Sudden Desires Page 10

  Exasperated, he asks, “How long are we going to do this, Angel?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I mutter. So much for ignoring him.

  “But I like it.” He steps ahead, getting closer to me. “It fits you.”

  My head lifts and a subtle smirk is on his lips. I want to slap it right off. “Dick,” I mutter under my breath.

  “What’s that?”

  “You are a dick, Griffin. That’s what.”

  “Have we resorted to name calling now?”

  I roll my eyes, arms folding.

  “If so, then I will continue to call you my Angel.”

  “Yeah, have fun with that.”

  Finally, the elevator dings and I gather the handles of my bags when the doors draw open, marching through the lobby in six-inch heels. A heavy sigh of irritation sounds behind me, but I don’t look back.

  Instead, I make a line to the front desk and turn in my key. After checking out and thanking the clerk, I turn around, bumping right into a broad chest.

  Without looking up, I know who it is by his piney scent, the sweetness on his skin. I hate that I’m so familiar with it.

  I look up, and Griffin is looking down at me, his eyes piercing mine, hands on the tops of my arms. He holds me steady, but I shrug out of his grip almost immediately.

  I try to walk around him, moving left and then right, but each time he steps in my way, playing a silly game that I really don’t have time for.

  “Griffin, please,” I mutter. “I need to get to the airport.”

  “You have plenty of time. Just hear me out, Angelina.” His eyes are stern, mouth fixing in a way that makes me want to kiss it. Those damn lips. “I didn’t mean what I said up there—”

  “Yes you did.” I cut him off. “You did. And you are right. We do have business to take care of so let’s focus on that.”

  One of his brows peaks. “You’re not upset?”

  “Of course not.” I force a smile, tucking my hair behind my ear and dropping my gaze. Taking a step aside, I sigh and look towards the exit glass doors. “Listen, Griff, what happened last night was just a spur of the moment thing. It happened, we got it out of our systems, and now we can focus on our work again. Okay? Isn’t that what you want?”

  He blinks a few times before responding. He isn’t pleased with that. Oh, well. Who cares?

  “Okay,” he says, clearly disappointed.

  I cap his shoulder and walk around him. Stepping through the glass turnstile door, I walk towards the curb and hail down a cab. One finally stops after I’ve waved my arm like a madwoman, basically stepping into the street just to catch its attention.

  I grip the door handle and toss my bags inside, but just as I start to slide in, a hand grabs my arm.

  With a quick frown smothering my face, I spin around, and when my eyes meet a familiar sparkly brown, I sigh.

  “Griffin, what?” I ask. God, why can’t he just let this go?

  With his hands at my waist, his full lips parted, and eyes locking on mine, I realize exactly what is about to happen.

  He can’t let it go. He won’t let me go like this, so frustrated and disappointed.

  One of his hands pulls from my waist to cup one of my cheeks. His touch is smooth and callous-free. It’s gentle and it pulls at my heartstrings.

  “We can’t leave off like this, Angelina. I can’t. I offended you, and I’m sorry.” Told you. His lips twist. “Colette… well, I can’t lie to you and say she doesn’t cross my mind from time to time because she does.”

  My heart sinks when he says her name again. I tear my gaze away. “I know.”

  “Hey! Are we leaving or what!?” A thick accent sounds behind me and I glance back at the driver.

  “Yeah! Just give me a second!”

  My eyes return to Griffin’s. His are soft, worry-free. Shouldn’t mine be the same?

  “She is my wife, Angel. But I promise you right now that I will never call her name while I’m with you again.”

  I swallow hard and my face softens up. He spots the transition in my attitude because his face lightens up, brown eyes sparking.

  “So… what does that mean? That we’ll be doing this again?” I point between us as he releases my face.

  His hold is still on my waist, and his right cheek tugs upward, lips curling. “I don’t exactly want things to change between us right now. Believe it or not, I could use you with business… and personal things.”

  I battle a grin, looking away. “Don’t just say that, Griffin. I don’t need you feeling guilty later just because you’re trying to make me feel better now.” I pause for a brief moment, looking him over. “Do you even feel guilty… about what happened?” I question.

  His mouth twitches. “Honestly… I don’t feel a damn thing.” He laughs dryly. “How wrong is that?”

  “I feel terrible,” I whisper, dropping my head. “I put you in a sticky situation.”

  He tilts my chin back up, head shaking. “Don’t do that. It’s me who put you in this situation, Angelina.” I start to look away but he catches my eyes again. “Hey. Look at me,” he murmurs. “I’m okay. We’re okay. If you’re worried someone will find out, then don’t be. The only way they will know is if we say it out loud… and that, I’m sure, will never happen.”

  “I just hate the fact that you carry baggage, Griffin. If you are so unhappy with her, why not call it quits?”

  His face changes, a slight frown now present. “Because it’s not that simple with her and me, Angelina.”

  I narrow my brows. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s… a lot to explain.” He releases me, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.

  He takes a look around the busy street, squinting his eyes when he looks to his left. I wish he’d go into further detail, but I know he won’t.

  “This won’t happen much,” I say. “Because even though you aren’t happy, you are still married and I am not playing anyone’s mistress.”

  He looks down at me and pitches a laugh, sticking his hands into his front pockets. “You are no one’s mistress, Angel. You’re too good for that.” He leans in to kiss my cheek and I swear I tingle from head to toe, fire tunneling through my veins.

  I don’t get it.

  I don’t understand how I can be so angry with him one second, but within the next I want him to rip my clothes off and take me on the backseat of a crummy taxi. I don’t care if the driver or the entire city watches, just as long as Boyd is on top of me, pleasing me in every way.

  Gosh, I’m so backwards.

  I ignore my childish thoughts and return a peck on his cheek. Then I turn for the cab and duck in, shutting the door behind me but rolling the window down as Griffin backs away to stand on the curb.

  “I’m keeping you to that promise, Mr. Boyd.”

  He crosses his heart and kisses his fingers. “I am a man of my word, Miss Clark. Talk to you soon?”

  I smile through the window. “Yeah, soon.”

  We hold gazes, and as each millisecond ticks by, Griffin’s smile slowly slips from his lips.

  With haste, he strides towards the cab again, bends down, ducks his head in, and kisses me right there.

  Right through the open window.

  Right in a cab that smells like mothballs and Indian cuisine.

  I gasp at first, not expecting it at all, but then I melt and sigh, my hand reaching up to trace his chiseled jaw, gluing him closer.

  I hear the cab driver agitatedly groan and smack his teeth in the front seat, but I don’t care. He’s not ruining this moment for me.

  Griffin’s tongue coils with mine effortlessly.

  Smoothly.

  He tastes like orange juice and syrup. Someone called room service this morning.

  I smile behind the kiss, my core aching as he groans.

  When the kiss is finally broken, he focuses on my eyes, lips raw and wet. I smile up at him, lean in once more, and kiss him gently.

  My lips flatt
en on top of his and then I bite his bottom lip gently. When I pull away he moans with defeat, almost like he wants to drag me back up into the hotel room and never let me go.

  Hell, that’s what I want too.

  I’m clenching like hell, so I know he’s throbbing in his pants like a splitting headache.

  “Later, Boyd,” I whisper, our lips so close they still feel connected.

  My eyes point down to his full mouth as his focuses on mine, and with a deep, soulful voice, Griffin says, “Have a safe flight home, Angel.”

  THIRTEEN

  Colette

  * * *

  The first thing I smell is the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, thick in the air.

  The first thing I see is the sun beaming into the bedroom, nearly blinding me. My eyes struggle to stay open as I stare up at the chandelier. But, when I realize it’s the place that is wrong, I push up straight.

  I’m still in his bed, his thick, fluffy white comforters and pillows surrounding me. I move my legs, swinging them to the edge of the mattress with a soreness running from my womanhood to my asshole.

  By how tender I am down there, I don’t even want to know how many times we had sex last night.

  I take a look around the spacious bedroom.

  His bed is set up a few feet away from a long, rectangular window, the view of the ocean not too far away.

  The streets are busy and rushed. The sun is high in the sky and people are already crowding the beaches.

  I yawn, stepping out of bed and getting my shit together. I can’t believe I’m still naked. Seriously. This is ridiculous.

  My clothes are puddled in front of the bathroom door. I hurry to collect them, slipping into my dress and scouring around for my other high heel. It’s nowhere in the room which means it’s in the living room, and I sigh because I’m not in the mood to face him.

  I hate when I have to bid my farewells, but he’s not the person that will let me go without asking me a thousand and one questions.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose while gripping the doorknob, I release a heavy breath, knowing I have no choice right now but to go out.

  Might as well get this over with.

  I walk out of the bedroom, tip-toeing across the marble floors. There is clattering in the kitchen, and the scent of coffee is stronger, along with the sweet scent of pancakes.

  I love how the coffee smells, my body instantly craving a quick mug, but I can’t have it. I can’t have coffee until after the salsa competition is over.

  I make it into the living room, noticing my other shoe in front of the coffee table. My phone and clutch are on the table too.

  I peek around the corner, spotting him in the kitchen whipping up breakfast. Not only that, but he has jazz music playing. Oh, God. When will he learn that I am not that kind of woman?

  Deciding to rip the Band-Aid right off, I rush across the room, go for my shoe, slip into both of them, and then gather my personal belongings.

  His back is facing me. He’s dressed clean and fresh in a grey button-up, and navy-blue slacks, ready for a long day of work. His suit jacket hangs on the back of one of the chairs at the dining table.

  I clear my throat and when he hears it, he turns with the carafe of coffee in hand. “Oh, Colette. Up already?” He smiles. “Wanted to surprise you.”

  “Yeah… That’s okay. I’m going to get out of here. I can’t stay.”

  His brows dip. “Not even for one cup of coffee?”

  I’m walking towards the door as he asks. “No. Sorry. I have a lot of work to catch up on today.”

  He places the carafe down on the counter, looking me over in my haste. It’s like he can see all of me, the raw definition of who I am. A selfish, inconsiderate woman… or should I say bitch?

  Yeah. I’ve been called that one too many times in my life.

  From my father.

  My sister when I slept with her boyfriend when we were teenagers. Even from Griffin, which just happened recently. That was his first time calling me a bitch out loud right before he stormed away.

  I don’t blame them. I wish I could help it but I just can’t anymore. I’ve come to a point in life where I just don’t care.

  I don’t want to care.

  Caring and loving too hard will kill you.

  It will leave you ripped wide open, and no one will be able to mend you. No one at all, no matter how hard they try.

  I can tell my guy is trying to do that, but he has to learn that I don’t want his help. I don’t want him to care. And even if I did, this situation we’re in would be pointless because he can’t have me. Ever.

  “I’ll see you again soon,” I say, swinging the door open.

  “Yeah. I guess.” His head barely nods, a hand now on his hip as he watches the door shut behind me. I rush down the hallway, hoping he doesn’t change his mind and try and get me to stay. I’m not in the mood for conflict or puppy-dog eyes.

  My head is hurting, my mouth feels dry, and I need to soak in my Jacuzzi tub because I’m feeling way too sensitive in the most delicate area of my body.

  I make it to my car and start it, and when I check my phone I see that there are missed calls from Mom and Beth, my sister, but none from Griffin, whom, for some reason, I expected to get a call from.

  Even if I’ve been a complete bitch, he usually gets over it and calls to check in. But not today. Maybe he found a flight and is at home waiting for me.

  I drive home quickly, expecting his car in the garage but it isn’t. He’s still not here, and I can’t deny the disappointment sweeping through me.

  Whatever.

  I make it up to my bedroom after avoiding Arianna’s inquisitive eyes, take a lengthy shower, and then I’m out, going downstairs to grab a banana, and then entering my study.

  I gather my art supplies, adjust my easel, and get right to painting as I eat my piece of fruit. I get to it to distract my mind. My conscience.

  It helps… sometimes.

  Griffin arrives around five in the afternoon.

  I listen to him come up the stairs, knowing the sound of his heavy footsteps. When he makes it to the top, he walks by my study, glancing into the room but not bothering to stop and speak.

  I frown when he continues walking with his bags in hand. Stepping out of my seat and peeking around the corner, I watch him walk into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

  I walk to the door after several seconds pass by, pressing my ear against it and listening to him shuffle around a bit. Then, he sighs, and I hear the bed creak.

  He’s about to take a nap. The same routine when he’s come back from traveling. The time differences always kick his ass.

  I don’t bother going in.

  Not yet.

  I go back to the study, and several hours pass before I hear the bedroom door open again. Griffin shuffles down the hallway and stops at my door. He walks in, but not completely, and I glance up.

  “I told Arianna to order grilled asparagus and quinoa for you from Tangu’s.”

  I place my paintbrush down, rubbing my forehead. “Okay.”

  He studies me, lips pressing. I expect him to say something about last night, the last message I sent that he never responded to, but he doesn’t.

  Instead he shakes his head and steps back, shutting the door behind him. I hear him walking down the stairs, and then I hear the garage gate open.

  Wait. Where is he going?

  I rush for the window, watching as his car backs out and rounds the brick driveway. He leaves and I feel so idiotic.

  But I don’t react… at least I think I’m not reacting. My brush presses a little harder on the canvas, and when I pull back, I dip it just a tad bit harder into the paint.

  My husband is no longer in love with me.

  And I… I am no longer in love with him.

  What is the point of this?

  Why does our life have to be so fucking complicated?

  Griffin only went out to buy himself some dinner and
pick up mine. He was only gone for thirty minutes.

  He knew I wouldn’t order or cook anything, that I’d miss a meal if I had to, that’s why he had Arianna order it for me so he could pick it up.

  I ate it. Fortunately I was hungry.

  Griffin and I finally make it into the bedroom together. It’s late, and he hasn’t said much to me after telling me Arianna ordered my dinner.

  He’s acting really strange tonight. Avoiding my eyes, hardly talking to me. He’s hardly rubbed two words together since I came in the bedroom.

  I’m tired of the bullshit. Tired of the nonsense. I need to know if he feels the same way as I do. Is he fed up? Is he also tired of this charade? Tired of pretending. Has he finally given up on all of this?

  I need to know. I mean, even though it won’t change much, it will help something.

  If he does still feel something for me, then maybe this won’t be so bad. He’ll chase and chase, and I will continue to have him bowing down to me, hailing me like he did when we first met because I have nothing else better to do.

  So, finally, I as we settle into bed while he scrolls through his cellphone, I ask, “Griffin, don’t you wish we could just… end this?”

  And he lowers his phone and stares at me, eyes so wide and distraught I can’t help but feel the slightest bit of sympathy.

  Finally he speaks, and I’m actually shocked by his answer. “Yeah, Colette,” he mutters. “You know what? I do. I wish for this to be over every single day now. Too bad that’s never going to happen, though, huh?”

  He stares at me for several seconds before finally sighing and turning over, placing his phone on the nightstand before shutting off his lamp.

  His back is to me, and I know he won’t budge for the rest of the night, so I sink beneath my blankets, shut my lamp off, and stare up at the ceiling.

  I’m pissed that he’d say it so blatantly, and the first reaction that comes to mind is to hurt him back—say that I’m sleeping with someone else—but I don’t.

  Because it could jeopardize things. It could get ugly, and then I’d lose my occasional dose of side dick from my guy.