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Most of the time, she pretended he hadn’t.
Tonight was different.
“I’m up.” Elyse spoke in a low monotone, watching her husband’s profile. Even in the dark, she could see his jaw tighten.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he told her.
“Of course not. Who was she this time?”
Arthur blew out an impatient breath. “You know where I was, Elyse. I was with your father.”
“Dinner till one? La Grenouille must have extended their hours.”
“No, dinner till eleven. Then a drink and a meeting recap with your father.”
“Who’ll, no doubt, vouch for you.” A bitter smile. “After all, what’s more important, his daughter or the political favors he gets from his high-ranking son-in-law?”
With an exasperated grunt, Arthur slid down until he was supine, his arms folded beneath his head. “I’m not having this conversation again, Elyse. It’s getting old. Besides, I’m wiped. It’s late.”
“Very late,” Elyse agreed, meaning a lot more than the hour.
“Then let’s call it a night. I’ve been ‘on’ for hours.”
“And you’re drained and exhausted. Well, so am I.” Elyse paused, struggling for control. “More so than you can imagine.” Despite her efforts, her voice quavered, tears underscoring her words.
Arthur wasn’t unaffected. He twisted around, propping himself on his elbow and gazing down at his wife. “Don’t cry, Lyssie,” he murmured, his knuckles caressing her
cheek. “We’ve got so much going on. Let’s not compound the tension by bickering over nonsense.” He bent down, pressed his lips to her shoulder. “We have to be there for Morgan. She’s going through hell. So are we. There’s a lot at stake. Let’s turn toward each other, not away.”
Two tears slid down Elyse’s cheeks, and she choked back a sob. “I want that. You know I do.”
“Well, so do I.” Arthur drew her into his arms, tipping up her chin and giving her that intimate look that still melted her insides and reminded her how things between them had once been.
How they sometimes still were.
“Come here,” he murmured, as if reading her mind. His hands glided under her nightgown and over the curves of her body. “Let me make it better.”
Elyse was already responding, tugging off her nightgown as Arthur worked free of his shorts, then pulled her under him. She closed her eyes and let the pleasure swamp her, blotting out the pain of what had been, what would be.
She didn’t lie to herself. This wasn’t just sexual. Not for her. Emotionally detached as she’d learned to be, she still loved her husband fiercely. She would—and had—done anything for him.
Arthur made love to her as only he could, with an expertise, passion, and intensity that made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.
And for those moments, that night, she was.
MONTY PUNCHED ANOTHER pillow until it was plumped up just the way he liked it. Then he shoved it behind his head, wedging it between himself and the headboard. With a grunt of frustration, he continued scribbling down names and notes, all stemming from the pile of newspaper clippings Morgan had given him earlier that day. He’d made a shitload of phone calls after she left, called in some favors, and gotten piles of information.
Currently, he was delving into Carl Angelo and all his slimy contacts, past and present. Angelo was a high-stakes drugs and weapons dealer, a scumbag who’d been indirectly responsible for the deaths of countless people, and whom Jack Winter had put away two months before he and Lara were murdered.
There was an interesting tie-in here. One that had surprised him. Tomorrow morning he’d follow up on it, peel back every layer to see if there was something solid at the core. If it materialized into a real lead, he’d mention it in the update he’d be delivering to Congressman Shore on Monday.
“Hey.” Sally sat up in bed, blinking as she reached over to rub Monty’s arm. “Aren’t you ever planning on turning off that light and getting some sleep?”
He angled his head toward her, and his features softened at the sight of her, all wrapped up in the down comforter with just her bare shoulders peeking out. Tenderly, he rumpled her already-tousled hair, brushing it around to the nape of her neck. Her skin was warm from sleep, and she looked sated and drowsy from their earlier lovemaking.
“You dozed off, so I was getting a little work done. I’ll turn in.” He shoved the papers into the file and put it on his night table. Then he clicked off the lamp, sliding down in the bed and settling Sally against him, her head on his chest.
“It’s the Winter case,” she stated. “It’s hitting you harder than even you expected.”
