He slouched in the seat and watched her. The women in her family all ruled their roosts. Big tempestuous discussions broke out at every holiday gathering and most family meals, too. She was so beautiful, with dark brown hair, dark eyes that snapped fire, and a lush mouth. With her chin nestled in the fur collar she oozed sensuality, and his cock stirred as he watched her studiously ignore him.
For now, words like blame and fault were irrelevant. Yes, she’d known what making partner involved, but he’d taken her sacrifices for granted. It was time to go back to basics. He closed his eyes against the distraction presented by her flushed cheeks and the way she nibbled at her lower lip as she answered emails, and began planning his strategy.
Chapter Three
Shane fell asleep on the fifty-minute ride to Summit. Covertly Natalie watched him drift, then doze, his blond lashes visible against the dark shadows under his eyes. His leg grew warmer, heavier against hers as he slipped into sleep, and while she resented his heavy-handed demeanor in Lannisters, a tendril of long-buried tenderness unfurled inside her. He worked almost obscenely long hours. She was in the office from eight until six but had time to meet people for drinks, or go to the theater or evening hours at a museum once or twice a week. Shane caught a show once or twice a year, and the last time they went to the ballet he fell asleep before intermission.
They’d agreed to the job, the hours, but she’d had no concept of what it would do to him, and to their marriage. Living in the same house and sharing the same bed wasn’t enough. They had to grow together, or they would by default grow apart. But if his idea of reconnecting as a couple included what happened at Lannisters, they were doomed.
When the train jerked to a halt in the station he didn’t wake, not even when the heavyset woman next to her rose and jostled them both with her bags. The inattentiveness was completely unlike him. She reached down and patted the knee pressing into her thigh. His eyes flew open, and for a brief instant she saw the old Shane, brilliant, edgy, and just a bit dangerous, in the dark blue irises. Then he came fully awake, and his gaze went assessing, guarded.
“We’re here,” she said. But where? On the map of their lives together, where were they?
They walked in silence to the parking garage. Shane’s hours made Natalie’s driving herself to and from the station a necessity. Inside her car she switched the radio from the day’s business news to NPR, and drove home. Their neighborhood was comprised of large, single-family homes on big lots, with stone facades and wrought iron fences enclosing the properties. The house was designed for the family they intended to have, but the two of them tended to get separated inside, reducing them to using the intercom system to find each other. She left her keys and briefcase in the mudroom off the garage and headed upstairs.
Usually Shane went from his car to his office on the main floor, checking in on the overseas markets before changing his clothes. Tonight he’d not only reached the bedroom before her but also swapped the glasses, suit, and crisp white shirt with cufflinks that transformed him into a corporate raider for Levis 501s and a soft, dark blue t-shirt. She stepped toward the closet, but something made her hesitate to undress—maybe the fact that he looked purposeful and intent as he crouched to light the fire she’d prepared before she left for work that morning.
Something was up. The dim pools of light from the lamp on her side of the bed and beside the chaise lounge left the rest of the big bedroom in darkness. Decorated in sage green and navy with gold accents, the room was as big as the entire downstairs of her parents’ house in Hoboken. Even with a king-sized bed, two tall nightstands, a chest of drawers, a dresser, a chaise, an end table, and a small bookshelf creating a reading nook by the fireplace, it still felt empty. Like her marriage.
His mouth set in a firm line, he turned to look at her. “What were you discussing so earnestly with Holstead?”
Something must have happened at work today, but he wasn’t volunteering details. As usual, she’d have to pull the information out of him. Whatever tenderness she felt watching him sleep died under the fury surging in her veins. If he’d come home early to fight, she’d give him exactly what he wanted.
She put her hands on her hips and snapped, “You should know.”
He should. In a week she was flying to Tampa and Columbus to supervise yet another round of layoffs. Destroying the livelihoods and financial futures of thirty-eight hard-working people was taking an emotional toll, and she’d called Chris, a professional downsizer, for advice on coping. Her husband should know what was going on in her professional life. He didn’t.
“Answer the question.”
“You think I’m sneaking around with Chris? He’s been on the calendar for a week. Our shared calendar. Of course, you don’t look at the shared calendar, so I could put Fuck Chris Holstead in all caps on it and you’d never notice.”
“Were you talking to him about our problems?” he said, his voice loud enough to reverberate in the bedroom.