“But I never thought that an adult man would try to go after an underage girl. Nonny was just thirteen, and a skinny thirteen at that.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” I ask when I regain a small measure of control over my emotions.
Her gaze snaps up to my face. “Seriously? When would I have been able to tell you? When you gave me two hundred dollars for the worst stripping ever? When you offered me three thousand for a blowjob? When you took me to that lawyer’s office for the marriage contract?”
She’s throwing the same events at me again, but unlike before, they hit home this time. My face heats at the reminder of what an ass I’ve been. Back then I didn’t know her. I treated her the way I would any woman who’d sell her body—and more—if it could get her what she wanted.
“But what about after?” I ask hoarsely. “We were supposed to start fresh. That’s what the honeymoon was about.”
“I didn’t want to ruin what we started with an ugly past, Elliot.” A bitterly ironic twist of her lips seems to say like that matters anymore.
“How can you think it’s just an ‘ugly past’ that needs to stay buried? Is that how you felt about Annabelle Underhill too?” As soon as the words leave my lips, I know I’ve screwed up.
“She’s your ex, she came to your home and she obviously wants you back. I don’t know how you can argue she has nothing to do with me.”
I bite back an expletive directed at myself. What is it about this woman that twists me, drives me crazy? Women don’t do this to me. Women are diversions, a bit of fun, not people who keep my emotions running high and erratic, like a train about to derail.
My wife sighs, lifts a hand as though to fix her hair, then drops it when it hits the towel. “You knowing about what happened to me and Nonny in Vegas wouldn’t have changed anything. It had already happened, and it would’ve only disgust—upset you. And I honestly didn’t think Mr. Grayson was going to be a problem. Not one that would concern you, anyway. If I had, I would have told you earlier.”
Even through the turbulent feelings churning inside me, I catch something in her voice—a clue to what’s going on inside her head. “I wouldn’t have been disgusted with you, Belle,” I say, keeping my voice quiet. I’m trying very hard not to vent the emotions roiling inside me. They push against my ribs, the pressure almost unbearable.
She drops her gaze. “It’s not important anymore.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “They say it’s best not to know how sausages are made because if you know you won’t enjoy them anymore. People’s pasts are like that too. You don’t want to know everything, Elliot.”
Then I recognize something that I haven’t thought of before. She doesn’t want me to know any more than I absolutely have to. She is assuming that I won’t stay constant. She’s experienced how quickly people, including those who claim to be her friends, can turn on her. “I’m not Traci or anybody else from your home town,” I point out.
“I know.”
I walk over and cradle her chin in my hand—carefully—then tilt her face until she looks at me directly. “Do you really?”
She doesn’t answer. And I realize with sudden clarity this is why I’ve been furious that she withheld information—because it’s proof that she would never trust me, never lean on me or…
“How can you say you love me and not make yourself even the slightest bit vulnerable to me?” The question rasps out before I can stop myself.
She blinks a couple of times, then looks away.
The evasion cuts, but it doesn’t just hurt. It infuriates.
I lift her head back to me, but Belle is nothing if not stubborn. She gazes at the tip of my nose, pointedly avoiding my eyes. Her mouth is set tight, her lips almost bloodless. She’ll stay like this forever if that’s what it takes. I recognize that as the seconds pile up.
Hell if I’ll let her.
I slant my head, covering her lips with mine. No matter what, she’s always been honest in bed. And this time is no exception.
She kisses me back, her teeth and tongue rough—almost punishing, as though she blames me for all the shit that’s gone wrong since we met. I don’t give a fuck when she cuts the inside of my lower lip. This is far better than her silent, mutinous retreat moments ago.
I lick her lips and rub my tongue against hers. Her velvet softness stokes my suddenly raging need. Her shallow, choppy breathing tells me she is into it as much as I am. I thank my lucky stars that she’s this hot and passionate. Her past… God, her past would be enough to kill this part of her if she let it.
Her fingers dig into my hair, nails scraping my scalp and pulling at the strands until it hurts, but I don’t care. I let out a triumphant growl, yank at the damp towel wrapped around her head and fling it away. Her hair falls in a loose wet coil, and I wrap my hand in it, anchoring her. She slides down her chair, and I take her in my arms, pulling her until she’s sitting in my lap, her sweet ass over my very ready dick.
Still, I pull back with a superhuman effort.
“Don’t,” she whispers harshly.
“Belle…you’re injured.”