by Nicki Elson
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Trish snipped, making no attempt to hide her annoyance at her friend for bringing this up.
Lyssa trudged on. “That’s what I asked. He shrugged and said what goes on between Adam and you is none of his business—and none of mine, either.”
“I knew Len was a good guy.”
“Yeah, well, as we were headed out the door, he pulled me aside and said that as your friend, I might want to advise you to ask Adam about his family in Maryland. His whole family—he’s the one who emphasized whole.”
“Now he’s The Riddler.”
“I know it seems stupid, but Len’s not one to gossip. For him to give me even that much means something. It wouldn’t hurt to at least ask Adam about his family.”
“What does it matter to me if he has a crazy relative or two? Or if his uncle’s a notorious white-collar criminal or something? I care about Adam, not his family.”
“Do what you want with the information. I’m just passing it on…because I’m your friend…and I think you should ask. But do whatever you want.”
“I usually do.”
Trish slammed wet hands onto the Hilton’s slick shower tiles, miraculously holding traction while her body convulsed in rapture. She shouted undecipherable things, reveling in the way this man who’d once been too tentative to even kiss her now so thoroughly ravished her. He’d graduated from a cautious sip to gulping her down by the gallon.
“Was that German?” Adam asked, referring to her vocal outburst. His dripping form molded over her back, his fingertips gently pulsing at her swollen and still tingling tissues. Their simultaneous orgasms had left them both breathing heavily.
Gathering energy, Trish twisted to face him.
“Hi,” he said, coiling his arms around the small of her back and kissing the tip of her nose.
“Hi,” she laughed back, realizing this was the first time they’d said it that day. She’d been so eager to satisfy the ache she’d felt since departing the treehouse nine days earlier that she’d ripped his clothes off the moment she saw him again.
Adam had reserved a hotel room at the airport so they could have privacy during the few hours between his flights. He’d texted the room number and Trish had met him directly there. Their greeting had been so frenzied, she didn’t even remember how they’d decided to copulate in the shower.
They kissed while their hands meandered over each other’s slippery bodies. Lyssa’s insane to think any person outside this shower stall could possibly impact how I feel about this man. Yet Trish understood why the strength of her feelings and her sureness about Adam after such limited time together would seem crazy to an outsider. Somehow she and Adam had found the je ne sais quoi, the X-factor that everyone else was searching for. It was what Cliff had read so plainly on her face. It defied logic.
Between kisses, Adam said, “I should be able to get things in place for you to start traveling with me on a regular basis soon after the first of the year. In the meantime, do you think you can come away with me next month? I have business in the South Pacific. We could make a vacation out of it.”
“Mmmm, South Pacific in November sounds nice.” She wasn’t the slightest bit abashed by the dreaminess in her voice. “I have a friend in Boston who’d like to meet you. Can we fit in a weekend there soon?”
“I’ll look at my schedule.” He nibbled at her neck.
As they talked about future plans, she projected far beyond the first of the year. She didn’t feel even a twinge of her customary apprehension. Part of her reluctance to commit had always been regret at forgoing future opportunities and missing out on the fun she could have with the next delicious man around the corner. Now she realized Adam was who she’d been hoping to find as she turned each bend. He was “the one” she’d never before believed in.
Her hands worked their way over the sublime curve of his backside. Lyssa had been right about one thing—Trish really ought to learn more about him. “How do you keep these glutes so firm and buoyant?” She gave his butt a small slap.
His chuckle was deep and sensuous. “I swim and play tennis when I can. When nothing else is available, I do calisthenics. What’s your secret?” His hand glided up her thigh and crossed behind to grab a handful of supple flesh.
“Pilates,” she breathed.
His lips touched hers again, spreading wide so his tongue could dive in. Their mouths fused together for a long, hot kiss. He eventually pulled back, resting his forehead on hers. “I think I’ll book all my flights through Chicago from now on. Best layover in history.”
She laughed, giving him a last, small peck before she reached for the tiny bottle of shampoo. “Speaking of flights, we should probably finish up in here so you don’t miss yours.”
He rubbed her down with body wash while she shampooed her hair. Once she was rinsed, she left Adam to finish his shower. She toweled off and went into the main room to locate the blow dryer, which she found it in the closet. She dressed and applied her makeup in front of the large mirror over the dresser.
Adam came out of the bathroom with a towel around his lean waist while she dried her hair. They didn’t try to shout over the loud gust of the appliance. While he dressed, she surreptitiously watched his reflection in the mirror. She was more appreciative than ever of his exquisite taste in clothing—only the finest threads deserved to touch that beautiful physique. She decided that tall, lean, and quietly powerful had always been her favorite body type. Tickled by an urge to take him into her mouth, she realized she’d not yet returned the oral favor. She’d be sure to correct that oversight next time she saw him.
The dull ache at having to leave him again returned—along with a niggle. She couldn’t shake her conversation with Lyssa. She knew it wasn’t anything that would affect her relationship with Adam, but finding out the story behind his mysterious relative would help ease Lyssa’s concerns. Trish finished drying her hair. While brushing, she glanced at Adam’s reflection in the mirror. He sat at the edge of the bed, putting on his shoes.
“An acquaintance of my Boston friend knows you,” she said.
“Really? Who’s that?” Had she imagined the tensed pause before he’d responded?
“Len…something. I guess I don’t know his last name.”
“I’m sure there are lots of Lens in Boston. I don’t happen to recall one.” He stood and pulled on his jacket.
“Well, he remembers your suits.” She laughed, looking around for her earrings. She spotted them on the bedside table opposite from the side where Adam stood. He remained strangely still and quiet. As she slid in one of her hoops, she looked directly at him. “Tell me about your family in Maryland.”
He held her gaze for a moment. Then his mouth went rigid and his eyes swept to the side and down—away from her. With that single, simple movement, she knew everything had changed.
Chapter 19
TRISH ABANDONED THE SECOND EARRING on the nightstand, dropping her hand to her stomach as it lurched. “Adam?”
He lifted his gaze but didn’t look directly at her. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow and steady. “My parents relocated to Virginia a few years ago. I have siblings around the country, a sister in Tokyo. The only family remaining in Maryland is my wife.”
A phantom wallop smacked Trish in the gut, sending a whoosh of air out of her mouth. “Your ex-wife?”
He gave his head a small shake no, and his eyes snapped across the bed to meet hers. They weren’t Adam’s eyes. These burning, tortured irises belonged to a man being stretched on a medieval rack. “I swear to God I was going to tell you before—”
“Before what?” Her temper surged, protecting her more vulnerable emotions as they cowered in shock. “Before you made me your mistress? Before I fell in love with you? Too late on both counts!” She spun to the side. Her raging fury made it difficult to see or think clearly.
She stumbled to where she’d dropped her purse earlier and picked it up, sliding the strap firmly over her
shoulder and gripping it like it was a belt loaded with ammo. Her shoes lay haphazardly nearby. She shoved her feet into them. Standing near the door, she looked straight at Adam. He was again peering down and away from her, his lips pressed together in a blanched line. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, barely loud enough to hear.
“Do you have kids?” she demanded.
His eyes lifted, looking straight into hers. “No. There are no children.” She felt an infinitesimal amount of relief. As awful as the situation already was, it would’ve been a thousand times worse if children had also been betrayed.
“God, Adam! What was all that shit about working and traveling together? Was that ever anything you actually thought would happen?”
His eyes darted away for a moment before he forced them back onto her. The pain was still there, but it no longer burned. The heat had been doused by sadness. “I was stupid and selfish and wrong. I’m so sorry.”
He continued to look at her, but it was as if a thick veil had come down between them. She saw him, but he wasn’t the man she’d held so achingly close only precious minutes ago. Now he was merely the jackass who’d deceived her the entire time she’d known him.
For a long, agonizing moment she stared at him, willing him to say something more—anything that could tear down that veil and take away what he’d just told her. He stood rigid. In a way, she respected him for not trying to make excuses or defend himself. What could he say that would make things better? He was married. They were done. The end.
There was so much more she wanted to scream at him. So much hurt and disbelief to unleash. But her front line defenses were breaking down. As she watched him standing there stricken, so weakened and exposed, something inside her wanted to go to him, to wrap her arms around his shoulders and tell him it would be okay.
“Goodbye, Adam.” Her words came out in a rough whisper. His only reaction was to cast his eyes downward to stare at the carpet. She turned, opened the door, and walked out of the room. Down the hall. To the elevator.
When she’d stormed away from Kurt that frigid January night, she’d wanted nothing but to get away. Now, as she watched the numbers illuminate on the brass panel as the elevator drew closer, she clamped her eyes shut and internally pleaded for Adam to come into the hall and stop her. But what could he do? What could he say? He’s married. We’re done. The end.
Lyssa sent a text the next day. Trish ignored it. She told herself it was because she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, but deep down she knew it was also because in a twisted way, she blamed Lyssa. If her friend hadn’t been so persistent, Trish never would’ve asked Adam the question. She could’ve carried on with him in sweet oblivion.
Carried on with a married man, she scolded herself. The bastard had turned her into an adulterer without her permission.
Later that night as she washed up for bed, she jumped when The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” played on her phone. It was the ringtone she’d recently set for Adam. He’d never called before, only texted. She stood frozen in the doorway of her bathroom, her toothbrush clenched motionless between her teeth while minty-fresh suds stung the corners of her mouth. Adam held on for the full thirty seconds before going to voice mail.
Her heart thumped. She wouldn’t let herself dwell on their time together—all of it had been a lie. But being furious with him didn’t take away the anguished, hollow pit that craved to be filled with Adam. She rushed through rinsing and spitting to grab her phone and perch on the edge of the sofa, staring at the screen, watching for the message indicator to flash.
It didn’t. She dialed into her voice mail anyway. No messages. Pressing her thumb to the power button, she held it there until all mobile life was extinguished. She left it that way for the next two days.
On Friday evening, she finally turned her phone back on. The familiar monotony of work had steadied her during the last couple of days, and she felt ready to face whatever might be on the device. She could see from the call log that Adam had tried to contact her a few different times, but there was only one new voice mail—from Lyssa, asking why Trish hadn’t returned her messages. She found new texts from Lyssa and other friends. Nothing terribly important. And there was one from Adam.
I’m sorry and I love you. I know that doesn’t make any difference or excuse what I’ve done, but I want you to know. I won’t bother you anymore.
She should’ve been relieved he’d gone down so easily, perhaps should’ve even been touched by his tender words. But she was neither of those. She was pissed. The man had taken her heart, stretched it to its limits, and let go, flinging it into the fiery chasm of hell. Now, because she’d been too disconcerted to wail on him back at the hotel and too afraid to pick up the phone the other night, he was getting off easy. He’d probably already moved on to the next victim, writing off Trish as a failed attempt.
“That motherfucker,” she muttered to the apartment at large. Then she scrolled through her contacts and jammed her finger down to place a much-needed phone call.
“Hola,” said the voice on the other end.
“JoJo, my love, I’ve had my heart completely smashed. Thought you might like to see what that looks like. Wanna get ripped tonight?”
“Are you going to get drunk and cry?”
“No.”
After a brief pause, JoAnne asked in a cautious, vaguely robotic tone, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
Trish could practically hear Jo’s relief leaping from cell tower to cell tower. It was a confirmation that Trish had called the right person. Any other friend would’ve tried to coax her into letting out her emotions. Trish knew very damn well that was exactly what she didn’t need. The only thing she wanted to do with her feelings was slay every last one of them. Her weapon of choice—Jose Cuervo.
“Get on your party pants, girl,” JoJo said. “We’re goin’ out! Any requests on where?”
“Any place but a blues bar.”
“Not a problem.”
The night passed in a haze of tequila shots, dancing, and plentiful slurs on the despicable quality of men in general. Jo never asked for details about Trish’s breakup. She implicitly accepted that the guy was “a major dickweed.” A group of JoAnne’s friends appeared at some point, joining the party.
The wee hours found the two girls sitting on a curb, waiting for other members of the group to hail a cab. JoAnne leaned her head on Trish’s shoulder. “For the record, I don’t wan’ t’ see yer heart smashed. Sometimes the jealoush bitch in me takes o’er my mouse…mouth.”
“I love this moush.” Trish reached her hand around to smoosh Jo’s cheeks together. That was the last semi-clear memory she had of the night.
She woke late the next morning alone in her apartment with a raging headache. The good news was that by comparison, her heartache seemed duller. Gingerly rising and crawling off her bed, she started the teapot and lingered nearby. The moment the high pitched squeal of boiling water sounded, she snatched the pot from the burner.
The sharp sound had triggered a jumbled flash of something that had happened the night before—a memory of her and Jo screeching into her phone. Oh, God, please not Adam. Her sour stomach churned as she mentally thrashed through the drunken evening for more details about the call. She tossed a peppermint teabag into a mug and poured the steaming water onto it. Letting it steep, she grabbed her purse off the counter, pulling out the phone to look up her call record.
“Poor Cliffy.” She giggled in relief when she saw his number. Bringing her hand to the side of her face, she steadied her laugh before it could shake and scramble her brain.
She pressed his number as she settled onto her small sofa with legs curled under her and one hand wrapped around the warm mug of tea. “Good almost-afternoon,” she sing-songed when Cliff answered with a wary hello.
“How ya feelin’?” he asked. A shit-eating smile came through in his tone.
“Not great. Sorry about the drunken phone call last night. Wha
t, um…what did we say?”
“It was all very screechy, so I’m not really sure. Though I gather JoAnne remembers our tryst, after all.”
“Yeah. She remembers. But don’t worry; she’s equally sorry it happened. Would you care to hear the inspiration for last night’s binge? Is this a good time?” She’d blown off enough steam the night before to be ready to talk about Adam—but only from behind the shield of a phone. The day after Hotel Hell, she’d informed Cliff of the skeletal details of the breakup. After that she’d avoided his concerned looks and managed to be very, very busy whenever he’d stopped by her desk.
“Sure,” he said.
“Adam sent me a text to say he wouldn’t bother me anymore. He also said he’s sorry and that he loves me, but he knows that doesn’t excuse what he did.”
“Huh. Those seem to be good things. Why would that send you on a bender?”
She shrugged. “Sucks that he gets to end it so quietly after being such a bastard. None of this would’ve happened if I’d stuck to the plan. We lied and told ourselves Guatemala was the third date, but really it was the fourth. Trouble starts on the fourth date.”
“I thought you had a great time on the trip.”
“I did. Too great. If we hadn’t gone, penetration never would’ve occurred, so technically I wouldn’t have become his mistress, and he wouldn’t have led me on to think we could have a future together. If it wasn’t for any of that, I never would’ve had to find out what an ass he is. I could treasure memories of the first dates. Now I can only look back and see what an idiot I was. How could I have missed all the clues?
“He never called me and rarely even sent a text unless he was in Chicago. He was probably afraid she’d be around, looking over his shoulder or hearing my response come in. He told me we couldn’t show any affection in front of Luis and Elina, and I accepted that it was because they were conservative. They’re probably friends with his wife! I couldn’t understand what he said to them, so he probably told them I was a business colleague or something. He swore he was going to tell me about her, but I’ll bet he probably thought I’d figured it out for myself, already. I would’ve if I hadn’t been such a lovesick moron. Instead, I let him totally use me.”