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He stroked her cheek. “It has.”
She swallowed. “Three months of waiting, and waiting …”
“Three months of hell,” he agreed.
She exhaled, blinking back tears as all her worst fears were proven true. “Well, tonight it will end.”
His dark eyes tracing her face, her cheeks, her lips. “Yes,” he said softly. “It will.”
Shaking, she turned away, picking up her satin clutch off the bed. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” His sensual mouth curved as he held out his arm. “Mrs. Cruz.”
Breathlessly she took his arm. He led her downstairs to the penthouse foyer, where they bid farewell to Mrs. McAuliffe, who would watch their sleeping baby. Eduardo pulled Callie’s white fur wrap from the closet and placed it gently around her. She felt the weight of his hands against her shoulders and shivered, remembering last night’s dream that had felt so real, when she’d imagined his naked body over hers. With a tremble, she glanced down at his thick fingers spread across the white faux fur. Heat flashed across her body as she remembered the sensation of his fingertips against her skin. Shuddering, she pulled away as they took the elevator downstairs and went outside.
“Good evening, Mr. Cruz, Mrs. Cruz,” the smiling doorman said, tipping his cap. “Have a wonderful night.”
“Thank you, Bernard.” Eduardo put his hand on the small of Callie’s back, guiding her to the black limo waiting at the curb. Sanchez held open the door as she climbed into the backseat, exhaling as she pulled away. And yet, as they drove through the sparkling, snowy city, every inch of her body was aware of her husband beside her. She didn’t relax until the car stopped, and she could escape the tight space beside him.
The Winter Ball was being held at a glamorous old hotel on the edge of Central Park. As Callie walked through the lobby on her husband’s arm, her fingers barely touching his sleeve, she looked up at the soaring, frescoed ceilings in awe. Cruz Oil’s Christmas party last year had been huge, but it was nothing compared to this, the most lavish social event of the season. As they entered the enormous ballroom, she saw a winter wonderland. White twinkling lights sparkled from black bare trees, in front of a white background illuminated with pale lavender light. Winter was Callie’s favorite season, December her favorite month, and she gasped with wonder at the fairy forest of white.
Then the fantasy came crashing down as she saw the guests milling around them: gorgeous, skinny socialites and powerful men, the type who’d all gone to prep schools and Ivy League colleges, who’d come from the best families and summered together in Kennebunkport and Martha’s Vineyard. And who was she? Nobody.
Back at the penthouse, Callie had felt pretty; but here, she felt chubby and awkward. Scrawny, tall models seemed to circle them like sharks, looking hungrily at Eduardo.
“Do you know them?” she whispered, clutching his arm as he led her past them through the crowd.
“Who?”
“Those women who are staring at you.”
He glanced over at the gorgeous supermodels. “No.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. Was he telling the truth? Or just trying to spare her feelings? She felt an ache in her throat, wondering if he’d had affairs with any of them. If he hadn’t, he was probably counting down the moments until their divorce, marking out his future sexual conquests. And who could blame him? Three months without sex would be was a long time for a man like Eduardo.
But not for her. Callie had only had one sexual experience in her whole life. And with the only man she’d ever wanted. She’d tried not to care, told herself their marriage was just a sham. But just the thought of him jumping into bed with any one of those gorgeous, hard-eyed women made her want to throw up.
But Eduardo wasn’t looking at the models. He was looking at Callie. “Can I get you a drink?”
Nervously she nodded, and when Eduardo brought her a cup of punch in a crystal glass, she gulped it down.
“Be careful with that,” he said, sounding amused as he sipped his own Hendrick’s martini, garnished with a slice of cucumber. “It’s stronger than you think.”
But Callie was tired of being careful. The punch tasted fruity and tart and sweet, with a little bit of bite. It tasted like temptation. Finishing it off, she held out her glass. “Please get me another.”
He shook his head, looking down at her with dark eyes. “Take care, querida.”
“I’m tired of taking care,” she whispered. “Just for this one night, I want to be reckless.”
Eduardo gave her a slow grin. “As you wish.”
Turning, he went toward the bar. When he returned, the intensity of his gaze flooded her with heat.
“Here,” he said in a low voice, holding out her drink. Their fingers brushed as she took the glass, and she shivered.
For weeks, he’d treated her with distant civility. She might as well have been one of his staff, the nanny who cared for his child. But tonight … Tonight he was looking at her. Really looking at her. As if he wanted to rip off her dress, kiss every inch of her skin, and make her lose her mind with pleasure.
He left me, she reminded herself fiercely. I mean nothing to him. He only slept with me in the first place because I was convenient.
