"I did what I could," he growled. "I gave it my best effort."
"You call that your best? I’ve seen you lie to me with a lot more finesse. He likes you so much. He listens to you about everything. I counted on you, Ethan. "
Ethan gaped at me with equal parts amusement and shock. "You can’t seriously blame me."
"Yes, I fucking can."
"The man wants to die on his own terms. Jesus Christ, Naomi. Let him."
"No."
Ethan took my face, his thumbs wiping my tears. "I’ve never seen you like this."
I took his hands, intending to fling them off me, but the pity in his gaze broke me. "Like what?"
"Selfish."
I ripped from his grasp, hating him. He was right—I knew he was—but at that moment I loathed everything about him. My escape was scheduled for tomorrow, but I couldn't stand him anymore. I couldn’t breathe in his scent, occupy the same room, or do anything other than hurl insults. Dad was too sick to receive treatment. He no longer cared about a way out. Soon, I wouldn't have a father.
I had zero tolerance for Ethan.
"I’m leaving you," I said.
"No, you’re not."
"It’s over."
"Your Dad might’ve made his choice, but you haven’t thought about the restaurant. All those employees without jobs. Leave me, and I’ll burn it to the ground. You think losing your father will be bad? How about watching his legacy go up in flames?"
"You wouldn’t." I searched him for a shred of compassion. "You’re not that—you like him."
"I tolerate him for you. There’s a difference."
"Please don’t. It’ll devastate him." The more I begged, the more he smiled. "Dad’s weak. You can’t do this."
He silenced me with a thumb on my lip.
"I’ll give you some space because I understand this is a difficult time. You’re upset. You’re not thinking rationally."
"You’re a monster. I wish I’d never laid eyes on you. How’s that?"
He laughed and fished the ring from his pocket. He opened my palm, dropped the ring, and closed my hand.
"I’ll check in with you in a few days."
Naomi
I didn’t sleep a wink. Instead I sipped coffee from a chipped mug, waiting for the caffeine to do its magic. My new apartment was furnished and comfortable, but I spent my first night of freedom wracked with nerves.
I’d left Ethan, but Ethan wouldn’t leave me.
My sleepless night put my emotions into overdrive. I couldn’t think clearly. Fear dominated every response to the question haunting me—What would I do?
Ethan was probably using one of his many PI’s to track me down. Once he found me, he’d buy the apartment building and evict my ass. And then he’d probably do the same to my father. He had enough money to make my life a living hell before he bulldozed my business.
Bitterness curled my tongue as I considered my options. There were none. Graham was the only exit strategy. I hated that. Running into another man’s arms wouldn’t solve my problems. Graham was a mystery. Touching him might’ve felt like home, but I didn’t know him.
Ethan took my independence, piece by piece. Graham might’ve done the same.
Fuck them both.
My phone chimed with a text.
[Unknown]: This is Graham.
[Unknown]: Naomi, I’m coming to get you.
I stabbed a response.
Me: How the hell did you get my number?
[Unknown]: It was easy, which means everyone else probably has it, too. You should come down before the crowd gets unruly.
Me: Wtf are you talking about?
[Unknown]: Look outside.
My heart thundered as I approached the bay windows, phone clenched in my fist. It was loud outside, but I’d ignored the commotion. Manhattan was noisy as hell. Over the years, I learned to block the sound.
I drew open the thick curtain. Blinding light sliced into my eye, revealing a bustling scene. People swarmed the sidewalk and shoved each other. At the sight of me, some of them screamed through the glass.
"Mrs. Hawthorne? Mrs. Hawthorne!"
Shit.
I staggered out of sight and slumped into a chair. They’d found me, which meant Ethan wasn’t far behind.
I lunged for my suitcase. Packing it took less than two minutes. Everything was at Ethan's beside the clothes on my back and the few things I'd managed to smuggle over the last few weeks. I shoved cash deep into the suitcase, zipped it shut, and faced the door.
I'd take a cab and book it out of New York. I didn't care how much it cost.
I walked out of my short-lived sanctuary and stumbled over the threshold. My hand shook as I locked the door and descended the staircase. I blanched when I reached the bottom floor.
It was scary. People pressed against the windows. The crowd fired questions as I dragged my baggage. They backed up as I opened the door. A man whipped his head around as I squeezed past. "Mrs. Hawthorne?"
I ignored the shout and kicked my case through. A thicket of people obscured the way. I bumped into a shoulder and apologized. She did a double take and raised a camera. "Mrs. Hawthorne!"
Suddenly, they surrounded me. Bodies pressed in from all sides as my walk ground to a halt. They invaded my personal space, thrusting cameras forward, standing way too close. I searched for an exit, yanked my suitcase, and stumbled. The handle fell across a reporter’s feet, and he yelped with pain.
"Sorry, sorry!"
My apology was lost in the sea of excited voices. They fired off question after question, each one more insulting than the last. Where are you headed? Are you going home to Graham’s? When did you decide to cheat on him?
The crowd swelled as more people joined its ranks. Someone pushed me. I fell, back slamming into a brick wall. From the ground, I searched for hands offering me help but found only indifference. Cameras flashed from all sides, pressing ever closer. I clawed myself upright, using someone’s shirt as an anchor. The fabric ripped. I fell. Panic bubbled to my throat.
"Get away!"
A strong arm sliced through a narrow gap and seized me. He yanked me effortlessly to a standing position and wrapped his arms around me. It was a protective gesture, one I accepted without question.
Shaking, I balled my fists against the stranger's chest. The hands that held me were gentle. This man wasn’t going to hurt me.
Reporters were buffeted away by a suited team. Seven giant men weaved through, controlling the crowd. They made a passage leading to a black sedan flanked by more bodyguards. One of the team approached me, tugging my arm. "Let’s go."
I looked at the car. He expected me to get inside. "I don't know you!"
The man who held me touched my cheek. He wiped my tears. His hands were soothing. Intimate. He caressed me like a lover. I held him, embarrassed at how much I enjoyed this.
When did I last experience real intimacy?
"You’re safe now."
Graham’s was the last voice I expected.
I froze, meeting Graham’s tawny gaze. Ignoring his bodyguard’s advice to keep moving, he stared at me. "You have to come with me. It’s not safe."
Fuck you.
The words weren’t uttered, but he read the worst from the roll of my eyes.
His full-blown smile was at odds with his graveled speech. "You’re getting in that car if I have to tranquilize your ass and drag you."
Graham didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed my waist and towed me along. The sea of flashing cameras blinded me. Phones recorded my pale expression as insults streamed my way. They wanted to get a rise out of me, but I was paralyzed. Nearly getting trampled to death had stunned me.
I clung to Graham’s jacket. He attempted to disengage from my arms when we reached the car, but I wouldn’t let go. Graham lifted my clenched fist to his mouth and kissed my knuckles.
"You’re safe," he said. "It’s okay."
Butterflies collided with the panic soaring in my chest. Graham lo
oked so much like he did five years ago when he made the promise he broke. His eyes were half-closed with a passionate fire. He pulled me close.
I inhaled his skin. The seductive, cedar scent invaded my blood. He was in my cells.
His lips touched mine, and then I didn’t have a choice.
I kissed him.
He responded with a hard stroke. He crushed his mouth against mine. There was nothing gentlemanly about the kiss. We were dealing with five long years of unfulfilled desire.
It was rapturous.
He held me like five years ago was yesterday. I grabbed his lapels, kissing him with a passion I didn't realize I possessed. He swept me into his arms, and I surrendered to the sweet bliss. A fire long dormant erupted into flames.
Graham angled his head, returning for another hard stroke. All my skin tingled with his touch. He went from my face to my neck. His thumb jumped with my heartbeat.
My mouth met his again and again. The world disappeared as I buried my fingers in his hair. It was slightly longer than I remembered, but he felt the same. He pulled a half-inch away, the smirk that flashed through my memories widening his jaw. I kissed his smile. He dragged his hand down my back.
Ecstasy glowed in my heart. It flooded my veins with a heartbreaking sadness. I had this and lost it. The connection between us was oxygen. It was why I’d settled for a loveless relationship.
Graham pulled away, eyes glazed with emotion. He cradled my cheeks before yanking me into his chest.
He never meant to leave me.
I smiled into his neck. He turned his head.
A harsh whisper hit my ear. "That was perfect."
And I thought I’d run out of the monster’s hands.
Naomi
(Five Years Ago)
"Have you ever been in love?"
That was a loaded question coming from him. So far, my mysterious hookup didn’t have a last name. He was Graham—just Graham. He insisted he was an average guy, but everywhere we went people treated him like royalty, and Mr. Tall and Gorgeous wore an Eton dress shirt. The lustrous blue satin peeked from beneath a gray blazer. Somehow—miraculously—he didn't wear a wedding ring. And even more surprising, he wanted to meet again. I didn't know much about him, other than his name, age, and that he was a fantastic lover.
And now he was asking personal questions.
"No, I’ve never been in love. You?"
He shook his head. Two quick jerks.
I sipped my coffee, wincing at the bright sunlight. We rolled out of bed sometime after ten. I planned to return to my hotel suite and bask in the glow of four orgasms in one night.
I had no desire to cut this short. "Are you married?"
"You’ve asked that twice," he chided, smiling slightly. "The answer’s still no."
"How’s a guy like you single?"
Graham rolled his shoulders with a tragic smile as if he had no idea he was drop-dead gorgeous, but of course he did. "I haven't met anyone like you."
I smiled. He was sweet. "You must be a closet serial killer or a high-profile politician."
"Are those my only two options?"
"Yes."
He plucked a strawberry from the bowl. "Tell me more about you."
Our eyes met over the breakfast table as Graham sucked the strawberry’s juice from his fingers. An image flashed through my head—Graham’s mouth on my nipple. The sensation of Graham’s tongue was vivid. I felt the wet heat circling my breast to the pulsing center.
Heat crawled up my neck. "Me?"
"Yes. The sexy woman who crawled onto my lap without an invitation needs a back story."
"In her defense, she was very, very drunk."
"Why?"
"Does a woman need an excuse to touch you?"
He studied me with a calculating stare that sent a thrill between my legs. He wore the same look when he was above me, thrusting. "It’s hard to know what women want from me."
"Sex," I said, glowing from his laugh. "We like to pretend we’re more complicated than men, but the truth is we like hooking up."
Graham grabbed my hand and massaged my knuckles. He was incredibly warm. "Tell me more."
I blushed from his flattering interest. "I’m twenty-three and enrolled in a culinary school I’m probably going to leave. My dad pressured me into it, but I don’t have the temperament for being a chef. I don’t like waking up at four every morning to prep for dinner service. My dad owns this restaurant in Manhattan. It’s been in the family for almost a hundred years."
"Wow. Sounds amazing."
"Yeah, sure. Except my dad’s almost sixty. He wants to retire, but nobody wants to run the family business."
"Except you?"
"I’m his only child." I avoided the gleam in Graham’s eyes. "It’s complicated."
"Tell me," he insisted.
"You don’t care."
"Talking about you is a great way to pass the time before I drag you into bed, again."
He winked.
God, he was perfect.
Fine, I’d tell him. It’d been too long since I’d gotten this off my chest.
"My father wants me to take up his mantle, but I want to run my own restaurant. He doesn’t know about my plans to quit school."
"Well, as someone who’s known you quite intimately for the past eight hours, I say you should do what you want."
"It’s his whole life." I picked at my food, my appetite waning. "His legacy."
"A hundred years is a great run. Why doesn't he sell the business?"
"He’ll have to when he finds out I don’t want anything to do with it." I chew my lip, my stomach leadened with the responsibility. "It’ll kill him."
"He’ll get over it."
"Are you speaking from experience?"
Graham’s voice deepened. "Maybe."
Who the hell was he? "The suspense is killing me. I have to know who you are."
"I’m nobody."
For someone so keen on staying low on the radar, he was remarkably trusting. Twice, he got up and left for the bathroom, leaving his wallet on the table. His fucking wallet.
I could’ve been anyone. "Graham, come on."
"What’s the name of your restaurant?"
He was an expert at deflecting. "Loretti’s."
"Maybe I’ll pay it a visit sometime."
"That’d be—that’d be nice." Talking to him was like sinking into a hot tub. "How long are you in Vegas?"
"As long as you are."
He was really sweet. "Well, I leave on Tuesday."
"I guess I’m staying until Tuesday." He pushed the plates aside and leaned forward, angling his head for a kiss. I hesitated before pressing my lips to his. The strawberry’s sweetness swept my mouth as he stunned me with kisses.
He was perfect. And I didn’t trust perfect.
Graham
In her eyes, I saw hope. So I killed it.
Hurt blossomed across Naomi’s cheeks, but the press would mistake it for butterflies. I’d ask Ashley to bribe Eliot again. He was the chief editor of the New York Journal whose son was married to a woman connected to the Manhattan Weekly.
My connections in this city were more spiderwebbed than Peter-fucking-Parker. At any rate, I planned to save the emotional story of our touching reunion for a special on Good Morning America. Maybe the Today show. I needed every moment of publicity to combat the hell storm that Ethan was planning.
I waved to the reporters with a cheerful smile, anticipating the headlines: Billionaire’s Wife Returned, and Meet Mrs. Hawthorne!
We ducked inside the car. When the door closed, Naomi ripped from my side and shoved herself in the corner. She tightened her jacket as though I meant to strip her in right then and there. She needed to lighten up.
The driver let off the break and we rolled forward.
"Where are we going?" she snapped.
"Home sweet home."
She glowered at me. "We’re driving away from it."
"You can’t live there
anymore. It’s not safe."
"The hell I can’t!" Naomi yanked the handle. "Open this door."
"You’ll get hurt. Don’t be an idiot."
She gave me an infuriating look of disapproval. Her gaze flicked to the reporters scurrying from her building.
"How did they find me?"
I called a press release. "No idea."
"I signed the lease under a different name. I took two cabs to get here." Naomi was mystified, her fingers still wrapped around the handle. "How?"
It was my fault. No regrets. "Did you use Ethan’s credit card?"
"I’m not a moron." Naomi shot me a glare. "I paid in cash."
"Where’d you find the money?"
"I skimmed the profits off the restaurant."
I whistled in appreciation, a grin broadening my face despite everything. “Very naughty. The IRS won’t like that.”
“I don’t care about tax penalties. I needed to get out of there."
"Why?" I asked.
She kept glancing out the window. "Never mind. I have to go home."
"Absolutely not."
"Graham, this is not up for debate!"
"You’re staying with me," I said with an edge in my voice. "You could kneel and offer me your mouth, and I still won’t take you back." My phone rang. I checked the screen before turning it off. "Wow, that was fast. Your ex is already calling."
"Ethan? Did he see us kiss?"
"Without a doubt." And I hoped it made the asshole’s blood boil.
The color drained from Naomi’s face. "Turn around!"
What bled from her voice was devastation, pure and simple. Perhaps she still had feelings for him. Anger pulsed deep in my core.
"They'll bombard that apartment with reporters until they capture your meltdown on a live feed. My publicist already hates me enough. I won't give her the extra headache."
"I don’t even know you."
No, she didn’t. "This doesn’t thrill me, either. As far as I can tell the last five years sucked all the fun out of you." I watched Naomi shrink against the door with another throb of annoyance. "I’m taking you home, not jail."
"You can’t."
The Marriage Debt Page 6
