STORM: A Standalone Romance (73 page)

The party was everything Lisa and I had always imagined it would be. Names I’d seen in print all my life were suddenly human beings eating quiches and drinking champagne right next to me. Entrepreneurs, state senators, the governor, federal senators…people whose names were almost myth-like to an ordinary, Starbuck’s barista like me.

We mingled until Miles felt we’d done it long enough, and then he led the way out to the dance floor, and we moved seamlessly into each other’s arms. He hadn’t touched me since that night. But it felt like no time had passed. His hand was warm on my bare back, my hip. He pulled me closer to him, tugging my body closer to his than was required to move in time with the music. I looked up at him and caught him watching me, his eyes hooded in that way I was beginning to relate to his level of desire. The idea that I was the thing he desired was enough to send my heart pounding like a hammer on steel.

I bit my lip, my habit stronger than my promise to Lisa that I wouldn’t chew my lipstick off. Miles touched my chin, tugging at my lip until he pulled it free. And then he bit it, nibbling it gently.

“Mine,” he whispered.

And I was. I was completely gone. I was his in any and every way he wanted me to be.

We danced for only a few minutes, but long enough to make it impossible for me to concentrate the rest of the evening. It changed everything. The meaning behind his touches, the accidental brush of his breath on my neck, the words he spoke when he introduced me to acquaintances. I was in a cloud, my only thoughts focused on things that were entirely inappropriate given the circumstances. I don’t know how I kept a smile on my face without giving away the fact that I had no idea who I was talking to, let alone why it was so important that I do so. I might have made a complete fool of myself for all I was aware.

The evening slowly wound down. Miles helped me into my shawl again, and we left side by side, dodging the reporters as we climbed into the limo. I curled up on the long seat, exhaustion suddenly washing over me. My cellphone buzzed, and I pulled it out to find a text from Lisa. Well, many texts from Lisa, actually. She wanted to know how it was going, who I met, and when I was going to tell her everything. I smiled as I sent her a quick response, promising to call her in the morning.

“Problems?”

I looked up. Miles was watching me. Again.

“Just Lisa.”

“She must be burning up with jealousy.”

“Sort of.”

He slid closer to me across the seat. “The two of you are such opposites.”

“You know what I thought when I first figured out who you were?”

His eyebrows rose. “What?”

“That she was more your type than I would ever be.”

“She was, but I think my type has shifted a little.”

“To what?”

He touched my jaw lightly. “To beautiful women who put up with my crap and still show up to these stupid events outshining every woman in the room.”

He kissed me, his lips impossibly soft as they brushed mine. A tease. Then they became hard, rough, as he devoured me with a hunger that felt like it had been building for a very long time. I responded quite unchastely, pulling him to me with a fire I couldn’t have hidden if I had wanted to. I was more like Lisa in that moment, losing every inhibition I might have harbored, responding to him with a driving need that was new, even to me. No one else had ever made me feel so wanton, or made me throw caution to the wind and forget about all the things my aunts had taught me about relations between men and women.

Miles’ touch woke something in me that no other man had ever done.

We kissed, our hands slipping into places that must have given the chauffeur quite a show. And when we reached the house, Miles swept me up into his arms and carried me into his bedroom for the first time, setting me in the center of the bed where he slept every night. And his hands, his lips, his tongue, did things to me that did more than awaken a long buried desire. It confirmed what I’d wanted to believe, but wouldn’t allow myself. It made me believe that he returned the feelings I’d been harboring for him. No man could be that gentle, that caring, and not have feelings.

It wasn’t just that night. It was many nights over the next few weeks. He began coming home early from work, barely sitting through a meal before dragging me up the stairs to teach me more about my body, about his, about the things that made us both lose our minds. It became an addiction, this need we had for each other. But it wasn’t just physical. When we weren’t together, he would send me texts, he would talk to me about everything from business to politics to the weather. Any excuse to reach out. It got to the point where we were texting each other dozens of times a day.

And then there was that last night.

He came home later than usual, a tension in his shoulders I recognized but didn’t know the cause. I watched him pour himself a drink—another familiar sight—and I went to him, ran my hand over the small of his back.

“Talk to me,” I said.

Instead, he grabbed me and pressed me against the wall, his expression unreadable as he stared at me. Just as suddenly as he grabbed me, he kissed me, his hands tearing at my clothing as though he had to be inside of me before any more time passed. There was a desperation to his touch that was almost violent. It was not like anything we’d done before, but it had its own sort of excitement about it. He didn’t slow until my first orgasm slashed through my body, until I buried my nails in his shoulders and left raw marks in his flesh. Only then did he carry me to the couch and allow the tenderness back in. We made love there for hours, every touch, every breath a shared experience. He seemed insatiable, and I wanted to keep up with him, but he pushed me to my limits. I finally fell asleep as he peppered my shoulders with soft, endearing kisses.

When I woke the next morning, he was dressed in his customary work clothes—muddy jeans, heavy work boots, and a vintage t-shirt that had seen better days—sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of me. He pressed a sealed envelope into my hands.

“There’s the title to the car in there with a couple of companies I had Joan set up interviews for you at. And a passbook to the bank account I set up in your name.”

“What?” I sat up, refusing to take the envelope, watching instead as it fell to the floor. “What are you talking about?”

“I bought you a car. I thought it was the least I could do.”

“The least…” I was so confused, my head was spinning. I reached for his hand, but he stood—standing so quickly he nearly knocked the table over.

“The divorce papers will be delivered to you in a few days.”

“Divorce? You’re divorcing me?”

“That was our deal, wasn’t it? You marry me until I don’t need you anymore.” He glanced at me, a mask that I thought was something of the past now covering his handsome features. “I don’t need you anymore.”

“Just like that?”

He stared at me for a long second. “I thought you’d be relieved. Now you take my money, my family name, and make a life for yourself.”

“I thought I was making a life here.”

“It was always a temporary situation, Riley. You knew that from the beginning.”

“But these past few weeks—”

“I let things get a little out of control. I apologize for that, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Out of control.” I repeated his words because I was so stunned that he would say it that I had to repeat them. I sat up, tugging the thin blanket he must have laid over me around my shoulders, looking almost frantically around for my clothes. But they were all across the room, scattered in front of the bar.

“Riley,” he said, his voice softening slightly. Yet, when our eyes met, he turned away.

“Were you just using me the whole time?” I asked. “Was all this…was last night just you using me?”

He made a sound, something like a groan. But then he strode toward the door, pausing only long enough to say, “You knew what you were getting into from the beginning. You shouldn’t be surprised to see it end this way.”

And then he was gone. And I was completely destroyed.

Present Day…

“What do you mean, ‘We’re still married’?”

Miles shrugged. “I mean, we’re still married. How many ways are there to interpret that statement?”

“I signed the papers.”

“I did, too. But they don’t do much of anything sitting in a drawer in my desk.”

“You didn’t send them to the lawyers?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

An amused smile slipped over his full lips. “My little wife has developed quite the foul mouth, hasn’t she?”

“I’m not your wife. I don’t care what anyone says.” I brushed past him as I stormed back to the bedroom. “And I’m not staying here. There must be another room on this damn ship where I can wait out the next three days.”

“Nope. We’re completely booked up.”

“How would you know?”

“I own the cruise line.”

I spun around, my anger threatening to choke me. “You what?”

That smile again. “You heard me.”

“You own this ship?”

“And everything associated with it. Why do you think we have the best cabin on the ship?”

I resisted the instinct to look around. Instead, I returned to my original path, which was to redress and take myself somewhere else. I tugged at my bra again, a little more successful in getting it back on. Then shrugged out of the robe and pulled my t-shirt on over my head.

“That’s not really suitable attire to wear to dine with the captain.”

“I’m not dining with the captain. I’m going to find a place that is as far from you as possible.”

“And make everyone think there’s trouble in paradise? I don’t think so.”

“We’ve been separated for six months. I’m sure everyone is well aware of the trouble in our marriage.”

“Not really. I don’t know if you noticed, but word of our…
separation
…never hit the papers.”

I picked up my suitcase and lugged it across the room, pausing only because he was blocking the doorway.

“Move.”

“We have a prenup, Riley. I don’t know if you remember the details, but it states that as long as we are married, you have to perform whatever wifely duties I ask of you.”

“But you already paid me. You don’t have anything to hold over my head anymore.”

“Sure I do. Do you remember when I paid off your aunts’ house?”

A cold hand suddenly wrapped itself around my heart. “Yes.”

“It was actually a little more complicated than I led you to believe. You see, the bank had already done the foreclosure paperwork, they were just giving your aunts a little more time to get out. So, in order to pay it off, I had to actually purchase the house. I was going to have it transferred into your name and give you the deed when the divorce was final, but since we’re not yet divorced, the deed is still in my name.”

I glared at him through narrowed eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying if you don’t cooperate, I’ll kick your aunts out of their home and turn it into a parking lot.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

There was a hardness to his voice that actually dared me to argue with him. And I wanted to. I so wanted to. But I didn’t.

I dropped my suitcase close enough to his bare feet that he had to jump back to keep it from landing on his toes.

“Tell me what I have to do.”

“Don’t sound so defeated, my love,” he said, brushing his hand against my jaw. I moved back, leaving his hand hoovering in midair. He dropped it to his side, his eyes drifting over me for a long second. “This,” he finally said, “is the maiden voyage of the revamped cruise line. It had been plagued with problems, but my team has worked to fix the source of most of those problems. I’m here to prove to the public that those things won’t happen under the leadership of LMR, Inc.”

“LMR, Inc.? Isn’t that part of Thorn Financial? You’re working with your father?”

Miles inclined his head slightly, the first touch of humility I’d seen igniting a slight blush across his cheeks.

“Why? What about Thorn Construction?”

“My construction company is still flourishing.”

“But you’re working for Jackson.”

“I’m fulfilling an obligation.”

“But you’re not going to tell me why.” I turned away, crossing the room in just a few strides as frustration again built inside of me. “Why am I surprised? You never really told me anything. You refused to explain why you needed to get married, never told me why you needed someone like me, and never explained why you ended things so abruptly.”

“I will. Someday. But right now I need your help.”

“Again.”

“Again. I know you’re angry with me…”

“Angry?” I turned to look at him, standing there with shaving cream drying on his cheeks and nothing but a towel around his waist. He should have looked vulnerable in such a state of undress, but there had never been anything vulnerable about Miles. He almost looked more masculine than he had in the tuxedo he wore the night of the Waco Chamber of Commerce gala.

I shook my head, unable to stop the flow of words that slipped from my lips.

“I was in love with you. I thought all that bull about a marriage of convenience was in our past, that we’d connected on a new level the night your mother died. I thought you returned my feelings. All those nights…but clearly I was wrong.”

I waited for him to say something. Waited for him to admit how wrong he’d been. Or maybe tell me I’d been wrong. But he didn’t say anything.

I went to the bed and unzipped my suit bag, pulling out a silky red dress Lisa encouraged me to buy in the weeks after our split, during the spat of blind dates she forced me to go on.

“I hope you were done in the bathroom,” I said over my shoulder as I went inside and locked the door behind me.

The strength poured out of me as I leaned against the door, but I managed to keep it in until I was standing under the heavy spray of water. And then I collapsed against the wall, sobs tearing me apart as all the grief I’d thought I’d finally put behind me returned with a vengeance.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be near him and not want it all back, all the tenderness and the intimacy, the emotions I’d thought we shared and the future I’d taken for granted. I couldn’t pretend to be his contented young wife and not cross over that line that I’d so willingly jumped over all those months ago.

But I had no choice, did I?