Do Us Part (The Dumont Diaries (#4)) (2 page)

I wake up to a dim room, the foyer light casting soft awareness over the room, the double doors open, an ocean breeze floating over the space. The crashing waves give the empty room a soothing presence. I lay there for a moment, listening, trying to sort out where Nathan might be. I have a faint memory of his arms lifting me, then setting me back down, the soft warmth of a blanket pulled over me, pillows placed under my head. I sit up, sliding the blanket back and standing, my eyes catching a note on the bedside table, my cell on top of it.

I’ll be in the casino. If you feel up to it, please dress for dinner and come down. I’ll be in the poker room.

ND

I set the note down, picking up my cell and pressing a button to illuminate the display. 7:45. I’ve slept for almost three hours. I move to the closet and turn on the light.

I find Nathan in the poker room, his face grim and chip stack low. He looks up, a smile crossing his face and rises, gesturing with a hand for me to come closer. When I reach his side, he pulls me onto his lap, kissing my neck gently and throwing in his hand. “I’m going to cash out,” he says to the dealer, his eyes sweeping the low neckline of my dress, his hand smoothing down the side of my waist and affectionately squeezing my curves. “Did you get this one today?” he asks, tugging on the dress.

I nod. “How do you like it?”

“Absolutely stunning. Half the room noticed you come in.”

“Only half?” I tease, standing and moving aside, letting him push his chips toward the dealer.

He flashes me a smile. “You hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Then let’s eat.”

We step into an upscale Japanese restaurant just off the casino floor, and sit at the bar, ordering sake bombs and sushi. The restaurant is crowded, and we sit close, our arms touching, the heat of his body close to mine.

The sake is cold, the sushi delicious, and I relax, allowing myself to notice the light in his eyes, the ease in his manner, his good mood obvious in every smile, laugh, and touch. We touch frequently, his hand stealing to my knee, slipping salaciously underneath my dress, a soft kiss on my shoulder, my hand gliding into his hair, a stolen kiss over sashimi.

We stay ‘til almost ten, stories and discoveries bubbling out, our different worlds having more in common than we thought. We are both David Baldacci fans, both love Scrabble, both grew up around horses, and allergic to pine nuts. He promises to take me skiing; I swear I’ll out-grill him in a steak-off. He wants a dog, and I promise to start researching a breed with rugged masculinity. We both think Beth is a bitch, and he promises to fire her upon our return. And he pays me the best compliment of the night, over gourmet fortune cookies, his face serious, eyes soft.

“You’re a lot like her.”

I tilt my head at him. “Who?” I am both terrified and hopeful that he would say
her
name. Cecile. The woman who so carelessly tossed aside the heart I covet.

“Jennifer. She was so wonderful, Candy. I wish you could have met her. She had a fire in her that glowed. It showed when she was pissed — God she could set fire to half the town when she was upset. But as mad as she got, she loved even fiercer. She was my other half. It was she and I against the world — even scarier — against our family. What she did for me? When Cecile took everything and left? She didn’t just pick me up financially. She’s the reason I made it through that at all. She fortified me, picked up my pieces and put me back together. You have her strength, her compassion, her fire. You are the only woman I know worthy to have her name.” He looks sadly at me, his mouth turning up in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

I say nothing, leaning forward and tugging on his shirt until our lips meet; communicating through my kiss what I am not woman enough to say.

Candy sleeps beside me, tucked into my arm, hers limp and soft across my chest. I need to move her, to remove the hold she has on me, but I can’t. I can’t risk waking her, her opening her eyes and looking at me in the darkness. Her eyes do me in. They see through every ounce of pretense and stare into my soul. So I leave her where she is, her body tight to mine.

I am unraveling, the world that I know slowly coming apart at the seams at a time when it should be coming together. I have control of the funds, transferring them through four different accounts to ensure their safety, their location one that only I know — the IRS none the wiser about my regained wealth. My security, drained when Cecile left, is finally back. I am now only missing one thing, the woman who took it from me. She is the last remaining piece of my happiness, and Candy could be the ticket that brings her back. Candy is playing along — smiling and acting the part of the devoted wife, madly in love with her husband, the photographers catching every flirtatious glance, every stolen kiss. Cecile’s jealous streak is legendary, showing its teeth at several points during our relationship. She shouldn’t be able to lie quietly, the photos and the press should flush her out, her ego demanding that I leave Candy at once so that she can go to bed happy, her pride still intact. It is a weak card, but the only one I have to play. Searching for her hasn’t worked, Drew’s extensive search bringing up nothing, his desire to find her as strong as my own.

What I can’t figure out — what plagues me in the dark of the night — is why. Why did she leave? Was it all just for money? She left me, Drew, her family and friends, all for my fortune?

I shouldn’t want her back. I should curse her name, hate her photo, lament the day that she ever walked into my life. But I can’t. She owns my heart, her touch imprinted on every ounce of my being, breath in my body, blood in my veins. Without her, I am lost, and I will never stop looking until I find her.

The Journal of Nathan Dumont

I
know that Nathan’s act is all for show, our Napa trip proof of that. The tender touches, the kiss on the nape of my neck — an impulsive gesture made when I throw back my head to laugh — it is all for the cameras.
For her
. The fact that every touch that I swoon over is performed for another woman … is heartbreaking. Literally. I can feel my heart expanding, cracking along ridges and junctures, its shell not made to be manipulated, twisted, and toyed with in this manner. It bends, it yields, it cracks. I must do a better job of protecting it. I must push away from this man and focus on what is important. My father. The life I will have away from Nathan Dumont.

But there is another possibility, another option in this game of Life that I am so poorly playing.

Option 1: Leave the marriage, protect my heart, find a new life to live.

Option 2: Stay in the marriage and fight for what is rightfully mine. Risk heartbreak.

He is my husband; maybe it is time to take off the gloves and pull some hair. I am here with him, she is a memory wrapped in abandonment. I have a fighting chance. I just need to time and place my blows.

We stand in the line at customs, Nathan’s hand casually slid into my back pocket, occasionally tugging me to him for a kiss. I am wearing one of my new outfits, picked without the benefit of an outfit book or numbered hanger. It feels rebellious, choosing my own clothes, the simple act bringing a grin to my face.

We are four hours away from home. Four hours until I see Drew — and have to have a decision made. I know what I want; I just need to find out if the fight is worth the risk.

This morning I threw away the notepad, its white surface damning my mind into a catatonic state, unable to create a single word of clarity. Besides, my needs are simple, no need for a physical list.

Move in
. I want to live in the main house, to feel like a member of the marriage rather than a sequestered leper.

Sleep with him
. I want his arms around me at night, his breath on the back of my neck, the hard line of his muscles within easy reach.

Sex
. I will not fuck in front of others. Especially Drew. I can’t handle wondering what he is thinking, or how he is feeling.

A job
. I’d like to fill my days with something other than waiting, the long drone of expectation too hard on my psyche.

That is it. Four demands. I’ll ask him on the plane, once we are in first class and away from the crowds. I want to have his answer, want to have a plan in place, before I step off the plane.

I
watch his profile, wishing I was across from him instead of next to him, so I could study his face without being so blatantly obvious.

“It’s been a good trip.” He stretches his legs out, one reaching into the aisle, and leans back, turning to look at me.

I nod, a spot of silence beginning, the perfect opening for me to speak. “I’ve been thinking … about our marriage. And whether or not I will stay.”

“And?”

“You asked me to make a list of things I would need. There are only a few.”

He says nothing, just watches me. Waiting.

“I want to live in the main house and sleep in your bed. Out in the guesthouse, by myself, I feel more like an employee of yours, someone you fuck and then disregard. It’s not a situation I want to continue.”

“And the sleeping? Couldn’t you move inside without spending every night with me?”

I hesitate. Part of my demand was a negotiation tactic. Ask for more than I need, in hopes that he will settle where I want. I didn’t
have
to have the nights. But I wanted them, had treasured every second of the last two nights. Plus, if I planned to fight for this man, I would need those evenings as part of the seduction of his heart. “Maybe not every night, but at least two a week.”

“Before I commit to that, what else is there?”

A small grin pulls at my mouth. “Sex. You’ll have to keep your controlling habits behind closed doors.”

He laughs, pulling my hand to his mouth and nipping it slightly. “But I love taking your body before an audience. Love to see them watch you fuck.” His words turn dangerous as he speaks, the light behind his voice turning to sizzling heat, his mouth on my hand a brand that marks me as his.

“Why?” I stammer. My eyes close slightly as he flicks a delicious rhythm on the meat of my palm with his tongue.

“It’s how you look when you fuck, when you are unrestrained sexually.” He drops my hand, the break in connection sudden, my mind racing to recover without showing anything on my face. He turns in his seat, fully facing me, his eyes latched on to mine. “That first night, when we came into the club … I was supposed to talk to you then — supposed to pitch you on a life of glamour and whisk you away. But it was how you looked under the lights. How you danced for me, the sexuality breathed out of you like it was part of your soul. I wasn’t supposed to use you that night, to have you …” He pauses, his eyes darkening. “… suck my cock, but I couldn’t help it.”

His erotic words send a spike of arousal through me; the dark and confident look in his eyes makes me want to pull out his cock right here.

“I didn’t know what to do after that, so I left. Business kept me away for a bit, and when I came back, I fell for your sexuality all over again. When you dance, when you move … you put on a show that drives a man wild.”