Page 34 of The Twilight Theft

“Oh, honeybear.” She returned to the table and put her glass down, using the same bend-and-extend technique she’d done before.

I averted my eyes from the overt display. Focused on the blue and white plaid throw pillow at the end of the couch. At the dark gray curtains. The small writing desk by the door to the tiny balcony. This wasmyspace, not hers anymore. I’d need to cook up a storm—or fumigate—to get rid of the cloying scent of flowers she wore.

She straightened, and I felt her frown as much as I saw it. “How about it? For old time’s sake?”

I took another swig of my lemon-lime drink as she closed the distance between us.

She traced a finger down my chest, along my abdomen, and slid her hand down the front of my shorts.

Fortunately, my cock agreed with my brain.Never again, Vanessa.

“That was always the problem…” She sighed and took the glass from me. “Your libido needs serious work.”

“My libido wasn’t the problem. It was the other men you were sleeping with.”

“What can I say? You were away a lot.” We’d started dating while I was still in the CIA and it was understood that sometimes I had to leave and not tell her what was going on. “You changed after your last mission.”

“I’m not having this argument again.” I pulled up the hem of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my forehead. Part of me had left because of Alex’s death, part because of Vanessa, and a whole host of other shit. “Commitment means commitment.”

“Looks like you’re committed to working out harder.” Her fingers found my abs, raking her nails lightly across the skin. “I like this.”

I released the hem and gripped her arm, removing it from my body. How had I stayed with this woman for almost three years? How had I been so blind?Because she’s right and you were away a lot, and then because you refused to acknowledge all the hints she gave you.“Go find someone else. I’m not interested, and that won’t change.”

“Want to tie me up? Play good spy bad spy?”

I rolled my eyes heavenward as though there’d be an answer somewhere. “What I want is a shower. I’m going to have one now—and no, you’re not invited—and I expect you to be gone when I get out.”

She put my wineglass down, huffed, and balled her hands on her hips. “My clothes are in the bedroom.”

“Fine.” I walked into the bedroom with her hot on my heels. Rather than give her the opportunity to undress there, I grabbed everything from where she’d placed it on a wing chair in the corner and tossed it out to her.

“Drew! That’s a Prada bag!”

“Don’t care.” I closed the door and locked it for good measure. “Now go home or wherever the fuck you want to go.”

Vanessa muttered and complained from the other side of the door, rattling off a list of everything I’d ever done wrong, not well enough, or even slightly less than perfect. And for bonus points, a shot about how smart my birth parents were to give me up.

Why had I told her about that?Because she was supposed to be your partner in life.

“And take the shirt with you.” It would smell like her, and I’d think of her every time I saw it.

I went into the ensuite, turned on the hot water in the shower, and snuck back into the bedroom. She’d leave eventually, but there was an off-chance she’d wait me out, so I listened to be sure.

“Your decorating sense sucks, Drew!” she yelled.

I’d sent most of the furniture with her—equal parts good-guy gesture and not wanting to see anything we’d shared anymore. I’d replaced the white duvet cover with steel gray. The white shag rugs with thin woven ones in dark blues. The entire apartment was now strong and masculine, rather than fluffy and feminine.

I’d kept the wine hutch, the wineglasses, and everything in the kitchen—those were mine and heaven help the woman who got between me and my things.

“It would have been the best orgasm of your life!” She smacked a hand against the door. “Asshole!” Her high heels clicked on the hardwood floors and she finally left, slamming the front door.

Push that into the emotional locker, too.Her cheating had stung, but I’d spent a lot of years learning to compartmentalize. With her, it had never been a problem.

Maybe that was the reason we’d stayed together so long—I’d pushed everything between us into that locker.

I removed my running shoes, stripping off layers of clothes to drape over the wing chair Vanessa had sullied with her things.

The bathroom, decorated with white subway tiles and antiqued black fixtures, included a see-through shower curtain that opened up the space. Steam hung heavy in the room already. Exactly what I needed.

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