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It wasn’t a complete disengagement of their bodies, but it felt like he’d moved to the far side of the room just the same.
She moved to her back, breaking even the loose contact of their arms. The glow of the chandelier was rather weak, and the brocade quilt they lay on felt a shabbier than before.
What just happened?She’d wanted mind-blowing sex as a last hurrah, and she’d gotten something a little left of mind-blowing. Different. Satisfying on paper, if you looked at the clinical fact that she’d orgasmed, and yet it felt…less.
Was it because they’d let their past fill the room, the secrets, the lies, the regret? Was it because of all the fuckingsharingthat everything felt weird now?
She sighed and was relieved that it sounded more like her old self. “That was great,” she murmured, looking over the edge of the bed to see how close her pajamas were. She was never shy around him, but her gut told her to cover herself. “I need to…freshen up.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, sounding distracted.
She felt a twinge of anger at his lackluster tone, but a stronger urge had her off the bed and grabbing her pajamas.
She headed for the bathroom, sitting on the toilet as she let the evidence of his orgasm drain away. Then she ran hot water over a cloth and wiped her face. She got dressed and returned to stand by the bed, where she found him frowning. Fuck him, if he was having regrets.
“Deep in thought about tomorrow?” she asked, injecting a little sarcasm into the words.
Her jibe didn’t seem to rouse him, though. He lay staring at the ceiling, an arm over his head, fingers tracing the ornately carved headboard. Great, he was more interested in furniture than her.
“You’ll probably get the divorce papers tomorrow,” he said, his voice flat.
That hit her like a flaming arrow. “I hope so,” she replied with a cool indifference. “The sooner we deal with that, the sooner we can move on.”
“True,” he noted, still sounding bored. Still frowning off into space.
“So, I guess I’ll see you at Topkapi in the morning?” she asked, going to the door. She turned back, a hand on her hip. His weird attitude was annoying. Montgomery had two emotions, angry or smug. This ambivalence was unsettling.
“No, we’ll meet down in the tunnel and drive over together,” he finally said, sighing and sitting up. He looked at her with a blank expression. “Until this is resolved, I don’t want you out of my sight.”
“That’s a little bossy,” she snapped, but then sighed herself. Reacting to him, or whatever this strange mood was, wouldn’t help her. And if this was their last intimate encounter, she needed to come out ahead. “But I guess it makes sense.”
He looked at her for a long second—really looked at her, all the moodiness in his expression gone. He studied her like he was trying to figure her out, and then the moment was gone.
He swung his legs off the bed and looked around for his pants, tugging them on and buttoning them. He walked around the bed to find his shirt and pulled that on as well. “I have an early-morning call with my office,” he said, his voice clipped, his eyes avoiding hers. “And then a long day—days, if we can’t get everything done before dark tomorrow.”
This was what she was used to, a brusque demeanor. So why did it feel like a punch to the gut? Wait, why did she even care? She stiffened her shoulders. “Exactly. Let’s get this done tomorrow, no matter how long it takes.”
“Goodnight, Hartley,” he said, nodding in her direction but still not looking at her.
“Goodnight,” she replied, her voice cold, her heart anything but.
She closed the door and headed to the elevator. It didn’t matter what kind of sex they’d had. They’d had sex, she’d orgasmed, end of the story. If comparing it to their other encounters, it wouldn’t even rate in the top five.
“Too weird,” she said as she got on the elevator and pressed the attic button. There’d been no flash and sass, no dirty talk, and he hadn’t slapped her ass once.
But it had been hot. Molten hot. Molten in the way that lava flows join and make new land.
What the fuck?she wondered as she stepped off the elevator. She was losing it. All she’d wanted was one last fuck, and she’d gotten it. It wasn’t earth shattering; it was the end.
She was Hartley McKay now. A McKay once again. A woman who had everything she needed inside herself. One who needed nothing from Montgomery Meyer.
CHAPTER13
The next morning, sitting behind the wheel of the golf cart, Montgomery zipped his jacket against the damp cold. A few leaves rustled somewhere in the darkness behind him as he waited at the entrance to a tunnel. The network of tunnels under the Manor, which circled all the properties on the compound, would be a perfect place for Lucas to hide out. But the thought was just a vague fluttering at the edges of his mind.
A sleepless night weighed on him. He shoved his hands into his armpits, cursing that his gloves were buried in his suitcase. His mind was a relentless carousel, replaying last night’s intimacy with Hartley. He tried to pretend it was the day’s activities that had kept him awake, not the raw connection he’d felt with her, but that was a lie. The best he could do was put it in the past and get through the day—whenever she deigned to join him. She was already three minutes late.
The chime of his phone screeched into the silence of the tunnel, and he pulled it out. He found Bernard’s name on the screen as he thumbed the answer button.
