by Shandi Boyes
Panic wells in my stomach as the memory of my attack in the servants’ quarters races to the forefront of my mind. I shift my eyes to the side, anticipating seeing Rico magically appear. The pain shredding my heart in two amplifies when I fail to locate anyone standing next to me, let alone the man who promised to always protect me.
“Blaire.” Colt’s voice sounds distant.
I blink three times in a row when he yanks off one of his pads and touches my cheek, drawing me back to the present.
When I see the confusion marring his face, I pretend my knees aren’t clanging together. “Sorry, my reflexes are a little slow today. Probably shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.”
I can tell by the concern clouding his usually mischievous gaze that he isn’t fully buying my explanation, but mercifully, he doesn’t push the matter further. Colt is one of the people who doesn’t understand my unique bond with Rico. To him, I was the naughty school teacher having a two-week bender in Vegas. He doesn’t comprehend that I can barely breathe without Rico in my life.
“When the pads move in front of you, Blaire, you need to block them. Strike. Block. Strike. Block.” Colt sweeps the pads on his hands across the front of me but at a slower pace than he used earlier.
“Okay,” I breathe out slowly, my one word shaky.
Over the next hour, Colt teaches me basic self-defense moves. How to block a direct hit. How to execute an open hand punch, and how even someone with my small stature has enough strength to throw a man Colt’s size over my shoulder. The last part of our training was theory, not practical. Since I had to fight the urge to flinch every time he grabbed me, he said we’d slowly build up to that level of training.
Although I was apprehensive when I first arrived, I did enjoy our one-on-one training session. Actually, I really enjoyed it. Colt took his time, never pushing me further than I felt comfortable with, and for the past hour, my mind moved away from my heartache. That in itself is worth the burning ache of my weary muscles.
“I’ll see you on Tuesday?” Colt guides me to the main entrance door of the gym.
I swallow down half a bottle of water before nodding. “Wouldn’t miss it. Thanks.”
I instinctively lean in to kiss his cheek, forgetting we are at his place of employment. When a collection of wolf-whistling and catcalls sounds through my ears, my cheeks turn a hue of pink.
“See you Tuesday,” I mumble before spinning on my heels and fleeing the gym.
Lacey’s head lifts from her laptop balancing on her knees when our front door gives out a creak, announcing my arrival.
“Hey, how’d you do?” She shuts the screen of her laptop.
I throw my keys onto the entranceway table. “Good. Although I think my muscles might have a different opinion tomorrow.”
She laughs. “As my father would say ‘at least you know you’re alive.’” She places her laptop on the coffee table and stands from her seat. “There's a registered letter on the kitchen counter for you.”
My lips quirk. “On a Sunday?”
“Might be important.” Lacey shrugs.
After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I lift the envelope off the counter. The heaviness Colt’s workout cleared off my chest comes steamrolling back in when I see the return address: The Office of Erik Monstrateo.
I throw my water bottle down onto the counter so hard, it falls over, sending water dribbling down the cabinets of our modestly sized kitchen. I don’t bother cleaning up the mess; I’m too curious as to what is in the envelope to do anything. This is the first contact I’ve had in a month from anyone associated with Rico.
Sensing my rattled composure, Lacey moves into the kitchen. I can register her lips moving, but I don’t hear a word she's speaking as I tear open the envelope and scan my eyes over the heavily documented forms inside it. Any pathetic attempts I made at healing my heart the past month come undone when I read the title of the forms: Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.
“He’s divorcing me,” I mumble through a sob sitting in the back of my throat. “Rico filed for divorce.”
Just like the day I arrived home a little over a month ago, Lacey cradles me in her arms and holds me until I have no more tears left to shed.
Chapter 33
I gasp in a shaky breath when my back hits the mat with brutal force. Pain rockets through my body, but instead of cowering away from it, I embrace it. Lacey’s dad is right: feeling pain reminds me I am alive.
Ignoring my winded composure, I crawl onto my knees and lift myself from the ground on a shaky pair of legs. Colt is standing across from me. His eyes are remorseful, but his grin is arrogant.
“Get your head in the game, Blaire. We’ve done this routine every day for the past month, and you’re still not doing it right. An attacker won’t wait for you to get your balance. You have mere seconds to escape his clutch.”
The words Colt speaks are way too familiar, but I nod anyway, pretending his knowledge is informative. I know far too well that seconds can feel like hours when you’re attempting to escape the clutches of an attacker.
“Let’s do it again.”
I run a small towel over my face, removing the beads of sweat rolling down my cheeks before turning my back to Colt. We’ve continued with our self-defense classes as agreed upon the past month, except I increased the number of lessons from three a week to five. The burn my muscles felt the days following Colt’s training session was the only thing reminding me I was alive. Soon to be divorced, but alive nonetheless.
If my muscles weren’t burning from the exhaustive activities we did that afternoon, I may have never crawled out of bed to soothe them with a long soak in a tub.
Although I was served divorce papers a month ago, I still haven’t signed them. Don’t ask me why as I wouldn’t be able to answer you. Lacey placed them on the denial shelf in my room the day I received them. I haven’t touched them since. Avoidance isn’t the solution for any issue, but when you're running on empty, you use anything you can.
My mind snaps back to the present when Colt suddenly grabs me from behind. Even though my first thoughts go to panic, my body reacts according to the lessons he has been teaching me the past four weeks. I jam my heel into his toes before inflicting a brutal elbow to his ribcage. I throw my head back so it connects harshly with his nose before seizing his wrist with my shaking hands. A long, guttural moan tears from my throat when I pull down hard on his wrist and attempt to throw him over my shoulder.
My pupils widen when Colt lands on his back with a sickening thud. Pushing aside the desire to scream out in victory, I straddle his hips and throw a set of fake jabs into his face. When he flops his head to the side, announcing defeat, I can no longer hold in my excitement.
“I did it!” I squeal loudly, throwing a fist pump into the air. It has taken me over a month to perfect that move, but Colt is 100% muscle, so it’s a feat I’ll celebrate.
Colt pokes his index finger into my belly. Even it isn’t as squishy as it was last month. “You did, baby girl. I’m so proud of you.”
“I don’t deserve all the credit.” I roll off him. “I have a wonderful teacher.”
My eyes squint when the overhead fluorescent lights blind my vision. Twisting my head to the side, my nose screws up. The sky is completely black.
“Did our session run over?” I scan my eyes over the room, seeking any type of time telling contraption. Normally our sessions run until 7 PM, but with the blackness of the sky, it seems a lot later than that.
“Yeah, around an hour. But I could tell you were close to mastering the move, so I didn’t want to break your focus.” Colt climbs onto his feet before extending his hand in offering.
“Only you could make an hour of torture sound like you were doing someone a favor.”
Colt laughs. “Learning how to protect yourself isn’t torturous, baby girl. Besides, other than one other strenuous activity, exercise is the best way to relieve tension.”
“With how m
uch I’m sweating, I’m seriously considering taking up the other option you’re offering.”
My pupils widen when the entirety of our combined statements smack into me. Did I just flirt with him?
Although Colt and I have spent a lot of time together the past month, we’ve never flirted the way we did before my trip to Vegas. Colt has maintained a professional front during our lessons, while I kept my heart in lockdown mode.
My theory is proven to be dead on point when Colt’s eyes flare with excitement. The air is rife with muggy sweat, but a new scent slowly streams through my nose. My pulse quickens when I realize what the smell is. It's the unmistakable aroma of lust. I stand still, rendered motionless with both alarm and excitement as he slowly prowls toward me. My heart is begging for my feet to move, to walk away before I lose the chance. My brain. . . it’s completely switched off, deciding it’s no longer strong enough to continue the vicious battle it’s been fighting against my heart the past four months.
When Colt places his hand on the side of my face, I shockingly lean into his embrace. Even with my heart still debilitated from losing Rico, it wants him to take away its pain. Maybe he can force me to forget memories that both haunt and excite me?
Colt’s extremely soft lips catch my breathy pant when he seals his mouth over mine. Just like I knew it would be, his kiss is enthralling and sets my pulse racing. He smells manly and tastes like the energy drink he was guzzling down earlier. When he cups his hands on the back of my thighs, my legs instinctively lift and wrap around his waist. A husky moan seeps from my lips when the hard ridge of his cock rubs the ache between my legs. Although my outfit is more modest than the clothes Lacey lent me last month, they still expose a scandalous amount of skin.
I grind myself along the long length of his stiffened shaft as he walks us toward the locker rooms. From what I can feel between two layers of gym pants, I can happily testify that his nickname is very fitting.
With the late hour, the gym is empty. Not that I’d care either way; I’m too entranced by the way Colt’s skillful kiss is breaking through the negativity surrounding me to care if we have an audience.
When Colt reaches the locker rooms, he places me onto my feet. I lean my back against the steel lockers that line the walls of the modern space as I gasp in shocked breaths. The coolness of the steel material gives relief to my overheated skin while the intoxicating scent of male body wash adds to my excitement.
“Fuck, baby girl, I knew your mouth would taste good, but I had no idea,” Colt murmurs while rubbing his thumb along my top lip.
I slant my head to the side, exposing my neck to his sinful mouth when he trails his lips along the edge of my jaw. As he suckles on the sensitive skin of my collarbone, my hand lowers to the hard ridge in his pants. His throaty groan sends a thrill of excitement down the length of my spine. I increase the speed of my strokes, loving the feeling of him in my hand. When Colt squeezes my aching breast, a husky purr rumbles through my parted lips.
My eyes snap open at the same time my heart painfully constricts. Sick gloom spreads through me when the memory of why Rico called me Kitten slams into my hazy mind. I snatch my hand away from Colt’s crotch as guilt overwhelms me. Sensing the sudden shift in my demeanor, Colt stops lathering my neck with affection and pulls back.
“I can’t,” I barely mumble when his confused eyes bounce between mine. “I’m sorry for leading you on, but I can’t do this,” I continue mumbling as I adjust my disfigured clothing while making a beeline for the door.
“Blaire, wait!” Colt shouts, his voice rattled with anxiety.
I pretend like I can’t hear his request as I charge onto the packed sidewalk. People eye me with curiosity as I weave past them, but thankfully, they don’t approach me. I don’t know how I'd react if they did approach me. I’ve never behaved so erratically before. But since I married Rico, my emotions have become a devastating rollercoaster ride with awe-inspiring highs and life-altering lows.
A logical reason for my pendulous moods becomes evident when my brisk strides down the sidewalk have me scrambling past a drugstore. My frantic pace slows to the speed of a tortoise when a sign blowing in the refreshing fall winds catches my eye.
Are you trying to get pregnant?
Talk to one of our specialists about the latest range of pre-natal vitamins.
“No,” I mumble to myself as my brain frantically tries to recall the last time I had my period.
My heart rate speeds up, and my palms grow damp when I fail to recall having a period since my trip to Vegas. In a trance, I stumble into the drugstore and buy one of each pregnancy test on the shelf.
“No,” I mutter for a second time when the test strip I’ve just peed on in the public restroom turns the color of Nikolai’s eyes, ensuring there's no way I can deny the results.
Oh. My. Lord.
I’m pregnant.
Chapter 34
“I’m good, thanks, Dad; how are you guys doing? Are you enjoying your trip?”
My dad sighs happily. “It’s wonderful, darling; you should consider traveling yourself. Do it while you’re young enough to enjoy it.”
Smiling, I accept my order of a rye-crusted peanut butter and jelly sandwich from a pretty lady serving behind the counter of my local bakery.
“You’re sixty, Dad; you’re not even close to being too old to travel.” I issue a silent thank you to the bakery employee before walking outside.
My dad chuckles. “True. Probably best to get as much traveling in as we can now before we get laddered down with grandbabies.”
A stab of pain strikes the middle of my chest. “Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” I push out through the tightness wrapped around my throat.
My dad has made similar jokes the past three years of my life. They never hurt until today. The handful of positive pregnancy tests I collected two weeks ago have been placed on the denial shelf in my room right alongside the divorce papers I still haven’t garnered the strength to sign.
If I’m being honest, I’ll admit I’ve been sitting on the denial shelf myself the past two weeks.
When I first went home from the drugstore, dazed and confused, I had every intention of sitting down and working out what I was going to do about my situation. My good intentions were left for dust when I realized I didn’t have a way of contacting Rico. I don’t have his cell phone number, private address, or any personal information whatsoever. So, like all good exes, I stalked him on social media. I found nothing. Rico Popov is practically a ghost.
I’ve called the number supplied with our divorce documentation a minimum three times a day for the past two weeks. Either Erik is avoiding me just as skillfully as Rico, or his voicemail service provider isn’t passing on my messages. After exhausting all avenues, I placed the pregnancy tests onto the denial shelf in my room and went about my day-to-day life.
I’ve been forcing myself to pretend everything is fine. I’ve started teaching again; I went to the movies with Lacey twice last week, and I even managed to apologize to Colt for running out on him two weeks ago. To everyone surrounding me, I seem to have resumed my normal pre-Rico existence. It's just the empty feeling in the middle of my chest stopping me from believing the same thing.
Exhaling a deep breath, I push my phone in closer to my ear. “Listen, Dad, I have something important I need to tell you and Mom.”
“I’m listening honey,” my dad replies.
I swallow away a lump in my throat. “I’m. . .” My brows stitch when my eyes lift from the ground and I see a profile I’d never forget in a million years.
“I’ll have to call you back,” I stammer out to my dad.
Not giving him the chance to reply, I disconnect my call and pace closer to the gathering of people mingling around a dark-colored SUV. My heart is walloping against my ribcage, and nervousness slicks my skin with sweat, but I keep moving forward, more determined than ever.
“Katie?” My one word is unable to hide the hope in my voice.
When I attempt to close the distance between Katie and me, two burly men wearing stained jeans and misbuttoned shirts step into my path. Even frightened at their standoffish composure, nothing can dampen my eagerness. I stomp on one of the brute’s feet and sidestep the second man before rushing to Katie. My movements are so agile, I slip by the two men before they have the chance to formulate a reaction.
“Katie!” I call out again when a man with platinum blond hair and a wonky nose hurriedly guides her into the back of an SUV idled at the curb.
Dust kicked up from the roadside burns my eyes when the driver of the SUV slams his foot on the accelerator and dangerously merges into the heavy flow of traffic surrounding us. Ignoring the fear spurring on my furious pulse, I dart into the street and signal for a taxi. Thankfully, with it being midafternoon, my request for a taxi is filled remarkably quickly.
I crawl into the backseat of the cab and instruct the driver to follow the dark SUV. As I fasten my seatbelt, I turn my eyes back to the two men who accosted me on the sidewalk. The crazy beat of my heart weakens to a gallop when I fail to notice them anywhere.
Over the next ten minutes, the taxi driver follows the SUV through the streets of Ravenshoe, going from the newly built-up areas to a side of town that isn’t as well maintained.
“Don’t get too close,” I instruct the driver while touching his shoulder. The rattle of my shaky hand ruffles the collar on my crisp white dress shirt. “I watched reruns of a 70s-era cop show with my dad for years. Even back then, the biggest mistake the person tailing made was announcing their interest.”