“It’s okay,” she whispers. She strokes the hair at the nape of my neck with her fingers, adjusting a bit as I rest my ear on the heart of her chest. Her heartbeat is quick but soft. Thudding eagerly.
Does she really like this? Me? Or am I still fooling myself?
I want this woman… I never want to let her go. I just hope she’s told me the truth this time. I hope all she said wasn’t just more lies on top of lies. I can’t take it.
If they are, then fuck it. What’s the point anymore?
“Are you okay?” she asks in a whisper.
“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur. But I’m lying.
“I can tell what she confessed to you is bothering you.”
“How?” I say emotionless.
“You seem a little more… damaged now.”
“I’m not hurt,” I retort rapidly.
“You don’t have to lie, Griffin. She is your wife. You… loved her before. That’s never going to change.”
“That was before.”
She’s quiet for several seconds, halting on her next touch. “And then there’s me. I lied to you.”
“Nothing went through and didn’t happen. It’s fine.”
“No, Griffin.” I can feel her shaking her head. “It’s not fine. This is not okay.” She picks up my head, forcing my eyes on hers. “I am so sorry, okay? I will never let that happen again. And I understand if you no longer want to work with me.”
I press my lips, sighing. I don’t say anything because I don’t know what to say.
“I know you don’t trust me anymore,” she whispers. “And that everything I say probably sounds like a load of bullshit to you now, but I want you to know that I really do like you, Griffin. A lot. And I know you feel the same, otherwise you wouldn’t feel so betrayed by what I did. You wouldn’t be lying right here on the center of my chest, so close that I can feel your heartbeat.”
I blink rapidly, ignoring the prickling of my eyes, the hitching of my breath. Snatching my gaze away, I roll off of her and sit on the edge of the bed, planting my hands on my face. “I feel like I’m in the middle of a fucking typhoon,” I groan.
“Because of me?”
“No. Because of her. Colette has the power to destroy any foundation, no matter what it’s made of. She has the power to destroy me with all her family has put in motion for me.”
“Oh.” She’s quiet. “And your lawyer?”
“He’s not my fucking lawyer anymore. Not after tonight,” I growl. “She’s probably there now. Hell, she might be making some shit up about—” I cut myself off, focusing on my feet.
Angelina shifts behind me, and before I know it, her legs are outside of mine, her cheek resting on my back, arms wrapped around my middle. She hugs me from behind. “You don’t have to talk about it,” she assures me.
“That’s the thing,” I murmur, “I want to.”
Her breathing quickens. “Well, whenever you’re ready. I’m here.”
I nod, but I hold back, because I want to tell her, I’m just not ready yet. Yes, I love fucking Angelina. I love being around her. I love that she makes me feel like a real man again, but I also can’t trust her.
I can’t until I get some more insight on her. Her story about her father and sick sister was touching, but that doesn’t explain much about her.
There is more to her. So much more. A deeper story lies within her, one that I need to read—that I need to know. And once I find out, I will have my final say on what I think Angelina is. A trustworthy woman, or a lying, backstabbing bitch.
Fooled by pussy.
I kind of want to laugh for being the typical, gullible man, and falling for a set of nice breasts, a tight pussy, and silky skin.
* * *
I wait until she falls asleep before leaving.
I don’t want her to catch me. I need to be away from her in order to think again.
I get dressed quickly, hating the jingle of my belt buckle when it makes her stir a bit. But she doesn’t wake up. I know she’s exhausted because I am.
I stroke her cheek, swallowing thickly, my breath dwindling at the sight of her beauty. The moonlight makes her skin look absolutely flawless.
I pull away in an instant, sighing as I turn for the door.
Puling it open slowly, I look at her once more before making my departure.
I won’t see her for a while. Maybe it will help me figure some things out.
Right now, we can’t work together. We can’t email each other. We can’t do anything anymore until I really get to know Angelina Clark for who she is, not what she wants me to believe she is.
The only negative I can get out of this is losing her if it turns out she’s not what I think she is.
Chapter Four
Angelina
Loneliness is… depressing.
Waking up, expecting someone you enjoy to be lying beside you, only to feel cold sheets on that side of the bed instead? It’s disappointing.
I’ve lain in the same spot for nearly forty-five minutes, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the room spin around me, this gorgeous Miami day passing me by.
I don’t want to go back home, especially after telling Griffin something I’ve never shared with anyone. We’ve known each other for less than two weeks, but I feel like I’ve known him for years.
To share something so personal, so deep, brings us to an entirely different level… at least that’s what I think, until I realize it’s five in the afternoon, I’m going over papers, and he has yet to text, email, or even call me.
The urge to weep about it seizes me, but like the strong, tough girl I’ve always had to be, I pull my shit together.
I pack rather slowly, maybe because deep down I’m not ready to leave or I’m hoping he surprises me with a return, but I know I’m only fooling myself.
I gather most of my clothes, folding them neatly, and tucking them in the suitcase. I leave an extra set of clothes out to wear after the shower I’m about to take.
One gloomy, hot shower later, I collect my toiletries, pull my hair up into a tight bun, slide my laptop into its bag, and strap everything over me.
I take a look around the room: the messy sheets, the scattered pillows. I sigh. And then my heart aches a little.
I can’t be here. I can’t stay.
Griffin… he left without saying goodbye for a reason.
He’s lost his trust in me. Just when I thought I’d sort of gained it back, it’s gone. So, with reluctance, I pull the door open and walk out, never looking back, no matter how hard that is.
As I sit at the airport waiting for my flight, I debate on whether I should check in with him, make sure I’m not jumping to conclusions.
I send him a text.
Me: Hey. I’m flying back home now
He responds in no time. For a split second I think he’s been waiting all day for me to reach out to him, until I read his rather bland response.
Griffin: That’s probably the smart thing to do right now.
I don’t reply.
I get it.
I will keep my distance and suffer my consequences, because the one thing a person should never do is ruin Griffin’s trust in them. You can tell that he loves hard, fights even harder, but you can also see that once his trust is gone, you will never get it back.
It’s not that he’s not a forgiver, because he is—it’s just that after that trust is broken, it will never be the same again. It will never be fully restored.
I hate that I did that to him.
I hate that I ruined us.
Our small, sweet, twisted perfection.
* * *
I unload hours later, exhausted to no end.
As soon as I walk through my two-bedroom apartment, I tread towards my bedroom and flop down face-first, in need of sleep.
It’s not until the next day, when a spill of sunlight burns my eyes, that I realize I’ve slept until mid-afternoon. Damn.
My phone is buzzing somewhere. The vibrations a
re strong, on top of a hard surface.
Pushing off the bed, I sluggishly make my way to the living room, going for the bags I dropped by the front door. I dig through it, finding it at the bottom of the bag beside my laptop case.
I just missed a call from Scott.
There are two more from Neil.
I don’t know what the hell they want. Maybe they heard I’m back in town.
There’s one last call and it’s from… Griffin? He called sometime last night.
Brows drawn together, I dial Griffin back immediately. He doesn’t answer. I call again. No response.
I humph, my body sagging down on the sofa, placing my phone in the center of my lap. My hope is that he sees my missed call and rings me immediately.
But the hours pass by, and my phone remains silent on the coffee table. Not a single chime or beep. Disappointment settles in. Maybe he didn’t mean to call. Perhaps he changed his mind about wanting to speak to me.
I don’t even want to know what Scott and Neil want right now. I honestly don’t care. I only care about one thing, and that’s hearing Griffin’s voice.
After going through a few contracts sent to my inbox from Lexi, my lawyer, about future clients, and then signing off on them, I make way for the shower.
It is much needed right now.
I wash thoroughly as a sudden wave of frustration hits me. I want to hate him and forget him, I really do. But who’s really wrong here? It sure isn’t him. I wholly and completely understand why he is (or isn’t) ignoring me.
After my shower I get dressed in a cotton nightgown, brush my hair, and then I crawl between my cool, silk sheets… again.
I don’t dream, and I’m sort of glad for it. I’m afraid that if I do, it will be about Griffin, seeing as he’s the last thing on my mind when I fall asleep.
When I wake up, I hear a loud buzzing. I leap up, my gaze pointing to the cellphone on the nightstand. It rings loudly, and I scramble for it.
When I see his name on the screen, so bold and bright, my heart pounds thunderously in my chest.
For a split second, I can feel myself vibrating from pure elation.
He’s calling. He’s actually returning my call.
I answer after the fourth ring, and he sounds hurried as he drawls out a quick, “Angelina?”
“Hi,” I murmur, and I instantly clear my throat when I hear that it’s thick with sleep. “I returned your call yesterday.”
“I know. I got caught up. I apologize.” He pauses. “Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Glad you made it safely.”
“Are you at home?” I ask, my voice laced with sarcasm.
“No. I’m at work, where I always am at eight in the morning.”
I sigh, and after realizing that I’m being a tad bit childish, I ask, “Why’d you call?”
“To let you know that you have to revise the contract.”
I blink rapidly. “Revise it?”
“Yes. I’m over the games. Take out the bullshit, the things that will destroy me. I don’t usually work with people. I like my own shit, in my own place, at my own time.” He’s quiet for a long time—so long I think I’ve lost connection or he’s hung up. But then he sighs, and I know he’s still here.
“But, while working with you I have never felt so sure about my business. Not even after these past eight years, and that tells me something.”
My heart thuds. “What’s it telling you?” I whisper.
“That I’m not supposed to let someone like you go… Not if I seem to be doing better—making better deals. I don’t feel like just some broker with you around.”
My heart leaps in my chest. I’m thrilled to hear this. I feel a blush creeping to my cheeks. “So… you’re agreeing to this? Allowing us to be partners?”
“No,” he says affirmatively. “There is no we. Just you. You can still run your business with your brother and Neil, because there is no reason to make you choose, but when it comes to the traveling, settling deals, and getting them knocked out of the park, I want you with me. No one else.”
I nod, as if he can see me. “Okay,” I breathe.
“So, go back to your lawyer, revise it to where it clearly states that no one joins me on traveling, phone calls, or conferences but you, and that the money will go to a private account that I create only for you, and split by you and your lawyer. Not through Scott. Not even through Neil. Only you. Do you understand me, Angelina?”
“Yes,” I breathe. My heart is galloping now. I came home so down, so gloom-filled. But this phone call—it’s like he knew it would make everything right. “Yes, Griffin, I understand.”
God, I sound like I just agreed to marry him.
“Once it’s revised I will read it thoroughly myself, my new lawyer will read it, and if it is the way I want it, I will sign it. Then we will be partners… but there is one more condition I wish to discuss.”
“And what’s that?” I ask hurriedly, my voice a breathy whisper.
“While we are working together, you will not share your pussy with another man. When it comes to your body, and me signing this contract, you are mine and mine only.” I swallow hard, frowning as he continues. “I don’t like to share, Angelina. You’re lucky I’m sharing the business I built. There’s no doubt that I love fucking you—owning that sweet pussy over and over again, but if I’m giving up something, so are you. So, promise me right now. Promise me that you will not share yourself with any other man in the duration of this contract. Because if you do—if I so much as think you did—this contract will be revoked and you will never hear from me again.”
“Would you like me to add that as an amendment?” I ask. I’m teasing and fortunately he takes it as what it is: a lame joke.
He huffs a laugh. “That would be wise, but I doubt we need to write up a contract for this. We both want each other way too much.”
I sigh, debating with myself.
To promise this to him—something so… serious, so fixed, and demanding—is wild to me. I am a spontaneous person. Normally, I do as I see fit.
I have never promised my body to just one man. I have never been in a relationship long enough to do such a thing. I have never allowed a man to come this close to owning me.
As a fairly independent woman, I have to say this is quite discouraging to think about. Fucking Griffin for the next two years, sneaking into hotels, crying his name, feeling betrayed as I know he’ll go back to her.
Two years, until the next contract is updated and he most likely makes me promise him again. Feeling second all the time… feeling like I’m not enough when it comes to his personal life—when it comes to his wife.
It is my body, and I can do with it what I please. He’s married, and that alone bugs the hell out of me more than he thinks, but despite all of it, I need this new contract.
This contract allows me to satisfy promises I have made to my family. It guarantees safety and it proves that I will, in fact, be okay. I’m just not so sure about certain other…
He’s helping me when he doesn’t even have to—practically shoving the money he works hard for right in my hands. In a way, this is a loan, and I am repaying him with something as simple as my body… and of course my brains.
I need him in order to move forward. There are so many pros in this—so many that this one thing seems like nothing at all. Plus, he is right about that one thing.
No contract is needed for me to keep desiring and sleeping with Boyd.
We have wonderful sex. It’s adventurous. Thrilling. So damn fulfilling. I have yet to walk out of one of the hotel rooms unsatisfied.
Hell. What is there to lose, right?
So I say, “Okay. I promise.”
“Good girl.” I can tell he’s fighting a smile.
His voice has changed. It’s much lighter. Much sweeter. He’s delighted but I’m sure he’s not showing it on the outside.
“I guess I will hear from you again soon.”
> “Send the contract and you will.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and one more thing, Angelina.”
“Yes?”
“If you ever try to pull some shit like that on me again, I won’t be so lenient the second time around. I will ruin your entire fucking life—make you regret ever lying to me.” I hear his tongue click. “Just food for thought.”
“I understand,” I whisper, but I can’t fight my smile. I shouldn’t be smiling about this, but I am because I’m not foolish enough to do that again. And his threat? I can’t lie and say it wasn’t a complete turn-on.
I think of how he punished me with his fingers alone, one hand that worked all the magic and pulled out a euphoric miracle from my body.
My mouth twitches, but then it flattens out again when I realize something.
“Wait. What about Jenkins?” I ask.
“I will take care of him.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry about that right now. Get me this contract and we will go from there.”
“Fine.” Sheesh.
“Have a nice afternoon, Angel.”
“Thank you, Griff.”
He chuckles. It’s deep and smooth.
I grin, and I want to slap myself silly.
But it’s been so long since I’ve felt like this. It feels nice.
Though it is beyond unprofessional of us, I freaking love it.
Chapter Five
Griffin
Colette isn’t home.
Not that I thought she would be in the first place.
After squashing that shit with Angelina, I know I now need to squash the shit with my so-called wife. If only she would give me the damn chance.
She’s not answering her cellphone.
She hasn’t been home in hours.
I’m getting worried, and what’s worse is Arianna can tell. She steps into my home office, peeking around the corner.
“Mr. Boyd?” she calls.
“Yes, Ari?”
Sudden Flames (Sweet Promise #2) Page 3