I clear my throat. "I'm sorry about the way you found things out."
"So you're sorry I found out?"
"No. That's not what I mean."
"Then what do you mean?"
I inhale. I suppose I deserve the cold treatment from him. He probably feels betrayed that I kept things to myself. "Elliot, I never mean to deceive you. I honestly didn't think any of it mattered."
"The fact that Grayson set you in my path, all the while telling you I needed a wife, wasn't worth mentioning? Even when I asked you point-blank to tell me if there was anything that would impact the both of us?"
I have no excuse … except that I was too ashamed to talk about the kind of control I let Mr. Grayson have over me.
Elliot doesn't give me time to respond. He continues: "What about Dennis? He probably wasn't phoning you to reminisce. So what did he want? Or does that also have nothing to do with me?"
"Elliot … "
"Spare me," he scoffs, suddenly animated and slashing the air with a hand. "You would've never told me any of this on your own. And now suddenly I'm supposed to stand here and believe that you're going to be one hundred percent honest? How can I know that you're telling me the truth-all of it-without having my PI dig into everything?"
"That's not fair."
"What's not fair is you never trusted me. I trusted you enough to tell you about Annabelle Underhill. Do you think it was an easy story to tell?" He finishes his coffee. "At least what you said about your roommate checked out."
"You checked?"
"Of course I checked. Had to make sure I had all the facts."
He comes closer until I can smell coffee and alcohol overlaying his warm flesh. My heart thuds, and I wet my lower lip, wondering what he'll do next. "You know what I hate the most about all this?"
I shake my head.
The back of his forefinger brushes along my cheek. The gesture is unexpectedly tender, which just makes it hurt more.
"I still want you in spite of it all." His words are so soft, they barely whisper across my skin.
"Elliot … "
"I need to shower and do some work." He drops his hand like a guillotine and stalks away.
Closing my eyes against the pain, I bury my face in my hands. How can I fix our relationship when he hates the fact that he still feels the connection between us?
I can't keep running. I ran before, when things went south in Lincoln City. People blamed me for being my father's daughter, and there was nothing I could do to change that. But things are different here. Elliot doesn't have a problem with who I am … it's just what I've done.
I can work with that. I can find a way to make him see that I won't do it again … and convince him I didn't do anything to betray him.
I am not like the Annabelle from his past.
Chapter Two
Elliot
My finger still tingles as I viciously yank off my clothes and dump them on the bathroom floor. A button from my shirt hits the tiles, and I curse under my breath. Fuck it. The housekeeper will have to find it, or else the dry-cleaning lady can just replace it. I really don't give a damn.
The shower is heating up, turning the room steamy. I put an overly large dollop of toothpaste on the brush and start scrubbing my teeth with more force than necessary, as though that will somehow stop me from going back downstairs and kissing my wife's lush lips.
I should hate her for what she's done. I do hate her. But somehow my hormones become entirely too active when she's around.
I rinse my mouth out and step into the shower. The hot water erases the rest of the fatigue weighing on me. I didn't sleep a wink last night. Impossible, when all sorts of thoughts were spinning and bouncing around in my mind like a BB in a pinball machine.
My wife's betrayal hurts. In fact, it enrages me. Maybe time has dulled my memory, but I don't remember betrayal causing this kind of anger before. Not that I wasn't furious when Annabelle announced her engagement to my father, but the intensity wasn't like this … this … all-consuming fire.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I bow my head under the water.
"Elliot."
Belle's voice shatters what meager calm I've been able to gather. I pull back from the spray and glare at her standing on the other side of the glass stall. She's still beautiful, her green eyes dark and solemn and her soft mouth like a lush flower in that finely carved face. The flimsy silk gown skims the gorgeous body that I spent hours worshipping just a few days ago. Was it just yesterday that we came back from our honeymoon?
Knowing what she is changes nothing of my reaction to her.
I let my mouth curl into a sardonic line. "Didn't you hear what I said about shower and having things to do? Unlike you, I actually need to work."