Page 65 of Hush Money

“Because I had years of exposure to her pettiness and cruelty.”

“But she was never violent before…?”

I’m almost too ashamed to admit it, but we’re way past ego at this point. “She raged at me. She slapped me a few times. Nothing like this, but…” I pause and drop her hands while a memory fleshes itself out for me. “Hang on. She had a cat. An orange tabby. His name was Herbert. Indoor-outdoor cat. She was playing with him one day and he scratched her hand. Made it bleed. She was pretty pissed about it.”

“And…?”

I frown as more details rise to the surface. “And the next morning he turned up under one of the trees with a broken neck. We thought it fell out of the tree, but now I’m not so sure. She didn’t seem too upset by his death.”

Tamsyn presses a hand to her neck, looking stricken. “Oh my God,” she says. “That poor cat. Is this why you wanted me to work nearby?”

I shrug, struggling to put it into words because the feeling was too vague for that. “I just want to make sure you’re safe. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry I overreacted and called you controlling.”

“Don’t apologize.” There’s no managing the sudden fervor in my voice. But nothing in this entire mess is remotely Tamsyn’s fault, and I don’t want her thinking otherwise. “I am controlling.”

Little does she know exactly how controlling. First thing in the morning, I’m hiring a personal security guard for her. A secret personal security guard, because I know she wouldn’t like or want it. Said guard will trail her around and make sure she’s safe for the foreseeable future, until I get the Ravenna problem taken care of once and for all.

“That’s enough talk about Ravenna,” I say. “You need to get some rest.”

“So do you.”

I shake my head as I turn toward the door. “I want to call Detective Smith. I know it’s a little soon, but I want to see if any of the security footage is turning up anything helpful.”

She goes to the bed. “Okay. But stay with me for a minute. Just until I fall asleep.”

I know I’m being managed, but I hesitate because that’s the best invitation I’ve had all day. “No. I smell like smoke.”

A hint of a smile from Ms. Scott. “I don’t mind.”

I watch, riveted, as she sheds the robe and climbs into bed wearing only a sexy little white nightgown and panties. As if she has sleep on her mind as she stretches out with a contented sigh. As if I don’t recognize that gleam in her eye. It’s not like I can ever tell her no. Which just goes to show what a dick I am. I know she’s exhausted from her ordeal. I know that I don’t deserve to touch her. Not if I can’t take any better care of her than this. But I’m already on my way to the bed because I need her. We need each other.

I tell myself to go easy as I hastily ditch my clothes and shoes, but that all goes out the window the second she touches me. Her fervency matches mine. Her fingers dig into my flesh as she quickly rises to her knees, sheds her nightgown and tips her head up to mine. She's the first one to nip a lip, the sweet pain fueling the hot rush of blood in my veins the way trucks on the tarmac fill underground tanks with jet fuel. The lushness of her tongue as it meets mine drives me insane. So do the little mewling sounds she makes. Her murmurs and croons quickly escalate into cries when I push her onto her back and help myself to handfuls of her breasts. My name pours out of her mouth as I suck her nipples and bite the perfect curve where waist flares to hip.

Fuck gentle. There's no gentle in me, and I highlight the point by ripping her panties off with a loud tearing sound. I was lost before she came. Now I'm lost in her. If she leaves, I'll be lost again.

No, not if she leaves. When she leaves.

But she's here now. That will have to be enough.

I grab her hips and drag her to the edge of the bed. Funny how I never quite made it onto the bed with her. She was all over me before I could even get that far. Not that I'm complaining. She rests her hands above her head, arches her back and licks her lips, watching me with eyes that are gleaming and heavy lidded because she knows what's coming. She knows how I like it when she wraps her plump thighs around my waist and pulls me closer. She knows that I go wild seeing her cup her breasts while letting her nipples peek through her fingers. She welcomes my hard thrust inside her, her pussy already dripping with wet heat for me. Then she straightens her legs and rests her ankles on my shoulders, smiling as I shout her name and grip her calves to anchor myself to her perfect L shape.

She meets me stroke for stroke, swiveling her luscious hips in the perfect counterpoint to mine, her face twisting with gathering ecstasy. She lets her breasts go and rests her arms over her head again, giving me the perfect view of her jiggling breasts dotted with erect pink nipples.

The longer I watch her, the harder I pound. But the harder I pound, the more my strokes falter. I’ve got way too much emotion trapped deep in my chest. Too many nerve endings firing at once. Too much pain wrapped around too much pleasure.

I'm only a man. There's only so much I can take.

But I somehow tough it out, feeling the strain in my neck and bunching shoulders as I shift my grip to her ankles and hang on for dear life. The one thing I’m not going to do is come before she gets off. Thank God I don’t have to wait long. That’s one of the most thrilling things about Tamsyn: she always comes for me with the explosive enthusiasm of a woman experiencing her first orgasm—or her last. That's what she does now, her joyous shouts freeing me to join her.

The French call an orgasm la petite mort. A little death. But there’s never been anything little about the pleasure Tamsyn finds and rips out of my body. Especially tonight, when I feel as though I die a lot more than usual. I let my head fall back and pump all of myself into her until there’s nothing left.

When it’s over, her legs drop and I collapse onto the bed next to her. We wrap each other up, no words necessary, and she falls asleep before I know it. Giving me the chance to hold her. I kiss her forehead, my lungs heaving and my lips twisting against the dark emotions rising in me. But I hold them back because now is not the time for me to fall apart. I smooth her hair. Imprint all her curves and hollows as they press up against me. I think about the things that were. The things that will never be.

Then I gently let her go and watch as she settles into a deeper sleep without me.

I get up, head straight to the window and stare down at the smoldering remains of the cottage. It’s not a pretty picture with half of the roof caved in and splintered shards of charred wood in every direction. The worst part is that I’m looking at what could have been the scene of Tamsyn’s death. If Ravenna had simply set the fire and left the grounds without taking the time to track me down and taunt me about it, things could’ve gone in a whole different direction tonight.

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