Sold to the Highest Bidder (9 page)

Her muscles clenched and he struggled, wanting to hold on, make it last longer. In the end he lost and took on a rhythm that was as natural, as graceful to him as a fly-cast—a smooth long stroke, a small retreat, and extending again…and again, and again. His pace quickened as her fingernails raked along the skin of his back, her gasps of pleasure an aphrodisiac as his heart pounded through every pore of his skin.

She cried out a second time and he was indestructible.

And then he answered with her name on his lips and he was destroyed.

Chapter Six

He was still sleeping, his lashes lying against his cheeks, when she opened her eyes.

The previous night came back crystal clear, sending a flush over her body. This time she couldn’t blame it on the alcohol. This time she’d had a choice. She could say for old times’ sake until she was blue in the face. The truth was she’d wanted him. She’d wanted every square inch of him and that was exactly what she’d gotten. And then some.

When his hands had been on her skin and her name on his lips, nothing else existed. But now, in the washed-out light of a cloudy fall morning, everything existed. She’d been swayed by his generosity towards a sick woman, seduced by memories and entranced by his sexiness. She’d let it all get to her and this was where they’d ended up.

But she knew last night was meaningless in the overall scheme of things. This wasn’t what she wanted, and so it changed nothing. She couldn’t live here, like this. She’d resent him before a month was out.

Why couldn’t he just change? She slipped out from between the sheets and silently grappled for some clothes. She knew everyone—whoever everyone was—said asking a person to change was impossible. But really. If he’d just show a little effort, a little motivation. She wasn’t asking perfection. Just…different. Didn’t he have
goals
? Didn’t he want more?

“Going somewhere?”

His first words of the morning came out rough and raspy and unbearably sexy. She knew beneath the sheet he was stark naked and the muscles between her legs involuntarily tightened in a simple yet effective reaction.

But one thing about waking the morning after stuck. This—no matter how mind-blowing it was—wasn’t enough. It never had been.

“I have to get back to Denver, remember?”

He sat up against the pillows, watching her every move. Feeling exposed was silly, considering. But she did and she hurriedly stepped into underwear and jeans, did without her bra and pulled on an old sweatshirt of his that was lying on a chair, simply to cover her naked breasts.

“So you’re still going.”

“Of course I am.”

His chin flattened and she braced herself for another argument.

“You really want this divorce, don’t you, Ella?”

His eyes were inscrutable, and yet she thought she heard the teeniest bit of regret in his voice. But why would he regret it? He’d never attempted to save their marriage, and he’d had a decade of opportunities. He’d never come after her, never returned her earlier decrees in person. She’d geared herself up for a fight for her independence, but he’d never so much as communicated a single syllable. Up until this weekend he hadn’t made any demands on her at all.

And the moment he had, she’d fallen straight into his bed. Maybe she should count her lucky stars that he hadn’t pressed the issue all those years ago. She probably wouldn’t have been strong enough to resist him. Her life would have turned out very differently—she would have left school and her aspirations behind. She was damned well going to be strong enough now.

“Yes,” she said clearly, “I do. I stayed the weekend, Dev. I held up my end. Now it’s time for you to hold up yours. Let me go. Let me go home and write Betty’s story. Let me get on with my life.” Her words were sincere even as they left a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

The truth of that stung and she stalked out the door and down the hall to the kitchen. Her bag sat, already packed yesterday, at the end of the couch. The typewriter was in its battered case on the coffee table beside it. It was the only thing she really wanted to take with her. The rest could stay. Including Devin.

She heard him stumping his way down the hall and braced herself. She needed to be firm now. Nothing had changed just because they’d made love. They’d agreed it was one last time, a farewell to their marriage. It had to stay that way. Squaring her shoulders, she exhaled and turned around.

He’d followed her down the hall with the bed sheet gathered up and wrapped low around his hips. The rest of him—every glorious inch of his arms and chest—was naked. Even though Ella knew she was leaving, her fingers itched to touch him. To know him again.

Sexual attraction. More than attraction.
Need
.
It isn’t enough
, she reminded herself.

“Do you need a pen?” She said it and lifted her chin, challenging.

“Let me check my pocket… Oops, I guess not,” he replied slowly, the grin that crawled up his cheek holding an edge of sarcasm. He held the cotton sheet with one hand. A corner had begun to droop and she wet her lips. She couldn’t let him drop that sheet.

She grabbed her purse and drew out a pen, then took the papers from the envelope and thrust them into his free hand.

“Dammit, Ella—”

“Don’t dammit me. I’ll put my things in the car. When I come back, it would be great if you could have those ready to go.” She angled her head, gesturing towards the papers in his hand.

His lips curled and she knew he was on the verge of resisting. But he had to do this for her. She had to go back to Denver. She had to leave him behind and forget they’d ever been married.

“Devin. What do you really expect? Did you think I’d change my mind in a weekend? Did you think I’d try to turn back the clock and I’d go back to living this way? It’s not who I am anymore. I’m glad I saw you. I might be glad you forced me into a goodbye, because we never had one before. I’m even glad we had sex.” She aimed a sly smile at him, meant to melt his resistance, lighten the atmosphere. “I mean, it’s hard not to be grateful.”

“Ell,” he said, softer, and she could see he was on the verge of speaking. She knew that whatever it was, it would be something she didn’t want to hear.

“Please, Devin,” she pleaded softly, her throat thickening. He was so
everything
when he forgot about the chip on his shoulder for five seconds. “I can’t go on this way.”

Everything held for a long moment. Dev met her gaze and she had the absurd urge to go to him, wrap herself in his arms and tell him she didn’t mean it. Memories washed over her, of falling in love with him the first time and the rebirth of those feelings even though it was wrong. And a sense of finality. She waited for him to accept it.

He looked away first.

“Go load the car,” he relented softly.

Her carefully held breath came out in a sigh of relief as she put her bag over her shoulder and picked up the typewriter. “Thank you.”

When she had stowed her bag, she went in one last time for the papers. He held the envelope out to her, the pen hooked on the top of the manila rectangle. The backs of her eyes stung when she took them from his hand. It was what she wanted, right? Then why the hell didn’t she feel any relief, like she expected?

He stepped forward, hooked his free arm around her and dragged her close.

His lips met hers, a furious clash of anger and apology and love that cut her off at the knees. He lifted his other hand and cupped her face, dropping the sheet negligently to the floor. With a strangled cry, she pushed away, wrenching herself out of his arms and refusing to look at him standing there, like an avenging god, in the tiny shack she somehow would always think of as home.

She stumbled out the door and into her car. And left in a cloud of dust that lingered not nearly as long as the taste of him on her lips.

***

“Come on. That’s prime real estate right there, Ella.” Amy sipped on her pomegranate martini and angled a freshly waxed eyebrow in the direction of the hot guy leaning over the bar. “Look at that ass. You could bounce quarters off it.”

Ella sighed and used the straw to toy with the slice of lemon in her tonic water. It was the only thing that seemed to appeal tonight. And that included the tall, dark and not-so-dangerous metrosexual picking up a martini at the bar.

She’d only spent forty-eight hours with Devin, but Ella knew she preferred his rough-and-ready sexiness to the immaculate appearance of the man Amy couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from.

“So go for it, Ames.”

“Uh uh. This is
your
night.” She sipped her drink again, then tossed her curls over her shoulder. “Your article was a smash hit. Hell, Donovan’s asked for a follow-up. To celebrate you should definitely hook up. I mean, how long has it been? You deserve some fun. And that could be some serious fun.” Amy angled her face up alluringly as the man passed by their table carrying two drinks. Ella didn’t miss how his eyes lingered on her friend’s long expanse of leg, barely capped by the scandalously short leather skirt she wore.

Maybe not so much Ella’s type—at the moment—but the look in his eyes had definitely been hungry. Just weeks ago Dev had looked at her the same way. There was a marked difference between this polished club and the rowdiness of the saloon in Durango. But one thing remained the same, not matter what the atmosphere—the mating ritual. And Ella wasn’t interested in playing the game. Not anymore.

After leaving the cabin that Sunday she’d returned to her apartment. She’d shed significant tears during the long drive, only to have them turn hot with anger when she realized he’d given her the papers back
unsigned
.

She’d called him several unladylike names in sequence. Devin had backed her into a corner. She had work to hand in and no time to go back. She hadn’t even told Amy the divorce papers weren’t filed. She wasn’t quite sure how to explain it. How to explain that in one weekend of mind-blowing sex he’d managed to make a complete marshmallow of her. She’d temporarily forgotten her focus. She’d ignored every voice in her head that told her to stand her ground, and she’d succumbed to the fierce desire she felt simply by breathing the same air as he did. One night. All it took was one single night. And while she wouldn’t admit it to another living soul, she knew the problem.

She missed him again.

The stress had to be getting to her. She wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating and was so tired during the day because of it that she kept dozing off before she even got dinner ready for herself.

Now the powers that be wanted her to follow Betty’s story through to the end…and today she’d come up with a doozy of a revelation in her research. Devin wasn’t who she thought. He hadn’t been for many, many years. He’d lied to her that weekend at the cabin. And he’d made a fool of her, first by letting her believe he hadn’t changed and second by making sure they were still married.

All of it simply exhausted her.

“I’m sorry, Ames, you’re gonna have to fly solo,” she apologized. “I’m wiped.

“You’re tired all the time lately,” Amy complained, toying with her cocktail napkin, annoyed. “I practically had to drag you out tonight.”

“I know. I guess I’ve been working a lot.”

“No more than usual,” she observed. “And you turned your nose up at the veal piccata earlier too, and it’s your favorite.” Amy’s eyes deepened with worry. “Are you sure you’re not sick, Ell?”

Ella stirred the slice of lemon in her plain tonic water. Even tonight, the thought of the usual celebratory lemon drop martinis—her favorite—turned her off. Maybe she was coming down with something. She hadn’t been sick, but nothing seemed to appeal lately.

“I don’t know. Is there a flu going around?”

But Amy shook her head. “You’ve been off for a couple of weeks now. Longer than a flu. You haven’t been the same since you got back from Durango.”

Durango. A flash of recognition flared through her before settling, icy cold, in the pit of her stomach.

She hadn’t been the same since being with Devin.

She was tired and her appetite was off.

As numbness spread over her limbs, she counted days. Oh. My. God.

“Ella? God, you’re not going to be sick are you?” The good-looking prey was forgotten as Amy clasped Ella’s cold hand.

“Durango,” she whispered hoarsely.

Her voice was drowned out by the rhythmic thump thump of the music, but Amy saw her form the word. “Durango?” It took little time for her friend to put it together. “Devin? Damn, Ella. Did you sleep with your ex-husband?”

A few heads turned and Ella felt her cheeks flare. “Can we get out of here?”

Without a word Amy grabbed her tiny purse and slid out from behind the table. They grabbed their coats at the check and stepped out into the brisk fall air.

Ella went to a nearby bench, sat and leaned forward, putting her head between her knees. She sucked in the cool, sweet air as her mind raced. It wasn’t possible. It had been one night. She couldn’t have been so stupid…

Of course not. It couldn’t be. She was just run down, that was all. Surely she wouldn’t be feeling this way so soon. It took weeks to feel symptoms, didn’t it? It could just be stress. She’d been working hard first at the article for the paper and then putting together a portfolio for the Boston job. She breathed deeply, feeling the moment of cloying dizziness pass. She had been working too hard and not eating enough. That was all. She was run down, just like she’d said.

Amy sat beside her on the bench and put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you pregnant, Ell?” She said it softly, without the shock and hint of judgment that had been in her voice inside the club. Tears stung the backs of Ella’s eyes. She couldn’t be pregnant. She was just planning on starting another chapter in her life. And a baby wasn’t on the agenda.