Chapter 49

Vivian

Ohmigod! Who is that woman? Why was she touching his face? Is she... is she someone he slept with? And how dare he let her put her hand on him? And why didn't he pull away?

How could he do this to me?

My heart plummets to my stomach. Anger tightens the band around my chest.

He must see the play of emotions on my face for he jumps back. He heads in my direction. No, no, no, I'm not doing this now. I can't face him. Not after that scene.

I turn and dart away, down the corridor. I hear his footsteps behind me. Oh no, he's right behind me. I reach the elevator and slap the button to open the doors. Come on come on. The elevator door slide open. I jump in. Then press the button to close them.

He skids to a stop in front of the elevator and shoves his leg between the doors. They spring back, he steps inside. My pulse rate shoots through the roof. My guts churn. I step back to put space between us until I hit the back of the cage.

"It's not what it seems."

He faces me with his back to the elevator doors. I ignore him and stare at the indicator above his head. Except my body is very aware of him. He seems to suck the oxygen out of the small space, so when I draw in a breath, my lungs burn.

"Raven, give me a chance to explain, please."

Tears prick the backs of my eyes. There's no mistaking the concern in his voice, but I can't unsee that scene. He's my husband, mine.

"She touched you," I say in a low voice. "She had her hands on you, and you weren't doing anything about it."

He stiffens. "I was too shocked by what happened. If you hadn't entered, at that moment?—"

"I'd have never seen it, and you wouldn't have told me about it," I choke out.

His silence confirms I"m right. My heart somersaults into my throat. My chest feels like the freaking Himalayan Mountain range has collapsed on it. My shoulders sag. He's not denying it.

I… came here to confront him and fight for him, for our marriage. And now… I wonder if I was mistaken.

I thought he cared for me, that he wasn't able to voice his affection for me because of his upbringing and everything that happened with him in the Marines. But now…? Now, I wonder if I should have believed him.

Maybe he meant every last word when he said he didn't love me. That he was simply saying the words needed to convince me to do what he wanted, and only because he wanted to save his inheritance and consolidate his position in his father's company.

"I was going to say, if you hadn't entered then, I'd have pulled away. I was about to ask her to leave, anyway."

"More lies," I huff.

"They are not lies." His voice is unperturbed.

It's as if he's trying to talk sense into an errant child. How dare he treat me like that? "I'm not a child."

"I"ve never treated you like one." He raises his hands. "Look, clearly, I"m not good with words when it comes to you?—"

"That's putting it mildly."

He shuffles his feet. "I… I admit I made a few mistakes?—"

"A few?"

"Okay, a lot of mistakes when it came to us, and I want to put them right."

If he'd said that ten minutes ago, I'd have jumped into his arms.

That was before I saw him with her.

"Who is she?" I burst out. "Why was she touching you?"

He sighs. "If you look at me, I can explain."

"I"m sure you can. You have a rationalization for everything."

"Because I didn't do anything wrong."

I scoff, "So, why do you look so guilty?"

"How do you know that, when you refuse to look at me?"

Goddamn, I hate it when he manages to turn every argument in his favor.

"Raven, look at me," he growls. The command in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. His presence is so big, so solid, so alluring. I find myself leaning in toward him and stop myself. Damn, why is it that I find it so difficult to disobey him? I take a few steps back, until my back hits the elevator wall.

"Raven." His tone holds a warning.

I so badly want to raise my middle finger at him, but that'd only bring our age difference into focus. The fact that he's twenty-six years older than me has never felt vaster.

The seconds tick by. Come on, come on. Only two more floors to go until we hit the first, and then— Then he moves. He slaps his big palm on the panel, and the elevator shudders to a stop.

"What the hell?" I yell. "Why did you do that?"

I meet his gaze, and… Big mistake, for the impact is like having the Tundra dump its snow on me. A chill envelops me. I'm covered in ice, without any warm clothes to shield me from the elements. My stomach bottoms out, my pulse rate seems to slow. Heat flushes my spine, and the combination of so many contradictory sensations makes me wrap my arms about myself. It's a protective gesture, one he registers, for his jaw firms. A muscle tics at his temple. He holds up his hands.

"Please… listen to me, baby."

"Don't…" I shake my head. "Don't call me that—not now."

He squeezes his eyes shut, then nods once. And when he opens them, there's torment and a bleakness in them. He rubs the back of his neck, and it's a gesture that's so unusual for him, I pause.

It hints at the confusion he's experiencing… Another first. The Quentin I"ve come to know is an authoritarian; someone who's very confident of who he is and what he wants. Someone who's assertive and self-assured; someone who'd never hesitate to speak his mind. He looks away, then back at me, and this time, I glimpse sadness in his features.

Even before he says it, my intuition warns me. In fact, from the time I saw the two of them together in his office, I suspected it, so when he tells me, "She's Felix's mother," I'm almost not surprised. But then he says, "She revealed that Felix is not my son."

"What?" My jaw drops.

"She had an affair while I was on a tour of duty. She became pregnant, didn't know what to do, and decided to pass him off as mine."

"Oh, my God." I press my knuckles into my mouth. "That must have come as a shock."

A muscle tics at his jaw. "I knew she was unhappy, but I assumed that was because she was taking time to adjust to being a mother. I suspected she was unfaithful, but it never crossed my mind that he wasn't mine. Not that Felix isn't mine." He rubs the back of his neck. "He is, in every way that counts." He shifts his weight from foot to foot. "I can't blame her for what happened. It was my fault. I should have been more present. I was too busy running away from daily life."

"You were devoting your life to the service of your country." I shouldn't want to defend him, but I can't help myself. Q has his faults, but his service to the cause of keeping us safe is not one I'll ever question.

His lips twist. "I was pandering to my need to feel important by focusing on my career. It was a classic escape mechanism?—"

I begin to speak, but he raises his hand. "You and I both know it, so don't deny it. It's why, as soon as my feelings for you became too much, and I realized how vulnerable it made me feel, I hurt you. I wanted you to get angry with me and leave?—"

"—but I didn't."

"And I hoped you wouldn't." He shuffles his feet. "But also, I wanted you to, because I"m bad at relationships. If it was inevitable you"d leave me at some point, I preferred it happen sooner than later."

He's been thinking all this, and he didn't share it with me? Why didn't he? Why has he been keeping his misgivings to himself all this time? I peer into his face, trying hard to make sense of what he's saying. "So, you were self-sabotaging?"

He laughs, the sounds humorless. "You could say that. It wasn't until Lizzie marched into my office and told me off?—"

"Hang on, Lizzie told you off?" I stare at him in amazement.

He nods. "And how. She made me realize how selfish I was being. How I was trying to manipulate you into breaking things off because I wasn't able to do it myself."

I rub my forehead, feeling dizzy. My little sister Lizzie faced down my very scary husband—who's more than twice her age and weighs, at least, four times her weight—and gave him a piece of her mind? I don't know what to make of that.

"And when I learned that Felix wasn't mine, everything became clear."

Something in Q's voice prompts me to look up. "How do you mean?"

"I realized how much I love him. I realized…how much I love you."

I blink slowly. "You love me?" I try to keep the skepticism out of my voice but must not succeed because he winces.

He brings his fist up to rub at his chest, then swallows. "I know, I've been an arse?—"

"You think?"

He doesn't smile. "I've been more than that. I've been a wanker. I've been selfish, Raven. I hurt you, and for that, I'll never forgive myself." The expression on his face is so tortured, my ribcage tightens. "I understand why you wouldn't believe it, but I'm going to convince you."

"Are you?" I look at him, aware my skepticism is showing on my face. Hey, I'm allowed to feel cynical, considering how he tried his best to push me away. How he tried to get me to hate him. And then, seeing him with the mother of his son. Seeing her touching him, and he didn't shake her off? Is there still something there? Does he have feelings for her?

He moves forward and cages me in with his arms. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'd kill myself before I hurt you again; this, I swear."

When I don't respond, his lips droop, then he sets his jaw. "You don't believe me?"

"Would you, if you were in my place? You said you wanted to marry me because"—I make air quotes with my fingers—"I was the woman you'd been looking for your entire life, only to turn around and tell me you didn't want a relationship that would tie you down. You said I wasn't enough for you. You said?—"

"I'm sorry, so sorry, baby." He takes both of my hands in his. "I was running scared from my emotions. I knew I'd fallen for you. I realized I fell in love with you the moment I saw you walking up the aisle, but I denied it to myself. I knew if I accepted my feelings for you my entire life would change; that I would never be the same again. It made me feel so very vulnerable, and that"s something I never felt before. I didn't know how to deal with it.

"And mixed with all that was guilt, too. I knew I didn't deserve you. I was selfish asking you to marry me, when you could be with someone closer to you in age. Someone who"ll be there with you for more of your life. Know what I mean?" He stares into my eyes. "You made me feel younger than my years, but you also reminded me my time was ticking down. I have far less life left than you. And that"s bittersweet. That, more than anything, made me wonder if you wouldn't be better off without me."

"Oh, Quentin." I swallow. I want to rage at him and tell him I don't believe him, but the sincerity in his voice, the intensity of his gaze, the honesty of his words… All of it gives me pause. "I had no idea you felt this deeply. That all these thoughts were running through your mind. You seem so strong, so dominant, so confident. I never would have guessed you felt so exposed. I didn't realize our age-gap would affect you so deeply."

His lips twist. "Neither did I. And I admit, it didn't, initially. This feeling that hit me when I saw you, knowing you were the one, overpowered everything else. As long as I was acting on instinct, I was fine. But the more I fell in love with you, the more I realized how precious you are to me. The more I realized, if anything happened to you, I wouldn't survive. It shook me."

I want to say something but decide to stay quiet and listen instead.

He kisses my fingertips again. "I don't think I ever got over feeling responsible for Danny's death. And then Karma…" A haunted look comes into his eyes. "She was so full of life. She was one of those people who burned so brightly, anyone in her presence felt lit up from inside. I saw how Michael was around her. And then when she died, how he shattered. He became a shell of the man he was. Not only was it a shock to me to see someone like her being cut down in her prime, but I knew if anything happened to you, if you left me, I'd be worse off than Michael."

He sinks to his knees, still holding my hands. "I knew I wouldn't survive losing you. And that shook me. Worse"—he swallows—"I had to face the reality that I'll be gone before you."

My heart stutters. He's right but... I don't want to hear this. I can't hear this. It's too painful. "Quentin," I begin, but he squeezes my hand.

"Let me finish, baby. I turned a blind eye to this, and that was selfish of me. In ten years, I'll be fifty-one, and you'll be thirty-three. You'll be in your prime. You'll wake up one day and realize you're married to someone much older, while others your age are living the single life being digital nomads or climbing Everest or going scuba diving… Know what I mean?"

I nod, then shake my head. "Yes and no. I know you're older than me. And that you have more experience and more confidence, and frankly, that's the appeal. And I haven't ever wanted to be a digital nomad, or climb mountains, or go scuba diving. So, I'm not sure what you're getting at."

His forehead furrows. "You have the money. You could do anything you want. You could travel the world. You could work from exotic locations. You could hook up with men your age—" He winces. "You could spread your wings and fly, rather than be with me, and I wouldn't blame you if you did..."

I take in his serious features, the agony in his open gaze, and despite the fact he acted like an asshole, I can't stop myself from feeling his pain.

"I've never wanted to do that." I half smile. "All I've ever wanted is my family to be happy—maybe even one day, have my own—and not to worry about paying my bills. And having a home with a studio where I could paint. I was, and still am, a nerd. I prefer reading poetry in my downtime. As for men?" I raise my shoulder. "The only one I've wanted is you. That's why I married you. It wasn't only for the money," I add in a hurt voice.

"I know, baby, and I'm sorry that I insinuated otherwise." He weaves his fingers through mine. "I want to take care of you and your family. It's my pleasure and privilege to do so. You know that, right?"

I nod slowly.

He must sense the hesitation in my gaze, for he sighs again. "I did a number on you, didn't I?"

I nod. "I... I am going to need time to get my head around everything you're saying."

"Take all the time you need, as long as I can make it up to you in the meanwhile." He holds my gaze with his. "And so, being not so young, yet dipped in folly, I fell in love with melancholy."

I half smile, feeling my heart melt further, despite not wanting to. He can be persuasive, my husband. "Did you adapt Poe's words to help you plead your case?"

"It's called creative license." He doesn't smile back.

"He's probably turning in his grave." I try to look away but can't.

"He knows it's for a very good cause." He peruses my features. "He, more than anyone, realized love is the other name for longing and pain, and being beautiful and tragic at the same time."

"Are you comparing us to one of his poems?"

"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before," he murmurs.

Liquid longing infuses my veins. His quoting Poe will always my undoing. He must see the response on my features, for he nods. "Let me make it up to you, baby, please."

"You tried to distance yourself from me." I bite the inside of my cheek. "You tried to make me hate you. You tried to force my hand, so I'd leave you, but I'd have never done that. That's not me. I don"t give up easily. All you ended up doing was torturing me. It made me feel so, so, unwanted. You were so horrible to me, Q."

He squeezes my hands, which he's still holding in his. "I'm so goddamn sorry, baby. I thought I was doing you a favor by leaving you alone, but not only could I not make myself walk away, but I ended up hurting both of us. I'm—" He squeezes his eyes shut. "I'll never be able to forgive myself for putting you through that. But I hope you'll give me a chance to make it up to you. Please, Raven. Give me a chance. I promise you, this time, you'll see my love through my actions."

When I see the earnestness in his eyes, when I see how open he"s being, that he's bared himself fully for the first time, and knowing that wasn"t easy for him, that traitorous heart of mine softens even more.

"Okay," I say softly.

His shoulders slacken with relief. "You won't regret this, baby, I promise you."

"You'll have to prove yourself."

"I will," he says with vehemence. "You'll see."

"You'll have to win back my trust."

"That's going to be the sole aim of my life. I'm going to make you fall in love with me, all over again."

I frown. "I never said I loved you."

"But you do," he says with that familiar arrogance that makes me both chuckle and also, want to slap him.

I settle for tipping up my chin. "So confident," I huff. "I'm not going to make it easy for you."

"Can"t wait." He smirks.

And that should piss me off, but all I feel is a familiar tug in my belly. I"ve missed his smirk. I"ve missed him holding my hand. I"ve missed this single-minded attention only Q can bestow on me that makes me feel like I"m the center of the universe. Which is why saying this next thing is so difficult, but I do it because I owe it to myself.

"I have one condition," I add.

His shoulders bunch. A wary look comes into his eyes. I'm sure he's going to say I can't put conditions on our relationship, but he nods. "Go ahead."

"I need some space, so I can focus on getting my paintings done for the show."

His face falls. "You want me to keep my distance from you?"

No, I don't. But it's best for me, for now. "Only until the showing, so I can focus on my painting and hit my deadline."

His chest rises and falls. A myriad of emotions race across his features. I'm sure he"s going to say ‘no' to this. But then he slowly nods. "Okay."

OMG, I did not expect him to agree to that.

"Okay, good." I breathe out in relief.

But then he adds, "I have a condition, too."

Of course, he does. I manage not to roll my eyes, "What's that?" I ask.

"Kiss me." He looks deeply into my eyes.

It's still an order. Q's in charge when it comes to anything sexual. And yet, his tone is soft, and there's a pleading quality to his voice that sends my pulse rate into a tizzy.

My heart stutters. My thighs clench. A familiar heat squeezes my belly. The heat from his body overwhelms me, and oh god, I want him to kiss me. I do. And if I do, I'll find myself already giving in to him. It's best I don't. It's best I try to keep some distance from him... I suppose.

When I hesitate, his face falls.

Then he squares his shoulders and nods again. He begins to move away, when I close the distance to him. I rise up on tiptoes, grip his arms and raise my face to his. Our lips touch, hold. For a few seconds, we breathe each other in. I feel the softness of his lips. The tenseness of his muscles as he holds himself back, as he lets me explore his mouth and nibble on his lower lip. And when he parts them, I slip my tongue inside. A groan rumbles up his chest. I shiver, throw my arms about his shoulders, and plaster my breasts to his chest. His entire body grows rigid. I rub up against the hardness that pokes into my belly, and he growls, "I need to kiss you properly, baby."

I half laugh, then nod. Instantly, he tilts his head and closes his lips over mine. And his kiss… Oh my god, the feel of his hard mouth on mine, the way he slides his tongue over mine, the way he robs me of my breath and drinks from me like he's starving and thirsty and needs to taste me to survive—I can feel it all the way to the tips of my toes. Prickles of electricity dance across my scalp.

I've missed my husband so much. Missed the way his body covers mine and his weight pushes into me and holds me immobile. The way the band of his arms around my body makes me feel secure. My nipples pucker, my pussy clenches, my thighs hurt, and yet he doesn't let up.

He hauls me closer, so we're stuck from thighs to hips to chest, so I can feel the thickness of his erection throb against my lower belly, and feel my breasts squashed against his chest and his pecs turn into hard ridges of steel. He runs his hands down my back to my butt and squeezes. Instantly, more moisture squeezes out from between my legs. I groan into the kiss, and there's an answering rumble from him.

Then he tears his mouth from mine. We stare at each other, my breath coming in pants. His nostrils flare. His blue eyes are stormy with desire. The jut of his chin, the muscle that tics below his cheekbone—all of it is so familiar and so sexy. The lines radiating from the edges of his eyes deepen. "I love you. And I'm going to show you how much."