by Naima Simone
“You feel so good inside me,” she whispered in his ear. “So good. So thick. So hot.”
Lucas groaned and went wild. He gripped her ass and led her in a wild ride that left her with no recourse but to hang on. Grasping his shoulders, she leaned her head back, let him lift and drag her down his cock, stroking into her over and over again. His hips thrust high with each downward plunge of hers, and the arias of her wet sex releasing him, flesh smacking flesh, and her broken cries filled the room in the most beautiful opera. Over and over, she welcomed and clasped in the most intimate of embraces, his cock marking her each time he buried it within her.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he breathed against her throat. “And take me with you.” He reached between them, rubbed a thumb over her clit, circling the bundle of nerves three times before catapulting her into a sea of rapture.
When her head eventually crested the tempestuous waves, he bucked beneath her, straining, pumping, and spilling in short, powerful bursts. She clung to him. Depended on him to buoy her up, and he did. Even as the fire raged, simmered, than banked, he wrapped her in his arms.
And with her cheek pressed to his damp shoulder, she asked the question that had lurked in the back of her mind since he’d trusted her with his truth.
“Lucas?”
“Yes?” He rubbed a palm up her spine and back down in a calming caress.
“Your father’s partner and best friend. The one who cheated with your mother.” She paused, suspecting the answer as she asked. “It was Dad, wasn’t it?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Grief, pain, and shame exploded inside her chest like emotional shrapnel. The cheating part didn’t surprise her; Jason’s issues with faithfulness had been a poorly kept secret around their house. But cheating his best friend out his livelihood while he was holed up in grief? Even as emotionally distant and critical as her father had become, she still couldn’t match up the cold, conniving man Lucas described with the man she’d known.
A shudder ripped through her, and she curled her fingers into Lucas’s waist as if trying to hold on to something she’d never really had.
A chance.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely able to push the apology past the thickness in her throat.
His hand paused in its soothing motion on her back.
“It’s not your fault, sweetheart.”
She didn’t reply. Didn’t point out the irony in his statement, since he’d made her pay part of the price for her father’s sins. Despair weighed down on her like an anvil.
For a moment, a glimmer of hope had flickered inside her. But now, that glow had been snuffed out by the sense that she and Lucas had been doomed before they ever started.
Chapter Eighteen
How many of these events was a man required to suffer through before granted a pardon? Hell, they all started to run together after a while. Given where Lucas had grown up, he donated to foundations championing literacy, education, and technology in inner-city schools. But he would much rather have stayed home with Sydney tonight. Even watching one of those crime shows she enjoyed so much. Anything rather than attending another gala—was this one for animal shelters?—and spending time schmoozing. Or zoning out.
Like now.
He nodded and uttered the appropriate sympathetic reply when Mrs. Anita Gamble—wife of one of the wealthiest financiers along the East Coast—launched into another diatribe regarding the ill treatment of her beautiful shih tzu, Precious, at the hands of the groomer.
Jesus. Really? But he smiled, made the proper concerned responses and noises. He grinned and bore it all the while wondering when the brain bleed would begin.
In Chicago, he’d attended his fair share of social galas and parties, but as a single man and businessman, an absence or four could be excused. Not so as a married man. And definitely not for a man married under the scarlet banner of scandal.
Tuning out Mrs. Gamble’s views on going “American” with groomers, he scanned the room for his wife. There. Surrounded by a bevy of women who flickered and faded into his peripheral vision. With her gorgeous curls tamed into a sexy sweep over a bare shoulder, she outshone every woman in the room. The curves he’d developed an obsession for were displayed to perfection in an elegant black-and-white corseted gown that hugged her breasts and small waist before falling dramatically to the floor. He, who admittedly knew shit about fashion, appreciated the flair of the dress. But it was the woman who made it unforgettable.
The warmth that blended with the sharper heat of desire both unnerved and settled him. Ever since he’d revealed his true history to her earlier that week, the unsettling emotion had taken root and had been impossible to eradicate. At some point in the study, he’d stopped viewing his wife as transitory and started thinking of her as more permanent.
And that scared the shit out of him.
He lost focus around her. Hell, he’d skipped out on work just to be with her. She made him question his every belief about women and marriage. And that kind of uncertainty—specifically at this critical time—was dangerous. Yes, Sydney was different from any woman he’d ever met. Yet he still hadn’t revealed the entire extent of his plans regarding her father. Why? Did he simply not want her to look at him with hatred? Or did a part of him continue to mistrust her? Maybe a turbulent mixture of both.
“Penny for your thoughts,” a sultry voice intruded on his brooding. He blinked, realizing Mrs. Gamble had moved on and Caroline Dresden stood in her stead. “Or are yours more expensive?”
“Hello, Caroline,” he greeted, ignoring the heat in the brunette’s scrutiny. “How are you?”
Her red-painted lips turned down in a pout he might have once found sexy but that now annoyed him. “You can ask me that after you’ve become a married man?” She ran a crimson fingernail down the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. “I will be the first to admit, I didn’t believe you would actually go through with the marriage. But when you settle your mind on something, you always get it, don’t you, Lucas?” she murmured, glancing up at him through the thick fringe of her lashes. “I remember how it felt to be on the receiving end of that…determination.”
Clearly she was into revising history. From what he recalled—and honestly, it wasn’t much—she hadn’t been difficult to pursue or catch. Gently but firmly removing her hand from him, he drawled, “And I don’t remember you being this tenacious—or hard of hearing. I’m married.”
Anger brightened her gaze for a moment before she covered the quicksilver emotion with another catlike smile. It was a wonder feathers weren’t poking out between her perfect teeth.
“Happily married, though?” she purred, setting off a warning tingle. One of the reasons he’d ended their short association was due to her manipulations. She didn’t say or do anything without purpose. “I heard the honeymoon might be over before it even started. More so since your wife was seen with Tyler Reinhold only a week ago.” She named the restaurant where Sydney had met her mother at for lunch. “A cozy lunch? Maybe reconciliation was the day’s special?”
He arched an eyebrow, feigning disinterest when inside his stomach clenched, twisted. Anger and the grime-coated stain of suspicion spread inside his chest. “Spreading gossip, Caroline?” He tsked. “Business must be slow.”
Her tinkled laughter grated over his nerves like a rusty blade. “Not at all. I’m never too busy to be concerned. Oh, hello, Sydney,” she cooed as his wife appeared at his side, her hand resting on the inside of his elbow. “Belated congratulations on your marriage.”
“Thank you,” Sydney said, her tone cool.
“I was delighted you two could come tonight. Though I must admit I was surprised to see you.” A perplexed frown appeared between Caroline’s brows, an expert mimicry of concern. “A friend of mine told me you’d already RSVP’d to the reception the Reinholds are holding after tonight’s ballet.”
If he hadn’t been so in tune to Sydney, he would’ve missed the subtle stiffeni
ng of her body. Maybe he imagined it, but that insidious suspicion hissed in his head that he hadn’t. He wanted to tilt her head back so he could study her expression, her eyes. Reassure himself that his wife wasn’t hiding something from him.
That she hadn’t lied to him.
“That’s the thing with gossip,” Sydney pointed out, icicles dripping from each word. “More often than not, it’s unreliable. Or untrue. Which is why I try not to indulge in such inane and childish pastimes.” Surprise slackened Caroline’s sharp features at the polite but dagger-sharp put-down. Her mouth curled into an ugly snarl, but before she could utter a word, Sydney turned to him and smiled the Blake smile. “George Gamble mentioned how much he would love to speak with you.”
“I’m all yours and his,” he murmured. Pride roared through him like a lion, fierce, loud. Leaving Caroline fuming behind them, he escorted Sydney across the room. As he entered into a surprisingly interesting and engaging conversation with Anita Gamble’s husband, he maintained an arm around his wife.
For the rest of the evening, he tried to expel Caroline’s catty remarks from his head. But when he and Sydney returned home a couple of hours later, the comments continued to loiter like ghosts refusing to go into the light. But even if he somehow managed to dismiss Caroline’s sly innuendos, he couldn’t erase the doubt they’d planted. No shovel or plow could uproot that.
“Lucas.”
He eased her coat from her shoulders, his fingertips brushing her bare shoulders. “Yes?”
“Do you want to talk about what Caroline said tonight?”
His jaw clenched, and he turned and hung their coats in the hall closet before returning to her in the living room. Slipping his hands in the front pockets of his pants, he studied her. The hint of nervousness under cool composure. The flash of wariness in her eyes. And the suspicion stretched its poisonous tentacles a little further.
“Is there something to talk about, Sydney?”
She shook her head, and the gold and caramel caught the light of the single lamp.
“When I had lunch with Mom, unknown to me, she had arranged for Tyler to show up at the restaurant. She’d also accepted an invitation to his parents’ reception on my behalf. I didn’t find out any of this until that afternoon.” She held out her hands, the palms up in supplication. “I meant to tell you. There was—is—nothing to hide. But when I came home…it slipped my mind. We started talking about her, and then you took me down to your study. And I truly forgot to mention it. I had no intention of going to the reception or seeing Tyler again.”
He didn’t reply. Couldn’t. On the surface, her reasons seemed plausible. But in the interim—in the days that had passed since that day—why hadn’t she said anything? His mind was quick to supply ugly reasons. Such as her intent to meet with her ex again. After all, he’d been the reason she couldn’t bring herself to be intimate with Lucas on their wedding night. Did she still love him?
An image of his father solidified in his mind. Devastated, defeated. Because of his love for a woman who’d broken his heart and trust time after time with infidelity after infidelity.
Staring into her lovely face, he wanted to believe her. But his own experience had taught him the consequences of giving trust so freely, so cavalierly.
“Say something,” she whispered.
“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, holding out his hand.
After a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her up the stairs to the bedroom. Where he removed her dress, slid his hands over her body, made her come apart with his fingers, mouth, and cock. And after their breathing returned to a semblance of normal, and the perspiration dried on their skin, started all over again.
Because here, he thought as he buried himself in the hungry, grasping core of her, there were no lies.
Chapter Nineteen
“Thank you, James.” Sydney smiled at the ever-attentive driver as he helped her from the rear of the town car. Over the weeks, they’d developed a rapport, as Lucas had hired another chauffer for himself, leaving James to care for Sydney. She enjoyed his calming presence and quietly funny wit. “I’m going to miss you next week,” she said, stepping onto the sidewalk outside the brownstone. “But have a wonderful time with your daughter and grandchildren.”
He dipped his head, walking her up to the steps. “I haven’t seen them since last summer, so I’m excited about going.” He grinned, and it lit up his face. “And San Diego in November isn’t bad, either.”
She laughed, pressing a light kiss on his cheek. “Well, have fun. But don’t let them convince you to move there,” she warned.
Waving good-bye, she mounted the stairs and entered the house. Silence greeted her. Not that she had expected Lucas to be home. He hadn’t surprised her like that since the day she had lunch with her mother. That didn’t keep her from glancing toward the living room, though.
And didn’t keep the emptiness and loneliness from knotting her stomach.
God, she should have an ulcer by now.
Since the night of the party a week ago, there’d been a distance between her and Lucas that hadn’t been there since their time in Seattle. One inserted by him. He’d drawn behind this reserved civility that warned her away. Even in the one place he’d never held back with her—their bedroom—he’d become detached. It hurt. It confused her. It left her doubting his attraction to her. Old insecurities had risen, and as a defense, she’d drawn away from him, too, increasing the gulf. A gulf she had no idea how to swim across.
She peeled her coat off, tired from sleepless nights as well as a long day at the youth center. Although she thanked God for her time at the center. There, she could forget about the sharp turn her relationship with Lucas had taken. She could lose herself in work, but now, in the resounding quiet, she had nothing to distract her. Sighing, she closed the closet door, and as she headed back toward the foyer, her cell phone vibrated in the pocket of her skirt. Her pulse tripped. How pathetic did it make her that she hoped to hear her husband’s voice? Not quite you-hang-up-no-you-hang-up pathetic but definitely I-want-to-sleep-in-your-shirt-so-I-can-have-your-scent-surround-me pathetic.
Removing the phone, she glanced down at the screen.
Tyler.
God. She hit the reject button and pocketed the phone. Since she’d missed his family’s party last weekend, he’d called several times. Encouraged by her mother, no doubt. Sydney snorted, disgusted. Shaking her head, she picked up the mail and, as was her practice, sorted through it. She removed the junk mail, left the one piece for her on the end table, and carried the rest to Lucas’s study.
She stepped into the room, flipped the light switch, and inhaled his scent. Another silly ritual. But since he’d never caught her at it, one she considered harmless. She strode across the room and rounded his desk. A moment later, she dropped the mail on the usually immaculate top next to a letter-sized manila envelope. She stepped back, but then the name typed across the front snagged her attention.
Blake Corporation contract.
She frowned. What contract? Was this about her father? After a moment’s hesitation and a flash of guilt, she picked up the envelope and flipped open the unsealed flap. She withdrew a thick sheaf of papers, and letting the manila envelope float back to the desk, perused the cover page.
Her heart pounded as her stomach bottomed out.
Jason Blake. Demand for resignation as CEO and chairman of the board of directors of Blake Corporation. Requested by majority shareholder Lucas Oliver.
What was this?
Nausea roiled in her belly, acidic bile racing toward the back of her throat. What did it mean? She flipped through the first few pages, and horror and the pain of betrayal yawned wide inside her like a dark, voracious chasm.
The doorbell chimed above her. She remained frozen behind the desk, staring at the stack of legal papers. Only when the second insistent buzz echoed through the house did she move toward the study door, the contract still clutched
in her fist. Numb, she returned to the main level and opened the front door.
“Tyler.” She stared at her ex-fiancé, not grasping why he stood on the doorstep of her home. “What are you doing here?”
“To see you.” He nodded toward the door. “Is it okay if I come in? It will only be for a few minutes.”
Bemused, she opened the door wider and shifted to the side, allowing him to enter.
“Thank you,” he said. “I tried calling, but I guess you didn’t receive my messages. Or”—a deprecating smile curved his mouth—“maybe you were avoiding them. Not that I could blame you.”
Rabbit hole. At what point had she jumped feetfirst into it? She pinched and massaged her forehead as if the motion could clear away the wool wrapping that had enclosed her since finding the documents on Lucas’s desk. Turning to face Tyler, she closed the door behind her.
“I’m sorry, Tyler. You have me at a loss.”
“I can imagine.” He dragged a hand over his close-cropped dark curls. “Look, I won’t keep you long. I wanted to speak with you about this weekend.”
Tipping her head back, she loosed a broken crack of laughter. The pain from her discovery still thrummed inside her like another heartbeat. Jesus, she didn’t need this right now. Couldn’t deal with what her mother had set in motion with her machinations. Lifting her head, she spread her hands wide.
“I’m sorry you were misled, but I had no intention of attending the party. Mom, without my knowledge, accepted the invitation on my behalf. I hate that I hurt you and your parents’ relationship with mine, but I’m married—I married another man, and I would not have disrespected him by going to your party without him.”
“I know,” he said. “Which is why I came to apologize to you.”
If he’d sprouted wings and clucked around the room crying, “The sky is falling!” she couldn’t have been more surprised.