Chapter Fifty
Always and Forever
Ryan, May 24-25, 2012, Dallas, TX
Ryan stared ahead,trying like hell to ignore her suppressed sobs. But they clawed at his chest, leaving bleeding imprints in their wake.
No.He set his jaw. Shut everything out.
The evening didn’t go according to plan, and that was putting it mildly. But before things spun completely out of control, he needed to get his head—and heart—in order.
First of all, he had zero intentions of ending up at their house, let alone in their bed. He’d barely even made it to dinner, almost canceling at the last moment. The idea of seeing her again had filled him with agony. Omigod, Connor...omigod... He knew he’d be hearing it the entire time. But it had been too late to back out, so he decided he’d hear her out and be on his way. He needed to get this divorce finalized, so he could move past her betrayal and on with his life. Without her. And if dinner was what it took, so be it—
The sobs stopped. Thank God. Ryan studied her small outline. She faced away from him, curled up into a ball underneath the blanket. He pulled in his breath. Was she okay? He reached for her, put his hand down. He had to get his head straight first.
His thoughts drifted back to the restaurant. The sight of her clutching an empty wineglass, had brought him up short. She’d looked thin and pale in that ridiculous upscale joint his work buddies had dragged him to “for a little afterwork fun.” Juvenile. By then, he’d been so used to seeking her out everywhere, he’d automatically discounted a loud pang of recognition—until she turned, her radiant face drawn in, almost gaunt.
But she seemed even thinner tonight in her pretty dress that used to cling to her every curve. Too thin, too pale, eyes haunted, filled with—what? Hope, pain, despair. Fear. He’d gone way overboard. He almost threw all caution to the wind, suddenly wishing to take her in his arms and make it better, as he knew he could. As she was silently pleading with him.
Omigod, Connor...omigod... The urge dissipated.
Ryan raked his hair with another glance at her concealed form. How abominably wrong he’d been. She didn’t have a full-blown affair with that sleazy fucker. They hadn’t even done it. He believed her—she couldn’t lie to save her life. Two sides to every story—he, of all people, should have known. But her side? He knew there could be trouble when he learned his new partner was a woman. Which was precisely why he’d made sure the two of them met. Where had he miscalculated? After having met Viv, how could Sie consider her a threat? She made a great partner, sure, but him having romantic interest in her was about as plausible as it would have been with Jason. The idea was preposterous. Viv swore like a sailor, was cruder than a drunk at a strip club, and didn’t possess a single feminine bone in her body. For Pete’s sake, if he wanted an affair, Viv wouldn’t be the woman for the job.
But he didn’t doubt Sie’s feelings. Clearly, she’d gotten in her head that he was at Viv’s that long night. The night he spent at the office researching hundreds of shell companies Longworth had invented to hide his firm’s obscene debt. What were the damn chances she would fly in with a surprise visit that night? But—and here was the part that remained unforgivable—she had acted on her unproven theory. So it wasn’t clear-cut, as these things never are—
She shifted under the blanket with something that sounded like a new sob. He froze, but she grew quiet.
So no, it wasn’t black and white. The relief that swept through him ten minutes into their dinner, was like a tide that washes everything clean—her actions had nothing to do with him, and divorce wasn’t a solution to their problem. Still, he couldn’t just accept her explanation and move on. It was unacceptable. Something needed to be done to address her acting on an entirely unfounded suspicion. But what?
He didn’t have an answer when he walked her to her car. Maybe he’d sleep on it, then call her in the morning to talk this through, meet again, have a heart-to-heart? And then what? Have her acknowledge what she’d done? Apologize? Swear she would never dream of doing it again? That didn’t seem enough. And he wasn’t some chump to let his wife climb into another man’s bed. Whatever the reason.
Then, she brought up what he’d come to call the other life. It made sense. More than made sense. He hadn’t needed Emma to set up subsequent sessions with Arianrhod. He had the woman’s number. The spontaneous “chastisement” in the hunter’s hut had been the perfect way to diffuse the unbearable tension. Why wouldn’t it be now? In truth, the whole thing began to take shape of something exceedingly familiar.
He still didn’t have a plan when he entered their bedroom, but he knew it wouldn’t be some spanking game, followed by hot makeup sex like it had been in the other life. It would have to be something real—a consequence she would feel well and truly. Her words “I don’t deserve pleasure” flew back at him as he undressed and washed up. She’d told him herself what it should be. His only worry was that he wouldn’t be able to pull it off after months of deprivation.
But he’d worried for nothing. He was well into it when she breathed, “Omigod, Ryan...” And just like that, the foul words resurfaced in a sickening wave. Omigod, Connor...omigod... It startled him how effortless it was for him to stop. Too effortless.
It happened every time he tried taking himself in his hand when thinking of her. Without fail, he lost the urge at the sound of those awful words reverberating in his head.
He studied her huddled shape. Was it futile? Even if he wanted to let go, he may not be able to.
Christ, to have the hottest woman in the world naked in his bed. He clenched his jaw. Hottest and forever poisoned to him. But she didn’t even do the deed. Just let some bozo go down on her while drunk and jealous out of her mind. And not even some random man—he was sure of that—but someone from the past, tied to them both. There was something almost fatalistic at play here, like an endless loop.
Ryan tipped back his head, exhaled from his nose. Everyone made mistakes. When did he become so sensitive?
She yelped as he flung the comforter aside in one swift motion. She was perfect: soft curves, smooth skin, his favorite cherry pedicure.
“Ryan...”
He swallowed. The pleading notes in her voice were as bad her sobs. For heavens’ sake, get over yourself. She didn’t go and two-time him for the fun of it. Sane or not, she thought he was having a goddamn affair. How messed up is that? But she’d agreed to whatever sentence he deemed appropriate and faced it. What more could he ask?
He grabbed her hips and scooted down to where he’d left off. What a sweet reprisal.
She buried her fingers in his hair like she always did. He lifted his head before she crested the wave, pushed her thighs into the mattress.
“Ryan, please...” Her body arched toward him, failing against his hands.
He raised his head another notch. “Please what?”
She was panting, eyes swimming with tears in the light of the moon. “Please forgive me...”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’ll never doubt you again.”
Bullshit. Too much fervor in her voice. Too much absolutism. Unrealistic with her taste for jealousy.
“Why should I believe you?” He hoped to God she’d say it.
She wiped at her eyes with a shaking hand, and a quiver of doubt fluttered in his stomach. Could she even think straight now? One hundred percent, he’d gone too far again. She wasn’t made for this sort of thing. He should gather her into his arms, talk this through—
“Because even if I do, I’ll never act on it...” She stopped panting. “I’ll come to you first...I swear, Ryan.”
He exhaled. There it was—come to him first. Exactly what he wanted to hear.
“You will never act on it again.”
“Never.” She held her breath. Yeah, this one was for the other life, too.
He bent his head, savoring the moment, losing himself in it. She tasted like summer and sunshine and all the things that made life worth living. His wife, his soulmate, his one true love. He could stay in this heaven forever.
“Ryan, my love... Ryan, my heart... Ryan, my God...”
She rode the wave for a small eternity, filling him with the brightest light and the sweetest hunger. Then, he was inside her, thinking dimly that the other words had gone for good, replaced with these new ones.
“I’m yours.” His voice was a low growl at her neck as he accelerated his pace, conquering, surrendering, reclaiming. “Say it, love.”
“Mine...” she breathed through the new pulsating wave.
“Louder.”
“Mine!” she screamed as he slammed into her, holding nothing back.
“Only yours.”
“Only mine!” Her voice was silver bells bouncing off their bedroom’s walls.
“Always and forever.”
She dug her fingertips into his shoulders. “Go deo na ndeor.”
“You pull anything like that again...and I’ll do that for a week...not an idle threat, Sie.” Their eyes locked, and his control slipped, the agony of the last six months surging through him like a hurricane, choking and blinding him to anything that wasn’t her. “I can’t make it without you... I can’t even breathe...” Somehow, he was on the brink of both climaxing and weeping. The Irish words spilled, hot and uninhibited. “A néamhainn...le do choim chaol agus do lámha beaga...ach is tú féin amháin mo rialtóir. Tabhair mionn agus móid dom, a rialtóir...nach ngortóidh tú choíche arís mé.”
A dainty lass...with thin waist and wee hands...yet you alone are my ruler. Swear to me, my ruler...you’ll never hurt me again.
“Mionnaím é.” Her radiant gaze trained on his face, she fell apart around him, with him, for him. “A Aodhán, a rialtóir, a chroí.”
He gathered her in—tight, tighter. Their heavenly mixture of her perfume and his deodorant wafted about them as she lay silent in his arms. And coiled tense as a spring. He blew out a breath. How would they move past this now?
“What were you going to tell me about...Connor Reat?” he said after a time, his voice stiff, almost wooden.
She angled away with a sidelong glance. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
He steeled himself. “But I do.”
“Why?”
“Closure,” he said.
She bit her lip and turned toward him: face flushed, whiskey-colored hair tousled over her shoulders and breasts. Christ, she was stunning.
She gave a faint nod. “It’s him.”
He’d figured as much from the asshole’s derisive stare alone. But he was genuinely curious now.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.” She studied her hands. “But also, when I said...what I said to him about you, he tried to sell me once again on the idea of revenge.”
***
Ryan opened his eyesto find Sie beside him, their baby in her arms. What a beautiful sight.
“Good morning,” he mumbled, bizarrely ill at ease.
“Hey,” she squeezed out.
“May I?”
She held her breath as he took Austin and settled him on his chest. “Hey, buddy, remember me?”
The baby stared with rounded hazel eyes, the corners of his mouth beginning to quiver.
“He’s just...cranky...” Sie squirmed beside him. “You’re okay, munchkin...”
He lifted the baby up, held him in the air, then plopped him back down on his chest. “Who’s my buddy, huh?”
Distracted, his little son eyed him with unblinking fascination.
“Hey—” Ryan compressed his lips. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long—my bad.” He tried to make it sound light, but the words came out somber and heavy. “I’ve missed you, bud. I’ve missed you so much.”
Austin stared for a long moment, then suddenly swatted his tiny hand across his cheek.
Ryan blinked. “Yeah, I deserve that, I know, but can we at least try to talk first?”
Sie made a small sound, and the baby turned to her. “Ma-ma!”
Ryan froze with the enormity of all he’d missed. First steps, first words—what else? But he was here now. He tickled his son’s miniature belly. “I’m sorry for leaving mommy for so long, too. I should have taken my own advice and talked with her first.” He clenched his jaw. “Instead of drinking myself silly to stop missing her.” He turned to Sie. “It didn’t work anyway.”
The baby cooed and gave Ryan a tiny smile.
“Daddy,” Sie said softly.
“Da-da.”
Something warm flooded Ryan’s chest, filled him to the rim. “I love you, bud,” he choked out, voice low and strained. “I’m never leaving again. Never.”
Sie lay on her side, her mahogany eyes with golden specks trained on him and their son.
I love you.
Ryan placed their baby between them, his silky head tucked under his chin.
I love you, too.
I’m so sorry.
I’m sorrier.
She traced the circle of his Ouroboros tattoo with her fingertip.
It’s behind us now.
For good.
Forever.
He stood and put the baby in his play crib, filled with bright toys of all shapes and sizes. Then, he returned to the bed, lifted the chemise she’d thrown on, and tossed her leg over his hip.
Never again.
Never.
He rocked her slowly, not allowing himself to drown in the stunning feel of her. Not yet.
Because I can’t take this pain.
Neither can I.
Because you’re mine.
And you’re mine.
Always and forever.
Ryan held her fast before getting up. “I’ll be home for dinner, love.”
“I’ll make spaghetti,” she whispered into his chest.
“With meatballs?” The question came out more hopeful than he’d banked on.
She glanced up with her familiar sweet smile, free of anguish and despair. “And freshly grated parmesan.”