That question plagues me for the next few hours as I watch the movie that comes on after Dirty Dancing. I have sushi delivered and wrap up the leftovers and put them in the fridge.
A text rings out from my phone four hours after Roarke left.
Roarke: Sorry, I’m going to be longer than I thought. Get some sleep and I’ll be there when you wake up.
Me: K
I place my phone on the counter and move over to his floor to ceiling windows that look out over the city. Leaning my shoulder on the glass, I stare out at the city, wondering where he is and more importantly who he’s with.
I could strangle Todd. Couldn’t he have left me before he cheated? That way I wouldn’t be feeling like it’s déjà vu with Roarke leaving so unexpectedly. For Todd it was always an emergency at the hospital. That continued to work until he left me at a restaurant and I found him five blocks down on the corner with a woman. He’d assumed I’d take a cab home, but I had decided to walk instead. I ducked behind the corner until he ushered the young redhead into the back of a cab. When I confronted him, he told me that he was sharing a cab with someone. That for some reason he couldn’t get one to stop for him because it was a Saturday night. I naively accepted the answer, but my antenna went up then.
Because of him, I’m doubting Roarke’s faithfulness.
“You’re the only woman.” His voice rings through my head. His truthful hazel eyes hadn’t reflected an ounce of deceit yet my stomach still churns wondering why he’s been gone this long.
I stir awake and immediately register the feel of Roarke’s body pressed to mine. His arm is draped over my body, his chest against my back. Sliding out from under his hold, I glance to the corner to find Lucy and Nickel sound asleep together on her dog bed. They really do get along well.
Closing the bathroom door, I turn on the shower, needing to get ready for brunch at the club with my parents.
Under the stream of warm water, my mind clears in the morning light. I cannot put Roarke in the same category as Todd. That’s completely unfair and he’s given me no real reason to doubt him.
The shower door opens and since Lucy or Nickel don’t have opposable thumbs, I’m not surprised when Roarke’s hands wrap around my waist and his face nuzzles into my neck.
“Sorry I was late last night,” he whispers, stepping into the waterfall of his shower.
“You should sleep. What time did you get in?”
He groans. “Two.”
A plethora of questions run through my mind. I want to know specifically where he was until two. What kind of client needs him to be out that late? My lawyer billed me triple once when I bothered him on a Friday at six.
“Everything is okay?” I ask instead.
I feel his head nod along my neck.
“You can’t tell me?” I ask, digging a little more, but not too much.
“I wish I could.” His lips travel down to my shoulder, sweeping my wet hair out of the way to kiss the back of my neck.
Does he? the devil on my left shoulder asks.
“I promise to make it up to you.” He twists me around to face him and there’s nothing in his eyes but pure regret for leaving me so long last night.
I step into his arms and kiss his chest, wanting him to show me that I really am the only woman for him.
His hands slide down and venture to my ass and his hard erection hits my stomach. When his lips land on mine, my mind hazes and for the moment it’s only us. He pushes me against the glass and pulls one leg up to rest on the bench seat. After arranging the nozzle so the water doesn’t fall right on him, he lowers himself to his knees and proves that not only does he have a wonder cock, but a wonder tongue, too.
My screams echo against the glass and it’s not because of the hot water that I’m flushed when I finally step out of the shower.
Roarke stays in after I leave having let me wash myself up first.
“Thanks to you, I only have a half hour to get ready.” I joke as I wrap myself in a plush towel and head into the bedroom.
“You’ll be beautiful no matter what,” his voice echoes out from the bathroom.
“You don’t know my mother.” I pick up my clothes from yesterday, shoving them in my overnight bag and pulling out my bra and panties for today.
“I can’t wait to meet them.”
“You won’t think that afterward, I promise.” I see his clothes laying on the chair next to his side of the bed. So unlike him. “Getting sloppy now?”
“What?” The water shuts off and I hear the towel being taken off the rack.
“Your clothes from last night.” I pick them up along with my towel to put in the hamper in his closet.
“I was in a rush to get into bed with you,” he says, his voice still traveling out of the bathroom.
I head to the closet and throw in my towel, but his clothes are still in my hand.
Don’t do it.
Do it.
You’re looking for excuses.
You need to protect us.
The war in my head wages on and I pull the shirt up to my nose. The familiar scent of Roarke’s cologne relieves my worries.
You’re being stupid.
Now you feel better, right?
Dropping the jeans in his hamper, I lift his shirt to my nose and inhale, but this time it’s not only Roarke’s cologne I smell. There’s a faint hint of another fragrance. And since this was a freshly washed shirt when he put it on last night, I know it’s not mine. Am I smelling things? I sniff again, my nose traveling all over the fabric like the insane woman I am, the foreign scent more pronounced around one collar.
“What do you think about getting you a dresser?” His voice is suddenly close, and I drop the shirt into the hamper.
He steps into his closet, his eyes on the clothes in the hamper. There’s no suspicion to his gaze, only amazement that I put them in there. “Thanks, baby.” He kisses my cheek and heads to his rows of meticulously arranged clothes.
All the while my insides are shattering like a sledgehammer to glass.
Roarke is definitely lying to me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I decided not to confront Roarke right away.
Stupid?
Maybe.
I know who I’m dealing with and I want to make sure I have everything in order before I nail him, which means hiring a private investigator to follow him. I want to see with my own eyes and have the proof in hand so he can’t sweet talk me into believing something isn’t going on.
“Are you allowed to tell me who your clients are?” I ask.
He glances over as we ease off the I-90 in the north suburbs. My tone is curt and he’s probably wondering what changed from the shower to now. The fact that I confirmed he’s a cheating bastard is what, but he doesn’t need to know that yet.
“Depends, but I can’t see why you’d care.”
“Does the name Quinton sound familiar?” I still want to find out if he’s going to screw over my friend or not.
“Quinton?”
I blow out an annoyed breath and his eyes shift my way once more with a ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’ expression.
“Yes, Quinton,” I snap impatiently.