“Clove, babe.” His voice echoes from behind me just as I am reaching up to pull a glass out of the cupboard. I compose my unsteady voice as best I can.
“In here.”
“You wore me out.”
His gaze searches my face while his hand rubs across his chin. I don’t give a thing away as I stand there calm and collected and drain the contents of my glass of water.
“You’re a little red. Were you outside?” he asks casually, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Yeah. I was out back sitting in the sun and kind of lost track of time.”
I turn and set my glass in the sink and walk his way until I am standing directly in front of him. I cannot seem to read his thoughts. Roaming my hands up his chest and around his neck until my hands clasp together, I kiss him tenderly on the lips.
“So I wore you out, huh?” I smile as I pull myself back an inch or so.
“You’re a smart ass, you know that?”
He places his hands on my hips and closes the small space between us.
“Who? Me?” I shrug. His smile widens. “I just find it funny, is all.”
“Is that right?”
“It is. I could have sworn you said you were going to fuck me raw. Which you did, by the way. However, I do find it funny that you’re the one who got worn out.”
“We’ll see who wears whom out later then.”
He releases his grip and with a slight swagger to his walk, he moves past me to open the fridge. He grabs a beer, twisting the cap off and flicking it into the sink before taking a healthy swig. Satisfied, he sets it down on the counter then leans back and crosses his arms over his naked chest.
“So, lazy day today then, huh? You’re sure you don’t want to go out?”
Hell, no, I don’t want to go out with him!
“We can go out if you really want to.”
“Nah. I think I would much rather stay home and have my wife all to myself.”
His eyes rake over my body savagely, raging with fire.
There is no way he is touching me again, so I walk to the small wine cabinet and pull out my first bottle of wine of the day. I don’t care if it is the middle of the afternoon, I plan on being drunk by dinnertime and passing my ass out. The thing is, while the thought of him touching me again has my skin itching all over, the worst part is the fact that I want him to.
************
“You’re drunk.”
Trent leans into me as we sit side by side on the couch, his lips close to mine.
“So?” I ask. And then hiccup.
“You’re cute when you’re drunk.”
I frown.
“And I’m not when I’m sober?” I inch my face farther away from his.
We have been sitting here watching some shoot-em-up action movie for the past few hours and now the credits are rolling on the giant flat screen television sitting above the fireplace. It hasn’t been used since last winter when Turner and I . . . no, I can’t let my mind wander like that, not when I am drunk like this or I may give myself away.
“You’re more than cute when you’re sober, Clove, and you know it.”
He says the last part as if I’m some stuck up snob. I wrinkle my nose.
“I don’t think I’m cute, you ass.”
“Well, you are.” He grazes his hands down my bare legs. “Your legs are so smooth and long. You’re gorgeous, Clove.”
His voice sounds so sincere. Even in my drunken state, I can tell that lies and deceit come easily for him. He smoothes his hand back up my leg in languid circles, stopping at the edge of my dress which comes to a few inches above my knees. Keeping his gaze fixated on his every move, he scales up over my dress and leisurely over my stomach and breasts until he reaches my face.
He caresses my cheek as if he is memorizing every single one of my features then runs his hand around to the back of my neck and up into my hair, which is now out of its pony tail and hanging loosely down my back. My body goes weak as he pulls his fingers through the strands from root to tip and then back up again. The feeling is pleasurable and so calming that I close my eyes and drift. It is such a loving gesture that I can’t help but melt. I need to gain my strength back and get away from his hypnotizing words and hands.
“You really are exquisitely beautiful, Clove,” he whispers.
I lean my head back against the couch and his hands drop from my hair.
“You really know how to sober a girl up,” I say breathlessly.
“Not my intention at all, babe. Just speaking the truth.”
We stare into each other’s eyes for several seconds, and fuck if I don’t see just a smidge of remorse there. For some reason Trent seems to have a soft spot when it comes to me. I can see it painfully trying to break out while he sits here and stares at me.
He’s a riddle that I can’t seem to figure out, and then I see pain in his expression and I understand even less. Is he being forced to do this? And by who? His father? I glance away from him to look up at the clock and see that it’s dinnertime.
“You hungry?”
I try and read his expression when I look back at him but it’s blank as he stares at the television.
“Yeah. I could eat.”
“I’ll go call us in something, then.”
Shifting my body so I can stand, I grab my empty wine glass and his empty beer bottle and make my way into the kitchen. I set both items down on the counter and with shaky hands I pour myself another glass of wine, downing the entire glass before pouring another. I set the second glass on the counter and after calling for the takeout, I send a quick text off to my brother.
WHERE IN THE HELL ARE YOU?
Almost instantly my phone rings, and when I look at the screen and see it’s Zack, my heart leaps out of my chest. I lift the phone to my ear, but before I even get the chance to say hello, it’s snatched out of my hand and I am pinned to the counter by Trent’s large frame as he answers the phone in my place.
“Hey, bro. What’s up?”
Chapter Nine
Pale with desolation, I stand there trapped as his hands roam freely, his fingers tweaking my nipples. I am beyond pissed at him. Turner would never disrespect me in that way and snatch my phone from my hands. This is only further proof of how different Trent is from my husband. What a fucking pig. Nudging him away from me, I move past him and head up the stairs knowing there is no hope of being able to talk to my brother now.
Does Trent suspect that I know? No. How could he? Or, maybe he does and that is why he snatched the phone from me. It’s strange because this man has done his homework. He knows full well that Zack is a detective, yet he still took over my husband’s identity.
I enter my room and throw myself on my bed. Trent follows soon after in a temper.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Clove?”
“You took the phone right out of my hand, Turner.”
I’m jumpy as hell on the inside but I will not kowtow to this animal. He rakes his hand through his jet-black hair as if frustrated.
“Jesus Christ. I just wanted to see if he wanted to play some basketball tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, then. Did he by chance tell you why he was calling?” I trail off vaguely.
“Yes, he did.” He plops his big body on the bed with a heavy bounce. “I guess your dad is coming over tomorrow night for dinner, so he was calling to invite us, too.”
His lips part in a good-humored smile. Shit. My dad! How in the hell am I supposed to act normally in front of my dad? This is driving me insane and not being able to talk to Zack until tomorrow is making it worse.
I loathe this man lying here on my marital bed . . . the bed where I willingly let him take me. The fact that I loved it makes me just as sick and fucked up as he is.