I ran my hand over the cardboard trying to devise another reason for the break-in. In the bedroom, which I assumed to be Chelsea’s since it still looked lived in, there was a laptop on a desk and jewelry on the dresser. In the living room was a flat-screen television with a sound system and video components. If robbery was the motive, the perpetrator failed miserably.
“Tell Deloris to have this all sent to my apartment,” I told Isaac, motioning to the boxes.
“Yes, sir.”
Once Charli decided what she needed with her, we’d have the rest sent to her apartment—correction, Chelsea’s apartment.
If Chelsea agreed to the job proposal Deloris offered her this morning, she wouldn’t be spending much time in the apartment near Columbia. Getting her to New York was the first step. The second would be passing the entrance interview. If the people from Infidelity met her mother, they’d reject her, but the woman with Charli in Del Mar would pass with flying colors. The trick was not letting anyone from Infidelity know that she was a plant. Once she was accepted, Deloris would work her magic and pair her with Severus Davis.
By the time we left the apartment, my nerves were shot. Thoughts of Jo combined with worry over Charli had me all over the place. I couldn’t go back to Charli, not yet. Isaac knew what I needed—my release.
Before driving away, he removed a duffel bag from the trunk and placed it in the backseat. I didn’t need to look. Just seeing the bag made my pulse slow a beat. Since Charli came back into my life, I’d skipped my morning workouts. More accurately, I’d exchanged one workout for another. I needed the old-fashioned kind.
That was exactly what Isaac found me. It wasn’t a big gym with a million people in color-coordinated workout clothes. The place was out of Palo Alto, down side streets and out of the way, nothing more than a storefront on a deserted strip mall; however, as soon as he parked the car, I knew it was what I needed. I didn’t want to be recognized or singled out. I needed to beat the shit out of a bag until my fists ached and my body stopped moving.
Moving from the sunlit street to the dingy sweat-permeated interior, I didn’t say a word. Just inside the door was a small hallway with a tiny office to the side. I waited as Isaac spoke to the gray-haired man at the desk. The man’s leathery skin was dented with wrinkles and creases and his hair was long, tied back at the nape of his neck. Though the years appeared to have been tough on him, he still had the build of a fighter. I’d place money on the fact the man knew his way around a ring or maybe it was the street. Either way, when his dark eyes scanned me from head to toe, I knew exactly what he was thinking.
I didn’t need to say a word to refute the impression he had of me in my silk suit and Italian loafers. I was ready to let my fists do the talking. I don’t know what Isaac said to him. I didn’t give a shit. All I wanted to do was pass through the door and work off the multitude of emotions coursing through my veins.
The old man hit a button that filled the hallway with a shrill buzz as the door at the end opened. Stepping through the doorway I inhaled the scent of hard work and testosterone. This was the kind of gym that had been my home away from home when I was young. While Oren was busy building a name for himself and doing anything to get rich, I was left to my own devices. It didn’t matter how much money I had or what deals my father was brokering if I couldn’t stand up for myself.
Oren thought it was a disgrace, and my mother was oblivious to my pastime, but as my father was making the Demetri name known, so was I. As a teenager, Lennox “Nox” Demetri was one of the top MMA fighters in New Jersey.
It’d been a long time since I’d stepped into the octagon, bare-fisted, with nothing but my muscle shirt and track pants. It started as a pastime, a way to burn off steam, but the better I became, the more I was wanted. Studying business during the day and beating the shit out of thick-necked cocky bastards at night kept me busy, until it didn’t.
Everything about it was dangerous. Each fight was riskier than the one before. The bigger my name, the more cocksuckers who wanted a piece of me. It worked until the day Oren’s world and mine collided. Cartels don’t limit their investments to illegal drugs. I came out alive, barely. The other guy didn’t fare any better.
Staring at the boxing ring, I felt a pang of disappointment that it wasn’t the chain-linked octagon. I hadn’t fought like that since I was twenty years old when the name Nox disappeared from the circuit and from my life. And then one day I told Jo about it, and she liked the nickname. Instead of associating it with a shadowy past, it had new meaning. I hadn’t used it again until the day I took off my wedding ring—the day I met Charli.
In a more refined sport of abuse, after I changed out of my suit into sweats and a t-shirt, I donned a pair of boxing gloves. Though I was confident I could take either or both of the posturing peacocks currently in the ring, I concentrated on the bag. My training came back. Pay attention. Keep my balance. Only move my feet when I’m not punching. Punch the damn bag—don’t push it. Breathe. Snap punches three to six reps. Move my feet. Find my rhythm.
Before I even realized it, my punches were flowing. Sweat saturated my shirt as I moved effortlessly around the bag. My power built, the snap keeping my combinations flowing. It wasn’t long before I had an audience.
When I took a breath, I noticed Isaac off to the side holding a bottle of water and talking to the man from the front.
He stepped forward, handing me a towel and placing the straw near my lips. “He said he underestimated you, boss.”
I nodded. “I’m not done yet,” I said as I tossed the towel his direction.
Isaac tilted his head toward the ring. “You have a few takers if you’re interested in stepping inside.”
It had been over ten years since I allowed myself to fight, to feel the power of my knuckles connecting with a person’s face. The sound of bones and cartilage crumbling was a drug, a high, and I’d been addicted, until it almost took me with it. I wasn’t ready to start that addiction again. I had enough on my plate with the woman in my bed.
“I’m going to stick to the bag.”
“I’ll let them know.”
By the time I unlaced the gloves, my clothes were drenched but my head was clear.
At least I thought it was… until I saw Charli again.
AS WEEKS PASSED, I became grateful to have someone beside me, someone who appreciated my father in a way Russell never had, yet at the same time, there was more happening around me that I didn’t understand. Alton’s relationship with my father was different than any I’d ever witnessed. Unlike Mother and I who simply agreed to each and every proposal, Alton’s sentiments and opinions were valued, even sought.
When I asked Mother about it, she simply replied that it was the way it should be, a natural succession, a transference of power. It was what should have happened with Russell, but never did. On more than one occasion, I’d glean bits and pieces of conversations regarding Montague Corporation. They spoke about all aspects of the company, from diversifying investments to liquidating subsidiaries. For the first time in my life, I saw my father take pride in another individual.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my father’s acceptance of Alton influenced my own feelings. The man I was about to marry was receiving the praise and appreciation I’d desired all of my life. I’d never have it, but the fact that Alton was entering the family through me allowed me a smidgen of pride. For once, I’d done something to meet my father’s approval.
As Father had proclaimed, Alton and I became the talk of Savannah: the confirmed bachelor smitten with the young widowed heir. Invitations no longer came addressed to me, but to both of us. Our presence was requested at everything from charity benefits to political fundraisers. The society pages kept the world up to date on our latest social function.
It didn’t take long to recognize that Alton craved what I’d taken for granted. The cameras documenting our every move, the mentions in the media, and the perks that came with the life of a Montague wer
e his new drug. It didn’t matter if I was tired or wanted to stay at the estate with Alexandria, declining an invitation was prohibited. We had a name to represent. Though he claimed that name was Montague, with each such occasion the name Fitzgerald gained prestige.
I quickly learned to read Alton’s moods and his expressions. Of course, I’d been well trained with my father, but Alton was quicker to ignite. Even with Father present, Alton’s passion for his beliefs was rarely tamed. When we were alone it was even more combustible.
Though I was a widowed adult, my parents forbade Alton to move into the manor until after our marriage. That didn’t stop him from coming to my suite during his evening visits. My suite was the same one I’d shared with Russell and consisted of multiple rooms. The sitting room opened to the bedroom with a bathroom and dressing room attached.
Dinner was always precisely at seven o’clock, and Alton and Father often arrived home to the estate around six. Sometimes he’d join Father for a cocktail, and other times he’d excuse himself to visit me. The timidity of a new suitor was lost on Alton. His confidence and self-assured demeanor met little resistance even from my father.
With our elopement still weeks away, I received my first front-row seat to his determination. From the moment Alton entered my sitting room I sensed something was off. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat as I looked up into his eyes. Since the evening I learned about Bryce and Suzy, I continually searched for answers behind the slate gray. Once our conversation was done, it became a forbidden topic to everyone involved. It was as if the truth once freed was again captive to the shadows of Montague Manor.
Alton’s gaze narrowed as he scanned my form, still wearing my dressing gown. Usually I was dressed, but I’d spent the afternoon with Alexandria, and time had gotten away from me. Though I used to balk at Russell’s insistence of my interaction with our daughter, with him gone I found myself wanting to be with her. It might also be that she was getting older. No longer just a baby, even at nearly five, she was smart and funny. Merely the thought of one of her quick responses made me smile.
“Good evening, Laide.” His voice echoed against the tall walls as the flames in the fireplace crackled and supplied warmth.
His presence stirred a mix of emotions inside of me. I found myself attracted, yet nervous, infatuated, yet apprehensive. I’d continued my sessions with Dr. Sams and consciously worked to boost the appropriate responses. Once our agreement was finalized, I asked for us to wait for sex until after we were married. Though he didn’t argue, I sensed he wanted more.
Part of me feared that he wouldn’t like sex with me. That he’d say the things Russell said, calling me names and making fun of me. I reasoned that if we were married, my inability wouldn’t matter. It would be too late, and he couldn’t back out. Then my father wouldn’t blame me for another failed marriage. At the same time, there was the part of me that thought of Suzy. As if I didn’t have enough issues, the idea of him comparing me to her, my best friend, added to my distress.
Standing before my fiancé, I wrapped my arms around myself. The satin of my robe suddenly seemed transparent under my own fingers. I knew it wasn’t, but the look in his eyes told me it was.
“Alton, I wasn’t expecting you this early.”
He shook his head, closed the door to the hallway, and walked closer. Each step increased his breathing as he stared down at me. “It’s after six.” He ran his hands over my arms. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
I took a step back. “I-I should be dressed. Let me just go…” I attempted to move toward the bedroom.
He held tight to my hand. “No.” His chest rose and fell. “I’ve had a shitty day, but I believe it just got better.”
I placed my hand on his chest and used my most appeasing tone. “Alton, let me get you a drink.”
“I don’t want a drink.”
Desire filled the suite, thick like a cloud surrounding and suffocating. I tried to recall Dr. Sams’ words. Senses. I inhaled, yet my lungs wouldn’t fill. The flames in the fireplace no longer crackled. The usual scent of tobacco didn’t register. Apprehension gave way to alarm as I tried to keep myself composed.
“A-Alton, we said… not until…”
His lips took mine: primal and needy. The tender, chaste connection we’d had in the past erupted into more. I tried to back away, to breathe, but I couldn’t. His arms were around me, holding me close—too close. His body—shoulders, arms, and chest—eclipsed mine. I was gone, surrounded by him. His expensive suit coat was unbuttoned as my chest collided with his white shirt. He inclined my face as his fingers twisted in my recently styled hair.
That was the thought that crossed my mind. It was another example of how dysfunctional my thought process was. I’d just styled my hair and now I’d need to do it again. Instead of worrying about what he wanted, I concentrated on my hair. I couldn’t go to dinner with my parents with my hair out of place.
“I’ve been patient.” His words cut through the fog. They weren’t soft or gentle nor were they meant to reassure me. They were simply his reasoning, his declaration. “In the two months since our agreement, I’ve been alone.”
Two months? He bemoaned two months. I hadn’t slept with anyone in nearly two years. Even Russell and I hadn’t been intimate during the last few months of his life. The sting of my dead husband’s last rejection twisted in the pit of my empty stomach.
“W-We’re going to elope soon.” I reminded him.
He pushed his erection against me. “Laide, I want you. You’re mine.” He forced my chin upward until I stared into his eyes. I sought the green and blue flecks that brought me comfort. The ones that glistened in the light of the fire, but they were gone. Cold determined steel stared down at me, leaving a chill as my breathing hitched. “Say it,” he demanded.
“I’m yours. I-I’m just not…”
My robe was gone, lost to the floor. My only protection against the hard rod at my belly was the thin covering of his trousers and my bra and underwear. I considered screaming. After all, the manor was full of people: not only my parents, but staff too. They were everywhere. Yet my chest ached with the truth of my words: I’m yours. I was. I belonged to Alton Fitzgerald. Even if we hadn’t said our vows, my father brokered the deal.
Questions of self-doubt surfaced. What if Alton didn’t like me? What if he rejected me as Russell did? What if he preferred Suzy? He could decide to stop the wedding, and then it would be my fault.
I couldn’t have sex with him. I would disappoint him. In an act of desperation, I dropped to my knees. It was something I’d only done a few times to my husband. Though it never appealed to me, I knew he enjoyed it. Would Alton?
At his feet, I reached for his belt and stared up at him through veiled eyes. “I can help you wait a little longer.”
Indecision morphed his expression until a low rumble of laughter filled the room. His words came out thick. “Fuck yes.” He lifted my chin. “If the world could see you now. Adelaide Montague on her fucking knees.”
Acid churned and curled within me as he reached for his belt and covered my hand.
“You want to suck me?” he asked.
I nodded, hoping to sound convincing. “I want our wedding night to be special.”
“You’re fucking gorgeous on your knees.”
I swallowed the bile.
“Say it,” Alton demanded, his hand still covering mine.
I blinked as seductively as I could muster, my breasts heaving within their lace cups. “I’m yours.”
“No. Tell me what you want to do.”
I’d never said anything like this before. Nevertheless, to keep him from taking me, I formed the words. “I-I want to suck you.”
In moments, he freed himself, his length jutting out toward me. A low growl resonated from his throat as he thrust himself into my mouth. “Keep your hands behind your back,” he commanded as he moved me to his liking.
I did as he said, holding tight to my own fingers
as his laced through my hair and held me in position. I wasn’t sucking him as much as he was fucking my mouth. In and out. I concentrated on not gagging as his length pounded the back of my throat. Salty musk replaced the tobacco scent as he moved faster and faster.
My mind wandered. Did he lock the door? What if someone entered and saw us? What if Alexandria came in? What about my mother?
And then realization struck. I avoided sex. I’d won, but at what cost? He was about to come. I recognized the sounds, the labored breathing and grunts as he moved faster and faster. My fingers unlaced and I pushed against his thighs. I’d never allowed Russell to go this far.
It was degrading and wrong. I was a Montague, not a whore.
My manicured nails scratched at his skin as I shoved and pushed. It didn’t matter; Alton was stronger. Tears filled my eyes and spilled onto my cheeks. My back arched. I tried to fall backward. It was to no avail. He was possessed.
Over and over he thrust. My scalp screamed at the pull of my hair. It was as if my fight fueled his actions. Sounds and obscenities came from his lips though I could barely hear them, the sound of him moving within me dominating my senses.
Even as he came, Alton didn’t release my head. My mouth filled with his seed. My brain failed to comprehend the involuntary action. Spit or swallow? My cheeks distended as he continued to spew. No longer bile, vomit teased my throat as he filled my mouth.
“Swallow, Laide.” His tone was soft as he spoke, petting my head and stroking my throat. All the while he kept himself inside my mouth, not allowing me to spit.
With tremendous will, I made myself swallow. It was like taking a pill that was too big. My eyes closed as I did it again and again until only dryness remained. Finally, I fell down to the floor, my knees collapsing with the awareness that it was over.
Alton took a step back, put himself back into his boxers and pants and buckled his belt. Then gallantly he offered his hand. As I stood, he pulled me close and kissed me, his tongue probing mine, no doubt tasting himself. “You are quite the surprise.”