Page 39 of Unmatched

I take a deep breath and meet his gaze again. I’m not sure what kind of reaction I thought I’d get. Defiance? Repentance? A cocky fuck you? The look on his face isn’t any of those things.

When I peer closely, it almost looks like he’s hurt.

We stay this way for several moments. Awkward seconds tick by, my chest just as tight as his fists. I wasn’t prepared for whatever this is I’m feeling, and I guess he wasn’t either since neither of us seem to have the first clue what to say.

What is there to say now?

“Lydia,” he finally whispers, and that one word is so loaded with emotion it nearly knocks me down.

I look away, clearing my throat. “I’ve got a lawyer,” I lie. “I think you’d better...”

Of course this is where the words trickle away. Where my semi-nude superhero confidence crumples. He’d better what? I came here ready to look him in the eye and throw him out, put an end to the last ten years of whatever we had. But the warmth of his embrace still lingers on my skin, keeping me from speaking all the words I’ve been practicing in my head.

I want a divorce. I want you gone.

I want you to hold me again?

Anton growls. He rises, throws down the shirt, and comes to stand by the bed, hovering naked over me. Suddenly I wish it was five minutes ago—no, maybe five years. I wish this was a game we decided to play back in that blizzard and everything didn’t feel so much like the end.

“I’d better what?” he says, low and stern in a way he’s never spoken to me. He’s always so deferential, ready to listen and support. Find the quickest way to help. But the way he’s looking at me now—I get the distinct impression he’s not considering what he can give, but what he’d like to take. And I’m surprised when this thought leaves a tingle between my legs.

I shake my head. “I...I think this needs to be over.”

His eyes sear into me. He rakes his gaze over my body, along the curve of my calves and down to my painted toes. He doesn’t move from his position at the edge of the bed, but I find it hard not to squirm as he continues, studying each piece of me like he’s taking inventory. Edging up my thighs, the curve of my hips, even my arms resting in my lap. He pauses on my nearly exposed breasts, lingering on one and then the other with hungry ownership before finally settling on my open lips.

“What if that’s not what I want?”

My skin prickles. I straighten, trying to find the strength to meet his gaze again when the inside of my chest feels like it’s about to go nuclear. I lash my arm out, gesturing around the room. At the generic hotel sixty miles from our house. At his naked, perfect body—still clearly aroused for someone else—and the lingerie I bought so he would think I was her.

“What the fuck do you want? Because it’s obviously not me.”

He doesn’t speak right away; he just stands there staring, every beautiful muscle in his body tensed, eyes blazing. Until finally, he sinks to his knees next to me.

“Lydia. You are all I’ve ever wanted.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

My eyes fill with tears.

It’s been five days since my lunch with Caprice. Five days since a single page on a website sent my marriage crashing down around me, since I got on this rollercoaster of emotion, shooting between hope and revenge. So far, I haven’t really given myself the space or permission to truly cry, but I can’t now either—I’m still not ready for that.

I take a deep, trembling breath and blink them away. “Don’t give me that bullshit.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Oh, absolutely, MountainMan3.”

He leans in, voice shaking even as he reaches for me. “Come on, Mrs. Richie?—”

“Don’t you mean LonelyGirl8?” I swat his hand away, my face absolutely burning. “How dare you call me Mrs.”

Heat rises in Anton’s eyes. His gaze dips to the delicate space between my breasts, then to where my traitorous nipples challenge the sheer fabric. He licks his lips. “Because you’re my wife. And you being here is the best thing that could’ve happened tonight.”

I cross my arm in front of me, but he grabs my hand and pushes me back into the pillows, descending on me with a kiss so deep it’s like winter melting into spring. I can’t escape the musky, earthy scent of him, his desire growing thick once more against my hip. Unfortunately, I also can’t shake the image of him here in this hotel room with who knows how many other women.

I pull back and shove him away with all my strength, which isn’t much of a match for his, but he stops immediately. “Don’t touch me,” I say.

He recoils like I’ve slapped him, and for a moment he just sits there, staring at his own hands. I wonder if he actually feels ashamed. Will he brave the truth, or is he coming up with another lie? Finally, he blinks and pulls back. And as he does, all the heat from moments ago melts away. A chill settles over the room.

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