Enemies & Lovers

by Christine Zolendz

  “You know, Claire, maybe it isn’t anyone you know doing this,” I say, trying to console her. “It can’t be someone who knows you and all you’ve been through.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she bristles.

  “What I’m trying to say is, everything you’ve been through has made you strong and guarded. Tough. So, I doubt this person even knows who they are really up against.”

  “Oh, I see. You think you could placate me with praise and I’ll just think everything will magically be okay all on its own,” she says angrily.

  “I’m not trying to—”

  “Yeah,” she accuses me, “you most definitely are, so quit it.” She shifts her body, snuggling more into the blanket. It’s so cold in the room now my shoulders begin to shiver, so I get up from the couch and sit my ass down right in front of the fireplace.

  “Montgomery! Now you’re blocking all the heat,” she groans.

  “Then come down here where it’s a hundred times warmer. I can hear your teeth chattering,” I say, patting the spot on the floor next to me.

  She sighs loudly but flops down next to me. “I seriously cannot wait until all the pieces of this shitty situation come together and I finally understand why I have to deal with any of this crap.” Her tone is heavy, full of frustration.

  “It’s all their fault,” I say, more to myself than her, “Silas Montgomery and Libby Radcliffe. They’re the ones to blame.”

  “You know what I think is the scariest thing about that woman?” she asks the question in a nervous burst of energy. “It’s how fast and completely she lost herself in a man. She just vanished into him. Forgot she was a wife to someone else, a mother to someone.” She snorts out a bitter, dark laugh. “Now they’re both gone and there’s no one to yell at or rage against. If they weren’t both dead, I’d want to wring their necks.”

  “Did you think about me?” I ask quickly. “I’m not talking about ten years ago. I’m talking about when my father died. You must have seen it on the news.”

  She nods. Does that mean she thought about me or was she nodding her head to seeing the news about my father? This woman is infuriating.

  “So you thought about me?” I probe. “Did you try to find out more information? About me?”

  Her gaze darts up and locks with mine. “You’re like a fourteen-year-old boy right now. What is it that you want to really know?”

  “Did you think about me when you heard the news? Did you think about me?” I demand.

  “Sure, I guess maybe.” She has the audacity to shrug her shoulders like it’s no big deal.

  I grumble beneath my breath angrily.

  “You want to know if I thought about you, and what? If I peeked at your social media and stalked your life, right?” she asks, her tone bitter and full of snark.

  She nailed it.

  “You mean like when it was your twenty-first birthday and on every tabloid magazine cover was a picture of you and a stripper? Or when you weren’t old enough to drink but got a DUI? Or when you were accused of—”

  “Okay, stop. I don’t want you to know the twenty-one-year-old me, he wasn’t a nice guy. He was still heartbroken over everything.”

  “Yeah, right,” she scoffs.

  “Why don’t you believe that what happened affected me too? Why is it only you got hurt?” I snap in anger.

  “I can tell how hurt you were by the Rolex you’re wearing,” she argues. “Did you think about me, Vaughn? While you were driving in your luxury cars and snorting coke off a Playboy bunny’s ass cheeks, were you thinking about me?” she asks with a snarl.

  “Yes,” my voice cracks. “I always looked for you too. On social media. I had your name on Google Alert in case it was ever mentioned anywhere.” I’m a little embarrassed about my confession, but she needs to know how much she meant to me, how much she meant to someone while she was going through all the things she went through.

  “I didn’t have much time to socialize, Vaughn, and forget social media.”

  “Did you miss me? Will you miss me when we leave here?” Fuck, this woman is driving me mad.

  “Come on, Vaughn, stop,” she whispers.

  “Because over the years, Claire, missing you came in waves, and for so long I swore I was drowning.” I can’t stop, even if I try.

  Her eyes are still fixed on mine.

  “And seeing you again, it somehow feels like my head is above water for the first time in a while,” I whisper. I must be looking at her with pleading eyes. I want her to tell me she missed me, that her life would be better with me in it—that I could change it somehow and make everything right.

  “It used to be at night, when I was alone in my apartment, that’s when I would feel it the most. Something alive, some sort of pulse beating along with mine, something bigger than me, bigger than anything I could ever imagine, and that’s what I sometimes think keeps me going. It keeps me believing that somewhere out there I’m connected to someone. Someone’s heart that beats alongside mine, however faraway he may be.” She averts her eyes to the fire and slowly shrugs. “I don’t know if you’re still the same person inside, Vaughn. People grow up and change, harden. They become other people. I don’t know if we’re each other’s person anymore.”

  “I’m the same guy, Claire and if we try to be us again, I don’t think there’s anything to lose, but there’ll be a lot to gain. For the both of us.”

  “Vaughn, I’m not in a good state to—”

  “We can let the pain of what they did fill this room if we let it. We could let it overpower us, let it spill out of every window and door. But what’s that going to do to us? Huh? It’ll drown us.” I wrap her in my arms and tuck her into my chest. “I’m so tired of it all, let’s just walk away from it and go back to us.”

  I brush my lips over the bottom of her jaw and she shivers. “Tell me to stop, Claire, and I will,” I whisper against her skin, but the only thing I hear is her breathing. I only hesitate to listen for a moment, then I trail my mouth over her neck, up to her mouth and capture her lips.

  She makes a little surprised sound.

  Then her mouth opens with a soft moan and I wrap my arms around her, bringing her closer. My cock is already rigid and swollen, still greedy from the last time I was inside her. Now it throbs against the tight material of my jeans and I need it out of its cage and back deep inside her.

  I drag her pants and underwear off her hips one side at a time and breathe out a heavy moan when I see all she has to offer me. “Goddamn, Claire.”

  “Vaughn,” she whispers, pulling at the buckle of my jeans, fumbling to free my cock.

  I press my hands between her legs and she whimpers.

  “Again. You’re not telling me to stop,” I say, stroking my thumb in circles over her clit.

  A hot hand wraps around my cock and squeezed with the perfect amount of pressure, “Do you want to stop?” she whispers.

  I push my fingers deep inside her. She gasps and rocks her hips against my hand. My cock throbs in her grip.

  “Claire, I want you.” I kiss her deeply, pushing and pulling my fingers through her slickness. “Fuck…I need you.”

  Claire wraps her legs around me in answer.

  I growl, my hands moving all over her body, grasping and pawing like I can’t touch her fast enough. We tumble into perfect alignment and I sink deep between her legs. A fierce shot of pleasure explodes up my spine and I moan into her mouth. Her breathing is ragged as she moves her body underneath me.

  I drop my mouth to her throat and pump my hips against her, in slow long strokes.

  “Oh…God…Yes.”

  I lean up, shifting my weight to look at her breasts, her lips, her eyes. Damn, the way this woman moves. We rock together, moving our hips like a slow, intense dance, our gazes fixed on one another’s. This isn’t just mindless sex. This is so much more.

  I lean my head down and pass a tongue over her nipple. I lick and suck and bite.

  “Oh, Vaughn�
�” She fists her hands in my hair, and whimpers. “Don’t stop. Don’t…I’m going to…Oh God…”

  I feel her getting closer, wetter, tighter. My hips pick up speed, and I thrust harder and deeper. Over and over, until she’s shuddering hard beneath. Her arms tighten around my neck and she’s breathing heavily, panting and moaning and still staring right into my eyes. The arch of her body intensifies, pleasure spirals through my body and I peak, white hot and sharp and like nothing I’ve felt before.

  Her body softens, muscles loosen. Her legs slide down from around my waist and slip down my thighs. “That was intense,” she whispers.

  I nod, not able to find the right words. It’s never been that intense for me with anyone else. I’ve never stared into someone’s eyes and felt that desperate need, that frenzied…it’s love, isn’t it? Not just the word love, but real…deep love. I love Claire Radcliffe. I always have, and goddamn, I always will.

  Claire nuzzles into me, and emotionally and mentally exhausted, we both drift off to sleep in front of the fire.

  I don’t know how long I’m asleep for, but when I wake the fire is burning lower, the skies outside are darker than before and Claire is no longer in my arms. She’s standing, facing opposite me in the kitchen looking inside one of the drawers. I don’t move. I don’t make a sound or call out to her. I just watch as she takes something—a paper or an envelope out of the drawer and tiptoe to where her coat is hanging and slips it into her pocket.

  So, she found the accounts.

  She’s not running to me and waking me up. She’s hiding them. She’s taking the money for herself—that’s all she wanted. She doesn’t want me. I’m a fool to think she did.

  She’s no different than her mother.

  My chest is on fire, my brain a twist of fury. I want to slam my fists through the walls of this shitty house. Do I give her a chance to tell me? What if she never does?

  My entire body numbs.

  I need to get myself away from all of this—my father’s money—this Montgomery-Radcliffe war. I want out. Fuck them all.

  She slips back under the blankets and snuggles her warm body against mine, but I don’t wrap my hands around or pull her close like I did before. I’m a stone statue, boiling with rage under the surface, and the hardest thing I’ve ever hard to do is lie here still next to her and not crush her with the pain she’s caused. As soon as she’s back asleep, as soon as her breathing evens out, I’ll call Matteo. If his mother knew about our parents, maybe he knew or at least he’ll be discrete about this whole thing when I ask him to come get me. I don’t want my mother or Chloe knowing about any of this. He’s my oldest friend, I could trust him with my life. He could bring the snowmobiles in his truck and get us out of here. Then I would never have to see her again. If my father left any secret offshore accounts for her mother and she did find them, I hope Claire drowns in them.

  Chapter 17

  Hello, Claire.

  Claire, I think you forgot about me. You forgot about our deal. Our budding relationship. You haven’t answered any of my texts since yesterday. I’m wondering if I should be angry or worried. It’s not like you, Claire. You do what you’re told, always, don’t you? Something must be wrong. Did you get caught in the storm?

  Is your phone as dead as your mother?

  I spent the night in your room, Claire, humping your pillows, envisioning you choking on my cock, eyes watering. Claire. Claire. Claire. I could write an epic fantasy on the sounds you made in my thoughts. You know you have to come through for me on this, on us. Because, Claire, I’ve had the night under your sheets to think about it, about you. About me. I think I want to know you, Claire. I think I want to share the Montgomery fortune with you. I have plans, Claire. Plans I think you will enjoy. Have you ever been to Mexico? Brazil? You’ve probably never left the country, have you? I think it would be good, for both of us. We will get to know one another holding pina coladas on a beach.

  If you get the money.

  I’m not some soft, unsophisticated motherfucker, though, Claire. I will hurt you. I will hunt you down and pull you apart piece by piece if you don’t come through for me. For us.

  Do you know how lucky you are to have me on your side in all of this? You’re the luckiest girl on the face of the earth right now, Claire. I choose to share the wealth of those filthy pigs with you. I choose it, Claire, because it doesn’t seem like anyone in your miserable life ever chose you, did they? See how lucky you are to have me here protecting you?

  Come back home, Claire. I can’t wait to see you. I can’t wait to be inside you, to fill you with every part of me. After we can sit on your bed, on the sheets we stained with our bodies, and make plans. We can go anywhere. Be anyone we want. But I need you to know I want you to be part of this with me, Claire. I want you here, with me. Now.

  Come home to me.

  Chapter 18

  Claire

  My sleep is restless. I’ve tossed and turned for hours. The fire is too hot, the cabin is too cold, and Vaughn is too real. He’s real enough to walk through my dreams and take hold of me like a vice on my heart, squeezing and squeezing.

  Nightmares mix with memories—love, loss, the absolute loneliness of my life—all hazy around the edges, but in them all Vaughn is there. He haunts them all, he haunts me still, doesn’t he? Even after all the years that have passed, I can still feel the heartbeat of what we had. I can still taste him on my lips, feel his warm touch on my skin. I never stopped wanting him, needing him. I’ve never stopped being in love with him.

  The fire crackles loudly, and I grasp at the blankets we’re wrapped in. God help me, I want to get back to us, I want to let him in. I’ll let him have all of me, everything—my love, my trust, my pain. My hands search for his skin, his warmth, but the place next to me where he slept is empty and cold.

  Then a pounding on the door starts. A fist like iron banging away at the wood. I scrabble in the tangle of blankets until I’m sitting straight up. My head spins from the remnants of my strange dreams—my vision still a blur of sleep and some unseen doom.

  “What’s going on?” My voice rasps and breaks, my throat burns like I’ve been held underwater for way too long. I try to cough and clear it out. That only makes it hurt more. I look for Vaughn, maybe he can get me a glass of water, but his back is to me and he’s walking toward the sounds of hammering fists at the front door.

  I climb quickly to my feet and wrap the blanket tightly around me. It’s odd that Vaughn’s already dressed. When did that happen? How long ago did he slip away from me and begin his day without me? And who is at the door? Could it be the person who is trying to hurt me? Why would Vaughn just open the door to an axe-murdering, blackmailing psychopath?

  I rush into the kitchen, away from the door. “What if that’s the psycho?” I croak, trying to grasp the handle of the sink’s faucet. All I can think about it dowsing the flames in my throat with water. And maybe arming myself with a steak knife from one of the drawers.

  “It’s not the psycho,” Vaughn growls.

  I spin on my heels. I shoved my face under the stream of water and now it’s dripping down my chin and neck as I face Vaughn. An uneasy feeling creeps along my skin as he opens the door.

  The blast of icy wind and snow that explodes through the room chills me to the bone. A man, tall and slender, covered from head to toe with winter gear stomps in. He slams the door behind him and shakes the snow off his hat and shoulders.

  My stomach flutters happily when I recognize the face, older now, more manly and mature.

  “Matteo?” I whisper. I haven’t seen him since that horrible summer night. Unlike the small glimpses I got of Vaughn’s life through social media and tabloids, I haven’t even seen a picture of Matteo in all these years. I never thought to search for him online or look him up. Thinking back now, with him standing in the same room as me, I probably should have. He wasn’t a Montgomery, he had none of their money or fancy education, why had I never thought to find him?
>
  Matteo’s eyes dart from Vaughn’s to mine and back to Vaughn’s. He only looks vaguely similar to the boy I once knew, maybe he’s having a hard time recognizing me as well. I pull the blankets tighter around me, suddenly feeling the bite of embarrassment chill every inch of my skin.

  “Claire?” he asks, pulling his coat off his shoulders. “Claire Radcliffe?” Again, he looks from me to Vaughn. Back and forth, over and over. He’s stunned about seeing me here.

  Vaughn, meanwhile, doesn’t seem able to look in my direction. What is that about? What happened to all those things he said to me? Did something change between the time we spoke and now?

  Maybe he doesn’t want Matteo or anyone in his family to know why we were stuck here together. Of course, I’m so stupid. Why would he want anyone to know about our parents? That would cause more of an issue when we eventually tell his mother and sister we reconnected. I’m not particularly sure I want to keep their horrible sins a secret, though.

  I’m not really sure how I feel about any of this.

  “Claire, is that really you?” He comes over and hugs me in an awkward one-armed embrace. It’s almost as if he thinks I might be made of china—that I may somehow break.

  Matteo eyes Vaughn curiously. “How? I mean,” he laughs nervously. “What’s going on? Why is she here? And what is this place?”

  “We just met up here to fuck,” Vaughn gloats, with a sickening smirk.

  Heat explodes across my cheeks, spreading across my skin and stinging the tips of my ears. My breath catches and I gasp, choking on the flood of saliva that fills my mouth. Why? Why would he say that? What is he thinking?

  Vaughn’s attention turns to me and his smirk turns into an expression of pure and utter disgust. “You’re not going to call me in a month to say you’re pregnant, right?” His voice drops menacingly, and he laughs bitterly, “I’m surprised your mother never pulled that on my father.”