Living in Secret: Living In..., Book 3 Page 11

  “I have,” he said flatly. “I wanted you to tell me about Jessica.”

  Another long silence, this time crushed by the oppressive weight of the past.

  “I’m not the only one with skeletons in their past, Connor,” Victoria said quietly.

  And he went still, cold seeping through him. No, she couldn’t know. He’d buried that past and made sure it stayed buried. No one knew about Damian Blake’s little meth empire, or the son he’d tried to drag into business with him. The wife who’d been so badly hurt after he’d thrown her through a window then denied hospital treatment, that it had taken her months to recover. And no one knew the real story about his death the same night, when he was found with a cracked skull on the sidewalk outside his shitty state house. Killed by a disappointed client was the verdict.

  But that wasn’t the real story. And only Connor knew that.

  “I assume you’re talking about me?” His voice had gone weirdly flat.

  “I’m talking about the fact neither of us have ever been straight with each other. No, I didn’t tell you about Jessica, but you’re not exactly open about your past either. You have secrets, don’t tell me you don’t. That tattoo on your back for a start.”

  The tattoo he’d gotten at eighteen as a reminder. The one he carefully never managed to think about. A sword with the blade following down his spine.

  Those who live by the sword shall die by the sword…

  “The past has nothing to do with this, Victoria,” he said a harsh edge creeping into his tone. “This is about the present. About tonight. If you don’t want to tell me why you ran out then don’t. But don’t expect me to let it go if you do it again. Especially if it concerns me.”

  She let out a breath. “Okay, you want to know the reason? I found it too much. You, me…what happened.”

  “‘What happened’. Tell it like it is, Victoria.”

  “Fine. The sex. You, me and the sex. After five years of nothing and then…that. It was just too much.”

  He scowled at the computer screen in front of him, his jaw tight. “What do you mean too much? I thought you liked it. I thought—”

  “I did like it. I liked everything about it. What you did. How you touched me. God, I even liked the way you called me a slut and a bitch.” She gave a strange, mirthless laugh. “And that’s why it was too much. Because that’s not me, Connor. I’m not a bitch. Or a slut. I don’t have sex with strangers while my ex-husband watches. And I don’t have a week of no-holds barred sex with said ex-husband either. I’m a very successful technology lawyer who is going to London in a few weeks to take up a very prestigious position, not…not….” She trailed off, as if she couldn’t bear to say it again.

  He hadn’t been expecting honesty from her, still less, honesty that involved her actually acknowledging her desires.

  He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. Because he’d never done anything like that either. Never called a woman a slut. Or a bitch. Never told her to keep her wrists down while he fucked her, telling her she couldn’t come. It had just come pouring out of him and he hadn’t held it back. “There’s nothing wrong with liking any of that,” he said, a little roughly. “And it has nothing to do with you being a successful lawyer.”

  “I can’t be both, Connor. I just can’t.”

  “You don’t have to. At the end of this week, it’ll be over anyway so why not let yourself enjoy it while it lasts? That’s why I’m doing it.”

  There was another long silence.

  “Why has this never happened between us?” Her voice was quiet. “Why didn’t we do this before?”

  This was edging into dangerous territory but he had to give her answer. She’d given him one after all. “You never gave me any sign you wanted me to.”

  “And what would you have done if I had?”

  You would have run.

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Connor.”

  He shut his eyes. “I would have told you it couldn’t happen.”

  There was a shocked pause. “But why? And what makes it different now?”

  Oh Christ. Did he really have to go into this? Yet he found himself telling her all the same. “Because that’s not the kind of marriage I wanted. And it’s different now because we only have a week and after that you’re leaving.”

  She was silent, the quiet on the other end of the phone making his chest tighten unexpectedly. Had he hurt her? He probably had.

  “Look, I’m—”

  “So what kind of marriage did you want?” she demanded abruptly, anger in her tone. “Cold and sexless? Passionless? And now I’m not any of those things, now I’m not your wife, I’m suddenly good enough to fuck?”

  “Victoria—”

  “We never talked about it, Connor. We never talked about what we wanted from each other. We never talked about anything. Not even whether we loved each other or not.”

  The words were like stones striking against glass. Sharp and angry. Hard. Each one with the potential to break something, shatter it into pieces. Perhaps shatter him.

  No, they’d never talked about love. And with good reason. Because as he knew from experience, love destroyed. It had twisted his father, nearly killed his mother, and he’d be damned if he let it destroy him.

  He gripped the phone tight in his hands, the edge digging into his palm. “We had the kind of marriage we both wanted. I didn’t see you arguing.”

  “No.” There was bitterness now in her tone. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

  At that point there was a knock on his office door then it opened, his PA putting her head around it. “Your one fifteen is here. Do you want me to get them to wait?”

  Connor shook his head and held up a hand in a five-minutes sign. “I have to go,” he said to Victoria, knowing this was the easy way out and not caring. He really didn’t want to keep talking about a marriage that was already over. It didn’t help anything. “Be there tonight, seven sharp.”

  “Any requests as to clothing?” She sounded resigned.

  “Tight should do it,” he said tersely. “I’ll see you then.” And ended the call.

  Victoria stood before the white paneled front door of their—no, correction, Connor’s—house and smoothed down the tight black skirt she wore. She’d worked late that day and had decided not to bother going home, coming straight to Connor’s instead.

  He’d told her to wear something tight, but her skirt was the only thing about her outfit that was and she wasn’t going to make a special trip home just for him. He’d have to put up with her plain dark blue blouse and her black business heels. She wasn’t in the mood to make consolations for him, especially not after that phone call.

  She couldn’t understand why she’d said all those things to him. Asked him all those questions. Like it mattered. Because of course it didn’t matter. Their marriage was over and had been for years, and there was no point rehashing things.

  We had the kind of marriage we both wanted.

  And that was true. Their marriage had been exactly what both of them had wanted. Intellectual. Passionless. And completely safe. So why she felt a deep pain in her chest whenever she thought about it was anyone’s guess.

  But it had nothing to do with them sleeping together. The sex now wouldn’t change the past and because it was only for a week, it had no impact on the future either.

  In fact, she’d been thinking about it all afternoon and had come to the conclusion he was right. That she shouldn’t worry about the intensity of the chemistry burning between them. That it made no difference. After the week was over, it wouldn’t matter because she’d be gone, in which case why not indulge? Why not take this as far as it would go? What did she have to lose?

  She could put it behind her once the week was up, once she was on her way to London and a new life. Chalk the marriage up to experience and move
on. And in the meantime…

  In the meantime you can have him in every way you can possibly imagine.

  A shiver went through her as she knocked on the door. This time she couldn’t tell herself a part of her hadn’t been looking forward to tonight, no matter what had happened the night before. That a part of her had been hungry for it since she’d woken up this morning.

  She wanted this and he was right. She needed to enjoy it while it lasted.

  The door pulled open with a jerk and Connor was standing there in the doorway. He was still in a dark blue suit, white shirt, no tie. His hair looked mussed, his jaw hard and in his eyes the familiar spark of anger. It leapt as he took her in, his gaze dropping to her skirt then back up again.

  She arched a brow. “Tight enough for you?”

  “It’ll do.” He stood aside. “Come in.”

  A strange awkwardness descended as she stepped into the hallway and he shut the door behind her. She didn’t quite know what to do with her hands or with the briefcase she was holding.

  “Go into the lounge,” Connor said.

  She did so, aware of his presence behind her as she walked down the hallway and into the white, featureless lounge. She’d never been so conscious of another person in all her life. Of his heat. The fresh scent of his aftershave. The sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor.

  His hand brushed hers where she held her briefcase as he took it from her and she nearly jumped at the contact. Trying to calm her racing heart, she turned. “I can do that myself.”

  “I’ve got it.” He was already taking the briefcase and putting it down on the glass coffee table, where she always used to put it when she came home from work.

  She could still feel the brush of his fingers against her skin. The heat lingered like a burn. “So,” she began, her voice unsteady despite her best efforts. “Where do you want me?”

  He straightened, his gaze like a laser sweeping over her. It made her dry mouthed with want. “Go and sit in that armchair.”

  “What? Chair sex again? Can’t we have something different this time?” She’d meant it to sound ironic, a way to ease her unexpected awkwardness, but it only came out sounding like a stupid attempt at humor.

  Connor said nothing, staring at her. Then he came toward her and for some insane reason, she felt like running again. “What’s wrong?” he asked abruptly.

  She wasn’t expecting the question and it took her off guard. Enough that her usual nothing’s wrong reflex didn’t kick in. “I… I’m just tired. I’ve been handing over my clients to other people and it’s been…difficult.” Not so much for the clients as for herself. She liked her job and even though she was going somewhere better, leaving it was going to be tough.

  A slight crease appeared between Connor’s dark brows, the intensity in his eyes wavering. “Leaving is always hard.”

  There were so many layers in those words. So many meanings whether he’d meant them or not. Either way, she couldn’t face them or the type of conversation that would involve.

  “So…” She turned toward the armchair. “You want me to sit here?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Victoria went over to the armchair they’d made love in the night before and sat, smoothing down her skirt in a habitual motion.

  He watched her a moment more, the expression on his face typically unreadable. Then he moved over to where she sat, standing in front of the chair looking down at her. “I don’t want you to do anything,” he said after a second. “It’s my turn to do some…exploration.”

  Her breathing had sped up at the sound of his slight pause. Exploration sounded…

  Good. It sounds pretty damn good.

  The palms of her hands were damp. She put them on the arms of the chair, resisting the urge to wipe them on her skirt. “Well, don’t let me hold you up. I’m expecting dinner at some point.”

  Connor’s gaze drifted down, stopping at her hips, her lap. “Oh you’ll get dinner. But this time I’m getting to eat first.”

  If his words hadn’t been clear, the look in his eyes certainly was.

  Victoria’s heartbeat was a steady, pulsing beat in her ears, almost a match for the pulse between her thighs. The strange awkwardness was beginning to fade, yet the emotion taking its place wasn’t much better. A snaking thread of fear. And it grew as Connor sank slowly to his knees in front of her. As he took the hem of her skirt in his fingers and began to ease it up.

  She lowered her gaze, not wanting him to see the trepidation in her eyes, but he must have sensed it anyway because his hands paused.

  Dammit.

  “Do you need five minutes?” His voice was deep, the edge of it frayed as if he was already deep in the grip of the desire smoldering between them.

  “No.”

  “Victoria.”

  “I thought it was all ‘When I want. Where I want’.” She steeled herself then lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “What happened to that?”

  His long, sensual mouth tightened. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, yes? And what’s that?”

  “You’re distancing yourself.” The look in his eyes was uncompromising. “You’re trying not to feel anything.”

  “And how would you know?”

  His palms were on her bare thighs, the heat from his touch moving up her legs, spreading out. “What do you think I was trying to do last night when you had your mouth around my cock?”

  Her throat closed, remembering that searing instant of connection when she’d looked up at him from her knees on the floor, seeing the desire in his gaze. Naked. Unguarded. The intensity of it.

  “It didn’t work, Victoria,” he went on quietly. “I couldn’t do it. So I had to trust you. And now it’s your turn to trust me. I told you that you could, remember?”

  She wanted to deny it again, pretend she wasn’t scared. Revealing any of her feelings to him was so difficult. But what would be the point in hiding? When he knew anyway? The time for denial was past.

  Connor’s thumbs moved slowly on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, a gentle caress that was somehow even more devastating than the rough lovemaking the night before had been.

  “You’ve never done this before,” she said faintly, as if that made any kind of difference.

  “Not to you, no.”

  “But you have…” She stopped, unable to continue.

  “Before I married you, yes.” His gaze searched hers, studying her. “Because, in case you were wondering, I haven’t been with anyone else since we split up.”

  The confession was a shock. But not as shocking as her response to it, a wave of complete and intense satisfaction. As if it mattered to her. She swallowed. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know,” he said flatly. “I didn’t meet anyone I wanted.”

  Part of her found that disappointing. As if she was waiting for more. Waiting for the real reason.

  Because I only wanted you.

  No, she couldn’t let herself want that. She couldn’t even let herself think it. Yet the ghost of her need to hear those words lingered all the same.

  “That doesn’t have to mean anything,” she said, as if saying that would exorcise it.

  “No,” he said. “It doesn’t.” Yet his hands didn’t stop stroking as they moved slightly higher. And his gaze held hers as if did mean something after all.

  “Connor,” she began, her throat utterly dry.

  He didn’t answer, only pushing the hem of her skirt right up to her waist in a sharp, decisive movement. Then gripping the lacy edge of her panties, he pulled them down and off her.

  A fine tremor moved over her skin, the gentle shake before the major earthquake.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to watch his fingers as they trailed between her thighs. Her breath hissed then caught as he slid
a hand beneath her knee and lifted her leg over the arm of the chair, before doing the same with her other leg, spreading her out, warm and wet and open.

  There was no anger in his face now, no wariness. “We missed out,” he murmured. “All those years together and we never did this. I never got to taste you.”

  She didn’t want to look at him because the expression in his eyes made that pain twist inside her. Regret. Longing. Loneliness. Hunger. A scalpel so sharp and precise it could slice her open and she’d probably never feel the cut until it was too late.

  And then he put his fingers on her, holding open the folds of her sex, bending his head between her thighs.

  She could feel his breath on her skin, a warm caress all by itself, and she had to shut her eyes because she didn’t want to see the inky black of his hair between her legs, or his long, tanned fingers on the vulnerable flesh of her inner thighs. Because it was intimate in a way none of their other encounters had been. Too intimate.

  This was an unselfish act. One for her pleasure. And that felt…too much.

  She bit her lip hard to stop from crying out when his mouth covered her, the shock of sensation like being plugged into a light socket, and tried to hold out against the wicked pleasure as his tongue slowly licked in long, deep strokes.

  But it was like holding back a tidal wave.

  The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth, her thighs trembling. His hands slid beneath her buttocks, cupping her like she was a bowl he was drinking from, a guttural sound of approval escaping him. And then his tongue pushed into her, a long, deep slide. Breaking her open.

  A moan burst from her, the linen of the armchair giving slightly under the press of her nails as she gripped the arms. Her back arched.

  “Yes,” he whispered roughly against her. “I want to hear that again, dirty girl. Moan for me, scream for me. Let me know how it feels to have my tongue in that hungry little cunt of yours.”

  She shuddered as the words worked their magic, undermining her control, her determination to not give in. Oh God, he was going to expose her again. Strip her back to her essence. And leave her with nothing and nowhere to hide.