Blurred Lines (Behind Closed Doors Book 2) (11 page)

“Yes, you would!” Anna shrieks and pushes him backwards. “You think I don't know you were leaving me that night? For God's sake, Sean, you admitted you'd had your tongue down her throat. Why do you think I told you to choose me or her?”

He did? Oh my fucking God. Why didn't Ashleigh tell me?

“How could you fucking lie to me over something like this, Sean?” Anna cries. “You didn't choose me and Stephi. We're your fucking consolation prize!” Anna bursts out of the court room and Sean is hot on her tail, telling her it's not like that. Right now, I can't believe my brother is that much of a jackass! I think I might actually hate him, just a little bit, for treating both Anna and Ashleigh this way.

“If this whole mess wasn't bad enough, without all that drama with Ashleigh being dredged back up.” Mom links my arm with hers as we follow Dad out the courtroom. “I guess you knew all about this?”

“Actually, Mom, I had no idea.”

“But she's your best friend?” Mom regards me with that horrible questioning gaze that makes me doubt everything I thought I knew for certain. Is she my best friend? Really? Aren't best friends supposed to talk about this kind of shit? Yeah, now I'm pissed at both of them.

My cell rings again. I look at the caller ID. “It's Wayne.” Honestly! This is the eighth attempt he's made since I put the phone down when Ashleigh walked into court. “Hey, baby.” I smile into the phone. “The case was dismissed.”

“You hung up on me!” he shouts down the line at me.

Huh? What? Why is he so mad? “I had to.” Hadn't I explained that on the earlier call?

“You didn't call me back.” I don't understand what the big deal is. “You rejected my calls.”

“The court was in session.”

“I've been going out of my mind here, Julia.”

Honestly, you'd think I'd never been away from him since... Oh... It
is
the first time I've been away from him in two years. “It's fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine. You have nothing to worry about. I'm with Mom and Dad. Everything is all okay.”

“I want you to come home.”

“What? But I'll be home tomorrow.”

“No, today.”

Fear starts to pool in the bottom of my tummy. “What's wrong?” At the question my parents turn around and stare at me.

“Just come home!” he yells so loud that my parents both frown.

I sigh. There's just no point arguing with him when he's like this and if I'm honest, something has happened to freak him out and I want to be with him, to help him deal with whatever it is. Instinct drags my mind back to the last time he was this erratic. “There’s another woman, isn’t there?”

He doesn’t lie to me and deny it. But he doesn’t answer me either, so I take it as the confirmation he’s not allowed to give me. “Alright, I’m coming home.” I look at my parents, who are hovering with concern, as I close the cell phone. “I think he’s missing me.”

Chapter Twelve

January 2008

Our first dinner party is tonight and I'm nervous, yet super-excited. Wayne wants to impress his Captain. Although he's been nothing but a shining example of the LAPD homicide unit, he's convinced his one AWOL from six years ago is held against him. He thinks it's prevented his progression in the unit. He wants to show Captain Warren choosing Los Angeles is the best thing he ever did.

We have thirty of our closest friends, relatives and business colleagues coming over for a night of fine cuisine. I've hired the best caterers in Los Angeles and they come highly recommended by Angela's personal assistant, Liv. She's used them many times and even negotiated a fantastic rate for us.

I've spent one half of the day following Liv's hosting guidelines to the letter and have everything working like clockwork, and the other half being primped and polished courtesy of Ashleigh's personal team of beauty therapists. I guess that's her way of showing her support and her team have made me feel like I'm the one who'll shine tonight, not my celebrity best friend. I'm not jealous of her. Of course I'm not. Good grief, I don't know how she puts up with all the attention. But I know, even though he invited her, Wayne's concerned she'll steal his limelight and sabotage his goal this evening.

I've picked out the most perfect dress. One not too short, not too long. One that doesn't show too much skin and doesn't reveal too many curves and from the way Wayne looks at me from the other side of our bedroom, I know he more than approves. I feel his burning gaze on me and raise mine to meet his in the mirror again. His eyes are a mixture of lust and... And something else but I can't name it. I turn away from the mirror.

“I thought you were her stylist, not her yours.” His voice is dripping with disdain. He's angry. Why is he angry? He draws me to my feet. This doesn't make sense. He likes the dress. I know he likes the dress. He said he liked the dress. So why is he angry? He pulls me flush against his body. His intent is clear as he traces a line back and forth over my exposed collar bone with his finger. He wants me. I know he wants me. I can feel how much he wants me through the ultra-thin satin and sheer silk overlay. He's deliberately pressing his desire against my stomach. “You look like a whore.”

I gasp as the insult rips through my chest. I do not! My hair is pinned to the top of my head in a mass of twists and curls. My makeup is light and barely noticeable. I think I look like a Greek goddess and until this moment I had felt like one. All of my pain and horror is swallowed by a ferocious kiss and he pulls me nearer, holds me to him with his strong hand cradling my head. I have no opportunity to protest or push him away. I can only feel how much he wants me.

His hand slips beneath the hem of my dress. He caresses my bare thigh as he strokes his way upwards, higher and higher until he takes and squeezes my bum in his palm. He makes a deep angry groan and I'm not sure if it's with pleasure or rage. But still, it reverberates deep inside my stomach and turns my whole insides to molten lava. And now, I want him too.

“You...” His hand slips between us and over my satin underwear and suddenly he breaks our kiss. “What the hell is this?” His eyes burn with rage but his voice is thick with desire as he hurts me. “You have to stop letting her make these awful decisions for you.”

What? Who? It takes a few seconds for the fog of desire to clear. Why would he bring her up right now? She's the catalyst for all our arguments. I don't want to talk about Ashleigh right this second, thank you very much. I thought we were having a moment.

Then it dawns on me what he said and my rage starts to simmer at his insult. Why I am incapable of making simple decisions like the right kind of underwear for myself? Why does he think she's in control of everything I do? So what if I've been pampered by her entourage? I chose to wear everything I have on tonight and look at him! He can't keep his eyes or his hands off me.

“Only whore's like her wear dresses that short without underwear or stockings.”

What did he think I was wearing when he grabbed my ass? Nothing at all? “I'm wearing—”

He tugs at the flimsy satin and it tears between my thighs. I'm exposed for a brief second before there's skin to skin contact. It takes my breath away. His fingers stroke; the hot sensation floods my body from head to toe. I weaken at the knees. My hands grab the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, make a noise, and he responds by gripping me with his other hand as he continues to push me higher. I'm confused. This feels like punishment and yet I don't know why or what I did wrong. He's so intense. He's angry. I'm angry too. This is so incredibly hot. I think maybe we should work out the tension between us with quick, angry sex.

“Do you dress like this when I'm not around?” he asks as his fingers work their magic on me. I'm climbing higher and higher. There's no way I can reply. “Would you risk another man gaining this much access when they take what they want by force?”

His words are like ice on the fire within me. The hollow eyes of the Homicide Highway Murderer floods my memory and I yelp. I step back but he won't let me go. I push my fists against him but he just grips my lower back harder. He holds me tighter against his intimate strokes but I'm not enjoying this anymore. I feel dirty and guilty and ashamed. I feel violated all over again and when I look up into his darkened eyes I see his purpose. This is punishment. But what did I do wrong?

“I ... I didn't let him,” I whisper, as fear drains the strength in my limbs. The cold sensation I felt that night paints my skin in gooseflesh. “I promise I didn't.” I shiver from head to toe as I realize I've learned nothing from the whole experience because I'd be helpless all over again. “I was unconscious.”

He gasps. “Oh, baby.” The change in him is instant. His eyes darken further as his lips start showering me with kisses. “I'm sorry.” He grips my cheeks with both hands. “Oh, precious, I didn’t think. I'm so sorry.”

I know. But inside my mind I'm reliving the entire experience from our fight to feeling those callous hands as they drained the life from me, to waking up thinking it was a dream and then hearing I'd never be the same again.

He wraps me up in a warm protective circle, holds me while I fight against my tears. I can't cry. I can't ruin my makeup. I can't spiral again. I won't go back to living in fear of closing my eyes because I'll see the face that still creeps into my dreams. I won't go back to hiding away in fear, just in case they had the wrong man this time also. I won't give in to the tremor anymore.

Wayne doesn't stop showering me with his loving kisses. He whispers words tainted with remorse. His heartfelt apologies keep raining on me. He just didn't think. I push at the memories, try to make them disappear. I'm not on the highway. I'm at home. I'm wrapped in loving protective arms because my husband will always keep me safe. I'm okay.

I slide my hands around his neck and invite him to kiss me properly. I feel desperation in his kisses. My reaction has wound him up so tight his lips won't stay close to mine. He keeps whispering words I no longer want to hear. I don’t want to think about what’s just happened. If I think about it, I’ll acknowledge my suspicions that what he did and what he said was deliberate. It wasn’t. So I want to forget that he turned me into a trembling wreck with just a few words.

“Babe, I'm sorry,” he whispers again, trailing a line of kisses towards the spot beneath my earlobe. Oh. He knows... His lips touch my pulse point on my neck and my heart rate soars... Damn it, he knows what that does to me! “Please, Julia.” He pulls away, just enough, and just for long enough for his eyes to search my expression. “Don't be mad at me.”

I don’t want to be mad at him either. I don’t want to feel like I have the right to be mad and that was a horrible thing he just did to me. Because didn't we both live through the same thing? And wasn't it the same fear from what happened that night which put his mind in a place where he felt he needed me to see just how easy it was?

“Baby.” He kisses the sensitive area beneath my ear again. “I promise I'll make it up to you.”

“What?” I’m more than a little surprised, and even a little bit confused that his mind has gone in this direction. “You mean now?”

He leans into my ear and in this deep sexy voice I don't think I've ever heard him use before he says, “Right now.”

My entire body feels like it's gone up in flames. “But what about my dress?” He steps back towards the bed. “And ... And your suit?”

“Not one single crease,” he says, as his gaze locks with mine. “I promise.”

Those words are like fuel to the embers already burning deep inside. Suddenly, I want to know how he's going to make that happen. I want to experience it. And as he loses his tuxedo jacket, tossing it casually towards the bed, a move so suave, so sophisticated, and without looking. It lands like he'd carefully laid it there on purpose and suddenly I crave him. I want to feel his lips on mine. I need his hands on my bare skin. I want his touch all over me.

How does he do this to me? I should not let him do this to me. We can’t use sex as a distraction from issues like this but… I want him.

I'm hungry for his touch but his lips just tease mine. Not quite touching but setting me on fire all the same. It's torture. He's moved just far enough away, resisted just enough, as his hands work at his belt between us.

His pants fall, followed by his shorts. As he lowers himself to the bed he draws me close. “Smooth move, Mr. Swift,” I whisper as I straddle his lap.

Finally, his lips meet mine. For a moment the kiss is tender. Then it becomes needy, hungry as the fire between us roars. I know this is going to be good. Really good!

“Julia!” We both freeze at the sound of Ashleigh's voice. “Julia?” There's a double thud of stilettos on the hardwood stairs. “Are you up here?”

Wayne mutters an oath and I call, “I'll be down in a minute!” The door handle twitches and I yell, “Don't come in here. I'm not ready.”

“What are you talking about?” Ashleigh calls back as the door opens. “I've seen you dress a thousand— oh, fucking hell!”

“Actually,” Wayne mutters. “It was fucking heaven 'til you turned up.”

“Jesus! I did not need to know that,” she cries, and I don't think I've ever seen Ashleigh glow that deep color of red ever before. “Rabbits don't do it as often as you two!” She spins around. “I need a fucking drink.”

Wayne looks at me as our bedroom door slams shut. “Why does she know how often we have sex?”

“She's my best friend and best friends talk about that sort of thing.”

His eyes darken. There's a subtle change in his mood. “So you know I’ve never had sex with her?” I nod. I'm actually rather glad he hasn't because I couldn't bear the thought of my husband comparing me to her, not in bed. Not when the very nature of her upbringing was to shine a thousand times brighter than anyone else and whether she wants to be or not she’s better than everyone at everything. He draws me down towards him, brings his lips to mine. It's a short sweet kiss but tainted with an edge of the same anger he always has where Ashleigh is concerned. “Sorry, precious. But she's killed the mood.”