I hurry to sit up, grabbing my glass and taking it to the kitchen sink, shutting the lights off, and then tip-toeing back up to my bedroom.
I climb back in the bed, but I feel so guilty about my fantasy and the powerful orgasm that followed that I don’t even bother cuddling with Kyle. I’m afraid he’ll sense that I’ve pleasured myself behind his back, so I roll over with my back to him instead.
My body is satisfied, the fire between my legs no longer blazing like a furnace, but there’s still a slight yearning for more. After a while, it becomes harder for me to keep my eyes open, so I fall asleep.
It’s the best sleep I’ve had since moving into this house.
THIRTEEN
GABBY
I SPEND the entire weekend with Kyle, and it’s definitely needed. We wake up early Saturday morning, catch breakfast, and then go to the nearest outlet for new clothes. He purchases new dress pants and shirts, while I hunt for jean shorts and tops I can wear around the house.
When we come across an art store, I gasp, releasing my hold around Kyle’s arm to run inside. Of course, I don’t leave empty handed. I find clay, paint brushes, and modeling tools. I start to pull my wallet out of my tote bag, but Kyle stops me, smiling down at me with his wallet already in hand.
“I’ve got it,” he says to both me and the cashier.
I shake my head and grin up at him, but I don’t stop him. I do, however, blush like a dazed idiot.
After we leave, we catch lunch and then a movie before heading home. At home, we curl up in bed, and this time he doesn’t hesitate to satisfy me first. He uses his fingers, sliding them between my legs and thrusting two of them inside me, just the way I like, while his lips hover over mine, feathery light. Teasing.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs on my mouth. “My gorgeous wife.”
I come around his fingers, clutching his arm tight, and after my body has died down, he shifts his way between my thighs, his boxers already shoved below his waist. He grabs my waist to tilt my hips up and enters me with a deep grunt, holding me tight.
This time his thrusts aren’t quick. They’re fluid and easy-going, and the longer he goes, the more I feel myself reaching the highest of heights. But I need more to truly get there.
There are times when I wish Kyle would talk to me more while we have sex. Now is one of those times. It’s more of a fantasy, but then again, he’s not much of a talker during our romps. We just watch each other’s eyes and let our bodies conjure whatever noises they naturally make.
I told him what I wanted once, in a very overly-sexual manner, and he stopped while we were doing it to question it. He seemed confused, but went back to it, pretending it never even happened.
Ever since I saw that look in his eyes, one of shock and displeasure, I don’t tell him what I want much. I don’t like ruining the moment, so I just take him as he is, even more so now because he leaves town a lot to work.
I watch Kyle come, squeezing his eyes tight, his muscles glistening with sweat as they lock. He drops his forehead to my chest, resting it in the gap between my breasts, panting raggedly as he pulls out of me.
“I love you so much,” he breathes.
“Love you more,” I whisper back.
Kyle falls asleep first, but I don’t drift off without realizing there’s a fire again—an insatiable hunger that aches for so much more. If only my husband would realize this too.
Then again, how can he, when I’m too nervous to mention it?
Before I know it, it’s Monday morning. Kyle has to catch a flight for work and won’t return until Thursday.
“I can’t believe it’s already time for you to go.” I pout a little, helping him carry his briefcase downstairs. I follow him to the door, and he presses his lips. As I place it down, I think I move a little too quickly, because I feel a pain on my shoulder and wince.
“You okay?” he asks, touching my shoulder. I nod, smiling up at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Think I just moved too fast.”
He looks me over, mildly concerned, before sighing. “Stretch it a bit. It should help. This week’s important, otherwise I’d just work here. So much is in transition with my father being out of work, you know? I want to make sure it’s all handled properly.”
He cups my face, and I nod with understanding. “I get it. Trust me.”
He focuses on my eyes. “You don’t like being here alone.” It’s a statement. And it’s true.
I shrug. “It gets a little boring.”
“I’ll call more—twice a day. That way it’ll feel like I’m still here with you.”
I smile up at him. “Once is fine, as long as it’s for more than ten minutes,” I laugh.
He chuckles. “Okay. I’ll be sure to give you a call tonight. I won’t let work get in the way this time.”
It’s interesting that he says that. Work does come in the way a lot. Kyle wakes up early to work and goes to bed after 2 a.m. most nights, which leaves little time to talk on the phone. He does text me when he can, which is fine. He has never really been big on phone calls. We started getting serious through text messages and face-to-face meets, but now we’re married, and there’s distance between us the majority of the week, so phone calls are a must.
Kyle kisses me with my face still in his hands. I kiss him back, sighing as he releases me to grab his suitcase. I follow him to his car with the briefcase, where he pops the trunk and tosses his suitcase inside. Before he can close the trunk, I see Alex and Jacob getting out of a car and collecting their tools, then a familiar black Ford pickup appears, rolling into our driveway and parking close to the grass and out of Kyle’s way.
“Oh, boy,” Kyle groans as Marcel climbs out of his truck. “They’re a little early, aren’t they?” he asks, tossing a wave at Marcel as Marcel gives him a quick nod of the head.
“No, they’re always here this early.”
“Hmm.” Kyle looks away from him and focuses on me. I hand the briefcase to him and he takes it, then holds one side of my face, kissing my cheek and then my lips. “I’ll text you as soon as I land.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He pulls away and goes to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting the car. I watch him leave the driveway, but not before giving me a wave goodbye, his arm out of the open window. I wave back, and then he’s gone.
Sighing, I turn to look at Marcel. He’s already got his tool bag hitched on his shoulder. There’s a dip in his brow as he looks from where Kyle just drove off, to me, and if I’m not mistaken, his head shakes only slightly, and then he gives me his back, walking around the house to get to the backyard.
I huff a laugh, staring off at where he disappeared. What the hell was that about?
“Morning, Mrs. Moore!” Alex yells as he takes the path that leads to the back.
“Morning!” I yell back, waving. I still haven’t gotten used to that name.
“What will you be treating us with today?” he asks, and I notice the way he smirks at Jacob before giving me a lazy grin.
“Sorry, guys. Nothing today.” I walk to my porch and up the stoop. “I have lots of catching up to do today, unfortunately.”
“Aw, that sucks.” I hear them chuckle, but I don’t pay it any mind. They remind me of my brother and his friends, when we still lived with our parents. He and his friends constantly goofed around. It’s nothing new, and nothing I can’t handle.
They probably don’t realize that I’ve noticed the way they look at me, as if I’m a piece of meat. They don’t do it blatantly, and for that they get my respect, but I can tell when they’ve been looking because when I catch them, their eyes always swoop up fast, like they hadn’t done anything at all.
Same goes for Marcel, although he doesn’t look at me like meat. He looks at me more like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. I wonder if he realizes he’s just as much a puzzle to me as I am to him.
Either way, I shouldn’t care so much. He’s just the landscape architect. Nothing more.
FOURTEEN
GABBY
MY MONDAY IS OCCUPIED with the tools and clay Kyle bought for me at the outlet. I don’t know why, but something inside me tells me to sculpt a flower—a dahlia, to be exact.
I’ve been working on it all morning, using my fingers and hands to mold the clay, and then my cutter to get the detail of it in production. I normally work with music, but it’s quiet today, minus the sounds of the men in my backyard working…which I try to ignore.
I don’t realize it’s lunch time until the alarm on my phone goes off. I set alarms for lunch or a snack, especially if I’m sculpting, otherwise I will lose track of time and forget to eat, especially without Kyle around. The other day I had a really bad headache and couldn’t figure out where it’d come from. I’d complained on the phone with Kyle, and the first thing he asked me was, “Did you eat, Gabs?” It hit me in that moment that no, I hadn’t eaten all day. I’d had some tea, but no actual food.
Sighing, I place my tools down and go to the bathroom in the hallway to wash my hands. When I make it to the kitchen, I pull out the ingredients to make a Caesar salad and start preparing it at the island counter.
From where I stand, I can hear one of the men grunting. I look over and see one of them carrying what looks like a bag of sand or dirt. I’m curious by nature, so of course I want to know what they’re doing. Not only that, but Marcel mentioned they’re going to start laying the stones today, and I want to see how it looks…then again, I’m a little too nervous to go out there today. After what I did Friday night, I don’t know if I can look at Marcel the same without thinking about it.
Instead, I finish making my salad, pour myself a cup of watermelon juice, and sit at my table. I look out of the window, noticing Marcel standing a few steps away from some of the men who are organizing the stones and laying them down. Both hands are resting on his hips and of course—of course!—he’s shirtless.
I know I shouldn’t, but this time I really study his chest. It’s not bare like Kyle’s. Marcel has light traces of hair on the middle of his chest and on his lower belly, but not so much to make him look like a grizzly bear. His dark hair is damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. He drops his hands to walk to a table behind him, where water bottles are lined up. He cracks one open and chugs half of it down.
Then his eyes shift over, right to my door. He is not the least bit surprised to see me gawking. His eyes narrow, lips pushing together. By the mischievousness that begins to swirl in his eyes, I’m pretty sure he was hoping I’d catch him with his shirt off…which is stupid to think and can’t be true, because he’s not interested in me.
I clear my throat and finish my salad, ignoring him as much as possible. As I sip my juice, there’s a knock at the patio door. Marcel is standing behind it, peering through the blinds. I set my glass down, pushing out of my chair to get the door.
“Yes?” I ask when the door is open. I purposely avoid looking down, but the mixture of his sweet-smelling sweat and deodorant that runs past my nose is hard to ignore.
“If I weren’t mistaken, I’d say you’ve been avoidin’ me today, Miss Gabby! And here I am, thinkin’ we’re friends!”
I laugh, but his statement couldn’t be truer. I have to avoid him, to avoid thinking about the fantasy I had of him. “We are friends. I’ve just been busy sculpting. Came down for some lunch.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, we’ll be having lunch in a minute. Anyway, just wanted to know if you’d like to check out the stones so far,” he says, and he’s talking just like before. Friendly. Casual.
“Uh…I’ll probably take a look later. I don’t want to get in the way, plus it’s really hot today.” I force a smile.
“Yeah, it is.” He steps backs and gives me a sideways glance. “All right then, just checkin’.”
He starts to walk back to where his crew is bending down and aligning the stones.
“Mr. Ward?” I call, and he halts, peering over his shoulder.
“Are we resortin’ to formalities again, Mrs. Moore?”
I frown. “No—I’m sorry. Marcel,” I correct myself.
“Yes ma’am?” He turns to fully face me, hands at his waist again.
“Earlier you gave me a look when Kyle left…” I start my sentence, but can’t finish. That look has been bothering me all day.
“Oh, you mean the look I give to all the people who I think are full of shit?” His eyes have lit up, like he’s been looking forward to having this conversation, or at least glad to get that statement off his chest.
“Are you talking about my husband or me?” I ask, folding my arms defensively.
“Of course it isn’t you, Gabby. You’re much nicer than he is.”
“So…my husband then?”
He shrugs, but his eyes tell it all.
“You hardly know him. How could you possibly assume he’s full of shit?”
“I know he doesn’t approve of me and my crew. Still thinks he’ll find someone better, which he won’t. Also, I have no doubt he’s the kind of person who’ll find someone to rip all of this up, just to prove how much of an arrogant, rich asshole he is.”
“Wow.” My eyes stretch, brows nearly touching my forehead. “You do realize that he’s my husband, and I tell him pretty much everything, right?”
“No, you don’t.” He drops his hands and my barely-there smile collapses. He sounds so sure of himself. “Wanna know how I know?”
I don’t say anything. He fills me in anyway.
“Because after you introduced us, and when I called you Miss Gabby, he looked at me sideways, like he didn’t understand the name, probably wonderin’ why I didn’t call you Mrs. Moore instead. If you tell your husband everything, then you would have told him that I made up some silly, harmless nickname for you as a little inside joke after I’d said it, but you didn’t, and probably never will.”
I narrow my eyes at him, taking a step forward. “It’s just a name. Doesn’t mean anything more than me calling you Mr. Ward or you calling my husband Mr. Moore. And like you said, it’s a habit of yours. I’m sure you call all of your clients Mister or Miss.”
“Actually, you’re the first one who has gotten the M-I-S-S tag, despite the fact you’re married. Most are called by the M-R-S tag along with their husband’s last names…just to keep it all business.”
I scoff and look away. “Either way, it’s still harmless. No, I didn’t tell him about the name, but it’s only because when I do get the chance to talk to him, the last thing on my mind is the landscape guy.”
Marcel’s eyes stretch wide. He looks taken aback, and by the dip in his brows, I can tell I’ve just ruined his whole mood. I clamp my mouth shut, immediately regretting the words that slipped out. Why did I say that? Oh my gosh, I’m such a bitch!
“Oh, I see.” He backs away, nodding as he looks off.
“Wait—Marcel, I didn’t mean it that way. There’s nothing wrong with you being the landscape guy. It’s perfectly fine, and you’re great at it!”
“No, Mrs. Moore. You know what? This is my fault. I’ve clearly gotten a little too comfortable around here the past few days, and it shouldn’t be that way. After all, this is business, and I’m here to work. I stepped out of line the moment I shared my first personal conversation with you. That was a mistake on my part. It won’t happen again.”
“Marcel, I—”
He turns away from me, heading back to his crew without looking back. He doesn’t hesitate to help Rob with lining the stones evenly. I go back inside, but take one more look at him along the way. His jaw is clenched tight, brows furrowed.
I’ve really upset him.
God, why would I say something so ignorant?
FIFTEEN
MARCEL
HOW CAN one little comment ruin my whole fuckin’ day?
It’s what I keep asking myself, but it doesn’t make any sense.
She’s my client and, trust me, I’ve had people say worse shit than that to me, but when it comes from her,
that shit stings for some reason.
There I was, thinking we were on the same page. I guess I was wrong, and maybe she’s built for that asshole husband of hers more than I assumed.
By the time the sun has set, half of the patio has been laid with stone. It’s good for our first day, so I call it quits until tomorrow and have my crew pack up.
As I collect my lunch box and tools, I hear one of the patio doors open and roll my eyes.
“Mr. Ward? May I have a word?” I hear Gabby ask meekly. I glance over my shoulder. Most of my men are gone. Only Rob remains, but as soon as he picks up his bag, he walks around the house and tosses a wave goodbye at me.
Only person left is me.
With a sigh, I turn to face Gabby. It’s then I notice the plate of cookies in her hands. She gives me an innocent smile as I walk closer. “I, uh, I made these for you. I had to call my mom for the recipe. I even went to the store to get vanilla extract and baking soda.”
I glance down at the plate. Chocolate chip.
“Thanks, but I’ll have to pass,” I mutter, hiking the strap of my bag on my shoulder.
“Oh, come on, Marcel! It took me two hours to make and bake these! Take them with you, eat them at home.”
“I’m not goin’ straight home.”
“Well I can wrap them in foil and put them in a container.”
“No. Busy tonight.”
“Oh.” She seems disappointed. “What is it? A guy’s night out kind of thing? Work related?” She puts on a smile, trying to lighten the mood. It’s too fucking late for that.
“How is that your business, Gabby?” I wasn’t kidding about what I said earlier—this is business and nothing more. No more accepting lemonade and cookies and shit.
She frowns, shifting on her feet nervously. “I’m just asking.”
I sigh and turn, walking toward the path that’ll lead me around the house.
“Wait—Marcel! Are you really not going to take these? I made them just for you.”
The Man I Can't Have (Ward #1) (Ward Duet) Page 9