by Karen Cimms
His eyes followed the glass to her lips. How had he missed that? “I thought you didn’t like chardonnay.”
“I don’t.” She swallowed and slid the bottle across the counter.
If she was testing him, he’d already failed miserably.
She raised the glass to her lips again and shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?”
Chapter Forty-Two
Billy pulled his Gibson Les Paul from its spot on the wall and tried to work off some stress. He hadn’t slept in days. Even before the shooting, his mind was too full of what ifs to let him rest.
Kate had taken another tranquilizer. Between that and the glass of wine she’d had for lunch, she was sleeping soundly. At least he hoped she was. If it helped her relax or sleep, she could stay drunk as long as she wanted. He sure as hell wouldn’t judge.
Afraid he wouldn’t hear her if she needed him, he opted to forego the headphones he usually wore to practice. It didn’t matter anyway because he was too wired to focus. He set the guitar on a stand and wandered down the hall to lean against the frame of the door, listening to the soft, even snoring coming from beneath the quilt.
Every time he thought about what happened—what could’ve happened—he was torn between wanting to grab her and never let go and wanting to put his fist through a wall.
He was in a constant state of anxiety, and he needed to calm the fuck down.
The weed would help. He slipped down to the basement and retrieved his stash from the freezer. The cops had confiscated his pipe, so he dug through his sheet music cabinet and pulled out rolling papers. He opened the window, lit up, and took a hit, holding it in until he thought his lungs would explode. A light breeze stirred the corn in the field behind the house, and he pictured the tension that gripped his neck and shoulders flowing out of him as he exhaled. The sun was making its descent on the other side of the house, its last rays lighting the tips of the stalks and turning the green to gold.
Already feeling better, he took another hit and rested his head against the window frame. His stomach rumbled. He’d grabbed a sandwich earlier, but Katie hadn’t wanted anything. Should he wake her? Hell. They weren’t on any schedule. If she wanted to sleep until midnight, so be it. They could eat whenever she was hungry.
“You going to bogart that joint?”
He whacked his head against the window frame. “Jesus. You scared the crap out of me.”
“Welcome to my world.”
Kate flung herself onto the futon. She was wearing his chambray shirt again and her long, tan legs were bare. Dark smudges were visible below her eyes, and her hair was mussed. And damn if his cock didn’t twitch. She was still the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
He held out the joint. “Seriously?”
It had been years since she’d smoked pot. With a shrug, she took it and put it to her lips. She took a deep drag and held it.
“Like riding a bicycle,” she said, her voice as wispy as the smoke.
She passed the joint back. Billy took another hit.
“Shotgun!” Taking him completely by surprise, Kate pressed her mouth against his, her hand curling around the back of his neck, holding him in place. As if he would pull away. He exhaled slowly into her mouth, not wanting the moment to end.
After sharing a few more hits, he dropped the last of it into a near empty bottle of water. He leaned back, the rapid beating of his heart in direct contrast to the sluggish parts of his brain.
Kate straddled him, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and brought his mouth back to hers.
His mind reeled and his body ached. This was his wife, yet he wasn’t sure how to respond. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, but he didn’t dare. Whatever happened had to be on her terms.
Grinding herself against him, she kissed him until he was practically breathless and groaning.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked, toying with a strand of her hair.
She ran the tip of her nose along his jaw. “At this moment? I’m okay.”
“Are you hungry?” He was trying to be a dutiful husband, but she was making it hard for him to think straight.
“Not for food.”
She captured his lower lip between her teeth, and he growled. “God, I’ve missed you.” His hand moved beneath her shirt, cupping her breast.
“Wait.”
Damn it.
Kate slid from his lap and stood, then took him by the hand.
“Bring that with you.” She motioned to the baggie of pot before leading him down the hall, and into their bedroom. She pulled the drapes and lit several candles.
“Give me a few minutes,” she said, closing the door to the bathroom.
What he wouldn’t give to be able to read her mind about now. He paced the bedroom floor. Kate was sending some pretty clear signals. But still. He didn’t want to assume anything.
“Babe?” He tapped on the door. “You want some wine?”
“Sure.”
Good, because he needed it.
He went to the fridge to search for the bottle of chardonnay. Instead, he found a pint of fresh strawberries. And, bingo! There was a bottle of champagne in the vegetable crisper.
“I couldn’t have planned this better myself.”
A half-second later he was awash in guilt, recalling the real reason he was there. Idiot. Although the reminder did little to diminish the uncomfortable tightness in his jeans.
He snagged a pair of champagne flutes from the hutch in the dining room, dumped the strawberries into a crystal bowl, and headed back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He was uncorking the champagne when the bathroom door opened.
“Nice timing.” Kate leaned against the door frame, looking as if she’d just stepped off the cover of Maxim.
She wore a sheer black teddy and strappy, high-heeled stilettos. Her thong was cut high enough on her hip to expose the musical heart tattoo she’d gotten to surprise him for their tenth anniversary. Her hair hung in loose waves halfway down her back, and she had fixed her makeup. Her eyes were rimmed in black, and her lips were a glossy peach. A long strand of pearls looped tightly around her neck and trailed between her breasts.
“You like?” She turned, giving him a view from the rear.
“I do.” So much, in fact, he could barely breathe, especially when he began to wonder when she’d bought this little number. He’d never seen it before. Their sex life had been nonexistent for months, between being on tour and the shit show their lives had been since he got home.
He shoved those thoughts aside and poured the champagne.
“You look beautiful, Katie. And in spite of the mess I’ve made of our lives, I’m a lucky man.”
She raised her glass, her eyes never leaving his. He felt it at the base of his spine. She was stoned, but there was something else. Her eyes no longer flat, she looked mischievous. Playful. It made no sense. She drained half her glass in one mouthful, set it on the nightstand, and began working the buttons on his shirt.
His brain went to war with his heart. She was fragile, vulnerable. This was not a good idea. Yet he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t stop himself from wanting her.
Once he was naked, she pulled him down onto the bed beside her and handed him the baggie.
“You sure?”
She ran her tongue along the inside of his ear. “Like the old days, remember?”
With his dick practically poking him in the chin, Billy rolled another joint. A few hits later, even he was stoned. Kate had to be zoned out of her mind.
She pushed her fingers against his chest until he was flat on his back. Then she reached into her nightstand and pulled out several long silk scarves. She dragged her knee over his belly and straddled him. Her fingers fumbled with the scarves. She knotted the first around his wrist and dragged his hand over his head, looping the other end of the scarf around the bedpost.
“I don’t know about this.” They’d done some kinky shit before, but he was usually the one i
n control.
“Shh!” Kate grasped his other hand and attached it to the other bedpost. She ran her hands over the ridges of his stomach and down one thigh, teasing him with her mouth, her fingers. She looped a scarf around each ankle and finished tying him to the bed.
Then she took another gulp of champagne, filled her glass again, and climbed onto the bed, standing between his splayed legs, wobbling on those killer heels.
Not a good idea. She could really hurt him, even if that wasn’t her intention. And at this point, he had no idea what was going through her head.
She took another sip, then while trying to maintain her balance, poured a slow stream of icy-cold liquid over his chest and stomach.
“Hey!” He lurched, pulling against his restraints. “That’s cold!”
Laughing, she bounced to her knees between his legs, and he cringed. She bent forward to kiss his mouth, her tongue exploring his. Then she moved on to his jaw, planting tiny kisses along his neck, slowly making her way down his chest, her tongue lapping at the spilled champagne.
“Do you want me to stop?” She hovered below his navel, her eyes glittering in the candlelight.
This could be fun if he could just relax.
“What’s wrong?” She bit the tender skin around his waist.
“Nothing,” he moaned. “I’m just not used to being in this position.”
“You’ve done it to me. You had to learn it somewhere.”
Shit. His stomach dropped and the pleasant buzz he’d been feeling faded.
“That was a long time ago, Katie. Long before I met you.”
“Come on.” That tongue of hers could make him lose his mind. “A beautiful man like you, on the road all the time, with a dull wife at home who grows her own vegetables and sews her own curtains? Don’t tell me there haven’t been hundreds of women over the years.”
The cold words belied the steamy tone in which they were spoken.
“Untie me.” The harder he pulled on the scarves, the tighter they grew. It seemed all her years as a Boy Scout den mother had paid off.
She laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
Getting angry wouldn’t help, but he didn’t like feeling vulnerable.
“Katie?”
“Hmmm?” Her teeth grazed the inside of his thigh. She nipped him—a little too hard—then kissed the spot.
“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. It was just the one time . . .”
“Oh, c’mon. You’re forgetting Tiffany? Isn’t this what she did for you?”
Who the fuck was Tiffany?
He began to argue, but her lips wrapped around him and his eyes rolled back into his head. He was suffering through the oddest mix of physical pleasure and mental pain. He wanted her to stop, and he wanted her to keep doing exactly what she was doing.
“I don’t know anyone named Tiffany.” He strained against the scarves, fighting the urge to throw his head back and go wherever she was leading. Her head bobbed, and he let go a low growl, losing himself in the moment.
“Tiffany,” she said finally, as if she hadn’t been interrupted by her little detour up and down the length of his cock. She alternated between open-mouth kisses and soft, gentle bites. “Remember? From Bailey Swift’s music video? Have there been so many women over the years you’ve forgotten?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake. That was over twenty years ago! Nothing happened. Did Joey tell you?” He lifted his head to look at her. “Okay. I almost did it. I was drunk and upset. You had just dropped a bomb on me, remember? And the other time . . .”
He stopped. This was a bad position to be in for discussing his infidelity.
The look in Kate’s eyes sent such a chill through him he went limp.
“You know . . .” She nibbled her way down the insides of his thighs. “It would be easier to believe it was only the one time if you were never drunk or stoned again. But come on, Billy, we know that’s not true.”
“That’s not fair.” He yanked on his fist hard enough to shake the bed, even though he was not in a position to argue. “You know how much I love you.”
“Life’s not fair, babe.” She lifted herself up until she was kneeling between his legs. Rocking slightly, she reached out and steadied herself against his thighs. “Put yourself in my position.”
“I’d like to,” he grumbled.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” She ran her hands over her waist and then cupped her breasts. She chewed her lower lip, gazing down at him coyly.
“Imagine another man with his hands tangled in my hair.” She lifted the heavy mass of hair off her shoulders. “His lips pressed against my neck.” Her head dropped back, exposing her throat. She ran her hand along her neck, her eyes half closed. “Pushing me down, his hands parting my thighs, his mouth—”
Billy’s blood ran cold. “Stop it, Kate.”
Her mouth dropped open, as if surprised by his outburst. “I thought you wanted to trade places with me. If those images are in my head, shouldn’t they be in yours?”
Breathing became difficult, and there was the distinct possibility his heart might actually leap from his chest. He couldn’t bear the thought of another man touching her. If she didn’t shut up, he would lose his fucking mind.
“Stop,” he begged. “It wasn’t like that.”
He squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to erase the images she’d planted in his brain. Obviously she wanted to hurt him. She was succeeding, too.
When he’d calmed down enough to speak, he tried apologizing. Again. “Katie, I’m sorry for anything I’ve done to hurt you.” He thought about the night of Joey’s funeral. “Everything.”
It was as if he hadn’t said a word. She refilled her glass and held it up. “Thirsty?”
He shook his head, but she held the glass to his lips anyway. He would drink it or wear it. Then she popped a strawberry in his mouth. When he gagged, she lifted his head.
“Smaller bites next time, babe.”
This was not his wife. She was teetering on the edge between sanity and madness. And it was dangerous. Billy was sobering up quickly.
Kate picked up another strawberry and took a bite. “Umm, sweet.” With the remaining half, she drew lines down his chest and across his stomach. She traced the lines with her tongue, nipping him every now and then. She grabbed another berry and ran it across the curve of her neck and along her collarbone, then positioned herself over him.
He turned his face away. This had become a game to her, teasing and taunting him, making him want her more than he could have imagined possible under the circumstances. And fuck if his dick wasn’t playing along, again standing up in full salute.
When he thought he might lose his fucking mind if he couldn’t have her, she peeled off the teddy and her panties. Wearing nothing but the pearls and her shoes, she crushed the rest of the strawberries in her hands and rubbed them over her breasts and onto her stomach.
“Do you like strawberries?”
Jesus Christ. The ripe, sweet scent was intoxicating. So was her laughter.
“I do.”
“Do you love them?”
“God, yes.”
She rubbed her stained hands over his chest, then slipped her thumb into his mouth. He sucked on it until she almost purred.
“Katie, you have to untie me. Now.” He was practically growling.
With a knee on either side of his hips, she dipped just low enough to drag her hair across his chest.
“And what will you do if I untie you?” She rubbed the rest of the berries up his arms and across her own. Red streaks dotted with pieces of the pulpy mess covered her body. Her eyebrows arched, and their eyes locked as she waited for his answer.
“Love you. I’m just going to love you.”
The hard mask slipped, and her mouth fell open. It wasn’t the answer she’d expected—and if he were being honest, it wasn’t the first one that had popped into his head. But it was the right one. It was what mattered most and, deep down, what he truly mean
t. He just wanted to love her.
He’d reached for her without arms, and somehow he’d caught her.
Her eyes burning into his, she untied his legs and then his arms. When he was free, he gently placed her on her back and did what he had promised: he loved her the best way he could, frightened that at any moment she might slip beneath the surface and he would lose her forever.
Chapter Forty-Three
The bed was empty when Billy woke, sticky and smelling of sex, strawberries, and sweat. Would he ever see a strawberry again without getting a hard-on? Doubtful.
They’d made love twice during the night. And he probably wasn’t kidding himself when he believed things seemed almost normal, natural. If Kate had still been in bed, he’d have made it a three-peat.
Her lingerie and heels lay on the floor next to an empty champagne bottle. Billy climbed out of bed and stretched until his fingertips grazed the ceiling. Outside, a breeze stirred the row of arborvitae that edged the yard and rippled across the corn.
In spite of the reasons why, it was good to be home. He’d slept in his own bed, made love to his wife. It was all he wanted. So many things needed to be fixed, but he was hopeful. They would get there. Whatever it took.
He splashed some cool water on his face, brushed his teeth, and pulled his hair into a ponytail.
The aroma of fresh coffee greeted him as he descended the stairs, along with a side of guilt. He should have been up first. Then again, maybe getting back into a regular routine was exactly what Kate needed.
He found Kate sitting at the dining room table, a cup of coffee in front of her. Charlie lay curled at her feet.
“Morning.” He dropped a kiss on top of her head and ambled into the kitchen, where he poured himself a cup of coffee. He plucked two slices of toast from the top of the toaster and was surprised to find they were cold. The frying pan on the stove held a greasy smear of congealed butter. An open carton of eggs sat on the counter next to a pair of poultry shears.
The television on the kitchen counter had been unplugged, the cord cut in half and left lying on the floor. He stooped to pick it up, his stomach dropping even lower. He carried it into the dining room.