Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
* * *
I straighten, meeting his eyes. “Are you? Are you planning to marry her?”
* * *
“I don’t think so,” he says slowly. “We’re still … working through a few things.”
* * *
I pin my lips together, and hope the irritation doesn’t show on my face. “Just wondering.”
* * *
He tilts his head, frowning, light flickering in those baby blues. “Do you—I mean…” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “Would it bother you if we married?”
* * *
I want to strangle the man, wrap my hands around that sexy neck and squeeze some sense into him. “No,” I say quietly, meeting his eyes. “I was just wondering.”
* * *
We stare at each other for a long moment, my heart fighting to stay composed. Then he leans forward swiftly, grabbing the back of my neck, and kisses me.
CHAPTER 56
Damn. I never could hide from his kiss. And the communication line between us hasn’t lost any of its strength during our time apart. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask my permission before pressing his lips to mine, my mouth opening instantly, my hands reaching up and gripping his shirt, twisting the cotton with need, my desire to touch any and every part of him overriding my attempt to be passive.
* * *
Everything I feel, everything I miss, goes into that kiss. I tell my story of heartbreak and need and desire with my tongue, with my begging strokes and carnal swipes. And his mouth speaks with possessive, aggressive movement, his breath ragged, his mouth taking mine and reclaiming what was once his.
* * *
A woman’s desperation is most clearly spoken in a kiss. And I’m afraid, in this moment, that I bare my soul to him. Everything that I have contained, held back, lied to myself about, comes to the surface, all of my emotions revealed at once, both to me and to him.
* * *
I can’t take it, can’t take the memory of his touch reawakening. I can’t take my feelings laid out, naked before this man. I push on his shirt, breaking the connection of our lips, pressing hard with my fists until we are fully separated, his eyes tight on mine, desperation in their midst.
* * *
He stares at me, his chest moving beneath my hands, his eyes almost accusatory in their intensity and dismay. “Candy,” he whispers, sliding his hand around and cupping my neck. “I had no idea …”
* * *
I push, ripping myself from the seat and the burn of his hands, grabbing my purse and running for the door, passing through hallways and lobbies. I don’t stop and compose myself, don’t listen when the receptionist calls out my name. I have one focus, and I zero in on it. Get the fuck out of here and into the safety of my car.
* * *
Damn the payment for our session.
Damn the blonde bitch in my house.
Damn Nathan and his fucking kiss.
Damn the doctor with his questions and how he will react to what just happened.
* * *
I don’t stop until I am several miles away, jerking the wheel sideways and bringing the car to a quick, shuddering stop in an abandoned strip mall. There, I shift into park, drop my head to the steering wheel, and cry.
* * *
I can’t do it. I can’t sit across from him and sign a document that will dissolve our marriage. I can’t see the two of them together, can’t see the look on his face when he stares into her eyes. I will physically break in half if I see them kiss, or see her smile, or if they embrace once the verdict is rendered. This should have been easy: a sterile environment with a doctor, a few easy questions, and we part. How did something so simple turn into something so terrible?
* * *
Now he knows. He knows how I feel. He knows that while he was acting, I was sincere. He knows that I am weak and vulnerable, and that he has hurt me. Everything I have fought so hard to project—my cool, confident demeanor—just crashed and burned in that cramped office. Now he knows the truth. And I look the fool.
CHAPTER 57
A year ago, I would have cringed at a call from my bank, my account most likely overdrawn, NSF fees pending. Now, the number displays and I feel only guilt. I rise from my chair and quietly move from my father’s room, answering the call once I am in the hall.
* * *
“Is this Mrs. Dumont?” The crisp voice doesn’t know how the name hits my ears, how it is both a knife and a salve to my heart.
* * *
“Yes.” I should change my name back, after the divorce, but I don’t know that I will. I’m not yet ready to separate from the one thing that made me his wife.