Torment Page 6

  “For what? Emotional abuse?”

  “Control. Reinforcing who has the power.”

  “Funny how that’s the exact thing abusers want, too.”

  “I don’t abuse. I punish those who deserve it.”

  A commonality among resilient people was stubbornness. One could say it was common in stupid people, too. Refusal to back down even when the danger signs were flashing and the alarms were blaring.

  Don’t annoy the predator or he might attack. And yet, I stuck my hand out and poked him anyway.

  “Who made you judge and jury to decide if somebody deserves punishment, Mr. Vidal?”

  He drew closer to me. Instant regret and dread tightened in my stomach when he loomed over me.

  “It’s Nicholas. Or Nick. Like the way you moaned when I made you come, Mrs. Kennedy.”

  God, I hated him. I hated his silken voice. I hated the perpetual amusement in his gaze and on his lips as if I never ceased to entertain him. I hated his reminder of that night, and that even though I was married, I had enjoyed fucking him.

  Most of all, I hated the treacherous stirrings of arousal hitting me when I caught a whiff of his familiar woodsy mint scent.

  “You need to leave.” My voice wavered and I couldn’t meet his gaze anymore. I thought I was strong, but I didn’t think I’d ever be strong enough against a man like him. Strength wasn’t only in the ability to win battles. There was strength in acknowledging what battles to fight and when to flee. “Please.” I licked my lips and met his gaze again. “Leave me alone. You punished Robert for what he did, but I did nothing to you. Just leave me alone.”

  “You want me to leave you alone so you can forget?” He touched my cheek. I jerked my face away but he dropped his hands to my hips and pulled me to him. Alarmed, I raised my hands and pressed them against his chest. I tried to squirm away, but he pushed me back until he pinned me against my desk.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You want me to leave you alone so you can forget, Grace?” he repeated. “What did I tell you?”

  You will never forget.

  “I’ll scream.”

  “I’ll give you a reason to scream.” He pressed his face against my neck and inhaled. When he spoke, his low voice rumbled against my skin, his grip on my hips tightening possessively. “My sheets still smell like you. You think I came here to taunt you, but you’re the one who’s been taunting me, Grace. Thoughts of you tormenting me. I’ve killed for less provocation.” He raised his head to meet my gaze. “Maybe if I fucked you again right here then we could both find peace.”

  I trembled, overwhelmed by his confession.

  “I don’t want you.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “I have a husband.”

  “One who doesn’t deserve you.”

  “But you do?” I made a sound of derision. “The well of contempt I hold for you is so deep I might drown in it.”

  “Poetic.” He chuckled. “But we both know you don’t hate me, Grace. What you hate is that I’m a threat to the nice little pretend life you’re so desperate to maintain with your dishonest, disloyal husband.”

  My skin was hot. He was too near, his body pressing into me, reminding me of how he pressed me into his bed.

  His knowing gaze was like the surgeon’s spotlight and his words a scalpel slicing at the exposed, sensitive parts of me.

  The truth didn’t just hurt. It plagued and it judged.

  I pushed against him. “Let me go, you bastard.”

  “Have dinner with me tonight. That’s what I came here to ask.”

  I paused in my struggle and gave him an incredulous look.

  “You’re either joking or insane to think I’d accept.”

  “Neither. I always get what I want.”

  “Then I’ll be the first to deny you.” I pushed against him. Why was he so fucking strong? He was practically an immovable force. “Let go of me, Mr. Vidal!”

  He still didn’t let me go, although his grip on my hips relaxed. He remained silent as his gaze dipped to my lips.

  My heart leaped, whipped into a gallop that he might kiss me. I went still, some part of me anticipating it all while logic screamed at me to keep fighting to get away from him.

  He relinquished his hold on me and stepped back. I breathed deeply in relief, tamping down the treacherous disappointment pecking at me.

  Without saying anything else, he headed for the door and opened it. But before he stepped out, he glanced back at me.

  “Do you want to know how I always get what I want, Grace?”

  I sneered. “Through threats and force?”

  “No.” He smiled. “Tenacity.”

  Fourteen

  —

  A flavourful scent welcomed me when I got home.

  I found Robert standing by the stove. He stirred a pot’s contents, a kitchen towel over his shoulder.

  He threw a smile at me. It made me think of Nicholas smiling as he basically said he was never giving up on fucking me again.

  Robert shut off the stove. “Hungry?”

  “Not really.” Irritated with the memory of Nicholas and with myself for that traitorous undercurrent of need I had for him, I yanked open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

  “You sure? I made your favourite. Mushroom sauce over chicken with some fettuccine and broccoli.” Grinning, he picked up the pot and brought it over, steam billowing from the surface. “Come on. You smell that? You know you want a taste.”

  “I said I’m not hungry, Robert.”

  My tone came out sharper than I’d intended. Guilt stabbed at me when his grin vanished and his shoulders sagged.

  I felt the apology already on my tongue but I held it back. Just because I wasn’t going to leave him didn’t mean things were suddenly back the way they were between us. The way I always was with him: nice, polite, people-pleasing Grace who said sorry first whether or not she was in the wrong.

  “That’s OK.” He returned to the stove and set the pot down with a heavy thud that rattled the stove’s frame. The slam of the lid onto the pot made another noisy rattle. “It’s there when you’re ready for it later.”

  After drinking my water, I went and took a shower. Every time I closed my eyes and let the water wash over me, I saw Nicholas’ face and heard his quiet voice as he told me I tormented him. That he still wanted me.

  The water’s caress was like his lips on my neck, his hands on my skin.

  Why didn’t he kiss me when he clearly wanted to?

  Arousal pooled in the pit of my stomach and warmed between my legs. I pushed my hands between my thighs and pressed my fingers against my clit, hoping to ease the pressure building there.

  How could I want someone who’d used me? How could I want a monster when I knew they only ever took and took and took until you had nothing left to give?

  How could I want someone who wasn’t my husband?

  Shame swamped me and I conceded there was truth in Nicholas’ words. Shame controlled. Shame revealed the darker truths about yourself. Shame showed you how weak you were, how easily you gave in to the bad.

  I didn’t give in. I fought him.

  But if he’d kissed me like I knew he wanted to, would I have still fought him? If he’d yanked my leggings and my panties down and fucked me against the desk like he wanted, would I have screamed like I said I would?

  Screamed in terror or screamed in pleasure?

  I shut off the water angrily and stepped out of the shower. After I’d dried and dressed, I made my way to the living room, hoping to drown out all thoughts of Nicholas Vidal with television.

  Robert sat in one of the armchairs with his laptop propped up on his knee. He glanced up at me and gave me a quick smile.

  “How was your shower?’

  I searched for the remote. “Refreshing.”

  “And work? Anything interesting happened today?”

  I froze, my fingers clenched around the remote control wedged
between the couch cushions. I darted a surprised look at him.

  Did he know that Nicholas came by to visit me today?

  “What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “You don’t usually ask about my work.” I straightened, pulling the remote control free and turning on the television. Then I sat and glanced at him with indifference. “Why the sudden interest?”

  “It’s not sudden.” He shifted, his features uncomfortable. “I just want to know how... uhh... things are with you.”

  I scowled, facing the TV. “They’re fine.”

  Silence stretched between us, interrupted by the voices on the TV. Then he spoke again.

  “I’m throwing a party on Friday.”

  I gave him an incredulous look. “How are we going to afford that when every cent we make now has to go toward paying back the money you stole?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I told you, I have a plan.” He shut his laptop’s lid and set it down on the end table, then he moved to sit with me on the couch. “Grace, at some point you’re going to have to forgive me or we won’t get through this.” He reached for my hand and I yanked it away before he could touch me. He frowned. “Don’t you want this to work? Don’t you want it to go back to the way things were?”

  “Unbelievable.” I stood, glaring down at Robert as he frowned up at me. I shook my head. “Are you telling me how I should feel toward you, Robert?”

  “That’s not what I’m—”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing!”

  His nostrils flared and he stood as well.

  “It’s just a fucking suggestion.” Then he shook his head, softening his voice to an agreeable tone. “It’s just a suggestion for the greater good.”

  “For whose good?” I sneered. “Your peace of mind?”

  “Yours too. And for our marriage. Lack of forgiveness isn’t productive. It isn’t conducive for growth and healing when trust has been broken.”

  Incredulous and speechless, I stared at my husband. It was bearable when I convinced myself to ignore and forget what happened so we could move on. But it felt like a slap in the face when he—the reason for our trouble—said it to me.

  “Do you want to know what isn’t conducive to the growth, healing and trust in a marriage, Robert?” I spat. “Lies. Theft. Secrets. Betrayal.”

  “What about cheating?” he fired back.

  Winded, I took a step back, my eyes widening.

  “You cheated on me too?”

  “No. You cheated on me.”

  I stared at Robert, stupefied, waiting for him to explain how I cheated on him. Maybe he did know Nicholas came to my shop. Maybe he saw Nicholas pinning me against the desk and kissing my neck.

  “That night... you didn’t exactly hide how much you enjoyed it with Vidal.” His tone was laced with anger and hurt. “You even came, Grace. Multiple times. It looked too real. Sounded too real. So don’t even try to lie by saying you faked it.” His fists tightened at his sides, his voice lowering. “You never behaved like that with me.”

  That’s because Nicholas is a better lover than you.

  I shut my eyes and willed that treacherous voice into silence. Then I met Robert’s gaze again.

  “You keep forgetting the most important part of that night, Robert,” I said quietly. “You offered me up to cover your ass. You offered me. And you have the gall to say I cheated on you?”

  Contempt flashed in his eyes before he turned away from me.

  “I need some air.”

  He stalked to the credenza and angrily grabbed his keys. He shoved his feet into his shoes and slammed the apartment door shut on his way out.

  I sat and mentally replayed our conversation. I tried to see it from Robert’s point of view. Although what happened between Nicholas and I was forced in a certain sense, it wasn’t non-consensual. Nicholas didn’t hold me down and fuck me while I screamed and pleaded for him to stop.

  At first I didn’t want it, but then I did. Nicholas asked me if I wanted him inside me and I said yes. Would he have stopped if I said no? Did the action become cheating the moment I said yes?

  The moment I enjoyed it?

  The moment I came?

  I hated this. I hated how complicated and messy my life had become. I was tired of over-analyzing and being plagued by the memories of Friday night.

  Breathing deep, I accepted I had to be patient. Do what Robert said. Forgive and forget. Then everything would return to the way we used to be—

  —nice little pretend life with your dishonest, disloyal husband.

  Fifteen

  —

  “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Grace. I look forward to seeing what you create for me.”

  “I hope it’ll exceed your expectations.”

  I smiled at my newest client and bid her goodbye as she left through the shop’s front door. When she was gone, I rubbed my hands together and turned an even bigger smile on Sophia.

  “Do you know who that is?”

  She shook her head then smiled. “Somebody important?”

  “The wife of someone important—the DA.”

  “That’s amazing, Grace!” Then she snickered. “‘Amazing Grace.’ How the hell am I just thinking of that now?”

  “Just as long as you promise not to sing the song like the kids at school.” I grinned. “Anyway, this a big deal. She chairs a kids’ charity and knows a lot of women with deep pockets and love for designer clothes.”

  “Ooh, this feels like a pivotal moment. Soon you’ll be designing dresses for celebrities!” Sophia’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she rubbed her hands in glee. “Remember me when you’re rich and famous and a tote bag with your name on it costs two months’ worth of rent, OK?”

  Our shared laughter was interrupted by the door swinging open. A man dressed in khakis and holding a bouquet of black flowers strode in.

  “Morning. I have a delivery for Grace Kennedy.” He thrust an electronic proof of delivery device and its pen toward me.

  Frowning, I signed my signature. The delivery man handed me the flowers then pivoted and marched toward the door.

  “Wait. Who sent them?”

  He paused to look back at me and shrugged. “Anonymous sender. But if you call the company they’ll probably give you a name.”

  He pushed the door open and left. I eyed the bouquet and the familiar circular petal formation. Roses. A gold ribbon tied around the stems secured them in their burgundy wrapping paper. A soft, pleasant perfumed scent emanated from them.

  Curious, I glided a finger over one of the velvety petals, then rubbed one between my thumb and forefinger. A light black smudge remained on my fingertips.

  Sophia came to stand beside me.

  “I didn’t know black roses exist.”

  “They don’t. These are dyed.”

  “They’re freaky, but also really beautiful.” She pointed at a black note card dangling from the gold tie. “Maybe the card gives a hint who they’re from.”

  At the top of the note card was the flower shop’s name, location and contact information in golden script. Underneath that was a simple sentence.

  The drops of rain make a hole in the stone, not by violence, but by oft falling.

  I reread the note, a cold sense of acknowledgement going through me.

  Do you want to know how I always get what I want, Grace?

  Tenacity.

  These flowers were from Nicholas Vidal.

  Pissed off, I marched toward the door and went outside into the warm mid-morning sunshine. I dumped the flowers in the nearest dumpster and stormed back inside.

  Sophia looked up from her phone’s screen, a furrow between her eyebrows.

  “Hey, what did you do with the flowers?”

  “I threw them away.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because they’re black roses,” I lied. “They’re an omen.”

  “Actually, I looked it up.” She gestured at her phone. “Black roses signi
fy death, but they mean rebirth, too.”

  “Oh, well. Too late now. They’re gone.” I headed toward my workroom. Then paused to look at her. “Oh, and Sophia? If any more flower deliveries arrive from an anonymous sender, please refuse the delivery.”

  She gave me a strange look but nodded. “All right.”

  As I sat by my sewing machine, my good mood from landing an important client was gone. I was disturbed by the flowers and the message they carried.

  They signify death, but they mean rebirth, too.

  Get rid of the old and welcome the new.

  Was he implying I should leave Robert so he could have me instead?

  If I resisted enough, he would have to give up his pursuit. He would have to realize I wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

  But the next day while I stitched on buttons by hand, Sophia came into my workroom holding a box of brandy-filled chocolates. Once again, they were from an anonymous sender.

  I scowled. “Throw them away.”

  Sophia gaped at me. “Seriously? Grace, you can’t! These look really expensive.” She eyed the box and dragged a fingernail along its side. “It says they’re imported from Italy—”

  “I don’t care where they came from or how much they cost. Throw them away.” I huffed. “Or better yet, you take them. But keep them out of my sight.”

  I felt her stare in the silence, but I focused my attention on looping the thread through each buttonhole so I could avoid her gaze.

  “Grace, what’s going on?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Do you know who’s sending you these deliveries?”

  “I don’t.” I felt guilty lying to her.

  “But it’s upsetting you.” She drew closer. “Maybe you should make a harassment report with the police.”

  “No police.” I spoke harder than I’d expected so I softened my voice and gave her a forced smile. “It’s fine, Sophia. It’s nothing. I’m sure that whoever is sending these gifts will stop soon.”

  The next day, a nervous energy filled me. I kept glancing at the door to my workroom or listening for any sounds outside from Sophia if any new delivery had arrived. As the day carried on, no delivery men showed up bearing unwanted gifts from the devil. My anxiety eased, freeing up more concentration to get my work done.