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‘To take care of the blue balls you’ve cursed me with. I suggest you not be here when I come out.’
Her face was flaming red by the time he set the laptop down and stalked off in the direction of the bathroom.
But that embarrassment was nothing compared to the blaze alight in her brain for what she’d just unleashed.
Try as he might, it turned out his hand was no compensation for the thrill of Imogen’s mouth. Satisfaction was hard to come by—pun intended—when his head was reeling with what Imogen had finally disclosed to him.
Imogen.
The wife who was counting the minutes until she would be free of him.
With a thick curse, Zeph wrenched the shower tap from warm to cold, giving up on achieving any release. The voice that mocked him that he should’ve left things alone rose, gloating louder.
Six months.
To the possible end of a marriage he didn’t recall entering into.
To the prospect that if...when she walked away from him, he would be as alone as he had been the night he’d woken up in a strange house on a strange isle, surrounded by strangers.
Six months to get this insane chemical reaction he felt for his wife out of his system. Perhaps he was on his way to full recovery of his memories. Because, if his wife was to be believed and his previous liaisons were short-lived, then the six months he’d stipulated would be more than adequate. And if they were contracted to part then anyway...
Was he really so alarmed at the prospect of being alone that he was pushing for an intimacy that wasn’t there?No.It was there. He’d felt it last night. She’d cared for him of her own free will. And he’d...enjoyed it. He was astute enough to know he had the power to dismantle, if not all, thensomeof her resistance. What was wrong with letting time and proximity work on the rest?
He had six months. Enough time to will his memories to return. Hell, that incident on the balcony had proved that it was only a matter of time. He’d bought himself time. Maybe even to seduce this reticent wife who believed she could resist the blinding chemistry between them. Either way, he would make progress while taking firmer control of his life.
Taking firmer control of his marriage.
And if he failed?
He gritted his teeth at the disagreeing churning in his gut and pushed the question away.
Turning off the tap, he stepped out of the shower, his mood nowhere near improved.
Rubbing the towel over his wet hair, he lowered his resistance against the probing argument that demanded attention. He might not know how he’d dealt with problems in his pre-amnesia life, but he’d discovered that allowing a problem to saturate his mind until he could dwell on very little else usually tossed up an answer. Like a full tide that had had no other option but to recede to sea once the moon called.
So...was something else at play here?
Was he using sex and forced companionship, this...attachment to cling to something that wasn’t there? The events of the past day should’ve brought a measure of satisfaction. Instead, he felt just as unmoored as he had when he’d opened his eyes in that stranger’s bed in Efemia ten months ago. Hell, in some ways he felt worse.
He’d returned home only to feel homeless.
He’d reunited with his wife only to feel more disconnected and alone than ever.
A billionaire stricken with a peculiar destitution he would’ve feared was soul-deep if he believed in spirituality.
And more than once yesterday, he’d experienced the sinking feeling that, even were his memories to return, he wouldn’t shed these unwanted sensations that easily. That beyond the impressive successes attached to his name, Zephyr Diamandis the man was far from...content.
Of course, he wouldn’t admit that to anyone.
He didn’t need further pointers to know the entirety of his achievements had come from being single-mindedly focused. Perhaps ruthless, too. And one didn’t hang onto such laudable feats by admitting ephemeral nonsense and weaknesses. No.
One did something about it.
And the most obvious place to start was with Imogen.
With gritty determination, he went into his dressing room.
Perhaps he was being presumptuous. But since he didn’t plan on losing...
