by Melody Anne
“It’s more than obvious I feel something for you,” I say when it becomes clear I’m the one who needs to start this conversation.
“But you’re unwilling to do anything about it.” The words are a statement, not a question, not an accusation.
“I might not have the best marriage, but at one time Mason was my everything. We can get that back, but not if I do what you want me to do,” I tell him, hating how raw I feel about this conversation.
He raises a brow and I wait for him to speak.
“What I want you to do?” he asks.
“You know, the . . . uh . . . the affair,” I stutter, hating that he’s making me say it out loud. I know we need to have this conversation, but it isn’t easy for me.
“I’m not the only one who wants it,” he points out. I can lie right now but that won’t do either of us any good.
“No, you’re not the only one. I obviously desire you. I like how you look at me. I like how I feel when you touch me. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve had that.”
“What’s wrong with your husband that he doesn’t see you?” he asks. He seems angry as he speaks these words.
“Nothing is wrong with him,” I defend. “It takes two to make a marriage, and it takes two to allow it to fall apart.”
“Leave him,” Kaden says. There is such authority in his tone. It’s as if he believes all he has to do is command it and I’ll do as he says.
“I’m in no way ready for that. I don’t know why.” I truly don’t.
“Let me show you what you’re missing,” he insists.
“I could make love to you. It could be fantastic.” I can practically feel his hands on me as I say these words. My body responds: my nipples grow hard, my stomach tightens, my core grows wet.
“You can’t hide what you feel,” Kaden says, his voice husky. It’s like pheromones are racing between us. How am I going to resist him?
“Why aren’t you in healthy relationships?” I ask. It’s time to turn the tables on him.
I’m fascinated as I watch the shutters close over his eyes. He’s perfectly okay with me opening up, making me feel raw, but he isn’t willing to give an inch when it comes to himself.
“This isn’t about me,” he says, his tone cold.
I laugh and his gaze narrows. I look at him, not willing to back down. This conversation might set the tone between us for the rest of our relationship. I like working for his company and that means spending time together. It’s important for him to know I have a backbone.
“You wanting to sleep with me is about both of us,” I inform him.
This time he laughs. “You want me just as badly as I want you.” I notice he hasn’t answered my question. I also know he won’t.
“So you’re telling me you won’t respect what I’m asking.” I want that message to be very clear.
He smiles. “I’m willing to give you what you want.” I take a cleansing breath.
“Then I’m telling you I don’t want a physical relationship with you.” It’s hard to get the words out of mouth. It’s hard to get them past the lump in my throat. I’m lying to him, and we both know it. His grin turns up a notch. He stands.
Kaden moves over to me and I don’t back away as he places his hands on the arms of my chair, easily boxing me in. He leans down, his face mere inches from mine. I don’t want to desire him, but I can’t help it. My heart thunders. I look at his lips and grow damp and ready.
“Kiss me, Miranda.” His voice is a seductive purr.
“You’re not listening to me,” I gasp, the words coming out barely above a whisper.
“Then tell me to leave.” His hot breath caresses my skin, his body heat invades me. I open my mouth to tell him to go, but no words come out.
“Damn you,” I say, the words filled with agony.
Then I reach for him, my hands wrapping around his neck, pulling him to me. I can’t resist him when he looks at me with such obvious desire, when his scent invades me. He makes me feel sexy and wanted and needed.
“We’re both dammed,” he mutters as he wrenches his mouth from mine and stands. I groan.
He easily lifts me into his arms and locks his lips to mine. I gasp as he strides through the suite. I barely comprehend the feel of the bed beneath me when he lays me on it. I need to stop what’s happening but I can’t seem to.
He kisses me long and hard. I’m on my back and he’s leaning over me, half his body on me but leaving room for his hand to trail down the center of my chest, over my stomach, and flutter over my burning core. I don’t try to stop him.
“Make love to me, Miranda,” he says, trailing his lips across my jaw and down my neck, sucking the skin. I groan, trying to come to terms with what’s happening.
“No.” But even as I say the word, I cling to him, not ready to let this end.
“Then I’m going to show you what it’ll be like if you say yes,” he says.
I don’t know what that means. But he’s suddenly ripping my shirt and bra from me. I don’t stop him. His mouth moves from my throat to my chest, his kisses circling my nipples, making them throb as they peak, seeking the heat from his mouth. He teases me for long moments before his mouth finally clamps down over one sensitive bud.
He sucks and my back arches off the bed. I want to say yes, want him to keep going. I want to let it all go and allow him to love me. I want to touch him, take him in my mouth, and suck him as he’s sucking me. I want it all.
He moves to my other breast as his hand moves over my pajama pants, and he cups my pulsing core. He wiggles his fingers on the outside of the material while he sucks hard on my nipples. Pressure is building.
“Kaden,” I moan, so turned on I don’t care about anything but finding the pleasure he promises. “Kaden, please . . .” I don’t know what I’m begging for.
He moves up my body, and his lips take mine again as he lies over me. He’s fully clothed and I wear nothing but a thin pair of cotton pants. I easily feel his hardness between my legs. He begins pumping against me as his tongue slides into my mouth.
I push against him, the pressure still building, and then he reaches between us and pinches my nipple as he thrusts against me. I explode. Shock runs through me as I shake beneath him, the orgasm so strong I’m grateful I’m lying down.
He slows the caress of his lips on mine as he shifts, taking some of his weight away. He squeezes my nipple once more before laying his palm flat on my sensitive flesh. My heart thunders beneath his fingers as I float back to earth.
He breaks his mouth from mine and I slowly open my eyes, looking at him. His gaze bores into me. He looks wild, like an animal on the prowl. I don’t know how he maintains such composure — such control.
“If you say yes, the next time will be so much better,” he promises, his voice agonized.
“I . . . that . . .” I inhale, trying to find the right words. “I should help you,” I finally spit out, hating it when I feel color sliding into my cheeks.
He smiles before leaning down and kissing me.
“You will when you’re ready,” he assures me.
I don’t stop him when he rises from the bed. He steps away but stands gazing at me for long moments. I want to cover myself, feeling so raw and naked. But I also feel beautiful. He desires me. He hurts because of me. I’m so close to saying yes.
“Not tonight,” he says once again, reading my mind. “I want you to think about this, and the next time when you come to me, I don’t want there to be a shadow of a doubt this is right, no matter what the rest of the world says.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer him. He turns and walks from the room. I hear the door close a couple of seconds later. I don’t move from where he left me. I don’t think I’ll be able to. I also don’t sleep.
I spend the entire night aching. Even though he gave
me an orgasm that was better than anything I’ve had in years, I still feel empty. By the time morning arrives the only regret I have is that I haven’t made love to him.
I know I will. I just don’t know what that means.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Then
There were days when work went incredibly well and days it didn’t. I was twenty-six and working at an insurance company. I hated my job. The last company I’d worked for had been wonderful, but times grew hard and they’d closed down. I needed a new job so I interviewed at several places and ended up with only one offer — from an insurance company.
I had lost my zest for life and that obviously showed in my interviews, because I just wasn’t getting many call-backs. I regretted my decision not to go to college. I began taking night courses to help me do something that might make me feel more accomplished.
If only I knew what I wanted to do — what would bring me joy. My life decisions would be much easier to make. But I was taking some great classes at the college and I loved figuring out how to make things work, how to navigate through the business world. It was like putting a puzzle together. The pieces had to fit in just the right place or the puzzle was ruined.
Sometimes it was nearly ten by the time I got home. On that particular night it was closer to eleven. All I wanted was a glass of wine and to talk my husband into one of his world-famous foot rubs. He was fantastic at them. Maybe that was reason enough to stay married. The relationship wasn’t all bad I assured myself. We still had incredible moments together.
When I stepped through the door, his music wasn’t playing, so he might be done in the studio. As I turned down the hallway I noticed the light was still on with his door shut.
That was strange. He rarely shut the door. His studio was the largest room in the house. It was an addition the first year we were married, but he still didn’t like shutting the door and feeling closed in. I reached the back of the house and stopped with my hand on the knob to his room.
Was that a woman’s voice I heard?
My heart thudded as I stood in silence, too shocked to have any thoughts circling my brain. What was a woman doing in there? I took a few deep breaths. The worst thing I could do was jump to conclusions.
There was no mistaking the tinkling laughter of a soft feminine voice. That still didn’t mean anything. We didn’t have rules for who could and couldn’t come into the house. We didn’t live a marriage like that. We trusted each other. Our union wasn’t as perfect as it had once been, but we still had trust, that was for sure.
I began to turn the knob, knowing it was ridiculous for me to keep standing outside the door. But then I heard Mason’s voice and his words about broke my heart. “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
Tears sprung to my eyes for about three seconds, and then red-hot fury overtook me. He was in my home with some trashy bitch behind a closed door and he was openly flirting. The rational side of my brain told me there was an explanation for this. The voice of a million women who’d come before me warned me not to make excuses for him.
I turned the knob and stepped into the room. I managed to mask the wrath I was feeling, but I certainly wasn’t smiling as I walked inside. I found Mason with . . . with that woman from the gallery show a couple of years ago.
I stood there in shock. He’d never mentioned her since that night. I’d assumed she was totally out of the picture. But there she was like a nightmare that wouldn’t go away. She was wearing an indecently tight skirt with a top that left nothing to the imagination.
This time her nails were painted bright red, and they were resting on my husband’s chest as she giggled at what he’d said. Neither of them spun around at my entrance, but they both turned slowly to see who could possibly be interrupting them.
Mason didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed at what he was doing. Bella, that was her name, it was a name I’d never forget. Well, Bella glared at me, as if I was the one in the wrong for interrupting whatever they had going on.
I looked her dead in the eye. She should be hanging her head in shame, should be mortified at having been caught trying to seduce my husband. In my house! What sort of woman did that to another? I knew exactly what sort.
“What’s so amusing?” I asked.
Bella took her time removing her hand from my husband’s body. She did it just in time for me not to break her perfect fingers. I slid right up to them, not touching Mason. I was too furious for that, but I was definitely letting this woman know this was my husband.
“Mason and I were discussing the next show. We might be meeting quite late tonight,” Bella said. The look of fury had evaporated from her face, and what she replaced it with made me even angrier. She looked at me with pity as if I’d already lost him. We’d see about that.
“I think your meeting is over. It’s late,” I told her. My voice was icy cold.
Mason finally seemed to realize there was a problem. I’d never taken him for a foolish man before, but at that moment I was reassessing that thought.
“Is everything okay, Miranda?” he asked, finally giving me his full attention.
“No, everything isn’t okay,” I told him. I turned back to Bella. “You can leave now.”
My voice didn’t give even the slightest hint I was kidding. She could either walk out of my house or I was going to pull her out by her shiny blonde hair. Her eyes narrowed as she thought about challenging me.
But just as quickly as she showed her venom, she placed a mask over her expression and turned to look at Mason, sympathy in her eyes and voice. She was close to getting her eyes poked out.
“It seems you have problems to deal with,” she said. “We’ll finish later.”
She didn’t wait for his reply. For one brief second I thought she was going to stand on her toes and kiss him. She leaned forward the slightest bit and my entire body tensed. I thought I might end up in prison for murder.
But she finally turned, not sparing me another glance as she walked from the room. I looked back at Mason, and his eyes had narrowed as he stared at me. He now looked like he was the one who was angry.
I didn’t say a word as I listened for the sound of the front door closing. I thought I heard it, but I wanted to be sure. I marched out of the studio, straight to the front of the house. Bella was walking down the sidewalk to her shiny red Mercedes. I couldn’t believe I didn’t notice it sitting there when I came home. I must’ve been more tired than I realized.
All thoughts of sleep had now vanished.
“What in the hell was that about?” Mason asked as I moved away from the door and walked into the kitchen. I pulled out a bottle of wine and opened it, nearly filling a glass to the brim. I took a very large swallow before I dared say a word to him. I didn’t offer him any.
“I’m the one who should be asking that question. What are you doing allowing that woman, who obviously wants to screw you, into my house?” My voice sounded clipped and icy. I was proud I wasn’t yelling.
He looked stunned.
“There’s nothing going on between Bella and me. She’s a work associate. That’s all. She’s helped my career tremendously.” He’d seemed to realize the danger he was in because his voice had calmed.
“Really? That’s the story you’re sticking with?” I questioned.
“It’s not a story,” he told me. “It’s the truth.”
“I heard your little comment about showing her yours and her showing you hers,” I snapped. I’d drained the entire glass of wine. I refilled it, nearly emptying the bottle.
He still looked confused, then smiled. He actually smiled at me. I was now thinking of scratching his eyes out.
“We were kidding around. I have a new piece I haven’t unveiled yet and she’s been pestering me to see it. She also has a mysterious client who does phenomenal paintings but no one has seen his face. I wanted
to know who he is,” he told me.
I processed his words, letting them roll around in my brain. It made sense. It was rational. But something felt wrong.
“You don’t touch me anymore — hardly ever. And then you’re in here in my house flirting with another woman. What other conclusion do you think I’d come to when you’re in the room with a sexy woman with the door shut?” I was horrified when tears sprung to my eyes.
He moved quickly, taking the nearly empty wine glass away from me and pulling me into his arms. He held me while I let go of the tears, wetting his shirt.
“I’m sorry, Miranda,” he crooned as he rubbed my back. I closed my eyes and inhaled his tangy scent, trying to take comfort in his embrace. But we’d been so cold and distant to each other for so long I didn’t feel better, didn’t feel as if he could make it better.
“What has happened to us?” I cried.
He didn’t say anything, just continued holding me. We stood like that for a long time. He’d said he wasn’t cheating on me, and though I wanted to believe that, wanted to think we were just in a slump, I wasn’t sure I did. I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“I don’t know where it all went wrong,” he finally muttered. His voice sounded so resigned. I didn’t know what to make of it.
“What does that mean? Do you want to leave me?” I asked.
He was again quiet for a very long time. I wanted to shout more questions, wanted him to explain himself. But I waited. I’d been too fearful to ask that very question over the last few years and now it was out there. It was out in the open. Was he leaving me for another woman? Had he fallen out of love with me? Was I out of love with him?
“I don’t know,” he finally said. Though he said those words, he didn’t release me from his hold and I didn’t pull away.
I was suddenly panicked. I wasn’t ready to let our marriage go. I wasn’t ready to give up on us, and on everything we’d been through. I pulled back from him and looked at his pained face, then I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to his.
