by Shay Stone
“No. Not avoiding. Just busy. Now if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.” She types on her keyboard motioning towards the door for me to leave.
Ignoring her comment, I reach across her body to turn on the computer at her feet, making sure to drag my fingers along her leg on my way back up. A noticeable shiver courses through her body. “You know I hear these things work a lot better if you turn them on first.”
She pushes her chair back from the desk and rises, breaking our contact. “I was visualizing.” I cock a skeptical brow planting myself on the desk in front of her. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was avoiding you.”
“You don’t say?” I smirk. “You want to tell me why?”
“Not particularly.”
I decide to let it go for the moment and snag the pictures from behind me. “I got these for you. I thought you might like to keep them in your office or maybe you could put one of them in Conner’s room. I made copies for my office too.”
I place the painting in her hand and look for the perfect spot on her desk to position the photo, grimacing when I see a picture of Nyla and Conner with Mike. Well, that’s got to go! I pick it up and chuck it into the trash can, replacing it with the one I brought. “There. That’s better.”
“Memphis,” she scolds, fishing the inferior picture out of the garbage and setting it back on her desk. I don’t know why she’s bothering. I’m just going to throw it away again.
“You can’t tell me this one isn’t a drastic improvement,” I challenge, positioning our superior photo directly in front of it. Yes, I’m aware I’m displaying the maturity level of a two-year-old. No, I don’t care.
A wistful smile crosses her lips as she takes in the photo before returning her attention to the framed painting in her hand. She runs her finger over it then frowns, picking up both pictures and pushing them back into my hands. “Memphis, I can’t keep these.”
“Why not?”
“What am I going to do? Hang this up? Keep the photo on my desk? What would Michael think?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what Michael thinks! And you shouldn’t either. You’re not going to be with him much longer anyway,” I snarl.
She scoffs, and it pisses me off. I set the frames down, and I rest my hands on her shoulders, massaging my thumbs softly over the hollows of her collarbones. “Nyla, what’s going on? And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’”
Guilt and shame swim in her eyes. “I cheated on my husband.”
Damn it. Her voice is small and filled with regret. I knew this was coming. Nyla’s not a cheater. But she could only fight this thing between us for so long. I’m her weakness, just like she’s mine. And I’m not going to feign morality. I’ve been relentless in my pursuit, and I would have been regardless of who she married.
If it weren’t for Conner, I know she would’ve kept her distance. But having a toddler together means she can’t avoid me. And she has no idea Mike is doing everything he can to make her doubt their marriage and push her into my arms. That’s the way it’s done. Make them miserable and present them with as many opportunities to cheat as possible yet remain sweet and caring enough to make them feel guilty for doing it. It’s the best way to ensure they give you everything you want when the time comes. And I’m sorry to say, Mike is executing it to perfection.
“Angel, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” She pulls away, grabbing a few tissues from the box on her desk. “Michael’s a good man. When I was an absolute mess and my life was in shambles after you left, he was the one who helped me put the pieces back together. He took on raising Conner and treated him like his own. We were happy together. And then you show up after three years, flashing that sexy smile, all full of apologies and promises, and everything’s gone to hell. He’s understandably upset and acting out. And instead of reassuring him, I’m ready to jump into bed with you because we had one nice day together. What kind of person does that make me? He doesn’t deserve that.”
Dammit. The bastard did as he threatened. He went in and played the part of the devoted husband full of remorse and pissed all over our perfect day. As much as he wants his money, he’ll never miss a chance to gut me to the core. And he knows Nyla is the way to do it—whether it’s hurting her, flaunting her, or fucking her. My guess is he’ll spend the next two weeks doing it all.
“You slept with him last night, didn’t you?” I hear the accusation in my voice, but there’s no masking it. Just saying the words have my teeth clenching and my blood pressure skyrocketing.
Her eyes flick briefly to mine, and I know. I fucking know. She withers under my reproachful glare, refusing to look at me. “That’s none of your business.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” I sulk around the room, getting angrier by the second. “He came in and gave you some song and dance about how sorry he was, and you fell for it.”
“Fell for it? He’s my husband, Memphis,” she reminds me, only inciting me more.
“Yeah, well you have shit taste in men.”
I can’t shake the visions of her and Mike flashing through my mind. The thought of the two of them together is enough to make me want to claw out my own brain. I slam the side of my fist against the wall, making Nyla flinch. The way he’s toying with her is wreaking havoc on my sanity.
Panic washes over her face as I beeline for the door. “You’re leaving?”
“No. I’m not leaving,” I reply, twisting the lock.
Her eyes follow me as I stalk toward her, loosening my tie along the way. I wrap an arm around her waist, hauling her to me. Her soft tits smash against the hardness of my chest and her hands fly to my torso. A wave of shock spreads across her face.
“Memphis, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to fuck him out of you and you’re going to let me.”
I crush my mouth over hers, kissing her violently with punishing lashes of my tongue. I know I’m probably bruising the hell out of her lips, but I don’t care. I need to obliterate any memory she has of him on her skin. I’ve never been like this before. I’ve trained myself to be composed, calculated, and enigmatic in all situations, but something about her turns me into this primal, jealous, unreasonable madman.
Despite her earlier admission of guilt, she welcomes me, sucking and licking my tongue and twisting her fingers in my hair. I back her onto the desk gliding my hands up her thighs. A picture frame and a container of paper clips go crashing to the ground. My hands hook under her knees dragging her closer, until her ass is flush with the edge of the desk. Her skirt bunches around her waist revealing a black mesh garter belt attached to sheer thigh highs with intricate lace tops. My cock throbs against my pants at the sight of them.
“Memphis, we can’t do this. It’s wrong,” she says, breathlessly tugging the hem of her skirt down. I ignore her, fisting her garter in my hand and rip it apart. Her eyes darken and her nipples tighten poking through the silk of her azure blouse.
“Memphis…” she cautions again.
“Stop saying that. The more you tell me it’s wrong, the more determined I am to prove to you it’s right.” I grip the flimsy material at her hip and deliver the same vicious fate to her panties. Next goes the shirt. The tiny buttons go skittering around the room like raindrops dancing on the pavement. I’ve got no time to fool with them.
I kiss my way up her long, thin neck, resisting the urge to mark her for the world to see. She pushes my suit coat down my shoulders leaving me to deal with it while she gets to work on my belt. I release her long enough to shrug off my jacket and then my mouth is back on hers.
There’s a knock on the door. “Nyla? You okay in there? We heard a crash and some loud noises.”
She breaks our kiss, to answer the unwelcomed visitor. I pull her against my cock rubbing against the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs. The friction has her gasping. She swallows hard trying to forge a reply. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just knocked over a picture.”
Her answer appeases whoe
ver is at the door. I lean back in to resume our kiss, but she ducks away, pressing a hand to her forehead. “What the hell am I doing?”
And just like that, I’ve lost her again. She wiggles out from under me and hops off the desk, shimmying down her skirt. A frustrated sigh escapes her when she tries to fasten the buttons on her shirt and finds them all missing. She gathers the sides together holding it closed. “You should leave.”
“The hell I should,” I snap, reaching for her.
She holds up her hand backing away. “Please Memphis, just go.”
Christ, she won’t even look at me. “Angel don’t do this. Stay with me. Stop overthinking.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her lip quivering. She grabs her blazer from the back of the chair and slips it on buttoning it to hide the shirt I’ve massacred. “You can see Conner without me from now on. I’ll make arrangements for Michael or Alex to bring him to meet you. And please don’t wait for us in the morning anymore.”
“What? Why?”
Her head drops back on a humorless laugh. “Because obviously I can’t trust myself with you.”
Tears dampen her cheeks. I close the distance between us and brush them away with my thumb. “Doesn’t that tell you something?” It kills me seeing how much Mike and I are tearing her apart. I’ve got to put an end to this. “Angel, you know we should be together. Leave him. Tell him you’re in love with me.”
“I can’t,” she replies, pulling away.
“Why not? Why are you fighting this?”
“Because I don’t know how to trust you. You’re a con man, Memphis. You made me fall in love with you and then you left me in the most humiliating way possible without any explanation.”
“Angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t have a choice.” I sound like a broken record, but I don’t know what else to say.
“So you keep telling me. Do you have any idea how it felt to find out you were only after my money? That our entire relationship was a lie?”
That gets my back up. I won’t let her taint the only real thing in my life. “Our relationship was not a lie! I love you Nyla. I did then and I do now. I never stopped. You have to know that.”
“How can I? How am I supposed to believe this isn’t just another scam? That you’re not here because you look at me and see another mark?”
“Because you’re not a mark! You never were. You think I told any of my other sweetheart cons about Sheila? Or that I ever let any of them meet my family? No! You’re the only one I let inside. You’re the only one who knows the real me.”
All color drains from her face. She staggers into the desk covering her mouth with her hand like she’s going to be sick. I race to her side, helping her into a chair.
“Angel, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
She gazes up at me with wounded eyes. “Sweetheart cons? Is that what you call them? Is that what I was?”
Shit. The last time I saw her this devastated, she was standing outside the church. I squat in front of her taking her hands in mine. “No angel. That’s what I’m saying. You weren’t like the rest. You were different. The moment I met you, I knew you were special. That’s why I fell in love with you.”
“I’m so stupid. I don’t know why I assumed I was the only one,” she chuffs, wiping her nose with a tissue. “So how did it work? What did you do with these women?”
I glance away, ashamed. This is not a question I want to answer.
“Tell me,” she demands.
I push out a breath and stand, too much of a coward to look her in the eye. “It was different with each one. Some of them I was able to weasel my way onto their bank account without much effort and then I’d clean it out. Some I conned by telling them I needed money for something important.”
“Like a heart transplant for your brother?”
I whirl around. “Nyla, that was real. You know it was.”
“Go on,” she says, glossing over my response.
I run a hand over my head, hating every word out of my mouth, knowing what a piece of shit it makes me. “Usually the goal was to get them to fall in love and marry me as quickly as possible so I could get the money and move on to the next con.”
“That’s why you kept pressuring me to run away and marry you.”
“Nyla, no! I wanted to marry you before you found out the kind of man I was and changed your mind. That’s why I insisted on the prenup. Believe me that is not something a con man pushes for. I threw a fit whenever one of my fiancées brought up the subject. But I wanted one with you, so if the time ever came when you found out about my past, you would know it wasn’t about the money. That what we had was real.”
“Fiancées?” she asks, making me wince because I know what’s coming next. “Exactly how many were there?”
I lean against the desk, closing my eyes. “Five.”
She shrivels in the chair. “And how many of those women did you actually marry?” Her voice is devoid of sentiment, as if we’re discussing how much I spent on groceries instead of how many lives I’ve ruined.
I drag my palm down my face, hating myself. “Three.”
“You told me you were never married,” she mumbles, staring down at the tissue she’s holding.
“That wasn’t a lie. I never married anyone using my real name.” Christ! Did I really just say that? A technicality? I’m trying to justify lying about three marriages on a goddamn technicality? I drop my head, cradling it in my hand, marveling at what a fucking idiot I am.
“Oh well, if you didn’t use your real name that makes it better,” she blasts, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She rises from her chair and I catch her arm, but she jerks away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Angel, they weren’t real marriages. They were just jobs.”
“Oh yeah? Did the women you tricked into marrying you think they were just jobs? I don’t know whether I should be happy or offended that I wasn’t wife number four.”
“Nyla …” I stop. Nyla what? I’m sorry? I’ve already said that so many times the words sound hollow to my own ears. I’ve dug myself a hole so deep I can’t even see the surface.
She disengages the lock and opens the door. “I’d like you to leave.”
“Angel, please. I love you. I love you so much,” I implore her, the truth making my voice crack as it fights its way through all the lies.
“Memphis, I can’t do this with you. Please just go,” she mumbles, keeping her eyes lowered to the floor.
Dammit. How many times am I going to hurt her? I grip the edge of the desk, cursing my frustration. My focus is drawn to the picture frame we knocked to the ground earlier. Mike stares up at me with his arms locked securely around my family, taunting me with a haughty, victorious grin. If it weren’t for him, Nyla and I would be married right now, and she’d never know the poor excuse for a man I once was. A man it’s becoming clear she could never love.
I stomp my heel into the glass, pulverizing it. Nyla recoils at the sound, still refusing to look in my direction. I snag my copy of the pictures from the desk on my way out the door, pausing in front of her. “He’s going to ask you to have a baby with him. Don’t. I’m begging you.”
Her head jerks up. “How do you know …”
“Because I do.”
The intercom on her desk buzzes. “Nyla, Marcus is on line two with some questions about the new ad campaign.”
“I’ll be right there,” she calls out, leaving me at the door. “I have to take that.”
I linger there, not wanting to leave things like this. “Have lunch with me.”
“No,” she replies, bringing the receiver to her ear and pressing the button to connect the call.
“Nyla, please. There’s so much I need to tell you. Things you need to know. And you’re going to hear me out whether you want to or not. I don’t care if I have to tie you to the damn chair to make you listen.”
“Hey Marcus. Hang on a sec,” she says, covering her hand over the mouthpiece. “Memphis, I need to be away f
rom you right now.”
“Please. We can bring Conner and eat in the park if you don’t want to be alone with me.”
“I can’t. I need time to digest all of this. Besides. Conner’s not here.”
“What? Where is he? Is he sick?”
“No, Michael took him to the shore today. Now if you don’t mind …”
Before she can finish, I’m out the door with my phone in my hand and my heart in my throat. God, please don’t let that bastard hurt my kid.
FORTY-SIX
I lean the pictures against the wall and pace the length of the elevator waiting for the phone to connect. “Come on … come on … answer dammit!” Voicemail. “Call me now,” I grate out, immediately dialing again. I’m in the process of leaving another message when my Facetime rings and Mike’s ugly mug pops up.
“Where are you? Where’s Conner?”
“Well, hello to you too,” Mike replies. Behind him I can see blue skies and infinite water stretching to the horizon. What I don’t see is my son.
“Cut the shit, Mike. Where’s Conner?”
“Why? Are you worried something might’ve happened to him?”
“Show me my goddamn son!” I scream, jamming my hand into the elevator wall.
“Alright, alright. Calm down. He’s right there.” Mike positions the phone to show Conner walking along the shoreline, wearing his little blue swim trunks without any water wings or life vest. The waves are breaking gently against the sand, but the current is still strong enough to wrap itself around the legs of a two-year-old and pull him out to sea.
Conner bends to pick up a shell or rock, smiling at his shiny new discovery. As he straightens, another wave comes in knocking him onto his butt. He tips to his side fighting to remain upright. From what I can see, no one else is around and Mike must be at least twenty feet away. That’s too far.
“Get him!” I command, feeling helpless.
Mike glances back and laughs. “Aww, what’s wrong Memphis? Am I making you nervous? I am pretty far away. Think I saw a sign about rip currents too. You know how quickly someone can get sucked into one of those.”