“Yes, he has a wife and son.”
“Pierre De Coursey got married?” She couldn’t quite keep the shock out of her expression.
“Came as a surprise to me too.” He grinned unexpectedly and looked so much like his old self that Bronwyn’s mouth went dry with longing. “Last year, nearly a full year after you’d left, he quite unexpectedly announced that he was getting married. Admittedly, I had been very much out of commission and not too aware of what was happening in the world around me at the time, but Pierre, who had been a regular and concerned visitor and friend had never even mentioned meeting a woman he was serious enough about to marry.”
Bronwyn was so busy absorbing the rare and revealing statement about his convalescence after the accident that his comments about Pierre barely registered. To all intents and purposes, it seemed as if Bryce had retreated from the world after his accident and hadn’t ventured back into it. He seemed almost reclusive and hardly ever left the house. In fact she could not recall him going to the office once since her return. He and Pierre co-owned an exclusive jewelry company that was renowned for its designer accessories that catered to only the wealthiest members in the most rarefied reaches of society. The company had branches in all the major cities in Europe, North America, and Asia and had just recently gone public on the stock exchange.
“Alice is fantastic,” he was saying. “Just what Pierre needs.” Sidetracked by that, Bronwyn frowned and tuned back in to the conversation.
“Pierre De Coursey married a woman named Alice?” Somehow she had always pictured Pierre, when she had even entertained such an absurd notion, as ending up with a woman exotic in both name and looks.
“Yes. She’s a nice woman, a bit quiet but sharp as the proverbial tack,” he recalled fondly, and Bronwyn forced back a tide of envy at the warmth in his voice.
“How did they meet?” she asked, curious.
“Hospital. Pierre was visiting me and wandered into the wrong ward. Alice had been in an accident too, a really bad one from what I understood. She was unconscious, apparently in a coma, and while every other patient in the room had cards and flowers, Alice had nothing. I don’t know, I think Pierre felt a little sorry for her, so he checked in on her every day on his way to visit me and soon learned that she had no family and that she had just moved here from Johannesburg, which meant that she’d had no time to befriend anyone yet. He kept visiting her even after my discharge from the hospital. He brought her flowers and talked to her for months until one day she opened her eyes, smiled, and said, ‘It’s you.’” Bryce shrugged. “Damned if I know what that meant, but Pierre fell hard and fast. They married a couple of months later, after Alice had convalesced enough to walk down the aisle without aid.”
“Oh, what a beautiful story.” Bronwyn smiled mistily and Bryce rolled his eyes.
“How like a woman to find it romantic,” he scoffed.
“You don’t think it’s romantic?”
“I think that Pierre just liked feeling needed and enjoyed the idea of having someone almost totally dependent on him. It happens! The love may have come later but initially, in my opinion, that’s all it was. Men tend to like it when women arouse our protective instincts; it makes us feel heroic.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” she couldn’t stop herself from pointing out, and he sneered.
“Why the hell do you think I kept coming back to you?” She had known it was coming, but she had been unable to prevent herself from rushing into those deep, dark waters. “You made me feel like an all-conquering hero. You kept staring at me with those doe eyes, and I felt like I could take on the world. It’s a heady thing, being elevated to near-godlike status like that. I should never have let things go so far. You were a naïve little thing and I took everything you offered, but when we had sex and I learned that you were a virgin, I had no option but to do the right thing, didn’t I? Especially since we were so stupid and careless that first time. Even though I wasn’t keen on the idea of kids, I didn’t want any child of mine growing up without my name.”
“What are you trying to say?” She asked softly, glad for once that he could not hear the emotion in her voice but unable to hide the tears sparkling in her eyes. “That our marriage was based on a lie?”
“No lie.” He shrugged. “Well, okay, maybe a lie by omission. I never told you why I was proposing.”
“I thought . . .” that you loved me. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, and her voice faded into nothing.
“I know what you thought, but I felt it was best to allow you to continue believing in your happily-ever-after fairy tale.” There was absolutely nothing she could say in response to that, and she stared at him through her misty eyes. He broke eye contact first and raised his glass to his lips, taking a hearty slurp from it. For a second she was almost certain his hand was trembling, but he quickly lowered it and raised his gaze to meet hers once again. There was nothing but disdain in that stare, and she knew that she had imagined the slight trace of vulnerability. “Would you like to meet Alice? I’m sure the two of you will get along.”
Surprised by the sudden change in subject and the unexpected gentleness in his voice, she nodded helplessly. She had lost contact with all of the friends she had made at university. She had tried contacting a few of them since her return. Of course, most of them had moved on to their postgraduate studies, a few had left the city to continue their studies elsewhere, but the ones who had remained had shown no real desire to resume their friendships with her. If she could befriend Pierre’s wife, it would go a long way toward staving off the crushing loneliness she was starting to feel in this house.
“I’d like that.” She lowered her eyes to her plate, lifting her knife and fork in an attempt to pretend that nothing was amiss, but the violent trembling in her hands made a liar of her, and she had no choice but to put the utensils back down. She really should not be this devastated by the knowledge that everything she had initially believed about her marriage was a lie. Like her belief that Bryce had married her because he loved her when he had never loved her. His revelations should hold no surprise, not after the way he’d treated her two years ago. Still his words had hurt so much more than they should have; it felt like she had been punched in the stomach, and the pain was unrelenting.
“I’ll invite them to dinner tomorrow night. Pierre and I have business to discuss anyway,” he said softly, and she nodded, lowering her head even more, petrified that he would see her tears. She stared blurrily down at her plate but was barely able to see its contents. To her absolute horror she felt the scalding tears overflowing and watched as they dripped into her plate. With an agonized sound, she hurriedly got to her feet, scrubbing at her face in the process.
“I . . . excuse . . .” She caught a brief look at his grim face, and unable to stand it anymore, she fled, hearing his muffled curse on her way out. There was a horrible silence, followed by an equally horrible crash as Bryce apparently flung something against a wall. The sound of breaking glass spurred her on and she was up the stairs and into her room like a shot. Thankfully the violent noise had not awoken Kayla, and Bronwyn curled up into a small ball in the center of her bed, leaving the lights off, needing the dark to lick her gaping wounds in private.
She had awakened in his arms. Bronwyn smiled in contentment and snuggled closer. His strong arms tightened around her and he kissed the top of her head almost reverently. They had been seeing each other for only a month but the chemistry between them had been so potent that it had not taken much for Bronwyn to forget all her grandmother’s warnings about men and their “salacious appetites.” In fact she thought she had been particularly strong in not giving in much sooner; Bryce was a very persuasive kisser, and tonight it hadn’t taken much for them to fall into bed together. It had been her first time, and Bryce had been a little shocked at the discovery. He had been excruciatingly gentle and incredibly thorou
gh in making sure that she was completely satisfied. He hadn't left an inch of her body unexplored. Now she was limp, sated, and wondering when they would be able to do it again. She moved her thigh experimentally but still found him disappointingly unprepared for a second round.
“Give me a second,” he groaned. “You wore me out, damn it. I need to regain my strength!”
“You just can’t keep up with me, can you?” She purred teasingly and he growled before flipping her onto her back, pinning her down, and kissing her thoroughly. She felt him stir against her and grinned against his lips.
“Now that’s more like it,” she murmured encouragingly, and he grinned, lifting his head to look down at her. The grin faded abruptly and his eyes went silver with desire and something deeper, something so achingly tender it made Bronwyn’s heart melt.
“I can’t remember my life before you,” he said wonderingly. “I can’t remember me without you. I never want to let you go. Tell me you’ll marry me . . . please?”
“Bryce?” she whispered uncertainly.
“Bronwyn Kirkland, will you marry me?” he asked almost desperately. She was so overwhelmed by his words that she could do nothing but nod.
“Yes, yes, Bryce, I love you so much,” she managed to whisper, her voice thick with tears of joy.
“Shhh . . . don’t cry . . .” he soothed as he slid gently into her welcoming body. “No more tears. We’re going to be so happy together.”
She awoke in his arms, feeling both warm and protected. Bronwyn felt a dizzying sense of déjà vu as she struggled to find her bearings. She couldn’t believe that she had fallen asleep after the emotional turmoil at dinner—she had been so certain that her tumultuous thoughts would keep her awake. She had her face pressed to his chest and she could feel his heart beating steadily beneath her cheek.
“Bryce?” she whispered tentatively, not sure where her dreams ended and real life began. Maybe she was just now waking up after their first time together and everything in between had been nothing but a vivid dream. He didn’t stir and she moved restlessly against him, feeling his arms tighten possessively around her. His large hands started stroking her back leisurely and she burrowed closer, reveling in the comfort and not quite ready to relinquish it yet. She still wasn’t certain if this was a dream or real, but she didn’t care anymore; she was in Bryce’s arms exactly where she belonged.
His warm hands crept beneath the thin cotton blouse she was wearing until his dry palms found the soft, naked skin of her slender back. She sucked in a breath at the electrifying contact and arched toward him with a slight moan. It felt like forever since he had touched her last. Her hands crept up over his broad chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin material of his T-shirt. She looked up, trying to see his face in the dark, but she could see nothing except the gleam of his eyes.
“Bryce . . .” she murmured dreamily, half-asleep and still lost in the memory of her dream. She lifted a hand to his face. She loved the feel of his stubbled jaw beneath her hand. He made a slight sound and abruptly lowered his head to capture her soft, surprised lips with his hard and demanding mouth. The kiss was a lot more ruthless than she had anticipated; she had been expecting gentleness, not this almost violent caress. Still it was Bryce, her beloved Bryce, and she would deny him nothing. His kiss softened and became almost desperate as he leaned into her and over her, until she was flat on her back and he was cradled between her spread thighs. He loomed above her, not once relinquishing contact with her soft mouth, and she moaned as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, not wanting to let him go ever again.
He eventually came up for air and fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, while she tugged at his T-shirt and dragged it over his head before he had managed even half of the buttons. Losing patience, he ripped the fragile garment apart, sending mother-of-pearl buttons flying everywhere. Bronwyn giggled and Bryce stilled abruptly.
“I’ve missed your laughter . . .” The sound of his sexy, smoky voice startled her into complete wakefulness. “I always loved your laugh.” He sounded so wistful that Bronwyn wished she could see his face. She raised a curious hand to his mouth but he leaned back, denying her the contact.
“Bryce what . . .” she started to say, but he cursed softly before leaning to the side and switching on the bedside lamp. The unwelcome present immediately forced its way into the bedroom as Bronwyn found herself staring up into the rough-hewn features of an older, harsher Bryce than the one she’d just dreamed about. This was not the man she had fallen in love with; this man was battle scarred and hated her more than she had ever believed possible.
“I want to see you,” he muttered harshly. “When you speak, I want to know what you’re saying! When you laugh, I want to see your eyes light up, and when I make you come”—his voice lowered sexily—“I want to see you scream even if I can’t hear it.”
“I don’t think . . .” she began uncertainly, preferring to make love with him in the dark, where she could fool herself into believing that he was the old Bryce, the one who had pretended to love her, even if he now claimed that he never had. A shaft of agony pierced through her as she recalled his confession at dinner, and she tried to move away from him but he would not permit it. He pinned her down, his eyes boring into hers, so that she was unable to hide her pain from him. His brows lowered into an intimidating frown, and she flinched, wondering what scathing remark he had in store for her this time.
“You were crying at dinner,” he said almost accusingly.
“What do you expect?” she asked bitterly. “You can’t keep cutting me without spilling my blood, Bryce.”
“Such drama.” He grinned caustically. “Don’t cry again, it irritates me!” The demand was so ridiculously petulant that she gaped at him in astonishment. He took advantage of her open mouth and swooped in for another hungry kiss.
“I want you,” he groaned, grinding against her so that she would have no trouble mistaking his meaning. “I want to make love with you.” He raised his head to look down at her, trying to gauge her receptiveness.
“Only it’s not ‘making love,’ is it?” she asked bitterly. “Without love it’s nothing more than a cheap screw.” He made a dismayed little sound and covered her mouth with his own before she could say anything more. Bronwyn soon forgot everything as his mouth wove a seductive spell over her. His wicked fingers seemed to be everywhere at the same time, and his mouth soon followed.
He paused when he reached her braless breasts and he stared at them for a long moment. Bronwyn squirmed uncomfortably as she fought the desire to fold her arms over her petite assets. She had always been self-conscious about her small breasts, but Bryce had always loved them. Now he was staring at them almost analytically, and she found herself flushing to the roots of her hair.
“They haven’t changed,” he murmured, almost reluctantly raising his eyes to meet hers. “I expected them to be different . . . you know, after Mikayla?”
“I couldn’t breastfeed her.” She shrugged. “I was ill for a while after the birth, and by the time I was well enough, she was on the bottle and my milk had dried up.” His eyes darkened.
“Ill?” Not wanting to discuss that right now, Bronwyn distracted him the only way she knew how, she arched her back until her nipples brushed his naked chest. She hissed as they made contact with the hot, silky flesh that was lightly dusted with soft, golden hair. He groaned at the contact and lowered his eyes back down to her breasts; they were barely a handful—creamy little mounds with raspberry-red tips. His breath caught on a sob of pure desire, and he bent down and did what she was aching for him to do: he took one of the distended tips into his mouth. She squealed, nearly coming off the bed at the electric jolt that swept through her body, and he raised his head to grin at her.
“They’re still as sensitive as I rem—” He was cut off when she lifted impatient hands and pulled his head back down, forcing him
to focus on the task at hand. He laughed wickedly and proceeded to give her what she wanted with as much enthusiasm as she was taking it.
Soon they were both completely naked, and Bryce paused above her, his arms planted on either side of her head as he held himself aloft. He stared down into her face with an intensity that unnerved her, before reaching over to the nightstand and fumbling open a drawer to yank out a condom. For a painful moment, Bronwyn wondered why he had a handy stash of condoms in the drawer, before he spoke again, immediately distracting her.
“Still such innocence in those eyes, such trust, they still stare at me with such adoration,” he muttered, half to himself as he dragged on the condom. “How can your eyes tell such lies?” Shocked by the near hatred in his voice, Bronwyn gasped in horror as she recognized that this act of sex, if completed, would be another cruel means of hurting her, just another weapon to use against her. Before she had a chance to formulate any kind of protest, he entered her with a gentleness that belied his harsh words and took what she had so heedlessly and freely offered just moments ago. She was so well-primed for it that despite everything, she moaned and her slender thighs clenched around his hips. Her long legs wrapped around his waist as she welcomed him back into her body. He had gone completely still, and she opened her eyes to see him staring down at her triumphantly. Her eyes filled with tears and he glared down at her.
“Don’t you dare,” he warned darkly. “Don’t cry.” She couldn’t help it, tears overflowed even as she shoved herself up against him. He groaned and met her lunge with one of his own.
“Don’t cry.”
Bronwyn found herself whimpering desperately in time with his thrusts, even while her tears continued to flow and her heart continued to break.
“Please don’t. Please don’t,” he continued to almost beg, kissing the tears away. His tenderness acted as a balm to her ravaged soul and worked to end the weeping as nothing else could have. “My beautiful, Bronwyn . . .”
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