by Cat Grant
Her expression softened—but whether in empathy or pity, he couldn't tell. “I hope Eric's grateful for what he's got. I've never had anyone in my life as loyal as you."
"Now you make me sound like the family dog."
"Well, puppy, you'd best grow some teeth, because you know if Ally gets even a whiff of this, she'll go after it like a pit bull on a pant leg."
A sudden chill swept him. “That's an image I'd rather not think about."
* * * *
Ally peered out the window as her plane taxied up to the gate at JFK, thankful to be home, yet so tired she had a hard time hauling herself out of her seat. She did a double take when she spied Eric waiting for her at the terminal, a bouquet of her favorite white roses in hand. He hadn't picked her up at the airport himself in ages.
"To what do I owe this honor?” she wondered aloud, accepting the roses along with a soft kiss on the lips, which only enhanced her confusion, since Eric didn't normally do public displays of affection.
"Do I need to have a reason for picking my wife up at the airport—other than the fact that I haven't seen her in nearly a week?"
"You could've just sent the limo like you usually do."
"It's outside, waiting to take us home."
"Us?” she echoed. “You mean you don't have to go back to the office?"
"Not tonight."
Confusion took a sharp u-turn into downright unease, but she quickly backed off that road. Exhaustion had simply gotten the better of her, clouding her perceptions. After all, what was wrong with her husband lavishing her with a little well-deserved attention? Maybe the last few days apart had made Eric realize how much their marriage had suffered for the sake of his business dealings and political aspirations. Maybe he really had missed her as much as she'd missed him.
She piled gratefully into the limo, leaning her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “Looks like someone had far too much fun,” he observed, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead.
"Hardly. I hit the ground running the second I got to Milan and the treadmill kept on rolling all the way through Paris. Besides, you know I don't sleep that well in hotels."
"So you didn't enjoy yourself at all?"
"Well, I dropped in on the Versace party, mostly to try and snag an interview with Donatella, but I ended up flirting with their models, this gorgeous Brazilian hunk with a thing for petite blondes—and older women,” she added with a chuckle. “That last part sort of killed the mood."
Eric laughed. “How old was he, or shouldn't I ask?"
"Oh, twenty or twenty-one, with miles of silky café au lait skin, huge brown eyes, gentle hands..."
"Sounds like quite a temptation. You should've indulged yourself."
She giggled at his apparent joke, though his completely non-joking expression quickly disabused her of that assumption. “Are you serious?"
"I don't see any harm in a one-time casual encounter while you're away on a trip. I certainly didn't expect you to spend your evenings sitting alone in your hotel room."
"That's very sweet, but...” Now wide awake, she sat up straight. “For one thing, we've never discussed having an open relationship, and for another ... Well, for God's sake, we've only been married six months. I'm not ready to start cheating on you yet!"
"I think you're taking this a bit too much to heart,” he replied in his most soothing—and most patronizing—tone. “I didn't mean to upset you."
"Well, you did! A little bit, anyway.” She slumped back against the seat cushions. “Look, I know you and Barbara had a different kind of marriage, but that's not what I want. And despite what the whole world probably thinks, I didn't marry you to get a closet full of designer clothes and a high-profile job."
"Good to know,” he said with a half-teasing smile.
She leaned against his shoulder again, dozing the rest of the way home, her knees nearly buckling when they reached the penthouse door. Eric had a light supper prepared: French onion soup, a mixed-green salad with raspberry vinaigrette dressing, and fresh-baked French bread. Amazingly, the food managed to revive her; she ate an entire bowl of soup and half her salad before pushing her plate away and retiring to the living room with Eric and a cup of delicious Italian roast.
She sat on the overstuffed couch and promptly zoned out, until Eric drew his fingertips down her arm, gently tugging her back to the here and now. “Something wrong?” he asked. “You've been off in another world since dinner."
"I guess I'm finally getting fed up with things at work. Ten years in the news business and they're still sticking me with the fluff pieces.” Tossing back the last of her coffee, she set it down on the table with a distinct clatter. “I busted my butt snagging some great interviews, and the network only aired three out of the ten segments I filmed. Most days I don't know why I even bother showing up."
"If it's any consolation, you should see a turnaround by this time next year. I can't imagine the network passing up a chance to put the wife of a US senator front and center."
"Assuming, of course, that you win."
"Of course I'll win.” He grinned. “I always do, don't I?"
She settled back in his arms while he flicked on the TV to the business channel, but after a few minutes, keeping her eyes open proved a bigger challenge than running the Boston marathon. With a smile, Eric gently helped her up from the couch and half-carried her down the hallway to the bedroom.
One glance at the comfy king-sized bed and she flopped down on it like a boned fish, still fully dressed. She had only the dimmest awareness of Eric undressing her, removing first her shoes, followed by her pantyhose, skirt, jacket and blouse, and lastly, her bra and panties. At last he pulled back the covers and helped her slide between them, the cool supima cotton whispering over her naked skin.
Eric came to bed a few minutes later, spooning up behind her. She felt his lips on her throat and shoulder, his hands reaching around to cup her breasts, teasing and tugging at her nipples. Oh, God, she thought, biting back a moan, exhaustion swiftly trumped by arousal.
And if Eric's smug chuckle was any indication, he knew he had her. Rolling her onto her back, he dipped down to kiss her breasts, taking each of her nipples in turn between his teeth, sucking and biting them. He had a hand between her thighs too, parting her folds, rubbing her throbbing clit. Another couple of minutes of this and she'd have a damn river running between her legs.
Which was exactly where he went next, lips fastening on her clit, sucking hard. Pushing two fingers up inside her, he found and worked her g-spot. She came within seconds, arching her back, riding the waves of sensation, crying out when Eric entered her at the exact same moment she hit her pinnacle.
He pounded her mercilessly and she loved it, digging her nails into his back, locking her legs around his hips to urge him on. She lost count of how many times she came, but by the time Eric shot deep inside her, screaming and moaning had torn her voice to shreds. She fell into a coma with him still on top of her and didn't open her eyes again until Eric's alarm went off at seven o'clock.
He fucked her again before he got up to shower, gently this time, with soft caresses and warm, wet kisses so tender she nearly burst into tears. Orgasm eluded her, but it still felt delicious lying beneath him as he moved in her with exquisite slowness, his voice a tiny broken cry when he reached his climax.
Afterwards, he stayed inside her, both of them savoring the final few moments of their union. Kissing him sweetly, she reached up to stroke his cheek, startled when her fingers came away wet. “What's wrong?"
For a split-second he had this strange expression on his face—incredibly sad, and incredibly distant. Then, pressing a quick kiss to her fingertips, he rolled off of her and out of bed. “Nothing, I'm fine. Go back to sleep."
She tried, at least until he showered, dressed and came back to give her a goodbye kiss. But as soon as she heard the front door close, she sat straight up, flicking on the light. She couldn't get that expression out of her mind. What did it
mean? Did he regret having to leave her? Somehow she doubted it. He'd never looked at her like that on any other morning.
She ran the previous evening back and forth in her memory until the answer popped out in all its obvious glory. When she'd told Eric about her flirtation with the Brazilian model, she'd expected him to react with concern, maybe even a touch of anger. But instead, he'd seemed almost disappointed that she hadn't carried the dalliance out to its logical conclusion. In her experience, that could mean only one thing.
No husband ever encouraged his wife to have an affair—unless, of course, he was having one himself.
* * * *
Nick got back from a late lunch to find an email from Eric blinking on his computer. Glancing around to make sure no one else lingered within eyeshot of his screen, he clicked on it and read:
Need to see you tonight after work. It's important.
—E.
He stared at it for a few seconds before hitting the delete key. It struck him as odd on more than one level. Eric usually called him on his cell phone when he wanted to get together, and he'd never waited till the last minute like this before. Nick had the instant, gut-churning sensation that something had gone haywire.
His hand drifted over to the phone, fingers poised to dial Eric's private number, until he remembered how angry Eric had been last time he'd called him at the office. Nick wasn't even supposed to send him email except in cases of dire emergency, and a bad feeling hardly qualified.
But what could be so damned important? Was trouble brewing behind closed doors at Courtland Industries? Or maybe Ally had come home from her trip and announced she wanted a divorce. He could just imagine Eric's reaction to that, especially with the election coming up in November. Still, Nick couldn't help feeling a petty little twinge of hope. Eric had a notoriously short attention span with relationships, their own relationship notwithstanding. Nick knew he'd grow bored with Ally eventually.
He danced on needles and pins for the rest of the day, barely concentrating on his work. He filed his last story and bolted from the office by five-thirty, sprinting the four blocks to the apartment in record time, his palms so clammy he had a hard time getting the door open.
His stomach plummeted through the floor when he saw Allison sitting there at the bar, casually sipping a drink. “C'mon in, Nick,” she sneered, setting down her glass. “We need to have a little chat."
* * * *
Nick stood in the doorway with his mouth dangling open, looking like she'd just thwapped him in the face with a day-old trout. God, how priceless! If she weren't already so fucking livid, she would've burst out laughing.
"H-How did you—"
"Find out?” Ally prompted. “Oh, c'mon, Nick. I might be a glorified tabloid reporter these days, but I'm still pretty damn good at the investigative stuff. Hacking Eric's email account took me a grand total of five minutes, although I couldn't believe he'd been careless enough to pay the rent on this place out of our joint checking account."
Nick moved like a sleepwalker over to the nearest chair, sitting down heavily. “I'm glad you know. I was tired of all that sneaking around."
"I'll bet,” she said acidly. “Well, if this is your way of taking revenge on me for marrying Eric, then bravo. You got me, Nick. You got me good.” She tossed back her drink in one gulp and got up, stalking towards him in what she hoped was her most intimidating manner. “But it ends now."
"I think Eric might have something to say about that."
"No, actually, Eric has nothing to say about it. This is between you and me.” Bending down, she grabbed the arms of Nick's chair, skewering him with her most frigid glare. “Either you break it off with him tonight, or tomorrow I start making phone calls, and you'll be lucky to end up writing classified ads for the National fucking Enquirer."
"You'd never do that to me, Ally. I know you."
"Oh, really?” she drawled. “Well, go ahead. Call my bluff."
He looked scared now, truly scared. It gave her a delicious tingling sensation between her thighs. With a satisfied smirk, she sashayed back to the bar and poured herself another drink.
Nick sat there silently for a few minutes, fingertips drumming on the arms of his chair. If the tiny gears in his brain spun any harder, he would've had smoke coming out his ears. At last he got up and made for the door. “For what it's worth, Ally,” he murmured, “I'm sorry."
"Somehow I seriously doubt that."
Ally sat at the bar for a long time after he left, sipping Absolut Citron and making silly patterns on the counter with the condensation rings from the bottom of her glass. Even after a couple stiff vodkas, her hands still trembled. She had to call a cab to take her home.
She found Eric waiting for her in the living room. The look on his face reminded her of storm clouds before a hard rain. “Nick just left."
"Really?” she chirped, all fake brightness. “And how's good ol’ Nick doing?"
"Drop it, Allison. I know you talked to him."
"That I did,” she said, throwing her coat and bag on the couch, rounding on Eric with her hands on her hips. She hoped she wasn't still so wobbly that the effect came off as ridiculous rather than righteously outraged. “So did you two lovebirds say your tearful goodbyes?"
"I'm not breaking it off with him. And you're not ruining his career either. Not if I have anything to say about it."
"Stop trying to order me around, Eric. You don't scare me."
"Maybe I should."
"Oh, so what're you planning to do? Crack me over the head with a blunt object and toss my body in the East River? That might raise a few questions, don't you think?"
His lip curled in open disgust. “You're drunk."
"And with good reason. But you know the great thing about booze? It boils thing down to their essentials. I don't think I've ever seen you more clearly than I have tonight.” Dropping onto the couch, she studied him for a moment, surprised that he actually looked a bit apprehensive. “Why did you marry me, Eric? I know you don't love me. Do you even care about me at all, or am I just a guaranteed twenty-point boost for your popularity poll?"
"Look, I know I've hurt you terribly,” he said softly, sitting down on a nearby ottoman. But when he reached for her hand, she yanked hers away. “Believe me, I never meant for that to happen. And I do care for you. But as for love ... I don't know if I can ever give you that. I don't even know if I'm capable of it."
"Of course you're capable of it. You love Nick."
"Allison—"
"You've always loved him, Eric. And he's always loved you. That's probably why he and I could never make it work either.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to ask. “When did you start seeing him again?"
"About a week after we got back from our honeymoon. He showed up at the office asking for an interview about the wedding, and ... nature took its course from there."
She didn't think she could hurt worse than she already did, but now she felt like she'd just been sucker-punched. It took all her strength to keep the shock from doubling her over. “Oh,” she managed to squeak.
To his credit, Eric didn't try to smooth it over with false conciliation. She knew he wasn't sorry. He wasn't the type to waste his energies on useless remorse.
"W-We never really had a chance, did we?” she murmured. “I wish you'd told me back when it first happened. We could've gotten an annulment."
"I didn't want an annulment and I don't want a divorce. I want to try and make this work. All three of us."
For a second or two, she thought she hadn't heard him right—but of course she had. “What, you think I'm going to sit idly by and let you fuck Nick on the side, while I play the perfect little wife for the sake of your political campaign? Think again, Eric,” she snapped. “I'm not that pathetic."
"That's not what I meant. I don't want to sneak around behind your back anymore, and neither does Nick. I'm proposing that we let Nick move in with us.” Sucking in a breath, he forged on before
she could interrupt him. “I know you still have feelings for him, even after everything that's happened. So maybe we can all learn to ... share each other."
"Y-You can't be serious about this."
"I am, and so is Nick."
"He agreed to it?"
"He suggested it."
She tried to reply, but the words wouldn't come. The entire English language had flown right out of her brain. All the alcohol in her system had evaporated too. She suddenly felt one hundred percent, stone cold sober.
And, soberly and silently, she reviewed her choices. She could pack her bags, leave Eric tonight and put a quick, merciful end to it. Of course, it would break her heart, but in time, she'd get over it. Or she could stay and hold off filing for divorce until after the election. It would mean playing the faithful, smiling wife in public for the next few months. Which would just about kill her, but she'd do it, for Eric's sake.
Or she could do what Eric wanted, and try out this arrangement. Maybe it wouldn't work. Maybe Eric would finally get tired of Nick if he had to live with him every day. Maybe the inevitable jealousy would tear them all apart. It all practically screamed “disaster in the making."
But she'd do it. She had to do it. She wasn't ready to stop fighting for her marriage yet.
"All right,” she whispered tonelessly. “If this is really what you want, I-I'll ... All right, I will."
She let Eric take her to bed and lay there with bitter tears streaming down her face while he fucked her. Luckily, in the dark, he didn't even notice.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 2
All Together Now
They agreed to give the arrangement a trial run starting that weekend. Nick arrived promptly after work Friday night. Ally followed him back to the guest bedroom, lurking in the doorway with her arms folded, watching him unpack his overnight bag. She had to suppress a chortle when he dropped his shaving gel on his way to the bathroom. At least she wasn't the only one here with jangled nerves.
When he saw her standing there, he looked as if he expected her to pull out a pistol and shoot him. “Th-Thanks for putting up with me this weekend. I really appreciate it."