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"I have things to do."
"Like what? Go off on another vacation withSweet?" She jerked the robe up to pull it on. "That slut you fuck is the reason our child is dead." Her voice was shrill, hardly tolerable.
That had a partial truth. I'd caused too much stress in my effort to get even. I didn't need to be reminded of it repeatedly. I never thought my actions would result in loss. But they were my actions. Nothing my Sweet One had done caused this.
"She's done nothing but live here and was a help to save Katya."
"She's taken advantage of you." She tied the belt of her robe. "I should report her for being a criminal sneaking into our country."
I stood, pissed at the threat. This was never about me or the baby. This was about Nikki, and I'd be damned if she used the death of the baby to control me. "You won't do anything to jeopardize her safety." I wanted to throw the desk out from behind her, punch a wall, or line up several marks and shoot them in the heads.
Nikki recoiled. Yet again, tears streamed down her cheeks. "This isn't you, Armon. You would never have considered someone like her if life hadn't been so hard recently."
It seemed strange that she didn't consider her pregnancy should have been a joyous time for me. Something that could have pulled me through the death of my brother and Katya's suffering. It was as though basic human emotion was something she lacked. Life was always about her.
"I need to see Katya." I sped out of the room before my manipulative wife could say anything else to test my patience. She'd hear everything on my mind if I stayed, and that would only send her into the mood to say or do something stupid. Whether Sweet was more than just a comfort, Nikki wouldn't threaten her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sasha
It had been over a day since I saw Armon, and the one text I sent asking if he was okay received no response. The stress of the situation made me so nauseated I couldn't eat until evening.
With Armon, every other day seemed like an opposite person within him was revealed. With every new bit of information, I understood him more, but that always changed as his next actions caused me to understand him less.
If what Katya said was true, Nikki may have already won. He was comforting her. A woman he hated. A calculating vixen willing to find ways to guilt him. Currently, that guilt could be gained by a miscarriage.
I saw when he returned to his house with her. I may not have spent much time learning about miscarriage in university, but something felt odd about the situation. Especially how she seemed to behave normally. But maybe she'd gotten over the sickness and heartache.
The burst of my door had me jolting upright in bed. There still wasn't a lock for me to use for privacy. The lamplight brought him into view, partially shadowed. The man I wanted and detested for his actions.
I wasn't ready for a discussion or to be fucked. I turned away from him and moved to sit at the edge of my bed, attempting to ignore the dip behind me. I should have gotten up, but I also feared him leaving. When his arm hooked around me, I looked down to the shine of the gold wedding ring he wore.
"You're still wearing your ring," I said, as his hold curled tighter to pull me back. When his arm loosened, I felt the guilt of my words. He'd lost loved ones. I wasn't someone he'd known long enough to grieve with.
He took the ring off and threw it across the room before he scooted behind me, so his chest was to my back. That was when I realized he'd already removed his clothes. A light scent of alcohol wafted over my shoulder. "Is that better?"
Was it? He threw the ring somewhere he would have to find it later. Maybe better than setting it on the nightstand. Swallowing down my resentment of the situation, I whispered, "Yes."
No longer adorned with a promise to another woman, his hand went down between my legs. The other worked beneath my satin top, firmly squeezing my breast that ached at the touch. I would have complained that this was the only reason he came to me, but then he might leave for her. I didn't want that. I wanted every moment I got with him.
"I want to start over. I never knew how badly I wronged you." Soon enough, he had me on my side with my bottoms pulled down my thighs.
I didn't know how to respond to those words. I wasn't sure what wrongs he thought he committed against me. Pulling one strap down, he said, "I promise to spend my life earning your forgiveness for how badly I treated you."
"I've already forgiven you."
"Then make love to me."
That also wasn't something I expected him to say. Maybe an order to fuck him, but to make love? Were they just words? "Yes," I replied. Maybe they were more than the words of a grieving man under the influence. His close warmth was all I needed to be intoxicated. But his acknowledgment of hurting me made the closeness all the better.
The feeling of his hands as they clasped in mine seemed like a whole new experience of touch. But his thrust was what felt undeniably amazing, slow but deep. The man who'd made me certain that remaining with him at that coffee shop was where I wanted to be. The man who could take me out to sea, just he and I to have a sunset getaway.
The session continued, somehow rolling into soft sheets with him on top of me, mouth to mine when not perusing my neck, maintaining the patient, deepening passion that had every cell in my body humming with desire for him. A quake flowed through me, setting off his own reaction of an explosion deep inside me.
When he rose to look down at me with a smile was when every emotion imaginable flooded me. It was when the evening had no meaning. For a moment, I said nothing. I only stared.
My shock and delay was enough for him to ask, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
