by Naima Simone
“Hello, Edward,” Alex drawled over her shoulder.
Fire that had nothing to do with arousal flamed in her chest and rushed to her face. Oh, damn. Turning around, she faced her ex-employer, Edward Patterson. “Hi, Edward,” she cooed, jabbing an elbow in Alex’s stomach. His exaggerated oomph and wicked chuckle did nothing to alleviate the blush heating her cheeks. “You couldn’t have told me he was standing there, huh?” she muttered under her breath.
“No,” he replied, not bothering to lower his voice.
Grinning, Edward pulled her into a hug, then, with one arm still wrapped around her shoulders, extended a hand toward Alex. “Nothing I haven’t heard before, young lady,” he scolded with a laugh. “It’s good to see both of you. Although, I meant to have a word with you two regarding keeping me in the dark about your relationship.” He leveled a mock frown at them.
“Thank you, Edward.” Morgan smacked a kiss on his clean-shaven jaw and stretched an arm toward Alex. When he accepted her hand, twining their fingers together, she smiled. “He’s a keeper,” she murmured.
Conversation switched to business, and she excused herself, searching out one of the waiters bearing the gift of wine. Because did she need some. Stat.
It’d been a week since the day Alex had shown up at Phoenix House. A week since he’d made love to her with such tenderness. She trembled in delight and fear at the memory.
Made love. God. Even her mind had decided to rebel. They didn’t make love. They screwed. Fucked. Bumped uglies.
Keep telling yourself that, sweetie.
Gah. Her conscience, that treacherous bitch, had returned, taunting her with sly remarks and innuendos. Just when she’d believed she’d silenced her. But now that the floodgates had been thrown open, thoughts of that night—and the nights since—poured in like a deluge, threatening to drag her in their confusing, terrifying undertow.
The last seven days had been like a Utopia. Days at Phoenix House, nights with Alex—dinners, watching movies, or reading books in his amazing library. And then afterward… She placed a palm over her fluttering belly as she wound a path through the crowd. Afterward, he devastated her in bed with his intense, passionate brand of sex. While under him…or over him, or under him…he made her forget everything but him. And in the quiet moments, when sweat dried on their skin and his heartbeat thudded under her ear, she struggled to remember this was temporary. That the only real thing between them was the sex.
And the fight had become harder and harder to win.
Because, like tonight, they would attend some function where he smiled and flirted with her. Stared at her with affection in his eyes. The lines between reality and pretend kept blurring, and at some point, they had remained fuzzy, no longer clear.
And that scared the shit out of her.
Troy. Falling for him had made sense. On paper and in real life. He’d been stable, solicitous, financially secure, well established in the community… Alex, though. Loving him made as much sense as punching herself in the face. He was only in Boston for a little while—as long as it took to turn Lier Industries around so he could sell it off. He’d been disappointed and abandoned by so much, he didn’t know how to love—or didn’t want to. Any way a person looked at it, he seemed a shady bet.
Yet…
“Morgan,” a smooth, cultured voice she knew all too well spoke from behind her.
Oh God.
She froze, going still except for the heart pounding against her rib cage.
It couldn’t be. God wouldn’t be so cruel. Not here. Not now.
But as a tuxedo-clad figure appeared in front of her, she supposed God had more important things occupying His time than saving her from this uncomfortable, embarrassing confrontation.
As if she’d conjured him up with her thoughts, her ex-fiancé stood before her, a glass of white wine in one hand, and the other stuffed into the pocket of his pants.
“Hello, Troy,” she greeted, preventing the turmoil inside her from leaking into her voice.
“It’s, uh…good to see you,” he said.
She refused to lie; it was not good to see him. Actually, she could’ve gone the rest of her life without the pleasure. So she remained quiet, and an awkward silence fell between them.
Anger simmered in her belly, but the expected maiming rage didn’t stir or surface. She studied his dark brown, neatly trimmed hair and handsome features. He hadn’t changed…but she had.
His pleasant appearance didn’t do anything for her anymore. Not when they paled in comparison to dark, closely cut hair, stormy grey eyes, and a carnal mouth that promised all manner of wicked acts. But more than his appearance, he didn’t incite the warm pleasure he used to. Yes, she still possessed the desire to knee him in the nuts for his cowardly handling of their relationship, but at some point since she’d found him and Cynthia together, he—both of them—had ceased wielding power over her emotions.
Maybe it’d started the evening Cynthia called with the news about the impending sale of the building, and Morgan hadn’t caved or given in to self-pity, but figured out a solution to save Phoenix House. Maybe it’d been the night at Malcolm’s home when Alex had defended her from that guest’s catty remarks. Or maybe it’d been each time Alex drowned her in his particular brand of passion, showing her that she would’ve settled for an existence of muted greys with Troy instead of the live-out-loud, Technicolor life she enjoyed now.
Then again, maybe it was a combination of all those moments and many more.
The truth was, other than wanting to yell, Man up, she didn’t care for Troy. Didn’t love him. Didn’t hate him. Just nothing.
God, it was liberating.
And she owed that freedom to one person. Alex. If not for him, she might still be wallowing in self-pity and insecurity. His desire for her had restored her confidence in her sexuality and femininity. And yes, not to toot her own horn, but she deserved credit, too. Alex had definitely kick started the process of her healing, but Morgan would’ve eventually arrived there on her own. She harbored no doubt about that. Before she’d met Alex, she’d withstood the gossip, whispering, and humiliation. And had come out stronger on the other side for it. No thanks to Troy or Cynthia.
He cleared his throat. “I’m a little surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you enjoyed the ballet.”
“I don’t. A friend of mine couldn’t make it at the last minute, so I came in her place,” she explained. “Well, enjoy your evening—”
“Wait.” He went to grasp her arm, but with one look from her, lowered it. “I’m sorry. Can I have a minute to speak with you?”
Seriously? He wanted to do this here, with a theater full of people watching?
“No, thank you. Maybe another time.” As in the 32nd of Junevember. “If you’ll excuse me…”
She took a step forward, but this time, he did lightly catch her right above the elbow. “Please, Morgan. This won’t take long. And then I promise not to bother you again,” he murmured.
Sighing, she met his gaze and noted the plea in them. Bad idea, that voice in her head cautioned. Didn’t she know it? But damn if her curiosity didn’t rear its stubborn head.
“Fine,” she relented. “But I only have a couple of minutes.”
“Thank you.”
She allowed him to guide her through the crowd to a less-populated hall. He didn’t stop until they reached the end of the corridor near a tall window, its velvet drapes drawn back by gold tassels. The voices of the partygoers dimmed to a low murmur here, and the window’s thick glass prevented the Saturday evening traffic from reaching them.
Tucking both hands in his tuxedo pants’ pockets, he faced her. “Again, thank you for hearing me out.”
She shrugged. “You’re welcome,” she said and waited. Impatiently.
“I heard the news about your engagement to Alexander Bishop,” he murmured. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Her relationship with Alex couldn’t be the reason he’d requested
this talk. “Troy, look—”
“I’m sorry, Morgan,” he blurted. Then, shaking his head, a rueful smile curved his lips. “I wanted to be smoother than this. But I wanted to apologize. For hurting you.”
“You already did that, remember?” she reminded him, unable to prevent a tinge of bitterness from creeping into her voice. Well, damn, maybe she wasn’t as kumbaya as she’d thought. Inhaling, she shook her head. “Another apology isn’t necessary. So if that’s all…”
“No, it’s not. There were some things I should’ve said that night or right after, but I was too much of a coward to seek you out.” He briefly closed his eyes before meeting hers once more. “I don’t think you realize how…bright you shine. Everything about you is blinding. Your beauty, personality, intelligence, wit. And the shadow you cast is wide and long. Several times I found myself in that shadow, and in the beginning, I didn’t mind. But as time passed, I resented you for it. And that’s my fault, my insecurity,” he hurried to add. “Yet, I couldn’t help the way I felt. Asking you to be less than who you were wouldn’t have been fair to you, and I would’ve been a petty jerk. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I ended up doing it anyway. And for that I’m so sorry.”
He huffed out a breath. “I know it’s terribly cliché, but I needed you to know that it really wasn’t you, but me. Maybe I wasn’t strong enough, dynamic enough, just enough for you. But jealousy not of other men, but of your own fiancée wasn’t a good foundation for marriage. I would’ve made you miserable because of it. I would’ve eventually ended up doing the very thing I tried to avoid—sucking the life out of you. I love Cynthia, but I will admit to you, it was my own insecurity and need to be needed that led me to her. That had me taking the coward’s way out of our relationship instead of just coming to you, being honest, and ending it. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for that, but I hope, one day, I can have your forgiveness.”
Shock streaked through her, leaving her speechless. This…confession she hadn’t expected. For him to admit his weakness to her must’ve cost some of his pride. It was honorable and, well, nice. Because she had blamed herself, and his desire to absolve that guilt from her stripped down one of the walls she’d built around her heart since his betrayal. Here, before her, stood the man she’d convinced herself she’d loved.
She said “convinced herself,” because it hadn’t been love. Not the deep, abiding kind that a marriage required to endure and survive the rough patches that every relationship inevitably faced. Not the delicate but strong kind that could offer comfort and a gentle hand, and in the next second curl into a fist and strike at anything that would dare have the balls to attack it. Not the passionate, hungry kind that promised lust tempered by affection. Not the fierce kind that would weather and endure the years.
No, she could honestly concede she hadn’t loved Troy like that. Not now that she’d experienced that kind of love.
With Alex.
Holy shit.
She loved Alex.
Pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, she exhaled, inhaled. How had she let it happen? She’d vigilantly guarded herself against this very thing, knowing he didn’t desire a future with her. Yet, love had sneaked past her defenses and laid siege to her heart like the stealthiest, sneakiest of invaders.
Joy and an almost crushing sadness filled her chest, the pressure causing tears to sting her eyes. Lowering her hand, she turned to the window, blinking rapidly at the moisture, refusing to let one drop fall. She loved him, and he didn’t want her. Not like that. Could there be anything more doomed to failure than this emotion tearing her in two?
“Are you okay?” Troy asked, resting a hand on her bare shoulder.
She stepped back and away from his hold. Having another man’s touch on her just seemed…wrong. “Yes,” she rasped. “I’m fine.” Forcing a smile to her trembling lips, she tipped her chin up. “Thank you for your apology, Troy. I accept it.”
Pivoting, she strode down the hallway, searching for a bathroom. An escape. From him, from people, from the heaviness that weighed on her shoulders like an albatross.
Too bad she couldn’t escape herself.
…
Alex followed Morgan into the foyer of her Back Bay brownstone. She flipped on the overhead light, but even without it, he noticed the tense set of her shoulders, the stiffness of her body, the rigidity in her usually fluid stride. She’d been quiet and withdrawn since the after party at the ballet.
Since she’d disappeared with Troy Worthington.
He’d been waiting for her to bring up the topic of her ex. To mention what happened between them. Hell, to just mention him.
But she hadn’t.
Why?
The question had been nagging him for the last hour and a half—for the rest of their time at the theater and the ride to her house. He wasn’t proud of the ugly, dark feeling that wound through his veins like a greasy oil slick. Technically, since he was only her fake fiancé, he had no legitimate right to ask her. He had no right to the anger stirring inside him like a flickering flame. No right to demand anything from her outside the boundaries of their engagement.
And none of that mattered a damn.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Morgan nodded, glancing over her shoulder with a small smile that didn’t reach her pretty eyes. “Yes, I’m fine.”
She moved into the living room, removing her cape and tossing it on one of the big, comfortable armchairs dotting the room. He leaned a shoulder against the jam and crossed his arms.
“I saw you talking to Troy.” He studied her, caught the slight flinch of her shoulders, the minute lowering of her chin. His gut tightened, and his fingers curled into his arms.
“Yes,” she finally said. “He wanted to speak with me. To apologize.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Really? That’s it?” He was pressing her, but couldn’t stop himself. What did he want? The dirty details? A word-for-word account of their conversation?
Hell yes.
“That’s it,” she replied, turning to him. “What do you think happened? That he changed his mind about Cynthia and professed his undying love for me?” She scoffed. “Or maybe I let him lead me to a dark corner and let him get a quick, cheap thrill?” She laughed, and the crack of the hard, bitter sound raked his exposed nerves like a grate. “No and no.”
He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”
Her sharp gasp punched the air as if he’d delivered a verbal blow. She tried to conceal a flinch but didn’t succeed. But seconds later, her chin hiked up, eyes narrowed on him. “I’m not your ex-wife,” Morgan snapped. “I’m guessing she’s who you’re referring to.”
Yeah, he had been. Toward the end of their marriage, Helena had disappeared from a party or two with a man. Later, she’d screamed at him that it’d been to get a rise out of him. To see if he would come after her and prove he loved her. But he hadn’t. Mainly because, by then, he hadn’t cared. He’d checked out. But seeing Morgan disappear with Troy had resurrected the memories. And though he hadn’t followed after her, either, it had taken everything in him not to charge across the theater and shove the other man on his ass.
“Are you still in love with him?” The question stunned him; he hadn’t meant to ask it. And from the slight widening of her eyes, he’d surprised her as well. In the silence that followed, he could’ve rescinded it, told her never mind, don’t answer it. But he didn’t. Because he wanted to know. Needed to know.
“No,” she said. “I’m not in love with him. Maybe…” She halted, wrapped her arms around her torso. “Maybe I never was.”
Alex straightened, stepping down into the living room. “When did you come to that revelation? Tonight?”
“Yes,” she said, her tone almost defiant. “Among…other things.” Sighing, she tunneled her fingers through her hair and lowered to the wooden coffee table behind her. “I thought I did. If you’d have asked me a f
ew months ago, I would’ve said yes, I loved him. That night, I showed up at his apartment with a picnic basket and wine to surprise him with a romantic dinner, I would’ve said yes. I was hopeful then. I had my life planned out. A good, stable husband. A family. Security. I was…happy, and if the passion wasn’t Chernobyl level, well, that kind of lust belonged in romance novels and Lifetime movies. Honestly, I didn’t believe I was capable of that kind of need anyway, so I wasn’t disappointed in that department.”
I don’t want to hear this. He choked back the words. Because he wanted her to continue, but listening to her talk about her love life with another man… His fingers itched with the need to pick something breakable up and slam it into pieces.
“But then I walked in, and something—woman’s intuition, instinct, I don’t know—warned me to be quiet. I headed to the living room, and there they were, standing together in front of the window, their bodies outlined. Except for his hand on her cheek, they weren’t touching. But they didn’t need to be. I could hear their words. Troy’s words. He was telling Cynthia how much he loved her, needed her. Couldn’t live another day without being able to claim her for his own. They ripped into me with a pain I hadn’t felt since my dad died. But more than the words was the passion in his voice. The same passion I’d convinced myself we didn’t need to have a beautiful life together. It…broke something in me. And even before I dropped that picnic basket on the floor and they noticed me, I knew what we shared had ended. I think… I think if I’d caught them in bed together, it would’ve hurt less. Lust I could understand, even compete with. But the love he’d declared for her? The bottom line was she owned his heart, and I had nothing. And in that moment, I felt like nothing.”
“He’s a blind, idiotic asshole,” Alex growled.
Rage surged through him. For her. For the pain she’d experienced. Even when Helena left, he’d felt more relief than anger or hurt. It had almost been like he could breathe since the proverbial shoe had dropped. He’d been waiting for her to leave him, and when she had, he could move on, his expectations realized. But, regardless of whether Troy and Cynthia had been fucking or not, the betrayal had devastated Morgan. And for that, he couldn’t forgive the rat bastard or her sister.
