Red Handed(81)
He pulled back, that knowledge mirrored in his eyes. Tomorrow morning, she’d be on a plane back to Arizona.
Cole planted a trail of kisses down her spine, and she felt herself responding, her body softening and moistening as if it hadn’t just climaxed. She peered over her shoulder, viewing the erotic sight of it in the mirrors, and she sighed.
She loved the strong, confident man Cole was, but she was greedy. It wasn’t enough that he loved every part of her. Until he could accept all the parts of himself, he’d never truly belong to her.
And she wouldn’t settle for anything less.
He didn’t have to say it.
Tonight had changed nothing.
Here in this room, they’d made love one final time.
This night was their good-bye.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Two Months Later
DANIELLE STARED OUT her bedroom window at the surrounding mountains and desert landscape, wondering how she’d ever thought she could have a different life.
Two months had gone by without a single word from Cole. He’d not only let her leave Michigan, he’d provided her and Tasha with his private jet to take them back to Arizona. Up until the plane had lifted off into the air, she’d held some hope he would change his mind and beg her to stay in Michigan with him.
The minute the plane touched down in Phoenix, she’d started to cry. After receiving word about his mother’s kidnapping, Roman had flown back from Russia. He’d been Danielle’s rock, listening to her vent and holding her when she cried. It would have made it so much easier if she’d been angry at Cole or hated him, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.
Unsurprisingly, she had lost her job at the art museum. Barely sleeping, she found herself having trouble getting out of bed in the morning. Her appetite diminished, and she started losing weight without trying. When she did eat, she’d sometimes get sick right after. For weeks she’d thought her symptoms would improve once she adjusted to life without Cole.
If only it had been that simple.
After closing the shades, she dropped back into bed and drew the covers over her, her gaze falling on the original Degas paintings on the wall. They’d arrived a week after she’d moved back to Arizona, delivered by special courier. No note.
She’d started to drift off when a knock fell on her door. It creaked open. “Can I come in?”
Roman.
She wiped her eyes and sat up, resting her back against the headboard. “Of course.”
He settled beside her, stretching his legs out and sliding his arm around her back. “I’m worried about you. Since you came back from Michigan, you haven’t been yourself.”
She played with a thread of her blanket, her chest tight with tension. “What do you mean? I’m doing what I always did. I read. Lay by the pool. Rinse and repeat.”
“I’m talking about the fact that you barely eat anything. You have no energy. And you never smile.” His expression grew serious. “I think maybe you should see a doctor. You went through a traumatic event. It’s normal to suffer some effects after something so scary. Not to mention, you’re nursing a broken heart. It’s natural for the physical body to show symptoms of depression.”
She sighed. Of course Roman had noticed. “You want me to see a psychiatrist?”
“It wouldn’t hurt. He could prescribe some medication—”
“I don’t need an antidepressant, Roman.” She looked up at him. “I’m pregnant.”
His jaw dropped. “What?”
That had been her reaction to the doctor’s diagnosis too. She’d chalked up her symptoms to her broken heart until one day she came across her unused pack of birth control pills and remembered she had missed a few while in Michigan. Two store-bought pregnancy tests and a doctor’s appointment later, she finally accepted the truth. “Ten weeks. My gynecologist said the fatigue and nausea should pass in a couple more weeks.”
“Is it DeMarco’s? Or someone—”
“It’s Cole’s. There’s no other possibility.” She hadn’t gone into details with Roman about her time at Benediction because talking about it, thinking about it, was too painful for her. At least now she knew there was more at work than simply a broken heart. The hormones had wreaked major havoc on her emotions as well.
“Have you told him?” Roman stood, his jaw set in anger. “If he thinks he can just turn his back—”
“No. He doesn’t know.” She kicked off the blankets. “And he wouldn’t turn his back on me or the baby, but it’s also not what he wanted. I won’t go into the reasons, but the subject did come up, and he doesn’t want a wife or children.”