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His scathing tone stung. She set her wine down a little unsteadily, and crossed her legs onto the sofa. “I believe in love,” she retorted defiantly.
“You believed in fairy tales and magic, Chloe. Things that don’t exist. But that’s not what I’m saying. How can you possibly take on the blame for his behaviour? He carried on like some kind of dog on heat and you think that is, in some way, your fault?”
Her cheeks stained with a perfect pink. “Neither of us met the other’s needs. I’m only saying that I can understand why he …”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” he ground out, a muscle shifting in his jaw as he stared down at her.
“Why are you getting so angry about it?”
He shook his head. “Because you’re a smart, funny, beautiful woman. And you should have kicked him to the curb when you first learned about his affair. Instead, you’ve made excuses for his behaviour that put the blame squarely at your feet. It’s like a bad line from a Tammy Wynette song, except you actually believe it to be true.”
She pushed to her feet now, all pleasure in the evening evaporating. “I think you should go after all.”
He glared at her for a long, hard moment, and then shook his head in frustration. “You just said that waiting until you were married was his idea.”
“Yes?” She ran her hands over her arms, but nothing kept the cold at bay.
“So he should never have suggested it if he thought it would lead him to infidelity. People don’t cheat because they’re not getting laid enough.”
She spun away from him, her heart hurting. “You don’t know enough about it.”
“I know that William Ansell-John sounds like a man who thinks with his dick. That’s not your fault. The only thing you did wrong was agreeing to marry him in the first place.”
Her indignation was a painful presence. “And you’re different, I suppose?” She challenged, crossing her arms over her chest so that she could glare at him properly.
“Damn right I am,” he ground out, moving to stand in front of her.
“You don’t sleep with woman after woman, then forget they exist?” She pushed, her throat knotting as she swallowed.
His laugh was a rumble of anger. “I sleep with women who know I don’t want much more than a great fuck.”
“Stop it,” she stomped her foot, and lifted her hands to her ear. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”
“Cinderella doesn’t exist. Prince Charming doesn’t exist. We’re all just people, making decisions and living our lives. Enjoying sex doesn’t make me like your husband.” He lifted a hand and ran it insolently along the flesh of her décolletage, towards her cleavage. Her breath was dragging in to her lungs, lifting her breasts closer to him. “Your husband was a lying cheat. And I’m not.”
Her stomach rolled as he moved his finger to her nipple and circled it through the flimsy fabric of her shirt.
“Everyone lies,” she said through a fog of desire. Her knees were weak. She wasn’t actually sure that they wouldn’t buckle beneath her.
Ah, how right she was! But his own lie was being closed out of his mind, as he felt, for a moment, how perfect it would be to take possession of her body. Her nipples were straining at the fabric of her shirt. She was responsive, and he’d barely touched her.
“Did you like sleeping with your husband?” He asked quietly, dipping his head so that his words tickled the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck.
She made a low, slow moan of feeling. “He was my husband,” she said thickly, as though that explained everything.
“Did he make your body ache with need?” He queried, rotating his hips so that she could feel for herself the power of his arousal.
Her body shuddered in silent answer. “I … I don’t know what you’re asking.” She needed to get a hold on the situation. This was madness. But her mind was at war with her libido, and her body’s needs were gallivanting to the finishing line.
“Did he screw you until you couldn’t speak, because your voice was so hoarse from screaming?”
She wanted to pull away and slap him, but more than that, she wanted him to … to what?
“Please don’t speak like this,” she said, and it sounded prim to her own ears.
Even his laugh sent her nerve endings jumbling. “We don’t have to speak,” he promised thickly. He had intended to seduce her slowly. To wine and dine her, and make her comfortable. But the evening had worn down his strength. Her lips parted on a sound of surprise, and he was powerless to resist. He lowered his mouth to hers and took command of her sweet warmth with an angry hunger.
She whimpered against him, and lifted her hands to tangle in his hair. One small push with his hips and she fell backwards onto the sofa. He tumbled after her, the weight of his body against her, his erection pushing towards her feminine heart.
