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Standing, he wiped his hand across his mouth and fumbled with his belt buckle with shaky hands. He let his pants fall, grabbed Bridget again, slammed his mouth over hers, and hitched her leg up to his waist again.

  She grabbed him around the neck and lifted her other leg, locking her feet behind him. He thrust his hips forward and entered her slick flesh.

  Sweet Jesus. Her silken walls encased him like a fist, and he felt the first contractions of another of Bridget’s orgasms grab his cock.

  His mind was frenzied as he pumped into her.

  “You’re mine,” he growled.

  It registered as a distant thought that the pictures on the wall were rattling, and he heard the sound of broken glass as one of them fell.

  He didn’t care.

  Moving his hips faster, he slammed himself into Bridget, feeling the orgasm building. Her nails dug into his shoulders and surely would have drawn blood if it weren’t for his shirt. She screamed again, and her core contracted around him. His orgasm tackled him from behind, and literally brought him to his knees.

  As he sunk to the floor with Bridget, he clung to her as though he were clinging to the reason for him living, both of them breathing heavily.

  He slowly came back to reality and looked around. Two pictures had fallen from the wall and shattered. Meeting Bridget’s gaze, he noticed her mouth was swollen and red, her hair stood on end. But what made his chest hurt were the tears glistening in her pretty green eyes. They fell to her cheeks and jumped off her chin.

  “I’m sorry, B,” he said hoarsely.

  He lifted her off him, set her down on the floor, and stood up. Pulling up his pants, he said, “I’m sorry, Bridget. I don’t know what came over me.”

  She sat on the floor with her knees up to her chest, her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body.

  Kneeling before her, he said, “Did I hurt you? Please, talk to me, baby.”

  He didn’t know what to do. He debated touching her, but didn’t know if she wanted that.

  After a moment she lifted her head. Between sniffles, she asked, “What happened to us, Mason?”

  He leaned back and sat against the opposite wall, resting his elbows on his knees. It was a good question. He looked down at one of the pictures that had fallen. It was one of him and Bridget when they’d lived in their studio apartment. The night the picture had been taken they’d had friends over and someone had snapped one of him and Bridget sitting on the old futon. Each had a beer in their hand, and they were smiling and looking at each other as though they were sharing a special secret. The love between them at the moment the photo had been captured radiated out of the frame. He looked at the mess in the hallway and his beautiful wife sitting across from him, her face contorted as she sobbed. The contrast between the past and the present made his own eyes well up, and he knew he had to do something—anything—to fix it, to get back even just a glimmer of what they’d once had.

  “It’s my fault. I take responsibility, B, but I’m hoping we can piece everything back together.”

  Chapter Eight

  Mason stood and held out his hand to Bridget. She accepted it, and he pulled her to her feet.

  He picked her up and gingerly stepped around the glass shards, making his way down to their room.

  Setting her down on the side of their garden tub, he turned on the water and watched as the white tub filled, lighting the four candles that sat by the main window. When it was half full, he poured in some bubble bath, turning the water a slight pink color. The beveled glass that surrounded the tub distorted the blackness of the night outside.

  Bridget couldn’t stop the tears. They flowed, releasing all the anguish and resentment she had been carrying around for the past six months.

  When the tub was full, he took her hands and stood her up. He gently brought the pink tank top over her head and tossed it to the ground.

  “What happened to your elbow?” he whispered, gently touching the black and blue.

  “Same accident that destroyed my phone and gave me this,” she said quietly pointing to her chin.

  He smiled slightly and shook his head.

  Taking the pads of his thumbs, he wiped her cheeks, but the tears were coming too fast, and the ones he swiped away were immediately replaced.

  “Let me help you into the tub,” he said. “I’ll go clean up the hallway and be in to join you in a minute, if you want me to.”

  She nodded and as he held her hand, she stepped into the water that smelled like roses.

  Mason turned and left the room, and she sank back into the warm water.

  A minute later, she heard the vacuum running.

  The sex had been outstanding, as usual, but it had been different. Mason was usually a gentle, tender lover, but there had been nothing gentle or tender about what had just happened. It had been rough and primitive, almost as if he were . . . marking her as his?

  Her tears had finally stopped, and she sunk down farther into the water.

  The vacuum went quiet, and a few minutes later Mason came into the bathroom carrying the open bottle of wine and two glasses. They were probably going to have to paint the living room wall after her outburst as she imagined it was permanently stained.

  “Can I join you?” Mason asked in a quiet voice.

  She nodded, and he kicked off his shoes and undid the buttons on his shirt. She noted the bloodstain on his cuff and realized they were going to have to get rid of the shirt. Really, she had made quite a mess by letting her anger get the best of her.

  His chest was toned, as were his arms. She let her eyes wander down to his flat stomach, and she watched as he undid his belt. His pants fell to the floor, and he stepped into the bath. They sat facing each other.

  “Do you want some wine?”

  She nodded and felt a little twinge of guilt at opening the bottle he had been saving for a special occasion.

  He poured two glasses and handed her one, but didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, staring into his wine glass. “I’m sorry for so many things, but most of all what happened in the hallway.”

  She studied him. He looked tired, and there were little lines starting to appear around the corners of his eyes.

  “You don’t need to be sorry for that,” she said. “It was about time we got down to business.”

  He glanced up at her and smiled. “I agree, but that was just . . . animalistic.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and took a sip of wine. “Well then, purr, purr, purr.”

  He chuckled, and they stared at each other for a moment.

  “What are we doing, Mason?” Her heart felt lighter than it had in months, and she wished she could just go on with this night like there was nothing wrong, but she couldn’t. They were on the verge of being past the point that they could repair anything.

  “I don’t know.”

  The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

  “We barely spend any time together, and when we do, one or both of us is so tired, we might as well be talking to a wall. And I feel like I’m walking on eggshells around here because when you are here, we aren’t getting along. I don’t want to fight, so I’ve just been keeping my mouth shut.”

  He nodded. “I know. I feel the same way.”

  “So what are we going to do, Mason? I’m not happy, and I can’t imagine you are either.”

  There were a few more minutes of silence.

  “You know, I’m trying to make partner for us.”

  She met his gaze, but didn’t say anything.

  “I wanted a secure future for us financially. For you and me and our kids.”

  “We are secure financially, Mason, whether you’re a partner or not.”

  He sighed and looked out the beveled glass.

  “Mason, please look at me.”

  He turned to her, his blue eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “You know it doesn’t feel that way to me,” he said.

  Bridget nodded. “I know, honey. But we’re fine.”
>
  “It just feels like it’s never enough.”

  Bridget nodded. She didn’t understand his thinking as she had grown up in an upper middle class home and never wanted for anything.

  “Well, when will it feel like enough, Mason?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Bridget drank more wine. “Well, that’s what you have to decide. To me, we’re comfortable financially, but it’s everything else that isn’t right.”

  He nodded absently.

  She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t see a way around their current troubles. She couldn’t see a middle ground where both their needs were met, and the unspoken ultimatum hung in the air between them. Mason needed to decide what was more important to him: his marriage or accumulating wealth.

  ~~~

  Mason stared at his wine glass. So this is what it came down to. Bridget or his job. She hadn’t said anything, but the words didn’t need to be spoken. He felt a bit of resentment rise. He’d worked so hard to get where he was, and Bridget was basically telling him he had to let go of her or let go of his accomplishments. Being partner meant being one of the top dogs in the firm, and he had just enough of an ego that it meant something to him.

  “That’s not fair,” he bit out, trying to keep his voice neutral, but not really succeeding.

  “Mason, we can’t go on like this. We’re roommates. We’re not even friends with benefits! The only difference between us and me and my roommate in college is that I wash your underwear and I got along with her a little better.”

  He sighed. In his heart, he knew she was right.

  “Mason, I have a question, and I want an honest answer.”

  He looked up at her and nodded.

  “Did you really have a surprise planned for Valentine’s Day or did you forget?”

  He set his wine glass down, reached for his pants, and pulled out his wallet. After finding the receipt to the Biltmore, he handed it to her. “I did have plans, Bridget.”

  Watching her as she studied the receipt, he thought how pretty she was even with the puffy eyes and bruised chin.

  “Twelve hundred dollars! Mason!”

  She looked at him, her eyes wide. For a guy who didn’t know how much money was enough, it must have been hard for him to drop that kind of dough. But he had. He shrugged. “I wanted it to be special. We can go back if you want. The room is ours for the night.”

  Shaking her head, she looked back down at the receipt. She then balled it up and threw it on the bathroom floor. “Mason, I don’t need twelve hundred dollar evenings. What I need is this.” Her hand motioned between the two of them. “I need you here, with me. I need your time.”

  She needed the one thing he really didn’t have a lot of, a commodity that was in short supply.

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  He nodded and sipped his wine.

  “And full honesty again, Mason.”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you having an affair?”

  Her words cut through him as though she had sliced him with a knife, and he felt anger boil to the surface that the thought would cross her mind. He’d made an oath to her on their wedding day, and he didn’t take oaths lightly. There had never been a woman who interested him the way Bridget did. She was intelligent, pretty, funny, and sexy as all hell.

  But then he reminded himself that he had broken his oath. He had promised to be there for her through rich and poor, good times and bad. He hadn’t been around, physically or emotionally, in a long time.

  He set his wine glass down and studied his wife. The swell of her breasts peeked out from the bubbles, her arms resting on the sides of the tub. Her hair stood on end as she slowly ran her fingers through it. She had her knees pulled up, as though they were some type of protection against him, and she looked sexier to him than anyone he had ever seen. Recalling the last time they had bathed together months upon months ago, he remembered the mess they created as the water spilled over the side of the tub when they made love. They hadn’t even noticed while the water slopped to the floor and had laughed afterward as they used up all the towels to clean it up.

  He reached for her feet and pulled her over to him, settling her in his lap. His cock immediately became rock-hard, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. “No,” he said quietly, staring her in the eye. “No. There is no one I want to make love to, no one I want to fuck, no one who turns me on the way you do, Bridget Jackson. No one.”

  The candlelight flickered across her face, and his eyes fell to her mouth; her lips were parted slightly—seductively. Mason wondered what she would do if he kissed her. Gently, he brought his lips to hers. For a brief second, she didn’t respond, and he almost pulled away. Then her arms snaked around his neck and pulled him close, her hard nipples pressed against his chest.

  She grabbed his shaft under the water and guided him into her hot, wet core. As she ground her hips into him, sending him deeper and deeper into her silken sheath, her breasts slid against his soapy chest making him feel as though there were small electric shocks rippling through his body. He heard the first splash of water hit the floor and then nothing else mattered except the incredible sensations of being buried inside his wife as she ran her wet fingers through his hair.

  Chapter Nine

  Bridget curled into Mason as they lay on the couch under a blanket, watching a Rambo movie. An empty pizza box sat on the table in front of them, and she heard the blare of the dryer letting her know that the rest of the towels they had used to clean up the flood in the bathroom were done.

  She smiled, feeling as though everything were right in her world again. She had her husband back, and hoped that it would be for good instead of just one night.

  As they cleaned up the bathroom, they had joked that after this Valentine’s Day, they were going to have to remodel again after all the damage they’d caused. Bridget eyed the dark, red stain on the wall above the TV and thought of the broken glass in the hallway. Then there was the mess in the bathroom. Hopefully, the baseboards would dry out and not grow mold.

  It was impossible to stay angry with Mason and it always had been. He just needed to flash those baby blues at her or rub a hand over her shoulder, or in this case, tell her that there was no one else he wanted to fuck, and she was a goner.

  She didn’t want this night to end because reality would come crashing back tomorrow. Being Saturday, she imagined he would be at the office, golfing with the partners, or doing something work related. And she would be alone again. Maybe she could call a friend for lunch, or maybe she should just pack up and get this marriage over with.

  One thing was certain: she didn’t want to think about those things; she wanted to enjoy the here and now, and that consisted of lounging on the couch wrapped up in Mason’s arms.

  She couldn’t see him, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. His breathing was too shallow.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked quietly.

  He pulled her closer and kissed her neck. “Nothing.”

  She sighed. “Don’t lie, Mason. We’re doing so well in the honesty department tonight. We’re finally connecting. Don’t shut me out.”

  He was quiet for so long, she wondered if that was exactly what he was doing.

  “I was just thinking how hard I’ve worked to get where I am and how now that I’m here I feel like I’m going to lose everything.”

  Bridget heard the angst and raw honesty in his voice and guilt ate at her. She almost told him that everything would be fine, and they would find a way to work around him being a partner and the long hours that entailed. She would find a way to make herself happy in the marriage, regardless of what she was feeling or how miserable she was.

  Closing her eyes, she steeled herself, reminding herself that there were two people involved in a marriage and she wasn’t happy. She needed a husband, not a roommate. Although she hadn’t spoken the words, the ultimatum was clear. Bridget didn’t see any happy middle ground. Mason ei
ther gave up his desire to be partner, which she was certain would lead to nothing but resentment from him, or she just kept going with the way things were, which would lead to more heartache and anger from her.

  It seemed as though they had reached an impasse.

  Not knowing what to say, she remained quiet for the rest of the movie.

  Just before the credits started rolling, Mason suddenly sat up on the couch, almost throwing her off, scrambled over her and took off down the hall.

  What the hell? Was something on fire now?

  “Mason?” she called.

  The door to his office shut with a thud and after a moment she heard him talking in low tones. Was he on the phone? She looked at the clock and saw that it was after ten. Who would he be calling at this hour?

  Lying back, she realized it was probably something to do with the office. Maybe he’d forgotten to file someone’s taxes or return a phone call since he had left so early today. She stared up at the ceiling, her anger boiling. Couldn’t he give it a rest just for one night? Just one?

  She kicked the blanket off of her and went down the hall. Stopping at the closed door, she put her ear to the thick wood. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, just the low tones of his voice.

  Bridget went into their bedroom and eyed their big bed, debating whether she should sleep in here or one of the empty rooms in the house.

  Reality had just reared its ugly head and no amount of great sex was going to change the facts of their situation. Mason was married to his job.

  Chapter Ten

  A half hour later, Mason hung up the phone smiling from ear to ear. He turned off the desk lamp and made his way toward the door in the dark, swearing as he stubbed his toe on the foot of a chair.

  Walking down the hall toward the living room, he couldn’t wait to tell Bridget the news.

  “Guess what, B?”

  He stopped and looked around. The TV was still on, but Bridget was nowhere to be found.