Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  He stopped her before they walked out into the rain. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  Dante turned her to face him. “Look, I was just giving you a hard time about the hotel situation.” A small lie. He planned to take advantage of it and come up with a way to coax his wife out of her clothes. “I know where you stand and I respect it.” He did respect her, but he wanted her back in his life for the long haul.

  When she didn’t respond, he tilted her chin. “Okay?”

  She nodded and rushed outside into the pouring rain. He quickly used the car’s key remote to unlock the doors and, not bothering with the umbrella, ran to the Camaro.

  The insecurity in her eyes had his chest constricting with his own uncertainties. Maybe she really didn’t want to have sex with him, but was worried about hurting his feelings. He’d made it crystal clear he still wanted her, yet she’d made no move and had given him no signs of reciprocation. Although…he swore he saw deep-seated desire banked in her eyes not only last night before he’d left her apartment, but also Thursday night when she’d come to their house.

  He pulled the car out of the parking lot and into the street. He didn’t know, and his head hurt from thinking about it. He loved his wife, yet they couldn’t have a conversation without also having some sort of dispute. She never used to be confrontational and defensive, and neither had he. Yet they both continuously pushed each other’s buttons. During the drive to CVS, he’d told himself to ease off, to stop with the blatant sexual innuendos. He hadn’t been able to help himself though. The pretty blush that had stained her cheeks had been sexy as hell. He would have loved to know exactly what she’d been thinking about when she’d been blushing. Him? Them? All of the things they could do for each other?

  If she had been thinking of him in that capacity, then maybe he was wrong and she did want him after all. He had no idea, but would attempt to find out tonight. At this point, he was soaked and would love a hot shower. He’d love to have Jessica join him, but he knew now wasn’t the time to push his luck.

  When he reached the hotel parking lot, a splinter of lightning flashed, followed by a crack of thunder rumbling in the distance. She glanced at him and raised a brow. “Rather ominous, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Since when did you become superstitious?”

  “Since a storm stranded me in a hotel room with my ex-husband.”

  He grasped her by her forearm and pulled her close. “Don’t call me that anymore until it’s official,” he said, not bothering to keep his temper in check. “I don’t like it.”

  Her eyes filled with apology, and he regretted his ridiculous outburst when she looked as if she might cry. But he didn’t like the ex-whatever bullshit. They weren’t exes. They also didn’t act like husband and wife, either. Until they had a piece of paper signifying the end of their marriage, she would remain his wife.

  When she nodded, he loosened his grip and reached for the car door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— Wait here. I’ll check us in to our room.” He didn’t bother running through the rain and, instead, let it soak him. He suddenly felt…dirty, and needed the rain to cleanse him. He’d made it clear to Jessica that he wanted her in his bed. He’d welcomed the opportunity to force her to spend a night with him with no means of leaving. What kind of man did that make him? What had she called him Thursday? A creeper? Whatever that exactly was, he didn’t know. But maybe he was a creepy, dirty old man who would put the woman he loved in an uncomfortable situation so that he could take what he wanted. And that made him feel dirty, and wrong.

  He shouldn’t have to cheat, connive or beg to be with his wife. She should come to him a willing and wanting partner. By the time he reached the hotel entrance, the rain had completely soaked through his clothes. His shoes squished as he walked. Hell, even his damned underwear was wet.

  After a quick exchange with the hotel’s owner, he learned that although the band had been cancelled due to the storm, the kitchen and bar would remain open until ten. The Super 8 wasn’t a full service hotel, but he could order food to go—which they would likely do after they settled into their room.

  Key in hand, he headed back out the door. When he reached the car, he opened the door. “Our room is on the first floor a couple of doors down,” he said. “Number twelve.” He handed her the key, then hit the button on his dash and opened the trunk. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

  “Dante,” she called before he closed the door.

  The rain came down hard and dripped from his hair, down his nose and chin. But he stood there, waiting for her to say something, anything to make him feel more like a man and less like a fucking lecher.

  She blinked and fisted the key in her hand. “Never mind. I’ll see you inside the room.”

  He slammed the car door, then retrieved his bag from the trunk. Instead of ordering food to take back to the room, maybe he’d take care of Jessica’s dinner, then leave her to herself and head for the bar. He could use a drink or fifteen. To ease his mind, his guilty conscience and dull his libido.

  When he entered the room, he inwardly groaned and refused to make eye contact with Jessica. One king-sized bed sat in the center of the room, flanked by nightstands, and a chair was in the corner by a small desk. Surprisingly, they did have a good-sized flat screen TV. A bonus considering he’d need something to entertain him once the bar closed.

  “You’re leaving a puddle on the carpet.”

  He looked away from the TV. “What?”

  She pointed to his drenched shoes. “You’re leaving a puddle.”

  Glancing down, he nodded. “Right. Mind if I jump in the shower first?”

  “Not at all. I’m going to get on my phone and check my email.”

  No, she was going to check Rachel’s program. He set his bag on the bathroom floor, then turned on the shower. And that was fine by him. She could work, and he could do what she obviously wanted—leave her alone.

  He peeled off his clothes and then stepped under the hot spray. Yeah, the bar sounded better and better. A few drinks, a nice fat steak for dinner. Then later, with a little buzz on him and full belly, he would crawl onto his side of the bed and pass out while watching Sports Center.

  The plastic curtain billowed slightly, just as cool air filtered in through the steamy shower. “Sorry, it’s just me,” Jessica said. “I have something in my eye and need to flush it out.”

  His dick hardened at the sound of her voice, at knowing only a shower curtain separated his naked body from her. Damn it. “Who else would it be?” he asked, when he really wanted to tell her to get the hell out before she caused him to have a full-on erection. “I’m about done here. How much longer are you going to be?”

  “There’s a stupid eyelash stuck—” She let out a throaty groan that was likely meant to show her frustration, but damn if it didn’t remind him of the sounds she made when he was buried deep inside her heat. His balls tightened and he pressed on his arousal, willing it to go down.

  “I’m sorry if I’m holding you up,” she said, then ran the water from the sink. “If you need to get out, it’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked.”

  What the hell kind of crap was she pulling? He ran his head under the water and finished rinsing the soap from his hair. She’d been the one who in no way had wanted to spend the night stuck in a hotel room with him. She had been the one who’d been adamant about how they’d work out the sleeping logistics to ensure there would be no touching of any kind. And now she encouraged him to step out of the shower buck ass naked.

  He’d just spent the past twenty minutes deciding he was a lecher and kicking himself in the ass for placing her in an uncomfortable situation. Now she acted as if hanging out in the bathroom together was an everyday occurrence. He shut off the faucet. Fuck it. Whatever game she was playing, he was going to call her bluff.

  He shoved the curtain aside and reached for the towel on the rack. She’d already turned off the sink tap and was facing in his direction
. “What are you doing?” he asked, toweling off his body.

  She pointed to her left eye, but stared at his erection. “Just getting that eyelash out.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  She drifted her gaze up his chest, touched on his mouth, then met his eyes. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your way and let you finish.”

  After she closed the door behind her, he stood there for a moment trying to figure out what the hell just happened. When he came up empty on answers, he wrapped the towel around his waist and approached the mirror. What he needed was to locate his good energy, and soothe the frustration and confusion messing with the pragmatic part of his brain.

  What you need is to make love to your wife.

  He used the hand towel to wipe the steam from the mirror. Wait. How could Jessica have used the foggy mirror to take care of her eyelash issue? Had she been lying? Was she playing a game, teasing him, testing him? He didn’t know. And now he didn’t know what to do.

  Question her, or let it go?

  Closing his eyes, he searched deep within himself for an answer. Searched for the happy place that normally calmed him and set him at ease. The clarity he sought eluded him. In its place was Jessica. Naked. Her legs spread, her arms open and inviting.

  Letting out a breath, he gave up and finger combed his hair, then without bothering to dress, he kept the towel at his waist, grabbed his bag and left the bathroom. “It’s all yours,” he said, dropping the bag on the floor.

  “Why aren’t you dressed?”

  “Because I thought you might want to shower, too. If you don’t, and would rather wait, I’ll go back in and—”

  “No. You’re fine.” She pushed off the bed and came within a few inches of him. “I know it’s a little early for dinner, but I’m hungry. Do you want to get something to eat after I’m done?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay.” She looked away, yet her gaze kept straying to either his mouth, chest or the towel wrapped around him.

  “Are you going to—”

  “Yep, on my way,” she said, then went inside the bathroom and closed the door.

  “What in the hell?” he mumbled, and shook his head. “Think.” When they were leaving CVS, she’d had uncertainty written all over her face, almost like a deer caught in headlights kind of look. Hell, she’d even considered the thunder and lightning an ominous sign, only now— He glanced to the bed where she’d left her bag, filled with what she’d bought at CVS. Now she didn’t have anything in the bathroom to change into and would be forced to walk out in nothing but a towel.

  Shit, he was confused. Was this her way of sending him a signal? That she was game for seduction.

  Screw that. He would not seduce his wife. He’d spent over three years waiting, hoping, trying to make her see that he still loved and wanted her. That their marriage, her, their life together was important to him. He pulled a pair of black boxer briefs from his bag and stepped into them. Still aroused, he adjusted himself and stared at the closed bathroom door.

  Although he refused to try and lure her into bed with him, he could test the water. Grabbing his travel kit from the bag, he went into the bathroom. “Sorry, it’s just me,” he said, mimicking her exact words when she’d interrupted his shower.

  “Who else would it be?” she asked with a chuckle.

  He grinned and wiped the steam off the mirror. “I need to shave and don’t want to hold up dinner.

  Metal slid against metal. He turned and saw her poking her soapy head from behind the plastic curtain. “I like when you let your beard grow in for a few days.”

  He set the shaving cream on the counter and faced her. “You do?”

  She nodded, then pulled the curtain back in place. “Does Lola?”

  Lola? “I told you I’m not interested in her. I’m only interested in my wife.”

  “Yeah, well, I heard your wife was a bitch.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Who’d you hear that from?”

  “I’m not sure exactly.”

  “What else have you heard about my wife?”

  She half-laughed. “Where to begin? Um, let’s see, since someone took her baby, she’s been a little cuckoo, obsessing over not only trying to find her daughter, but anyone else who’s had a child abducted.”

  “See, now I admire her for that,” he said, his chest aching, yet filling with more love than he’d ever felt for Jessica. Before Sophia was taken, Jessica used to paint with watercolors. She’d been so damned talented and had loved escaping into her art. Since their daughter had gone missing, she’d stopped painting. Only now she was painting a picture of herself. She was finally reaching out to him in her own way. But he didn’t like this self-portrait. “My wife has helped other families. Right now she’s doing her best to stop a couple of serial kidnappers. What else have you heard about her?”

  “It’s not what I’ve heard, but what I’ve seen. The woman has aged before her time.”

  He dropped his arms and approached the curtain. “I disagree. I’ve always thought she was beautiful. With every passing year, she only gets better.”

  “Then we must be looking though different colored glasses.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I think the ugliness inside her has pushed its way to the surface.”

  He pressed his lips together and tried to control his temper. “Are you calling my wife ugly?”

  When she didn’t answer him, he swallowed hard and took another step forward. He wanted to rip the curtain off the rod and shake sense into her head. However she perceived herself was wrong and a complete distortion of the truth. She was beautiful, inside and out. “Whoever said those things about my wife doesn’t know what they’re talking about. She’s a good person. She cares—sometimes too much—and puts others before herself.”

  “She didn’t put you first when you lost—” She drew in a breath and released it on a sob. “When you lost your child.”

  He closed his eyes. “I never asked or expected her to put me first. I needed her, but I needed her to deal with our loss together.” He opened his eyes and stared at the curtain. Visualized Jessica beneath the shower spray. Naked. Crying. Vulnerable. And so damned alone. “She deals with her grief in her own way, just like I do with mine. Every. Damned. Day.” He clenched his jaw to ward off the tears, to control his anger. “I love my wife. I wish things between us could be different. Do you want to hear something ridiculous?”

  She sniffed. “More ridiculous than this conversation? Absolutely.”

  He smiled and suddenly felt as if he’d been transported back to St. Sebastian’s confessional booth. Only instead of making up sins that he knew Father Timothy would appreciate, and that would ultimately earn him the penance of saying ten Hail Marys, his confessional had become a shower. “I had secretly hoped my wife and I would end up stuck in this small town and forced to share a hotel room, so I could seduce her.”

  “How is that ridiculous?”

  “Because I got what I wanted, only now I can’t do it.”

  “I told you she was ugly.”

  He grinned. “Are you kidding me? Jessica’s gorgeous. Especially when she smiles. Her whole face lights up and her eyes…they’re such a beautiful color. Sometimes brown with flecks of olive, sometime olive with flecks of brown and gold. I could look at them every day and never grow tired of the sight.” He shook his head. “No. I can’t seduce my wife, because I planned to do it for the wrong reasons.”

  “And those were?”

  “I wanted to bind her to me. Make her remember how good we used to be together. But sex was never an issue. And I don’t want her just for sex.”

  “What do you want her for?”

  God, he wished he could look into her eyes and see into the depths of her soul. But if this was her way of working through their issues, he’d take it. At this point, he loved that they were talking period, and that he could finally tell her the truth. “I want always.”

  “
Always,” she echoed. “And forever?”

  He swallowed around the lump in his throat. She sounded so damned defenseless and unsure it made him ache. How could this strong, proud woman not realize that she was his everything?

  “Until the day I die.”

  Chapter 9

  JESSICA HUNG HER head beneath the water and let the tears fall. She’d been so wrong. So very, very wrong. When her daughter had been taken, she’d shut Dante out in order to handle her own anguish and suffering. Would things between them have been different if she’d opened up, shared her pain with him, taken on his and worked as husband and wife, as friends and lovers to piece their lives back together?

  She covered her mouth and muffled her sobs. Oh, God. She didn’t know.

  When she’d first walked into the bathroom while Dante had been showering, she’d gone in with the intent to discover what he wanted from her. Sex, she understood. He’d made his point clear on the subject enough times. Yet after their stop at CVS, his mood had changed. He’d gone from playful to brooding and she hadn’t understood why. Plus, she’d been down on herself. Hating the way she looked, hating those foreign feelings she’d never experienced before—at least not where Dante was concerned—she’d selfishly wanted to know if he still found her attractive. In the past, he’d never given any sign that she had anything to worry about when it came to other women. Only lately, her insecurities had risen to a new level, and she’d targeted his trainee, Lola, as the root of her self-doubt.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying harder. The only woman she was up against was herself. She was the root of the problem. She’d denied him her love in order to deal with her misery. In the process, he’d had to deal with their loss alone. Had she opened up and shared how she felt, maybe their relationship would, even now, be different. She could never forget her baby girl—the reminder was in Dante’s eyes, his smile. He was her human memento and she’d punished him for that.