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She groaned, because he was right.I am his little whore.She leaned back, and he relaxed his grip on her wrists so she could brace herself on the desktop.
This spark had always been there between them, an undeniable chemistry that burst to life whenever she got close. She’d felt it the first moment she saw him three years ago at a symphony in Vienna.
She’d stolen him away from his date, and they’d fucked in the cloakroom at intermission. Three months later they’d been married, almost getting caught fucking in the bathroom stall at their small wedding.
“I’d say you’re my little whore, too, but you’re not so little.” She chuckled as his hand slid under her ass, squeezing it.
“What?” he asked, his body stilling.
“I said—” she started, but found herself leaning against the desk as he tugged her skirt back down. “What are you doing?”
His eyes filled with something she couldn’t interpret. Pity was the closest she came, and it put a bitter taste in her mouth.
“I…” he began, shaking his head.
Well, fuck,she thought, feeling her face warm. It was the first time she’d ever failed at luring him into sex. “Chickening out?” she taunted, folding her arms.
His mouth moved, and the words flowed over her, freezing her in place.
“I’m filing for divorce,” he said, his voice laced with a painful resignation and that other thing that made her stomach flinch.Pity.
“You son of a bitch!” she snarled. She planted her palms on his chest, grasped a handful of his suit, and put all her weight behind it.
She couldn’t have pushed him all the way to the elevator without his help. He even let her slam him up against the metal doors. His mouth opened, but she was already shaking her head.
“Don’t say a word, you cheating piece of slime,” she yelled, hating the way the words shook. Hating the weak feeling she’d felt the second she saw Claire.
He clamped his mouth shut, his expression going cold. “That’s right,” he agreed, his words abrupt. “You should be glad we’re finally ending…whatever this is.”
She stepped back, fighting against hyperventilating. Her whole body had broken out in a sweat. “What do you mean, whatever this is? It’s a marriage,” she said, relieved her voice was less shaky. “Wasa marriage.”
“I don’t know what it was, but it was never a marriage. Not really.”
Behind her came a low rumble, and after three silent seconds, rain spattered the window. With the sound came an equilibrium that finally calmed her breathing. Let the rain outside be her tears.
“Get out,” she whispered, the words coming from deep in her gut. She turned away without waiting for his reply.
The elevator chimed, then whirred, then hummed as the car lowered away from the attic.
The bedroom, once her sanctuary, was now a wasteland of frustrated desires, regrets, and dreams as shattered as the pieces of the phone she’d hurled at him. She wanted to go outside and run in the icy rain, stripping off her clothes and letting the sharp gravel dig into her feet. She wanted to feel something, anything, that would rip away this sense of failure that smothered her.
I’m not a failure. Divorce would free her from a mistake, that’s all.
She unbuttoned her blouse as she walked into the bedroom. Shrugging out of her jacket, she flipped the stiff latch on the square window and pushed it up. As the wind blew mists of rain into the bedroom, she stripped out of her blouse and skirt, then her bra and panties.
She let the storm wash over her face and neck, felt the water trickling down her shoulders and chest. Then she crawled under the bed linens. Rolling over, she clicked the button to turn on the Tiffany lamp, then rolled back to stare at the round glow it cast on the ceiling.
Her mind devoid of any thought, she sank into a black sleep, imagining the weight on her was the blanket, soaking in the storm that roiled over Cavendish.
CHAPTER7
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Montgomery stepped out into the grand hall of the Manor, needing to get his shit together before he talked to Eli—assuming Eli didn’t follow him down.
“Christ.” He shook his head, striding away from the elevator to the marble foyer. His footsteps echoed down the corridors on either side, getting lost in the unoccupied rooms. He came to a stop in front of the tall doors, inset with glass and surrounded by similar panes.
Outside, the rain pounded against the marble forecourt that lead to the stairs. Each drop hit so hard it bounced up, creating a gray cloud along the ground in the dim light. Gusts of wind pushed sheets of rain against the door, hissing in waves as if trying to get inside.
The storm matched the turmoil raging through him. He stared at the water pouring down the glass, his hands clenching. He wiped them against his pants. Anything to get rid of the feel of her skin against his.
