by Lisa De Jong
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Quote
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Copyright © 2015 by Lisa De Jong
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Edited by Madison Seidler and Jessica Carnes
Cover by Mae I Design
Cover Photo by My MoJo Photo
Model: Jennifer Uphoff
Formatting by Kassi’s Kandids Formatting
“COLE!” I SCREAM, curling my fingers around the edge of the counter. He pulls out slowly, then thrusts back inside; there’s nothing soft and tender about it.
During the first few years of our marriage, he made love to me. His lips would brush against my skin from head to toe, and his hands would caress my inner thighs until I’d ached for him to be inside of me.
He’d tease.
He’d have me gasping for breath before he’d even reached where I needed it the most.
He’d known exactly how I liked it; it was insane bliss. It had been the reason I’d sped home from work every night. It was one of the reasons I knew he was the one—our maddening physical connection translated into every aspect of our relationship. Every last inch of me was wrapped around him. Everything: heart, soul, and body.
He pushes in again until it aches, burying his head deep in the crook of my neck.
“Don’t stop,” I moan, slipping my fingers between us. I need to come so badly. Four weeks and five days… that’s how long it’s been.
Sex isn’t about me lately, and it hasn’t been for a while.
His teeth dig into my skin. “I can’t stop myself, baby. You feel so good.”
“Cole, please,” I beg, rubbing my fingers in circles. If he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge my need.
He thrusts all the way in. “Christ, Marley,” he murmurs against my skin as he releases into me.
My heart sinks, but my desire is stuck at an all-time high. My orgasms have become rarer than a full moon. In less than an hour, it will be four weeks and six days since I last felt what it was like to clench around him.
My breathing is heavy. My fingers still. His head remains pressed against my neck as his fingers run gently along my spine.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispers against my skin.
Not the way you’re thinking.
“I’m good,” I lie, leaning in to kiss his shoulder.
He cups my ass, sliding me off the counter. His hooded eyes stare deep into mine. That look he had on the day we said I do … I still see it there. It hasn’t disappeared completely, but the way he shows it has. How do I get that back?
He leans in, kissing the tip of my nose and each corner of my mouth, followed by a quick peck on my lips.
“I love you,” he says softly, pulling away.
“I love you more.” I’ve said it for years, but lately I wonder how much I believe it.
“Not possible.”
He slips the strap of my nightie back over my shoulder and adjusts his boxer briefs so we’re both covered. “I have to go out of town for a few days. I know I promised no more trips this month, but I—”
“You have a client that needs help on an emergency case,” I interrupt, wanting so badly to turn and walk out of the room. It’s the same excuse over and over again.
He cups my cheeks in his warm hands. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
“But this week—” I hold back the tears.
“I know. I tried to get out of it, but I’m the only one who has direct knowledge of this case.” The pads of his thumbs brush the puffy circles under my eyes. He should be the one to take them away since he put them there.
“What day?” he asks when I don’t speak up.
“Thursday,” I choke, my lower lip quivering. Seven months is a long time to wait to get pregnant, and it doesn’t help that my husband never seems to be around when I need him.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll happen after tonight,” he says, pulling me in close to his warm body.
Pressing my palms to his chest, I try to put as much distance between us as possible.
“That’s three days, Cole. You promised—”
He wraps his arms around me tightly, making it impossible to escape.
“I promise,” he whispers against my ear. “I promise if it doesn’t happen for us this month, I’ll be here next month. I know how much this means to you.”
I choke back the tears that threaten to carve a path down my cheeks. “Do you?”
His grip loosens just enough so he can stare down into my eyes. “I want it, too. If you don’t believe that, then why are we even standing here talking about this?”
I shrug in response, unable to find the right words. I don’t even know where to start, but this was not the way I pictured our night going.
He leans in to kiss my lips. “I’ll think about you every second I’m gone.”
I doubt that too.
“Why don’t you go get ready for bed? I have a quick phone call to make, then I’ll join you.”
Without another word, I slip out from between him and the counter. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I curl up on my side of the bed, fully aware I’ll drift off to sleep before he makes it in. To have and to hold doesn’t hold much weight for him. Not like it used to.
“You going to miss me?” he asks me the next morning. His arms wrap around me while I pour my first cup of coffee.
“I always do,” I reply honestly, resting my hand over his.
“I have a meeting scheduled at the office today that I need you to take care of for me. New client.”
“Give me a thirty second brief,” I say as his lips press into the curve of my neck.
“I don’t know too much about him yet. Beatrice tells me that he’s in town trying to close a deal on a vacant building downtown for some new restaurant nightclub venture. She told him I’d be out, but that my wife was more than capable of handling it.” He pauses and retracts. “Actually, the way she put it was ‘even more capable of handling it.’ I don’t know what kind of bribes you’ve been throwing her behind my back, but they’re clearly working,” he teases, as his warm lips begin trailing up my neck.
His hands splay against my flat stomach, then slowly
skim down, gripping the bottom of my long, white T-shirt. The cotton brushes against my thighs until his hands find my bare ass, kneading it. “Maybe we can make a baby right now … before I go,” he whispers against my earlobe.
His hands move around to my stomach, traveling up to my exposed breasts. I gasp as he pinches my nipples.
“Let go, baby,” he demands, pressing me forward until my cheek is pressed against the cold granite. My panties are yanked to my knees when I hear the sound of his zipper. Without hesitation, he’s inside of me, pumping in and out with caveman-like vigor.
I want to touch him, to kiss him, to make love the way we used to, but this is it. This is how the last year of our four years of marriage has been.
“Are you going to miss me, baby?” he asks, pulling on my ponytail. The sensation. The tingle. It’s almost enough to send me over the elusive edge.
“Yes!” I scream, barely able to catch my breath. “Touch me, Cole. I need you to touch me.”
His warm lips draw an invisible map down my back. “How do you want me to touch you … hmm? Tell me.”
“I want to come. Please make me come.” He finds the swollen spot between my legs, gently rubbing small circles as the pace of his thrusts quicken. It’s become a race of who will get there first. He speeds up once again, and I know he’s close.
He thrusts. The pressure inside of me builds.
I close my eyes tightly, doing my best to stay in the moment—to think about nothing but the way he fills me. I imagine him shirtless and pinning me against the wall with his strong arms wrapped tightly around my waist. I imagine us in bed—his fully naked body covering mine in a continuous rhythm.
I’m on the verge of ultimate euphoria, but he’s so much closer. With one final deep thrust, he let’s go, grunting behind me as his hand presses into my back. His fingers slip from between my legs, and I wince.
Does he know what he’s doing to me? Or not doing?
“I better get going,” he says as he helps me up from the counter.
“Yeah, you better,” I answer, doing everything I can to not look him in the eyes. He’ll read me like a simple children’s book, and we don’t have time to sift through the disaster we’ve become before he jets off on his next trip. He brushes my hair away from my shoulder and kisses the back of my neck.
“I need to get ready for work,” I announce, glancing over at the clock on the microwave.
He spins me in his arms, giving me no choice but to make eye contact. If he sees sadness in my eyes, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He grips my hips, pulling me in for one last lingering kiss. I wish he touched me like this all the time … with this much tenderness and love.
“See you Friday, baby.”
I pull my lips into a smile, albeit forced. “Behave yourself,” I warn him.
“It’s not me we have to worry about.” He winks, loosening his grip on me.
“Besides wine with the girls tonight, I’ll be curled on the couch watching true crime television. Then, I’ll lie in bed with your old wooden bat while I imagine every little sound is a masked intruder who has come to drown me or chop me into tiny little pieces.”
He laughs. “Lock the door and set the alarm. You’ll be fine.” He looks down at his watch. “Okay, now I really need to go, or I’m going to miss my flight.”
“Be safe,” I say, standing on my tiptoes to kiss the tip of his nose.
I watch his strong suited body retreat and walk out the front door as I fold my arms over my stomach. Can our marriage even handle a baby right now?
“MARLEY, I’M GLAD YOU’RE HERE,” Beatrice announces as I walk past her desk. “River Holtz has called three times already this morning asking what time you can fit him into your schedule.”
Beatrice has been part of the firm since we took over after Cole’s father died a few years ago. In fact, I think she was Robert Mason’s secretary for twenty years even before then. She knows what she’s doing.
“Who is River Holtz?” I ask, dismissively thumbing through a fresh stack of mail.
“Didn’t your husband tell you? He’s in town and wants to work with you on an acquisition. A club developer, if I recall.”
“Oh yes, he mentioned that. What time does he want to meet?”
Her nose wrinkles slightly as she pushes up her glasses. “That’s sort of why I’m glad you’re here.”
“Spit it out, Beatrice.”
She sighs. “He’s waiting in your office. And did I mention, he’s not very patient?”
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath as I smooth out my black sleeveless pencil dress and push my long blonde hair away from my face. “Do we have a file on him?”
She hands me a thin folder. “This is all I could find,” she says, staring at me the way my mother used to when I was too quiet at the dinner table or when I came home way earlier than my curfew.
“Are you okay, Marley?”
“Why?”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard you swear in all the years I’ve known you,” she responds quietly. She’s good at her job—not because she types the fastest or works long hours, but because she studies everything around her. She knows what needs to be done before we even tell her … she more than likely knows us better than we know ourselves.
“I’m just tired,” I answer, pushing away the depressing feelings I thought I’d left at home this morning. My relationship can be fixed … it has to be.
I start walking toward the heavy mahogany door, which is open just enough to get a good glimpse at my early, unexpected visitor.
“Hey, Marley,” Beatrice says quietly from behind me.
I turn around, annoyed. Not so much at her but because I have a man in my office who I still don’t know shit about, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet. Cole literally fucked that up this morning. “What is it?”
“He’s probably not what you’re expecting.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “I wasn’t expecting anyone this morning. I have two depositions to work on. He picked the wrong day to just stop in.”
She wrinkles her nose again. “That’s not quite what I meant.”
“Out with it,” I say, glancing between her and the door.
“He may have just gotten out of prison from the looks of it.” She pauses, smiling just a bit. “He knows how to wear a pair of trousers, though. If you can get a look from the back—”
“Beatrice!” I shout as quietly as I can to still prove my point. She raises her hands in defeat.
Without another word, I take one last look down at my dress and open the door to my corner office. It’s easily the best in the whole suite.
My mouth gapes at the sight of the man standing at my window, peering down at the city streets. He’s got the ass of a professional soccer player, which is probably why Beatrice noted his trousers. His well-pressed white shirt is rolled up to his elbows, showcasing a full sleeve of tattoos that reach his knuckles.
Definitely not my typical client.
I clear my throat, drawing his attention. My eyes widen, but I quickly gain back control. He’s got the lightest eyes—almost like glass. They’re hard to look away from. “What can I help you with, Mr. Holtz?” I ask, walking around to sit behind my desk. I’m going to need something to ground me.
He puts one hand in his pocket, running the fingers of the other over his perfect pink lips. “I have a deal that I need to close rather quickly. I was hoping to work with Cole, but I hear he’s conveniently out of town.”
He hasn’t moved from the window, so he’s perfectly aligned with my chair; the way his gaze shifts from my legs to my eyes while he speaks doesn’t escape me.
“Why so quick?” I ask, pulling out a pen to take notes.
“When I want something, I get it. This is a special property, and I know I’m not the only one who’s going to go after it.”
I point to one of the chairs that sit in front of my desk. “Would you mind taking a seat so we can go over a few details?”
He grins, walking toward my desk. His palms lay flat on the edge as he leans in close. His light brown hair falls forward, bringing my attention back to those eyes. “I don’t like being told what to do.”
“I asked,” I chime back, biting down on the tip of my pen.
He sits on the edge of the desk a few feet away from me. “This is where I want to sit. Now, what do you need to know?”
You have got to be fucking kidding me. I buzz Beatrice.
“Yes, Mrs. Mason?”
“Bring me some coffee. Lots of coffee.”
“I’d like one too,” River says before Beatrice has a chance to respond.
“I’ll be right there,” she says before the phone clicks.
“First, give me the address of the property,” I say, turning my attention back to him.
He picks up a manila envelope and tosses it across the desk. “It’s all in there.”
“And the seller?” I ask.
“That’s in there, too.”
“So, why do you need me? This is what real estate agents are for, no?” My eyes are stuck to the door. If Beatrice doesn’t bring my coffee soon, I may lose it.
“The property isn’t zoned as a nightclub. What I want to do is run a restaurant through the early evening hours, then transform it into the hottest nightclub in town. You’re going to be the one to make that happen.” The way his thigh muscles pulse through his slacks is distracting.
“Can you please take a chair?”
He pulls a pencil from my desk, twirling it between his fingers. Not five seconds later, he snaps it between them. “I’m fine. Besides, the view is better up here.” His eyes trace my legs, stop on my breasts for a split second, before finally finding mine.
“I don’t know if I have time to take on your case.” It’s mostly a lie.
“But you will. Cole promised me that he’d get it taken care of, and he’s not here.”
I pull my reading glasses on and unclasp the envelope. “Give me a few hours to look through this, and I’ll get some documentation ready for the council. Can I call you when I have something?”
When he doesn’t answer, I look up to see him staring at me, thumb skimming over his lower lip. It’s more distracting than I’d like to admit.
“Are you sure you’re married to Cole Mason?”