Promise: The Deception Trilogy, Book 3

by Fallon Hart

  I tried to catch my breath as I realized that stupidly, somewhere deep down beneath all my ‘I'll never forgive him' bravado, I'd secretly been hoping that if he fought for me long enough, I'd find a way to let him in again.

  Five weeks and he was already bored of trying.

  I glared through watery vision at the floor and mentally berated myself for my weakness.

  When was I going to learn?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Scarlett

  “The club looks amazing.” Amelia greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. “And you look beautiful.”

  I gave her a small smile. “You do too. You always do.”

  And she did. She looked spectacular in the Marchesa dress. She'd sent me photos of her shopping for a dress for the club's Christmas Party so I could give my opinion. I'd told her this dress was my favorite. It was floor-length and fitted to perfection on top with delicate off-the-shoulder wipe straps and a flattering sweetheart neckline. It was ombre in color – a pale jade green on top that eventually got darker until it was almost black it was such a dark green around the train. The pleated fabric was pulled tight across the torso with a dark green belt that accentuated her tiny waist. It fell into a full skirt from the top of her hips in layers of pleated chiffon that danced like feathers as she walked. It was a statement gown and stood out among the very festive-looking dresses many of Griff's members were wearing as they wandered around the Hazard room.

  “Has Griff seen you in this dress yet?” Amelia asked as she grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

  “No. He’s in his office.” I frowned. “Where is Quentin?”

  “He went straight to Griff’s office and told me to come here and keep you company. Where did you get the dress?”

  “Anna came to the club with some choices.” I smoothed my hand down the beautiful velvet fabric. The dress was by Galvan and a green so pale it was almost gold. It was sleeveless with wide straps and a neckline with a small plunge-cut that more than hinted at my cleavage. It was full-length with a corset waistline and a slit in front to my knee. Between the flash of leg and somewhat daring neckline I’d been worried that it was too much, but Anna was in love with the color of it against my hair.

  My hair stylist was inspired by the dress and its modern twist on a vintage look and had swept my hair up off my neck. First, she curled it and then she'd pinned the curls into an elegant up-do that cleverly resembled a rose. I'd paired the dress with strappy gold crystal-covered high-heeled sandals by Jimmy Choo, diamond studs and a diamond tennis bracelet. My wedding rings sat heavily on my left hand.

  I could easily be mistaken for the sophisticated wife of a Boston millionaire.

  Instead, I was his estranged wife who had barely seen him in two weeks. He'd left me to help Wells, Xavier, and Chef organize the annual Christmas ball in the hazard room.

  Thank God Amelia was here.

  “How are you doing?” she reached for and squeezed my hand.

  "My life is in limbo," I said as I stared around at all the members who were having a grand old time. "I have a hard time not sobbing into my pillow every night and then berating myself during the day for being so melodramatic."

  “Things will get better,” she promised.

  I scoffed. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

  “How are things with Griff?”

  I shrugged, ignoring the knife-like pain in my chest. “I don’t see him a lot.”

  “Avoiding him?”

  “I guess we’re avoiding each other.”

  Before Amelia could respond, I asked, "How are things with you?"

  “Oh.” She raised her champagne glass pointedly. “As you can see they could be better.”

  I squeezed her hand, wishing I could say something to alleviate her concerns about her possible infertility.

  "Ladies," Kyle Turton, a well-known investment banker and playboy coming out of his second divorce came toward us with two of his peers, Edgar Prendergast and Luton Smythe. The latter were both married to women who had not joined them for the Christmas ball even though we invited spouses. "Why are the two loveliest creatures in the room standing alone in the corner?"

  “We’re not alone,” I replied, gesturing to Amelia. “We’re with each other.”

  "Oh you know what I mean," Kyle grinned at me. "You look ravishing, Mrs. Mandeville. If you were my wife, I wouldn't dare leave you alone for a second."

  "Well, luckily I'm not your wife."

  His friends chuckled while he mock-frowned at me. “You wound me.” He held out a hand. “Come dance with me. No one is dancing. Shall we show them how?”

  "Actually," Griff's voice cut through us, and the men turned to watch him and Quentin approach, "It's tradition for my wife and me to open the ball with a dance."

  “But you’ve only been married a few months,” Edgar argued.

  "It's a new tradition." Griff cut Kyle a warning look and then turned to me. For the first time in weeks, his dark eyes burned when he looked at me. He held out his hand. "Would you do me the honor?"

  Heart pounding, I took his hand and felt that zing of shock rush up my arm that always did when Griff touched me.

  When had he become ‘Griff’ in my head again?

  God, I was fickle. The ultimate cliché of the girl who liked to play hard to get until the boy she wanted, started playing hard to get in return. And then as soon as he showed a bit of attention again, I was twittering and gleeful. What a moron.

  Griff led me through the crowds to the back of the hazard room where there was a temporary dance floor. A small choir and classical band was set up in the corner singing Christmas songs. They were playing White Christmas as Griff led me onto the empty dance floor. I felt everyone's eyes turn to us and he pulled me into his arms.

  I held in my breath, my belly fluttering as he pressed me to his body. We danced like we did at the Wellington’s. Too close for comfort.

  “You look stunning,” he said gruffly.

  I tried to control my breathing, but I knew he could probably tell it was shallow and fast. He could probably feel my heart racing against his chest. I exhaled shakily, and his eyes dipped to my cleavage. Desire raw and open crossed his face before he wiped it clear.

  My knees trembled.

  “Thank you,” I finally managed.

  Our eyes locked as we swayed.

  “The color is wonderful on you.” His expression grew taut. “My father was a bastard who dictated what my mother could and could not wear. I hated him for that. It worries me that I’m agitated by the way my patrons are looking at you in this dress. Undressing you with their eyes. I don’t like that feeling. And I don’t want to be my father.”

  My hand tightened on his shoulder. “Are you going to ask me to change my dress?”

  “Of course not.”

  "Then you're definitely not like your father." I smoothed my hand down his hard chest. He wore a tux better than James Bond. "When you and I were… together… I used to get jealous," I admitted. "You're handsome and sexy. Other women look at you and want you. I knew I had you and I knew while we were together that I was all you wanted, so it didn't drive me crazy or anything. But I didn't like it when they'd act like they were capable of taking you from me or when they talked about you like it was okay for them to sexualize you in front of me."

  His hand tightened on my waist.

  “I guess what I’m saying is that I understand.”

  Griff studied me carefully. “Do you still get jealous?”

  I looked away, letting out a shaky exhale. Answering that would give away too much. "Where have you been these last few weeks? I've hardly seen you, and you should know I'm going batshit crazy stuck at the club. Any word from O'Connor?"

  It was a slight hesitation that gave him away. And the fact that his expression wholly blanked. "Nothing yet."

  Suspicious, I tried to get him to falter as I stared into his eyes, but he just stared back. Unmoving. "So where have you been?"

  “I’
ve been busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  He scowled. “I thought you didn’t care.”

  "Well, now I care." I pushed. "What have you been up to?"

  Griff sighed impatiently. “Business stuff.”

  “Anything to do with Pete?” I tried to feel him out because he was definitely hiding something from me.

  His brows drew together, and then he bit out a curse. "I meant to tell you that we found Pete last week. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner. He was arrested, but the evidence against him is not concrete enough. We'd have to rely on people pressing blackmail charges. They're too afraid to for fear what they were hiding will come to light, so the police let him go."

  Unease settled over me. “So he’s wandering around Boston free and clear.”

  "No." Griffin's face hardened. "He's destroyed himself, Scarlett. He has no place in good society, his family had all but disowned him. He has nothing left."

  “Won’t he want revenge?”

  "I visited him. I made it clear that if he fucks with either of us again, I will wipe him off the face of the planet. He practically wet his pants. The cowardly little bastard." He curled his lip in disgust.

  “And you’re just telling me all this now?”

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “I’ve not been avoiding you. You’ve been avoiding me.”

  Growing angrier and more frustrated I wasn't even aware of the other couples joining us on the dance floor until that moment. I glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to hear. Gazing into his beautiful eyes, I let my sadness show. "You're lying to me. You're hiding something from me."

  His fingers suddenly bit into my waist. “Will I forever be the bad guy to you, Scarlett? Anytime things feel slightly off, shall you immediately think the worst of me?”

  "I'm not saying that." I tried to pull away, and his hold on me strengthened.

  “But you do.” He bent his head to whisper hoarsely against my mouth. “You only see the worst in me. So what’s the fucking point?”

  I flinched.

  I knew it.

  He was avoiding me because he had given up on me.

  I tugged on his hold until he had to let go or he’d cause a scene. “I guess there isn’t any.” Moving off the dance floor I expected him to leave it at that, but I’d barely taken one step off it when I found my hand clasped in his.

  I looked up at him, his face determinedly set. “What are you doing?”

  “This is my Christmas ball. My patrons love this time of year. So I’m not going to cause a scene with my wife. We’re going to play our parts this evening for them.”

  “Why should I?”

  "Because." He looked down at me. There was nothing in eyes again. "In two days I'm sending you somewhere you can be safe. Where you can start a new life and be rid of me for good."

  My stomach flipped unpleasantly. “What do you mean?”

  "We can't keep up this pretense much longer, and you can't spend your life trapped in this club like a prisoner. I've arranged for a new identity for you where you'll be safe from O'Connor and his thugs. You were planning to leave Boston before all this anyway."

  He said it like he didn’t care one bit.

  Like he didn’t care that we would never see each other again.

  I hated him.

  At that moment I honestly, really hated him.

  Because I realized I would never stop loving him and I wished to God my stupid heart had fallen for anybody but him.

  "Griffin," a bright, pretty feminine voice called.

  I blinked through my crushed stupor and watched as a lovely brunette I recognized stepped into our space.

  Into Griff’s space to be clear.

  My husband let go of my hand to touch the brunette’s waist as she reached on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

  Evangeline Pierce.

  Broadway star.

  And suddenly everything became clear as I watched the warmth and easiness between her and my husband.

  Overwhelming, excruciating pain warred with thunderous rage.

  “And you must be Mrs. Mandeville.” Evangeline held out her hand to me. “I’m Evie.”

  I numbly took her hand.

  She was so elegant and seemed so small standing next to me even though were of a similar height. In her midnight blue velvet gown with its long sleeves, turtle-neck and sultry slit to the knee, I felt overdone. She was Audrey, and I was Marilyn which was fine unless your husband was more suited to an Audrey.

  "This is only my third time at the club," she smiled brightly at us. "I've been so busy with work but when you emailed me about the Christmas ball, Griff, I just had to come."

  He emailed her?

  Griff?

  I shot him a dirty look that he either didn’t see or was ignoring.

  “We’re glad you could make it.”

  "As am I." she touched his arm, leaning into him. "The club is beautiful. It must take legions to decorate it so elegantly. I must have my picture taken on the staircase. I want that moment captured for Christmas." She turned her body, officially locking me out of the conversation and stepped into him. "You know I thought we could do my press interviews here. It could bring a lot of new interest to the club."

  "It's an interesting idea. We should discuss it."

  "Not now of course," she smiled up at him beneath her lashes. "After the festivities." She finally remembered I was there and smiled at me. Her hand was still on my husband's arm. "You're so lucky to have such a dashing figure for a husband, Mrs. Mandeville." She pouted beautifully. “Can you believe I came alone?” before either of us could reply she gave me a curious look. “Tell me, how you did it. I’d love a Griff of my very own.”

  And I was done.

  I gave her a quick hard smile as I grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it. I was in so much pain all I could feel was the bile building and building until I had no control of it. I finished the drink and handed Griff the glass before I turned back to his Broadway star. "Well, apparently I'm being shipped off again so you can take you're flirting to the next level with me out of the way. Fuck each other until your hearts are content. I no longer care." Without looking at him, I strode out of that club intent on getting the hell out there. I didn't need his money or his goddamn alias.

  As long as I was out of Boston and had nothing to do with him, this O’Connor guy would no longer have an interest in me.

  "Scarlett?" Amelia called as I hurried past her.

  Tears filling my eyes fast I shook my head at her and kept going.

  I was barely out of the double doors and about to walk into a member of the wait staff when a large hand grasped my elbow and pulled me out of the way. I stumbled as I found myself hauled against a hard body.

  Griff.

  I pulled at his grasp as he glared fire down at me.

  He was enraged.

  His rage matched my hurt.

  Good!

  “Get off me.” I bit out.

  “Shut the fuck up and stop making a scene.” He hauled me none-too-gently down the hallway to the elevator ignoring wandering guests who stared at us in curiosity.

  My cheeks blazed with embarrassed. “How dare you?”

  "How dare I?" he seethed as he hit the elevator button. The doors opened, and he practically tossed me inside as he got in and used the keycard to the penthouse. He spun around, towering over me.

  I wanted to rip him apart.

  His eyes flared at whatever he saw in my expression. “I can’t believe what you said to Evangeline Pierce.”

  “What? The truth?” I spat.

  The doors pinged open at the penthouse, and I pushed past him. But he grabbed my arms as we stumbled out into the foyer.

  “Let go of me!” I screamed in his face.

  “No!” He bellowed back, his face red with fury now. He shook me, his fingers bruising my upper arms. “For weeks, fucking weeks I’ve been trying to get through
to you and you’re so fucking caught up in your own shit you can’t even see the truth anymore!”

  “If you hate me so much, then let me go!”

  “Hate you? Hate you. Yes, I do hate.” He admitted hoarsely. “I hate how much I goddamn love you. I hate how everything that meant something to me feels fucking empty because you won’t forgive me.”

  Tears filled my eyes at his declaration. “You don’t love me. You’re getting rid of me.”

  "Yes." His chest heaved as he pushed me toward the sideboard. I tripped on my heels, and he used the moment to haul me up onto it.

  “Stop.”

  “Yes,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken as he slid his hand beneath the slit of the skirt to push the fabric up. “I’m getting rid of you to protect you. From all the fucks that would use you to get to me.”

  "Stop," I repeated trying to push his hands away, but he succeeded in raising my dress to my waist so he could spread my legs and force his body in between them. My sex pulsed with need and my breasts swelled and heaved. I wanted this. I wanted him to fuck away the pain of loving and hating him. But at the same time, I needed him not to do this. To not make me weak. "Please."

  "But mostly." His forehead fell against mine as one hand slipped beneath my panties while the other cupped my breast. "I'm doing it to protect you from me." he pushed his fingers inside me, and I gasped. He groaned, sliding his nose down my face until he reached my mouth. His thumb caught my clit while his other strummed my nipple through the velvet. "Say it again," he whispered against my lips. "Tell me to stop."

  The words rose up but caught in my throat. “Griff.”

  Our eyes locked. "I can't be gentle. I want you too much. So tell me to stop."

  I shook my head, angry tears blurring my vision.

  Griff studied me with a mixture of tenderness and fury. Then let go of my breast to pull my panties down. His eyes never left mine. They said, ‘I’m doing this. You’ve got plenty of time to stop me if you don’t want it.’

  Except I did.

  One last time I wanted to feel him inside me.

  I was so wet and needful.

  But I couldn’t admit that out loud.

  I didn't need to. He plunged two thick fingers inside me and felt it.