CHAPTER EIGHT

 

Marriage is all about commitment.

First you commit to extreme foolishness.

Next you commit to finding a way out.

No matter what it takes.

 

BECK

The door slams behind me and I drop my bag on the couch before making my way into the bedroom. The maid service has been through. The bed covers are straightened, not a crease in sight. My dry cleaning hangs on the back of the door. I traipse through to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. I got lost on my way back from Mayhem. Three blocks became five. And it’s still hot out. Sweat drips down the side of my neck as I splash my face with cold water and then wet the nape of my neck before turning off the tap.

I’m so confused.

I kissed him.

He was singing when I noticed he was in the booth with me. His lips moving to the words coming through my headphones. I’d taken them off to tell him I was ready to hear his confession and got caught up. It didn’t matter that he was singing so low that no one else could hear it. His voice curled around my spine with its power and depth and raw edges. My skin vibrated with it, warmth spreading as though his words were his hands and they were exploring every inch of me. I only meant to let him know we could leave when I crawled to him on my knees. I didn’t mean to get so close that he would touch me. As soon as he did I had to kiss him. I had to know what it was like. And this time I wanted to remember it. Unlike so many things I forgot about that night.

I asked him to marry me? How could I forget something so insanely out of character? What was I thinking? Where was my brain?

I lean on the marble counter. Veins of gold and rust spread from beneath my palms. “Seventy percent of relationships break up in the first year. Almost half of all marriage end in divorce.” I exhale. More like a hundred percent if your last name is McClain.

I turn my back on my reflection. The square counter edge bites into my ass. To think I would ask him... or anyone... It’s ludicrous. Preposterous.

I pull my lip between my teeth. Dangerous.

No, not dangerous. There’s no curse. No crazy juju that keeps us McClains from relationships. Only—

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I jump out of my skin, smacking my hip into the marble. That’s going to leave a bruise. I rub the tender spot as I walk into the living area.

“Come on, Beck. Open up,” he calls out. “We need to talk.”

I stop short of the door. If I don’t open it, maybe he’ll go away.

“Angel, open up. Talk to me.”

If I stay quiet, maybe he’ll think I’m gone. I thought about it. On the way back to the hotel. I could pack my suitcases and leave. I don’t need to be in the town Sophie came from to write the piece I want. I don’t need second hand accounts of her history from someone who knew her. I can take my work with me wherever I go. Liv doesn’t need me either. I could leave and wait for my lawyer to sort out my divorce or annulment or whatever. I don’t have to be here.

With him.

“I have a key card,” he says, his voice muffled by the door. “Just let me know you’re okay. Or I’ll let myself in.”

Ugh. Why does he have to be so not awful? Why couldn’t I have married one of those alpha jackholes? One of those guys who would have thought he was the bee’s freaking knees and either been too busy screwing every piece that came along to care what I was asking him for, or a jerk who would bust down this door to try and claim me. At least with those guys I would have been disgusted. Insulted. Fearful.

But I’m not any of those things.

I shake my head as I move to the door. It’s not like I have to be attracted to him. I certainly don’t have to act on it. Just because he has a nice voice, and nice arms, and fingers that make my mouth water and my nether regions wet. And he has dimples when he smiles, and he amps up my pulse with the way he kisses, and I remember what his cock looks like. Stop it. Attraction is just unwanted chemicals running rampant in the body. At some point they go back to acceptable levels.

“Seventy percent...” I say as I open the door. His head is bowed, his chest sunken as he tilts toward me. “Nox?”

His eyes haze over as he staggers through the door, and I put my arms out to catch him. I almost lose my footing as he collapses against me. All that sinew and hard muscle refuses to hold him up. “Nox? Nox? What’s wrong?”

He groans into my hair, somewhere near my ear. His harsh breath is hot on my scalp. I press a hand to the wall of his chest, trying to keep us upright. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

Jesus. Oh God. This can’t be happening. I have months still.

He groans again. “Need a minute.”

I swallow hard and take a breath to steady myself. Whatever this is... it’s not to do with our predicament. “Okay. I’m here. Tell me how to help.”

He settles a big hand in my hair, curls his fingers in it. I wince and bite my lip when it tugs at my scalp. “My angel.”

I shift my weight from one leg to the other and lock my arms around his waist. He called me that the night we spent together too. Angel. Like I could save him. I think I liked it too. At the time. But it doesn’t mean anything. And he said he didn’t need anything, so what could I help him with? “Help me get you to a seat?”

“Okay.” He sways as he gets his feet under him properly, and I take his weight and lead him to the couch.

“Thanks.” He slumps into the cushions, rests his head on the plump back. His eyes close and thick black lashes dust his cheeks. He’s gorgeous. Handsome would be an understatement. His mouth is sinful. His top lip slightly thinner than the bottom. His jaw is covered in thick stubble, though it’s not quite a full beard like it was yesterday morning. More like it was the first time we met.

I sit on the coffee table, my legs between his, my knees touching his thighs. Warmth spreads where we touch. There’s a rip in the knee of his jeans. The loose threads tease me. My heart slows and speeds up. I don’t dare trust myself. “Do you need anything? Can I get...” I glance around for something that will help. I don’t even know what’s wrong with him. “How do I help?”

His hand encloses my wrist, the rough pad of his thumb rubs a small circle on the inside. “I’m okay. Just a little dizzy. Didn’t eat today.” His mouth twists into a wry smile. “Or yesterday.”

“Oh.” This I can do something about. I get up in a hurry, get stuck between his legs. He still has a hold of my wrist too. It feels nice. Too nice. Makes my skin tingle where we connect.

“Easy, Angel. Don’t fret.”

“I’m not fretting.” I’m not. That’s not what I’m doing. Just because he almost passed out on me doesn’t mean I’m any more concerned than any normal person would be. I take a deep breath. “I’m going to order some room service.”

“You don’t need to do that,” he says. “I can look after myself.”

I get the feeling if he wasn’t so drained he’d argue the point. Like he’s too proud, or he’s used to taking care of everything himself. But right now he needs someone to look after him, so I make up a reason. One I plan on sticking to. “Can’t kick you out without making sure you can get home in one piece.”

He chuckles softly as he lets go of my wrist. His fingers tickle mine and then land on his thigh. “Okay then, Beck Casey.”

“Okay.” I carefully extricate myself from between his legs while I hold my tongue. I’ve used Casey as my alias for so long now I should be used to it, but the way he says it is like a stroke of his fingers on my skin. I could tell him to stop. Maybe I should. But it’s easier not to. Now where’s that menu?

I find the folder in the kitchenette and study it while I call down to the hotel kitchen. Nox starts to breathe in a soft rhythmic way, like he’s fallen asleep. I have no idea what he eats. Only that he can’t refer to oranges without cussing, so I shouldn’t order anything with them.

Five minutes later, I’ve ordered half the menu, including some kind of chocolate dessert and key lime pie. Nox doesn’t move. His hands rest on his thighs, his fingers pointed toward his crotch. His wide muscular chest rises and sinks deeply. I don’t know what to do with myself. With my hands. With the image of him climbing out of bed naked.

Inside I’m warm. Too warm. Outside I’m damp. Sweaty from my walk, not from how hot he is. The food won’t come for a little while yet. I detour to the bar for a bottle of wine and then quietly head to the bathroom to take a cold shower.

I’m not used to company. I spend too much time in hotel rooms. I like it though. It’s easier to keep people at bay when you’re transient. That’s why I travel with Liv. Why my work is all done from my laptop.

I can’t put down roots. I tried to once. Biggest mistake of my life. Wanting what normal people want, family and home, is not for me. I like my independence too much. So does Liv. We worked out a long time ago that we could travel together as long as we gave each other space, which means we eat breakfast together and occasionally share happy hour cocktails. But unlike Liv, who can always find someone to share dinner with, I spend my evenings alone.

Sharing dinner with Nox is different.

I sit on the floor cross-legged, while he’s seated across from me on the couch, shovelling food into his mouth. Several dishes are spread out between us. Some of them are practically scraped clean. Others are half empty. Already finished, I balance my empty plate on my knee. I’ve never seen anyone eat so much. I keep peeking at him through my lashes, watching him while he devours everything I ordered. Does he always eat like this? Or is this because he hasn’t eaten in two days? Or is it because I bought so much? The last thought makes me a little pleased. That’s not a good thing.

“What are you thinking?” He puts his plate down on the table and leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Some of that perfect hair falls across his eyes and I want to push it back so I can see them properly.

“You were hungry.”

“I was,” he agrees.

“Do you always eat like that or...” His gaze gets a little colder, and I glance at the empty dishes across the table. I’m worried, where I have no right to be worried. I’m poking when it’s not my place. I can’t get to know him better. That’s not what this is about.

“I don’t always have time,” he says, getting up. He moves to the kitchenette where there are still two more plates. Opening a drawer, he finds silverware. It clatters on the plates as he picks them up. “And you bought all this food because you were worried about me. I wanted you to know that I appreciated it.”

Something inside me eases off as he joins me on the carpet and hands me the plate with the key lime pie. “Good. I’m glad. You had me concerned before.”

He grimaces and reaches for the back of his neck, rubbing it with his fingers. “I’m sorry that I scared you. It’s been a rough week. I’ve been working a lot of hours recently. Trying to set things right.” His jaw clenches tight, pain etches his features. He doesn’t continue, and I don’t press. Not all of the sadness in his eyes can possibly be because of his neck.

“Let me help,” I say, setting the dessert aside.

“You don’t need to—”

“I want to. Take off your shirt.”

His eyes widen and then crinkle around the edges while he bites his lip, but he doesn’t say whatever he’s thinking. I’m pretty sure it would be something along the lines of me wanting to get my hands on him for sexual purposes. That’s not what this is. It’s not.

Lowering myself to my knees, I move behind him as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a wide expanse of bronze skin and muscles. He’s so knotted and tight. His shoulders are like a rock, his neck stiff. I work my fingers into the knots, feeling them loosen under my hands. He groans and cusses under his breath as I massage, until his muscles start to relax.

“You should lay down.” I move my hands down to his shoulder blades. The angle isn’t good.

“You sure?” he asks over his shoulder.

“It would be easier that way.”

“Okay.” He exhales deeply, his back pushing into my hands.

I move aside so he can change positions. He stretches out on the carpet on his stomach and rests his head on his arms. “This better?”

“Yes. Yep. That’s better.” I hesitate to put my hands on him again, but he needs this. He’s in pain. That’s more important than whether I get butterflies in the pit of my stomach or my hands tingle from touching him. I’m a responsible adult with the ability to control my own impulses. I don’t need to give in to the magnetic energy that creates a spark between us.

Smoothing my palms down his spine, I hold my breath while I wait for the electricity between us to subside before I straddle him. Pressing my knees into the carpet at his hips, I dig my hands into his muscles to release the tension. They loosen under my touch.

“You have magic hands,” he says after a while. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“Spending a lot of time in hotels, I’ve had a lot of massages.” I slide my hands up both sides of his spine. All the way up until his hair tickles my fingers. “Talked to a lot of masseurs. I picked up a few tricks.”

I bend low over him as I squeeze the muscles in his neck and at his jaw. I have to hold my breath. I’m close enough to catch his scent. He moans as I drag my hands back down to the curve of his ass where I pulled his jeans lower. The sound rumbles from somewhere deeper than muscles releasing. I make a small involuntary noise in the back of my throat that echoes his.

Telling me that should have the same affect as a bucket of ice cold water, but it doesn’t. Then again perhaps not even ice water could stop the needy heat that spreads up my inner thighs to my belly when he tells me he hasn’t been with anyone else. And two years is such an awfully long time.

He releases my hand. His body is so still. Every breath he takes is deep and quiet as though he’s dozed off. He’s giving me the option. Laying my choices out for me to decide.

It’s too much. It’s too tempting. My boobs get tight and heavy. My panties are soaked. He can probably tell from the way I’m straddling him. Still he doesn’t move.

Deliberately, I slide my hands from his hips to his shoulders.

“That your answer?” His voice is gravelly and rough, filled with tension.

I can barely find mine. There’s a lump in my throat and too much saliva in my mouth. “Yes.”

“Yes?” he asks in a softer voice, the tension easing.

“Yes.” I nod though he can’t see it.

I almost lose my balance when he twists to wrap his arm around my waist. Lifting me up, he rolls onto his back and sets me down. Only this time I’m straddling his front, his hard bulge nestled against my panties. He’s rigid through the thick material of his jeans while he stares into my eyes. Curling up, he threads his fingers into my hair and pulls me down on top of him as he brushes his lips over mine. I open eagerly and our tongues stroke against one another.

One big hand locks around my hip and pushes me down on his erection. “You feel that, Beck?”

“Yes.” I breathe into our kiss. I feel it. Feel him. Want it. Want to know what I don’t remember. Even the hazy edges of recollection melt my insides.

He kisses me again. Easy but certain. He’s confident in his actions, knows exactly what he’s doing. “It’s all for you. But you’re gonna have to undo my pants.”

Another flush of arousal rushes through me and I whimper. I’m hot and achy and squirming for more of his naked body against mine as I slide backwards so that I can undo his fly. The metal tines of the zip when they’re almost stretched to breaking point make a loud noise as I tug it down.

His hands are on my knees, fingers hooked behind them. He squeezes lightly, and I glance up to find him watching me. It makes my heart race. “Like what you see?”

“Yes, Angel.” His gaze grows hotter. “I like it. Now why don’t you wrap your hand around my cock, like we both know you want to.”

I thread my fingers through the loops in his waistband and pull it down. I do the same with his boxers, pulling them carefully over the head of his cock. His length bounces against his lower abs and I run my fingertips along the purple vein that bulges under the skin. He hisses at the contact, his grip on my knees tightens.

Taking him in my hand, I stroke him. My hand lubricates easily, pre-cum dripping from the fat head of his cock. My lips are dry, and I run the tip of my tongue over them. He’s built like a girl’s wet dream. A woman’s wildest fantasy. He wraps one hand around mine and squeezes both around his cock with a moan. I echo him.

His other hand leaves my knee to slide up the outside of my thigh to my hip, bunching my skirt up as he goes and holding it trapped between his hand and my body. He leaves me to stroke him while he runs his thumb over the front of my panties and presses it against my clit.

I shudder at the sensation. It rocks me so much I can’t stay still. Can’t keep stroking him. He rubs small circles over the silk again and again until my hands drop to his chest. Until I’m panting and rocking, and my vision blurs. That’s when he stops. When I’m so close to combusting. He hooks his fingers in my panties and tears through the silk. And I don’t even care. I love it. Especially when his bare fingers touch my swollen, wet flesh. I. Can’t. Stop. An orgasm shoots through me, like the vibrations of a speaker at a sold-out rock concert.

He flips us over. I’m under him now. Flat on my back on the carpet. His hands are on my panties. They tear through the rest of the silk, leaving nothing but the elastic around my waist. “This is what you want?”

“Please.” I nod and bite my lip.

“Okay then.” He moves fluidly, gracefully for such a big guy as he hovers over me. One hand skims my thigh, spreading me wider and then settles on my hip as he slides home and pulls me up at the same time.

I’m full of him. And it feels good. Spots dance in front of my eyes. I grip his biceps and squirm. The urge to move is overwhelming.

He bows his head and kisses me slowly as he draws away and plunges back. He’s gentle and rough at the same time. Our breaths mingle as we move faster. The sound of our damp bodies slapping together fills the air. His fingers dig into my ass cheeks, and he groans against my neck before he flutters his lips at my collarbone.

I burst into flames like Jimi Hendrix’s guitar. Pleasure spreads from all the spots where he’s touching me; with his lips and his hands and his cock. It’s spectacular. My insides squeeze tight around him. My vision goes black. I hold on for dear life as another orgasm rushes me.

His weight falls on me. His groan is a roar in my ear. I feel him twitch inside me. Feel his cock spasm and the heat of his cum fill me. It triggers another orgasm.

So this is what I’ve been missing.

I sit up. I’m in bed. Naked, with nothing but a sheet over me. I sort of remember Nox talking to me after we had sex, lifting me into his arms and carrying me to bed. I was so drowsy from our fucking, so he’d undressed me. He’d stayed too, hadn’t he? I’d felt his weight settle on the bed beside me, his hand on my hip. Hadn’t been able to argue it. Didn’t want to. Oxytocin had addled my brain. Made me crave human contact. His contact. It’s not supposed to be like this.

The clock’s red digits say it’s after ten. He must have left for work at some point, the same as he did yesterday. I fall back against the pillows. I don’t know much about Nox Casey other than he refuses to end this marriage, he used to play guitar, and he fucks like a god, but even I can tell he’s stretching himself too thin. It’s wearing on him.

It shouldn’t have happened. Last night. It wasn’t what I intended. Sleeping with him has probably only made him assume that I’ll do it again. It’s not a bad assumption. I can’t say it won’t happen. Not if he continues making himself at home in my hotel room. He makes me feel things, want things that I’ve been so careful to avoid. He’s too easy to be with, and I don’t hate him. Maybe if I could...

There’s a knock on the door, accompanied by my phone pinging with an incoming message. Only Liv does that. She probably expects me to still be asleep. Jumping out of bed, I snatch up a dress and pull it on. Reaching for the zipper, I cross the suite to let her in.

Bouncing into the apartment, two coffees in her hands, she thrusts one at me with a huge smile on her face. “You look like you could use this.”

“Do I?” I take a sip from the takeaway cup and avoid making eye contact.

“Is he here?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play coy with me.” She rolls her eyes as she walks to the bedroom door and peers inside. “Nox, of course. Oh. Damn it. I was hoping he’d still be here.”

“How do you know he was?” I take another slug of coffee and put it down on the counter so that I can deal with the zip on my dress. It slides snugly into place as Liv turns around.

“I assumed. A man like that makes his mind up about something you expect follow through. And after what you said on the phone...”

He’s good at following through, that’s for sure. I drop onto the couch. The empty plates on the coffee table and our uneaten desserts have been cleared away. He must have done that before he left this morning. “How am I going to shake him, Liv? He somehow convinced the desk clerk to give him a key card. He’s everywhere I turn.”

She comes to sit beside me, resting her hands in her lap while she studies my face. “Is he harassing you?”

No. Nothing like that. Or not exactly. I like that he’s a man of his word. I like his attention and the way warmth spreads through me when he looks at me. When he touches me. It scares me a little too. I don’t believe in these feelings and emotions, so why are they happening? It doesn’t feel simply physical. Whether I understand the complex reactions that are taking place in my body doesn’t make them any less real. “Why can’t he let it go, Liv?”

“Maybe he thinks it’s worth pursuing.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “What if it is?”

“You know it’s not.” I frown at her. I must have liked him from the moment we met. More than liked him to marry him. But it’s all a cocktail of chemicals and certain areas of my brain firing up like fireworks that will pass just as quickly. “You know how I feel about this situation.”

“I know you think you can’t be happy with another person.” She clicks her tongue. “You haven’t exactly had any reason to believe otherwise. But the curse isn’t real.”

“At least we can agree on that.” I sip my coffee. My grandmother was the one who coined the McClain misfortune in relationships a curse. But all it is really is the inability to fall in love. Even my parents were only ever in lust, and then they were divorced by the time I was born.

“So what are you going to do?” she asks. “Are you going to leave?”

“No.” I put my coffee down and reach for my laptop. Leaving won’t help my problem. For all I know Nox will follow me to the ends of the earth at this point. I almost smile at the idea. Almost. But I can’t want that. No matter how much common sense I throw at the problem, inklings of doubt force their way through. It isn’t just my own luck I’m worried about. I don’t want to see him hurt just because he’s misguided about what this marriage should be. This isn’t how things are supposed to work out. “I have to make him sign the papers.”

“Okay.” She questions me with the lift of an eyebrow.

“Do you remember the Anti-Cupid project I worked on for the Bella website?” I open up the blog and click into the archives.

“It was hilarious,” she says.

“It was.” I pull up the article about how to get your man to dump you. The one I had planned to use before I thought he might have changed his mind. “I’m going to get him to want to sign them by being everything he can’t stand.”

The smile slips from her face. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s a humor article. It’s not based in reality.”

“I have to try something.” I close the lid on my laptop. “I can’t sit around and wait.”

Liv’s quiet for a long moment. She twiddles her thumbs. Eventually she clears her throat. “You know this isn’t the same as—”

“I know,” I snap. I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to remember being sixteen and thinking I was invincible. I flirted with love, flaunted it. We were the ones who were going to make it last. Until it didn’t. I shut my eyes and push all that sentimental bullshit down deep, where it belongs. I can’t do it again.

“And there really is no curse. Sometimes things happen for no reason.”

“I know that too.” I exhale. I don’t believe in fairy tales, so why would I believe in a curse? Just because my parents are serial monogamists doesn’t mean it’s real. That’s a choice they make, as much as I make the decision to travel with Liv and spend my nights alone.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“It’s what I have to do.” I glance around the hotel suite. “But I can’t do it here. Time to take this show on the road.”

“You’re moving in with him,” she says.

“Exactly.” I jump up. I need to pack and organize everything. “I need to find out where he lives.”

“I know someone who can help with that. The bartender, Jack, is Nox’s brother.” Head tilted to the side, she taps her pink fingernails on her chin until I start to squirm. Her smile grows, taking over her face and making her eyes suspiciously sparkly. “You’re actually moving in with him.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” I tell her as I march toward the bedroom. This isn’t about getting closer to the man who is my husband. It’s about finding a way out of this mess I put myself in. I still have no idea why I did it in the first place, but I will end it.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, I trudge up the dirt road to the cabin. Jack had handed over the address to Liv without a second thought. He’d even told her where the spare key was. The wooden steps echo under my feet as I climb them. There’s a small plaque hanging on the vertical wood cladding by the door, with the name Casey Cabin burned into it. I stroke my fingers over it before lifting it up to get the key.

This is crazy. Moving in with a man so I can push him away is crazy. But then so was marrying him. I shove the key into the lock, twist it. The door swings gently inward. Taking a deep breath, I hesitate, but drastic measures are needed if I’m going to get Nox to sign the divorce papers.

Stepping inside the empty cabin, I glance around the living space. My suitcase thuds on the wooden floor as I put it down in the kitchen. Placing the key on the island, I murmur into the silence, “Honey, I’m home.”