by Fallon Hart
And my nipples were confusingly hard, my sex confusingly slick with desire.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Griffin
"You're sure she's getting ready?" I asked, checking my watch once more. It was seven fifteen, and there was still no sign of Scarlett.
In a moment of sheer arrogance, I'd decided to sit on one of the chairs in the club foyer for my wife to appear. The location made me available to my club members and I to them. It also meant, I belatedly realized, that if my wife stood me up, I'd have an audience.
Fuck.
She was going to stand me up.
“Yes, sir,” Xavier stood at the side of my chair. “She’s just running a bit late.”
Then it was deliberate. Scarlett was punctual. It was one of her qualities I admired since I’d dated a long line of high maintenance women who never failed to ignore the time.
Suddenly a movement caught my eye, and I saw the numbers on the elevator change.
I stood up.
My heart raced.
Jesus.
I hadn’t felt this nervous since Easton Albright asked me to meet her on the beach the summer I was thirteen. She was a year older and a well-known flirt who followed through. I’d nervously gone to second and third base for the first time with her.
My wife had once more reduced me to a fucking schoolboy.
And then she stepped out of the elevator, and I forgave her.
It was hard not to want to forgive her anything when she merely smiled at me.
When she looked like that…
Christ Almighty.
I was right.
Her lateness was deliberate.
And this… this was a deliberate attempt to torture me.
“Mission accomplished,” I muttered under my breath.
“Sir?” Xavier asked.
I waved him off, unable to detach my gaze from Scarlett.
She wore a gown I'd never seen before, but I'd have to send my thanks to the personal shopper I'd hired all those months ago. It was red. A color I thought I'd hate, but it fit the theme of the holidays. It was long-sleeved but off the shoulder, revealing her silky pale skin and delicate frame. The cut was in no way revealing but it clung to every inch of her curvaceous body until it hit her knees and then fell to her feet, her shoes peeping out as she walked.
With her red hair, red lips and red gown, my wife looked like a living flame.
No surprise then I burned.
All over.
Fuck, when was she going to forgive me? When would her eyes turn soft and loving? When would she reach out for me? I wanted to stain my lips with hers.
I wanted red lipstick on my neck and around my cock.
But mostly I just wanted her to tell me she loved me.
I squashed the thought before anyone with eyes could read it all over my goddamn face.
Xavier held out a long black coat for my wife. “It’s chilly out tonight.”
"I'll take that." I held it up, and Scarlett turned and slipped her arms into it. I let my hands rest on her shoulders, and she tensed beneath my touch.
Bloody hell.
She turned, deftly moving away from me without looking like she was trying to avoid me. Well played.
But I was determined to reacquaint my wife with my touch so I could remind her how much she used to enjoy it. Holding out my elbow to her, I wanted to kiss the blank expression right off her face. “Shall we?”
She nodded and carefully took my arm, switching her purse to her other hand. “Goodnight, Xavier.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Mandeville. I hope you and Mr. Mandeville have a pleasant evening.”
I gave a small nod of acknowledgment to Xavier and then led Scarlett outside. We said good evening to the doormen, Eddie and Jones, and Scarlett took a few seconds to ask after them.
She always reminded me that it took less than nothing to show a little bit of respect and gratitude toward the people that worked to make our lives easier. My employees liked her because of her kindness, her graciousness.
I needed her because of it.
I needed her goodness in my life.
But to have that I had to resurrect the woman I'd married. I looked at her face in the moonlight as we walked down the steps to the town car I'd hired. That ache in my chest sharpened. She was in there. I knew it. Buried beneath this cool, lovely façade Scarlett presented to the world. It was merely a shield.
I just had to get her to trust me long enough to realize she didn’t need a shield against me. She didn’t need a shield at all. I’d be her fucking shield. I’d tear the world apart before I’d let anyone or anything hurt her again.
“Stop looking at me.” She pulled away from me as the driver held the door open for her.
“It’s hard to look at anything else.” I climbed into the car beside her.
She slid as far along the leather bench as she could get from me. “Don’t sweet talk me. I’m not in the mood.”
Ignoring that I reached for the champagne. “Would you like a drink?”
She said yes, and I poured the bubbling pale gold liquid into a flute for her. I took one for myself and watched as she sipped.
She scowled but didn’t turn to me. “You’re looking at me again.”
“Is that a crime?”
“It is when you’re enjoying making me uncomfortable.”
“You used to like it when I looked at you.”
“Well now I don’t.” she cut me a dirty look. “What game are you playing?”
“No game.” I shrugged. “We’re just going to a Thanksgiving event together where ironically no turkey will be served.”
She frowned. “What charity will be benefiting from tonight’s dinner?”
“I believe it’s a homeless shelter organization.”
“To which you donated generously.”
Her tone was mocking, and I didn't appreciate it. "Now you call into question my philanthropy? What am I? Suddenly the fucking devil in disguise?"
Scarlett bit her lip, drawing my attention to it. I wanted to bite it. “That was unfair. I know your charity donations are given genuinely.”
I relaxed.
But in doing so, I found my gaze drifting. It had felt like an age since I'd held Scarlett against me and slipped my hand between her legs. I had a sudden urge to get on my knees and push her dress up. To spread her wide and lick her pussy until she was screaming my name and coming on my tongue.
My cock throbbed.
Fuck.
“What?”
I realize I’d cursed out loud. “Nothing.”
Silence fell between us and I gave her that. I also had to look away because staring at her was just bringing memories to mind. If I kept at that, I'd climb out of the car with a rock hard erection.
As we neared the Wellington's estate in Weston, I spoke again. "If anyone is impolite enough to ask about our separation I suggest we keep our answer brief: we’re just newlyweds finding our feet together. You'll also need to be comfortable with me touching you." And I intend to make the most of that.
“What is the point?” she sighed. “As soon as this whole thing with O’Connor blows over I’m out of here.”
The thought of losing her made me feel quietly desperate.
I choked down the urge to tell her everything. She wasn't ready to hear how I felt. Not yet. "Let's just do this." I got out of the car and held out a hand to help Scarlett. Thankfully she took it, and I tightened my grip on her, pulling her into my side. "Stick with me this evening."
“If you wanted to torture me there are cheaper ways to do it,” she murmured.
I chuckled at the dig.
Fuck, I’d missed her.
◆◆◆
Scarlett
Now I understood the saying ‘to feel like the walking wounded.' That's how I felt as I walked into the ballroom on Griffin's arm. Like there was a gaping wound in my chest that no one could see so they had no idea just how much pain I was in.
It was so mu
ch easier to hate him from a distance. To not forgive him. When he was here, covering the hand I had on his arm with his other in an affectionate and somewhat possessive gesture it was confusing. It reminded me of the times he let himself be vulnerable and real. I knew those moments hadn’t been lies. Just as I knew he didn’t care how much it hurt me when he ran from those feelings to protect himself.
“Everything I’ve done up until this point is to protect you.”
Right.
Liar.
Hold on to those thoughts, Scarlett, I told myself when the urge to lean into him became almost too much. I'd felt so lonely for so long and those months with Griffin were the first in years that I'd come close to feeling like I wasn't alone. I longed to relieve that awful ache of isolation and loneliness.
The memories of his touch, of his quiet whispers in bed with me, of the way he held me as we slept haunted me with every step by his side. The only thing that broke through them was my sudden awareness of being watched. The other guests were staring at us just as I suspected they would. The gossip about us must have been rife.
“Scarlett,” a familiar voice softly called as we stopped at the champagne station and I turned to the left to watch Amelia make her way over to me with Quentin at her side.
Guilt pricked me.
The last time I saw Amelia, she came to the library hoping to continue our friendship, and I told her that I wasn't ready to be part of her world again. She'd looked so hurt, and it killed me, but she'd walked out of the library before I could take it back.
I missed my friend.
I needed her, and I was so sorry I'd turned my back on her.
Letting go of Griffin I moved toward her, meeting her halfway. Stuffy Thanksgiving event be damned, I threw my arms around her and hugged her tight.
Amelia was momentarily surprised and then she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me in return. Just as tight. Not caring what anyone else thought we lingered in the hold. Eventually, we withdrew, and I took in her precious face and whispered, "I am sorry."
She squeezed my arm. “I understood. I’m so happy to have you back. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Well,” Griffin drawled as he and Quentin stepped up beside us to hand us both a glass of champagne, “That little embrace didn’t help the speculation that we were separated.”
I glanced around to see several guests were staring at us curiously. I plastered on a smile and said loud enough for only Griffin and my friends to hear, "I could give a damn if they think I've taken you back for cheating on me." I turned that smile to him. "Let them forgive you and pity me. I missed my friend, and I wanted to hug her. Okay?"
He cut me a dark look. “Should I prepare myself for a whole evening of you trying to piss me off?”
“Probably.”
“Fine.” Suddenly he slid his hand behind my neck and pulled me into a kiss. A hard, quick kiss that made me gasp for breath. He smirked down at me as he brushed a thumb over my surprised mouth. “Then I get to piss you off in return.”
Sniggering reluctantly drew my attention away from Griffin, and I turned to scowl at Amelia and Quentin who were unsuccessfully trying to mask their laughter. I narrowed my eyes on Amelia. "Traitor."
She shrugged and then held out a hand. “Come. Let’s find a quiet place to catch up.”
“I think not.” Griffin wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side.
My friend scowled at him before I could. “Why not?”
“I’d rather Scarlett stick by my side this evening.”
“Quentin said you’ve employed bodyguards.”
"Yes, and they're working with the Wellington's security to make sure Scarlett stays safe, but I want to be able to see her at all times. For my own peace of mind."
"You're ridiculous," I huffed.
“Amelia can visit the club so you two can catch up. While we’re here, however, you stay by my side.”
Amelia turned to Quentin. “Talk some sense into him.”
“He doesn’t need me to talk sense into him,” Quentin frowned at her. “I happen to agree with him.”
She gaped at him. “You what?”
“I agree with him. If you were the one in danger, like hell would I let you out of my sight.”
Before Amelia could argue further with him an older lady wearing an elegant Chanel suit suddenly appeared beside us. I grinned at her, genuinely happy to see her. “Lady Windemere.”
“Scarlett.” She smiled. “Must I ask you again to call me Araminda?”
Lady Araminda Windemere was a club member and British aristocracy. She was also extraordinarily outspoken and had been very kind to me.
"Mandeville," she nodded at him and turned to our friends, "Amelia, Quentin. I thought I'd come over and let you know that everyone is wondering what has you scowling, looking ready to fight."
“Just a friendly conversation,” Amelia answered. She gestured around the room. “They’re all waiting for something to happen. I can feel it.”
“Yes, well, there’s much speculation. I have to say I for one am happy to see you back among us, Scarlett. Society is dreadfully dull without you.”
“Thank you.”
“And you let me know if anyone says anything rude to you. I’ll sort them out.”
I grinned. “I appreciate that.”
“Yes, well. I’m going to go raid Wellington’s private liquor cabinet for something a bit more bracing than Laurent Perrier. Good evening all.” She waved at us and departed as quickly as she’d appeared.
“I like her so much,” Amelia said.
“Me too.” I agreed. “I kind of want to be her when I grow up.”
“Well, if Griff here hadn’t given up his title, you would have been one step closer to it. Lady Scarlett Mandeville. That sounds rather nice.”
Griffin stiffened at my side. Knowing how much he hated his father and the way he'd lorded his aristocratic bloodline over everyone, including his wife, momentarily erased my desire to needle him all evening. "Nah," I wrinkled my nose, "I don't think me and Griff are suited to the lord and lady thing."
His hand tightened on my waist, and he leaned down to murmur in my ear, "I'm Griff again, am I?"
I tensed.
Shit.
Why couldn’t I rid myself of my damn compassion just for once?
Not waiting for my answer Griffin took my glass and handed it to Amelia. “Can you hold?”
“Why?” I frowned.
But he was already leading me across the room to the other side of the ballroom where couples were dancing. He said hello to acquaintances and friends while I hoped to God he wasn’t going to do what I think he was going to.
He stopped in among the dancing couples and drew me into his arms.
He was.
He was making me dance with him.
There was no way I could get out of this without making a scene I didn’t want to make.
Trying not to glower at him, I lowered my gaze and tentatively rested a hand on his hard shoulder while he took my other in his and rested our entwined hands against his chest.
“Relax,” he murmured against my forehead, “Or they’re going to know you hate me.”
Did I hate him?
God, I wanted to.
But this didn’t feel like hate.
Griffin’s hand slid down my back and rested just above the curve of my ass. He put pressure on my back, silently demanding I relax into his body.
However, I just couldn’t.
“Scarlett,” he murmured. “Please.”
Surprised, I lifted my head to meet his gaze. Griffin rarely said ‘please.’ Pleading, begging, gentle or otherwise wasn’t in his repertoire. “Do you care so much what they think?”
He shook his head slowly, those dark eyes of his holding me captive. “I just want you to dance with me. No expectations, no ulterior motives. Just you in my arms.”
Oh Jesus Christ, what was he trying to do to me!
Almost against my will, I swayed into the hard length of his body, but as we moved together in gentle rhythm, I knew almost immediately it was a disastrous mistake. The light undulation our small steps made of our hips reminded me so starkly of the more wild ones we made as he thrust inside me.
The tight clasp of his hand in mine reminded me of the way he liked to pin my hands to the bed as he fucked me.
I could almost feel him inside me.
The thick, tight glide of him.
My skin flushed as we moved together, my chest rising and falling in shallow breaths causing my breasts to heave against him. His lips parted, and his lids lowered seductively over his eyes as he watched the flush appear on my cheeks.
“What are you thinking about?” his voice was hoarse.
Damn him.
Goddamn him!
I looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “Don’t do this,” I whispered, humiliated that I had to plead with him. “Please, don’t do this to me.”
Griffin bowed his head against mine, resting his cheek to my temple. His words were thick as he replied, "You think I don't feel it too? You think this isn't like torture for me too?"
“Then stop.”
“I can’t.” He pulled back just enough so that his lips almost touched mine, forcing our eyes to meet. “What we had was real.”
Anger blazed through me, and I knew he saw it. "Then why?"
“I told you—”
I pulled abruptly away from him. “I know. I’m not ready to hear it, right?”
To my shock, Griffin seemed to slump with weariness… perhaps even sadness. It shocked me still. "Right now you won't believe me so no… you're not ready to hear it."
“Then let me go.”
His hold on me merely tightened, and he drew me back against him. "No," he whispered in my ear, his lip brushing my skin, setting off tingles down my neck and spine, "Because as much as it tortures me to have you this close and yet so fucking far, it's better than not getting to touch you at all."
His words momentarily stunned me before I reminded myself I couldn’t allow him to charm me into forgiving him. “And what about what I want?”
"You might not want this," he pressed me impossibly closer, "But at the same time, you do. Don't hate yourself for it, Scarlett. You're only human. Hate me instead. I can take it."