“I’m sorry, but visitors’ hours are ending. We have to start night rounds.”
* * *
I nod, stretching as I stand, meeting her kind eyes with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Pam. For everything. He speaks so highly of you.”
* * *
She beams, clasping her hands together before her generous bosom. “He’s lucky to have a daughter like you.”
* * *
I force a smile, and hope it looks authentic. I know what she sees: a devoted daughter, willing to authorize any expense to ensure her father’s comfort and well-being. The previous facility knows the truth. They know that he was alone during the first six months of his sickness. They know a lonely old man whose insurance was running out, the one whose daughter didn’t bother to visit, or even send flowers. Though that is assuming that they got to know him at all.
* * *
I turn away before my smile breaks. I appreciate her false view of me, and the genuine care, love, and attention that this place shows to Dad. Maybe with every visit, the guilt will lessen. I can’t make up for six months of neglect. But I can try as hard as I can.
CHAPTER 16
I head out, through the lobby, the desk nurse nodding to me. “Good evening, Ms. Dumont.”
* * *
“Good evening.” I pull on a jacket and move down a long hall, past closed rooms and empty lounges. It smells of clean comfort, the luxury facility one that could easily pass for a spa. My heels echo against the floor, and I nod to a security guard. Fifty steps to my car. Sixty miles to the house. An unknown duration until his hands.
* * *
Inside, there is a hard twist of dread, the urge to get in my car and head south instead of north. The emotion makes no sense. In the moments when Nathan has reached for me, I’ve melted under his touch. I think my dread is more for my heart. With each experience with him, I guard it fiercely. And with each experience, I feel it crack a little more. Tonight, I’m at my weakest emotionally—my heart warm and grateful for the opportunities he has afforded me and my father. Tonight, before I even step in his house, I can feel the warm tendrils of emotion slipping uninvited into my heart.
* * *
I push aside the thoughts, and reach for the handle of my new car, a sleek black Mercedes, the car unlocking at my touch. Then, I am inside, the facility's gates opening, and I am heading north.
CHAPTER 17
Drew stands by the front door, glancing at his watch as I step out of the vehicle. “He’s been waiting,” he says quietly, opening the door as I approach.
* * *
“I hit some traffic.” I step inside and stop when I see Nathan standing by the large windows, his back to me, his eyes on the city lights, faint in the distance. He’s in his customary suit, but has lost the jacket, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I glance at Drew, a question in my eyes. His expression gives nothing away, and I set my purse down, passing my keys to Drew.
* * *
“Mr. Dumont, I’ll park the Missus’s car. Will you need me for anything else?”
* * *
“Yes.” My eyes close briefly at that response. Over half the times that Nathan has fucked me, Drew has been present, a silent observer whose purpose is completely lost on me. I suspect, more than voyeurism, that it has something to do with control. Control is a food that Nathan seems to feed on, devouring it with a vulgarity that clashes with his smooth exterior. What I’m unsure about is if he is manipulating me or Drew in the process. As little as I understand our dynamic, I understand theirs even less. At times they seem friends, then adversaries, then Drew concedes and plays the role of dutiful employee. It’s a mindfuck that I want no part of. In the times that Drew's watched us, I can't help but wonder what he is thinking. He feigns disinterest, his head cast to the side or down to the floor in a preoccupied, respectful manner. But sometimes, when my head flips back, or when Nathan suddenly spins me around, I catch his eyes on me. Burning green eyes that pin me in place. And in that fire, in that intense stare, I think I see arousal. I think I see want.
* * *
Nathan gestures with a hand to the back lawn. “Wait for me in back. I want to spend some time with Candace, then I'll be there.”
* * *
From my peripheral vision, I see Drew nod, turning, the door closing, my engine purring a short moment later. He’ll take it to the garage. Tomorrow, it will be detailed back to showroom condition. If I’ve learned anything in these ten days, it is that everything in this house is maintained to perfection. I scrape my freshly painted nails against the front of one thigh. Including me.
* * *
“How is your father?”
* * *
I smile. “He’s okay. He is very grateful for the new facility. Thank you for moving him.”
* * *
“Have they discovered what is wrong with him?”
* * *
I swallow. “No.”
* * *
He turns away from the window, moving to a large leather chair and settling into it, setting his drink on the table. His eyes watch as I move around the couch, stopping before him. I wait for the command, my body tightening, the silk of my panties already beginning to stick between my legs.
* * *
“Come here.” He slides a little lower in the chair, his head against the white leather, his chin tilted up, blue eyes staring out from chiseled masculinity.
* * *
I move closer, his legs coming together, then I am straddling him, my skirt pushed up, his hands reaching around me to pull down the zipper. I lean forward, my fingers loosening his tie, his hands gently gripping my waist, his eyes on mine as my fingers work, neither of us saying anything in this moment.
* * *
I love his eyes. They are the only way I can read him. His body gives so little away; he controls his emotions so well. But his eyes are traitorous to his carefully maintained control. They blaze when he is angry, they soften when he is yielding, and they grow heavy with need when he is aroused.
* * *
Right now, he is aroused. I don’t need his eyes to know that. I can feel it underneath me, straining against the fabric of his dress pants.
* * *
His fingers move to the buttons of my cardigan, thumbing the small pearls as he releases them, one by one, his large hands slipping underneath and palming my breasts through the thin fabric of my camisole, the sensation causing a shiver to ripple through me. He yanks at the last button, the pearl popping off, causing a giggle to rise in my throat. Then the silk blend is tossed aside, his hands pulling the cami over my head until it joins the cardigan, and my upper half is bare before him.
* * *
“No bra?” he questions, a dark look in his eyes and his hands move, brushing across my nipples, their skin puckering in the cool room.
* * *
I shake my head, biting my lower lip, stifling a gasp as his hands grip the weight of me, one breast in each hand, his eyes taking on a gleam of ownership. He pushes with his hands, communicating his desire, and I begin to move my hips, my lace and silk mound grinding over him, my want visible through the fabric.
* * *
I need to see more of him, the desire taking over me. My fingers tremble as they move, unbuttoning his shirt, spreading it open so that my hands can explore his skin. I lean forward, lowering my mouth to his hot surface, skimming my tongue and teeth over the hard planes of his chest. His pelvis unexpectedly tilts, pushing me higher until our faces are level, and his mouth is on mine.
* * *
I get lost in his kisses. It is where I communicate with him freely, my mouth recklessly pouring out emotions that are best contained. Our tongues have no filter, the heat of our kisses lighting a fire between us that can only be put out with his cock. I reach down, my frantic hands grasping and pulling on leather, clasp, a button and zipper, a concert of hurried motions until I have him in my hand, hard and ready, his skin stretched tight, moisture already present at his t
ip.
* * *
He pulls me down, my hands quickly positioning him beneath me, tugging wet panties aside for his entrance. His mouth reluctantly releases me, his eyes watching me hungrily, fixed on my face as he thrusts up and into me.
* * *
I groan at the bare penetration, the thick push of him inside of me, the bare skin against my own, the first thrust almost painful in its stretch. I close my eyes and push fully down, a hiss whistling through his mouth as I rest for a quick moment atop him. My thoughts flicker to Drew and how this must look through the glass walls of the house.
* * *
He pulls at my skirt, slipping it over my head and throwing it aside, his hands running through my hair and gripping it tightly, pulling it back so that my neck is exposed.
* * *
I lose any thoughts of Drew when his mouth hits my neck, taking a possessive and decadent journey from my jaw to collarbone. His hands and hips lift and pump, a perfect orchestration of rhythm that swiftly takes me up the mountain of orgasm. I dig my nails into his shoulders, letting him take control, the ride one that is exquisite, my orgasm sharp and intense when it comes. He doesn’t stop, his breath hard, pumps rapid, until he reaches his peak, his mouth finding mine, one last shuddering thrust delivered.
* * *
I collapse against his chest, his heart thudding through the material of his shirt. There is the slow drag of his fingers across my back and I sigh, melting into his chest. Then he pats my back in the perfunctory way a doctor might test refluxes.
* * *
“I need to go outside.”
* * *
Of course he does. I roll off of him, swallowing a response, and stand. He doesn’t look at me when he stands. Maybe I’m an idiot for expecting that he would.
* * *
“I am not signing up for romance, or affection, or a full time job. You should never expect that from me.”
* * *
I grab my clothes from the floor and head to the bathroom to change.
CHAPTER 18
NATHAN
* * *
With Cecile, it had all been such a production. Two wedding planners. A hundred thousand dollars in flowers. Her days had been spent poring over catalogs, in dress fittings, auditioning musicians and writing checks.
* * *
All of that bullshit, and look how it had turned out.
* * *
He watches the courthouse come into view and turns to Candace. “Let’s go.”
* * *
They wait, sitting on metal folding chairs, then on a wooden bench, and listen to the other couples, each one a depressing Lifetime movie in the making. They were out of place here. His custom suit. Her dark jeans and silk shirt. She fidgets, her hands running along the length of her thighs, and he remembers the ring.
* * *
He opens his jacket, reaching into the left side and pulling out the dark velvet box. “Go ahead and put this on.” He holds it out to her, and she looks up at him.
* * *
Ten thousand dollars of beauty treatments and they couldn’t cover up that look. That nervous hope that floods her face and makes him feel like fresh Tennessee shit.
* * *
“This is for me?”
* * *
He doesn’t answer, and she takes the box carefully, as if it holds the Hope diamond. He’d had Mark pick the ring, something appropriate for the Nashville scene, and he watches her eyes widen at the three-carat diamond, one surrounded by emeralds, and its accompanying band. He looks away, and thinks of Cecile, the night he had proposed, the way she had screamed so loudly that everyone in Tahiti must have heard.
* * *
She pulls at the rings, fumbling with them, and he takes the box, removing the rings and reaching for her hand. “Here.” He slides them on, and doesn’t miss the small hitch in her breath, the lift of her eyes, and there is a minor moment between them in a day when he wanted no moment at all.
* * *
“I can’t believe we’re getting married,” she whispers.
* * *
He releases her hand, snapping the ring box closed with quick efficiency, and pulling his own simple band from the pocket of his jacket, looking up to the judge and willing their names to be called.
CHAPTER 19
As a girl, I always pictured my wedding. I stab a gold-tined fork into week-old cake and lift it to my lips. This was never what I had in mind.
* * *
“Hold it right there!” A voice calls out. “Now smile!”
* * *
I obey, and there is the flash of bulbs, my vision gone for a moment, then the dots clear and I can see again. I drop the smile, setting down my fork, and look up. “What’s next?”
* * *
“Let’s get a shot of you two dancing.” The man strides forward, his heels clicking across on the floor. He stops before a large backdrop, one that shows a stone balcony, vineyards behind it, with a peek of ocean in the corner.
* * *
I lift up the skirt of my gown, one that I swooned over thirty minutes ago and now absolutely hate, everything about this experience slicing my innards to bits. A reception shouldn’t be staged, the wedding dress rented, the love added via photoshop. I stop in the midst of the set and stare at the backdrop, a crease running along it’s outside edge. “It looks fake.”
* * *
“It won’t. Just wait till you see these photos. You’ll be amazed.” He snaps his fingers at Nathan, who looks up from his phone with a bored yawn. Two hours into this marriage, and I already want to strangle my husband.
* * *
We get into place, our position orchestrated by the photographer’s assistant, a spotlight added to perfect the image. Someone in the background hums, and we attempt a few steps.
* * *
“STOP!” the man shrieks. “God, you’d think you’ve never danced before. Just stay in place and look in love.”
* * *
Look in love. As if it is a simple request. I lift my gaze to Nathan and fight the urge to cry. He looks down at me, and his face changes, his brows tightening, eyes softening with what I almost believe to me concern. He cups my face and I feel the wet embarrassment of a tear.
* * *
“What’s wrong?” he says gruffly.
* * *
“That’s PERFECT!” the man crows, the rapid shutter of his camera clicking. “Now, kiss her!”
* * *
I close my eyes, another tear falling, Nathan’s hand lifting my chin, his lips soft against mine, and against his kiss, I swallow a sob.
CHAPTER 20
Boredom is a dangerous bitch, one that gives credence to idle thoughts, and gives legs to dangerous ideas. In my fourth week at Nathan’s, boredom has become item number one on my daily agenda.
* * *
My days are melding together, a constant cycle of working out, make up, hair, and boredom. I eat prepackaged meals. Wear preselected outfits. Dutifully move through a routine barked at me by a hundred pound pit bull. When I’m not attending to my physical health and appearance, I nap. Read. Sit and wait for the sound of Nathan’s car. Occasionally, we go to business dinners with his investors—long meals in five-star restaurants where I eat quietly and am mostly ignored.
* * *
Some nights he doesn’t return. I sit in the guesthouse with the doors open so that I’ll hear his engine. I keep the television on low, a magazine or book ignored in my hands. If he doesn’t return by eight, I eat. At ten, I close the doors and curtains.
* * *
I’m just another employee of the house, all of us here to serve a purpose. Drew: security. Mark: details. Me … I am still figuring that one out. Orgasm deliverer? Comedic relief? Charity case?
* * *
This weekend we are going to Napa with some of his friends and their wives. I’m embarrassed at how excited I am for the trip. Rosit Fenton has already come by, my wardrobe restocked, my hair touched up, a f
resh wax job performed. The trip is part of some sort of charity event we are attending, and Rosit gave me a crash course on dining etiquette, along with backgrounds on all of the attending individuals. He also provided me with a false background of my own, something close enough to the truth so that I am less likely to screw it up. Prior to meeting Nathan, I was an event planner, from Destin. We met at a club one night. Had a whirlwind weekend and instantly fell in love. I’ve practiced answers from every possible scenario, and I’m still terrified over their questions. Not too terrified not to attend, mind you. I’ve been counting down the days to get out of this house.
Trophy Wife Page 8