He looks away. “I’m sorry.” His gaze returns to me. “And there won’t be anything happening in front of Drew. Now that you know everything, he’ll be moving on.” He chews on the edge of his mouth. “So you don’t need to worry about that anymore.”
Drew’s leaving. A wave of relief hits me at the news, so many uncomfortable future moments, suddenly gone. No need to figure out our future, or lack of. No need to discuss what happened.
Nathan clears his throat, and I look up at him. "Thank you. For helping me. As far as the marriage and our agreement goes, I will think about modifying our marriage, but would like you to think about continuing our agreement, if I make some concessions to improve your happiness."
He steps closer, stopping just before me, and I lose all intelligence when his hands settle on my hips. "What kind of concessions?"
"Make a list of your demands," he says gruffly. "But sex is a non-negotiable. I can't be around you without having you." With that declaration, he pulls me closer, and lowers his mouth to mine.
I have learned so much about this man since our last kiss, the roller coaster of my emotions taking me through a year’s worth of emotions in two short days. I respond, feeling the pull of arousal as my legs weaken and mind spins. I cannot say no to this man. His touch, his mouth. I grip the back of his neck as he lifts me by my waist, spinning us around and dropping me softly on the bed, the mattress sinking as he climbs above me.
As his mouth whispers down my neck, his tongue thumbing over the delicate skin, I wrap my legs tightly around him, pulling him closer, feeling the strength of his arousal against my needy body. I turn my head, opening the other side of my neck to him and see, through glass and space and glass, Drew—standing in the main house, his face dark with anger.
CHAPTER 40
I can live without romance. But the coldness from Nathan, that is what I have struggled with. That is what has made me feel the whore. The Nathan of today was different, smiling and carrying on a conversation without disdain, his charm and breeding causing my heart to do a subtle swoon. That Nathan—who spoke to me freely, listened to my words and treated me as an equal—that man I can live with.
I close my eyes, thinking of Drew, the expression on his face when our eyes met. When I saw him standing in the main house, watching us through the window, I turned my head, pushed his image out of my head and focused on Nathan’s hands, which were sliding under my shirt, his strong hands on smooth skin, the nip of his mouth against my neck.
“What’s going on, Candace?” My eyes flip open at Drew’s voice. Speak of the devil. I turn and watch him enter my room, his hands in his pockets—a deceptively casual gesture, his shoulders tight with tension, mouth pinched.
I toss down my magazine. “Nothing. Knocking would be appreciated.”
“Nathan didn’t knock.” The sharp tone of his words makes my guilt vanish and anger rise. He chuckles, a long, mean sound, and wanders through the room in a path that brings him closer to me. “Why’d you fuck him?”
I raise my chin, meeting his eyes. “I’m not your property, Drew. And, since you seem to be irrational, let me remind you that I am still bound by my agreement to Nathan.”
He scoffed. “The rules are out the window. You know that, you knew that the minute that we told you about the money; hell, your eyes lit up like a neon sign. You have power now, you could have told him no. Things are different now.”
I have power. I've told myself that fact, but it is different, hearing it from Drew. Solid. Concrete. I have power. I can fix this situation.
“Are you going to continue fucking him?”
I don't know what he wants. He’s leaving. I'm staying. I have power, I don't have to be miserable. I can have my cake—Nathan—and eat it too. This new Drew, one with too many motivations, and not enough transparency—I don’t like. I stand. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
He leans forward, his hands fisting, making me think, for a brief moment, that he might lose control. “It is, in every way, my business.”
I have to get away from him. His intensity is too strong, his need too great. He has no one else to consider, no other emotions to fight. For him it is simple, a masculine, caveman need to dominate another man’s property. I see woman. I fuck woman. I own woman.
I see man. I fuck man. I desire romance.
The true epitome of romance is Nathan and Cecile. She robbed him blind and disappeared, breaking his heart into a thousand pieces, yet he still loves her—pines for her, will not look at another woman in the same way, his heart completely captivated by a woman who cares nothing about his life. I know. I can see the distance in his eyes, the constant distraction, his inability to see anything other than her absence. He has needs—I’ve felt that need between my legs, felt it sweep through him, his cock fucking me as if I am his last breath, and he is dying without oxygen. But his need only controls his body. She controls his heart.
I see man. I fuck man. I want man’s love.
Drew steps forward, pulling something from his back pocket and tossing it onto the bed. A small blue book, a gold seal on the front. “Your passport,” he says shortly. “There is also a card with Candace’s social security number and bank account number, both of which you need to memorize. The jet will depart day after tomorrow, Mrs. Dumont.”
I pick up the book, flipping it open to stare at my photo, my fingers tracing along my new name. I hear Drew’s exhale, see the look he gives me as he turns and walks out. And I wonder, as the door slides shut behind him, if he will try and come to me tonight.
I lock the door.
CHAPTER 41
I open the closet, and flip on the light, scanning the shelves until I spy a matching luggage set, three red and black DVF vintage-style trunks. I carry them to the center of the room and open Rosit Fenton's book of outfits.
I flip through the pages, pausing occasionally and moving back to the closet to pull hangers. With each new item, laid out in neat stacks on the bed, I am reminded of how lucky I am. My fingers pluck through designers I’ve only dreamed of. Oscar de la Renta. Versace. Chanel. I scoop up a pair of Louboutin heels, and some Tory Burch flats. I place the items carefully in the trunks, then move to the bathroom, which has MAC’s entire lineup, paired with every beauty item possible. Can I leave this life? Suddenly all of my complaints seem so trivial. My husband is taking me to the Bahamas for a week in our private plane. I let my eyes drift over the expensive details of the bathroom, the view of the sparkling pool and beautiful home. This is my life. I’d be foolish to leave.