“Don’t be mad at me. Brad’s the one who lied. I told him to tell you.”
The rage built in her with every word out of his mouth. And she knew it wasn’t all Angel to blame, but she couldn’t rail against a dead man. All her guilt all these years over cheating on Brad paled in comparison to this basic lie at the heart of one of the most painful facts of her life.
“Julia,” Angel said gently, “talk to me.”
“I don’t want to talk!” she yelled. Then she marched over to the living room, grabbed her wedding picture and hurled it at the wall. Smash! Then she grabbed the picture of Brad in his fatigues and hurled that too. Smash! She grabbed the frame of her, Brad, and Angel, the triangle that destroyed her, and went to throw it when it was snatched out of her hand.
“Calm down,” Angel said, setting the frame back on the shelf. “There are better ways to handle your anger.”
His stupid social worker talk infuriated her. She glared at him, marched over to the bookcase, and emptied a shelf of books with one sweep of her hand. Angel said nothing. She kept going, emptying every stupidly decorated shelf, faster and faster, flinging all the books and vases and seashells until there was nothing left. She turned to find more things to fling. There was no clutter left, but she had a lamp. She grabbed it off the end table, and Angel’s hand closed over hers.
“Stop it,” he snapped. “You can’t sell the place if you destroy it.”
“I want to burn it to the ground,” she snarled, barely recognizing her own voice.
Angel peeled her fingers off the lamp and closed his hand over hers, tugging her along with him. “We’re going to the basement.”
She dug her heels in. “I don’t want to be with Damon.” That was what happened last time they were in the basement together. She was too furious to take any pleasure in anything right now.
He chuckled and pulled her with him, dragging her toward the basement. “You’re not going to be with Damon.”
“I’m so fucking mad!”
“I know.” He opened the basement door and guided her down the stairs with him.
“I don’t want to declutter,” she said petulantly. She was past caring how she sounded. Her world had been based on a lie. Nothing was what it seemed.
Angel pulled her to the home gym, leftover from Brad, in the corner. The equipment had been too heavy for her to move. He held up her clenched fists by the wrists. “You are going to beat the shit out of that punching bag. We both are, and that bag’s name is Brad.”
She blinked. He nodded once and turned her to the bag. It was a long cylinder bag on a base, almost the size of a human body.
She gave a half-hearted punch, her knuckles stinging. Angel corrected her fingers, moving her thumb around her knuckles and shaping her fist more like a brick. “Do it like you mean it,” he said in a low voice. “This is Brad and that bastard lied to you. He could’ve told you at any time—”
Bam! Something in her snapped and that solid punch to the bag felt so good she kept going, railing against Brad in the only way she could. “You lied to me!” Bam! Bam! “You jerk!” Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! “I fucking hate you!” Bam! Bam! “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” The punches and hate went on and on until she ran out of steam, sweaty and spent. She pushed her hair out of her face, punched one more time for good measure, and stepped back, gesturing for Angel to take a turn.
He let loose, but without all the screaming, his punches much more efficient than her crazy ones. He looked like a boxer. Finally, he stepped back and dropped his hands.
“You looked like a pro,” she said.
He gave her a small smile. “I’ve had more practice.”
She stared at her red knuckles, still stinging from the workout she’d given them. She rolled her neck back and forth, the tension leaving her body, making her drowsy.
“Come on,” Angel said, guiding her back upstairs. She followed him, her limbs heavy, as he led the way to her bedroom and pulled back the covers. She got in, despite the fact the sun was still shining and it was afternoon. He followed, pulling the covers over them both, and settled behind her, one arm wrapped protectively around her. She was too exhausted to protest, even though it was her marriage bed and the last time Angel had been in here was the biggest mistake of her life.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe marrying Brad was the biggest mistake of her life.
She closed her eyes, exhausted. Several minutes passed, and she slowly became aware of Angel’s solid chest warming her back, his scent like the ocean, leather, and man. His hand splayed low across her belly, causing a tingling heat through her thin sweater, making her entire body ache with desire as she remembered all the times he’d held her like this, kissed her like this, taken her like this. Behind her, in the shadows.
Her shadow Angel was inspiration for every dirty word she’d ever written, every fierce longing, every fierce craving.
With Damon.
Chapter Twelve
Julia woke with the first rays of sun through the blinds. It was super early for her, but she’d gone to bed early too. Angel pressed close behind her, his arm heavy across her stomach, his breathing deep and even in sleep. Her mind drifted, remembering this feeling of Angel behind her, fierce and demanding, shaking her perfect world and leaving her to pick up the shattered pieces. She felt the rough hair of his leg against her own bare leg and realized he’d undressed her. She glanced down at her favorite old purple V-neck T-shirt and plain white panties. Obviously she hadn’t planned for seduction. But when had she ever with Angel? From the heat coming off him, he’d probably stripped down to his boxer briefs. She closed her eyes, fighting her own lustful instincts. How had she gotten here again when she’d tried so hard to give Angel his freedom? And then she remembered the letter, the lie at the foundation of her relationship with Brad, and she wanted nothing more than to gaze at the face of the man who had never, ever lied to her.
She turned in his arms and found his dark brown eyes looking back at her. Their gazes locked for a long sizzling moment. How long had he been awake, just holding her?
“Angel?”
He stroked her hair back from her face. “Yeah.”
“You’re Damon.”
“I know…Catherine Cliff.”
Her jaw dropped. He knew she wrote the Fierce trilogy? And he hadn’t said a word. Her mind raced back to book club, to the teachers’ lounge, to Angel talking about the books’ deeper meaning all while gazing at her. She shut her mouth with a snap. Omigod, the way he’d acted out the role. He’d been toying with her! All the while knowing it was her. And him! She’d deliberately chosen a pen name nothing like Julia MacKendrick Turner.
“You knew?” Her voice was embarrassingly high. Nobody knew, nobody had made the connection back to her.
He stroked one finger down the side of her neck, leaving a tingling trail. “You think I don’t recognize myself? Recognize us from that weekend in college? How I took you from behind? How rough and explosive and fucking hot it was.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Some of my dirty talk made it in there too.” His voice dropped to a husky register, his dark brown eyes locked on hers. “Spread those legs, darling,” he drawled. “That’s right. A little more. Mmm…you’re so wet for me. You taste so good. Easy…easy…good girl.” He flicked his tongue once, triggering a vivid memory of his amazingly talented tongue that made her shiver. “Now,” he growled, and her insides clenched. “Come in my mouth.”
She might have squeaked.
He gave her a look somewhere between pity and amusement. “And your favorite book is Wuthering Heights. Catherine and Heathcliff. Catherine Cliff.”
“You’ve known me too long.” She tore her gaze away, focusing instead on his bare shoulder that she suddenly wanted to sink her teeth into, both because it looked tasty and because she wanted to divert his attention.
He tipped her chin up. “Let’s finish this conversation first.”
She started, how did he know? Her cheeks and
neck burned, though how she could blush at this point, lying half naked with Angel discussing the erotic romance trilogy she’d written last year when all her deep, subconscious desire needed an outlet was beyond her. Angel had been involved with another woman for four long months last year. Part of her had cheered for his happiness, part of her had sunk into selfish despair. Writing had eased her guilt and her lust.
She ducked her head. “I’m so embarrassed. You were teasing me all that time with the metaphor stuff and the role play.”
“I was giving you every opportunity to come clean. Why did you write it?”
She swallowed, met his steady gaze and, seeing no judgment there, blurted it all out in a rush. “When you were with your girlfriend last year and things went on for months, the craving got worse. Like if I couldn’t have you, I wanted you even more.” She looked away, ashamed of herself. He remained quiet and utterly still. She met his eyes again and went on. “I’m sorry. I know that was selfish and unfair. The vibrator wasn’t doing it for me, and one night I found myself writing about that weekend in college, and then it sort of took on a life of its own and became something else. Its own story.”
Angel didn’t even blink at the mention of her vibrator even though she’d never told him about Bob the I, II, or III before. Bob the I when Brad first shipped out (and she’d almost hooked up with Angel). Bob the II when Angel had that four-month-long girlfriend. That one should’ve lasted longer. It must’ve been defective. Bob the III was still going strong.
His warm hand stroked her hair, down her arm, and finally gave her hand a gentle squeeze, both arousing and soothing her. He gazed at her warmly. “And you wrote a different ending—fierce loving.”
She blinked, her eyes hot. “As much as I wanted you, the times we were together haunted me. It was so wrong. And then the night Brad shipped out, only one month after our wedding—”
“Nothing happened that night.”
“Only because you stopped it.” A tear escaped. “I used you, Angel. I’m so ashamed of what I’ve done. And the night of the funeral—”
His mouth covered hers, silencing her. Not pushing for more, just sealing his mouth to hers long enough for her thoughts to still and her body to warm. He slid a hand into her hair, cupping her head, and broke the kiss, shifting to speak so close to her ear, she could feel as much as hear the words. “We were fast and furious that weekend back in college because the dam burst. You can only fight an attraction for so long. Those other times, you were vulnerable. You needed me close and I wanted to be close. But that’s not where we’re at now.” He lifted his head to kiss her gently, tenderly in a way that reminded her of when he’d soothed her grief the night of the funeral, returning her weepy kisses with gentle tenderness. He pulled back and met her eyes. “I’ve never felt used. And nothing we’ve ever done was wrong.”
“How can you say that?”
He rolled on top of her, his fingers entwining with hers, pushing their joined hands to the mattress on either side of her head. Her breathing ratcheted up as his thigh nudged hers apart, and he settled between her legs, bringing their bodies into full contact for the first time in ages. “Because of this. I know you feel it too. I can see it in your eyes.”
“What do you see?” she asked softly.
“A deep connection of souls.”
Her eyes filled, and she closed them, not wanting him to see so much. She’d chosen wrong. She’d used him, wanting to have it all, the wedding and the soul connection, holding both men to her when she should have let one of them go.
He kissed her tears away and then he kissed her, a coaxing kiss that she was helpless to resist. With every caress, every gentle urging, he seduced her into making love, forcing her to acknowledge it was more than a moment of wild abandon all those times she’d slept with him. Somehow he got them both naked while he kissed her, making her entire body sigh and melt into his. She ran her fingers through his soft hair as he moved to kiss her neck, sucking gently. A sob welled up. This was how Angel had been with her the night of Brad’s funeral in this very bed, so gentle and tender, like he was trying to heal her with his body. Only it brought more shame and guilt crashing down over her then and now. Brad hadn’t been in the grave for more than a day before she’d screwed Angel again. And then Angel had bailed when she needed him most.
She pushed at his chest.
Angel lifted his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Get off. I can’t do this.”
He clenched his jaw. “Why?”
“Get off me!”
He rolled off her and stared at the ceiling. “Julia,” he said slowly, “I’ve reached my limit. Seriously. Tell me why I can’t have you right now or I’m gone.”
Sure, bail on me again in the same damn bed!
She jackknifed up, so furious and hurt she didn’t care that she was completely naked for this conversation. “You bailed on me.”
He sat up too. “What? When?”
She spoke through her teeth. “After we fucked in my fucking marriage bed.”
He stared at her mouth, and then he slowly traced her lips with one finger. She lost her train of thought, lost her breath. “When did you get such a dirty mouth?”
“When I met you.”
“No-o,” he said, dragging the word out like try again.
“When I fucked you. You’re the dirty talker.”
His hand slid into her hair, tugging enough to tilt her head for his kiss. She trembled. He leaned close and spoke against her mouth as his other hand unexpectedly slid between her legs, jolting her. “I know you want me, Julia. You’re hot and wet.” She watched as he took his finger, wet from her, lifted it to his mouth and sucked. Her lips parted, enthralled. He trailed his finger down her throat, his eyes hot on hers. “Now tell me why we can’t fuck or we’re done talking.”
“I…” Want this. Need this. Crave this. It would be so easy to cave, but then what about after? She swallowed. “Angel.”
His hand still cupped her head, tangled in her hair, holding her close. “I’m listening.”
She closed her eyes and tried to focus. “You bailed on me, and I can’t bear it if you bail again.”
He dropped his hand. She opened her eyes to find him glaring at her. “I did not bail on you!” he barked. “I haven’t left your side since the day we met! Ten fucking years!”
She scooted back, needing more space for this conversation. “The night of Brad’s funeral. After we slept together, I woke up and you were gone. You didn’t come back for a month. And then you were so distant.”
He swallowed visibly. “You had a breakdown after you slept with me. I knew you weren’t ready for us.”
“I was grieving! I wasn’t ready for anyone! But I still needed you.”
His brows knit together. “I couldn’t be with you and not touch you. Not after that.”
She crossed her arms. “So you bailed.”
“How about the way you bailed on me? You weren’t married, weren’t even engaged the first time we slept together. Then Brad’s back on campus and it’s so long Angel!”
“No. You disappeared.”
“After you rushed to his side!”
She took a deep breath in and out. “We were engaged. How could I not go to the hospital?” Brad had landed in the hospital with severe dehydration the Monday after her weekend with Angel.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You slept with me when you were engaged to him? I thought it was just talk.”
“It was understood. Our moms were already planning the wedding. So now you know how horrible a person I am! A big fat sinner! Cheating with my fiancé’s best friend!”
They glared at each other for one long moment, the air practically sizzling with all the pent-up desire between them.
“Julia, this is happening,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument.
“Yes.” But it would happen on her terms.
His gaze raked over her, lingering on her sex. He reached out, his hand land
ing high on her upper thigh. Oh, no. They were not doing anything in this bed of bad memories. She scooted away and rolled out of bed.
“Get back here,” Angel growled.
“Condoms are in my nightstand,” she threw over her shoulder before strolling to the dresser. “Damon.”
She heard the rustle of the condom wrapper.
“Who the hell were these for?” Angel demanded.
The box was new. She thought she might need them when she started dating again, but now she realized she’d been fooling herself.
“For you,” she said simply.
And then his heat was at her back. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides, and met her eyes in the mirror mounted over the dresser. “I remember this scene.” His voice was rough and gravelly. “You want Damon?”
She didn’t reply. His tone said he knew what they both needed.
He pushed her down over the dresser, shoved her legs apart, and pressed at her entrance, waiting. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, molten heat drenching her.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Safe word or what you really crave.”
She shivered, recognizing the words from her fantasy. “Take me.”
He took her in one hard thrust. She cried out and then shuddered around him, her body already accepting what her mind wouldn’t let her have. He snaked an arm around her, stroking her sweet spot as he pumped hard and fast, the way they both craved.
“Say my name,” he ordered.
“Damon,” she gasped out.
He didn’t like that answer. He sank his teeth into the side of her neck and she clenched around him, hurtling toward release. He stopped stroking her and soothed her neck with his tongue, slowing things down. She made a tiny mewl of frustration.
“Why do you want Damon so much?” he asked, stroking lightly as he pulled nearly all the way out and then slammed back in.
Her breath hitched. He stilled, deep inside her, so she told him exactly why. “Damon doesn’t bail! The lines are clear. Fuck and release. Fuck again.”
“That mouth,” he groaned, sliding his finger across her bottom lip and then pushing it into her mouth. She sucked, tasting her desire for him. She spread her legs wider and lifted her hips. He rocked into her, hitting just the right spot, making her legs quiver as waves of pleasure coursed through her. He pulled her up off the dresser just enough to stroke his fingers down her throat, sliding further down to cup her breast and then pinch her nipple. She arched her back, pleasure radiating through her, her insides tightening around him. His hand slid between her legs, controlling her with firm strokes as his other hand held her hip, keeping her in place for a slow screw. She panted, lost in a haze of pleasure.
A Tempting Friendship (Clover Park #10) Page 13