Chapter 30 Taylor
The key sounds in the lock, so I fluff my hair and adjust the top of the lingerie set to plump my boobs before leaning seductively against the dining table.
It’s been a long week with Grant gone. The penthouse has felt lonely—I have been lonely—without him.
I may not have been able to talk things out with Gabby, but it’s never been clearer that this is what I want.
Ever since he fucked my brains out in the dugout, all I can think about is doing it again. What better way to welcome him home than with mind-blowing reunion sex?
He steps through the door, dropping his keys in the bowl in the entryway.
He’s so handsome. His hair has the sexy unkempt look to it like he’s been running his fingers through it.
His sharp jaw line is peppered with a five o’clock shadow.
The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and the suit jacket is draped over his toned forearms, exposed from the rolled-up sleeves.
“Wasn’t expecting you to be here,” Grant says, finally making eye contact with me. Surprise and resignation war between his eyes and the tone of his voice has me confused.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked when he planned to be home purposely. I wanted to be here when he arrived, even if it is the middle of the afternoon. I couldn’t wait another minute to see him.
Adding a sway to my hips, I walk toward him slowly with a teasing smile as I take his jacket and bag from him. Once they’re out of the way, I lean up to kiss his stubbled jaw and run my fingers down his chest, unbuttoning a few more buttons. “Welcome home,” I whisper.
“What is this?” He stops my hand and grips my upper arms to push me back. His eyes scorch over my body, but instead of the loving or lustful look normally present when he sees me naked for him, he looks at me with disappointment and a hint of disgust.
“What does it look like?”
He moves around me and into the kitchen, positioning himself on the opposite side, as far away from me as he can get while still being in the same room as me.
“I’m not your booty call, Taylor. I’m your fucking husband.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because it seems the only time you actually want anything to do with me is when you’re horny and wanting to get off.”
What the what?
“What are you talking about? We had some fun before you left.”
“And that’s all I am to you, right? Fun?”
“Where is this coming from?” I cross to the couch and pick up my discarded robe. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I tie the belt on the silk robe, tightening it as if it will hold me together physically for the conversation we’re about to have.
“We’ve been avoiding this conversation for weeks and I think it’s time we have it,” he grits out.
“Why now?”
“Because it’s not enough for me.”
“Grant . . .” I start but he cuts me off with a desperate look on his face.
“Just—” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he inhales a deep breath and lets it out again slowly. “Just let me get this out.”
“Okay,” I say softly, leaning back against the couch for support. The urge to comfort him swirls inside of me but I can’t get my feet to move in his direction. Not that he would let me ease his hurt right now. Clearly, I’m the problem in this conversation.
“We’ve been fooling ourselves into believing we can have this—” he motions between us with his hand, “—when we both know there’s no chance we could sleep together and not have feelings resurface.”
Unwilling to admit the very real feelings I have for this man now that I’m under attack, I counterargue, “We’ve been fucking, not making love. It’s hot and sinful, but I wouldn’t say there are a lot of feelings in what we’ve been doing.”
“There are always emotions tied to intimacy with you, Stella. You’re my North Star.
In everything I do. Every move I’ve made in the last ten years has been to bring you back to me.
I’ve been seeking and searching, making moves and countermoves in the background, all to get you back.
Don’t you see that? I’m nothing without you. You’re everything to me.”
“Don’t say that.”
I’ve avoided falling for this man over and over since I saw him in St. John last year.
I was stupid to think we could live under the same roof, that he could cook me dinner, spoil me with gifts, take care of me and fuck me into next week without emotions getting involved.
But it was a delusion I was happy living in because no one has ever treated me as well as he has.
No one has ever spoken to my soul like he has.
That should’ve been the first indication we were doomed in this endeavor.
My personal devil wasn’t the devil after all—he was the angel sent to save me from the half-life I’d been living since I walked out on him ten years ago. He was the patient savior.
I may have told my brother I was done running from this thing with Grant, but everything in me at this moment is telling me to run. “You didn’t answer me. Why now?” I don’t know what answer I’m looking for that will change the restless feeling inside of me.
He sighs. “I’m tired of not knowing where I stand with you.
Of waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you to decide you don’t want this anymore.
For you to leave for New York or LA and not hear from you for another three years.
And most of all, I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore, and honestly, this was all a means to an end. ”
“A means to an end? That’s what I am to you?”
Of all the things he said, that’s the one I latch onto. It feels like a slap in the face. He just told me I was his North Star and now I’m a means to an end. My hackles rise.
“The end was you. I want my wife back.”
“You’re delusional. This is not a real marriage.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I want to erase them. To lock them back up and choose a different path, but they’re out and all they do is stoke the flames on an already blazing inferno.
Grant repeats the words he said the last time I tried to tell him we didn’t have a real marriage, when he cornered me in the hallway after Ivory and Preston’s wedding. “The marriage license in my safe says otherwise.”
“A piece of paper doesn’t a marriage make.
Besides, that was supposed to be fixed a long time ago.
If you would have signed the damn papers.
” I’d had divorce papers drawn up two years after I moved out.
It felt like time. Our short-lived marriage had run its course.
There was no coming back from the brink of disaster.
“I take my vows seriously.” He moves then, taking one small step towards me.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “You don’t even remember them.”
“Taylor Baker.” He takes another step toward me.
“Tay baby, my Stella, the one person I can count on. I fell in love with you the moment your eyes met mine. This may be fast, but I know I will love you forever—in this lifetime, in the last, and the next. Our souls are destined. Fate brought you to me and I will never let you go. I promise to love you, cherish you, worship you, and support you always. To never make you question how deep my commitment for you goes. I’ll laugh with you, cry with you, dance in the kitchen with you.
Make sure to always feed you pasta and watch the latest Mission Impossible with you.
” He only stops when he’s standing directly in front of me.
“You’re never going to let it go, are you?”
“Let what go?” Grant towers over me. Exasperated anger all over his face as he scrutinizes me.
“That I left.”
“If that was your takeaway then you’re not hearing me.
I knew that’s what you needed at the time.
The past is the past. I don’t want to go back there.
I want to build a future, but I need you to give me something because right now, I feel like I’m in this alone.
I can’t fight for this relationship alone anymore. ”
Tears threaten to spill over in my eyes, but I fight them off. I cannot cry. I cannot back down. Nothing has changed. We may have really hot sex, but the realities are still the realities for a reason.
I thought I was ready to spill all my dark secrets.
To let him in and fully commit to us, but now I’m spiraling.
I can’t be here. I can’t hear these flowery words and the promise of a lifetime together knowing there’s still doubt in his mind.
Knowing that he will always hold it against me that I was the one to throw in the towel.
The one who ruined the happily ever after.
There was a reason I left years ago, and it has nothing to do with how much I love my husband—except that it’s the very reason I left at all.
“I have to go.” I push him back and run to my room, closing the door behind me. Grant yells out a pained curse and then his door slams shut on the other end of the house. My body feels scratchy, like my skin is too tight and my heart is going to beat out of my chest.
All I can think is I need to get out of here.