One to Hold (13 page)

I’d never dreamed such a dark underbelly could be lurking on that idyllic family life. In that moment, I got a bit of my self-esteem back.

“And I know you would be a great partner in downtown development,” she continued. Her voice was tentative. I knew she was trying not to offend me. “I hate to lose my best publicity girl.”

My heart filled despite its inner turmoil. Her words were so kind, and I was sure if my situation weren’t so bleak, she’d be right. My life might be so different here. But it wasn’t, and I was ready to leave this place.

Her words also reminded me why Sloan went on the attack when I’d said I wanted a divorce. Why he was so worried about what public accusations I might make, and why he was so ready to shift the blame for all of it to me.

He had the most to lose in this town, and he knew better than to shit where he ate. If my story became The Story, it would ruin him. He was on the defense, and it was a scary place to have him. He was wicked when cornered.

“I know,” I said quietly, adopting my usual line. “But it’s just not working out, and we’ve decided it was a mistake. We’ll be happier apart.”

She pressed her lips into a smile as she squeezed my upper arm. “Well, that’s too bad.” I watched her walk back to the register, quietly holding my breath, hoping she’d help me. “Would you be able to give me a week? Is that a problem?”

I quietly exhaled, small tears touching my eyes. “No problem at all!” I did my best not to dance around her bakery—she wouldn’t understand. “And thank you so much. I hope we can continue working together.”

“How could we do that?” Her face lined.

“It’s the digital age! You’d be amazed what all I can do from the comfort of my laptop.”

She shook her head, but immediately smiled at the female customer walking through the door. “These computers. They’ve changed everything.”

“Thanks so much, Aunt Bea.” I gathered the rest of my cupcake as I headed for the door.

One week. One more week, and I’d be gone. I could feel my lungs straining in anticipation. Soon I’d be able to breathe freely again.

After that, I was in full apartment-hunting mode. I focused my search on small condos near the beach. The chances were great I wouldn’t find anything I could afford, but I was optimistic. I even started collecting moving supplies.

I’d only seen Sloan once, naturally when I was about to carry two broken-down boxes up the large staircase to my room. I tensed, waiting for how he would respond. The muscle in his jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word. He simply continued to his study and closed the door. I quietly jogged up the steps and then hurried to my solitary quarters in the east wing.

We hadn’t dined together, we hadn’t had a single conversation since the one in my bedroom the night I’d returned home. I was not complaining. If I never spoke to him again, it would be too soon. But I was nervous. He hadn’t agreed to let me go, and he didn’t like being crossed.

My nerves were tied up and confused between my growing anticipation of freedom combined with the tension of watching for anything from Sloan. Before Scottsdale, I’d been used to the nonstop pressure, the invisible weights pushing down on my shoulders all the time. But that week-long reprieve had shown me how toxic Baltimore was, and it was all I could do to stay here and wrap up my business.

Alone in my room, I opened a spreadsheet to compile a list of names. I’d started this once before, back when I was first launching my freelance business. My potential client list. A few of the entries from those days might still be interested in working with me, but the chances were better after all this time they’d established relationships with other providers. Still, I’d send them all my contact information once I’d set up my new identity in Wilmington.

Thinking of possibilities, my eyes drifted to the Internet browser window. It had become a guilty habit of mine, a nighttime indulgence. My eyes flickered to my door—no one was coming in here tonight—I clicked on the icon and hastily typed in the now-memorized address. Two clicks, and Derek’s face appeared on the screen, jolting my heart with a dose of happiness.

I was like a teenage girl gazing at pictures of my favorite boy band. My cheek rested on my hand, and I reached forward to trace the line of his face with my finger as joy pulsed through me with each heartbeat. I still remembered his scent. Closing my eyes, I could still feel the touch of his lips against mine. Only a little time had passed since he’d nuzzled his face into my shoulder, kissed my neck, lifted me against his firm torso. His kiss was my moment, the thing I held onto that helped me know this pain wasn’t forever. My lips warmed with longing for the day when I saw him again, when he’d cover my mouth with his and take me.

Rolling onto my back, eyes still closed, I allowed my memory to conjure the sensation of his mouth searching every part of my body. Instantly, I grew wet. My hand slid between my legs as my core filled with heat remembering his mouth being where my hand was now, tasting, exploring, pulling my smaller lips with his. My upper arms pressed my breasts together, and I took us back to our little box. The night he’d held me on his lap, entering me from behind, huge and full. His enormous cock pressed inside, thrusting deeply, rubbing every sensitive place between my legs so well. Driving me crazy.

His hand gripped my stomach, holding me firmly against his chest, easily lifting me up and down. Oh, god, he’d felt so good. A shiver moved through me as my fingers followed the path his larger ones had taken. His phantom whiskers tickled my back, warm lips moving from my neck to my shoulders. He pushed faster, harder, filling me completely, thrusting deeper… a little moan slipped from my lips and my thighs shook with the orgasm his memory provoked. Rolling onto my stomach, I moaned again into the pillow, but a hollow ache reminded me how much I missed the real thing. Memories were nice, but nothing matched his body against mine, his lips on my skin, his cock buried deep inside me.

Several moments passed as I waited, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Calm gradually returned, and with it came that flicker of hope I held so dearly. The hope I’d held when we said goodbye outside the resort.

Mist was in my eyes and my stomach tightened at the memory of his words. He’d take my call anytime. Did he think of me this way? Was he waiting for my call, dreaming of our reunion the way I was?

Moving back to my still-open spreadsheet, I quickly typed fourteen letters and ten digits. At the top of my list of names was his.

Chapter 13 – Never Again

The week was almost up, and I could barely breathe waiting for the day to arrive. I was like a convict waiting for my pardon. Every day, I snatched the mail the instant it was delivered, rapidly flipping through the envelopes, straining for my name.

The strip mall had paid their bill, which allowed me to put a large down-payment on a one-bedroom condo near the coast that would be my home. I’d lucked into an amazing deal and jumped on it. I was almost giddy with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to be there, but the remainder of my money was eaten up in deposits for turning on services and in rent for a mini storage facility for my things. I needed Aunt Bea’s outstanding check to carry me through the transition.

Every day I waited, hoping for that envelope bearing my name, but every day I was disappointed. It never appeared. It was too late to go back and set up direct deposit for her payment—not that my elderly client would’ve even understood the concept. But I’d learned my lesson going forward. All future accounts would have a direct pay mandate.

The added tension of waiting for Sloan’s backlash only increased my anxiety. At least no one back home knew about my pending return. I wasn’t sure I could handle nonstop questions of when I’d be in town. My former landlord knew I was returning, as he’d helped me compile the information needed to purchase my new condo. Elaine would’ve been tripping over herself to help, of course, but for most people, returning after a divorce wasn’t cause for celebration. I was happy to be free, but despite it all, I wanted to leave my past in the past. I would tell my friends as little as I could to satisfy their concerned curiosity.

Another day of waiting was another day of taking boxes to the delivery service. I had all my things sent to a mini storage facility in Wilmington that agreed to hold them until I arrived. I did it partly to keep Sloan from knowing my business—if he were investigating—and partly because it was easier than trying to hire a truck. I’d handle an in-town move once I was back home, but I was doing my best to keep all my plans under wraps.

So my delay had an unanticipated upside. My existence here was almost completely packed and moved. It was amazing how little a human being actually needed when possessions were stripped down to the essentials.

Stepping into the library that evening, I replaced the hardback I’d never read. I turned slowly, inhaling the scent of books and studying the shelves. My dreams of living in this place had been so different from my reality.

Shaking my head, I left the room. No sense going back down that path. I was moving forward now. And I was ready to curl into bed for my nighttime ritual.

I did not expect to see Sloan standing in my doorway. “I see you’re determined to go through with this,” he said, a stern line piercing the skin between his brows.

He wore grey slacks, and his top button was open. His hair was disheveled, and I saw his chest rise and fall. His agitated expression was too familiar, and quickly my mind counted the days. How long had it been since he’d traveled? Why was he here now? My throat went dry.

“I am,” I managed to say.

He stepped forward, and I stepped to the side, anticipating the need to move quickly.

“Why are you doing this, Melissa? What could you possibly want that you don’t have here?”

My eyes widened. “Is that a joke?”

“Not at all. You live like a queen.”

I shook my head not knowing where to begin answering his question. As if he even deserved an answer. “We really don’t know each other at all, do we?”

“Apparently not,” he said, entering my room. I followed trying to get around him to my dresser drawer, but he stayed between me and my one small protection.

“If we did,” he continued, “you’d know how much I detest divorce.”

I flashed at his attempt to take some moral high ground. “I don’t believe in husbands raping their wives.”

He rolled his eyes, waving a hand. “I didn’t rape you.”

“You tried,” I snapped.

“It was a misunderstanding. And anyway, some women like it rough.”

The rage I’d held inside for over three months roared in my chest, choking me with its ferocity. I cleared my throat, shaking my head, trying to stay calm. “Are you saying some women like being beaten?”

He leveled his brown eyes on mine. “You threw the first punch.”

Shudders kept moving through my body. We’d never discussed that night since it happened, and my resistance to talking about it had left me unprepared for how it would affect me if I did. I wasn’t sure I could do this alone.

“You tried to rape me,” I said, my voice small, my throat painfully tight. “I was only defending myself.”

“Regardless,” he continued, as if enjoying my discomfort. “
You
started it.
I
finished it. And I bet you never hit me again.”

I turned to face my open door, ready to run and not caring if I took anything with me. I wanted to leave this place for good. Tonight.

As if reading my mind, Sloan quickly moved from my dresser to catch my upper arm, jerking me against his body. “You’re
my
wife,” he hissed in my ear. “You belong to
me
. No matter what you think you’re going to do, that fact will always remain.”

Tears spilled onto my cheeks. I couldn’t catch my breath, and a hiccup jerked my shoulders. “Please let me go,” I whimpered.

His grip remained tight on my arm. “I’ll never let you go. And even when you’re gone, I’ll know every step you take. You are never out of my reach.”

My heart hammered, and I tried to keep my shoulders straight. I refused to cower to him. Still, my body instinctively shrank from his touch. I hadn’t wanted to believe he might hurt me again. But now I knew he would.

He loosened his hold and shoved me back before stalking out of my room, slamming the door behind him. I dashed to it, quickly turning the lock, knowing it wouldn’t keep him out if he wanted back in.

I ran to my closet and pulled out a suitcase, throwing every outfit I could get my hands on into it as sobs gasped from my throat, fear strangling my voice. The check might be in the mail, but I wasn’t waiting anymore.

I slept with my door locked and the pepper spray clutched in my hand all night. I didn’t want to take my car—I didn’t want to take anything that might be considered community property. Late in the night, once I’d calmed down, I called Elaine and asked if she could come and get me now. I didn’t want to tell her why or scare her, but she knew something was wrong. She said she’d be on the road first thing in the morning. I only had to survive six more hours before we’d be gone. Six hours of acting like nothing was coming. I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off.