Back to the Beginning: A Duet Page 8

  He had thought about it. Hell, he hadn’t been able to think about anything else. “My money’s on Melina. She might have set lofty new goals, but she’s still a vindictive fucking bitch.”

  Another sigh from Stanley. For the last two years he’d been more than earning his hefty retainer. “Okay. I’ll work it from that angle too. I’ve got a PI buddy looking into some things… You should still tell Ophelia. If it comes out and you didn’t, there will be hell to pay.”

  Vincent’s gut clenched at the thought. No. It was an immediate and visceral response. He wouldn’t tell her. He wouldn’t hurt her that way unless he had no other choice. “Just find this woman, Stanley. And whoever paid her. I’ll handle the rest of it.”

  The remainder of the drive to the airport was silent. Climbing onto the small private jet owned by DuChamps Hotels, Vincent wanted nothing more than to get home to his wife. Nothing would come between them, whatever had happened, whatever nightmare he’d fallen into, she was his life. Ophelia was his and he was holding on.

  ‡

  Chapter Two

  The lights set on low, Ophelia lay down on the bed on her side in a classic pin up pose that accentuated her curves. Wearing nothing but a scrap of black lace and a smile, she listened to the sound of Vincent’s footsteps as he climbed the stairs.

  It had been more than a week since she’d seen him, more than twice that since he’d touched her. Between his work and Isabella, their schedules rarely seemed to mesh. When they’d first married, it had been nothing to slip away in the afternoon and have hot, drugging sex. Now, even in the dark of night, they were both so exhausted it was a rare occurrence to do more than blink when Vincent fell into the bed beside her each night.

  All the arguments over whether or not to hire a nanny for Isabella came back to her in that moment. She’d fought him on it tooth and nail. In the beginning, with all the crazy post partem hormones, she’d felt that admitting she wanted help made her a failure as a mother. Later, she’d jealously guarded her time with Isabella, not wanting to share it with anyone, even Vincent. She’d started out worrying about failing as a mother and had instead failed as a wife. Tonight, she thought, I’ll make up for that. And on Monday, she would look into hiring someone, for at least part time help.

  The bedroom door opened and she felt that slight hitch in her breathing, the burn of anticipation. She’d missed him—his presence, his touch. But she’d also miss the way she felt when he was with her. He looked at her like she was the sexiest woman in the world. She didn’t see herself that way but it felt so good to know that he did.

  As he stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, she let her eyes drink in the sight of him. His suit jacket was long since gone, tie loose, cuffs rolled back exposing tanned forearms and large, slightly callused hands that felt so good on her body just the thought of it made her thighs clench. But he also looked tired. There was a tension about him that she hadn’t seen since they were first married, when he was struggling to keep the business together in the wake of Claude’s underhanded dealings and Thomas’ death.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  A slow, lazy grin curved his lips and his gaze traveled over her with the weight of a touch. “It is now. Have I told you how much I love you in black lace?”

  He wanted to change the subject, and the last thing she wanted to do was fight at the moment. But it still worried her. Vincent took too much on himself. She’d get him to talk eventually, but for the moment there were other things they both needed more. Ophelia smiled then and rolled to her back, smoothing her hands over her body from her breasts to her hips. “This old thing?”

  He laughed then, what she’d hoped for. “You can’t fool me, Ophelia. I know all of your lingerie—every delectable bit of it. And that, my dear, is new.”

  “It was on sale,” she protested softly. Even as she said it, she allowed her hands to continue their exploration, sliding over her flesh in a way that she knew drove him crazy.

  “I don’t care if it cost a mint,” he replied evenly. “It’s worth every penny.”

  She didn’t say anything else. She couldn’t. He was stalking towards her, his powerful body in glorious motion as he jerked his tie from his collar and unbuttoned his shirt. Her mouth went dry at the sight and her brain seized, refusing to form even the simplest coherent thought. But her body responded readily enough. She was on her knees on the bed by the time he reached her, her hands sliding beneath the loose fabric of his shirt, her nails raking over hair roughened skin as he hissed out a breath.

  “Christ, you’re killing me,” he murmured.

  “Get naked or I might,” she answered. “We are child free for one night only. Make it count.”

  Goading him was a move that would always pay off. His hand landed against her bottom with a loud smack. The heat of it was delicious, spreading through her skin, intensifying every sensation. If anyone had ever told her that she would get off on being spanked, she would have thought they were crazy. But then, it was Vincent, and anything and everything he did made her hot for him.

  “You forget who is in charge in this room,” he said gruffly.

  “Show me then,” she tossed back at him.

  In a blink, Ophelia was on her back on the bed without even being aware of how it happened. Vincent loomed over her in a way that should have been dark and menacing. It only made her heart race faster and made her more eager for his touch. He hooked his fingers into the scrap of lace at her crotch. With a twist, it simply disintegrated. Then his hand was on her skin, cupping her sex, two fingers sliding between slick folds until her head fell back and a loud moan escaped her.

  “I don’t have it in me to be patient tonight.” The words were uttered in a harsh, warning growl that shivered over her skin.

  “Then don’t be. I don’t need you to be patient, Vincent… I just need to feel you inside me,” she replied, her own voice breathless and husky.

  His fingers curled inside her and she gasped. That gasp became a sharp cry as his thumb gently circled her clit. Her body was on fire for him. Eagerly, even desperately, she reached for his belt. Her fingers fumbled with it for a second before finally mastering the buckle. The button and zipper followed. Her hand encountered hot, hard flesh and she whimpered as she closed her fingers around him.

  “Christ, Ophelia,” he groaned.

  The need was a living thing inside her, clawing and vicious. She craved the weight of him on her, the hard press of his flesh inside her. “Now,” she hissed. “Don’t make me wait.”

  He grasped her wrist, pulling her hand away and pinned both of them to the bed in one of his large hands. It wasn’t gentle. She could feel his fingers digging into her skin but it only heightened her desire. Arching her hips beneath him, she urged him on. “Vincent, I need you… now.”

  He pressed against her, the thick head of his cock parting her slick folds. Ophelia’s eyes fluttered closed as the sensation overwhelmed her. Immediately he stopped.

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  Ophelia forced her eyes open, meeting the intensity of his gaze. As he pressed deeper, sinking into her heated flesh, their gazes locked in a connection nearly as intimate as their physical one. She took in every detail—the sweat slicking his skin, the tension of his jaw, the fierceness in his eyes, the hardness of his body against hers. It took her breath away, and when he sank deep, driving into her with enough force to elicit a shattered cry from her, she felt the first stirring of unease. Something was wrong, but her mind was too fogged with lust. The tension in him wasn’t just because he’d missed her or just because it had been ages since they’d really touched one another. It frightened her.

  Twisting her wrists in his grasp, he let her go instantly. Ophelia locked her arms around him, holding on, her nails digging into his skin as she arched beneath him, taking him deeper. “Don’t let go of me,” she whispered, and they both knew she wasn’t talking about that moment, but about something more.

  “Nev
er,” he uttered on a groan, his hips bucking against her, faster and harder. “You’re mine.”

  A harsh moan escaped her, those words spiking her pleasure. “Yes.”

  “Say it,” he commanded.

  Ophelia looked at him again, locking her eyes on him as the tension coiled tightly inside her. She was hovering on the precipice. “I’m yours,” she said, her voice broken and shattered.

  It was like she’d unleashed a beast with those words. His hands moved behind her knees, pushing her legs higher, opening her to him completely as he simply took her. The tension inside her snapped, her body clenching rhythmically around him as the waves of pleasure crashed inside her.

  He stiffened against her, the movement of his hips becoming sharper, quicker, before he stilled completely. His muscles trembled and she could feel the heat of him flooding her.

  Breathless, her body still trembling in the aftermath, she clung to him as he rested his forehead against hers, their bodies still joined.

  “What is it?” she asked breathlessly. “I know there’s something wrong.”

  “I’ll handle it,” he replied, his voice still ragged with exertion.

  “You don’t have to,” Ophelia protested. If she’d had the energy, she might have choked him.

  “Yes. I do.” He looked up at her, and behind the tension she could see fear in his eyes. “Do you trust me, Ophelia?”

  It cut her to the core. She did trust him, but there was a spark of doubt in her. It was still impossible to believe at times that she was all that he wanted. It wasn’t him she didn’t trust, but herself… her own worth. “Of course I trust you. You can tell me anything, Vincent,” she urged.

  He shook his head. “Just promise me that no matter what happens… I need you to believe in me, Ophelia. I need you to have faith in me.”

  She closed her arms around him, pressed her palms to the firm muscles of his back and smoothed her hands over him, trying to force the tension from his muscles. “Always. I love you, Vincent. Nothing could ever change that.”

  “I need to sleep… just for a few minutes. Then I’m going to show you what it means to be child free for the night,” he promised.

  “We broke training, Vincent,” she said. “The marathon sex we used to have might kill us now.”

  “Can’t think of a better way to go,” he replied softly as he rolled to his side and pulled her to him. “Rest. You’ll need it.”

  Ophelia settled against him, savoring the heavy weight of his arm about her waist. “We’re okay, aren’t we? Whatever it is that’s weighing on you… we’re okay?”

  He sighed against her ear. “We’ll always be okay. Because no matter what happens, I’ll never let you go.”

  ‡

  Chapter Three

  Ophelia stifled a yawn as she walked into the kitchen. Justin and Rosalee were coming over to return Isabella. Rosalee had assured her that the baby had been fine. Oddly enough, that didn’t exactly sit well with Ophelia. She didn’t want her baby to fine without her. It rankled just a little bit that the little hellion was perfectly fine with her aunt and uncle and didn’t even cry for her mother.

  It was perverse, of course. She’d been perfectly content to have a night without her child so she could spend some quality time with her husband. To get her feelings hurt because said child also needed a break from her was utterly pointless. And yet, there she was, morose and moping because her baby hadn’t been miserable without her.

  Ophelia poured herself a cup of coffee and then retrieved the necessary items from the fridge to make breakfast. Normally, it was oatmeal or cereal. Having a real breakfast of fresh fruit with scrambled eggs and bacon, where food was eaten instead of thrown and smeared, was a special treat.

  The bacon was nearly done and she was just pouring the eggs into the skillet when Vincent entered the kitchen. Sleepy eyed, wearing only a pair of low slung jeans, she took a moment just to appreciate the sight he presented.

  He walked toward her and planted a kiss on the back of her neck. It wasn’t enough. Ophelia turned in his arms and pressed herself against him, kissing his mouth hungrily. When the kiss broke, she pulled back and trailed her fingers over the hard ridges of his abdomen. “You may be busy,” she said, “But you clearly have not been shirking your gym time.”

  He laughed. “It’s the only form of stress relief available to me. In case I haven’t mentioned it, I have missed you… every damn day.”

  Ophelia turned back to the stove, turning the eggs so they didn’t burn. Vincent remained behind her, his arms around her waist. He continued kissing her neck, her shoulder, until she was shivering against him.

  “I’m going to burn our breakfast if you don’t stop that,” she admonished.

  “Let it burn. There’s something else I’d rather be eating for breakfast.”

  The double entendre wasn’t subtle, but it was effective. There was no pleasure in the world greater than having his mouth on her, his wicked tongue driving her. But they wouldn’t be alone for much longer.

  “Justin is coming by to drop off Isabella. I doubt he’d appreciate being greeted by that particular sight,” she said sadly.

  “I’ll text him,” Vincent offered. “I’ll encourage him to take his time.”

  The front door opened and they could hear Isabella’s excited chatter. Vincent sighed. “Or not,” he said sadly.

  “Tonight,” she promised. “Tonight, you can do whatever you want with me.”

  He groaned and moved behind the kitchen counter, effectively hiding the raging erection that her promise had created. “You’re killing me,” he said.

  “Nope. I need you alive for this,” she said.

  The banter halted, replaced by excited squeals from Isabella when she saw Vincent. She practically leaped out of Justin’s arms to him.

  Justin grinned as he put her down and watched her run to her father. For a man who’d once avoided children like the plague, he’d gotten shockingly comfortable with them. That thought prompted a smile from Ophelia. It was good to see Justin happy. And Kaitlyn. For the moment, all was right in their worlds.

  “Good morning,” she said as he entered. “Hungry?”

  “No,” he replied. “I spent my morning at Cafe Du Monde eating enough beignets with Rosalee and Addie to kill me. I may never eat again.”

  True New Orleanians didn’t really do Cafe du Monde, and that Justin had gone there was a testament to just how wrapped his new wife and stepdaughter had him. Ophelia bit back the grin and gave a solemn nod.

  Vincent was carrying Isabella through the dining room, while she chattered and pointed at everything.

  “Oh, this was on your porch,” Justin said, and dropped a white box on the counter. It was wrapped with a pretty gold bow. “Vincent doing guilt gifts for leaving you alone with your little hellion?”

  Ophelia took the package from him. “Maybe,” she agreed. “Can you watch those for a minute?”

  Justin moved toward the stove as Ophelia tugged the bow from the box. Lifting off the lid, she smiled at the folded velvet. Knowing Vincent it was undoubtedly some ridiculously expensive piece of jewelry she’d never have occasion to wear outside their bedroom.

  Folding back the velvet, she stared at the contents. She wasn’t aware of the sound that escaped her, of the startled, wounded cry that had Justin turning off the stove and coming back to her.

  The ornate, intricate and lovely picture frame surrounded a photo of Vincent. His face was dark against the white linen, but it was the woman lying beside him, her naked body draped comfortably over his as Vincent’s hand rested on her slim hip that drew her eye. She couldn’t look away from it.

  “Give me that,” Justin said.

  “No,” she replied. “Who is this? Who is she?”

  “You need to talk to Vincent, Ophelia. This can’t be… I don’t believe that he would do this to you,” Justin said. He sounded desperate and was clearly out of his depth.

  “What’s going on?”

&nb
sp; Ophelia looked up to see Vincent walking back into the kitchen. Still shirtless, Isabella clinging to him. He was as physically beautiful in that moment as it was possible for a man to be, but it made her physically ill to even look at him.

  “I think that’s my line,” she said. “Justin, I need you to take Isabella back to the hotel with you… I’ll come get her soon.”

  Justin stood there, looking back and forth between them for a second, before shaking his head and muttering a curse. He walked over and took the baby from his brother’s arms, but as he turned to leave, he called out over his shoulder, “Do not be dumbasses. Please.”

  Ophelia said nothing, she just stood there staring at her husband, the edge of the photo frame digging into her hand as she clutched it while her whole world fell apart.

  *

  Vincent noted the pallor of her face but he also took note of the firm set of her jaw. His worst fears were being realized. “What is it?”

  “Your mistress,” she replied, turning the photo around for him to see it. “The frame was a nice touch. Did you know she was taking selfies in bed with you? Did you even care?”

  His gut clenched. It was even worse than he’d thought. Blackmail he’d assumed was the motive. But that wasn’t the case. They’d gone straight for the kill. “I don’t have a mistress. I don’t want any woman but you. You have to know that!”

  “Well, the evidence points to the contrary.” Ophelia’s voice was hard, bitter, deeply hurt. He’d only ever heard her sound that broken once before. It had been his doing then, as well. “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I have no memory of any of it.”

  She screamed and the frame that had been clutched in her hand shattered against the wall, only inches from his head. If he hadn’t ducked to the side, he’d be needing stitches. As it was, bits of glass clung to his skin and his hair.