Whisper Through The Pain (A Novella) (7 page)

Chapter Nine

All Jake wanted to do was to rip off his tie, grab a scotch, and sleep. He’d been in New York for over a week negotiating a contract to open a new office. He was tired. The negotiations had been long and tedious. He’d prolonged them longer than necessary. He hadn’t wanted to return to Los Angeles to meet his wife’s accusing eyes. Their long night of lovemaking couldn’t erase all the doubts in his mind. But the memory of how she surrendered to fierce need to mate caused his penis to swell. Damn. He needed to get a grip.

Anger still swirled his insides. Her connection to Sinclair ate at his gut.

Now he sat at the dinner table, in the hotel restaurant with his financial director and friend, Matthew Connor. Also in attendance was the former owner of the office complex he’d just bought and one of the man’s high-priced lawyers. A tall, statuesque blonde-haired woman with large green eyes, a sharp negotiator with brains and beauty, she oozed confidence. He’d first met her a year ago when he came to New York for the initial meeting with the owner of the complex. She made a play for him then and he’d ignored it. He was with Melissa and didn’t want or need another woman. How his life had changed in a year. It now mocked him.

She was an extremely beautiful woman. She knew it and used it to her advantage.

She was powerful.

She was seduction.

She was tough.

She went after whatever she wanted—at this moment— it was him.

It was evident in her speech. Her direct approach was strong, but subtle. Bridget Manley didn’t deal in bullshit, could hang with the elite and get down in the gutter with the rats. She played to win but so did he.

All week he’d felt the sexual vibes she threw his way. He hadn’t responded to their heated bantering, but had silently enjoyed it. It was his last night in New York. Without acknowledging it, he knew she expected to end up in his bed. He observed her as he drank expensive 1996 Dom Perignon, thinking how the night may play out. No matter what—he would decide the outcome.

He grimaced as the bubbly and expensive champagne slid down his throat. No matter how many times he drank the stuff, he’d never acquired a taste for it.  He would rather have a glass of Macallan scotch. It was his drink of choice. But tonight he was supposed to be in a celebratory mood.

Well, he wasn’t. He was irritable and wanted to get the hell up from the table and go home. Damn. Then he remembered he couldn’t go home—not yet. Leaving Melissa asleep in their bed wouldn’t sit well. He had a lot of explaining to do. Many times he found himself reaching for the phone during the week, but he stopped himself. He wanted her to miss him. Not only that, he didn’t want to hear her decision about her ex-husband. Shit. He ran like a little boy afraid of his shadow. There were too many unanswered questions. Like, could she love him? Could they have a
real
marriage? Would she choose him over Sinclair? Damn. He was pathetic. He’d never begged a woman before. He wouldn’t start now. Hell. Who was he kidding?  He would do anything to win her.

“What do you say, Jake?” Bridget leaned into him, her breast caressing his arm. A soft hand laid over his, while the other caressed his inner thigh near his crotch.

“About what?”  He stiffened, reached under the table and removed her hand. Bridget knew he was married. Although he hadn’t said it, the bold gold band on his finger said it all.

The tightening at the corner of her mouth spoke volumes.

What was he doing? He was married. Mad as hell at his wife. But, damn, a night of mindless sex wouldn’t erase Melissa from his thoughts or his heart.  How far was he willing to go to forget his troubles for just a little while?

“To go dancing. There’s a wonderful night club in this hotel.” She rubbed against him again and actually purred.

“Not tonight.” He looked at his friend who wore a sly grin on his face. “I’m sure Matthew would love to go.”

He held up his hand. “Oh, no. I don’t dance. It’s not something I’ve ever accomplished.”

Matthew and he had been friends since their freshman year in college. Besides his cousin Sheila, no one knew him as well. There was a smirk on his face that indicated he knew the woman beside him was in serious heat.

He was as tall as Jake with premature salt-and-peppered hair. He was fit. Exercise was his drug of choice.

His fiancée had died suddenly from a brain aneurysm when he was twenty-eight years old. That had been almost twelve years ago. Jake hadn’t seen him in a relationship since then. He was never without woman companionship, however never with the same woman twice. But it didn’t keep women from trying to stake a claim. He was rich, handsome and gallant. Melissa had told him once that besides Matthew’s good looks, it was the gallant part that drew the women like bees.

Jake frowned. “You’re only one year older than me.”

Matthew chuckled. “That said.” He drained the champagne in his glass. “I’m heading up to my room.” He stood. “I’m flying out tomorrow morning so I’ll say my good-byes now.” He saluted everyone at the table. “I’ll see you back in L.A., Jake.”

The older gentleman got to his feet also. “Wait up, Mr. Connor. I’ll walk out with you. I told my wife I’d be home an hour ago.”

Jake stood and the man shook his hand. “Mr. Sorenson, I’ll send the final papers to you overnight when they are completed.”

“Thank you.”

He hesitated, glanced at Bridget, and then back to Jake. “Okay. Good-night then.”

Jake signaled for the waiter and sat back down. “Bring me a bottle of your top shelf scotch.”

The server tilted his head in acknowledgement and walked away.

Bridget flung her hair over her shoulder. “Scotch? That’s a little strong for this late in the evening, don’t you think?” She eyed him curiously.

“If you want more champagne, I’ll order another bottle.”

“No, scotch is fine.”

The silence hung between them.

The waiter returned with the bottle, opened it, and started to pour. Jake stopped him. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

Jake stood with the bottle in his hand. Bridget came to her feet also and smoothed her tight red dress around her slim hips. She waited. Without exchanging words, they moved toward the elevators. 

At the door of his suite, Jake stepped back and allowed her to enter. Closing the door, he moved to the mini-bar, took a glass and filled it to the brim with scotch. He gulped it down in one swift movement.

“Whoa, lover.” She laughed. “I don’t want you drunk. At least not until I’ve sampled the goods.” Bridget ran her hands seductively down his back. He turned around, shrugged out of his suit jacket, loosened his tie and threw both of them on a chair.  She pulled the shirt from his pants and proceeded to unbutton it. In her haste, buttons fell to the floor.

“Damn. I can’t wait.” Her breathing was erratic and deep.

She shimmed. The dress dropped around her feet. She kicked it from around her ankles.Jake stepped back, narrowed his gaze and observed her for a long moment.

Before him stood a well-endowed woman with curves in the right places, sexy and probably damn good in the sheets. She was braless. He surmised she had some work done to enhance her breasts. They were ripe. Her areolas hard and pointed.  A slight pulse shot through his dick. But none of the full-blown hardness he expected.

She ran her hands down his chest and flicked his nipples. He stood completely still. She was in heat, at a fevered pitch. It only irritated him. When she reached for the buckle on his slacks, he grabbed her hands and pushed them away.

“No.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You need to leave.” He retrieved her dress from the floor, handing it to her.

“Leave? Are you kidding me?” she shouted, tossing the dress on the chair alongside his tie and jacket.

His gaze scanned her feminine curves. She had a slender waist, inviting hips and long, lithe legs that would wrap around any man’s waist while he found his pleasure. There was only one problem—he wasn’t interested. All he could see was a petite woman, with large brown eyes, dark sable locks that caressed her neck and creamy mocha chocolate skin.  

Driven by anger and ego, he’d made a huge mistake tonight. He tried to replace what he really wanted, his wife, with another woman. He loved Melissa and damn if he wasn’t going to fight for her. He picked up Bridget’s dress again and put it into her hands.

“I’ll have my driver take you wherever you want. This here.” He pointed at her and then himself. “It’s not happening.”

She snatched the dress. “What fucking game are you playing? All week you’ve been coming on to me. Now you have cold feet?” she shouted.

Jake rested his hands at his hips and glared. He considered himself the master of his emotions. He only allowed people to see what he wanted them to see, but right now he didn’t give a damn. He wanted her gone.

“The conversation isn’t up for debate. This was a mistake. ”

“You think this is how it’s going to end?” She threw at him. “No man has ever said no to me. I’ll be damned if you’ll be the first.”

He moved into her space. “I admit I liked the attention. I’m sorry I let it get this far. Don’t make this harder than it already is. Put your dress on. You need to leave…now.”

She glanced passed his shoulder and laughed. “Oh, I see you want a threesome?” Bridget wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, biting his lip in the process.

“What the hell do—” He pulled her hands from around him and pushed her away. “Get the fuck out!” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His temper was beyond his reach.

If she didn’t leave now he would throw her ass out.

She continued to laugh, nodded and pointed at something past his shoulder. He turned to see what the hell she was looking at.

“Who’s the bitch in heat, Jake?” A dry tone filtered from across the room.

In the doorway of the bedroom, his beautiful wife stood with her hands propped on her hips, looking disgusted and mad as hell—and wounded.

Chapter Ten

Despair cruised through Melissa’s body at a slow speed and then built to a crescendo of pain. She stood rooted to the spot in the archway of the bedroom door, hoping the devastation she was feeling wasn’t evident on her face.

Only a small flicker of shock crossed Jake’s face. If she hadn’t been looking at him she would’ve missed it. Her husband now stood stoic, without any sign of emotion. His shirt laid open, his bare chest hard and rippled with abs any younger man would fight for. She turned away from the sight. Then she spared him another glance noticing the swelling to his bottom lip. The sight almost made her sick to her stomach. He’d kissed the blonde-haired whore. Not a soft kiss but a hungry one.

His eyes were trained on her.

No emotion.

No embarrassment.

No guilt.

Nothing.

She was afraid if she moved from where she stood, she would fall flat on her face, so she leaned against the door with her arms crossed, hoping it would help to renew her strength.

“Who the hell are you calling a bitch?” the woman squealed and hurried toward her. Jake reached out and stopped her progression.

“Don’t even think about it.” he growled.

Melissa walked toward them.  She would be damned if she would let either of them see her cower. She moved, remembering to put one foot in front of the other and stopped a few feet before she reached them, making sure she kept space between them and her. She feared she would crumble, so she didn’t look at Jake again.

Melissa eyed the green-eyed woman before her. She hated to admit it, but she was gorgeous, tall and busty. This was the type of woman Jake dated in the past. 

“I didn’t know you like brown sugar, Jake.” The bitch snatched her arm from him, stepped into her dress and pulled the straps haphazardly over her shoulders. She threw Jake a short nod. “He might want a threesome.” She flung her long hair over her shoulder. “But, not tonight sweetie. He’s all mine.”

“Really? What does he say about it?” Melissa said.

She still didn’t look at Jake. She was afraid if she did she would slap the shit out of him. How could he do this to her?

“Bridget…”

So the bitch had a name—and he knew it. The wound deepened. This was no one-night stand.

Jake grabbed Bridget’s arm, ushering her toward the door. “Leave.”

“What about her? If I’m leaving so is she.”

“No, she’s not.”

She pushed at his hand, but he kept a firm grip on her arm. “I’m not leaving,” she said, glaring at Melissa. “Who the hell are you anyway?”

Melissa lifted her brow, but didn’t answer.

“She’s my wife.” He threw open the door. “Now leave.”

“Well, well, I didn’t believe you were married. I thought the ring you wore was a deterrent to keep women at bay. You’re certainly a surprise, Jake.”

“Now you know.” He shut the door in her face.

He leaned against the door, watching her with hooded eyes. Melissa walked up to him and slapped him as hard as she could across his face. The bastard didn’t flinch. He just stood there. Arrogant. Bold. Unashamed. It made her blood boil. 

“Did that make you feel better?” he asked, calmly.

“You son of a bitch.” She balled up her fist and punched him in his gut. Then she started screaming, cursing, crying, and all the while she continued to hit him. He stood there and took the blows. Winded and her heart filled with agony, she slid towards the floor. Tears washed her face. Her vision blurred. He caught her in his arms before she landed on the carpet and held her against his chest.  For a long time, she just cried hard, lost in the misery that consumed her.

She wanted to be loved. Her parents, Brent and now Jake, they had all rejected her. No more would she seek love. She didn’t need it. She could live without it. 

She twisted her body, trying to move out of his arms. “Let me go, Jake.”

“No.” His arms clamped tight in a protective hold.

“Let. Me. Go.”

He didn’t.

She pushed hard against his chest. “You’re going to hold me against my will?”

He released her, a grim look on his face.  He ran his hand wearily over the back of his head. “I would never hurt you, sweetheart.”

She rounded on him, fresh angry tears sprang in her eyes. She screamed. “Don’t. You. Ever. Call. Me. That. Again.” She pointed a finger at him. “I’m not your damn sweetheart, honey, darling, whatever other terms you want to use. Save it for the whores that frequent your bed.”

“Since the first moment I saw you, I never took another woman to my bed. You know that.”

“I caught you red-handed, Jake. The woman was naked.”

“I know what it looks like but nothing happened. You need to listen.”

“I don’t need to do a damn thing.” She ran a hand across her eyes, fighting the tears. No more tears. Not in front of him. Was this to be her life? Burning heat radiated through her veins, her stomach churned and her heart felt as if it would explode.

“What was tonight?”

“A mistake.”

“You’re a liar. The great Jake Sorensen doesn’t make mistakes like normal people. Every move you ever make is calculated. I know you. Tonight was calculated.”

His jaws tightened; a red tinge fanned his face. The tension flared thick between them. But he remained silent, which only fueled her anger more.

She turned away, her arms stiff at her sides and wiped her face again with the back of her hand. The air left her lungs, like she’d been punched in the stomach. Melissa struggled to breathe but her body fought to deny her to do so. Choppy, rapid breaths escaped her while she struggled not to drown. She felt Jake behind her, not touching, but near enough for her to feel his warm breathing against the back of her neck.

“Get the hell away from me!”

He didn’t budge.

She felt sick. Breathing was difficult. She began to choke, fighting for air.

“Melissa…”

There was concern and then fear in his voice but she put up her hand to keep him away.

“Don’t…touch…me,” she gasped.

She inhaled large gulps of air and exhaled at a slow rate, finally calming her rapid heartbeat.

She looked at what she was wearing, a short, red satin gown with thin spaghetti straps and matching robe.  Melissa felt sick. She wanted to rip the garment from her body and throw it in the trash.

Jake liked to see her in red, often telling her the color heightened her skin tone. The woman tonight had on a bright red dress. The color made the bile in her throat roll. She’d been dozing on the bed when she heard voices. 

  She’d wanted to surprise him—and she did. Not realizing the surprise was on her. She inhaled long and hard, struggling for balance and turned to him, but kept her eyes averted. There would be no more tears over this man. It had hurt when Brent betrayed her, but this with Jake destroyed her. She felt as if a thousand switch-blades were slicing through her body. Would she be able to heal this time?

Melissa turned slowly toward her husband. “You’re a brash, tough and unrelenting man when it comes to business. Very impatient.” She nodded, lost in thought. “You have no tolerance for stupidity or mistakes. I understood that about you. It’s who you are. However I saw a different side of you when it came to your family, especially Sheila. She’s an important part of your life. You love her—more than anything. I said to myself… he’s human. He has feelings. But above all, I felt you were an honorable man. You respected me. Protected me. I appreciated that. ” She laughed without mirth. “How could I get it all wrong—again? I chose a man who doesn’t give a damn. I never imagined in a million years you would deliberately set out to destroy me. Hurt me. Not you. You would never dishonor or show me such blatant disrespect. Not you,”
she moaned in agony. “The man with integrity.” She wiped the tears that flowed.
You were an honorable man
,” she sneered with disgust. “Brent—”

“Don’t mention his name!”

“Go to hell!” she screamed. “Brent hurt me.” She continued with defiance. “At least he had the decency to tell me to my face when it was over.” She backed up. Trembling, she clenched the edges of the robe across her chest.  “You’ll never get the chance to hurt me again. Not ever again!”

“Will you listen? Let me explain.”

“Explain what? Your lies? How many more affairs have you had?” She took deep gulps, reaching for a calm place out of her reach.

“I. Have. Never. Cheated. On. You. Please believe me.”

An eerie calm settled in the room. She was drowning. As she sank deeper into the murky waters of the moment, everything floated around her mocking her distress.

“I need to make you understand…Please…” His voice was urgent and insistent.

“Who is she?” she whispered.

“No one.”

“You’re a liar. You called her by name so she’s someone.” Calmly, she asked again. “Who is she?”

Her world has falling apart, again. This time she didn’t know if she would survive the devastation. With every bit of strength Melissa had, she held his gaze, waiting for an answer. He remained silent so long; she didn’t believe he would answer.

She watched his shoulders rise and fall with calculated breaths.

Finally he said, “She doesn’t matter.”

“I’m filing for divorce.” 

“No,” He shook his head. “It’s not going to happen.”

“We’ll see. You have no say in this. It’s over.”

“I’m not letting you divorce me over a mistake. Nothing happened. We are married until death. I take our vows seriously.”

The blood pounded in her ears. She wanted to scream and inflict pain.

She laughed cruelly. “Vows? You have the morals of a dog in heat.”

He flinched. “Melissa—”

“Fuck you, Jake.”

She ran into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

###

Fully dressed, Jake was stretched out on the living room sofa with one foot planted on the floor. He lay awake, with long fingers curled around the glass sitting on his chest. Now halfway through a second bottle of scotch, his body was still, eyes alert and ears keen to any sound in the suite. He wanted to be drunk but it evaded him. He only heard the tick-tock of the clock in the corner. The sound reminded him of the countdown to the gallows, informing him time was running out.

The liquor did nothing to ease the tension or erase the disgust he felt. It’d been hours since Melissa locked herself in the bedroom. He’d knocked on the door but received no answer. After a while, he turned the knob on the door and found it still locked. He’d called to her and pounded on the door. 

The clock on the wall said it was three in the morning and he hadn’t slept at all. He was scheduled to fly back to L.A. in two hours.

How the hell did he end up here with his marriage in shambles and hurting his wife? He felt nauseated as he remembered the hurt and sorrow etched on her face.

Her eyes had reflected it all—the sadness—the grief—the silent howl of a wounded animal.

She broke into pieces before him. It sickened him to know he was the cause of it.  He’d let his pride dictate and ruin the best thing in his life. Damn. He had to fix it. But God how?

His mind drifted to the night he and Melissa had made love. Afterwards, he hated the fact that he’d succumbed. Losing himself with a woman wasn’t something that happened to him but she was his Achilles heel and there was nothing he could do about it.

When he’d accused her of sleeping with her ex-husband and her slow response of denial had fueled his anger. Everything changed. Instead of backing away from her, he was drawn.

To her scent—her power—and finally her warmth.

The next morning, pissed with how easy he’d fallen under her spell and into bed, he left the house without waking her. He needed to think. To wrestle back command of his libido. The New York trip could’ve waited but he used it as a crutch so he wouldn’t have to face her.

He hadn’t wanted Bridget, but her fawning during the week had stroked his ego. A big fucking mistake! What in the hell was he thinking?

Taking a sip from the glass, he could now admit Melissa’s indecisiveness between him and Sinclair hurt like hell.  But it was no excuse. The look in her eyes had castrated him.

When he’d seen Melissa standing in the doorway of his bedroom in a short, red nightie, barefoot with her dark lovely hair flowing loose around her shoulders he knew she’d chosen him.

She had stood before him like a vision of feminine perfection, every man’s fantasy and Jake had known at that exact moment she was all his. The untapped possessive streak rose deep within him.

Their marriage started out casual with no boundaries, Jake mused silently, but the rules quickly changed. He loved her with every fiber of his being. She was his equal in every matter of his life.              

Lying in the dark, he was forced to re-evaluate all his preconceived ideas about himself. He was shocked to discover he was actually a traditionalist when it came to marriage and commitment. He enjoyed the fact that she belonged to him. His jealousy had no merit. He had to believe that. The sudden possessiveness was so intense that he contemplated breaking down the bedroom door she was hiding behind and carrying her off to a secluded place where no man could ever look upon her again. He would never share her with anyone.