The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (56 page)

They were murmuring sleepy goodnights when we turned off the light and closed the door behind us.

We haven’t gone very far down the hall when Brandon grasped me by the hips and pressed me up against the wall, his warm breath fanning the side of my neck.

“Charlotte, I need you,” he rasped, his tongue darting out to trace the whorls in my ear. 

I smiled, a dark, sensual hunger flaring to life inside of me.

Despite his ever-constant sweetness, Brandon was mostly playful and demanding in bed. This wouldn’t be the first time he backed me up against something and literally pressed his cause.

“Shouldn’t you shower first?” I asked as he lifted me up in his arms, and hooked my legs around his hips.

“I want you,” he said hoarsely, catching the flimsy cloth with his mouth, blowing warm air through the thin fabric of my tank untill I moaned. “I’ll have you. In the shower. Now.”

I surrendered to the lust that was fast shooting fire through my veins.

He deposited me briefly inside the shower stall and made quick work of stripping himself naked.

“I’ve... I’ve already showered,” was my breathless murmur as I stood and watched the stark masculine beauty of Brandon’s physique. 

I swallowed hard. “Uh... I could always shower again.”

He raised those molten hazel eyes at me and the lust and desperation I saw there through the misty shower stream made me shiver down to my toes.

Something’s wrong. 

Brandon had a fierce sexual drive but there was dark longing in his gaze right now as he reached for me like I was a fast-fading light.

My clothes were practically ripped off of me and in a matter of seconds, I was lifted off my feet and pressed up against the cold slate tiles of the shower wall, crying out in half-pleasure, half-shock as Brandon thrust home with little finesse.

“Charlotte, my love,” he growled low into my ear as he pinned me against the tile wall with his rapid and relentless strokes, his teeth grazing my shoulder. 

“Brand,” I gasped mindlessly as I struggled to hang on to my sanity while he pushed me closer and closer to the edge. 

Wherever he is, he’s not here with me. 

Or maybe he was because as his climax neared, he barely muffled a hoarse shout as he reached for release.

“You’re mine, Charlotte,” he groaned out as he started shuddering uncontrollably. “Mine, dammit!”

Thought we already established that. 

I opened my mouth to tell him to stop and tell me what the hell was going on but his thrusts were getting deeper and rougher that I was soon sobbing out my orgasm, hanging on to his shoulder for dear life as my body shook and trembled in his arms.

“I will not give you up,” was his broken, barely audible whisper before he yelled my name and went completely still, his release spilling deep inside me.

Soon, the only sounds in the room were our ragged breaths and the soft splatter of the water against the tiles.

While that orgasm was spectacular, I felt like I just got dropped by a tornado into the Land of Oz.

“What the hell was that, Brand?” I finally managed, my voice cracking slightly.

He lifted his head slightly, his eyes almost glowing gold in the low lighting of the room. 

The tenderness in them was unbearable. “Did I hurt you, Charlotte?”

I shook my head. “If anyone looks like they’re hurting, it’s you. Something’s going on and you’re not telling me.”

He sighed and pulled away, reaching for some shampoo and raking it through his hair. “Because it’s not your problem, Charlotte. The last few days have just been stressful. I’ll snap out of it. I just need some rest and clarity.”

“Your problems are my problems too, Brand,” I told him as I stepped under the shower spray. I reached for some soap and lathered it slowly over his shoulders and arms. 

He raised a brow at me pointedly. “If there’s anyone who always shoulders their burden alone all the time, it’s you.”

I didn’t argue with that because it was true.

I knew it was one of my biggest weaknesses but I couldn’t help it.

I probably have a savior complex of some sort. If only I remembered to save myself, too, sometimes.

“I don’t want to just stand back and watch you suffer,” I said quietly. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

The stony determination in his face startled me as he firmly shook his head. “I’ll be damned if this becomes your fight too. It’s an old war I’m fighting, Charlotte. I won’t let you get hurt.”

“And I won’t let you bleed out for me,” I snapped, angry all of a sudden. “Don’t be such a damned hero, Brand. I’d rather spend my life with you than read about your tragic life in some musty history book.”

A small, faint smile ghosted over his lips as he leaned close and kissed me softly. “Don’t worry. It’s not going to come to that at all, Charlotte. You won’t lose me.”

I gritted my teeth but decided that this was going to be the most I’d get out of Brandon tonight. 

“I better not, Brandon Maxfield,” I said darkly. “I better not.”

I peeled myself off the wall and stepped out of the shower stall, grabbing a thick towel and wrapping it around my body as I stood there for a moment and let it soak up the water. 

I grabbed my clothes from the floor and dumped them in the hamper before going to the bedroom to slip on a peach-colored, cotton night dress.

Determined to calm my nerves, I tiptoed to the kitchen, briefly pausing to check on the kids.

They were sleeping peacefully—thank God for sound-proofed walls.

I didn't want to scar them for life by things they were too young to really know about. God knows we probably sounded like a pair of ticklish hyenas.

I filled a cup of instant chicken noodles with hot water—they restored my sanity and sense of emotional balance like nothing else could. 

Something was threatening my currently wonderful life and it ate at me to not know what it was—because I'd like to go and kick its ass to the curb.

I understood Brandon's reticence. He was just as stubbornly protective of me as I was of him. It was going to take a lot to crack his defenses and let me in on it.

It was going to take all kinds of persuasion but I was confident that Brandon was more than vulnerable to my charms.

In the silence of the kitchen, I finished my cup noodles, wondering if this was the calm before the storm. 

Uncertainty's like a hole that keeps opening in the sky, waiting to swallow you up. Either that or an alien portal. The latter at least sounds interesting.

I hated this sense of trepidation that would come out of nowhere every now and then.

My life was too good to be true that I often feared I would wake up and realize that it was all the work of my overactive and overambitious imagination.

Someday, you’re going to have to stop being afraid. What good are wonderful days if you only spend them worrying they wouldn’t last? That's kind of a waste, isn't it?

I let out a long, soft sigh before getting up on my feet and cleaning up in the kitchen.

I caught sight of Brandon’s discarded suit jacket on an armchair and picked it up on my way back to the bedroom.

Pausing, I lifted it to my nose and inhaled deeply, smiling at the familiar scent of him.

My stomach clenched at the thought of this torment he had been keeping to himself in the last few days. 

He had the look of a man whose wounds were festering. If left unattended, it could mean his death.

“Don’t be such a coward, Charlotte. Things will be fine,” I mumbled to no one in particular, pressing the jacket tightly against me. 

I frowned as I felt a sharp poke against my midsection.

I held up the jacket and felt it up with one hand, finding the stiff shape of a greeting card. 

I slipped it out of the inner pocket and draped the jacket on my arm as I read the handwritten address for Maxfield Towers on the back of the light blue envelope. There was no sender information on it at all but the pretty cursive was decidedly feminine. Since it was sent to his work address, I figured it wasn’t a personal correspondence.

Then why the hell is he carrying it in his inner pocket?

I held the card for a long moment, debating whether to stuff it back into his jacket or read it.

I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t. 

On the other hand, I needed every clue available to find out why Brandon’s been so high-strung the last few days. 

In the quest for my husband’s happiness, I’ll peek. The end justifies the means, right?

I sighed, knowing it really didn’t, but my fingers were already reaching inside the envelope and grasping the card. 

My brows knitted as I stared at the caricature of a house and a moving truck on the front of the card. In a comical font, ‘We’ve Moved!’ was printed right at the top of the illustration.

I flipped it open and the first thing I saw was the small, wallet-sized photo taped to the bottom right side of the card just right under the sender's new address. In the photo was a toddler with fine brown hair and hazel eyes.

Hazel eyes. Not quite the ones I’m intimately familiar with but hazel all the same.

My hand started to tremble as I forced my eyes away from the photo to read the note on the left, written in the same cursive as the address on the envelope.

Brandon,

I know you told me not to come to the city but it’s time we stop hiding. We can go on as we have without hiding like a dirty secret.

I’ll stay out of your way. You don’t even have to visit although it would be lovely to see you. 

You’re married now and I completely understand. 

Zach misses you though. He hasn’t seen you since his first birthday. 

He's speaking a little bit now, you know? Said 'Dada' last time. It was a bittersweet to hear. Someday soon, I'm going to have to tell him about his father.

In case you want to visit, we’re going to be at the first apartment you got for me. You know the way.

Take care, Brand. 

Nicole

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until it rushed out of me in one sharp, shaky exhalation.

I've never drowned but this must be how it would feel like—a heavy, oppressive weight on your chest, your lungs fighting for air, burning until they were near bursting, your temples throbbing from the painful pressure.

I stared at the note on the card through a film of stinging tears, gasping heavily as I tried to breathe.

It hurt. 

God, it hurt—like a knife was wedged deep inside me, making a crevice for itself in my heart.

The pertinent words seemed to float out of the script to fit together like puzzle pieces.

It explained a lot—his agitation, his late evenings, his evasiveness.

Brandon has a secret—one that's big enough to cost him your marriage. No wonder he's terrified.

Remembering his words earlier when he made those fierce declarations to me brought back the very fresh memories of the earth-shattering sex we just had.

I shuddered, suddenly conscious that he might have gone straight home from his mistress's bed and nailed his wife against the shower's tiled wall.

Bile rose in my throat and my skin crawled.

A storm of different emotions hurtled through me, leaving me even more breathless than I thought possible.

Grab on to something—anything. Don't let the currents take you.

Preferring a stronger emotion that would hold me up on my feet like a shot of adrenaline, I passed over the sense of betrayal and the raw pain.

White hot fury surged through me and I seized it instead. 

Before I could think better of it, I found myself striding down the hallway and flinging the bedroom door open, as ready as a missile launcher loaded, cocked and aimed.

But my target was sprawled on the bed, curled on his side, wearing nothing but a pair of gray boxer briefs, his damp, dark hair gleaming from the low light of the bedside lamps.

He was breathing deeply, his lips parted and his dark lashes feathered against the sharp planes of his cheeks.

He must’ve been so tired he just dropped unconscious on the bed.

That’s what you pay for a sex marathon with your mistress and your wife.

My teeth ground together in barely suppressed anger, my fists clenching before I remembered that I was wrinkling the card in my hand.

Get up, Brandon. Get up and fight me until I can’t feel anything anymore.

No words or sound came out of my mouth though.

I stood there, gazing at his sleeping form, half-ready to bring the house down on him and half-aching to tuck the sheets around him so he wouldn’t be cold.

A sound confused between a snort and a groan finally escaped my lips as I shook my head in disgust.

This was what I had been reduced to—a voiceless victim still tempted to offer what was left of her hacked off limbs to the man slaughtering her.

With slow, unsure steps, I walked toward the bed, gazing down at my husband—the same man who’d told a four-year-old girl an hour ago that he loved me the most in the world, and who’d savagely made love to me like a man about to go off to war at daybreak.

The card was damnably incriminating.

Every insecurity I’d managed to keep at bay in the recesses of my heart and mind surged in like a pestilence, eating away at any remaining shred of hope I was stubbornly trying to cling to.

Brandon wouldn’t lie to Rose, would he? He couldn’t really possibly be carrying on an affair with some woman he apparently has a son with, could he? He won’t deceive you like that.

My heart clenched painfully.

Unfortunately, deception was something he and I were equally skilled at—our marriage was proof of that.

He'd managed to fool his father whom he has the greatest affection and respect for. Would it really be that hard for him to do the same to me?

I remembered him laughing off my question when I once asked in the beginning of our scheme, if he had any children I should know about. He'd easily claimed he didn't but would he really admit he'd fathered a child if he wouldn't acknowledge him?

'It's an old war I'm fighting, Charlotte.' That's what he'd said. Maybe he was disputing the child's paternity.

Knowing Brandon and his soft spot for children though, I couldn't imagine him being cold and cruel like that to his own child.

Maybe it really isn't his and this Nicole is just foisting the boy on him for child support. Who better to fund your kid than a billionaire Dad?

I slowly opened the card again and studied the boy's sweet face, noting some similarity in the bone structure. And of course, the hazel eyes.

He was a cute and happy-looking boy. Even if he weren’t his flesh and blood, how could Brandon resist such an angel? I know I wouldn’t.

I sighed and slid the card back into the envelope, pressing my knuckles against my pursed lips as I debated what to do next.

A part of me was calling out for blood and another was doing a pep rally for Brandon’s trustworthiness—with cartwheels and handstands.

l desperately wanted to believe that this was just a badly written twist in the plot where a misconception gets blown out of proportion. It wouldn't be as unsalvageable as the possibility that Brandon had lied to me outright and carried on with his baby mama. 

Sure, you both schemed and lied. You're just as guilty of it as he is. Does that make you completely incapable of the truth then? Do a few mistakes define you for the rest of your life?

“Oh, Brand,” I whispered, blinking as a few hot tears spilled down my cheeks. “Will our lies forever haunt us?”

Deciding that I wasn’t one to pass on judgement without giving him a fair chance at explaining himself, I slipped the card back into the jacket pocket and draped the discarded garment on the back an armchair.

No matter how hard, show the same mercy you wish to be granted. When it's your turn to plea guilty, Charlotte, wouldn't you want a sympathetic jury?

It would be so easy to give in and let my rioting emotions flood the banks. It would be so easy to destroy the very best thing that happened to me with a few angry words.

You both have black marks on trust. Your redemption starts with someone taking a risk to trust you again. Be that someone for him, Charlotte. He deserves it.

Not knowing where the courage came from, I endured throughout the night—curled up in bed next to Brandon, unable to sleep, fighting tears, and wondering whether the memories we shared were lies or truths.

If a lie could be this beautiful, Charlotte, would you live it? Or would you rather have the truth even if it means losing Brandon? 

When sleep eventually claimed me, I still had no answers.