Chapter 34
Aubrey spent the day at the desk in her bedroom, working on her manifesto. Leftover energy from her morning with Nick infused
her, and she jabbed at the computer keys, churning out the words that would prove her innocence. She needed to finish this.
She needed her job back. She needed to get out of this town. She needed . . .
Oh, god, she just . . . needed, so very badly that even her hair throbbed with the intensity of it. But every time she closed her eyes, her mind betrayed
her. Flashes swam into focus—upswept black eyes, holding hers. Perfect skin stretched over hardened muscle.
Because holy hell, Nick’s body. Running her hands over him two weeks ago had been one thing, but watching him undress, gathering
him close, had proved quite another. She recalled every dizzying line—the graceful rise where his shoulder joined his neck,
the shadow etched beneath each abdominal muscle, the ridges scored along his side, visible when he raised his arm.
Aubrey slapped the laptop closed and buried her face in her hands. This was pointless. More than pointless, it was destructive.
I love Gallant, not Nick. Gallant, not Nick.
Yet something had happened to her this morning. When she’d opened her eyes to find Nick’s gaze already locked on hers, her entire being had sighed in fulfillment. Waking up to him had plunged her into a sort of nirvana she’d wanted to float in forever.
Which she absolutely couldn’t think about, because getting wrapped up in him could only end one way. It only ever ended one way.
She wheeled away from the desk and went to the window, but that only reminded her of the countless nights she’d slid up the
pane to let in her Romeo, so she abandoned her bedroom for the kitchen, where she filled the electric kettle.
Gallant, she reminded herself. Bubbles rose into existence through the water, whispering his name. Gallant, Gallant, Gallant.
She needed to see him. She needed another letter. She needed to slake this horrible need that singed her fingertips and made
her hair stand on end.
Aubrey slid her cell from her pocket and punched a few buttons. Are we still on for tonight?
Gallant pinged back in seconds. I was just about to ask you the same. I want to see you so badly I can’t concentrate. Everyone at the office keeps asking
if I’m okay.
She smiled. Yes. This was what she needed. What time do you get home?
Five, he wrote.
Then I’ll see you at 5:01. Be ready.
Bubbles popped up and disappeared. Then, I’ve been ready since the day you sprained your ankle ?
She yielded to a shaky laugh and tossed down the phone. A joke, of course. The past couple months had amounted to so much
more than just physical attraction. His letters proved that.
After sucking down her tea, she circled back to her manifesto, only to stare at the cursor while her body begged and pleaded for later. Briefly, she considered attending to herself, then decided against it.
She’d probably fly apart the minute she and Gallant came together tonight, but it would be so much better that way.
All she had to do was survive until five o’clock.
Gallant had forgotten to buy more condoms. He realized it the moment Aubrey charged through his door, pushed him against the
wall, and kissed him with an aggression that had him hard in seconds.
Shit. The word looped in his mind, even as he fisted his hands in her hair and returned her kiss for all he was worth. Shit.
He’d been so eager to leave the office he’d completely spaced on the fact that he’d burned through the last of his condom
stash the other night. When Aubrey had shot him down on the way back from Chicago, he’d needed something. So he’d texted Jennie Lawson, whose name he’d marked with two stars in his phone.
One for being willing, another for being able to shriek like a banshee.
Now Aubrey broke their kiss, breathing hard. She grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him toward the bedroom.
Gallant’s blood leapt, even as panic swirled into the mix. Where the hell was all this fervor coming from? And what would
she think when she realized he didn’t have any protection, after telling her just weeks ago that he did?
“Wait,” he gasped as she pushed him down on the bed and straddled him.
She froze. “God. Sorry. Is this too much?”
“No. No, not even a little. I just . . .” His mind whirled. He had to find a way to spin this, somehow. “. . . I checked the dates on my condoms this morning, and they were all expired. I had to throw them out. It’d been a while.”
She blinked, rapid-fire. “And you didn’t buy more?”
He forced a smile he hoped looked casual. “You didn’t give me time. But I can go now. It’ll take ten minutes. Then you can
throw me down all over again, and this time we won’t have to stop.”
Her face fell, as if he’d just delivered the worst news she could imagine. She rolled off, collapsing onto her back on the
bed. “Okay, yes. Go. Quickly.”
He studied her for a moment, a frown tugging at his mouth. She seemed . . . frazzled, almost frantic. “Are you okay? You seem . . .
intense, tonight.”
She did a slow blink. She’d done that cat makeup again, and color scorched her cheeks. “I need you.”
His pants somehow got even tighter. Damn, he wanted her. Badly. She clearly wanted him just the same.
She would probably shriek like a banshee, too.
“What’re you waiting for?” Aubrey said.
Gallant couldn’t say what came over him just then. Some new recklessness broke loose inside him, fed by the thirst in her
gaze. “Nothing. I’ll be right back. You know I can’t breathe without you.”
Her eyes rounded.
He issued himself a silent congratulations. Maybe there was something to these letters, after all. Maybe he could get used
to saying bits out loud, once in a while.
He dropped a kiss on her stunned mouth, then went to the hall, fished his car keys from the bowl, and whipped his jacket on,
hoping she’d already be naked when he got back.
Aubrey lay on Gallant’s bed and stared at the ceiling, her blood a painful thump in her veins. She hadn’t even taken off her coat. God, she’d barged in and jumped on him like an overeager teenage boy.
But instead of giving her what she’d wanted, he’d thrown her into a tailspin by repeating almost the exact same words Nick
had used last night.
Her chest worked, up and down. She tried to placate it with long, deep breaths, but the words circled like vultures.
When I’m with you, I can breathe again.
Nick could’ve said anything last night. Absolutely anything. But he’d chosen that. The very same line from Gallant’s third letter, or a version of it. At the time, she’d shrugged it off, but now . . .
Her mind whirred. “Goddamnit,” she said to the ceiling, then jumped up and shed her coat.
Where was Gallant? She checked her watch. He’d left . . . wow, four minutes ago. Okay.
She stalked out to the living room, where a half-full glass of liquor sat on the coffee table, the ice barely melted. Flames
flickered in the gas fireplace, mocking, and she swigged at the liquor. Hopefully, alcohol would loosen the ever-tighter winding
of her nerves.
She replaced the glass and paced Gallant’s polished living room. The click of her heels seemed to tap out words.
When I’m with you, I can breathe again.
You know I can’t breathe without you.
Different enough, yet so very, very similar, and now, something else rose to niggle at her. Gallant’s screens, that night
she’d gone into his office. Why would he write a letter on the computer first, and then by hand? He hadn’t . . . copied those words from somewhere, had he?
Bile rose in her throat. No. Gallant wouldn’t do that. And yet the possibility sent out feelers in her mind, which spread
like an infection.
Her stomach rocked. She glanced at her watch to find nine minutes had gone by. She cocked an ear, but no key grated in the lock.
She could sneak down to his office and peek. If she was wrong, she’d never doubt Gallant again. If not . . .
She swallowed.
Her heels clacked as she found her way to the hallway with the mirror. God, no wonder he’d asked if she was okay. She looked
feral—shiny-eyed and feverish, like predator and prey rolled into one. She couldn’t even say which she felt more like.
Aubrey gave her reflection the finger and ducked into Gallant’s office. Across the room, the twin monitors glowed.
She held her breath and ventured close. When she jiggled the mouse, both screens blinked to life. The desktop wallpaper showed
Gallant posing outside a palatial home. Maybe his first sale, or his most expensive. She didn’t particularly care.
She scanned the task bar at the bottom. No word processor, so he hadn’t been typing up a document to transcribe afterward.
She brought up the browser, which offered her rows of listings on the MLS. Gallant had half a dozen tabs open, and she ran
over them from left to right, landing on—
Her blood slowed to an ice-water trickle. Oh, no. No, no, no.
Nick Thacker’s Love-Letter-Writing Service.
With a shaking hand, she opened the tab, which brought her to a long message chain. She spun the mouse’s wheel, scrolling
backward through the exchange.
Her tongue grew heavy enough to choke her, a useless chunk of rubber someone had stuffed into her mouth and left there. Oh
god, not again. What the hell was it with this town?
Betrayal after betrayal after betrayal.
Her only consolation, this time, was that Nick hadn’t had the faintest clue. Then again, he hadn’t the last time, either.
With a cry of revulsion, she tossed the mouse aside. The thing clattered off the desk, dangling by its electronic tail. She stomped out, retrieved her coat from Gallant’s bedroom, and burst from the house, leaving the front door wide-open.
Fuck him. She hoped someone came in. She hoped they robbed him blind.
Just as she cleared the driveway, the Tesla jerked to a stop in the road. Gallant jumped out, a plastic shopping bag in hand.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
She swallowed the fiery brick in her gut long enough to edge out a single word. “Home.”