Chapter 6

6

Jolie

Istand in the shower watching water slide down the white tile, unsure of how long it has been since I moved. There is something bothering me, worming its way under my skin, but my brain wants to ignore it. My heart, too.

With Christopher, lovemaking is always intense. An emotional, full contact sport. But last night, there was something different. A desperation that still clings to my skin, as if he left it behind by accident. As satisfying as it was, it…jarred something inside of me. A wakefulness.

Feeling as if I’m waking up from a trance, I soap my body and rinse, going through the motions, even though there is something hot prodding me in the gut.

For some reason, my mind drifts to two days ago. When he came home and seemed to read my mind, playing his role as if he’d been anticipating it. Like he knew what was going to happen the moment he walked through the door. Knew what I needed.

I think of how he avoids any conversation about his past. Heck, his present.

I don’t even know where his job is located.

My heart is beginning to beat faster. I replay the last month in my head. It has been blissfully happy. I’ve made progress personally, separate from Christopher, and he’s been there rooting for me, pushing me. At home, we’ve been locked in a constant state of lust, but our conversations are always about me. Or they’re funny and lighthearted.

Or they’re vague.

Like wisps of something deeper we never delve into.

Communicating without really getting into finer details.

This man I married is protective, funny, thoughtful, supportive, sweet.

He’s also primal, intense, mysterious and dominant.

There is a part of the picture of Christopher I’m not seeing, though, isn’t there?

Standing here in the shower, that seems so obvious, while before, I was distracted by a fog of desire and love and excitement. Part of me wants to step back into the fog and forget the pieces that are suddenly stark and coming together, but I can’t.

With a hard swallow, I climb out of the shower and go about my routine. I get dressed in a loose shift dress that brushes me mid-thigh and I blow dry my hair, applying a little makeup. When I walk into the kitchen, Christopher is standing at the counter dressed for work, a coffee mug to his lips. He turns to smile at me, just like he does every single morning, but this time I’m looking for something else—and I see it. Right after he spots me, just before he smiles, there’s a flash of something wild. Obsessive.

It sends a cascade of nerves down my spine, but…it also turns me on. Makes me short of breath, my thighs clenching together. If he backed me into the bedroom right now, I would go. He would make me moan and claw at his body and I could go about my day as if there isn’t anything wrong, but…I think there might be. And I can’t ignore that.

I’ve missed warning signs before and it got me kidnapped.

Terrorized for days.

I’m stronger and smarter now, though, aren’t I?

“Hey, angel eyes.” He says this so casually, as if he didn’t hold me like the world was ending in the wee hours of the morning. “Made your toast.”

Christopher turns and leans a hip on the counter, running his tongue along the seam of his lips, checking me out without shame. And God, the man is so gorgeous, he turns my mouth dry. His hair is slightly damp from his shower, full and dark, styled with fingers. Tattoos peek out at the edges of his white dress shirt. His smile is adoring and wolfish and male.

This man does not sell insurance.

That fact hits me in the face like a stack of overdue bills.

“Are there women in your office?”

I’m not sure why I ask this. Maybe because it’s a roundabout way into a conversation about his work life, which I’m sure…yes, I’m suddenly sure he’s lying about.

Oh God, my husband is lying to me. Why?

A chill crawls up my arms, making the hair stand on end.

Christopher rears back a little at the question, laughs. “Sure. Why are you asking?”

“You’re very attractive. Don’t they…show interest?”

His blue eyes sparkle with humor. “You can’t actually be jealous, Jolie.” When I say nothing, his humor winks out, replaces with visible panic. His coffee cup rattles when he sets it back down on the counter. “Did I do something to make you doubt me? Tell me what I did. I’ll never do it again.”

I shake my head, wanting to reassure him, despite my growing suspicions. “No, you didn’t do anything.”

He’s already coming toward me, capturing me against his chest. My lord, I can hear his heart slamming against my ear at a thousand beats a minute. This is not a typical reaction. It’s not. All I can do is stare wide-eyed at nothing while he rocks me, kisses my hair. “I’m in love with my wife. I live and breathe and ache and fuck for you. Only you. I see nothing else. Nobody else. Please don’t say things like that, Jolie. You might as well put a knife in my chest.”

“Okay.” I wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry.”

Why am I apologizing?

I don’t know. Except there is an intuition, a positivity that he is not lying about loving me. About living for me. Aching on my behalf. Those parts are true. My heart is backing me up on that, sighing with contentment at his words. Loving his embrace as much as ever.

It’s obvious that my concerns aren’t going to be assuaged via conversation.

Not when my feelings for him overwhelm me into stopping. Don’t rock the boat. You’re happy, satisfied and safe. Why look for holes?

Because I was fooled once. Pride won’t let it happen again.

And there’s also the question of why? Why does he have to lie?

What is he hiding?

“Are we okay?” He pulls back, scanning my face with concern. “I don’t want to leave for work with something between us.”

I force a laugh. “It was silly. I walked in and you looked so handsome, I thought, the women at your office must wish me dead.”

He says nothing, simply studying me with a crease between his brows.

Trying to make things light, I poke him in the ribs. “If I worked in an office with a bunch of people you’d never met, you’d wonder. You’d feel that natural jealousy, too, wouldn’t you?”

“You have no idea, Jolie,” he says, calmly—and I see it again. That same fleeting flash of wildness flicker in the depth of his eyes.

I keep my smile, though my pulse turns skittish.

I keep it until he slides a hand up the rear of my dress, over the right cheek of my backside and into my panties. “I could stay home.” He kneads me firmly, turning my breath to hot puffs of air. “Spend the next eight hours fucking the doubt away.” He breathes hard against my mouth. “I could start by licking that sweet, little cunt.”

Yes.

My body, heart and libido say yes.

But my brain rebels. I can’t. I can’t surrender to this insane attraction any longer.

Not without the truth.

“No, I um…” I back away but reach up to fix his tie to soften the rejection. “I was actually thinking of pulling out my sketch book and working on some designs. You know, update my portfolio so I can think about interviewing again someday soon? I’m getting there.” I wiggle my fingers at him. “I’m getting itchy to work. That’s good, right?”

Slowly, he nods.

I go up on my toes and kiss him. “I’ll be right here waiting when you get home.”

“Okay.”

He seems hesitant to leave, but finally, he walks out the door.

And then I follow him.