Secrets Of The A-List. Cat Schield
jitters. But the turmoil in her gut didn’t subside. Nor the fact that she was filled with more questions than answers.
Elana shoved off the covers and sat up. Pushing her tangled hair off her face, she glanced at the clock. How could it have gotten so late? Why hadn’t anyone come to wake her before this? Her mother should have been all over her by now.
She rushed into the bathroom for a quick shower. In twenty minutes she needed to be at the spa for the first of her treatments. Massage, hair and makeup. She and her bridesmaids would all be done up in the coordinating autumn colors of her wedding palette. Like yesterday, they’d booked the spa for the entire morning and part of the afternoon. By the time she left there today, she would be relaxed, tranquil and gorgeous.
In five minutes Elana stepped out of the shower and wrapped a thick white towel around her body. She brushed her teeth as the steam cleared from the mirror. When she could see her reflection clearly, she blinked in surprise. Something appeared odd. Her normally unblemished skin had strange blotches around her neck and chest. Was she having an allergic reaction to something? They didn’t itch. She leaned closer to the mirror and gasped.
Those weren’t blotches or reactions. They were hickeys. Jarrod had marked her as clearly as if he’d used a black permanent marker. She stripped off her towel and shrieked as she noticed the numerous discolored circles on her breasts, stomach and the insides of her thighs. Frowning, she tried to recall if she’d noticed what he was doing. Obviously she’d been too preoccupied with his clever fingers making her writhe to notice.
Humiliation flooded her. Between the plunging neckline and the sheer fabric, few of these marks would be concealed by her daring white lace gown. The wedding photos could be touched up, but there were five hundred guests invited. What would everyone think?
Elana raced for her phone. She would give Jarrod a piece of her mind. But another nasty surprise awaited her when she awakened the screen. He’d sent her a text. A photo. A selfie of himself and...was that her breast? The man was impossible. Deleting the picture, she got dressed and headed into the bathroom to see if she could cover up the marks. Her hands shook as she applied concealer. When finished, the spots continued to stand out, but for the opposite reason now. They were too pale against her skin.
This was a disaster. What was she going to do?
* * *
Mariella woke with a start, knowing immediately that this was not her room. And definitely not her bed. The sheets slipped, warm and cozy, against her naked flesh as she shifted to put a tiny bit of distance between her and the furnace of a man beside her. She didn’t need to turn her head to know Joe slept beside her. His purring snores were unfamiliar and yet utterly wonderful.
For heaven’s sake. What was the matter with her? She shouldn’t think that way. She’d just had sex with a man who wasn’t her husband. Again. And it had been better than the first time. They were learning more about each other’s bodies. Such as how he liked it when she played with his nipples. Harrison hated her to go anywhere near them, while Joe was thrilled when she gave his a tentative tweak.
But no matter how exciting the sex, she shouldn’t have come to Joe last night. No matter what Harrison had done to her, sleeping with her comatose husband’s best friend on the eve of her daughter’s wedding was not done. And yet, why not? Why shouldn’t she approach her sex life like her husband did his? She could leave responsibility and fear of consequences at the door and throw herself into passion. Why should she bow to guilt? In all the times that Harrison fucked that disgusting French tart of his, had he wrestled with his conscience once?
Thirty-two years of marriage, and what did she really know about the man? How many things had he lied to her about? Certainly this affair was the merest tip of the iceberg. The more she thought about it, the more she knew his French mistress couldn’t be the first. Just how many had there been? Harrison’s appetite for sex had always been keen. But as the years went by and their children had been born, she’d believed that they’d settled into a comfortable level of intimacy. After all, they weren’t randy newlyweds who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They were busy people coping with the intense pressure of running a successful multibillion-dollar enterprise. That sort of stress certainly took the fun out of getting naked and chasing each other around the bedroom.
Had she been fooling herself?
If she was honest with herself, the signs had been there all along. The mysterious phone calls, lengthy business trips, the smell of other women on his clothes. She’d thrown herself into working at the company to prevent herself from noticing that her marriage wasn’t as fulfilling as it once was. And yet, she hadn’t wanted to confront Harrison. What good would that have done? Confirmation of his affairs would have left her with a decision to make—stay, and continue to enjoy the benefits of being Harrison’s wife with all the power and prestige that position offered, or leave and make her way on her own.
And yet, wasn’t that exactly what had become of her? Whether Harrison woke from his coma or not, she couldn’t unring the bell. She was no longer the wife who could turn a blind eye to her husband’s questionable activities. She’d become the wife who engaged in her own questionable activities.
Oh, what she’d been missing. A sensual smile curved her lips as Mariella ran her fingertips over her warm skin, remembering Joe’s passionate touch, the way his lips had left tingles in their wake as he’d kissed and caressed every inch of her body.
Being with Joe was so easy. Too easy. He could swiftly become a habit she wouldn’t want to break.
“Good morning.” His deep voice rumbled through her. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he perused her disheveled appearance. “You look gorgeous in the morning.”
At his compliment, Mariella fought a ridiculous urge to simper like some idiot girl. He seemed to prefer her mussed and had spent a great deal of time the previous night breaking down her guards, unraveling her composure and enjoying her unrestrained passion.
Had Harrison ever cared about her pleasure? She frowned as she struggled to recall. Maybe in the early days of their marriage. Had things cooled because of his affairs, or was it the other way around?
But it was one thing to have an affair and another to father a child with another woman. Mariella recalled the voice on the phone. The French-accented gold digger who claimed to be pregnant with Harrison’s child. Was it possible? Could he have gotten this woman pregnant and then abandoned her?
With each new revelation about Harrison, Mariella realized she had no idea whom she’d married.
“I’m glad you decided to spend the night,” Joe said.
“Yes, well...”
His smile, so filled with delight and so dear, tore at her heart. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Staying the entire night was just not done. She’d meant to put on her clothes and go. It was bad enough that she’d come to his room on the eve of her daughter’s wedding.
The wedding!
Mariella realized the room was quite bright. What time was it? She glanced at clock on the nightstand and blinked in shock at the numbers glowing at her. It’s impossible that so much of the morning could’ve gotten away from her. She should’ve been at Elana’s room a half hour ago.
“It’s so late,” she exclaimed, staring at Joe’s face with regret mingled with dismay. “I have to go.”
Flooded with embarrassment and confusion, she snatched the sheet to her chest and spied her clothes strewn all over the floor of his suite. So far away. What foolishness. She wasn’t a silly virgin unaccustomed to a lover’s lust-filled gaze. She’d made love to the man twice. He’d slid his hands and mouth over every inch of her. Why was she now so reluctant to let him see her naked body?
There was nothing else to do. She simply had to get dressed and go find her daughter. Elana had been acting odd for weeks. This wedding was too important to let anything go wrong.
* * *
Thom stands at the foot of Harrison