“You have to, darlin’,” he purrs, and I feel my sex tingle to life in anticipation of his return.
I’ve become a sexual animal with Gregory, and while I’m grateful that his business trip falls on my time of the month and I don’t have to have the awkward ‘I’ve got my period’ talk with him, I still miss it. A lot.
“Sorry, stud. I’ve got war wounds right now and showing off scabby knees in that lacy underwear is not hot,” I say regretfully. “We’ll have to do a rain check. As it is, I’ll have to wear band aids to bed tomorrow night.”
“You got hurt? Where? How? When?” he demands, making me chuckle at the authoritative interrogation.
“Calm down, Columbo. Sheesh, you’d swear I was mortally injured or something. Some moron on the subway jostled me, and me being the graceless lump I am, I fell. No big deal.”
Yeah right, tell that to your skull.
“You’re okay? Did you go to the doctor to get checked out?” he demands, making me frown.
“No. Don’t you yell at me. I am totally fine. I’m a little banged up, but I will most definitely live. Now, if you’re done insulting my intelligence, I need to get back to work. My boss is a machine who expects his employees to work themselves half to death,” I tease, attempting to lighten his suddenly dark mood.
I hear a sigh.
“I called because there’s a slight chance I’ll be delayed. The data on one of the ships isn’t adding up, and we’re trying to figure it out. If it’s not done by tomorrow I might need to stay.”
“But—”
I stop myself before an honest whine comes out and fiddle a rose petal that’s fallen and landed on my blotter.
“That sucks. If you’re staying I’ll need to reschedule the jet and call your housekeeper. She’s making you mac and cheese in honor of your imminent return.”
I’m not sure Selena or I stand an actual chance with Greg. Rose, his housekeeper, worships him so fiercely I’m almost afraid to call her in case she bites my head off.
“Yeah. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know.”
We say goodbye and hang up. It’s pretty impersonal, and the complete opposite of the conversations I’ve heard him have with Selena, but I ignore it and assure myself he’s just busy.
When the phone rings again, I answer with a grin and a purr.
“You forget something, darlin’?”
“Han.”
“Tom?” I ask, flabbergasted to hear his voice.
I’d never in my life expected to hear from Tom again. Never, not after the verbal assault we’d launched at each other across that courtroom. To say that we should despise each other for the rest of our lives is an understatement.
“Hey, Han.”
I hear the discomfort and uncertainty there and, being the new ‘let’s forgive and all sing Kumbaya’ Hannah, I decide to give him a break and don’t slam the phone down immediately.
“Hi, um, what’s up?”
“I, uh. I’m having…I mean, Shelly is pregnant and I…you know that locket my mom gave you when we got engaged?” he asks.
Yeah. Of course I remember. I’d loved Grace and she’d loved me, and when she’d given me that locket, a family heirloom, and made me promise to always cherish it, I’d taken it seriously enough not to throw it at Tom the day he walked out on our marriage.
“Yeah.”
I kinda know what he’s gonna say, but as I wait I hope against hope he won’t say it. I mean, I want at least one good thought of the guy. Just one. Just the one where he doesn’t demand I return a gift that was given to me with love. Grace is dead now and she won’t ever know, but that’s not the goddamned point.
“Could…I’d like to have it to give to my daughter.”
And here lands disappointment. Un-fucking-believable.
“How about no? How about you try to remember that your mom gave it to me, and that despite our divorce we weren’t enemies and she actually loved me?”
“Hannah.”
Ooh, here comes the ‘I will brook no arguments tone’. Predictable.
“No. Congratulations on your baby, and tell your wife I send my regards. Goodbye, Tom.”
As I put the phone down slowly, deliberately, so as not to beat it to pieces, I think of Gregory and the gifts he’s given me. He would never try to take anything away from me. He may be controlling and ruthless and relentless, but he’s the fairest man I know. Affair notwithstanding.
Chapter Nineteen
Gregory does not return on Friday. Or Saturday. Or even Sunday. Which is a damned shame, because if he’d been home I would have been with him and not on the subway, a place that has become my personal nemesis.