She noticed I wasn’t following and glanced over her shoulder. Those dazzling blue eyes were as stormy as the weather. Frustration. Lust. Defeat.
Our reality was inevitable. It hung over our heads like the current thunderstorm.
Eloise stretched out a hand.
I took it.
We’d ignore that reality for another night.
The moment we reached the loft, she lay on the bed, her wet hair splaying across the pillows. Her gaze stayed locked on me as I undressed, tossing my clothes into a pile beside my discarded shoes.
Then I climbed into the bed, settling on top of her, and without any fooling around, I slid inside her wet heat. And for the first time in days, I could breathe.
She hummed, that sound of ecstasy music to my ears. Her legs wrapped around me, holding tight as I encircled her with my arms, burying my face in the crook of her neck to draw in the vanilla and spice and earth.
Eloise.
She’d ruined me. Somewhere along the way, she’d ruined me for any other woman.
Maybe that should have bothered me.
We moved in tandem, like practiced lovers who’d had years, not months, to learn each other’s weaknesses. Our eyes stayed locked, our limbs entwined.
This wasn’t fucking, not tonight. It was too intimate to be considered fucking. But I wouldn’t put the other label on it, not even for myself. Instead I drowned in Eloise, and when she shattered, I followed her into the oblivion.
Neither of us shifted until our hearts had stopped pounding, our breaths no longer ragged. Then I rolled to my back, taking her with me, positioning her on my chest, knowing she’d want to stay close.
Beyond the balcony door, the thunder boomed, followed seconds later by the flash of lightning. Rain prattled on the tin roof.
Eloise’s finger traced lazy circles on my skin, first on my shoulder, then drifting to my pec before she flicked my nipple and her touch trailed up my throat.
It wasn’t foreplay. This was just her. She touched, constantly. Aimlessly.
I’d missed this touch, so much so that I’d changed my plans in Vegas, cramming what I’d planned to do in days into hours. After my interview, I’d stopped by my old gym to see a few friends. Then I’d gone to my house, packing the few things I’d brought along so that yesterday morning, when I woke at dawn to hit the road, my stuff would be ready.
Pulling into the A-frame last night, finding Eloise’s car missing and a dark house, had been a punch to the face.
Fifteen hours on the road, and I’d been so desperate to see her. To climb in bed beside her and finally get some sleep. Apparently, I’d gotten used to the cuddling. Without her, I hadn’t been able to sleep.
Last night had been restless too. I’d stayed awake most of the night, waiting for her to get home, wondering if she was working at the hotel. Worrying that something had happened to her.
I’d finally had enough of the worry that I’d gotten up, put on some sweats and driven into town. But she hadn’t been at the hotel’s front desk. Through the gleaming windows, I’d spotted the night clerk reading a book.
Rationally, I’d known she was probably with her family. Maybe at the ranch with her parents. But that hadn’t stopped me from driving by the two bars on Main, searching out her car. I’d swung by Willie’s too before finally returning home.
Then I’d waited. And waited. And fucking waited.
All goddamn day to see my wife.
Yeah, I should have texted her. Or called. Except that would have been too real. Too revealing.
So I’d gotten pissed. Not even a few hours with Foster at the gym had helped me relax.
Then she’d come home and well . . . I’d missed her.
I wasn’t supposed to miss her.
Fuck, but I was tired. Tired of holding up my hand, keeping her at a distance. Tired of pretending that sex between us was our only connection.
“El.”
“Jas.” She propped her chin on the hand over my chest while the other kept drawing those circles. Across my jaw, then over my cheekbone to my eyes. She skimmed my lashes, then flitted over the line of my nose before tracing my lips.
The defeat and frustration were gone from her gaze. Another flash of lightning brightened the room, making those blue irises flare.
She’d asked me to talk to her. To try.
I loved that she knew it wasn’t easy for me. And for that, I’d try.
“My ex-wife. Her name is Samantha.” This was either the best or worst place to start explaining the disaster that was my family and first marriage. “My parents are close friends with hers, so I’ve known her since we were kids. And I loved her for most of that time too.”
Eloise stiffened. The tracing stopped.
So I clasped her hand, drawing the circles for her until she took over again.
“I grew up in Potomac, Maryland. My mother is in politics. She’s an advisor to some powerful officials. And she works on campaigns. During election years, Mom was practically a ghost. The one year when the senator she was advising lost, well . . . let’s just say she stayed in her wing of the house, and I stayed in mine.”
“Your wing?” Eloise’s eyes widened.
“My father is in political fundraising, but he comes from money.” Extreme money. That money had paid for their lives, though both had well-paying jobs. “Because money was never the issue, they work because they love to work.” And the notoriety. They craved the spotlight.
“That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.”
“Unless you’re their son. And you were born out of obligation, not love.”
The tracing stopped again, but this time, I didn’t make her start again. “What do you mean, obligation?”
I shrugged. “Rich, powerful families have heirs. Heaven forbid all their money go to someone who might actually need it.”
Instead, their fortunes were spent on properties across the globe. On homes like my childhood mansion, which was thirty times the size of what three people might need. I hadn’t been back to Potomac in years. If that red-brick monstrosity with its sprawling green lawns and sweeping gardens ever became mine, I’d gladly sell it and donate the proceeds to charity.
“It’s not that my parents were cruel,” I told Eloise. “I can’t remember a time when I was reprimanded by my mother or father. They didn’t abuse me. They didn’t resent me. They were just . . . disinterested.” Wholly and utterly disinterested.
“How could they be disinterested? You’re their child.”
“They just were.” I understood the confusion on her face. For a woman like Eloise, who had a family like hers, it was hard for her to comprehend. “You know how at that dinner at the ranch, there was barely a second of space in the conversation?”
“Yeah.”
“Imagine the exact opposite. That was my childhood.”
She frowned. “Oh.”
“Mom and Dad are both eloquent people. Put them at a gala or in front of a journalist, you’ll see two well-spoken people who will charm anyone in minutes. You wouldn’t think that if you put them at a table with their only son, that would be different. But it’s like they have on and off switches.”
“And for you, it’s off.”
“Yeah.” The pain in her face, the sympathy, made my heart ache. “Don’t be sad, angel. I had every luxury in the world as a kid.” Nannies to dote on me. Tutors to ensure I was at the top of my class. Chefs to make me whatever food I desired.