The Affair: Week 3

by BETH KERY

  “She certainly didn’t seem to find her pleasure lacking,” Emma said dryly, resisting an urge to touch his tension-filled face.

  “I would have been better off masturbating instead of being with her.”

  “She was using you as well,” Emma said after she’d recovered from his bald statement.

  “We all use each other to some degree,” he said quietly. His long fingers stretched, gently kneading her back muscles. Her undeniable attraction to him, her need, swelled in her breast. She wanted very much to pull him closer to her, to press against him.

  Instead, she forced herself to focus on what he was saying. “So you’re saying that I probably would have been upset even if I’d witnessed you having sex with Astrid by more conventional means?” she asked carefully.

  “I’m guessing that’s what disgusted you the most, yes, although not being familiar with the particulars, you were shocked by them as well. You knew I didn’t care, that I felt no sense of connection or even true desire for her. You sensed I was bored and cynical—”

  “I thought you were behaving beneath yourself,” she said abruptly, interrupting him. “And it pissed me off.”

  They faced off in the silence that followed. His face was a mask, but the heat in his eyes told her she might have angered him.

  “It’s not a pleasant thing for me to consider, either,” he said. “Do you even realize that? I wouldn’t have thought twice about that night if you hadn’t intruded, aside from some passing self-disgust. Your eyes were an uninvited, extremely uncomfortable mirror,” he bit out, “and yet here I look into them.”

  His voice rang and rattled in her head.

  No, she hadn’t considered how difficult it might be for him to think of her watching him in the midst of his bitterness. He’d been vulnerable while having sex that night, but not to Astrid.

  To Emma.

  She blinked and felt the burn in her eyes. She realized something else.

  “I thought you were beautiful,” she said. “Despite it all.”

  His features stiffened. His hands tightened at her waist.

  “I have never wanted a woman the way I do you,” he said. “Tell me what you need to make this right.”

  Her heart began to pound in her ears.

  “There are so many things I don’t understand,” she admitted.

  “Then ask.”

  “Okay,” she said tremulously. “Who is Adrian?”

  He blinked. He definitely hadn’t expected her to ask that question.

  Ask for Adrian’s forgiveness, she recalled him saying in Cristina’s last moments. Vanni had demanded that Cristina ask for his mother’s and Adrian’s forgiveness, then denied her his own. Cristina had mentioned the name, too. Emma had been wildly curious since she’d heard the name. She knew from Googling the Montand name, and Vanni’s explanation for his nickname, that Michael was the name of his father, so he wasn’t Adrian. In her imagination, the name Adrian had taken on some kind of forbidden charge, a name that was thought but never said . . . one of the unspoken words hanging like a dense cloud at Cristina’s burial.

  She drew three shaky breaths in the silence that followed, her anxiety ratcheting up. His face looked rigid. For a few seconds, she thought he wouldn’t answer. She shouldn’t have asked.

  “My brother. My twin brother. He’s dead.”

  Her mouth sagged open. “You had a twin?” she asked, shocked. “How . . . how did he die?”

  “He drowned, but Cristina killed him.”

  Emma gasped at the quiet, yet brutal, slicing quality of his tone.

  Vanni exhaled and dropped his hands from her waist, placing them on the wall near her hips, his thumbs touching her skirt. He lowered his head so that she couldn’t see his eyes.

  “We were swimming in Lake Michigan. We were nine years old and shouldn’t have been in the water on that day at all, but if so, only under close supervision. That was what Cristina was supposed to be doing, but she was too busy with more important matters.” Vanni said in a weary, bitter tone. “Cristina was kind enough to Adrian and I when my father was around, but when he wasn’t, she could be vindictive and negligent. It was the latter that ended up being the most deadly of her sins, although I always felt there was a fair share of the former in the instance of Adrian’s death. More likely, she hadn’t thought things through much, if that was the case. It was me she hated the most, and I was always physically stronger than Adrian. It was that way ever since we were born—”

  He broke off. Emma just sat there, wretched at having brought up the awful topic, miserable at the glimpse of his pain.

  “There was a strong undertow that day,” he continued in a flat tone that she hated. “Other beaches along the lakeshore had been closed, but that’s not the kind of thing Cristina would have bothered to find out before she told two nine-year-olds to go swim and then attended to matters of real importance—her social schedule. We were caught by a strong undertow and pulled out toward the breakers. He hit them, and was wounded. Afterward he was weakened. He didn’t have a chance of keeping his head up in the rough water with that undertow pulling at us.”

  “Oh my God,” Emma whispered, horrified. “Vanni, I’m so sorry.”

  And he’d been there. He’d seen it all, as had Cristina, most likely. Vanni had survived, and his twin hadn’t.

  “Did it happen at the Breakers?” Emma whispered, a little frightened by the idea for Vanni’s sake.

  “It was there, but a different house. I had the Breakers built after my father died several years ago, on the site of my childhood home.”

  She just stared at him a moment, connecting dots, trying to make sense of it all and struggling. Such a beautiful place to die, she recalled Cristina saying on the day she’d passed. Emma had mistakenly thought she’d meant her own impending death. Now she understood that Cristina had meant Adrian’s.

  “You say that you blame Cristina,” Emma said slowly, “but you insisted on the drapes being closed in her suite, blocking her from a vision that she would have undoubtedly found upsetting to endure, day in and day out. You say she was negligent, but you were very careful about keeping her well cared for and shielded from the site of Adrian’s death.” He remained unmoving, his head lowered. “And you were there when Adrian died, too,” she whispered, a prickly feeling of dread rising in her. “Yet you built a house where you have no choice but to stare at the place where he died. You can never escape from it . . .” He straightened, his hands falling to his sides. She faded off when she saw that hard, glacial look enter his eyes. Once again, she’d dared to tread where she shouldn’t.

  Where she had no right.

  She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the sudden feeling of intense sadness. “I’m so sorry, Vanni,” she said sincerely. “To lose not only a brother, but a twin at that age.”

  “My other half,” he said, as if to himself. A grim smile pulled at his lips. “My better half. Much better.”

  “Do we have to discuss this now?” he asked after a moment. “I thought we were going to talk about your uncertainties. Do you want to be with me or not, Emma?”

  This time, she didn’t stop herself from reaching up and touching his face.

  “You know that I do.”

  “Do I? I’m not so certain. You have no idea what I see in your eyes, do you? Right this second?” he said, his mouth twisting slightly. “You’re afraid of me.”

  “No,” she said steadfastly. “If there is fear there, it’s for myself. I’m worried about what could happen to me, being with you. Don’t you think that’s natural?”

  He looked like he’d just eaten something bitter. “I think it’s right that you should question it. Maybe it’s for the best,” he said, stepping back so that her hand fell from his jaw.

  “I haven’t decided yet, Vanni,” Emma said starkly. He glanced up and she saw the surp
rise in his eyes, the flash of hope. The subsequent wariness.

  “Give me some time to think about it, okay?” she asked more quietly. “I just want your word that if . . . if I agree—”

  “I’ll keep you safe, Emma. I wouldn’t harm you. Ever. I only want to challenge you. I want to see you helpless with desire, just as helpless as you’re making me. I want to look into your face and see nothing but pure need.”

  Her mouth dropped open. A rush of heat went through her, a fire set by his raw words and the spark in his gleaming eyes.

  She nodded and stared at her knees. “Okay. Thank you for telling me,” she said through a tight throat. “I’ll think about it. I’m pretty busy with my schedule this week. Are you going to be here this weekend? I have Sunday and Monday off.”

  “I’m leaving on Monday for France,” he said, and her heart plummeted.

  “Sunday afternoon then?” she pressed hopefully.

  He lifted her chin until she met his eyes. “I’ve given you the code to enter the house. I’ll wait for you at the Breakers at around four o’clock on Sunday. And Emma?” he said more intently, his long forefinger brushing against her jaw.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “If you decide you don’t want to be with me, don’t come. It’ll be easier for both of us that way.”

  Emma swallowed thickly and nodded.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She kept herself busy all week with work, but at night, she thought about Vanni and what she wanted . . .

  . . . What she dared.

  She made her decision when she realized that all the dark, erotic dreams she’d been having lately were her own secret wishes, her own desires rising to the surface. It wasn’t just about fulfilling Vanni’s sexual demands. It was about fulfilling her own hunger to be with him . . . even for a short period of time.

  By Saturday night, she knew what she was going to do, and she had a plan for how to give herself some measure of protection.

  Sunday dawned hot and humid. She did some grocery shopping with Amanda. They were getting along fairly well, although Emma insisted on keeping things light and superficial between them. She could tell that her distance pained Amanda—and it pained Emma, too—but her sister had stopped trying to force serious topics, knowing how Emma would respond.

  After they shopped, they stopped at a local sandwich shop, and Amanda asked her if she was feeling all right.

  “Your cheeks are flushed, and you seem kind of out of it. You’ve seemed spacey all day, in fact,” Amanda had said as they stood in line to order, which had necessitated some nonchalant, airy acting on Emma’s part.

  At two thirty that afternoon, she showered and dressed carefully in a sundress and sandals, taking care with her makeup. Her hair reacted to the humidity by turning into a cap of loose, finger-combed curls and waves. She was glad Amanda was nowhere to be seen when Emma scurried through the kitchen and snuck out the back door.

  It felt strange to be pulling up on the back drive of the Breakers, arriving there with such a different intent than she had before, with full knowledge of what she was doing. She was walking into Vanni’s home—Vanni’s world. If her eyes had been determinedly clamped shut before, they were wide-open now.

  Her palms left damp spots on the wheel as she brought her car to a halt.

  She thought the code Vanni had given her would work on any of the entrances to the house, but she took the one she was familiar with through the garage just in case. She knew there was an entrance to the Breakers at the back of the warehouselike underground structure, recalling how Vanni had come through it that night after he’d returned from France in order to meet her. Indeed, she found the door at the back of the garage, which was unlocked. A rush of cool, delightful air-conditioned air rushed over her heated skin as she shut the door behind her. She stood in a long, dim hallway.

  The hallway she entered led past a large kitchen to the right, eventually ending on Cristina’s suite’s level through a door she swore she’d never seen while working there. She flew down the flight of stairs and peered around cautiously, listening. Everything was still and silent. There was no one in sight. Perhaps the day staff had Sundays off? She thought of how unpleasant it would be to run into Mrs. Shaw.

  She hurried down the next two flights of stairs and saw the closed, carved wood door of his suite. Only then did she realize she’d dreamed of taking this path many times.

  Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the handle.

  She saw him immediately when she entered. He sat behind his desk, wearing a dark red, short-sleeved T-shirt. He stood slowly, dropping the pen he’d been holding. Their gaze held as she shut the door behind her. She found herself holding her breath as he sauntered toward her, looking very sexy and just a tad dangerous. In some distant part of her brain she noticed he was dressed casually in jeans, and there was a shadow of whiskers on his angular jaw.

  “You came,” he said quietly, halting a few feet away.

  “I came,” she whispered.

  “Was it difficult to?” he asked, his gaze running over her face and lowering, pausing on the angel at her throat. She was sure the little charm was throbbing in rhythm with her racing heart.

  “It would have been more difficult to stay away.”

  His gaze darted to her face. She gave a little sigh of nervous relief when he stepped forward and took her into his arms, pulling her against him. With his scent tickling her nose, and the feeling of his long, hard body pressed against her, she knew the threshold had been crossed.

  There was no going back.

  “You remember what it was like in the garage, or on the beach?” he murmured, obviously sensing her anxiety. She placed her open hands on his chest and nodded. “It’s not going to be that different, Emma. Just you and me.”

  She met his stare and nodded again. He studied her for a moment before he dropped his arms and took her hand in his. “Come here,” he muttered. He led her over to a leather couch and sat, urging her down into his lap. It felt wonderful to sit there with his hard thighs beneath her, surrounded by his arms. For some reason, his somber gaze on her made her throat ache with emotion.

  “I’ve thought about this a lot all week,” he said. He opened his hands on her hips and circled her ever so subtly in his lap. Her eyes sprung wide when she felt the clear outline of his cock through his jeans. “That isn’t the kind of thing that can be faked. It would be enough for me, if the kind of sex you preferred was what we’ve done so far. Say the word and we’ll leave it at that. I prefer to be the dominant during sex, and I do like restraining a lover and administering light punishments, all with the purpose of amplifying pleasure and excitement, never to harm. But I’m not some kind of card-carrying BDSM master. I’ve always just acted on what feels right to me. When it comes to you, those are things that I could do without, though, if it feels like too much for you.”

  A tingling sensation of warmth went through her flesh. She couldn’t believe he was saying this. She found herself at another crossroads. He was giving her an “out” she hadn’t expected. She stared into his aquamarine eyes, experiencing the sharp focus and depth of his character.

  “Are you forgetting that I admitted to being aroused, despite it all?”

  “No,” he said starkly. “And I’m no fool. I knew you were very responsive to being restrained. I consider myself a pretty good judge of this, and in my opinion, if you trusted enough, you would be a natural sexual submissive.”

  His eyebrows arched, and Emma realized she’d flinched at the last two words.

  “It’s not demeaning, Emma. I said sexual submissive. It’s just a natural dynamic for some people during sex, not others. I’m just saying that I think you have the tendencies, if you trusted your lover enough. If you trusted yourself, you would reap a great deal of pleasure by letting go. From my experience of you so far, I’d hardly call you a submis
sive in any other aspect of life,” he added with a raised brow.

  She smiled at that.

  “I don’t know yet how you’ll respond to more stringent measures, especially now that you’ve labeled it in your mind as a perversity.” She made a sound of protest at the word. “Don’t deny it. I saw the disgust on your face when you described to me what you saw that night. You definitely thought it perverse. But you’re here, and it’s your decision to explore whatever territory you prefer. Leave whatever you choose in the darkness. I’ll respect whatever you decide.”

  * * *

  Emma glanced around the office uneasily, finding it difficult to concentrate with his steady stare on her. It was necessary for her to steel herself, at least until she’d made herself clear to him. She realized she must have replayed the moments being trapped in his study so much that it actually looked familiar to her, despite the fact that it’d only been fleeting seconds that she stood there.

  Or maybe she’d dreamed about it so much.

  She swallowed thickly. “I choose not to prohibit anything . . . until I’m faced with the situation,” she said. “You can . . . introduce me to whatever you like, but—”

  “You have the right to say no. Always,” he finished for her. He raised his dark eyebrows. “Are we in agreement then?”

  “Yes. But there is one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “I heard what you said to Astrid that night about having nothing to offer a woman but sex.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she halted him this time by shaking her head. “I’m not upset about it. At least you’re honest. I can appreciate that. But I’m different than you are, I think. I’m not sure I can have an affair indefinitely and not give away too much of myself.”