by Anthology
“He hit you! He’s a fucking abuser!”
“He’s never done it before.”
“So that makes it okay?” Ben snapped. “What the fuck, Maddie?”
“Ben, stop.” I clutched the back of a chair, a sudden dizziness sweeping through me. “My… my marriage has nothing to do with you.”
“Bullshit. Everything about you has to do with me.” Ben raked a hand through his hair and stalked to the windows. “I’m calling my lawyer. He’ll give us some advice so we can—”
“No.” The word came out surprisingly strong.
Ben stopped and stared at me.
“There is no us, Ben,” I said coldly. “There is no we.”
He swore again, tension lacing his muscles. He crossed to me in three long strides, his expression set with determination. My heart thumped as he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me against his chest.
Oh, bliss. I wanted to cry. His body was so warm and solid, so secure. I was filled with the urge to curl up against him and hide from all the thorns and arrows of the world. For an instant—the span of a breath, a blink, a lightning bolt—I let myself relax against him with a sigh.
Why was I only myself when I was with him? How did he know? Why was he the one who had unlocked all the secret parts of my soul that I hadn’t even known existed? And why now, of all times, when my life was set in stone and unbreakable?
He curved his broad hand around to the back of my neck, his cheek brushing against my hair. A tingle rained down my spine. I heard his intake of breath, felt him inhaling my scent. He shifted, moving his head down and pressing his lips against my ear.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to muster the courage and strength to pull away from him. It was mid-morning, school was very much in session, the secretary was right outside the door…
“Ben… oh, God…” A small moan escaped me.
He muttered my name, sliding his hands down to my ass. I rubbed my cheek against his arm and opened my eyes. My heart gave a crazy, wild leap at the sight of the desk where we’d had that insanely hot, unreal encounter that had changed me forever. Ben turned us both and pushed me backward so my hips hit the edge of his desk. He slanted his mouth securely over mine.
A thousand bright, shimmering emotions swirled through me at the first touch of his lips. Pushing aside all other thoughts and regrets, I allowed myself to respond to his kiss just for one brief moment. I curled my hands into the lapels of his suit jacket and parted my lips under his, my head swimming with desire and need for this young man who had awakened every part of my being.
He cupped my face in his hands, deepening the kiss, filling me with pleasure. Despite his anger, his kiss was gentle, tender, his lips moving slowly over mine as he swept his tongue into my mouth and nibbled at my lower lip. Sparks lit my blood, reminding me that I was still alive, still desirous, still wanted.
Still loved.
“So much,” Ben whispered, trailing his lips to the arch of my neck. “I love you so much. Want you so much…”
“Ben—”
“No.” He pushed me back against the desk, his eyes flaring with determination. “Don’t you push me away.”
I let him guide me back to lie on the desk as he came over me, covering my body with his. I almost groaned with pleasure at the weight of him on top of me, his mouth coming down on mine again.
I flexed my hands on his arms, feeling the restrained strength of him. A desperate longing rose in me, my mind flashing with images of us running away together. Losing ourselves in the world.
He edged his knee between my legs, skimming his hand up my stocking-clad thigh. I shivered. He was hard already, his erection pressing against my hip. Lust flared and sparked inside me.
I could do it, I thought, dizzy with want and love for him. I could let him fuck me right here on his desk again and I wouldn’t care one bit about the secretary outside the door or the ringing telephone or the fact I had a museum meeting in less than an hour.
It would be so easy to forget I was Madeline Collins again, the person I’d been for the past twenty years. The woman I’d worked so hard to construct. With one kiss, one touch, Ben Hunter could break Madeline Collins apart and turn her into someone else entirely.
But… who? The parody of a sex-starved, middle-aged woman who makes a fool out of herself for her young, handsome lover?
No.
A sliver of rational thought pierced my mind. I spread my hands over Ben’s chest and pushed.
“Ben, get off me.”
His hand stilled on my thigh. He lifted his head from my neck, his eyes stormy and his breath sawing through the air.
“You’re mine, Maddie,” he said, his jaw tightening. “Mine, dammit.”
“I… I can’t be yours. You know that. We both do.”
“Then why are you already wet?” He slid his hand up my skirt to find the heat between my legs. He edged his finger under my panties and smiled without humor. “You can’t fucking hide from me. You can’t deny who you are or what you want.”
“Exactly.” I clenched my teeth and struggled to prevent his touch from affecting me. “I’m Madeline Collins, married mother of two who wants the school principal to get off her.”
“Get off her?” His eyes burned like twin flames as he slipped his finger into my slit. “Or get her off?”
“Ben.” I shoved at his shoulders, twisting underneath him, fighting to maintain my quickly slipping resolve. “It’s the middle of the fucking school day!”
“I don’t care.”
“Mr. Hunter?”
Over the intercom, the secretary’s voice suddenly broke through the hot air. Ben slipped his hand away from me. He closed his eyes and drew in a ragged breath before reaching over to press the intercom button.
“Yes, Alice?” he said, his voice surprisingly steady.
“The superintendent just called to tell you he’s running late,” Alice said cheerfully. “He’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.”
There was a click as Alice disconnected. Ben cursed, pushing himself off me with one, sharp movement. It felt as if part of me had been ripped away.
I got to my feet and smoothed down my wrinkled skirt. My heart raced, fresh agony tearing through me. This loss was one of fire, not cold. Of burning despair, not ice.
“Come home with me.” Ben turned, latching his hand around my wrist with sudden desperation. “Please. I need to see you tonight.”
Somehow I managed to shake my head. His expression tightened.
“I love you, Maddie,” he said, pulling me inexorably toward him again. “I know we can figure this out. My father has connections all the way to the state supreme court. We can get you away from your bastard husband, ensure you don’t lose your kids. I’ll get a job somewhere else so we can—”
“Ben.”
He stopped.
I took a painful breath and said, “Starfish.”
He stared at me, devastation filling his blue eyes. Then he let me go.
CHAPTER TEN
A vase of flowers sat on my desk in the offices of the museum education department. This time, it was a spray of sunflowers, tulips, and roses, all artfully arranged in a nest of greenery. The sickly sweet smell of the blossoms intensified the headache that had been nagging me all day.
I brought the flowers to the break room and left them on a table before returning to my desk. It was the fifth delivery Richard had sent me in the past two weeks since he’d hit me across the face. Between the chocolates, flowers, and cookie basket, my co-workers couldn’t stop talking about what a wonderful husband I had. Every time they praised him, I had to smother a wave of disgust.
Not that I was any great prize of a wife.
I turned on my computer and finalized the details of the tours I was organizing for the museum fundraiser this coming Saturday. Then I registered Noah for summer karate, confirmed my position volunteering at the school book fair, and sent a list of museum donors
to the director. I had a ladies’ luncheon planned this afternoon and a list of errands to run after work.
Fine. It was all fine. So goddamned fine I wanted to scream.
An email popped into the inbox on my screen with the subject line: Tonight
My heart jumped for an instant before I saw the sender was Richard Collins. Suppressing disappointment, I opened the message.
Madeline,
I arranged for a babysitter tonight so we can have dinner and talk. I made reservations at The Golden Fork at seven. Want to make sure your schedule is clear.
Something twisted inside me. I didn’t want to have dinner with Richard. I didn’t want to be alone with him at all. We barely spoke to each other at home, and he’d gone back to sleeping in the guest room. Though our marriage was obviously a disaster, I had little if any desire to discuss it, let alone fix it.
I hit the reply button:
That would be fine. I’ll be ready. Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.
Never let anyone say I wasn’t polite, I thought as I sent the message.
Later that evening, Richard and I were seated on an outdoor terrace near a downtown sidewalk that was lined with shops and cafés. Normally I didn’t enjoy sitting outside to eat, but it was a lovely spring evening, and watching the passing pedestrians and bustle of downtown gave Richard and me fodder for small talk. I ordered a glass of wine and, against my better judgment, the shrimp scampi with fettuccini.
“Unusual choice.” Richard looked at my plate of butter-laced shrimp and fettuccini. “Since when do you eat pasta?”
I shrugged and took a sip of wine. “Just wanted something different, I suppose. So you wanted to talk?”
“I figured we should.” He sliced into his grilled steak. “I’m sorry for what happened.”
“So am I.”
“I have some vacation time saved up,” he continued. “Thought we could go somewhere together. The Caribbean or Hawaii.”
“The children would love that,” I said, twirling a strand of fettuccini around on my fork.
“I meant just you and me.” Richard reached for his beer and took a long swallow. “Leave the kids with my mother. Have some time alone, you know?”
My stomach knotted. Why did he want to be alone with me now, of all times? I certainly couldn’t imagine being alone with him. I didn’t want to be.
“Why?” I finally asked.
“Some people at the office were talking about their vacations.” Richard set his beer down. “And I realized you and I hadn’t taken a trip alone in ages. Figured it was about time.”
I eyed him warily. Even if we set aside our sexual issues, without the children or our work schedules, Richard and I would have nothing to talk about. Nothing to do. We wouldn’t laugh or have fun. I didn’t want to go sightseeing or lounge on the beach or eat every meal together. And God knew I didn’t want to have sex with him.
I also couldn’t tell him all that right now—at least I’d learned my lesson about arguing with him in public places—so I said neutrally, “What did you have in mind?”
Richard started talking about a resort he’d found on the island of Martinique. I watched him as he talked and ate, his movements regimented and precise. He’d always done everything with controlled deliberation. I supposed somewhere along the line, I’d matched my pace to his.
It was a shame. There was a place for control, but there also had to be a place for spontaneity and wildness. Otherwise, what was the point?
“It sounds like a lovely place,” I admitted when Richard paused.
“I’ll have my secretary make reservations tomorrow,” he said, forking up a bite of potato. “Figure two weeks or so. I’ll let you know so you can ask for the time off.”
I decided to bide my time while thinking up a strategy to avoid a trip alone with my husband.
I suppressed a humorless laugh. We had a very twisted relationship, indeed.
A breeze ruffled through the air. I took a sip of wine and watched the pedestrians passing the wrought-iron fence of the terrace. Some of them were smiling or laughing, and a few couples held hands as they strolled.
I wondered vaguely how long it had been since Richard and I held hands.
On the sidewalk, a lovely young woman walked past, dressed in a cotton skirt and a T-shirt, her long hair captured into a messy knot. Beside her was a tall man with golden blond hair. An untucked button-down shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, and worn jeans hugged his long legs…
My breath shortened, my vision darkening at the edges so only he was visible in all his beautiful, shining glory. Just the sight of him filled my heart to bursting. Sensations flared through my nerves, each of my senses prickling with new awareness.
He stopped. My heart jumped. I blinked, a faint dread creeping up my throat as I realized he’d stopped because the woman was looking at the menu posted outside the terrace.
She turned to say something to him. He nodded. She smiled. They talked. She reached for his hand.
His hand.
Jealousy, harsh and vile, threatened to drown me. I forced a breath into my tight lungs, unable to take my eyes off them. The girl gazed at Ben as if she were a puppy eager for her owner’s attention. He smiled at her—that gorgeous, heart-melting smile that I swore could make the sun shine and the birds sing.
I tightened my fingers on my wineglass. A hard, desperate longing unleashed inside me, snaking into every corner of my soul.
I wanted that. I wanted to walk hand-in-hand with Ben along a downtown street, happy that people saw us together, free of any attachments or constraints. I wanted him to stop and smile at me. I wanted us to eat ice-cream cones and plan trips to the beach cottage and go sailing on the ocean.
Ben looked up. Right at me. A jolting, electrical current charged the air between us, shocking me to the center of my heart. Even from a distance, the blueness of his eyes seared into me. I fought the urge to leap out of my chair and run to him, consequences be damned. Anything would be worth feeling his strong arms close around me again, anything…
His gaze shifted to Richard. Ben’s features went rigid, undiluted hatred flashing in his expression. For an instant, I thought he might charge into the terrace and attack my husband, but the girl put her hand on Ben’s arm to get his attention.
He turned to her. I struggled to breathe, the longing still pulsing alongside my blood. The girl was saying something to Ben, gesturing with her pink-tipped hands. She was clearly enamored of him.
Well, of course she was. Who wouldn’t be? She was also young, pretty, and presumably single…
“Madeline!” Richard’s tone sliced through the darkness engulfing me. “What the hell…”
I blinked, trying to pull my senses back together. I was holding a broken wineglass, shards covering the table amidst a puddle of wine and a few drops of blood.
Blood? I forced myself to focus, realizing the glass had shattered in my grip. A waiter’s voice sounded as he approached our table. Richard was getting to his feet, reaching out to take the remains of the glass from my hand.
“Are you all right?”
Ben’s voice suddenly flooded me like sunlight. I looked up into his face, his eyes that I had lost myself in more times than I could count. Concern etched his features as he took hold of my wrist and pressed a clean napkin against my palm.
“All right?” he repeated, his fingers against my pulse.
I managed to nod. Richard was still standing there, looking somewhat baffled by the fact that a stranger had hurried over to tend to me.
“Richard.” I curled the fingers of my other hand into a fist. Dizziness tilted the world off balance. “Richard, this…”
My voice wavered.
Keep it together, Madeline Collins.
“This is Mr. Ben Hunter, principal of Sweetwater Elementary,” I told Richard, trying surreptitiously to ease my wrist from Ben’s grip. “Mr. Hunter, my husband Richard Collins.”
“Good to meet you, Be
n.” Richard extended a hand. “Madeline tells me you’re doing an excellent job.”
Ben nodded, making no move to take Richard’s hand. After an awkward moment, Richard lowered his arm to his side. Two waiters and the restaurant manager hovered over the table, cleaning up the mess and asking if I needed medical attention.
“No, no, I’m fine.” I put up my other hand to wave them away. “It was just a clumsy accident. I’m terribly sorry.”
“Two cuts, but they’re not deep.” Ben turned my injured hand to examine my palm, his fingertips brushing against mine. “Does it hurt much?”
I shook my head. What hurt was my wild, desperate love for him. His touch eased away the mild physical pain, but only intensified my heartache.
“I can take it from here.” Richard reached out to take the bloodied napkin away from Ben. “Thanks for the help, man.”
For an instant, Ben didn’t move. Apprehension flickered in me as I thought he might throw caution to the wind and divulge everything. But then he stepped back, turning toward the girl who was standing nearby.
I couldn’t stop watching them, even when Richard took my hand to look at my palm. Ben lowered his head to say something to the girl. I caught the words “school parent” and “PTO.” The girl glanced past Ben and caught my eye. She gave me a friendly little wave.
I turned my attention back to Richard, tugging my hand from his grip. “Let’s go home.”
***
I dreamed about him, of course. As the weeks passed and our beach weekend became increasingly distant and almost mythical, the realness of Ben Hunter was replaced by the man who invaded my sleep almost every night.
Some of the dreams were erotic—the two of us coupling in different positions, his hands and mouth on my naked body, his cock sliding in and out of me, and after those dreams I woke hot and aching, furtively rubbing myself to an orgasm that provided little if any relief.
Other dreams were almost tangibly ordinary. Ben and I having dinner together, taking a nap, reading, walking along a street in some tourist town. Those dreams filled me with sharp longing for a simple, free life, and then guilt consumed me for daring to want more than I already had.
