I knew I shouldn’t, and every time I avoided the temptation, but my curiosity had finally gotten the best of me. I just found it so odd that he didn’t have even a single photo of his wife. Granted, my visits had been limited to his kitchen, living, and bathroom. But in two days, other than the boots he’d given me, I’d found no trace of her existence.
So, against my better judgement, I walked into his bedroom.
Holy shit, it was gorgeous. Not that I didn’t expect it, considering what the rest of the home looked like. A dark oak, heavy, four-posted, king-size bed sat to my immediate right with fluffy, light-grey bedding. In front of it was a stone fireplace, similar to the one in the living area, just smaller. To the left, it led into the master bathroom.
On the opposite side of the bed from where I was standing, glass French doors led out onto his deck. Tucked in a cutout corner between the French doors and fireplace there was a large sitting area with two cozy, grey chaise lounges. Large windows lined the walls, giving a glorious view of the snowy wilderness outside.
More beams lined the ceiling, adding architectural, rustic flair to the room.
The room was more than gorgeous. It was downright sexy. It was the kind of room made for making love in.
And all I could think about was Tanner tossing me down on that soft bed and kissing every inch of my body.
Get it together, Gia. I barely knew the man.
Still standing in the doorway, I craned my neck back down the hall and saw no sign of Tanner coming, so I went further into the room. There was a framed photo on the nightstand, but when I glanced at it, I frowned. Yet another one of Archie.
I quickly rifled through his nightstand drawers and saw the gun that had freaked me out the other night, as well as a pair of hearing aids in there. Interesting.
Dashing to the bathroom I opened the cabinets. Aftershave, razors, cologne, all men’s toiletries. Not a single feminine item.
Seriously, what kind of man doesn’t have one single photo of his deceased wife? Not even one tucked away somewhere. In fact, other than the few touches of feminine decor here and there, like soft blankets and pillows, there was no indication that a woman had ever lived in this home.
Granted, he’d said he donated her stuff years ago, but Tanner couldn’t be that much older than me. My best guess was in his early to mid-thirties. He would have gone to college, graduated mid-twenties, lived several years in New York getting his business off the ground, then married and moved up here. So that led me to believe, unless he was older than I was guessing, that her death had to be somewhat recent.
Angelo may have been the Devil, but I still knew how much he was in love with me. Well, more like obsessed. Angelo didn’t truly know how to love; he only knew how to possess something. But I knew with every fiber of my being that he wouldn’t completely rid our home of any traces of me now that I was gone.
And suddenly I felt sorry for my husband. A wave of guilt washed over me. How could I feel guilty after all he’d done to me? He’d beaten me, bruised me, broken me, even held a gun to my head. Yet here I was taking pity on him.
And in the midst of all those confusing emotions, all I could ask myself was if Tanner was really ever married. Maybe it was just a ruse to make me feel sorry for him so I’d stay longer? I hadn’t been completely forthright with him. It was naive to assume that he didn’t have his own closet full of dark secrets. But not having a single photo of her, considering all the ones he had of his mom, dad, sister, Archie, friends…it was just so peculiar. This man collected memories. His home was full of them. Just none of his wife.
Even though the questions still plagued me, part of me was a bit relieved. Temptation flowed through my veins fantasizing of all the things I wanted to do with Tanner in this bedroom. I didn’t need another layer of guilt for treading over a dead woman’s memory.
As I finished rifling through the cabinets under his sink and stood, I noticed a figure behind my reflection. Jolting, I quickly spun around. Tanner was standing there, staring at me, arms crossed over his muscular chest, looking quite displeased.
Busted. Once again, he’d caught me.
She’d been gone a very long time for just needing to pee.
So, I stood and wandered down the hall, to find the bathroom empty. Confused, I wandered into my bedroom. From the doorway I could see G in my bathroom, rifling through my cabinets.
No, she wasn’t going to find any anti-fungal cream, antipsychotic drugs or STD meds. I was fungus free, sane, and clean. I hadn’t been with anyone since Alex. Before her there were some, but I always wrapped it up and they were few and far between. I wasn’t a manwhore.
“You could have just asked for a tour,” I said. Or if I had herpes. I tried not to be offended. It was obvious this girl had been through some shit that made her twitchy, and she was ready to get the hell out of Dodge.
But I wasn’t ready for her to go. With that one kiss the other night this woman had snaked her way around my frigid heart. Call it selfish, I wasn’t ready to give up the warmth just yet, even though I knew she was probably nothing but trouble.
And now the little troublemaker was standing there, staring at me, jaw unhinged, caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
Finally, her lips started moving. “I…” she bit her lip as she mumbled. For christ’s sake. It was cute as hell when she bit that pouty bottom lip of hers but not when she was trying to talk to me. “…Tylenol.” Thank God. I finally made out the word Tylenol.
Pursing my lips, I gave her a slow nod. Suuuuure. Looking for Tylenol under the bathroom cabinets. Reaching past her, I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle, handing it to her. She popped open the lid and shook two into her hand.
“Thanks.” She added the thank-you sign, looked down, and shuffled past me.
I turned to watch her as she left, head down, staring at the pills in her hand, walking slowly out of the room. Then suddenly she turned back to me, facing me straight on. “Your bedroom is beautiful. Stunning, actually. The entire home is just…” and she was back to worrying that damn lip of hers. “I just got curious. I wanted to see the bedroom. I’m sorry.” Fisting her palm, she rubbed it in a circle over her chest.
My brow went up as I leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, crossing my arms over my chest. Where was she going with this? I couldn’t help the stupid, devilish grin from spreading over my face. “You wanted to see my room?” I asked, moving closer to her.
A longing look passed over her face as she eyed the space. “It’s a sexy room.” Her cheeks turned crimson as she shrugged, and she looked down to the floor, scratching her temple.
Using my index finger to lift her chin, I gazed into her beautiful eyes. They were dark, deep, dangerous, and full of secrets and lies. Just. Like. Me. We were two fractured souls on a collision course for disaster. I knew she was going to wreck me, but in that moment I didn’t give a fuck.
I wanted her, consequences be damned.
And the way she looked at me, peering up through those long lashes while licking her top lip, told me she wanted me too, and she was just as fucked up as me.
Lifting my hand, I tugged her by the back of the neck and pulled her mouth to mine. Licking my tongue over the seam of her lips, she parted them, allowing me access.
And then I devoured her. Tongues tangling, teeth gnashing, I couldn’t get enough of her fast enough. Without breaking the kiss I pulled her over toward my bed. Urging her down onto the mattress, I pressed my weight on top of her. My mouth moved in a frenzy to taste all of her, from her lips, to her cheek, her jaw, then finally the nape of her neck. Tilting her head to the side, she allowed me more access, and as I pressed my lips to her pulsing vein I could feel the vibrations of her breathy moan, the beat of her rapid heart, and smell the soft, floral scent of her soap. It was intoxicating and I wanted nothing more than to get drunk off of her.