Playing Dirty (31 page)

“The next thing I knew, there were strangers pawing at me, forcing me back to a place I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay in the darkness. I fought them, or at least I thought I did, but then I heard her. In the middle of all the chaos, I heard Phoebe wailing. In my muddled mind, she was calling me, begging me to stay and take care of her. And just like that,” she said with a snap of her fingers, “I knew I couldn’t leave my daughter. I couldn’t do to her what you’d done to me. She deserved better.”

He struggled to remain silent. She didn’t need him pitching a fit, or behaving like an ass. Again. She needed him to understand, so he tried.

“So,” she continued, “After two days spent in the ICU at Dallas Memorial, Mom and Dad convinced me to admit myself in Las Encinitas for an extended stay.”

While Las Encinitas was a licensed facility, it was also a privately owned hospital, located on twenty acres that looked more like a high-end golf course than a psychiatric hospital. Because it was far from the limelight and exclusive, Las Encinitas was sometimes a celebrity destination for self-imposed rehab.
 

“Mom and Dad kept Phoebe during the week, and on the weekends, she stayed with Griffen to give Mom a break. For the first four weeks of my stay, I saw no one and had no contact with my family. I was officially diagnosed with severe depression complicated by post-partum depression. My hormones were off the charts, which one doctor claimed was exacerbating the grief I was feeling. Low dose hormones and Prozac helped put me back in balance. Individual and group therapy helped, so did grief counseling, but the painting classes were really interesting.”

“Painting classes?”

“Crazy, huh? They ‘encouraged’ you to attend craft-type classes as a means of expressing your emotions. I showed them what I thought of that nonsense. Every week for my first three weeks, I painted each and every canvas, solid black. Then one day, someone hid all the black paint from me, so I started painting them red. A deep, dark angry red.”

“Makes sense,” he said.
 

“Yeah, I was pretty pissed off by week six. But I got through it and eventually I switched to various shades of blue, from navy to a pastel, and by the time I left, I’d actually painted a landscape full of color. It’s so incredibly bad, but Dad claims it looks like an abstract landscape.”

“Is that the one hanging in your dad’s study?”

“That would be the one,” she said. “He calls it an unintentional masterpiece. I call it crap, but whatever.” She shrugged. “The point of the whole exercise was to find an outlet for the pain.”

“So, black was despair, red was anger.”

“I don’t care what the shrinks say, I still swear my color choice wasn’t quite that deliberate.” She shrugged. “But what do I know? In the end, I guess it did help. So Dad keeps it as a reminder that we can always find our way back home again.”
 

“What happened once you were released?”

“For the first year, I lived on Prozac and went through the motions of having a life. I took the rest of the year off, and spent my time taking care of Phoebe, trying to find the joy in her presence. Some days were easier than others, but I never slipped completely back into the darkness. It didn’t take me long to figure out I needed something to do, so I spent the next year in culinary school. I had some great offers and landed a sweet job, but I quickly realized restaurant work just wasn’t conducive to raising a child, at least not for a single parent. So, I applied for a teaching position at the high school and was hired as the Home Ec teacher. Then, Mom was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. I worked, raised our daughter and helped Dad and Griffen take care of Mom.”
 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said. “I loved your mom. I wish I could’ve said goodbye.”

“She loved you, too. She was very proud of the fact that her favorite son-in-law was a Navy SEAL.”

“I was her favorite, huh?” He flexed his pecs, and she laughed quietly as the motion made her head, resting on his chest, rise and fall.
 

“Her choices were you and Ross. What do you think?”

She slipped out of his embrace. He thought she was going to leave, but instead she straddled him and looped her arms around his neck. He wanted to kiss her, but settled for resting his hands on her curvy ass.

“Anyway, after Mom passed, and I was certain Dad was going to be okay on his own,” she said, “I finally found the courage to move back into the house on Maple Street. Not even a week in, I started gutting the place. I had to, because everywhere I looked I was reminded of you. I needed to put the past behind me and move on, and I couldn’t do that if every time I walked into a room I saw you there. I swear, I could smell you in our bedroom. It was the first room I tore into.”
 

“I do like what you’ve done with the house, even if I hardly recognize it.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I care that you approve. I had to do it, for me and for Phoebe. We needed to make a life for ourselves. I didn’t have the heart to sell it, and really, it didn’t make sense since I owned it free and clear.”

“How’d you pay for the remodel?”

“Griffen is mostly responsible. I was so out of it at first, she handled all the government paperwork for me when it came to the benefits the Navy paid me. She made the right investments in a few stocks that really took off like wildfire. Because of her, I made a killing when one of the social media giants went public. She was smart and cashed out quick before the stocks took a tumble, so I never lost money when the price dropped so dramatically. I did take out an home improvement loan, but only because I didn’t feel comfortable draining my savings. It’ll be paid off in a few years and all we’ll have to worry about is maintenance, taxes and insurance.”

Mattie had always been smart about their finances, so he wasn’t surprised. When she made a budget, she rarely deviated from it. “When did you meet Avery?”
 

She gave him a half-smile, more of a twitch of her very kissable lips, that held only the barest hint of humor. “After I buried you.”

“Excuse me?”

She withdrew her arms from around his neck and drew her fingers down his chest. “There’s a headstone in the Hart family plot with your name on it,” she said. “I needed to do it to finally break free of the past.”

“That’s creepy. You know, because I’m not dead.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what to do about that. I guess we should have it removed.”

“Please.”

Her laughter made him smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“So you met Avery...”

She nodded. “Yes. I know how you feel about him, but he really is a good man. Solid. He’s kind, gentle and I hate that I hurt him. But I think he knew before I did that there was no way I was going to stay with him after your miraculous return from the dead.”

This was the part where he needed to man-up despite the jealously clawing at his insides. He might never get over the fact that his wife had been with another man, but he really had no one to blame but himself. She had believed him dead. She’d suffered greatly because of him. But in the end, she’d chosen to remain his wife, and that was where he needed to focus. “Did he make you happy?”

“He did,” she admitted.

“But...” he prompted, sensing there was more she wasn’t telling him.
 

“But he never could replace you.” She cupped his jaw in her small hand. “It just wasn’t possible.”

“Yeah?” He turned his head and kissed her palm. “And why is that?”

Her gaze softened when she smiled. “Because,” she said. “He wasn’t you.”

* * *

Mattie had romance on her mind. More accurately, she had sex on the brain. All day long, there’d been a subtly to Ford’s touches that seemed almost absent, yet quietly overt, his fingers lingering a second or two longer than necessary. His words, carefully chosen, contained the barest hint of innuendo and had her wondering if she were imagining the sexual undertones. After their discussion last night, she’d expected them to make love again, but instead, she’d fallen asleep, wrapped in the safety of her man’s arms. For the first time in far too long, she’d actually flirted with the feeling of being settled.
 

Maybe confession was good for the soul, after all.

With the past finally laid to rest between them, and the heavy burden of secrets lifted from their shoulders, they’d slept hard and woke late. After a light breakfast, they’d enjoyed what was left of the morning by making use of the jet skis and playing on the lake, but before long the temps climbed into the nineties. The rising humidity and building storm clouds had driven them inside, so they’d lunched on boiled lobster tails and crusty French bread with an herb butter. She’d spent much of the afternoon reading while Ford alternated between napping and watching the Texas Rangers lose badly to the Cleveland Indians on the massive seventy-inch television screen in the den.
 

Her sister had been right. They had needed to get away, just the two of them. So far, their weekend had been spent reconnecting and relaxing. They’d put old hurts to rest, lifted burdens and looked forward to resuming their lives together. While Ford showered, she chopped the leftover lobster for a salad, and whipped up a lightly seasoned, creamy-based dressing. The high-dollar Wagyu steaks Jed had provided were seasoned and ready for the grill, and she had artisan rolls ready to pop into the oven once the steaks were cooking. The expensive champagne chilled, the table set, complete with candles, and the sound system was turned to an adult contemporary station for background music.
 

She put the lobster salad in the fridge, then went upstairs to shower and change into something much more suitable for a romantic evening. The silk nighty she’d planned to wear felt a little too in-your-face, so she decided she’d wear the short, gauzy summer-dress in a pretty turquoise blue that skimmed her curves, and the silk thong with the ostrich feathers. Ford might have opted for the subtle, seductive approach with his little touches here and there and double-edged words, but she had a more direct approach planned for the evening. She wanted to make love to her husband, and she wanted to push him to the brink. She wanted him hot, raw and dirty.
 

She wanted him out of control.

She walked into the bedroom just as Ford was tugging a t-shirt over his head, giving her a quick glimpse of his wide chest and ripped abs. The need to touch him, to taste him with her tongue had her blood quickening in her veins. One glance into his heated gaze told her all she had to do was say the word, and he’d be more than willing and able to bang out a quickie with her. But she didn’t want a quick fuck, she wanted a night of no-holds-barred sex.
 

“Give me twenty minutes,” she said going to the dresser and pulling open the drawer. “Then you can throw the steaks on the grill.”

He invaded her space. The look on his face said it all. He wanted her, and heaven knew, she was craving the feel of his body against hers, too. “You sure?” His deep, smooth voice had her nipples straining against the fabric of her sports bra.

About the only thing she was sure of at the moment was how easy it would be to drag her very willing husband to bed and have her way with him. Instead, she played dumb. “Yes,” she said with forced brightness. She looked at him and smiled. “It shouldn’t take me more than that to freshen up.”
 

When his eyes darkened, for half a second, she thought he might have developed mind-reading skills. He looked as if he wanted to take her right then and there.

When he didn’t turn to leave, she frowned slightly. “Did you need something?” she asked in the most naïve voice she could muster. Which wasn’t easy considering her clit was pulsing with need for his touch, his tongue.

He chuckled, the sound so low and sexy it skirted over her skin like a rough, calloused caress. “No,” he said. “I’m good.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips lightly over hers. “For now.”

Once he left her alone, she blew out an unsteady breath. The fact that he wasn’t fooled for an instant by her feigned innocence made her smile.
 

As promised, twenty minutes later she met him downstairs in the kitchen. “Grill’s ready,” he called to her as he carried the tray of steaks. “You want...” He stopped cold and stared at her, his gaze sliding down the length of exposed leg and up again.
 

His reaction emboldened her. She walked toward him, her stride purposeful. “I want a lot of things.” She dragged her fingers lightly down the length of his impressive bicep. “But I’ll settle for supper,” she said and gave him a wicked smile. “For now.”

Heat flared to life in his eyes. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

The sexy warning heated her skin. “I’m counting on it,” she teased.

“You know, we could eat later.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You will,” she said, then scooted away and disappeared into the walk-in pantry.
 

She knew was playing with fire teasing him that way. And she couldn’t wait for him to make her burn.

Seventeen

THE STORM THAT had been threatening all day finally broke loose. Lightening crackled across the darkened sky, illuminating the living room like a strobe light.