“I remember,” I answered. “But we’re not in the front seat of your car.”
Noah stopped behind me, his fingers brushing my neck, gliding down the length of my dress zipper. “Why let that small detail stop us?”
“What if someone tries to come in?” I checked the door in the mirror, feeling myself melt piece by piece the lower his fingers swept.
“I won’t let it stop me.” His other hand settled upon me, slipping beneath my dress.
My hand dug into the edge of the counter when his thumb hooked beneath my underwear. He yanked them down over my hips, letting them fall around my ankles on the floor.
“We have people waiting for us,” I said. My teeth sank into my lip when the sound of his zipper lowering filled the air.
“We won’t be long.” His words hummed against my neck before his lips touched me.
My eyes closed when I felt his body around mine. His foot slid between mine, easing them apart.
“What is this, Noah?” My head fell back over his shoulder when he sucked at my neck, his hands twisting the hem of my dress up higher.
His teeth sank into the patch of skin he’d been sucking, provoking a flinch from me. “This? This part is wanting,” he whispered against me. “The part to follow is having.”
His hand spread across the small of my back, guiding me lower into the counter. A noise rattled deep in my chest when his hips pinned me in place.
“Open your eyes.” Noah voice was strained as his arm slid around me, like a thick rope circling a mast.
Only when my eyes found his in the mirror did he move inside me, slow and controlled, taking his time while all semblance of control spiraled from me.
I had every intention of prolonging the having, to extend the sensation of submission and dominance my body was warring over, but when Noah’s large hand fitted around my throat, squeezing ever so slightly as all restraint faded from his eyes, I felt my world imploding.
“Eyes open.” His fingers tightened, easing back when my focus found its way back to his.
He stared at me through the reflection of the mirror, hands gripping my throat and hip as our bodies moved in a synchronized, yet unchoreographed union until both of us ignited. My name fell from his lips when he strained inside me one last time.
We remained that way for a minute, breaths heavy and bodies trembling. My mind was whirring with questions of reality versus reverie. Noah had never been so bold, not even in our early years together.
A hundred questions were vying for competition when the door abruptly rattled. While I flinched like I’d been caught in my parents’ bedroom with a boy of questionable repute, Noah calmly straightened, smoothing my dress back into place.
“Temporarily closed for maintenance!” he called to whoever was on the outside still trying to get in.
“Maintenance?” I grinned tipsily at him through the mirror as I slid back into my underwear.
“I’ve been neglecting my responsibilities.” His mouth quirked when I turned toward him, my chest still bursting from my dress. “It was time to take care of that.”
“I’m not sure whether to scold or thank you,” I said, adjusting my dress a few more degrees.
“Maybe both are in order.” His hand fell to my lower back as we started for the door.
He pushed the chair back into its place, and when he slid the lock aside and opened the door, the woman waiting on the other side blinked at us in confusion.
“All yours, ma’am,” Noah announced as we whisked by.
“How are we going to explain our prolonged absence when we get back?” I asked, feeling ten years younger weaving through the dining room.
“We don’t have to explain anything. Let them think whatever they want.”
I did one last check of my dress when our table came into view. “When did you become so fearless?”
“Not fearless.” His eyes were light and the ever-present creases of concern were absent from his forehead. “Just don’t give a single shit what Dean Kincaid may or may not think.”
My hand covered my mouth as a laugh escaped. I wasn’t sure I could recall the last time I’d laughed when it hadn’t been rehearsed or forced.
“What’s so funny?” Dean asked as we slid into our chairs, his expression suggesting annoyance.
“The ironies of life,” Noah answered, setting his napkin in his lap and picking up his silverware to dive into his meal.
Dean’s remained untouched in front of him, while Kimberly was several bites into her dressing-free salad.
“Ironies such as?”
Noah gave Dean an ambiguous smile as he chewed his first bite of rare steak.
“You two were gone for a while.” Dean leaned back in his seat, watching me. “We were about to send a search party to see if you’d gotten lost.”
Noah carved another chunk of meat from his steak. When his eyes drifted to mine, my face warmed. Picking up my wine glass, I finished the last sip.
Dean waved between us. “No one rush to answer first.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize there was a question in your last comment.” Noah’s head tipped. “Was there?”
“I thought shrinks were good at reading between the lines.” As Dean reached for the bottle of wine to refill my glass, Noah’s arm swooped in first.
“I am,” Noah answered. Lifting the bottle to my glass, Noah wound his free arm behind me, his hand sweeping my hair over my shoulder.
“Oh my god, you two were screwing in the bathroom, weren’t you?” Kimberly waved her fork my direction. “You have a hickey the size of Rhode Island on your neck that you did not have when you left the table.” Her attention turned to Noah, who she gave a coy wink. “You might look like a square, but there must be an animal hiding beneath all that nerdy wholesomeness. Your wife’s one lucky broad.”
The range of emotions circling the table spanned the entire spectrum, but it was the man across the table who appeared to be nearing his critical mass.
Dean’s eyes were zeroed in on my neck, that vein in his neck surfacing to the point of bursting the longer he stared. Even when I swept my hair back over my shoulder to conceal the amorous mark, his gaze didn’t break.
“I’ve lost my appetite.” Shoving away from the table, Dean rose, chugging his wine in one gulp.
“Which appetite are you referring to?” Noah asked, his jawline pressing through his skin. “Because certain cravings you are not allowed to hunger for. In case I haven’t made that clear.”
Noah’s arm tightened around me as he stared at Dean with a mixture of warning and challenge.
Dean snorted in defiance, but no words followed. When Kimberly didn’t pick up the hint that it was time to leave, he pulled out her chair. She muttered something about not being finished before waving goodbye to Noah and me.
“I guess we’re picking up the bill,” Noah sighed, getting right back to his steak.
In my lap, my hands were trembling. “That whole thing in the bathroom . . .” My words were shaking as well. “It had nothing to do with me, did it?” Twisting in my chair, I stared at him, back to the Noah I was used to—distant in both physical and emotional space. “You fucking me was all about sending a big fuck you to him? Wasn’t it?”
Noah smiled cordially at the table in front of us when their heads turned. When they went back to their dinners, Noah set down his silverware and motioned at our server for the bill.
“He needed to be reminded of his place.” He motioned at Dean’s empty chair across from me, as though that was all the proof needed.
“Glad I can be your tool for establishing dominance,” I snapped, digging through my purse for my compact mirror to see how bad the mark on my neck was. My mouth fell open a little when I saw it—the size of an apricot, the color of a plum. “Next time you feel the need to mark your territory, do it in a place that’s easy to cover up.”
He sighed, handing his credit card to the server without checking the bill. “Let’s not fight tonight.�
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I was only going to take a sip of my wine, but I ended up drinking half of it. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a really good one.”
Noah’s head lowered, his forehead locking into those permanent lines again. “It seems like all we do is fight.”
“Fighting requires presence and we haven’t shared that in months.” I twisted in my chair toward him. “I’d rather fight than endure another stretch of silence.”
“All right.” Noah shoved his plate away, turning to meet me. “Fight it is. The truth is, you put me in the position of having to knock Kinkaid down a few rungs. He wants you, and you’re not giving him any reason to believe he won’t get what he wants.”
My eyes rounded in an attempt to sell outrage and denial. “He wants me? Please.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “He was with a date, for Christ’s sakes.”
Noah’s chest moved. “Not to forget that you are married.”
“Is that what this is? A marriage?” My finger flung between us as I ignored the heads turning our way from the nearby tables. “Because most days it feels like more of a sentence.”
“Last I checked, it is a sentence. A life sentence.” His voice lowered. “And how you choose to view that commitment is up to you. See it as an opportunity or a burden, that’s your call.”
“Don’t you dare treat me like I’m some headcase reclined on your office sofa.”
“Your words, not mine,” he interjected, reaching for his glass of water.
“I’m not your patient, I’m your wife.” My hand slammed down on the table, causing the silverware to rattle. I didn’t care if everyone in the whole restaurant heard; I was tired of silencing the problems or pretending they didn’t exist. “Stop treating me like I’m a pawn in some misogynist game or a problem to be solved.”
“Then stop inviting me to be your plus one for reasons other than desiring the company of your husband.” He tipped his glass at Dean’s empty seat, a storm rising in his eyes. “I can’t believe I carved out an evening to watch my wife seduce the likes of Dean Kincaid.”
The server dropped off the credit card without a word when he noticed the look on my face. If I were to guess, I imagined it suggested I was about to stab someone through the ear with my butter knife.
“‘Carve out an evening’?” My voice shook with anger. “Well thank you for deigning me with your presence. I know how precious your time is.” I made a grand flourish in his direction. “Sorry you had to skip a ten-mile run, or your Jiu Jitsu, or trying to help a bunch of sick fucks who never get better. You are beyond selfish when it comes to your time and what you want to do, so don’t treat me like some piece of trash because I enjoyed a man paying me some actual attention.”
Bursting from my seat, I towered over him, wanting him to match my level of anger—happy to have him exceed it. Anything to demonstrate he was as invested in this marriage as I was. Something that showed he cared, because getting emotional parlayed into caring. No emotion, no concern.
Noah took a drink of his water, his eyes locked forward, his posture relaxed.
“You’re married, Grace.”
Wiping my cheek, I realized I’d only imagined the tear falling. Ten minutes ago, I’d felt as close to Noah as I ever had, and now, I’d never felt so far removed from him.
“I’m married to a ghost.” My throat moved as I collected my purse, letting the emotion strain from me. If he didn’t care, it would be easier to convince myself I didn’t either. “I don’t know where your head has been lately, but I can’t keep doing this. In case you haven’t noticed, our family is falling apart and I seem to be the only one who’s trying to hold it together.”
I waited, longer than I should have, for him to reply. An acknowledgment, apology or even a screw you would have been better than the pregnant silence that followed.
His voice followed me as I left the table. “Where are you going?”
“Stop pretending to care.”
Eleven
Dean’s office was dark when I got in that morning, his door sealed shut. A considerable part of me hoped he’d called in sick or would spend the day working from home. I was not ready to dissect the mess from last night with him, and I imagined it would be worse to pretend nothing had happened.
The two of us would need to clear the air, but not the morning after.
“Were you out partying all night or something?” Connor sang when I turned the corner into my office. “You’re late.”
“It’s seven,” I said, mussing up his perfectly coifed ’do.
“It’s seven oh four, therefore, you are late.” Connor tapped his watch face before combing his fingers through his hair to fix what I’d messed. “What’s the deal with the corporate-climber meets school-marm look?” His finger swirled at me as I unloaded the contents of my day onto my desk; coffee, planner and phone being the key players. “Was there a current issue of Vogue I missed? Because last I checked, turtlenecks fell off the map in winter 2018.”
“Can we move on from my fashion faux pas blouse choice and go over the schedule for the day please?” Settling into my chair, I opened my planner to check or cross off the appointments based on Connor’s up-to-date information.
“Nothing has changed except your four o’clock with that slimeball defense attorney. He had to reschedule for Monday. Something about a witness schedule conflict, but if you ask me, they’re hoping the evidence we have against his client will mysteriously erupt into flames over the weekend.”
“Which slimeball defense council are you referring to this time?” I teased.
“Take your pick,” he muttered. “And most importantly, what are we ordering for lunch?”
“I don’t care. There are no better choices when my paralegal is a vegan who has a nut allergy, a nightshade sensitivity, and is gluten free.” I made a face. “Just pick a vegetable and I’ll pretend to eat it.”
“Leeks are in season.”
“Yummy,” I replied with a frown.
Connor bounced up from his chair. “I’m going to get to work on the Marks case. I’ve got to chip away at the file before our meeting this afternoon.”
“We’re interviewing the older sister of the girl who’s alleging her father’s molesting her?”
“That’s the one.” Connor clicked his pen, heading for the door. “Really fosters this sense of good in the world, doesn’t it? When fathers who are supposed to protect and love their children turn out to be the monsters?”
“It’s why we do what we do,” I said, scratching out my four o’clock meeting.
“Yeah, but nothing we do actually prevents the trauma from happening, you know?” He turned to face me, continuing to back away. “We’re well-paid custodians. We take out the trash, but we can’t stop it from piling up.”
“Thank you for that cheery morning thought. I’m going to do my best to not question my life’s work and get back to believing putting bad guys in jail makes a difference in the world.” I waved him away, not having to remind him to close the door when he left.
“Oh, to live in the Land of Delusion.” Snapping his fingers, he was about to close the door when one of the receptionists appeared.
“A package just arrived for you, Grace.”
“Thanks, Margie,” I said, taking the box.
“Only good things come bundled up in those colored boxes.” She gave a little wink before leaving, patting Connor’s arm as she passed.
Margie had been a receptionist since my dad worked here, and she had become the unofficial office grandmother. She took her title seriously too, bringing in enough baked goods to put the whole place into diabetic shock if we actually attempted to eat everything she boxed up, and she was always the first one to notice when someone was having a rough day.
Connor’s eyes dipped to the silver box in my hands. “Someone was either very good or deliciously naughty.”
I ignored Connor’s quip, hoping my face wasn’t changing colors. I guessed what Noah and I did last night would fall
into one of Connor’s categories.
After pulling the silver ribbon free, I slid off the box lid to reveal a hand-penned note on top.
Apologies. For more than the neck.
My forehead folded as I read Noah’s note once more. His handwriting was tall and precise, impossible to mistake despite there being no name attached to the note or gift.
When I unfolded the tissue paper, a smile stretched across my face. I reached into the box and ran my fingers over the unexpected gift.
“Well? What is it so I’ll know if you were a good or bad girl last night?”
I pulled it from the box for him to see, still smiling.
In my hands could have been a jar of mustard from the look on Connor’s face. “A scarf.” His brows pulled closer together. “A scarf?”
After folding my cashmere turtleneck down a ways, I wound the silk scarf around my neck, tying it where the mark Noah had left was located.
“What the hell does a scarf say?” Connor’s tone was the equivalent of scratching his head.
Slipping the note into my planner, I closed the box and tied the bow back the way it had arrived. The smile had not dimmed from my face. “It says”—I touched the scarf around my neck, considering what it meant—“he cares.”
The rest of the day was tinted brighter given the start. Not even the leek and celery gazpacho Connor showed up with at lunch time or the text I got from my mom with an attachment to an article preaching the benefits of a “Mommy Makeover” could dampen my spirits.
Connor was waiting in the conference room with the witness when I coasted in a little after two. “Sorry I’m late. My last meeting ran longer than expected.” I approached the witness, holding out my hand to shake. “I’m Grace Wolff, the prosecuting attorney.”
“Mary Marks,” she replied quietly, not making eye contact.
“Can we get you anything to drink?” I asked as I set my things on the table. “Coffee, tea, water?”
She shook her head, radiating a nervous vibe. “No, thanks. I’d like to get this over and done with as soon as possible.”
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