An Improper Deal(48)

“Gigi…”

The heat in my blood turns to ice even as small tremors run through me in the wake of the killer orgasm. He collapses, but before he can crush me, he rolls over beside me. He breathes hard, an arm thrown over his eyes.

Tears fill my eyes and leak out along my temples. Quietly, I roll to my side, my back to him. I finally realize why I was so apprehensive before.

I am utterly, irrevocably ruined by a man who wants me to be someone else.





Chapter Twenty



Annabelle

I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I waken I’m alone in bed. My eyes are gritty from crying yesterday, and I rub them roughly. I have no business wasting my tears over what happened. I knew what Elliot was asking for when I agreed to marry him. He never said he wanted me. He wishes I was Gigi. It’s obvious he can’t have her for some reason, and I’m just a substitute for that unrequited love.

But that doesn’t mean it hurts less, and I hate myself for feeling anything. Didn’t I tell myself I wouldn’t dwell on things I can’t change?

Pushing myself up, I glance at the clock. Nine forty-two.

“Damn it!”

I jump out of bed. I can’t believe I overslept. It’s my morning ritual to make Nonny breakfast and take some time to talk to her. Otherwise we don’t generally get a chance to chat with my work schedule and all.

I scramble into the robe from last night and rush down the stairs…

…and run smack into Elliot.

He’s in a pair of black Nike shorts, slung low on his lean hips. Sweat runs down the hard planes of muscles on his chest, then along the sharply defined ridges of his rock solid abs.

Awareness zings through me, and air sticks in my throat. I swallow hard. How can I feel this way after what he called me last night?

“Morning,” he says, his dark eyes unreadable.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I step around him. “Did Nonny get to school?” I ask without looking at him. I go straight for the kitchen to find some form of caffeine.

“Yeah. Fed her some breakfast and drove her this morning.”

I grip the edge of the marble kitchen counter and rub the spot between my eyebrows. I should’ve been up. She’s my responsibility, not Elliot’s. “Thanks,” I say with forced calm.

He is quiet for a moment. “Just so you know, my assistant is looking into placing her in another school that’s closer…and preferably better.”

“But why?” I ask, my mind unable to process what he’s saying. This has come out of nowhere.

“Her current school is atrocious. I saw how it is there for her. It’s going to be better for her to transfer. And…I can arrange it.”

“What if she doesn’t want to move?”

“She does.”

I remember the ride he gave her before. “What did you guys talk about when you picked her up from school?”

“This and that.”

“How did you even know she had a rehearsal that day?”

“I have ways of finding out things.”

The silky tone is a warning—there’s no secret he can’t dig up.

I turn away. He can think that all he wants, but there is one he’ll never discover. Unless I tell, nobody will. Not even Traci knew. I feel a petty satisfaction at that. At the same time horror and humiliation entwine in my gut. The secret is so shameful and ugly. I’m lucky nobody knows.

Not true… a small, insidious voice whispers. The boy…or boys. They know. They just aren’t talking.

Good god. I can’t think like that. I heave the voice out of my head and drag my mind back to the topic. “She likes being in the band. Did she tell you that?”

“There are plenty of schools with better bands,” Elliot says blandly. “My assistant made a list of some private—”

“No. Not private.” I can’t afford to keep sending her there, and I don’t want to yank her out of yet another school so fast. She deserves some stability and normalcy in life. “Public is fine.” I look around the huge open kitchen with countless pots and skillets hanging from the hooks built into the ceiling. “Where do you keep the coffee?”

He comes over, his body moving with the fluid grace and confidence of a man who is intelligent, powerful and attractive and knows it, is comfortable with it. Heat ripples through me, and humiliation follows in its wake. How can I still feel desire for a man who is using me as some kind of love-doll stand-in for his Gigi? How can a man like that be the one who can shatter me?

Arms wrapped around my midriff, I move away, making sure we don’t touch, not even accidentally. Something that looks like regret flits through his eyes, but it’s gone in an instant. He dumps a pod into a sleek machine in the corner, and soon the aroma of coffee fills the kitchen.