than he intended. “Didn’t we cover case prep earlier this afternoon? I thought you took notes.”

  She pressed her quivering lips together. Her blue eyes went wide, the expression in them shockingly vulnerable, which made him feel like an ass. It wasn’t her fault—hell, she was just an intern. His lack of patience, his raw nerves, had nothing to do with her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What was your question again?”

  Josie took a step back. “No, I’m sorry. I can see you’re busy. I shouldn’t have interrupted. I’ll just check with someone else.”

  “No, Josie, it’s not—I’m not busy. I’m just…” Just what? Just struggling to save my marriage? “Just a little stressed.”

  A shy smile spread across her face. “We’ve noticed it here at the office.”

  “Really?” Gabriel dragged his fingers through his hair. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, it’s okay. Totally understandable. You’ve got more cases than anyone else, and they’re all the high profile ones too.” She closed the distance to him. “If I can help in any way, help you de-stress…”

  Her face was close to his, so close he could smell the sweet fragrance of her perfume—the same fragrance Valeria wore each day; the same fragrance he wished he could smell on the pillow beside him each night.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The smell leeched into him, pulling him back to a place where the scent of love once again surrounded him.

  When lips brushed against his, the touch tentative and probing, he responded with all the frustration, need, and pent-up desire Valeria’s distance and cold aloofness had triggered in him. He sank into the kiss that welcomed him, into the arms that tightened around him.

  The woman’s breathy moan shattered the illusion of love.

  His eyes flashed open and he jerked away. He stared at Josie. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen. “I’m sorry.” He took an unsteady step back. “I should never—”

  “No, no, I’m sorry.” She looked mortified. “You just looked so alone.” Her hands fluttered in front of her chest, as if she could wave away the moment. “Oh, God.” She turned and scurried out of his office.

  Damn it. Gabriel ground his teeth. He should go after Josie to apologize and explain, but he was already late for Valeria’s Make A Wish Foundation dinner. Choices. Priorities. He stared at his clenched fists and forced himself to relax and uncurl his hands.

  He had to talk to Josie and clear the air between them, even if it meant letting Valeria down—yet again.

  Surrounded by the bustle of lighthearted conversation and the glitter of a star-studded event, Valeria tried to channel her energy away from the empty seats on either side of her and into the smile she pasted on her face.

  One of the empty seats belonged to Gabriel. Where was he? She had reminded him of the foundation dinner last night and again that morning. He had promised to attend.

  He wasn’t there.

  Motion bustled beside her to take the empty seat to her left. She turned with a greeting for Gabriel, but her eyes widened. “Brett.”

  “Valeria, it’s so good to see you again. I know I’ve neglected my responsibilities at this table, but there was a minor crisis with the silent auction. Apparently, several donations were misplaced.”

  “Have they been found?”

  “Yes, back at the office. Lesson learned. Double-check the inventory checklist myself instead of counting on the unpaid summer intern. The donations are on their way now, so we’re all set.” He smiled at the other guests around the table as he stood to shake their hands. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Brett Richardson. I’m with the foundation. Thank you for coming tonight.”

  Brett inspired a burst of lively conversation around the table, but during a short break in the chatter, he turned to Valeria. “Any word on Peter’s wish yet?”

  She flushed. Gabriel had yet to say anything to her about the wish. Obviously, it wasn’t on his list of priorities, however much it mattered to her. “No, not yet. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sure your husband and all the judges are busy. We’ll keep looking. I know of a couple of lawyers, probably not as well-placed as your husband, but they might be able to come through for us in a pinch.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m so terribly sorry, Brett.”

  He shook his head and waved her concerns away. “Don’t be.” He placed his hand over hers. “Peter will get his wish. We’ll just have to cast a wider net. It doesn’t make sense to put all our eggs in one basket. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.” He leaned in to give her a hug.

  His touch steadied her nerves, which surprised her. In light of her early reactions to him, she had expected sexual sizzle—a little spark, perhaps—but she felt only the warmth and support of his friendship.

  Valeria stifled a sigh as she eased away from Brett. Beyond the superficial flicker of a woman noticing a good-looking man, Brett did not make her heart pound in anticipation; not the way Gabriel could.

  Nevertheless, Brett was right, and in more ways than one. How long had all her eggs been in one basket—Gabriel’s basket?

  “Val.” From behind her, Gabriel’s beautiful, deep voice called her name.

  He’d come!

  She turned toward him. Out of habit, she raised her face for a kiss.

  In a flash—before his lips touched hers—she jerked away.

  Gabriel had caught his first glimpse of Valeria from across the ballroom, and in spite of all the emotional hell she had put him through that week, his heart raced, as it always did, at the sight of her. She was stunning, even captivating. Her wine-red dress accentuated the darkness of her hair and the creamy mocha tint of her skin. Locked in a private conversation with the tuxedoed man next to her, she gave no sign of having seen Gabriel. The discussion was obviously an intense one, judging from the way her head and the man’s leaned toward each other. The man laid a hand over hers; she made no move to pull away. Moments later, the man smiled and drew her close for a hug—a hug she returned as fervently as she had received it.

  Gabriel fought down the sudden flare of jealousy. Part of him wanted to turn around and leave. She had her life—her causes, her passions—the last word made him grind his teeth. He had his life, his job. Perhaps they were both done with the farce of trying to find common ground. The grand plan had been their common ground, and now that it was no longer valid, they had nothing else to replace it.

  The other part of him told him that until he signed his divorce agreement, nothing was a done deal. He had no reason to believe he was winning the fight to keep his marriage alive, but it was no reason to quit.

  He made his way around the tables to join Valeria. She turned as he approached. The smile she flashed him harkened back to their early days. Something ignited in him—hope, perhaps. She raised her face to his, and he leaned down to breathe a kiss on her lips.

  Sudden
ly, she stiffened and pulled back. Her wide eyes fixed on him. Surprise transformed into fury and then blanked into the icy remoteness he despaired of ever breaking through. She turned her back on him and continued her conversation with the man next to her.

  Obviously sensing the awkwardness, the man on Valeria’s other side introduced himself as Brett Richardson, a director with the foundation. He had clearly been assigned as a host for the table of high-dollar donors to the foundation’s causes. He was a brilliant host and managed to draw everyone around the table into conversation in spite of the obvious friction between Gabriel and Valeria.

  Gabriel gritted his teeth against his recurring headache. He kept the conversation going with the distinguished gentleman on his other side, but his thoughts were focused on Valeria, who laughed and—in his biased opinion—flirted openly with Brett all evening. What had gotten into her? Trying to incite jealousy wasn’t her style. Twenty years earlier, she had been the prettiest young woman at their high school prom, and he had been the lucky kid who had won the honor of escorting her to the party. Other young men swaggered up to her, their chests puffed out to make them seem tougher and stronger than they were. She did not even seem to notice them. In fact, she had not taken her hand from his for most of that evening.

  She had made him feel special.

  They had been friends for years before their senior prom night, their friendship cemented by working on math problems and English homework in the library. When he was lucky enough to score a sandwich from home for his lunch, he shared it with her, and that one year, when she had qualified for free meals from school, she had shared them with him. They survived their high school years a little less hungry than they would have if they’d tried to get through those years alone.