I wanted to stay and let the kisses continue, but if I didn’t make that call now, I never would. Then Maverick would scream at me. “I’ll be right back.” I slid out of bed, grabbed my phone, and walked into the living room. I paced the floor buck naked. I held the phone to my ear and listened to it ring.
He answered after a couple of rings. “Everything alright?” His voice deep and menacing, Maverick somehow sounded angry all the time. He was irritable and cold, making him somewhat heartless. He cared about some things, but he was so stony that he refused to care about other things. But tonight, he seemed particularly flustered.
“Yeah. I just wanted to tell you that I won’t be home until tomorrow. I met someone.”
Dead silent.
I expected him to brush off my announcement like it didn’t matter, but he was so quiet on the other end, it seemed like he’d hung up. “Is that okay…?”
“It’s fine.” He spat out the words harshly, like it was anything but fine.
It didn’t make sense. He’d just given a long speech about how I would never mean anything to him, how the sex would be casual and nothing more. But now he seemed so angry, he was seething. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Living with this man had taught me so much about his composure, about the way his tone changed when something was on his mind. I also could read his expressions well, know when he was trying to keep me at a distance so I wouldn’t discover his secrets. “It’s not nothing. Now, tell me.”
“Goodnight, Arwen.” He hung up.
I listened to the line go dead, having no idea what Maverick was so upset about. It couldn’t be me. He couldn’t possibly be jealous or possessive. That meant it was something else…maybe something important.
I walked back into the bedroom. “I can’t stay tonight. I’m sorry.”
He groaned. “That’s too bad. Another time, then?”
“Sure. That sounds good.” I picked up my clothes off the ground and started to dress.
“Did your husband realize he was making a mistake letting you sleep with another man?”
“No. He’s pissed about something else and refuses to tell me what it is.” I pulled on my dress then slipped on my heels. “So I’m going to drag it out of him. Sometimes, men can be so difficult…and my husband is the most difficult man I know.”
I made it to the third floor and noticed his office door was open.
He was sitting at his desk, a bottle of scotch beside him without a glass, and his lips rested against his joined fingers. His eyes were closed, as if he were ignoring a migraine or thinking about something particularly disturbing.
I stepped inside, my heels announcing my presence.
He lifted his chin from his fingers and looked at me, the surprise on his face showing he clearly hadn’t been expecting me to walk through the door. His brown eyes were full of malice, and if that bottle had been new, he’d drunk half of it on his own. He stared at me for a moment before his gaze shifted away. “Why are you here?”
I moved to the couch and slipped off my heels. “Because you’re pissed about something.”
“I’m always pissed.”
With my heels off, I got back to my feet and approached his desk. “No, you aren’t.” I grabbed the bottle and dragged it toward me. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you.”
“You should have stayed in bed with your boyfriend.” He leaned back in his chair, putting distance between us when I came too close. The only time he did that was when he was truly bothered by something.
“He’s not my boyfriend. And you’re more important.” I took a drink straight from the bottle then returned it to his desk.
He continued to watch me, rage in his eyes.
“Don’t worry. I won’t drink it all.” I scooted the bottle closer to him. “I’m here now, so you may as well tell me what’s going on. I can tell you’re angry by the way your shoulders are hunched, by the dismissive tone in your voice. We agreed we were friends—and friends tell each other stuff.”
He watched me for a long time, still as a statue. He rose to his feet unexpectedly, his physical fitness giving him the grace to move quickly and fluidly. He grabbed the bottle off the desk as he made his way to one of the couches.
I sat across from him, just as I did when we first smoked and drank together.
He took another drink before he set it down. When his elbows rested on his knees and his body hunched forward, his clothes tightened against his powerful frame, showing how strong he was. If anyone else moved like that, it would only highlight their flaws. His hands rubbed together, the veins on his hands protruding from his tanned skin.