Entangled Moments (Moments in Time) Page 7
“No, it’s not right. I have to tell him. I forgot the slip of paper I’d written his number on at the hotel, so I’ll go back to work on Monday and wait for him to show up.”
“You have to think about this carefully. This could change everything. He might never forgive you.”
“ Maybe he will. I’ll explain everything. If not, at least I’ll know I did the right thing.”
Sunday evening, I stood in front of the mirror and rehearsed how I would tell Nick the truth. After repeating a string of words to myself for almost thirty minutes, I showered and went to bed.
***
The doorbell woke me up around two a.m. I slipped into my satin robe and stumbled to the door.
It had to be Melisa. She visited me often now. But never so late.
I yanked the door open and green eyes stared back at me. “Nick.” I swallowed hard.
“Can I come in?”
“Hmmm... Yes.” I stepped aside. My hand grasped the door for support. I wasn’t prepared to see him yet.
“How did you know where I lived?” I asked, closing the door.
“You gave me your address at the hotel. We were supposed to have dinner at your place tomorrow night. Or have you forgotten that?” Nick’s gaze swept the room. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.” My apartment was airy and comfortable. A big contrast to how I felt. “What are you doing here?” I sat on the couch, hands tucked under my bottom so he couldn’t see them shaking.
“I missed you. We spent a great night together, and then you don’t call for a week and don’t answer my calls? What’s going on? Have I upset you in some way?”
I shook my head and blinked back tears.
Nick came to sit next to me, and drew me close. “Then what is it? Why do you look so upset?”
“It’s nothing...” I’d planned to tell him the truth, but now the knot in my stomach rose up and choked me.
He shot to his feet and paced the room. “I don’t get this. There’s obviously something wrong. Why won’t you talk to me?”
“I can’t.”
Nick ran both hands through his hair and sat back down. “You can tell me anything, anything at all. Whatever’s bothering you, we can work through it together. I promise you that.”
“No, we can’t... Nick, I—”
“Look,” he said seriously. “It was not a coincidence that we met that day at the chapel. We were meant to walk into each other’s lives. That’s why we bumped into each other again at Stalford. I feel so much for you. I’d like to believe you feel the same for me. When we were together, I really felt you liked me as much as I like you.”
“I do, I really do. But—”
“Let’s not throw this away. One doesn’t come across something like this often. Carlene, I want to be with you. I know you’re still healing from the loss of your ex, and that’s why you’re holding back, but I am in love with all of you. We can work through this together.”
I rose to my feet and went to stand by the window, gazing into the darkness. “There’s too much you don’t know about me.”
“Tell me, baby. Let me in, so I can get to know you.”
“I can’t.”
He didn’t say anything more, but I could hear him shuffling around behind me.
He approached me, but I didn’t turn to face him. He stood so close that heat radiated from his body to mine.
My heart skipped a beat.
As he pressed the length of his body against mine, his erection hard against my butt, he made me forget about my plans to confess.
“Tell me you don’t miss this.” Nick wrapped his arms around me and slipped one hand inside the robe. He cupped my breast, and with the other hand, unraveled the cord of my bathrobe and peeled it off. The satin material brushed against my body and pooled at my feet.
The confession would have to wait. I needed Nick. Just in case I never got the chance to be so close to him again.
I shivered as he moved his free hand toward my panties.
With just a finger, he removed them from the area he was interested in and pushed them to my knees. He paused and took his hands away from my body, leaving me cold. He unbuckled his belt, unwrapped a condom. His warm breath caressed my skin as he slid it on. Then he pulled me close again, bent me forwarded, and parted my legs with his knees, opening me up to him. My breath caught as he gripped my thighs and pushed into me, igniting me.
He slid in and out slowly at first, and then faster and harder, as our moans, groans, sighs, and my screams merged into one.
I gyrated my hips from side to side, feeling all of him. It was hungry, painful, beautiful sex that stole my breath.
Together Nick and I rose up the ladder of passion, higher and higher, until we climaxed at the same time.
Panting, Nick straightened me but didn’t pull out. His arms remained wrapped around my body. He kissed my neck and the back of my ear. “Tell me you can live without this and I’ll leave.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. But inside, guilt gnawed at me. It couldn’t go on like this. He had to know. “But we need to talk.”
“Yes, we do.” He slid out then, and I turned to face him.
“I’ll go and have a quick shower first, is that okay?” I needed time to prepare myself for a moment that might just change everything.
“Take as long as you need. I’ll be here.”
When, five minutes later, I walked out of the bathroom, drying my hair, my eyes zoomed in on what Nick held in his hand, and my heart stopped. He held a framed photograph of Chris.
“Who is this?” he asked, his face ashen.
I leaned against the doorframe for support, suddenly dizzy with fear. “I... I... Nick...”
“Answer me, dammit!” he shouted, his voice a blade of steel that cut right through me. “What are you doing with my brother’s photo?” His eyes were daggers. “Who are you?”
“Nick.” I walked to him and tried to touch him, but he yanked his arm away. “You’re her, aren’t you? You are Marianne Adams, the woman who shot and killed my brother.”
“I can explain.” Tears welled up in my eyes and flooded my throat. “I wanted to tell you.” My first name was Marianne, but after Chris died I wanted to be someone else, and I started using my middle name instead.
He threw the photo onto the couch and grabbed his suit jacket. “What’s there to explain? You killed my brother,” he shouted.
I sank to the couch. “Yes,” I muttered. “But it was a mistake. The police confirmed it.”
“I don’t give a damn what the police think. How can a killer be innocent? You pulled the trigger. That makes you guilty of murder.” He leaned on the wall for support. His brows knitted and his eyes narrowed to blazing slits. “How could you not tell me? How could you make me find out like this?”
“Please sit,” I begged through my tears. “Allow me to explain.”
He straightened up again and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “No.” He walked to the door. “I know the truth now. All I need is for you to stay the hell out of my life. You belong behind bars.”
“Please, don’t say that.” I shot up from the couch and ran after him as he barged through the door. I followed him, barefoot, all the way to his car, shouting his name. But I was too late.
Nick climbed into the Porsche, slammed the door shut, and drove away.
I fell to my knees on the sidewalk—not caring that grains of sand dug into my skin—and buried my face in my hands, weeping. He would never forgive me. My happy ending had turned into a nightmare. But I wanted him back. So much that it hurt. But how could he love his brother’s killer?
END BOOK 1
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