After dinner, Brian and I head to his bedroom so he can pack and I can keep him company. I managed to avert my gaze from anywhere near Mark’s vicinity for the rest of the meal—a grueling task because my eyes want to automatically find him, and I’m mentally exhausted by the time dinner’s over.
When I walk into the bedroom, that mental exhaustion becomes nearly debilitating as my eyes fall on the bed in front of me.
The bed that represents a night that never should have happened.
I’ve been with Brian in this very bed many times, yet the one night that sticks out is the night I was with Mark. All the feelings I’ve been pushing away for him rush to the surface. Tears prick behind my eyes, but I look up at the ceiling to ward them away. Brian’s lost in his own little world as he disappears into his walk-in closet to grab his suitcase, and I stand staring at the bed like it’s on fire.
I force my legs over to it. It doesn’t matter what happened here. It’s in the past, and I push it back where it belongs.
I force myself to casually collapse onto the bed. I pretend I’m making myself at home as I watch him pull out enough socks and underwear for ten days out of the country. He pulls aside suits and shirts and ties. He packs dress shoes and sneakers, running shorts and t-shirts. I just lie on the bed with my head propped up on some pillows as I watch him move about the room. He talks about his trip, about what he might do for entertainment on such a long flight, about whether he’ll sleep or work or watch a movie. I’m half-listening as my traitorous mind wanders. What’s Mark doing on the other side of this penthouse? What’s he thinking? Is he thinking about me? Is he wondering if I’m going to have sex with my boyfriend tonight?
It doesn’t matter if he is.
It doesn’t take him terribly long to pack. He leaves out his toothbrush for the morning, but otherwise he’s pretty much ready to go. He plugs in his phone and his tablet, makes sure his laptop is charged and shut down, and then I figure he’ll collapse beside me on the bed for a few short hours of sleep before he has to get up to make his flight.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he crawls up the bed and hovers over me as guilt spears my chest.
“Ready for me to give you something to think about until I see you on Monday?” he asks, his voice a low growl.
I push the guilt into a box in the back of my mind, and I throw Mark in that box for good measure. I force a smile up at him. “I’m ready.”
“You okay?” he asks softly, his eyes tender.
I nod, hating the heat I feel pressing behind my eyes. “Just gonna miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” he says, and he lowers his mouth to mine. He kisses me hard, his tongue thrashing against mine, his mouth battering mine. His hips buck toward mine relentlessly, and I meet his hips with thrusts of my own.
It’s mere moments before we’re both naked and he’s moving inside me with nothing between us. I scratch my nails up his back and grip his shoulders as I give into the feeling of our connection. I focus on him, on his amber scent and his strong arms and his contradictory rough tenderness. I focus on my love for him, on the half of my heart he owns. I focus on the little spot his dick rubs against as he drives all the way into me. He pulls back then hits it again and again and again, and before I know it, I explode into a release headfirst. He bucks into me harder and harder as he searches for his own release, my body shuddering violently around him. He grabs one of my breasts roughly then smashes his mouth to mine, and within a few seconds, he’s cursing loudly and yelling through his own orgasm.
We lay breathlessly together for a few beats before he gets up to clean himself. He brings me a washcloth, and I clean up as well. He pulls me against him and falls asleep while I stare into the blackness of his bedroom wondering if Mark heard what we just did.
* * *
“I’ll see you Monday, okay?” Brian says in the dim light of early morning.
“Travel safe.” My voice is groggy from being woken far too early, but it’s hard to sleep when someone’s moving around the room getting ready to leave the country for the next ten days.
“I’ll miss you. I wish you could’ve taken Kelsey’s spot, but I need her there.”
“It’s okay. You get some work done and we’ll find some time for ourselves when I get there.”
“I can’t wait.” He brushes his lips against mine and then takes hold of the back of my head, opening my mouth with his. He kisses me with passion, and I have to admit, I love the very different sides to this man—even down to this single kiss that started so softly and tenderly but turned quickly into passion.
He pulls back and grins, and it’s one of those heart-stopping smiles of his. “See you soon. Oh, and while I’m gone, if you decide you want to move in with me, that’s fine, too.” He winks then walks toward his bedroom door. “Go back to sleep.”
He disappears out his door, and as soon as it shuts behind him, I feel a little hollow inside.
He wants a commitment. I suppose the fact that he had to ask for one helps me justify my indiscretion with Mark. It’s not like I’m married to Brian. While it would definitely hurt him to know I slept with his brother—as much as it would hurt me to know he slept with someone else—it won’t happen again, and telling him now would just hurt him worse.
Brian’s not home. I briefly think about what that means. It means Mark could walk in here any second to seduce me—just like the last time I slept here.
It’s cute that Brian told me to go back to sleep, but that’s not going to happen. I love that Brian trusts me staying at his brother’s place when he’s not here with me, but I don’t trust myself.
It’s with that thought that I get out of bed. I get dressed and get my purse so I can get the hell out of this place before I even have the opportunity to run into Mark.
My golden plan is shattered when I find Mr. Mark Ashton sitting at his kitchen table with a bottle of beer in his hand.
He looks at me through bleary eyes and I immediately wonder if he even went to sleep last night.
“Good morning,” he says. I try to get a gauge on his mood from his tone, but I can’t read it. “Where are you off to?”
I clear my throat. “Home.”
“Sneaking out?”
“It’s better this way.”
He focuses his gaze on his bottle as he shakes his head. “No, it’s not. It’s all wrong.” He plays with the label, and I remember someone once telling me that playing with the label on a bottle meant you’re sexually frustrated.
I push that thought out of my mind and he stands up.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he takes a step toward me.
“I already told you, I’m not giving up on you. On us.” His eyes burn into mine.
I close my eyes because I have to. I can’t take his gaze as it sears into me. I feel the threat of tears starting to sting, and I’m terrified to cry in front of him, terrified to bare myself to him that way. Terrified what he’ll think if he can see how easily he can manipulate my emotions. I force hard eyes on him. “Please stop. Stop playing this game. You won’t win.”
He smiles sadly. “It’s not a game.”
He takes another step toward me and runs one of those skilled fingers along my jawline. I lean automatically into his touch but force myself away like he’s burning my skin.
“I have proof,” he says.
I open my eyes. “Proof? What sort of proof?”
“Proof that my feelings for you are sincere. They’re not some byproduct of hurting Brian or whatever competition you think we have between us.”
I sigh as I wait for him to hit me with it.
He clears his throat. “The light hits your eyes, a part of me dies. A little like destiny.” He sings the words I’ve only allowed myself to listen to once before, and I’m struck with the incredibly surreal fact that Mark Ashton is singing to me while I stand in his kitchen.
“It’s just for one night, but it feels too right.”
My eyes fill with tears. “Stop it, Mark.”
He ignores me. “I can’t let it go, it’s starting to show.”
“Those words could be about anybody,” I say bitterly.
He shakes his head. “I finished the lyrics,” he says softly. “And I’m not just throwing lines at you.” He squeezes his eyes shut tight like he’s in pain then rubs his forehead.
“I can’t. It’s you. Only ever you.”
The tears teetering on the edge of my eyelids spill over, and before I allow him to see, I rush toward his door and let myself out. I press the button to call the elevator over and over, pushing and pressing to try to somehow conjure a car up to this floor faster. “Dammit!” I yell.
Pressing the button repeatedly and swearing doesn’t seem to do anything to get the goddamn elevator here faster, but I need to get the hell out of here before I do something stupid—something I’ll regret again, because as much as I’ve fought against it over the past two weeks, I can’t keep up this charade. I can’t keep fighting against what my heart wants. I can’t keep pretending that I’ll have a happy future with Brian when there’s this much undiluted craving and passion in my heart for another man.
I feel his presence behind me and his eyes on my back. I don’t turn around. If I do, I’m not sure what will happen.
I push the button a few more times.
I hear his soft chuckle behind me, and I blow out a breath.
“You know there’s a panel above each elevator car that tells you which floor they’re on, right?” His voice is warm honey too close to me.
I don’t answer.
“You’ve got a little longer to wait. The closest one is on the twenty-ninth floor.”
The twenty-ninth floor. The same one Brian and I were on just the other day when we were looking at places where we could live together—places where we could make a home for our future together.
Together.
Brian and me.
Suddenly it sounds so wrong. I love Brian. I’m with Brian. I want a future with Brian. The words are clear in my mind, but I can’t seem to force them onto my tongue and out of my mouth. They don’t feel right anymore, and it’s because of the man standing a few feet behind me.
I press and press that damn elevator button, swiping angrily at the tears I can’t control with my other hand, ignoring the panel with the numbers, ignoring his words, ignoring the sandalwood attacking my nose.
It’s all useless. I’ve ignored the things I need for too long, and eventually I give up.
I give up on all of it.
I’m done pretending, done being some martyr and staying with one man out of guilt, done acting like I’m doing the right thing when I know deep down I’m not, done fighting.
I slide down to the floor in a heap of surrender as tears burn tracks down my cheeks, but I don’t sit there on the floor for even a heartbeat before Mark is there, gathering me up in his arms and carrying me back through the doors into his penthouse. He kicks the door shut behind me and carries me to his couch. He sets me down and sits beside me before pulling me into his arms. I allow my cheek to rest against his chest, allow myself to be comforted in his warmth. I allow the pent-up emotion to pour out of me as I cry.
I cry for Brian because I suddenly know without a doubt in my mind that it’s over with him.
I cry for Mark because I don’t know how the hell we’re supposed to move forward or how we’re supposed to navigate these new, rough waters.
I cry for myself for getting caught up in this mess, for cheating on one man, for keeping that first night with Mark a secret from Brian.
I cry because it feels so good, so goddamn right, to be held by Mark, to breathe in his sandalwood and peppermint, to bask in his arms, to listen to the steady beat of his heart against my ear.
I cry because I’ve denied myself this. Like my sister said, everyone deserves happiness, and I lost time with the man I’m meant to be with because I tried to do what I thought was the right thing.
It wasn’t.
Nothing could ever be as right as this feeling here and now as Mark’s love envelops me and surrounds me.