“Callie,” he said hoarsely. “Look at me.”
She obeyed, and her beautiful eyes shimmered with tears as she watched him move down her body, pulling her panties down her legs. Still fully dressed in his black suit, he kissed her naked body. Up her calves. Her inner thighs. He paused at the crux of her thighs, letting the warmth of his breath curl between her legs, inhaling the tantalizing scent of her.
Pushing her thighs apart with his hands, he bent his head and tasted her, stretching her wide. She was sweet and smooth as satin. He nestled himself between her thighs and flicked the tip of his tongue against her hard, aching core. He felt her writhe beneath him, bucking her hips to escape the intensity, so he held her hips against the bed, forcing her to accept the full rough pleasure of his tongue. He stroked her, lapped her. When she was dripping wet and trembling, he pushed three fingers a single inch inside her.
Panting for breath, she threw out her hands, gripping the soft cotton blankets as he suckled her hard pink nub, swirling his tongue in featherlight circles and pressing his fingers deeper and deeper inside her. Callie’s hands tightened on the blankets, her back arching, as if only her grip kept her from flying off the bed. He heard the long gasp of her breath, felt her body lifting from the mattress, higher, higher, felt her body grow tense and tenser still. Until she exploded.
Her soft, wet walls contracted tightly around his fingers as she cried out, twisting her body from side to side, in a symphony of mindless, helpless pleasure. He watched her face. He’d given her that pleasure. He’d made her weep with grief. But at least he’d also made her scream with joy. As she opened her eyes, still panting for breath, her expression was almost bewildered as she looked up at him. “I love you,” she whispered.
Cupping her face, he looked down at her. “I know.”
She stroked his face, his hair, his neck, his jacket. He lowered her mouth to hers, and she kissed him back almost savagely. He felt her tongue, her teeth. He felt her need for him. He felt her heart. Fully dressed, he moved against her, his erection hard and throbbing against her thighs.
A sob come low from her throat. She flung her arms around his neck, pulling him down against her with sudden desperation. Her fingers frantically attempted to pull off his tie, to unbutton his shirt. Pulling away from her, he yanked off his coat and tie. He ripped his civilized white shirt and tailored trousers and silk boxers to the cool tile floor.
Naked, he faced her, his soul as bare as his body. Without a word, he lowered his mouth to hers, stroking her, telling her with his touch everything he could not trust himself to put into words.
Covering her body with his own, he felt her full breasts against his chest, felt her soft, feminine curves sway against his hardness. The satin-smooth skin of her inner thighs stroked the hard length of his shaft, and her wet core tantalized his aching tip alluringly. He heard her gasp with need as she twisted her body beneath him, gripping his hips with her hands, trying to pull him closer, spreading her thighs in unconscious seduction.
But he did not want to take her. No. Not yet. Beads of sweat covered his forehead as he held himself apart from everything he wanted most. This was the last time he would possess her, and he wanted to make it last forever. As long as she was in his arms, he would not have to face the heartbreak and grief that waited for him on the other side. He would not have to face the dark solitude without her …
She stroked his back, her breasts plumping against his chest. He felt the sweaty heat of her skin, heard the breathless hush of her sigh. Gripping her shoulders, he closed his eyes, trying to resist. But she knew him too well. She moved beneath him, suckling his earlobe, breathing on his neck as she ran her hands on the back of his upper thigh, below his buttocks, between his legs. She stroked him—and he felt the hot, wet core of her slide against him—pulling him inside—
With a choked gasp, he surrendered. His body took over. With a low growl, he grabbed her shoulders and plunged himself inside her in a single deep thrust. Her body tensed, then melted, parting for him, accepting him, embracing every inch of his thick length. Pulling back, he thrust again with a gasp, and again, riding her. His every muscle was taut in the exquisite precipice between agony and pleasure. Six thrusts and only the grimmest vestige of self-control kept him from exploding inside her. But he had to make it last. He had to. He could not live without her….
Rolling onto his back, he lifted her over him, impaling her. Her thighs gripped his hips as he let her control the rhythm and speed. After months of bed play, his once-virgin secretary had become a fiery seductress. He thought having her on top would slow him down, make him last. But instead, as she pushed herself against him, he filled her harder and deeper than he ever had. Her heavy breasts swayed back and forth against his face as she rode him, going deeper with each thrust, until he closed his eyes, panting beneath the brutal onslaught of pleasure. Reaching his hands behind him, he gripped the headboard of the bed.
Harder, deeper. And wet, so wet. As she slammed against him, her walls wrapped around him, tight, so tight, pulling him into an abyss of mindless pleasure. His eyes rolled back as he gripped her hips with his hands, his whole body shaking with the agony of need. He felt her quicken and pulse around him as she flung back her head and screamed with joy. Looking up at her, seeing her beautiful face filled with ecstasy, her eyes closed as if in prayer, he could no longer resist. With one last savage thrust he exploded inside her, riding the wave with her. His hoarse cry mingled with hers as he came and came and came, never looking away from her beautiful face.
And Callie collapsed on top of him, clutching him to her hot, sweaty body, happiness pouring out of them both like radioactive light.
Afterward, Eduardo held her. For the first time, he was grateful knowing that he wouldn’t be able to sleep beside her. He could hold her all night. He’d watch her gentle face slumber beneath the latticed moonlight. She felt so soft in his arms. So warm. So sweet. His eyelids became heavy as he held her. Closing his eyes, he kissed her temple, breathing in the vanilla and floral scent of her hair. He loved her so much he thought he could die of it. He would hold her all night long. He’d relish every hour. Every minute …
Eduardo woke with a gasp.
The pink light of morning poured in through the window as he realized that he’d slept beside his wife for the first time.
In panic, he looked at her side of the bed.
It was empty. For the first time, Callie had been the one to rise in the middle of the night. She’d been the one to leave. And as the first wave of anguish hit his body, he knew this was how he’d always known he would be.
Alone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CALLIE sat at the kitchen table of her parents’ farmhouse and looked at the papers in her shaking hands. The words seem to swim in front of her eyes.
Divorce papers.
“It’ll be quick and painless,” her lawyer had assured her when he’d given her the file. “I marked each place for you to sign with a yellow tab. All the tough questions were already dealt with in the prenup. You’ll share custody, switching visitation each week, and with Mr. Cruz’s extremely generous level of alimony and child support you’ll be the richest woman in Fern County.” The lawyer gave her a sudden sharp grin. “Good thing every divorce case isn’t so quick and painless, or else I’d be bankrupt.”
Quick. Painless. Callie heard a wheel squeak as her nine-month-old daughter crossed the floor in the antique walker used by three generations of Woodville babies. Marisol giggled at the sound, and her laughter was like music. Callie smiled at her daughter through her tears.
“Pa-pa-pa?” Marisol said hopefully.
Callie’s smile faded as she looked down at the papers. “Soon, sweetheart,” she said over the lump in her throat. “You’ll see him tomorrow.” Marisol would be flown back to New York for a week with Eduardo, and Callie would have to endure seven long, aching days without her child. Then the next week, they would switch, and it was Eduardo who would be alone.
He’d been fair. More than fair, allowing Callie to live at such a distance, using his private jet to shuttle Marisol between North Dakota and New York. Callie had no idea what they’d do when it was time for Marisol to start school, but something would surely be worked out. Money, it seemed, could solve any problem.
Except this.
Callie didn’t want his money. She wanted him. She was still in love with him.
But he’d let her go.
She hadn’t seen Eduardo for two months, since she’d left Marrakech with her baby, Brandon and her family. Since then, their only point of contact had been through their lawyers. Even Marisol’s pickups and drop-offs each week were handled by Mrs. McAuliffe.
Callie hadn’t seen him. But each night, she dreamed of him, of their last night together, when they’d kissed in the shadows by the fountain. When they’d made love so passionately and desperately the bed seemed to explode into fire. When he’d huskily spoken the words she still, against her will, held to her heart.
I love you. I love you as I’ve never loved anyone. But I can’t love you without hurting you.
Once, she would have given ten years of her life to hear Eduardo say he loved her. Now, the words were poison. She’d cried for weeks, till there were no tears left. But there was no other answer. She couldn’t live as his prisoner. And he couldn’t risk giving her his heart if she wasn’t.
Two teardrops fell on the divorce papers spread out across her parents’ blue Formica table. When she’d come back home, part of her had hoped she might be pregnant, which would at least give her a reason to talk to her husband again. But even that hope had failed her.
“Ma-ma?” Marisol’s dark eyes, exactly like her father’s, looked up at her mother with concern.
“It’s all right,” Callie whispered, wiping her eyes and giving her daughter a tremulous smile. “Everything is fine.” All she had to do was sign the papers and her lawyer would file them. She’d be Callie Woodville again. Callie Cruz would disappear.
Across the small kitchen, where it sat in a small woven basket, the gold and diamond double “CC” key chain flashed at her in the morning light. It seemed forlorn and out-of-place in the key basket, amid the clutter of pens, sticky notes and unpaid utility bills around the twenty-year-old phone. But even her keychain wasn’t as out-of-place as the shipment that had arrived at their rural North Dakota farm yesterday. Picking up her steaming mug of coffee, Callie went to the kitchen window and pushed aside the red gingham curtain.
Outside, beside her father’s red, slightly rusted 1966 pickup truck, her sleek silver car was now parked in front of the barley field.
Callie closed her eyes. She’d never thought she would have the strength to leave Eduardo.
But then, she never thought he’d let her go.
And he’d already moved on. She’d already seen pictures of Eduardo in a celebrity magazine, attending a charity gala in New York with the young Spanish duchess. Callie wondered if they’d marry, once his divorce to her was final. Her heart twisted with jagged pain at the thought, and for the first time, she truly understood what Eduardo must have felt when he’d thought she was in love with Brandon.
How hard it was, to set the person free that you loved most on earth. But Eduardo had done it.
Now so must she.
Callie heard an engine coming up the long driveway. Looking back out the window, she smiled. About time. Taking another sip of her coffee, Callie watched Brandon and Sami leap out of the Jeep.
Brandon’s heart hadn’t remained broken for long. Since their return from Morocco, now freed of his guilt and concern over Callie, he’d finally allowed himself to give his heart to the young woman who’d been his constant companion for nine months. Yesterday, he’d asked Sami to marry him.
Their parents had been cautious at first, then ecstatic. News of the engagement had rapidly spread across Fern, and thanks to Jane’s eager posting, to all her internet friends, across the world. Callie swallowed, feeling a little misty-eyed. Engaged. Her best friend and little sister were planning to be married in September.
As the two vagabonds traipsed through the door, Callie shook her head with a wry laugh. “Engaged or not, sis, Mom and Dad are not happy you stayed out all night.”
“It was totally innocent!” Brandon protested. Then his full cheeks blushed beneath his black-framed glasses as he gave Sami a sudden wicked grin. “Well, mostly innocent …”
“We were up at McGillicuddy’s Hill,” Sami said quickly, “to see the comet away from the lights. There were so many stars.” She looked dreamily at her fiancé. “Brandon knows all the constellations. We just lost track of time …”
“Good luck explaining that to Dad.”
“Dad knows he can trust Brandon,” she protested. She turned to him. “Like I do. With my life.”
Brandon looked back at Sami with love in his eyes. Taking her hand in his own, he kissed it fervently. And Callie suddenly felt like an intruder, standing in the cozy, warm kitchen in her old purple sweatpants and ratty T-shirt. “All right,” she said awkwardly. “You should talk to him, though.”
“Where is he? Out in the fields?”
Callie nodded. “Alfalfa by the main road.”
“Don’t worry.” Brandon clutched Sami’s hand. “You won’t have to face him alone.”
“I know.”
As he pulled his car keys out of his pocket, they turned toward the door. On impulse, Callie blurted out, “Wait.”
They paused, staring at her questioningly. Crossing to the key basket, Callie took the “CC” keychain and held it out to them. “I want you to have this.”
“What?” Sami exclaimed. “Your car?”
Brandon glowered. “Why?”
“It’s—” Callie grasped at straws “—an engagement gift.”
“Are you kidding?” Sami blurted out.
“We don’t need anything from him.” Brandon looked mutinous. It was possible he still nursed a grudge. “My Jeep works just fine.”
Sami turned to him. “Think of it as compensation for him punching you,” she said hopefully.
It didn’t help her case. Brandon scowled.
“Please take it.” Callie shook her head. “I hate looking at it. It makes me remember …” Her voice trailed off, as she felt overwhelmed by sweet memories of the Christmas day Eduardo had dressed in a Santa suit and given it to her. How happy they’d been … She gave them a tremulous smile. “Sell it. Use the money however you like.”
The young couple looked at the dangling gold-and-diamond keychain.
“We could buy land,” Sami said.
“A farm of our own,” Brandon breathed. He blinked then snatched the keychain from her hand. “Very well. We accept.” He paused, tilting his head with a grin. Then he sobered. “Thanks, Callie. Thanks for being the best friend I’ve ever had.” He turned to Sami. “Till now.”
And then they were gone, racing out of the farmhouse to the car parked near the barn. Their conversation floated back to Callie on the June breeze.
“One ride before we sell it?”
“Let’s go the long way, past the Coffee Stop!” Sami giggled. “I want to see Lorene Doncaster’s face when she sees me in this thing….”
“Your father will forgive us for being out all night. I’ll explain. It was the fault of the stars …”
The fault of the stars. Alone in the kitchen, Callie stood in the warm sunlight of her mother’s cheerful kitchen. She looked back at the divorce papers. She saw the black, angular scrawl of Eduardo’s signature. He’d asked for a divorce. It was the only thing to do.
Wasn’t it?
She picked up the pen in her trembling hand. She looked down at the empty line beneath his black signature.
Was their marriage really nothing more than a nine-month mistake?
She exhaled, closing her eyes.
Then, an hour later, she got a call that changed everything.
“Good progress today. So, same time next wee
k?”
Eduardo nodded, pulling on his jacket. He left the therapist’s office and took a deep breath of the morning air. The June sky was bright blue over Manhattan.
“Sir?” Sanchez stood ready at the curb, waiting beside the black Mercedes sedan.
Eduardo shook his head. “Think I’ll walk.”
“Very well, sir.”
Eduardo walked slowly down the street, feeling the sun on his face, hearing the birds sing overhead. A bunch of laughing schoolkids in identical uniforms ran by him on the sidewalk, reminding Eduardo of the Madeline book he’d read to his two-week-old daughter, to the great amusement of his wife.
He stopped, feeling a sudden pain in his chest.
He would see Marisol soon, he reminded himself. His jet was already gassed up and ready at a private airport outside the city. He glanced at his platinum watch. Mrs. McAuliffe was likely headed for the airport now, if she wasn’t there already, preparing to make the long flight across the country and back. She would collect the baby from his soon-to-be ex-wife. From the woman who still haunted his dreams.
Blankly Eduardo stared up at the green trees above the sidewalk. The trees looked exactly like they had in early September, when he’d first shown up in the West Village demanding marriage. On the day when, in the space of a few hours, he’d gained both a wife, and a child.
His stomach clenched. He suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of going back to work. All those hours of work, all those days and years, and for what? He was a billionaire, and yet he envied his chauffeur, who went home every night to a snug little home in Brooklyn with a wife who loved him and their three growing children. Eduardo had a huge penthouse on the Upper West Side filled with art and expensive furniture, but when he was alone, the hallways and rooms echoed with the laughter of his baby. Of his lost wife.
Soon to be ex-wife.
He clenched his hands into fists. Had Callie signed the papers yet? Why hadn’t she signed them?
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