“Thank you,” Diana said. “We inherited the house from Andrew’s parents, but I’ve tried to make it our own over the years. I’ll be right back with that tea.”
Layla had been a little surprised she hadn’t called a servant to bring it to them. The mansion had looked huge from the outside, like the kind of place that took an entire staff to run it. And something told her there should be servants lurking around somewhere. Perhaps it was instinct, or maybe it was even a memory trying to work its way to the surface.
Either way, Layla felt vaguely unsettled as she waited for Diana to return. Was Andrew here? Would she finally get the answers she’d been seeking? Did she even want to know, she wondered. The fact that Nathan had done so much to keep her from finding out what happened back then scared her.
At the opera fundraiser, she’d nearly had to restrain Jessica from going after Nathan herself. “He tricked you into dating him?” she’d said. “He used your lost memory to get you into his bed?!”
“No,” Layla said, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had dated Andrew and not Nathan. “That’s not exactly how it went down.”
As furious as Layla was with Nathan, she knew a few things Jessica didn’t. First of all, she didn’t hate anybody. She might have deeply disliked Nathan back in the day, but she couldn’t see herself openly hating on anyone. However, when they’d met, his hate for her had seemed real.
New scenarios began to play out in her head: Had Andrew been the man in her window seat dream/possible memory? Maybe Nathan hadn’t approved of their relationship. Was that why he wanted her to leave town, to keep her away from his brother? Maybe his plan had been to get rid of her from the start, but he hadn’t counted on their insane sexual chemistry.
In any case, one point shined bright and clear. She couldn’t trust Nathan at all. If he could keep this much from her, for all she knew, he really was the person who had been threatening her about leaving town. She hadn’t received any more threats since signing the contract with Nathan, so it made sense.
No, she thought. She couldn’t let Jessica go out there and tell Nathan off. She couldn’t even let him know she now knew what he’d hidden from her. What she needed to do now was find Andrew before her two weeks were up, and get the answers for herself. She’d somehow convinced Jessica not to say anything to Nathan.
“I need to talk to Andrew first, and then I’ll have it out with Nathan. I don’t suppose you know where Andrew lives or could get me his address?”
“Yes, same place he lived when you were dating him—at his parents’ house. After his father died, his mother moved to Florida, and now Andrew and his wife live there. Nathan used to live there, too, when we were in college, in the guest house out back. But that was a long time ago, and I’m not remembering the exact address off the top of my head.
“Do you think you can find out? I’d really appreciate it,” Layla said.
“Sure. It’s probably just a matter of making a few phone calls.”
They’d exchanged numbers and Layla, not wanting to tip Nathan off, had faked a migraine.
But Jessica hadn’t called with the address until late Sunday night, which had forced the argument with Nathan.
It was too soon to confront him with what he had done, since she still didn’t know exactly what was going on, and knew he wouldn’t tell her himself. But her emotions were warring inside of her. On one hand, she felt deeply betrayed. Apparently, she hadn’t been good enough for his brother, but she’d do in pinch when it came to warming his bed for two months. On the other hand, she had gotten used to being with him every night. And even though she really, really didn’t like him at that moment, her body still ached for him. She couldn’t let him touch her again until she figured out his true intentions. But she also couldn’t bear to be apart from him.
When he hadn’t budged on her staying at her own apartment, it had almost been a relief to return to his bed, even if they were emotionally miles apart. She thanked the heavens when Jessica finally called with the address Sunday night.
On Monday, she took off from work and drove out to Fox Chapel, a swanky suburb of Pittsburgh proper, dotted by houses that sat on acres of land. She knew she couldn’t just sit around and wait for Nathan to give her answers whenever he saw fit. But still, she felt somewhat guilty about going behind his back to find his brother. It didn’t make any kind of sense to feel this guilt, but she did, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that coming to this place where they’d both lived when she met them for the first time was a bad idea.
And as the time passed, fifteen minutes by her count, she became more and more rattled to the point that she got up and started walking around just to shake off the tension. That’s when she saw it: the long, winding, white marble staircase, sitting just beyond an entrance opposite from the one she’d come in. She walked to the stairs, entranced by their cold beauty, and knew them immediately for what they were: the ones she’d fallen down.
They were housed within a much grander foyer than the one near the door. This one was so large, it could easily have doubled for a ballroom. In fact, it probably would be where they’d throw the Sinclair Ball in less than two weeks. Nathan mentioned it would take place at his family home, but back then she hadn’t realized his brother lived there.
The stairs led to a landing, which she somehow knew led to a section of the house where Andrew and his parents had lived in large suites. Suddenly an image of her running across that landing flashed into her mind. Why? Was she running from someone? She couldn’t remember. Only the sensation of falling through the air as she realized she’d miscalculated. She saw herself rolling down the stairs, her body hitting the unforgiving marble steps with sick, hard thuds until everything mercifully faded to black.
“Ms. Matthews?” a voice said behind her.
Startled out of her memory, Layla turned to see Diana standing in the entrance of the receiving room with a large cup of tea in her hands.
Layla frowned. It had taken Andrew’s wife almost twenty minutes, just to make a cup of tea?
“Are you all right?” Diana asked, her brow furrowed.
Layla shook off the chilling memory of falling down the stairs and arranged her face into a pleasant smile. “Yes, I was just looking at your staircase. It’s really, um…nice.”
“Italian marble,” Diana said. “Andrew’s parents had it shipped in from Tuscany.”
“Yes, about Andrew,” Layla said. “Is he here? I know it’s not polite to show up unannounced like this, but I really need to talk to him.”
Diana’s lips thinned. “Are you having an affair with my husband?”
Layla’s eyes widened. “No! Oh, gosh, no. I didn’t even know he existed until I mistook Nathan for him.”
Diana’s eyes narrowed. “You said you used to date him.”
“I did. I think. I mean this woman I met at a fundraiser told me we dated for almost a year.” Now that Layla was explaining this out loud, she realized how crazy she must sound. “You see I had an accident, and I went into a coma, and I lost almost the entire year leading up to it. Nathan, Andrew—I don’t remember them or anything that happened during the time I apparently dated Andrew. That’s why I came back to Pittsburgh, to find out what happened that year. And that’s the only reason I’m looking for Andrew right now. He’s the only one who can give me the answers I need.”
Diana set the tea mug down on a nearby end table. “Well, isn’t this ironic, then, because I also have a few questions for Andrew, but unfortunately he’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Layla said. “Since when?”
“Since the beginning of the summer. Supposedly he’s called Nathan to check in, but I haven’t seen him myself in almost three months.”
Diana rubbed her wrist. It obviously agitated her to have to say this out loud.
“I’m sorry,” Layla said.
Diana gave her a sharp look. “We were high school sweethearts, you know. When we met, he was a senior and I was freshman. Then he went to Carnegie Mellon, and we continued to date. I was very in love with him, our families got along, and I was sure we’d get married. I even applied for early admission to Chatham, a local all-women’s college, so I could stay near him. But then the night before my first day of college, he broke up with me. He said he didn’t think it was right we had only ever dated each other and he wanted to explore other options.”
She looked Layla up and down with frank disapproval. “I’d heard he started dating some freshman at his school soon after that. I’m guessing that was you. How long were you two together?”
Layla bit her lip. “I guess it was me, but I’m not sure how long we were together. Jessica thinks the entire school year. But I fell late that spring and there was some confusion after the accident. Then I moved to another state.”
Diana’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “He called me early that summer. I thought he had finally come to see reason, that we were meant to be together, but I guess, he called because you were no longer available.”
Layla really didn’t want that to be true. “I’m sure he loved you. And he probably still does,” she said. “Maybe he’s just going through a mid-life crisis. Maybe— ”
The doorbell rang, and Diana turned to look toward it. “Excuse me,” she said. “Our house staff is off on Mondays.”
Layla waited in the receiving room, kicking herself. Not only had she gotten exactly zero of the answers she’d come for, but she’d also upset Andrew’s wife. She could kill Nathan for having put her in this position.
But then as if conjured by her murderous thoughts of him, he came striding into receiving room, his face a thunder cloud of dark fury.
And Layla realized the woman she had just been feeling so sorry for had not only ratted her out to Nathan, but had also deliberately stalled her with tea to keep her there.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NATHAN hadn’t been sure what he would do when he got to the Sinclair mansion. Wringing Layla’s neck came to mind, so did physically removing her from the state, so she would never be able to make him feel this way again. He was sick of waiting for the betrayal. He knew if his brother so much as saw Layla, who was and had always been the complete opposite of the woman he was now planning to divorce, he’d fall back in love with her. And once he found out Layla hadn’t had anything to do with her father’s blackmailing scheme, it would all be over. Layla, for her part, would only see Andrew as everything Nathan wasn’t—nice, ethical, and almost as considerate as she was. They’d be the “perfect couple” again, leaving Nathan to fester in a pool of jealousy and rage.
No, she needed to leave Pittsburgh before Andrew returned to initiate his divorce. She’d leave that very night if it were up to him. But when he walked in to the receiving room and found her standing there, not even in her scrubs, which she must have changed out of as soon as she cleared the apartment, his mind went red.
He stalked over to her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, grabbing her by her upper arms.
She yanked one arm free and used it slap him, so hard the resounding crack of her hand hitting his face split the air. “No, you don’t get to be mad,” she said to him. “You deliberately misled to me. You used me, and the only reason you’re angry is because I found out.”
The rage morphed into something else then, something as ugly as the accusations she was throwing at him. He grabbed the wrist she’d used to slap him, and when she tried to yank it away from him, he threw her over his shoulder, not caring how it must have looked to Diana.
“Put me down.” She banged her fists against his back as he carried her out of the house and back to the guest cottage, which Andrew and Diana still hadn’t updated from the days when he lived there.
It looked exactly the same as it had back then, down to the framed 70s movie posters on the living room walls. He didn’t put her down. He didn’t even break his stride as he fireman carried her through the house. He didn’t stop until he deposited her on the bed. Then he got on top of her before she could sit up, straddling her and pinning her wrists above her head with one hand.
“Say you belong to me,” he said.
“Let me go,” she said. “I can’t believe you did that! Diana probably thinks we’re both crazy right now!”
“I don’t care,” he growled. “Say it.”
“No, I don’t belong to you! I don’t belong to anyone but myself.” She struggled against his vice grip on her hands. “And maybe Andrew back in the day. But you forgot to mention that, didn’t you?”
Rage went off like a bomb in his head. “You are mine,” he said. “You were always mine.”
He reached underneath her leggings and curved two fingers into her hole, which despite her anger was already warm and dripping. “You didn’t get this wet for Andrew.”
She looked away, obviously frustrated her body was responding to him even when she didn’t want it to. “How would you know?” she asked him, through clenched teeth. “Maybe I did get wet like that for Andrew. Maybe I got even wetter. Maybe all of those sexy dreams I had were about him.”
“Don’t say that.” He kissed her roughly, his fingers still working inside of her. “Don’t ever fucking say anything like that to me ever again.”
“I’ll say whatever I want,” Layla said. “I’m sick of being nice to you when all you do is lie to me. I can’t wait to leave this city and you behind.”
His soul screamed when she said that. “No, you belong to me. You’re not like this with anyone else. Prove it, come for me right now.”
Layla bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, obviously trying to fight of the coming orgasm. But it was too late. He could already feel herself clenching around his fingers. She moaned in embarrassed protest, but came anyway, underneath him, still dressed in all her clothes, with nothing but his hand inside of her.
Now he unfastened his own pants. “I shouldn’t have let you go three days without this.” He released his penis, which had been rock hard since he found her in his brother’s receiving room. “Look at how bad you want me now. You’re hot and begging for me.”
“Fuck you,” she whispered.
“No, I’m going to fuck you until you say what I want to hear.” He pulled her tank top over her head, then used it to bind her wrists to one of the posts that made up the bed’s headboard. “Then maybe I’ll let you fuck me, but not until you admit you’re mine. Not Andrew’s. Mine.”