Henry had been gone on a business trip for four days and although we’d talked, I missed him. I missed him so much that I thought for sure when I saw him, those three words he was waiting on me to say would burst out of me.
He was returning on a Sunday, my day off work, so I had plenty of time to ravish the heck out of him when we reunited. I was supposed to be going to his apartment but that morning, there was a knock on my door. When I looked through the peephole, Henry was on the other side.
I threw open the door and jumped him.
To his credit, he caught me and didn’t even groan at the weight of me hitting him. Instead he wrapped one arm around my waist and the other under my ass and walked into the apartment like I weighed nothing.
He laughed while I peppered his lips and face with kisses. “If this.” Kiss. “Is how.” Kiss. “You’re going.” Kiss. “To greet me.” Kiss. “Every time I come back.” Kiss. “From business.” Kiss. “I might do it more often.”
My head snapped back. “Don’t you dare. Ahhh!” I squealed as he pushed us over the edge of the couch and fell on top of me, catching his weight at the last minute.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” He kissed me long and hard until I was panting for breath when he finally let me up for air.
I hugged him hard, every part of me giddy and happy to have him home. “I missed you so much.” God, I loved his face. I loved his nose. His eyes. His smile. I loved, loved his smile.
We cuddled and petted and kissed each other, talking quietly about his business trip and about my week at work until his words grew slower, sleepier.
Lying side by side on my couch, I’d curled my leg around his hip to stop him falling off the narrow space. As he stroked my collarbone, I took note of the dark circles under his heavy-lidded eyes.
“Handsome, you’re so tired,” I whispered.
He smiled wearily. “I am.”
“You should have gone straight to your bed.”
“I wanted to see you first.”
I kissed him softly, grateful for him more than I could say. The truth was that these last weeks with Henry had been the first time in a very long time that I hadn’t felt lonely. Not even a little. “Let me take care of you,” I said, caressing his unshaven cheek. “If you could have anything right now, what would it be? Nonsexual,” I hurried to add.
He smirked, his eyes glazing with exhaustion. “Sunshine, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I’ve been craving banana bread from Flour,” he mumbled, snuggling into me.
I grinned against his ear. Banana bread was not what I’d been expecting but the bakery was only a twenty-minute walk from my apartment in Lower Roxbury. “I’ll go get you some.”
“You don’t have to.”
I kissed behind his ear. “I want to.”
“Okay. That’d be nice.”
How could this man be so sexy and yet so adorable? I gave him a quick kiss on the lips and climbed over him to get off the couch. He was so out of it, he rolled into the space I’d left. As always, I was overwhelmed by the sheer affection I felt for him. To stop myself from bursting into tears like the emotional watering pot I’d become lately, I dragged the throw off the back of the couch and covered him. Then I removed his shoes and placed them on the floor by the couch.
Less than five minutes later, I was walking out of my apartment on a mission to get Henry’s banana bread.
Cool fall wind whipped my hair behind me and I shrugged the collar of my coat up around my neck. We were having a particularly cold October this year, something my viewers were not happy to hear. They were tweeting me during the show, some pleading with me to give them good news, others cursing me like it was my fault our fall weather was off to a crappy start.
To be honest, I didn’t mind the cold. I hated the wind and the rain but I liked the dry, crisp, cold mornings. Especially if the sun was out like it was today.
At Flour, I was lucky to get the last of the banana bread and I threw in some cinnamon crème brioche for myself, even though I wouldn’t have time to go to the gym today to work them off. Grabbing coffees to go, I could only describe my mood as blissfully content. I was having one of those days where every negative thought was banished under the naïve belief that things could really stay in a suspended state of “fucking great.”
I think I could have gotten through the entire day on that feeling.
But someone else had other plans.
Daydreaming about future Sundays with Henry, I was jolted into reality when I turned the corner off Washington and walked into a solidly built male.
The coffee I was carrying was knocked out of my hands, hitting the ground and splashing over both our shoes and calves. “Shit, I’m sorry,” I gasped, as we both instinctively jumped back.
And then I looked up into his face to apologize again. Fear froze the words in my throat.
Quentin James was frowning down at his shoes and trousers.
He looked up, irritation mixed with something akin to smugness. “Not exactly how I was planning for us to meet.”
“What are you doing here?”
The loud buzz of traffic blared behind me, drawing his annoyed gaze. “Let’s walk.”
“Let’s not.” I stepped back. “Move out of my way.”
“Is that any way to greet an old lover?” He smirked.
Staring into his dark eyes, I wondered how I could have been so naïve as to once think he had the eyes of a poet. Dear God, I was such an idiot. Once upon a time, I’d thought he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen with his perfect thick hair waved back from his face and full mouth like a sullen male model’s. His irresponsible lifestyle seemed to have caught up with him, however, because there were deep lines in his face that hadn’t been there before, and his hair was almost completely gray.
He used to have a year-round smooth tan; now he was pale, and his cheekbones looked hollow, like he’d lost quite a bit of weight.
“I thought when you stopped calling and sending me flowers that you’d finally gotten the message than I’m not interested in talking with you ever, let alone reconciling.”
“Oh, we’re past that,” he narrowed his eyes on me, “since you started spreading for someone higher up the food chain.”
Rage coursed through me. “It was never about that for me, you son of a bitch.”
He tsked. “I wouldn’t piss me off, darling. I hold all your dreams of marrying a Lexington in my hands.”
As quickly as I’d flushed with anger, I was suddenly chilled to the bone. “What do you want?”
Quentin scowled. “I’m in a bit of financial bother. Some gambling debts.”
I waited, a knot tightening in my stomach.
“I saw how well you were doing for yourself and thought maybe you might have the money to help me, but you aren’t the doe-eyed girl I remember. So I found the money elsewhere.”
Revulsion that I’d slept with this man, a man who had chased me down after years only to get money out of me, rolled through my stomach. “What the hell are you doing here now?”
“I’m in trouble again. And apparently, you’re practically engaged to one of the wealthiest men on the East Coast.”
A ringing sounded in my ears. Astonishment. Disbelief. What the fuck? “Seriously?”
“Let’s not make a scene.”
God, he was such a smarmy, sleazy asshole! How could it be possible that his grimy hands had touched me?
“I hate you.”
“I couldn’t give a damn.” He sighed impatiently. “I’m just going to lay it out for you. I need fifty thousand dollars. You’re going to return to that crappy little apartment of yours and tell the man who is currently inside of it that you’re in trouble and need the money. If you don’t, I will tell him who you really are and what you’re really capable of.”
He’d been watching me. Us. Nausea surged and only my anger kept it at bay. “I didn’t do anything.”
Hatred burned out of his eyes. “We both know that’s not true. You ruined lives. Why should you get to ride off into a fairy tale while the rest of us are destroyed?”
Furious tears stung my nose and eyes. “You’re disgusting.”
“I’m resourceful. There’s a difference.” He stepped to the side, gesturing for me to pass. “You’ve got forty-eight hours until I knock on your door.”
Shooting him one last murderous glare, I hurried past, needing to put as much distance between us as possible. I spent the rest of the walk back to my apartment alternating between looking over my shoulder and screaming inside my own head.
I didn’t know what to do.
What the hell did I do?
Once inside, I found Henry still asleep. Leaving him there, I put our baked goods in the kitchen and then quietly shut the door to my bedroom to change out of my coffee-covered jeans. My hands shook the entire time.
I made my way into the living room again and sat down in the armchair across from Henry, cuddling my knees to my chest.
There was no question now as I looked at him about what I’d do. In reality, there had never been a question.
I would not be blackmailed and I wouldn’t resort to extorting money from the man I loved.
Instead, finally, I was going to face what I’d known I would have to face all along.
The truth about who I once had been.
She wasn’t someone I was proud of but she also wasn’t me anymore. And I had to hope that Henry would see that. That he would forgive me for hurting an innocent person as badly as I had.
I don’t know how long I sat there, watching him sleep, waiting with knots in my stomach for him to wake up and thrust us into cold reality.
Finally, I heard his breathing change, he made a little groan, and he slowly turned on the couch. His sleepy eyes snagged on me sitting in the corner and he rubbed his forehead. “What time is it?”
I glanced at the clock on the radio. “One thirty.”
He groaned again and sat up, running his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he finished on a yawn.
When I didn’t respond, Henry looked over at me, studied me, and quickly grew alert. “What’s going on?”
My lips trembled. Every part of me was shaking. “Something,” my voice croaked and I cleared it, “something happened while you were sleeping.”
Henry threw off the throw and swung his feet to the floor. “What?”
I didn’t answer.
“Nadia, you’re chalk white. What happened?”
“I went to Flour and I got your banana bread. It’s in the kitchen. I got some cinnamon crème brioche too for me,” I recounted inanely. “And coffee. But it got spilled because… I bumped into someone. Someone I knew once.”
His brows creased in confusion. “Who?”
“His name is Quentin James. Professor Quentin James.” I released my knees and sat forward, expelling a shuddering breath. “Henry… I’m in trouble, I think. This man…” I looked at my feet. “He’s… I need to start at the beginning.”
“Nadia, look at me.”
“I can’t.” Tears escaped beneath my lids. “I’m ashamed and I can’t look at you and watch your expression when I tell you what I have to tell you. I… went to college in Florida. One of my favorite professors was Quentin James and in my senior year, we grew close.” I remembered the day we’d met in his office to discuss some connections he had in Florida in broadcasting. He’d been off, acting distracted, and at first I’d put it down to the fact that he’d separated from his wife not long ago, something he’d told me a few months before. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he knew it was wrong, but he had feelings for me.
“I’d been so excited, so naïve. We started an affair. He told me that he and his wife had been separated and that he was falling in love with me. And like an idiot, I believed him.”
“Nadia, look at me.”
I shook my head. “It went on for months and then one night we were fooling around in his office when someone let themselves in. His wife let herself in.” I closed my eyes remembering the way she crumbled in pain upon finding us together. Her anguish. Her hurt. And worse… “His pregnant wife.”
“Nadia—”
“I should have apologized, I should have felt remorse, but all I felt was betrayed and desperate. Later he told me that they had been separated but she found out she was pregnant so they were trying to make it work. He seemed so broken. He told me he loved me but that we had to stop because he had a responsibility to her. I didn’t want to hear it.” I forced myself to meet Henry’s gaze but I couldn’t see anything in his expression; all I could see were images from the past. “I was twenty-one and I thought I was in love. There’s no excuse for what I did next. I told you my dad wasn’t a good guy, Henry.” I wiped at my tears. “That he cheated on my mom constantly and I was pretty much invisible to him. My mom was so wrapped up in trying to keep her marriage together that I barely made a blip on her radar. I’d been a chubby, awkward kid and boys didn’t pay attention to me in high school either, and when they did, I soon found out they only wanted one thing.
“Quentin had been different. He made me feel special and needed. And I thought I was so mature back then. I thought that it would only hurt everyone in the long run if he stayed with his wife for the sake of the baby. So I went to talk to her alone.
“It blew up into an argument almost right away. I can still hear her screaming at me to get out of her house.” I flinched. “But before that, she told me that they had never been separated and that I was the third student she’d caught him with in the last two years.” I choked on a sob. “She looked at me like I was this evil whore and I was so ashamed and so betrayed and so sorry. She kept screaming at me to leave and I didn’t, I just kept trying to apologize, to tell her I didn’t know that he was still with her. Finally, she threatened to call the police and that got through to me. I left. But a few days later…” I stared in horror at Henry. “The baby went into distress. She lost it,” I choked out.
Henry’s eyes closed tight, his lips pinched together at my revelation.
I looked away. “Everyone in my class found out. Other professors. Quentin turned it all on me. Blamed me for his wife leaving, for her losing their kid. Said it was my fault, that I’d agitated the situation. He lost his job and everyone hated me. Those last few months were the worst of my life. I went home to escape but I didn’t know that the cousin of one of my classmates lived in our town. It was a chance in a million. But they all found out and my mom could barely look at me, let alone allow me to explain. She thinks I’m just like my father.
“I couldn’t get a job anywhere, and it felt as if everyone in goddamn Connecticut knew the story. And the more people make you feel like the bad guy, Henry, the more you believe it, you know. There has to be some truth in it. When I looked in the mirror, I hated my reflection. So I wanted to escape that person. I changed my name, dyed my hair, and moved to New York. I worked for an online meteorology broadcaster where my old boss at WCVB spotted me and offered me a job. I moved to Boston.”
Silence engulfed my small apartment as I waited for the man I loved to either forgive me or condemn me.
When he didn’t say anything, I stared straight into his expressionless eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry for being a hypocrite in the beginning. For making you feel like you didn’t deserve a chance with me when the truth was the opposite.”
His mask dissolved into anger. “Don’t. That’s not true. I’m… I’m sitting here, trying to work out how I tell you that… I know Nadia is your middle name and that your real name is Sarah Nadia Raymond.”
What?
“What? How?”
Henry blanched. “My mother. After she found out I was bringing you to the Delaney charity ball, she had a private investigator look into you and she found out everything about Quentin and you. Except she made it out like you knew you were getting involved with a married man. My father once told me that when he and my mother were engaged he had a drunken indiscretion with a friend of hers. They separated for a while before he convinced her to take him back. He’s been loyal to her ever since, but cheating is a sore point for my mother.”
“Which explains why she hates me so much.”
“She doesn’t know you,” he said. “She told me about Quentin thinking it would change how I felt about you, but it didn’t. Because I knew there had to be more to the story.” He got up and crossed the room. I stared at him in stunned disbelief, veering between joy and confusion as he lowered himself to his haunches in front of me.
Henry took my hands in his and I was beyond relieved to see there was nothing but love in his eyes. “We all make mistakes and you were only a kid. For all I know, I’ve slept with someone’s wife or girlfriend because they lied to me about it. People lie, Nadia, and they can betray us, but we learn from it… and I know you. I know you learned from it. You have turned this into something much scarier in your head than it is. You didn’t murder anyone.”
“But their baby,” I whispered.
“Nadia,” pain brightened his eyes, “Quentin James was a serial cheater who got off on screwing innocent students, and you were merely one of the many times he hurt his wife. You simply happened to be there when the stress of his betrayal became too much for her. And he’s the asshole who put all the blame on you when everything that went wrong in his life was down to his own damn selfish disregard for those around him.”
“You really believe that?”
“I told you I loved you after I found out,” he reminded me.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”
“Because I wanted you to trust me enough to tell me yourself… and God, Sunshine, you kept me waiting. I thought I’d be waiting forever.”
“I love you,” I blurted out, sliding my hands up his arms to his shoulders and leaning into him. “I love you so much.”
Suddenly I was in his arms and he was kissing me, pouring every ounce of his love for me into our connection. When we finally broke apart, breathless, Henry stared at me in wonder as he brushed my hair from my face.
Then quite abruptly, he scowled. “You said you met the bastard outside.”
And that’s when I laid out the rest of it. Quentin’s stalkerish behavior a few months ago and now this—his blackmail.
Henry grew very still, very quiet, and it concerned me more than an outburst ever could.
“I’m going to kill him.”
He sounded so sincere, I gasped. “No, you are not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m going to eviscerate him.”
“That’s the same as killing him, Henry, except more descriptive.”
He shot me a look before he got to his feet and began pacing my small living room. “I thought this man was supposed to be smart,” he spat. “Does he have any idea who he’s dealing with? I can end him without killing him.”
Yes, but Quentin was relying on the woman who felt so ashamed by her actions that she’d changed her name and appearance to escape her past. He was relying on her to have the same kind of self-preservation as he had. However, I wasn’t Quentin. Unlike him, I would never betray the person I loved most in the world.
“He was counting on me to keep this from you. To want to keep this from you more than anything. Also, he probably knows this could ruin my career. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has held it over my head.”
Henry stopped mid-pace. “What does that mean?”
“It’s what Dick was blackmailing me with.”
“Fuck,” he hissed. And then he was across the room pulling me into his arms, hugging me so tight, his grip was almost bruising.
“What’s this for?”
“Because it’s a fucking miracle you even gave me a chance considering how many bastards you’ve had to deal with.”
I sunk into his embrace and he relaxed a little. His familiar scent, a mix of cologne and something that was all Henry, was just as comforting as his hard, strong arms. I’d never wanted to rely on anyone. The thought scared me. But I was coming to realize relying on Henry was no longer a choice. I needed him. I craved his love and support. Even more so now that I knew he loved me despite all my mistakes.
“What are we going to do?” I whispered.
Henry was quiet a moment as he rubbed soothing circles over my back. “Right now I’m taking you to bed and you’re going to tell me over and over that you love me while I’m inside you. And afterward we’ll eat banana bread and brioche in bed and forget anything else exists. Tomorrow, I’ll deal with Quentin.” He felt me tense and kissed my hair. “I won’t kill him but when I’m done with him, he’ll wish I had. All you need to know is that he is out of your life for good and nothing will come between you and your career, or more importantly, between you and me.”
I lifted my head to stare up into his beautiful face. “You’re the best person I know.” I reached for his lips and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss to them. “So I think you’ll understand why I can’t let you take care of this.”
“What?” His eyes narrowed.
Determination blazed out of me. “I have to deal with Quentin. I’m honest enough and I think strong enough to admit that I need you. I do. But I’m also still trying to be a better person, and to do that, I must shut Quentin down myself. And I can do that knowing that I have your support. He has to know I’m not that naïve, starved of affection, helpless girl anymore. I’m a successful career woman,” I grinned saucily, “with friends in high places.”
“Fine,” he bit out. “You can be the one to talk to him, but I’ll be nearby watching. No arguments. And if your way doesn’t work, then we do it my way.”
“Done.”
Henry suddenly grinned. “We’re good at this.”
“We are good at this.” I grabbed his shirt and pulled him backward toward the bedroom. “But I hope not too good. I quite like arguing with you. I especially like the kissing-making-up part.”
Quite abruptly, Henry swung me up into his arms and smirked. “Sunshine, kissing isn’t the making-up part.” He threw me and I gasped in surprise, bouncing on my bed. I stared up in anticipation as Henry practically ripped off his shirt, dropped it, and crawled onto the bed up my body. His eyes smoldered. “This is the making-up part.”
“But we haven’t argued,” I teased.
“It doesn’t matter,” Henry said, his voice hoarse as he reached down and unzipped his pants slowly. A fizzle of pleasure tingled between my legs. “I’m going to fuck you like we have.” His fingers curled under the waistband of my yoga pants and underwear and he tugged.
“And then we’ll make love?” I asked breathlessly as he divested me of my clothes.
“Someone once told me fucking can be more than just fucking. Fucking, sucking, licking, pawing, grabbing, groping…” He caressed my inner thighs, heading to the ultimate destination in this scenario. “With you, it’s always making love.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head in amusement. “You’re such a smooth talker.”
He gave me a killer-watt smile, his eyes so filled with happiness, I shook with my own giddiness. “It’s also the truth.”
“I know,” I reached up to cup his face in my hand, “I believe you.”