Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
Alana
The fluffy towel feels luxurious when I wrap it around my body after stepping out of the bath, and I find myself soothed by the scent of jasmine coming off my skin from my bubble bath.
It really does make this place feel a little more like home.
Smiling to myself, I head into the bedroom to get dressed.
I haven’t spoken to Alejandro since this morning, and he did say he’d be home for dinner.
I hope he is, and not only because I want answers about Layton Cooper, but because I miss him. Absurd but true.
I’m lost in thoughts of him when the door to our bedroom bursts open, startling me. Alejandro storms inside, a murderous look on his face. I can feel the anger radiating off him from twenty paces away. He glares at me, his dark brown eyes full of fire.
Is this about Layton Cooper?
I swallow my anxiety and wrap the towel tighter around my body, as though the plush material might offer me a modicum of protection from the raging demon who’s advancing on me. I have no idea what the hell made him so angry, but I have no desire to be on the receiving end of his wrath.
He stops when he reaches me, close enough that I can feel the heat from his body and smell the expensive cologne he uses. “Where were you yesterday afternoon? After your shopping trip?”
Despite my fear, his growl pulses through me. What the hell is wrong with me? “I was doing my charity work,” I answer, defiant and certain I’ve done nothing to deserve this.
“And the day before?” he snarls.
“Exactly the same.”
He inches closer, his proximity terrifying yet somehow exciting. “With Hugo?”
I blink, even more confused than before. What on earth is this about? “Yes, of course with Hugo. You won’t let me leave the house without him.”
The intensity of his gaze scorches my skin. “So you and he leave this house every day, and you spend hours doing your charity work?” He spits the last two words as though they’re wrong or dirty.
How dare he treat me this way. I match his fierce glare with my own. “Yes, doing my charity work. What the hell is your problem?”
His lip curls in a sneer. “My problem, Mrs. Montoya, is that you have made me look like a fucking idiota.” He advances on me, and I instinctively step back until I have nowhere else to go and I’m pressed flat to the wall. The cool plaster makes me shiver.
My ferocious husband places his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. My body trembles, but I’m not entirely sure it’s from fear. Yes, he’s scaring me, but I feel something else too. Anticipation. Excitement.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out that you’ve been lying to me, puta? Have you been fucking him? Is that where you two really go every afternoon?”
A shuddering breath fills my lungs. I couldn’t be more shocked if he slapped me across the face.
But more than shocked, I’m indignant. “I haven’t been fucking anyone,” I snap.
And I don’t know much Spanish, but I know what puta means.
“And don’t call me a whore!” I’ve been called that word before, mostly by drunk guys in bars.
It’s never a pleasant experience, but to be called that by my own husband is shocking and hurtful, especially when I’ve done nothing wrong.
“Then where do you go? Because I had a very interesting conversation with Mrs. Grant, who tells me that you attended one charity lunch three weeks ago, and they haven’t seen you since.” He closes the gap between us to barely an inch. “So, tell me, puta, where the fuck have you been?”
God, he’s infuriating. I have half a mind to kick him straight in the balls.
He certainly deserves it. “Mrs. Grant!” I yell instead.
“She and her bunch of smiling sycophants might call what they do charity work, but it’s just an excuse for them to get drunk almost every afternoon and throw a party once a year for whatever charity happens to be fashionable.
Do you know what this year’s event is for?
A new wing of that fancy private school that already brings in hundreds of millions of dollars a year.
Of course I never went back there. I have nothing in common with those women.
I said charity work, Alejandro. That means helping people who are actually struggling. ”
Confusion flickers over his face as he studies me, probably trying to decide whether he believes me. “So where the fuck have you been going?”
“To a women’s shelter downtown. If you bothered to pay any attention to me and my life, then you would know that,” I rage as I shove him in the chest.
He doesn’t budge an inch. An immovable wall of muscle and wrath. He still thinks I’m lying to him.
Asshole!
“Go and look through my purse if you don’t believe me.
I have paperwork from the center in there.
I’ve been fundraising for weeks. Or check my phone.
Every single day, I’ve spent hours on the phone to potential donors.
” My anger gives way to a sadness so acute and unexpected that I don’t have time to stop it. A single fat tear rolls down my cheek.
And now it’s too late. A river of tears runs down my cheeks and I just let them.
All the pent-up tension, anger, and frustration of the past few weeks wants to tumble out of me, and I have no choice but to let it.
Stupidly, I thought the two of us were getting somewhere.
I thought we were finding a way to survive this complete sham of a marriage without making each other totally miserable.
And now he’s calling me a whore and accusing me of cheating on him. I can’t do this anymore.
He continues to stare at me, his jaw working as he considers what to say next. I don’t expect an apology from him. I doubt he’s ever apologized for anything in his life. “I assumed that you and he …” he says, his voice low yet still dripping with menace.
“I know exactly what you thought. You’ve already made it very clear. How could you accuse me of sleeping with Hugo? Of sleeping with anyone! Of all the things you could think, your first thought was that I must be having sex with someone else.”
His brow furrows, his hands still planted beside my head on the wall. “You and I don’t have sex. It’s not outside the realm of possibility to assume you’re getting it elsewhere.”
Oh my god, I really want to kick him in the balls now. “You mean like you do?”
His frown deepens into a scowl. “No. I have never broken our marriage vows, Alana. Not once. Despite how long it’s been, I have never even been tempted.”
“Are you looking for my gratitude, Alejandro?” I scoff.
“Because you managed to keep your dick in your pants for a few weeks? You think six weeks is a long time?” I shove him in the chest again.
“I have gone twenty-five years without having sex. You honestly think I can’t last a few weeks?
Or that I would give my virginity away to a man who is paid by my husband to be nice to me? ”
“You— What?” He stares at me, open-mouthed.
I try to press myself closer to the wall, but there’s nowhere left for me to go. He didn’t know I’m a virgin. I could have told him before today, but there was never an appropriate time, and I’m not sure he deserved to know. He sure knows now, and it only makes me feel more vulnerable. “Forget it.”
He gives a single shake of his head. “Alana, are you seriously telling me you’ve never had sex?”
The word gets stuck in my throat, but I force it out. “Yes.”
“But you must have had boyfriends.”
“I did, but not that many. I was always busy working behind the scenes on my father’s campaigns. Even in college, I worked every weekend. I figured I’d save myself for marriage or at least for someone I really loved.”
“And you’ve never been in love?” His tone softens, the anger from a moment ago gone.
“No. I told you, I didn’t have time for relationships.” There was Bobby Conroy of course, the guy I almost gave my virginity to, until he cheated on me. But I never loved him.
Unexpectedly, Alejandro drops his hands from beside my head and brushes his fingertips down the bare skin of my arms. His touch is warm and rough, and it feels like a spark of electricity. “I had no idea, Alana. If I’d known …”
I blink away my tears. “If you’d known, then what?”
“I certainly wouldn’t have accused you of fucking Hugo.” He goes on running his fingertips up and down my arms, and I shiver at his touch. “Lo siento, princesa.”
His apology is too late. “I hate you,” I whisper.
He dips his head a little lower, and I’m hyperaware of his intoxicating scent and how close his lips are to my skin. “I know.” The words are barely audible, and he presses the most tender of kisses to my forehead.
It takes every ounce of strength I possess not to slide down the wall like a candle melting in front of an open fire. I do hate him, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo. It’s drawn to him like oxygen to a flame. My blood thunders around my body as his lips dust my temple.
What started as a gentle ache between my thighs becomes a persistent throbbing, and it’s building to dangerous levels.
Never have I felt like this before. I’ve dated guys, and I liked them all well enough, certainly more than I like this devil standing in front of me.
But I haven’t craved anyone like this. Never been overcome with a ravenous need to have his hands on my skin.
To feel him inside me. I’m so tired of waiting.
Of being a good girl who always does what’s expected of her.
I want to live a little. To feel. To do something just because I want to.
“I know I told you I was saving myself for someone I was in love with.” I dare to trail my fingertips along the buttons of his shirt and am filled with boldness and excitement when he groans. “But I don’t want to wait any longer, Alejandro.”
He sucks in a breath, and the desire in his eyes makes me shiver in anticipation. “Don’t let your mouth make promises that your body can’t deliver on, Alana.”