Bare Devotion. Geri Krotow
This was about being able to trust him. Too painful to go there.
“You think loosening up your dress code will loosen you up? Take the stick out of your ass?”
His eyes narrowed, and she knew he wanted to tell her to fuck off. Before, when they’d been so in tune, he would have bent her over the sofa that usually was in the center of the living room, and they would have fucked themselves to the oblivion of the priceless chemistry they’d shared. And then laughed about it later, sprawled out on the same sofa.
“Maybe I’m not the one who needs to loosen up, Sonja.” His drawl was pronounced, the way he knew she liked it.
Against her mind’s best advisement, her body reacted in the only way it knew to. She crossed her arms across her chest, hoping he hadn’t seen her nipple hard-ons. It had to be baby hormones. No way would she feel attracted to him like this, after all she’d done.
Would she?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She stood her ground as he took one, two, five steps toward her. They were no more than two feet apart. Too close, too soon.
“You were always so quick to place the role of the uptight legal beagle on me, sweetheart, but did it ever occur to you that you’re the one with the rigidity issues?”
“No.” It came out as a goddamned whisper even as she straightened her spine. As if he were turning her on as quickly and effectively as ever. As if she could forget the betrayal at finding out there was so much he’d never told her about himself and throw herself at him, beg him to make love to her.
He made a show of looking her up and down. His gaze lingered on her breasts, covered by her arms, before sweeping to her hips and back up to her face. “You’re looking as hot and luscious as ever, Sonja. Who would know that underneath it all lies a woman who was able to leave her fiancé of two years at the altar?”
* * * *
Henry saw her intake of breath before he heard it—her chest rose in a decisive move of shock, and he waited for the satisfaction to curl through him.
Instead he couldn’t take his gaze off her liquid brown eyes, eyes he’d drowned in every single time they’d made love. Had a conversation. Shared their lives for over three years.
“You have no moral high ground here.” She looked around the wrecked bottom floor of their house. The house they’d built together, long before she ever agreed to marry him. “The entire time we were a couple, you told me that you’d had a few relationships before me. You neglected to mention your engagement to a college classmate, or how she’d never learned how to let go of you.”
Christ.
“Can you let go of Deidre? She’s nothing to me other than an ex at this point. Hell, she’s my parents’ friend, not mine.”
“A friend who showed up at our wedding, ready to wreak havoc.” Her expression faltered. “Look, I’m not blaming her. I feel awful for her, in truth. The fact that she still has feelings for you—no, don’t argue this point, Henry. No ex goes to a wedding in such a sneaky way unless she wants to get back with the groom. But you didn’t even give me a warning that you’d invited her in or tell me that she’s a goddamn lunatic. How was I supposed to feel when I saw you and her in an embrace at the cathedral?”
“It wasn’t an ‘embrace’ for fuck’s sake. She came up to me, caught me off guard.” He threw up his hands. “I knew I couldn’t count on you to be reasonable about any of this.”
“Reasonable? You do remember that I left you at the altar, right? What’s so reasonable about that?”
“I don’t need a reminder of what you did.” He stared at her, unable to imagine anything sadder than the sight of the woman of his dreams standing in the middle of a room stained from the storm floods. In what had been their dream retreat from the world but now smelled like the dankest parts of the bayou. The stagnant parts—the places that didn’t get any circulation.
“About that, Henry, I have to tell you something.” A flash of her pearly front teeth as they tugged on her full, lush lower lip.
“Save it. The only talking we need to do is at the office.” He turned to leave, or at least, he thought about it. But he couldn’t take his eyes from hers. Sonja was the goddess he’d fallen for as she stood there in what he knew was one of her least favorite work outfits. She’d always complained that the two-piece skirt suit was too big in the waist. The golden silk jacket and skirt were set off by a creamy underblouse—more of a camisole. He knew because the last time she’d worn this suit he’d practically ripped it off her before they made love in her office. After hours, of course. They always did everything by the book. He was tired of following rules.
He mentally corrected his memory of their making love. They’d had sex. The love hadn’t been mutual, couldn’t have been. Someone who loved you didn’t leave you with your goddamned heart pulsing in your fucking hand.
“Henry, I don’t expect you to want to listen to me, or to be ready to believe me about anything, not now.”
“Not ever.”
“But there are still some things that you should know, things I have to tell you.”
He stared at her and wondered how the sun always hit her rich mahogany skin just right. Sonja looked ten years younger than she was, and he suspected she’d always be beautiful like this. His dick started to respond, and not only to the memories that flooded his thoughts but to the here and now. He ripped his gaze off her. “I know all I need to.” He walked over to the kitchen counter. How had their house been destroyed, had Sonja walked out on their wedding, his life blasted to hell, all within only three weeks?
“Henry.” Her hand was on his forearm, and he thought his skin would blister from the heat. “I should have talked to you sooner.” Her voice was raspy, the way it got after she cried. Or when she was wet and ready. His cock swelled, and he damned his erection, damned whatever it was that kept him attuned to this woman even after she’d made an absolute fool of him.
“Don’t, Sonja.” He wouldn’t take her hand away, sucker that he was. He turned and looked into her eyes and saw sorrow, confusion, and a shadow of—regret?
She pulled her hand back and hugged herself. It was Sonja’s go-to defensive posture. She never did it in the courtroom or law office, not while she was working. But with him, with either of their families, she’d assumed this posture countless times. When she doubted her gut instincts.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Her chin jutted the tiniest bit. Nothing he’d have noticed if they weren’t standing so goddamned close. He turned away from her and took a few steps into the kitchen, unable to trust himself.
“I never expected you to bolt from our vows the way you did.”
She had the decency to turn away then. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Try me.” The words came out of a primal place, as involuntary as his sexual need for her. She’d dragged his heart over shattered glass, and it still beat loud in his ears with his want.
Her eyes widened, and she reached out for the island counter, her long elegant fingers splaying over the slab of granite they’d handpicked to match the tiled floor.
“Henry...”
“You know what really gets me, Sonja?” His anger simmered, but still it wasn’t enough to dampen his desire. He took a step closer, and she swayed backward but didn’t move her feet.
She shook her head. “No.” A whisper. She still felt it, too.
He advanced another step, closing the distance he’d put between them. Of its own volition his index finger traced the line of her cheekbone, her soft skin dewy from the high humidity that blew in through the open French doors. “What keeps me up at night is how you were able to continue to live with me, sleep in the same bed as me, and never once mention that you