The cars in the driveway move, passing through the gates and out of sight. I wait until the last one pulls through, then stand. Moving to him, I look up into his face, pulling his face down and forcing him to look at me. “Drew, please stop talking.”
I can feel his reluctance in every move, his eyes slowly dragging to mine, his body stiff against mine. He pushes away, a hurried gesture, hard on my shoulders, and steps back. “No.”
My heart sinks, my plan thwarted.
“Not here. It’s too visible.” He strides toward the back hall, grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him.
We enter his room, my introduction a blur of cream walls and masculine furniture, any observations lost in the moment that he pulls me onto his bed. Sex the first time was hurried, him demanding permission with his body, my own response hesitant, terrified of the giant cliff that we were taking a step off of. This time I hold nothing back, letting his hunger devour me, his hands placing my body where and how he wants it. And this time, he’s the one who seems unsure of the wisdom of our actions.
He pushes me against the wall, his hands fumbling with my shorts, jerking them down so he can lift and wrap my legs around his body. He whispers words that contradict his motions. “Are you sure? We shouldn’t…” Then he groans as my legs pull him tight, his body supporting me against the wall, my arms wrapping around his neck and pulling his mouth to mine. I yank at his shirt while we kiss, pulling the fabric up, our mouths separating for a brief moment as it pulls over his head. His hands move beneath me, unzipping, yanking, ripping open a condom, an initial bump of bare cock against the curve of my skin, then it is covered.
Thrusts. Our bodies on the bed, my legs spread before him, his hips moving in strong, slow fucks that are increasing in rhythm. It is a beautiful sight, the daylight showing me all of the details my dim bedroom hid—his eyes blazing with possession, his chest tightening, the slide of his cock as it thrust, his gaze dropping to watch it, his mouth slightly open in lust. He grips my thighs, holding my legs against his chest, and he releases any control, starting a furious pace that has my body shaking, intensity building.
Orgasms. Mine while he is behind me, his balls drilling a steady beat on my clit, his hands squeezing my ass, holding me still while he sets the pace, bringing me to completion. His while I am beneath him, his arms framing my head while he thrusts inside of me, his mouth brushing mine, the pace increasing until he grunts, shudders, and then whispers my name, lowering his body to mine, giving one final full thrust that takes him completely inside of me.
I hear the rush of water as he opens his shower door and steps in. I sit up, moving quickly and silently off his bed and out to the hall. To be safe, I am giving myself four minutes, my feet running as soon as my bare soles touch the cool tile. I trace the path Drew led me down one week earlier, the path to Nathan’s office.
I skid around the edge of his desk, my hand gripping the wooden edge, tugging on handles and drawer pulls until one slides open. Files. There has to be something on me, a folder of my history, or a diagram of their evil plan. I skim the folder titles.
Three minutes.
The drawer seems to be filled with mostly family-related items.
Dumont Family History.
Dumont Estate.
Dumont Trust.
Files for names I am not familiar with, most likely his parents. I see my name, and time slows.
CANDACE
The title is written as painstakingly neat as the rest of the tabs, my place equal among his family files. I almost missed the file, its thin depth lying against the one before it, shielded by a tag with similar placement. I reach forward and pull it out.
Two minutes.
My heart sinks as the file slides out quickly and easily, its weight too light to hold many secrets. It feels, in fact, empty. I open it slowly, and my eyes fall on a single piece of paper. It is a piece of Nathan’s letterhead, a half-page card that is familiar enough to my eyes, the embossed letters of his name across the top. On it, in the painstakingly neat writing of my husband, is one short message. I read it quickly, then stop, my heart thudding heavily in my chest—slow, loud thumps that rattle my thinking. I read it again.
I loved Candace more than I have ever loved another soul on this planet. Her death leaves a hole in my heart that will never be filled. Please respect our privacy in this difficult time.
One minute.
CHAPTER 37
I am back in Drew’s bed when he emerges, his hair wet, a towel around his shoulders, his jeans unbuttoned and hanging low on firm, muscular hips. I stretch, my body still naked, in hopes of distracting him from any erratic thoughts. The shower had been off when I returned, no rush of water to hide the sound of the door. I close my eyes, trying to keep my face smooth and calm, trying to paint the picture of a woman whose heart is not racing, whose mind is not panicking.
“We can’t keep doing this. I can’t …” His words hang, unfinished, and I open my eyes to see him bend down, picking up his shirt and walking to the edge of my bed, his eyes traveling over my skin until they stop at my face. He puts a knee on the bed, leaning over to brush his lips over my skin, placing soft kisses on my stomach, the underside of my breast, my collarbone, and then my lips. He studies me, his green eyes cloudy. “Neither one of us deserves you,” he says, standing up and buttoning his pants.
I roll over, facing the opposite direction, and hug his pillow.
I loved Candace more than I have ever loved another soul on this planet.
Loved me? A lie, like every photo taken by the press, like that entire weekend at Napa Valley.
Her death leaves a hole in my heart that will never be filled.
There are very few explanations for that line, written on Nathan’s stationary, in handwriting I recognize as his, placed in a folder that bears my name. My mind can only grasp one. In Nathan’s world—his meticulously scheduled, perfectly planned universe—I’m going to die. It’s planned for, a statement already prepared, everything in place except for my dead body. When? And why?
“You need to go back.”
I nod, rolling off the bed and standing, accepting the clothes that he hands over. I don’t bother dressing, giving him a tight smile and leaving, walking naked through the house and back to the guesthouse, glancing at the clock as I crawl into the bed. Five hours until Nathan arrives home. Five hours before the next man fucks with my mind.
Please respect our privacy in this difficult time.