Needing to end the call before Declan loses his shit on me, I say, “Honey, can we talk later?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’m actually in the car with Baldwin. We are meeting the project manager and one of his architects for dinner.”
“Okay, well, I hope you have a good evening. I’ll call you later tonight before I go to bed.”
“I love you.”
With my head still down, I return his words, “I love you too, Bennett.”
When I hang up, I slowly raise my eyes to see Declan walking towards me. He stands in front of me as I look up at him, but he doesn’t sit, he just exudes his authority while staring down at me, jaw still locked.
“Dec—”
“Don’t talk,” he snaps, cutting me off, but I don’t take his order when I state softy, “He’s still my husband.”
“And those words you said to him?”
“They’re just words,” I whisper in a mock cowardly tone.
“You miss him?” he asks, keeping his words clipped and tight.
“No.”
“You love him?”
“No.”
“Are you lonely?”
“No,” I tell him firmly.
His tension looms as he stands here, unmoving as time passes in silence. He eventually breaks it when his rough voice admits, “I want to punish you for calling that dickfuck in my home, but . . .”
His voice trails as he closes his eyes and puffs out a hard breath through his nose, his lips pressed firmly together. I give him a moment and then he slowly shakes his head as he drops down to his knees in front of me. His hands grip my hips and his head falls to my knees before he looks up, but he isn’t looking into my eyes; he’s looking at my bruises.
I open my mouth to speak at the same time he does, but I let him go first.
“You have no idea how hard it is for me to keep my shit under control, knowing what’s going on. And then finding you in here, talking to him . . . I wanna throw my fist into the fucking wall.” He takes his hand and cups the side of my tender face. “But then I look at this,” he says, referring to the bruises, “and I’m afraid I’ll scare you.”
“I don’t scare that easily,” I breathe.
“I think you lie about that. I think you want me to believe that. Maybe even you want to believe that, but it’s all a lie. It’s you . . . trying to convince yourself.”
I take a hard swallow, nervous, that even through all my shit, he seems to read me pretty damn well. As much as I want to deny what he’s saying, if you cut me deep enough, I believe there’s truth to how he sees me. I hate that about him.
“I want you,” he states matter-of-factly, and I nod. “I can’t refute my feelings, even though a part of me wants to because I know I can’t have you, but I want you. I want to have you, I want you mine, I want to own you.”
Closing my eyes, I rest my forehead against his as my body slacks forward. Declan holds me, adding, “I want all of you, and it fucking hurts to know I can’t have that. But I don’t want to stay away from you either.”
“I don’t know what to do because . . .”
“What, baby?”
I draw my head back slightly to look at him when I explain, “There’s a reason we got married so quickly. I didn’t see it at the time, but . . . shortly after we were married I saw his obsession with me.” I urge on the emotion when I feel the constricting of my throat. My words strain as I say, “He’ll never let me go. And if he knew about you, he’d ruin you. He’s powerful enough to do that.”
“Let him ruin me.”
“But it’s me,” I tell him on shaky words.
He peers his worried eyes into me, and I choke back a faint whimper, when he asks, “What are you afraid of?”
I take a pause before finally speaking the words that bring a flare of protectiveness to his eyes.
“He’ll kill me.”
DECLAN WAS BEYOND furious about me coming back home yesterday. I’ve spent the better part of the last two weeks staying at his place, only coming home a couple of times when I knew Clara would be here. I made my case to him though, making it clear that it has to be this way and that Bennett could never know about us. Spending as much time together as we have been, I see Declan falling hard for me. He’s honest about how he feels about me and us and makes no apologies about it. For a man who exercises his power and authority, not only with me but with nearly everyone I see him come in contact with, he masks a vulnerability that I can see him trying to hide.
The bruises on my face were pretty much nonexistent when Bennett arrived home this morning. We spent hours in bed together, making up for the two weeks he was away. He wasn’t happy when I had to leave to drop off my article that I was able to finish on the days Declan went to work, leaving me with nothing but time while I hid out at his place. It’s not like I could really go out with my face looking as bad as it did. But Bennett understood, and even suggested that I take a little time for myself since he was starting to feel the jet lag of the nine-hour time difference from Dubai.
While Bennett’s at home, Baldwin takes me over to North Michigan Avenue where I spend most of the day strolling in and out of the various stores, doing some much-needed shopping. I stop by Neiman’s to pick out a few dress shirts for Bennett and a couple of ties. Before calling Baldwin to return with the car, I decide to make one last stop. Bearing the single digit temperatures outside, I loop my scarf a couple of times around my neck and head down to La Perla.
I learned while staying with Declan that he has an affinity for lingerie. Since I need to continue to draw him in deeper, I’ll do whatever I can. When I walk in, my stomach instantly rumbles. Being in stores like this makes me feel dirty and gross. Always has. I know I have a fucked up sense of sexuality; I’m not blind to the effects my childhood has on me. Just thinking about adorning a body that I find repulsive—a body that has no value to me—disgusts me. But this isn’t for me or my liking, it’s for Declan’s.
Browsing through the insanely expensive selection of silks and laces, I pick out a few silk culottes that are embellished with hand-embroidered lace. For as kinky as Declan is in the bedroom, he prefers when I wear things delicate and feminine, so I’m sure he’ll like these French knickers. I add a few pairs of lace panties and bras before a sales lady approaches, offering, “Would you like for me to start you a fitting room?”
“No. I’d like to go ahead and purchase these,” I tell her, feeling like I need to get out of here before my mounting nausea suffocates me.
After I make my purchases and shove the ivory bag down into my larger Neiman’s one, I text Baldwin for the car and tell him to meet me at the Starbucks that’s down the street. The last thing I need is for him to know I was buying lingerie.
Baldwin is noticeably quiet as he drives the few minutes it takes to get back home. When I get off the elevator, I’m surprised to see Jacqueline with her baby on her hip walking through my living room.
“Jacqueline, what a pleasant surprise,” I greet as she approaches me with Bennett striding along behind her.
“Well, Richard would rather sleep and let me take care of his business than doing it himself,” she says, and when Bennett kisses my cheek and takes the shopping bags from my hands, he explains, “I needed to sign off on a few files Richard had that need to be faxed off ASAP.”
“I see,” I mumble, and then turn to Jacqueline and her son. “He’s growing fast.”
“I know. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” I respond, not caring to discuss the charms of motherhood.
“Well, I better get going. Richard is going to be hungry when he wakes, so . . .”
That guy is such a lazy bastard. Always has been. He treats Jacqueline more as a servant to his needs than a wife. Pitiful woman puts up with it too, but that’s her choice.
“It’s a shame you can’t stay longer. I’ve been so tied up lately, but we should see about a lunch date,” I say, pretending I truly care about our plastic friendship.