Love has done a turn on Kristina Dane. But a few hours in the company of a handsome stranger pulls her back from the brink of disillusionment and into a game of seduction that culminates in their unconventional marriage.
But Kris soon learns that life as the wife of the enigmatic and wealthy Nicholas Brent is not as blissful as she’d anticipated. Spurred into a world of affluence and press intrusion, she struggles to hold on to Nick’s heart as the return of old flames dents their relationship even further. As circumstances beyond their control expose their deepest fears, can they weather the series of storms together?
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Love’s Pendulum
Copyright © 2011 Raychel Lane
ISBN: 978-1-55487-857-4
Cover art by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Devine Destinies
An imprint of eXtasy Books
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Smashwords Edition
Love’s Pendulum
By
Raychel Lane
Dedication
To Emma
Prologue
“Take off the damn thing. It doesn’t suit you.”
It threaded from her left. Deep and comfortable. She mentally fit together the physical components that could match the abrasive cynicism. They weren’t dismissive, but the conjurations failed to end her finger’s lazy trace of the wedding band that had been preoccupying her for a while now. “Someone’s clearly had one too many to start dispatching advice to strangers.”
“Drink has nothing to do with this,” he said.
“Oh?”
“I could be the voice of your mother telling you to get rid of that caratless piece of junk.”
She felt her nostrils flare. “It’s eighteen carats if you must know and there’s no way you could be my mother.”
“What, not pretty enough?”
“She doesn’t wear pants.”
He laughed. “Your conscience then.”
“It took two martinis to silence its input.”
“The anguished ring?”
“It kisses my supple skin. What’s it got to complain about?”
“I have to admit. Stubbornness I did not anticipate.”
There was a smile in his voice and she felt her own lips respond. “Thanks a lot, Mom.”
“I like it.”
She sighed. It was her attempt to end the exchange she had no energy to prolong. After a few minutes, she felt compelled to ask, “What else gets you off there, Mr. Nosy?”
“Supple skin.” It was a mock and she smiled despite herself. “One I wouldn’t mind giving pleasure to until the dead are disturbed by certain cries…” He laughed at her down bent cringe. “Touched a needy nerve there, did I?”
Staring straight ahead, she drained the raspberry martini from the glass. “You have the bed side manner of an ally dog.”
“Cliché much?”
She shrugged. “Pawn it off to my good mood. And for the record, it used to take far less to drag a man home with me from a bar.”
“Certainly not this bar.”
“What, too high end for me?”
“No. I’d have noticed.”
“A regular, huh.”
“You could say that.”
“Just so we’re clear, no cries will be elicited on certain supple skins tonight.”
Again he laughed. “Is that a fact?”
“One you can’t bet against.”
“As much as I would enjoy taking you up on that, something tells me that I’d spectacularly lose.”
She froze. It was after a while that she spoke again. “What makes you so sure.”
“The odds are stacked up against me.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Well, for starters, you’re in mourning.”
She shifted uncomfortably on her stool, because he was dead on, and the drinks were doing nothing to help her forget the memories she’d come here to drown. At the thought, she gestured the bartender for a refill.
“How long was the marriage?” he asked finally.
“Three years.”
“He left.”
She didn’t like his tone. Or the fact that he knew her so well. “Maybe I was the one who left. Did you stop to think about that?”
“No, because if you had, you’d be out with your girlfriends, showering some nineteen-year-old with twenties who finds pride and college funds strutting his junk.”
That had been yesterday’s itinerary. It had been fun and relieving, but it hadn’t stopped her from crying herself to sleep when her friends had dropped her off at four o’clock in the morning.
“What I don’t seem to get is your hung up on the ring. When it’s obvious you don’t want it there.”
“It’s stuck, if you must know.” They’d tried everything, but all it had done was lose its luster and acquire some more dents, leaving her finger in a permanent swell.
“Allow me the honor.”
“No.” She moved her hand away from his reach before releasing the pressure from her chest in a shaky sigh. “I don’t want any pain tonight.”
“The lady will have what she wants.”
A tilt of her head at the softly spoken remark brought his face within focus and a hot slash made its way through her veins, unable to control its travel. She also couldn’t explain the rushed pound of her heart and despite her collective attempts at logic, she found herself engaged in a classic double take. It was a while before she realized she was staring and the heat that had sprung up on her cheeks doused the rest of her skin in a slow bathe.
She forced herself to look away, grateful for the dim visibility in the near empty bar now that the stranger had robbed her of something very precious. A few moments later, she watched from the corner of her eye as the bartender returned to attend to his glass, a service that had been rendered one too many times. “Think you’ve had enough of those?”
“Now look whose acting mom.”
“I think I’ve earned the right.”
“Have you now,” he drawled.
She nodded. A discreet glance at his left hand revealed no jewelry of any kind. He caught her covert scrutiny and she quickly glanced away, her face flaring up again.
“I have my own faces to forget,” he offered.
“Plural.”
“I won’t apologize.”
“Typical.”
The bartender returned for yet another refill and she stopped him just as he was leaving. “Let that be his last call because at this rate, I’ll be obliged to see him home safely and I don’t feel like being a good citizen tonight.”
The uniformed man cast her companion an uncertain glance before he turned back to her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t do that.”
“Oh? And why not?” she asked, peeved by his refusal.
“He owns the bar.”
Her neck twisted in time to watch amusement tug on the stranger’s lips. The bartender sent her an apologetic shrug, then moved on to attend to another customer.
“Figures.” She snorted.
“What.”
“The easy prey I apparently am.”
He frowned. “That’s not fair.”
“Scene not familiar enough for you there, mister? Bar owner, lonely girl at the counter—”
“Building owner actually.”
“Well, excuse me!” she snapped, turning away to hide the tears that suddenly pricked. She was far too vulnerable tonight, and it was definitely time to call a cab.
“Here, let me do that.”
Before she could catch on to his meaning, long fingers overruled her own to brush back the annoying dark lock that kept straying in a fall over her forehead. She knew that she’d jerked at his touch because sensations began to hum along the unsteady drum of her heart and she felt some forgotten element in her acknowledge without shame that she’d known him all her life.
It was a while before she mustered the courage to meet his eyes again and the pull of their dark depths left her helpless in that stare that refused to end, their hard penetration erasing her anger.
“What are you doing to me?” she blurted.
“I don’t know, but I sure as hell want to find out.”
She was drunk. She had to be to suddenly long for his kiss. God knows she’d never looked at Sam with the same longing and in a sudden spurt of insanity, she wanted to tell him her most intimate secret. Her worst nightmare. Her dreams.
Her entanglement in the innate emotion suspended abruptly when he stood up and spilled some bills onto the counter. “C’mon. Help me drive this off.”
He towered high as she watched. Then the dark eyes spoke. Trust me.
“Trust you?” she echoed.
He offered his hand. “What have you got to lose?”
The road was bright from the glare of the yellow streetlamps that lined the highway and the only sound that wove with their silence was the finely tuned engine of the car he maneuvered with moderate speed. She was waiting to delve into a fit of panic, again going over the risks against her. That it was the middle of the night and she was strapped in a stranger’s cruiser with no clue as to where he was taking her, driving her farther away from her schedule that was nothing more than a rendition of tears on her pillow. Yet she had never felt calmer in her life.
“Do you always gawk at your drivers?”
“Someone’s certainly full of themselves tonight,” she said, not in the least bit embarrassed about being caught.
He laughed. It was a nice, rich sound. “Well, do you?”
“Only when the level of my sanity is in question.”
“I know the feeling.”
The car came to take a left, then rolled into the parking lot of a diner with a beetroot sign that screamed, 24 Hour Meals!
It was 2:09.
He held her hand as they walked in, earning them knowing stares from the smattering of diners in the room that boasted a black and white checkered floor. They were seated at the furthest table in the corner and she heard him order coffee and apple pies amid the buzzing in her ears. Her search remained frantic for a definable term to explain the surge of feelings that were coursing through her. Two failed relationships by the ripe old age of thirty had ensured to jade her perspectives, earning her infamy among her friends for her cynical views on life.
“Don’t do that,” he said, leaning over to iron out the frown that had formed with his thumb.
The contact did nothing to end the measureless dash of her heart, drawn to an imperceptible element about him. Like everyone else, she had no doubt that he had secrets, but she felt like she knew them all. That she could easily reach out and touch the blemishes they’d left on the walls of his heart. She quickly glanced away to break his unrelenting stare, afraid of what he’d confess if she asked.
“The scar…” A thin line that marred the skin on his left forearm that was casually resting on the table and exposed by the rolled up sleeve of his white pin-stripe shirt. “What happened?”
He felt over it. He had such long fingers. “High school brawl over Nancy Cole.”
“Who won?”
“Me.”
“And?”
“She left me for the other guy.”
“Fool.”
“He was popular.”
“Still fool,” she murmured despite herself, aware that she could stare at him forever and fail to notice the hostile takeover of aliens. There was a magnetic, razor-sharpness about him, like nothing got past those intense eyes just as she couldn’t get past how incredibly chiseled his face was. Their orders came too soon.
“Is this what helps those double whisky shots?” she asked in between mouthfuls of the warm, delicious pie.
“Nothing helps actually,” he said and he countered her wry expression with a grin. “I just love the place. Used to hang out here a lot when I was younger and although the ownership has changed hands a couple of times, the pie, the best one anywhere, I might add, has remained their signature attraction since.”
“It’s an easy addiction,” she agreed. “Though I find it hard to believe that you still manage to beat traffic to come all the way out here for pie.”
“I don’t actually, and the fact that they don’t have a delivery service makes it all the worse.”
“Why don’t you just get the recipe and have your housekeeper prepare it whenever you like,” she said before her chewing paused in reaction to his raised eyebrows. “Insult?”
His smile was slow. “Accurate.”
When he didn’t add anything, but just watch her in that way that made her fall in love with his eyes again, she shifted on her seat. “Well?”
“Every blank check has been returned with polite regrets.”
She laughed before she resumed eating. There was something about him she couldn’t quite shake off. Like she’d seen him before, knew him from somewhere. A few diners kept glancing their way and this only mounted her curiosity. Maybe he was in the arts, she assessed. He did fit the bill. Expensively dressed, tall, lean… Carey would flip. But that same element about him made her assumptions seem absurd.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Staring.”
“Sorry.” She wasn’t.
“You do that a lot.”
“I apologized.”
“I’m flattered though.”
“Go to hell.”
“Don’t be rude.” He was smiling. A toe-curling kind.
“I’m the nicest person in the world.”
“That should make it interesting.”
“What would make what interesting?”
“Your reaction…to our courtship.”
She choked.
“Are you alright?”
She wasn’t, and his inhumanely calm demeanor found her searching his face for any symptoms of lunacy. It confounded her to find that there were none, considering what she’d just heard! “I’m sorry, but did you just say courtship? I—I mean, are you referring to a man’s attempts to win the affections of a woman with the intention of marrying her?”
“English major?”
“Business. Don’t change the subject.” But as she waited, wondering whether he could hear the fracas in her chest, he continued to watch her in that disarming way. “This is the point where you explain yourself, mister,” she managed finally.
“I thought I just did.”
She read into his intense gaze, read into what he wasn’t saying, and it made her faint. “This isn’t 1790.”
“I know. But wouldn’t life be less complicated if people just said what they were thinking?”
She watched as his hand reached over and covered her clenched fist on the table.
“Especially when what they were thinking is so obvious.”
“Now you’re a closet psychic?” she croaked.
“Not when your eyes are doing all the talking.”
Her swallow was hard. “That’d be the martinis.”
“Humor won’t get you out of this.”
“Don’t do this,” she heard herself whisper. Don’t be another Sam. Of course she wanted him. To remind her what sensuality felt like. Just for a couple of hours. So what was all this talk about—
“Marry me.”
She promptly bit her tongue and tasted blood. The lukewarm coffee was quickly drained in a single gulp, but it was a useless balm against the dull throb in her mouth. She extracted her hand from his grasp only to miss it almost immediately. “Tell me I didn’t hear what I just did. Because that would make you one hilarious guy.”
When he didn’t say anything, she floundered. “Marry you? I—I…” What. When she’d already envisioned them running out of the cathedral and into a convertible labeled just married.
“What are you mulling over?”
“The fact that we, you—I’m traditional?”
“What, dinner dates and theatre rounds with picnics and family reunions thrown somewhere in between?”
“Those are the conventional steps to a full blown relationship!” she sputtered.
“You’re over that,” he said, his voice a caress and she swore that he had access to her journal. “Strong, yet fragile.” He found her other hand and brought its back to his lips. “And I have an overwhelming urge in my gut to protect you.”
“Protect me from what,” she managed, burning from the warmth of his touch.
“Yourself.”
He had gone through her journal, she thought, the color intensifying on her face. “You must be legendary with pickup lines,” she accused, only to regret the words. But as she watched, he gave no indication that her sarcasm had left any impact.
“Try another one.”
Another of her milliard reasons why her happiness deserved to remain derailed. It was an art she’d mastered, and he’d found her out. “I met you in a bar,” she pointed out weakly.
“As opposed to a church aisle or a supermarket parking lot?”
A neat list of all her safe places. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“You’re easy,” he said gently.
“I’ve been told.”
She tried to summon her better judgment to steer her through the muddle of emotions but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “Please don’t look at me like that,” she said, drawing back on her seat.
It was befuddling, the way he looked at her and she longed to see herself through his eyes. Her last glance at the mirror confirmed that she’d aged a clean decade thanks to long nights out and an endless decantation of tears. Yet in those same eyes, she knew she would never get over, wonder was ripe in their depths. The feeling that she’d known him all her life returned and refused to let go.
“What’s your excuse for being at the bar?” she asked in an attempt to rein in her objectivity and she watched his eyes narrow.
“I told you. I have my own face to forget.”
“Face now is it?”
“A certain blonde,” he confirmed after a while.
“Your wife?”
“No wife.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Kids I should know about?”
His mouth quirked at the corners. “Too busy.”
“Now or is that your permanent stance?”
His gaze turned teasing. “I’m willing to make concessions.”
She cleared her throat, wishing that the heat on her face would stop betraying her so easily. “Who’s she then?”
“Someone I’ve had a long history with.”
“Where’s she tonight?”
His eyes bore into her mind. “She’s gone.”
“I don’t know about you, but we’re what one night stands are made of,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“It’s not your body alone that I want.”
A shiver ran through her at the bluntness of his words and she quickly crossed her arms to suppress it. “I refuse to be your vulnerable rebound.”
Something in his eyes changed. “Is that what you think this is?”
Again she felt ashamed of her words. “Can you honestly blame me?”
“She’s been gone a long time.”
Elation fluttered somewhere in her chest because it was the same conclusion she’d come to about Sam. “Story of our lives, huh?”
“What about your husband?”
“He left me for someone else, someone more his speed. Younger and firmer, if you can believe it.”
“Bastard,” he muttered.
She shook her head, wishing she could shake off the last three years just as easily. “I can’t hate him.”
“I can.”
Her hands began to fidget nervously and she returned them to the table. “It’s not your nightmare.”
“It’s mine now. It’s ours.”
She felt the tears threaten and he reached over and captured her hands in his. “I don’t want to make you any promises—”
“Then—”
“—except that you can trust me. With forever.”
As she saw the same words reflect from his eyes, she felt the injection of life into her soul, and it scared her because her very all gravitated to it.
“Deny that there’s something here,” he murmured hauntingly. “Look at me and deny yourself.”
She felt her head move in limp negation. “I—I can’t do that.”
“Marry me then.”
Yes. “I’m already married.”
“Not by this week’s end, if you leave me with all the details.”
“Lawyer?”
“Ouch, no.”
She turned to watch the last of her senses flee the room. “I met you less than three hours ago and I’m already engaged?”
His lips grazed the back of both her hands. “It’s not such a terrible thing.”
It was the perfect thing. That was the problem.
Ten minutes later, they were back in the car and heading west, quiet now that all had been said. It sent shivers down her spine.
“Still cold?”
She turned to him and smiled. “No.”
He had slipped her into his jacket before they’d pulled away from the diner and it was snuggly enough and felt very much like him. Warm, with a scent that would forever linger with its intoxication. Like his kiss would.
More curves away from the highway, the cruiser took one final turn down a narrow lane before they were allowed through a secure gate. He brought the car to a halt before what she could only describe as a mammoth white house.
“It’s nice,” she said finally to break the silence. It may as well have been a gravel pit.
“Thank you.” It was quietly said, and enough. He came around and helped her out of the car, not letting go of her hand as they walked through the dimly lit silence and up a series of stairs to the second floor where he ushered her into a large room, shutting the door behind him.
It was all that a master bedroom should be, she observed in her cursory glance, winded by the thought of what was coming. She watched as he went about turning off all the lamps in the room, as though telepathic to her silent plea before his silhouette made its approach. It was an inevitable dream she was ensconced in, all she’d thought about since their eyes had first met. What he would feel like and, when he drew her into his arms, his breathing as un-paced as her own, the shivers returned to flood her body, welcoming the cautious brush of his lips before a sigh escaped her when his kisses roamed north to shut each eye. A hand slipped from stroking his dark, silken hair to feel over his mouth. Warm breath fanned through her fingers and a new sensation surged in her blood.
“The way you look at me,” she whispered. “No one has ever…”
“You’re beautiful.”
She could feel the intensity of his stare in the dark and she trembled. “Don’t hold back.”
The heat that doused her when his kiss captured her lips again assured her that he was not about to, his hands discarding the jacket just as she pulled apart the buttons of his shirt, every fiber in her being clamoring for more. She proved to be the most impatient when she took it upon herself to drag down the rest of their clothes, agonized by the trace of his fingertips over her skin as he crawled over her on the bed, bringing to life concupiscent crevices she’d forgotten about, his voice husky and approving over every flushed contour.
Whenever an implosion strained to escape, his touch eased off, propelling her to cry out for more and she feverishly absorbed his unrepentant exploration, the unfelt sensations tantalizing. Her own flickering discovery mapped his taut surfaces and their bodies arched in the timeless rhythm, tasting and teasing, suckling until the spawned pleasures could not be staved off any longer and in one staggering motion, he had her trapped beneath him, casting aside her limbs and invading her. The heat he brought skewered, his strong strokes summoning ceaseless moans from her lips, stoking their desire with every deepening thrust and she rose to meet him, colliding in the fury of their flow, soaring together as the quench to every hunger was sought before a sudden, rupturing shimmer was all that existed, engulfing them in its glow.
They calmed each other down with admiring kisses and caresses, sated and weak as the pulsing amended into quiet echoes, the future distinctively clear.
“I wasn’t dreaming then,” was the first thing she said when her eyes gave in to wakefulness and opened.
He shook his head.
“Was I snoring?” she asked.
“No.”
“Drooling?”
He laughed. “No.”
She took her time stretching languidly between the black satin sheets before she sent a shy smile to the handsome face that was watching her from a crooked arm. “And how long have you been staring at me like that?”
“A while.”
Her face flushed. “I didn’t stand a chance, did I, to redeem my appearance.”
“You’re perfect.”
“And your hangover has made you kind.”
An eyebrow lifted. “How self-conscious are you?”
“You have no idea. But for now, let’s see.” She raised both index fingers and held them apart. “About this mu—”
His kiss drowned the rest of her words, his parrying tongue reigniting passions of a few hours before and she willfully surrendered to the sweet torture, in love with his need to create a memory. The familiar rise below his groin found her arching further into him before she abruptly pulled away. “Wait, wait, wait!”
He ignored her, his lips finding her neck.
“I don’t even know your name!” She gasped.
“What’s in a name?”
She tried to get him serious by pushing him away, and then not. “I just want to prepare for my introduction as Kris Rumpelstilskin.”
He laughed, rolling her under him. “With a K or a C?”
“K. For Kristina.”
“Beautiful,” he murmured, skillfully nudging her legs apart. “But nothing close to its owner.”
“Kristina Rumpelstilskin,” she echoed before surrendering to another of his kisses. It took sheer will power to pull away again. “I don’t like it.”
“Try Brent then.”
“Nice.” And familiar.
“Now Kristina with a K, will you shut up and give me your body?”
“Not until first names are established.”
“Nick.”
Nick. Nick. Nick Brent. The merge of the names froze the lazy trace of her fingers down his spine. The rest of her body followed before the dreamy expression crumbled from her face. “Nicholas Brent?”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “What’s with the attitude?”
“Reality,” she said, jerking away from him and finding herself at the right edge of the bed.
He rolled after her, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck. “Hey, lady, I believe you’ve just insulted me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away from his embrace and stepping out of the bed. She picked out his shirt from the pile of clothes on the floor and after throwing it on, she walked through the French door at the far right end of the room and onto a spacious balcony.
The strong afternoon sun she encountered failed to reignite her spirits from minutes before and she collapsed into one of the white divans she found there, struggling to fend off the crushing disappointment.
It didn’t take him long to join her and dressed in a white terry robe, he grabbed an independent seat and placed it so close to hers that when he sat down, his exposed knees nudged her own. “Okay. What the hell was that back there?”
God, he was beautiful. The media had never done him justice and her core scraped with renewed ache. “That was reality checking in,” she said, sweeping a hand through her dark brown strands.
“Whose?”
“Mine. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what.”
“You own the bar? How about two thirds of the city!” she accused.
“So we’ll never be poor,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “What has that got to do with anything?” When she didn’t reply, his dark eyes narrowed. “Was I wrong? Is who I am capable of altering what’s happening here?”
A practical voice wanted to blurt out an affirmative, but when she thought about never looking into those eyes again, never experiencing the sensory bliss of his touch, a defeated sigh escaped her lips. “You tell me, now that the face you came to forget at the bar is not so forgettable after all. The actress, right? Silver Wayne?”
After studying her for a minute, he nodded. “You care?”
Jealous as hell was what she was. Of the bombshell that was Silver Wayne, and she was suddenly curious about the circumstances that had led to their much publicized split. “I can’t marry you.”
He sighed. “Let me guess. Something to do with certain clauses pertaining to rebounds?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “That, and my preference for a quiet, picket-fenced life in the suburbs.”
“I didn’t take those angry tattoos for the suburbs.”
She laughed before self-consciously passing her palms over her inked upper arms. “You’ll never let me live them down, will you.”
He shook his head, grinning before her hands found their way into his. “But if it’s the suburbs you want, then the lady will have what she wants.”
She snatched them back. “Will you stop saying that? And I don’t want the suburbs.”
“But—”
“I know what I just said!” It was impossible to align her thoughts when his eyes remained so disarmingly intent on her. The man was both mainstream and tabloid fodder and if she decided to take up his last name…surrender to the thrill of just being near him… “I’m not ready to have the world poke into my life.”
“Who is? But then again,” he reclaimed one of her hands. “I’ll always protect you.”
Those words were not new to her ears, and she’d suffered for believing Sam when he’d said them to her. But Nicholas Brent was no Sam and she wanted to rattle him out of his exasperating coolness. “I’m too old to get all screwed up like this just—just by…”
A knowing brow rose. “Just by?”
Just by looking at you, she completed silently, weakened again by doing so. “You’re making fun of me.”
“I told you,” he said with a wry smile. “You’re easy.”
She struggled to remain practical. “You’ve earned yourself quite the reputation.”
“In regard to?”
“The ladies?”
“Mere escorts. Occasional indulgences, but nothing substantial.” His eyes then changed to accommodate warmth. “Until now.”
She believed him and for the life of her, couldn’t understand why. Why her place as plain Jane suddenly overruled that of all the beauties he was romantically linked to and as she continued to search for answers from his face, the look he returned gave the doubt she felt no room to grow. “I’m glad that I’m not a foregone conclusion.”
“You could never be,” he assured her before a frown dented his brow. “I don’t want to force you into anything.”
“I don’t even get that impression,” she said.
“Then let that be the first cross off the list.”
“What list?”
“The one that pleads that you always, always call me Nick. I can’t stand Nicholas.”
She laughed. “Only if you promise to always, always call me Kris.”
“Last name?”
“Dane.”
“Brent, this time next week.”
She felt her mouth dry at the implied. “Any other contents on that list I should know about?”
“This.”
She watched as his hand reached into the pocket of his robe and produced a red velvet box cut in the design of a budding rose. Her fingers were trembling slightly when she took the box from him and she gasped when she uncovered a treasure of cleaving white and pink diamonds set in a plaited white gold circumference jutting from the given slot inside.
She was too stunned to move the ring and he became her guide to an almost perfect fit on the fourth finger of her right hand that substituted for the swollen one on her left.
“Your appetite is one for the records yet there’s nothing to show for it.”
“Very funny,” she said, her eyes misting over.
“I’ll have it adjusted in the morning.”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. It was a while before she could raise her lowered lashes and confirm the fact that she was indeed insane. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing left to say.”
There truly wasn’t. They were so different even now, he in all his calm and coolness and she a flustered mess. She found herself wondering how those in her life would react to this arrangement. None of them would believe it until they actually saw her in the arms of last year’s man of the year, a stint that wasn’t his first in the prestigious position. She also knew about his ruthless business streak, his trail of broken hearts, the sensations his tongue aroused on her skin…
“I guess I was a little intimidated by the truth,” she said finally, only to watch a smirk line his face. “Oh, alright. A lot!” she confessed with a laugh. “Is that it for the list?”
“I didn’t take you for a sentimentalist.”
“I’m not!”
“Calm down,” he said with a laugh before drawing back the locks that had fallen over her eyes. “How about we make it up as we go along?”
Moving over to his lap, she traced an index finger over his lower lip. “I could do with your self-assurance, mister.”
“You’re sleeping with me. It’s contagious.”
“It had better be,” she murmured as he carried her back into the bedroom. “Husband.”
Chapter 1
The rustle of his coat rather than his footsteps announced his presence in the living room before the perfunctory, “Hi.”
One glance at his face told her that he’d forgotten. It wasn’t surprising and she silently congratulated herself for canceling the dinner reservation she’d spontaneously made earlier that evening, wondering why she’d even bothered when it was the first time she was seeing him in four days.
“You’re up late,” he said.
“Yes, well, there’s only so much rolling I can do on that big empty bed.”
He approached the couch where she’d been sitting for the last hour disinterestedly flipping through a magazine. “Am I missing something here?”
“Depends on who’s asking. Nick, my husband or Nick, the globetrotting magnate.”
He stifled a groan. “I don’t have time for this.”
She looked up at him, setting aside Bevine’s most trusted business editorial. “Like everything else around here.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your selective memory, that’s what! I distinctly remember leaving a message on your phone reminding you to be home in time for the dinner with the foundation’s board last night, but as usual—”
“I was tied up in London.”
It took the rubbing of her hand over her eyes to compose herself. “Okay, then, well uh, do me a favor next time and leave this information with Linda or Joan. It would spare me a lot of embarrassment in the future.”
“Anything else?” he asked implacably.
“Yeah. I think it’s time for another reminder that you’re a jerk.”
“What am I supposed to have done this time?”
It was an emotional slap and she stared at him accordingly. It was after a while that she spoke again. “Look, we’ve both had a long day. Let’s just drop it, okay?”
“Not when I’m curious to know where this verbal attack is leading to!”
“Attack?” she echoed before she glared at him. “I suppose you could call it that. For all your insensitivity! What date is it today?”
“Okay, Kris, honey, I have an early start tomorrow and I’m sure that whatever your butter balling can wait until then.”
She had winced at the impersonally spoken honey and she took a deep breath to rein in her temper. “You simply choose not to remember, don’t you.”
“I need a drink,” he told her rudely, strolling over to the mini bar and pouring himself a stiff whiskey. After downing it in one swallow, he poured out another. “Well?”
They couldn’t even pass cruet to each other over dinner without exchanging words that were anything but kind, on the rare occasions that they did share a meal alone that is. And as she looked at him, at this handsome face that was so angry all the time, she asked herself why she even bothered. But there she was again and the familiar ache continued its painful thud in her chest. “Happy Anniversary.”
He swore, quickly followed by another.
She glanced away in time to hide her wince, reminded that it was yet another aspect about him she’d failed to carve out.
“I forgot.”
No, you didn’t. How could you possibly! “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” she assured him rustily. “You have more important things on your mind, like romancing that redhead Rogers. Is it true that she’s running for mayor like the papers claim?”
“Goodnight, Kris.”
When he was gone, she grabbed a pillow and squeezed it to her chest to stop herself from screaming. Twenty minutes later, she was still seated in the same rigid posture in what was yet another clue that she wasn’t as immune as she often consoled herself to be. Somehow and somewhere along the way, she’d become a stranger, a former shadow of herself because the old Kris would never have stood for this unending humiliation as the wife of Bevine’s favorite former bachelor. And since the print media had proven that covering the social lives of others overruled that of famine and impending wars, she’d come to shamelessly depend on them to keep tabs on his whereabouts because he spared her nothing. It was another hour before the anger finally abated and after trudging her way up the stairs, she swallowed her usual sleeping aid and joined him in bed.
Her swollen eyes blinked back the glare of the mid-morning light when she woke up the next day. The stinging pain that followed announced that she’d overdone it this time, but it was warranted, she argued. It was their anniversary after all and she rolled over to her stomach to stare at his empty side of the bed. She could still smell him on the sheets, that incredibly inviting scent that was just him and she tried to recall the last time he’d held her close enough to inhale it from his skin.
Groaning to fend off the memories of their now defunct sex life, she sat up on the bed, stretched and turned to leave when something caught her eye. Resting on a pillow was a slim, black velvet box and she reached over and opened it to find a diamond and ruby bracelet sitting inside, the note at the bottom of the box reading, Sorry, I forgot in his intelligent scrawl. He had never been one for sincere apologies, she thought angrily, slamming the case shut and hurling it against the wall across where she watched it fall to the floor after narrowly missing a seven-figure painting.
The last thing she needed was another addition to her jewelry collection that had, ironically enough, come to earn her an amount of fame. But if those admiring eyes knew that almost all the pieces were guilt gifts from Nick for skipping an important dinner or Christmas or forgetting her birthday or his birthday or the proverbial anniversary or the host of other occasions he’d let her down on, they’d feel sorrier for her than they already did. Because who in Bevine didn’t know of the high profile female company he continued to keep. She was the cliché they’d betted on, the perfect trophy wife, her middleclass background the reason why his social circle had taken its time accepting her in those early years, but not that she had lacked the grace or intelligence to win over admirers. It had simply been a matter of curiosity why the most eligible bachelor in Bevine had settled for, well, a nobody.
She jumped out of bed at the onset of depression and after a quick shower, started to reach for a towel outside the stall when she paused at the sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror across from her. And the thought returned to nag at her that it was probably this that had ensured to increase the wedge between them. He publicly praised her beauty and she wondered now that slim was no longer a term used to describe her figure. At 5’8, exactly seven inches shorter than the tower that was her husband, the extra pounds only seemed more pronounced. She wasn’t unfit, that much she could defend, managing a regular jog at dawn, tennis matches at the courts both here and at the country club and the occasional swim, but the image blinking back at her from the mirror was more than a stern reminder that she wasn’t the woman he’d married. The gentleman he was had never paid any comment along those lines, but she only had to look at the women who clung to his arm in the society pages to know that he liked ‘em skinny. Too bad she had a ravenous appetite.
Fleeing the mirror and the bedroom altogether, she settled for toast and juice following an indecisive stint before the fridge, grateful that it was Margarit’s day off. The last thing she wanted was their housekeeper’s chronic optimism to dampen her mood further and she nibbled her way through two magazines before she spent the next few hours poring over ideas for the travel agencies she owned. The beautiful weather soon lured her outside and after taking a stroll around the grounds, she held a brief meeting with the gardeners, then returned to the house where she plopped herself on the couch and declared that she was a fraud.
A big one at that, she thought miserably, stretching over the black leather. The mansion was experiencing a rare spell of silence now that she’d earlier turned off all interrupting gadgets, but despite it, she couldn’t escape the churning feeling in her gut. And as it always did, the living room décor brought her some sense of accomplishment. The almost obscure decorator she’d hired days after moving in had transformed the spaces into a home, replacing the grim, clean-cut colors of Nick’s bachelor years with white walls and an unusual array of upholstery and art pieces, the typicality of the crystal chandeliers demurred by the potted plants in a brilliant blend that had earned the house a spread in the pages of Beautiful Living and catapulted the decorator into stardom.
Her admiring gaze came to settle on one of the midnight blue marble mantelpieces and after summoning the energy, she walked over to get a better glimpse of the framed photographs that aligned its surface. And a smile immediately formed on her lips when one of her favorites caught her eye. It had been taken years ago, Nick behind the lens, of her immediate family during a barbeque by the pool. Her parents were sharing a lounge chair while Carey, her younger sister and herself, sat at their feet, all clad in shorts and bright, sleeveless tops and flashing near identical smiles. They’d always been a close-knit family with no qualms about poking into each other’s lives and they’d been quick to welcome Nick into the fold once they’d recovered from the shock of their abrupt marriage. Her parents had never pushed him about his own background, a topic he never liked to touch, but she had, or rather used to, but the man remained intractable about the details.
It wasn’t the only aspect about him that he refused to elaborate on. There were trips he took every other month to an undisclosed location, lasting no more than a couple of days and which he claimed were business oriented. Judging by the mood he was in whenever he returned, she’d long concluded that there was more to it than suits and contracts. Linda and Joan, his assistants at his office, were as baffled as she was, confirming that they only knew as much as she did and because her husband was determined to remain an enigma, she’d come to suspect that a certain safe in his study held all the answers.
She’d stumbled on its existence a couple of months ago when she’d accidentally pressed a button underneath his desk only to watch the large painting across the room rise and expose the safe. It had explained a lot, beginning with his refusal to have the study redone along with the rest of the house. But rather than confront him about it, her curiosity had only mounted over the coming weeks, wondering what he was keeping from her when they already shared every safe with the exception of the one that housed her jewelry.
She replaced the photograph and picked up another only to have its vividness conspire with the threat of tears. It told a million words let alone the thousand most promised, of herself in Nick’s arms on the courthouse steps moments after exchanging their vows. It was Simone, their chauffer, who’d snapped this one and they’d been laughing at something he’d teased them about and as she stared at their faces, the reflection that could only be two souls coming together was unmistakable, the intense emotion their locking eyes exposed rushing back to flood her heart. The same picture had appeared on the front page of Bevine’s leading daily the next day thanks to one of its reporters buying his lunch from a stand across the street. They’d only caught up with it two months later when they’d returned from their honeymoon, a deluge of stunned mail waiting for them as well.
She vehemently refused to indulge in the reverie of those blissful months spent around the globe and as she set down the photograph, the other framed memories that her eyes touched on did nothing to inflate her sinking spirits. They were painful reminders of a time when life had once seemed idyllic, when she didn’t have to come down here during her bouts of insomnia to remind herself what her husband’s smile looked like. Finding her bag, she left the house, dialing Angelique’s number. Her mood called for drastic retail therapy.
It was after midnight when she came home and she almost passed out from fright when she turned on the first lamp in the dark living room to discover that she wasn’t alone.
“Did I scare you?” he asked dryly.
“Of course not,” she managed calmly, stepping farther into the room.
He was sitting at the edge of one of the couches, his posture tense, the touching play of his fingertips a gesture she was more than familiar with and it set her heart into wild palpitations.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me!” she snapped, dumping her bag and keys on the designated table behind the couch.
“I asked you a question,” he said tightly, rising to face her.
“No, you didn’t. And I’m too tired to satisfy your accusations.”
He was fast, that she had to hand it to him, and very angry when she felt his hands curl over her upper arms and whirl her around to face him just as she was heading for the stairs.
“Where the hell were you, Kris!”
“Out. Driving.” His glower remained hateful and she angrily shook him off. “You don’t believe me, do you?” When he didn’t reply, she stalked back to her bag and snatched out a couple of receipts, which she then thrust in his direction. “Here!” He didn’t move and she walked back to him and stuffed them into his right palm. “The gas station and the restaurant should account for my whereabouts!”
“Your incoherence is unnecessary,” he told her matter-of-factly.
“Really! When it’s clear that you’re taking out your frustrations on me just because miss redhead had alternative plans tonight!”
She couldn’t escape the painful grip she found herself in, fighting back tears when he hurled her against his hard frame and she was again forced to concede that her friends were right when they pointed out that he had some kind of power over her. Because she couldn’t remember her anger when his mouth came crushing down on hers, the contact electrifying, filling her with the warmth and taste of him. She’d waited to be complacent after all these years, always thought that she’d mastered the artful execution of his passion, but this kiss, this angry exploration of his tongue confirmed just how wrong she was and she found herself inept in her press against him, shamelessly yearning for more.
He abruptly let her go, stepping back from where she stood trembling.
It was after a while that he gruffly said, “I didn’t mean to do that.” But there was no trace in his eyes that he felt any regret.
“Yes you did,” she told him quietly, managing to gather herself enough to approach her bag again and remove a small, gift-wrapped package from where she’d carefully placed it. He made no attempt to accept it when she offered it to him, but she wasn’t about to be rejected twice and again, she forced it into his hand.
“I want you to have that,” she told him, her throat constricting painfully. “It’s grandpa’s silver pocket watch. He made me promise to give it to you before he died.”
She couldn’t even smile when she thought back to the old man’s face. He was the kindest soul she’d ever known and his death five months ago had been a big blow to her. The watch had been in his family for generations and she’d had it rebuffed a few days ago to make the inscription at the back legible. Love bears all things. The irony of the statement hit her hard in light of what their marriage had become. “Happy Anniversary.”
“Kris—”
“I always seem to go the extra mile to prove myself to you just as you always go out of your way to hurt me. But you don’t have to try so hard, Nick. I’ve been hurting since the day you forgot to come home.”
She walked past him and up the stairs, wondering why she’d brought that up. But she couldn’t help it, unable to escape her drift back to that time that sometimes seemed like an eternity ago yet managed to feel as real as yesterday. She’d been unusually restless that night, she recalled, not understanding why until dawn had found her still perched on the window seat of their bedroom nursing yet another cup of Margarit’s miracle teas. He had surfaced moments later for a change of clothes and after a rude exchange between them, he’d offered her an explanation she’d barely been able to make out from his grunts.
He never had to spell it out for her. The hint of a strange woman’s perfume on the clothes she’d inhaled after he’d left for work had damaged something in her that had never quite healed. She had the tabloids to thank for the details. Her name was Kathy Letterbane, owner of a leading ad agency and his escort to some benefit. Their controversial arrival together had entitled them to front page coverage and with follow up headlines that screamed, Trouble In Paradise?, there’d been few places to remain anonymous as his wife.
She’d packed up and left for a hotel room after yet another aimless confrontation, but what no movie or novel could ever get right was how much she’d missed him. His apologies had been expensive and relentless and after a few months and at the urging of her family and friends, she’d finally decided to hear him out, meeting him for lunch one day at the park. Encountering an unshaven and sleep-deprived Nick had shaken her resolve to the roots, surprised by the display of vulnerability that she’d never thought him capable of. There were emails and phone calls after that, more gifts and surprises and after attending the therapy of his suggestion, she’d moved back into the mansion a few months later, finding herself seduced back into their bed not long after that.
He walked into the bedroom just as she was summing up the energy to take off the other shoe.
“So all that counseling—”
“Don’t,” she said, halting his prod of a time she preferred to forget. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t, remembering what he’d told the therapist as the reason behind his infidelity. That he had no idea what had come over him. That he’d been drinking at the party. It was a convenient lie, she’d always known because despite his expensive taste in alcohol, she was yet to see him inebriated by it. She’d gone on to privately blame the betrayal on boredom. Four years had apparently been too long. There’d been unsubtle hints in the months that followed their marriage, overheard conversations at social events and she’d persevered the string of former lovers who’d walked up to her to point out that Nick isn’t really the marrying type. I’m surprised he took the leap. Looking her over as though she’d undeservingly hit the jackpot. They were comments she’d brushed aside because she was insanely in love with the man, vowing to be the exception to the rule, but then he’d gone and done that.