The hurt was almost unbearable. Who was this man? Was it really the same guy she’d married? How had she not noticed this side of him before?
“So this second coming of our marriage will be exactly like the first then,” she murmured softly. “It’s your way or the highway?”
He resented that description too, but he wasn’t about to get pulled into a battle of semantics as to their past. “You agreed to this knowing my terms.” He took a step backwards and studied her critically. “You look awful, Annabelle. I expect you to start taking care of yourself again.”
“Yes, sir,” she simpered, though his statement hurt. She knew what she looked like. She hadn’t even realised how much weight she’d lost until her clothes had stopped fitting and her hair had begun to thin.
“I mean it. You look terrible. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were sick.”
It took every single ounce of her acting skills not to react to his assessment. She wasn’t sick. Not anymore. Though she’d carry the wounds of their loss for the rest of her life. “I’m not sick,” she said when she could trust her voice not to shake too much. “Besides, I thought you liked women who were reed thin.”
“Not you,” he said instantly. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m sorry my appearance is so disgusting to you,” she responded waspishly. “You don’t have to touch me if you find it such a hardship.”
“I’ll survive,” he snapped, for the statement was so ludicrous that he could offer little else. His whole body was aching to possess her. He didn’t care what she looked like; he never had. Their connection was beyond the superficial, beyond the physical. He shook his head.
You’re perfect, but I’m worried about you. The words crashed around his brain but Kyle Anderson could never have uttered them.
“A car will collect you tomorrow morning. Give Maria your address on the way out.”
“I ...” Was she being dismissed? Her eyes clouded over as she waited for something, anything, that she could take from the conversation that might salvage her wounded pride.
There wasn’t a damn thing. Nothing, besides the thin hope that her stupid brother wouldn’t go to prison. “Thank you,” she said simply, and scooped her bag up once more.
“My pleasure, Mrs Anderson.”
* * *
It had only been six months and yet she’d forgotten the tiny stamps of luxury that were the hallmark of the self-made tycoon’s existence. They were small things that she would never have noticed nowadays.
The driver, always ready to help, to smooth the stress out of any situation. Annie had been pulling her own suitcase down the steps, swearing under her breath at the bitterly cold morning when a pleasant voice and a kind smile had drawn her gaze to the familiar Jaguar and the man she’d come to think of as a friend during their relatively brief marriage.
“Cage,” she returned his smile gratefully as he bent and lifted the case like it weighed nothing.
“It’s good to see you again, miss.”
“You too.” She’d learned early on not to keep asking him to use her maiden name. Cage Reynolds was old-school. He stuck to the rules of servitude even though that hadn’t sat well on Annie’s egalitarian shoulders.
There was also the comfort of the well-appointed vehicles. They were all like this; detailed perfectly so that they smelled like leather polish and roses. She settled back into the seat and inhaled the fragrance, ignoring the ghosts of the past.
There was, of course, the private jet which brought with it expedited everything. No toiling in the main departure hall waiting to go through security with the Everyman. No, not for Mr Kyle Anderson. And nor for his wife, Annie thought with a wry grimace as she was waved onto the tarmac.
The jet was the last word in glamorous wealth.
As always, a black carpet with the Anderson logo was rolled down the steps and onto the runway. She walked towards it, glad for the enormous sunglasses that shielded a third of her face. Was he watching her from one of those round windows?
She plastered a smile on her face as she greeted the captain and first officer, then Trinity, a woman she’d met several times before. She was his primary cabin attendant, though Annie knew there to be a team of eight.
When she’d teased him for such overt extravagance as this beautiful plane he’d pointed out that he used the jet several times a week, and that beyond that it was at the disposal of his executives for a number of reasons.
Annie had felt chastened and gauche then, as she had often during their marriage.
But she had never felt more childish and unsophisticated than when she’d begged him not to make her spend yet another night sitting opposite one of his past lovers. He’d acted as though her insecurities were naïve and inconvenient and his insistence had, in the beginning, always convinced her to put her instincts aside. But in the end, it had become too much. How many dinners and charity galas and functions had she attended and had to suffer through a stunning woman fawning over her husband?
Her step faltered a little as she entered the jet. She blamed the memories.
How could she not feel them whirling around her now? The past was everywhere.
She kept her glasses in place as she scanned the plane, not wanting to reveal the exact moment her eyes landed on him. He was staring at her, his expression impossible to understand. As she came closer, he stood out of habit.
One of his foster parents had been a pastor. They’d ingrained old-fashioned manners into Kyle, though their methods of ingraining the behaviours was strangely at odds with the gesture.
“You’re late.”
She frowned. “Am I?”
“It doesn’t matter. Sit.”
She swallowed. “So no second thoughts then?” She asked, choosing a seat diagonally opposite his.
He smiled at the gesture, showing how small it was. If she wanted to be as far as possible from him then that was her prerogative. Soon they would be in Aspen, in their own suite, and sharing a bed. It was simply a matter of biding his time.
“Did you speak to Adam?” Her eyes were the most amazing shade of violet, but he couldn’t see them beneath the goggles she’d chosen. He reached across and pulled them from her face before retaking his own seat.
“No.”
“You didn’t?” Her hands froze, midway to belting her lap sash in place.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It will wait.”
“No,” she groaned, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. “It won’t. I need to know that it’s dealt with.”
“You cannot ever know that for a fact. No matter what I do, he will always be at risk of reoffending.”
“That’s why you need to talk to him,” she pleaded. “Make him understand what the risks are. I’ve tried but he ...”
“Doesn’t listen to you,” Kyle finished with a curt nod. He’d seen for himself the unsatisfying dynamic between the twins.
“Champagne, sir.” Trinity smiled at the couple as she placed a tray down in front of Kyle. It boasted two flutes of champagne and a small grey box.
“Here.” He passed the box to her with such a lack of ceremony that she snapped it open without even looking at it.
But when her eyes did drop to see what she’d been handed her breath snagged in her throat. “My ring.” She ran her finger over the enormous diamond with a sense of disquiet. She snapped the lid shut. “I don’t want it.” She passed it back to him, but he didn’t move to take it.
His face wore a dark scowl of disapproval. “Have you already forgotten what I said about arguing with me?”
“This isn’t trivial,” she responded flatly.
“Wear the damned ring.”
“No. I don’t want it. I can’t.” She placed it onto the table between them and stared obstinately out of the window. The sky was bleak and grey, which suited Annie perfectly.
“What the hell? You used to love this thing.”
She kept her lips pressed toge
ther. He was wrong on that score, but Annie wasn’t sure she could tell him that. It seemed ungrateful in the extreme to criticise a ring that had probably cost more than most people’s houses.
“It used to mean something,” she said finally, her words soft.
“Yeah. It meant that you were my wife. And that’s what it means now.”
“I am not going to put it on,” she snapped caustically. “It suffocated me in the end, Kyle. I can’t do it.” And when she turned to stare at him he saw that her eyes were red-rimmed as though she’d been crying all night.
She really did paint a pretty pathetic picture, with her pale skin and tiny frame, and now those enormous eyes shimmering with sadness.
“You can have a different ring, but you will wear one. We are married. This is not a joke. This is not temporary.”
“You don’t wear one,” she blurted out, her cheeks glowing red with the anger and offense she’d felt throughout their marriage. “You want to brand me but you won’t wear something that says you’re married to me.”
His laugh was unexpected, as he pulled a hand through his hair. “I hate jewellery. I hate having anything on me. You know I practically hate clothes.”
Now her cheeks glowed for a different reason. That was true. Kyle always slept naked, no matter what the climate. He was totally unashamed of his body; and why would he have been? He was glorious. A testament to fantastic genetics, good diet, and an active lifestyle.
“I feel the same about my engagement ring,” she said stiffly. “It’s no different. I hate it. Do we really need rings to say that we’re married?” Her eyes blinked up at him with such an expression of innocence that he wondered if she recalled him having said as much to her when she’d first tentatively approached the idea that he might like to wear a wedding band.
With a sound of exasperation he slipped the ring back into his pocket. “We can talk about it later.”
And though it was childish and silly, Annie had a flutter of pleasure at having achieved what she considered to be a very small victory over her husband.
He lifted his glass, his eyes locked to hers meaningfully. “To my wife,” he said softly, and her heart turned over in her chest at the way that simple statement caused her insides to tremble with sensual anticipation.
Only she couldn’t want him again. Not after everything that had happened. She stifled the fluttering of temptation and smiled curtly. “To my husband,” she responded sarcastically, drinking half of the champagne in one mouthful.
Kyle’s frown was infinitesimal.
“So why Aspen?” She asked, shifting in the seat a little to face him more fully.
He regarded her thoughtfully. “The hotel is underperforming.” He lifted his shoulders in a visible show of unconcern. “I want to speak to the manager.”
“And you couldn’t have done it over the phone?” She retorted waspishly, having another gulp of the bubbly liquid.
“No.” He sat back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her face. “I want to see how the hotel is being run for myself.”
“We were there recently enough,” she pointed out, careful to keep accusation out of her voice.
“Seven months ago,” he corrected softly. “It was our last trip before you left me.”
She nodded and angled her head to stare out of the window. The plane had begun to taxi on the runway, and the engines were building to their inevitable pre-flight crescendo.
“Do you remember, Annabelle? We spent two full days in the suite. More specifically in bed.”
Her eyes flashed with heat. “I remember.” She swallowed and dug her fingers into the armrests as the plane speeded up and then lifted into the air with a gentle lurch.
She remembered everything about that week. The sex, yes, but also the indecision. The feeling that beyond bed, she had no hold on her husband’s interest. Instead, she’d watched him being fussed over by women ten times as beautiful as she could ever be and Annie had known then what a losing battle she’d been fighting.
But in between the dejection and worry, there had been sex. Annie had worked out that, more than likely, their child had been conceived in Aspen. The dates certainly fit, and they’d given themselves every opportunity to conceive.
“You can imagine my surprise when you left me, only weeks later.”
She bit down on her lower lip. “I wasn’t sure you’d even notice.”
He grunted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She drained her champagne and then pressed the glass onto the table with a little more force than was necessary. “It means that our marriage was over long before I left it.” She stared at him without seeing; her mind was dipping into the past.
She closed her eyes, pretending to be dozing, but a movie was playing behind her eyelids and she and Kyle were the unwitting stars.
* * *
Seven months earlier - Aspen
“You don’t have to stay locked up here.”
“I know, but I’ll be happier here,” she promised, her heart lurching at the sight of her handsome husband. Dressed in a casual pair of chinos and a grey sweater, she wanted to pull him back to bed. In bed, she understood him. In bed, she knew how much he wanted her. The threat of tears stung her eyes and she smiled brightly to urge them away. “Honestly, I’m halfway through my book and ...”
“Your book will be here when we return,” he promised, his light tone at odds with the frustration his wife was evoking.
“I know.” She padded across the room, looking much younger than her twenty four years. She cupped his cheek sweetly, having to lift onto her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. “Have fun. I’ll wait up for you.”
“It’s a business dinner,” he responded drily. “Hardly what I’d like to be doing.”
Her smile was distracted. “Then stay locked up here with me.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s your company, isn’t it?”
He laughed. “And my responsibility.” He took a step back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “There’s a bar downstairs. A great jazz singer performing. And a heap of celebrities if you want to go autograph hunting.”
She rolled her eyes. “No thanks.”
His eyes clouded with something she couldn’t interpret. “I’m meeting with a man I think you’ll really like. His business was the first asset I acquired. His daughter’s coming too. You’ll enjoy their company.”
She bit down on her lip. “I don’t know. Surely you’ll be able to do business more efficiently without me there to slow you down.”
“To slow me down?” He murmured, his lips lifting into a smile. “Honey, it’s not like that. It’s dinner. Conversation. We’re looking at picking up a Greek shipping corporation that’s about to go bust. That’s all.” He stroked her cheek then flicked a glance at his Rolex.
“Can you be ready in ten minutes?”
She nodded, but her mind was screaming at her to stick to her guns and say ‘no’. Her tummy was already beginning to flood with the familiar kick of adrenalin and anxiety that always punctuated her senses when she was faced with the prospect of spending time with Kyle’s friends.
She knew what they were all thinking.
Why her?
Why this nobody?
What did she have to offer a man like Kyle?
Despite the fact she’d been planning to stay in that evening, her hair was styled into a perfect ballerina bun and her make up was flawless. A year and a half of marriage had led Annie to see that she just didn’t fit in to Kyle’s world. Not because of any one particular thing. She was just chalk and cheese with the sophisticated, high-flying lifestyle he effortlessly inhabited.
But Annie had learned early on how to look the part.
She pulled a black cocktail gown on carefully and touched up her lipgloss, then slipped into a pair of strappy heels. The woman who confronted her from the mirror certainly looked like a tycoon’s wife. She was glossy, polished, poised and expensive. All of the things Annie absolutely wasn’t.
> Kyle looked up as she entered and then returned his attention to the papers on the desk without a flicker of recognition. “You made it with two minutes to spare.”
“A gold star for me then,” she commented drily.
He flicked the page over and scanned the rest of the document, taking longer than the spare two minutes to finish whatever he was doing. Annie stood in the doorway, waiting with the appearance of patience while the butterflies spread through her entire body.
I’ve changed my mind. Let me stay here.
The words hovered on her perfectly painted lips, but she didn’t say them. She couldn’t bear to see the disapproval in his eyes. Worse, she couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing him, and she knew that’s what he’d feel if she let him down yet again.
He turned to face her and smiled distractedly. “The car’s downstairs.”
“Where are we going to?”
“A little French restaurant called Manger Ensemble. You’ll like it.”
“Is it far?”
“Just down in the main street.”
“Why don’t we walk?” She ached to take his hand in hers, to take comfort from his touch. But outside the bedroom, she’d never felt like he wanted to be touched. He was great at sex. Terrible at intimacy. She understood that. It was just part of him, and probably because of the horrible childhood he’d endured.
“Because we’re already ten minutes late,” he drawled, implying easily that she was the reason for their tardiness.
“Oh. Okay.” She swallowed, those stupid tears back cloying at her throat.
She was a master at hiding her doubts from her husband though. She kept her cloak of almost bored resignation wrapped around her shoulders and lifted her handbag from the top of the bar.
A Bentley was waiting at the entrance to the hotel. His hotel, she reminded herself. His Bentley. And she was His Wife.
She flashed a distracted smile at him as she took her seat in the back of the car. Her nerves were shot to pieces. What did he say these people were called?
The Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge Page 4