Page 78 of Mangled Memory
Birds in summer aspens and snow on winter firs and spruces.
It’s light and airy, warm and homey.
If Cherry Hills is his; Aspen is mine.
24
gift wrapped in devotion
Ayla
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He must see it on my face, too, because he looks… I don’t know how he looks. Angry, or smug, or flat out resigned. I don’t have the energy to catalogue or register his feelings. It’s as if the house is spinning around me, making me dizzy.
I can’t keep up. Hell, I don’t know if I want to keep up.
Squatting, I slide down the wall, put my butt to my ankles, and rub those crescent moon imprints against my knees as if warming them will allow them to plump back up.
“Ayla?”
I shake my head back and forth, fighting the nausea and spinning. I want to see it all. I also want to block it all out.
It’s mine.Or ours.Who the hell knows?
I was pissed when I thought he was going into someone else’s house, but knowing it’s mine… Shit—I hate not knowing. But he brought another woman here. Here. Into my space, with my art. A place that’s obviously a retreat for me.
I rise too quickly, the dizziness coming back in full force. The room swirls like a Tilt-a-Whirl around me and the floor rises to meet my face.
Strong arms catch me before I black out. I love it and I hate it. I’m thankful I don’t have another bruise on my face or that I haven’t risked my hands and arms to brace for a fall. And I’mangry those hands are touching me within hours of another woman.
“Ayla.” The anger has left his voice, though his body hasn’t released it all yet. He pins me to his chest, bracketing me in his arms with my back to the wall.
“What?” It comes out as a snap. He doesn’t get to be all sweet and worried.
“Whatis are you okay?Whatis why did your body give out?Whatis why is your skin so pale?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. My husband was with another woman this morning.” My voice rises. “Brought her into my home. House. Whatever. Decided he needed a side piece?—”
His lips crash down on mine in a hard kiss that’s more about shutting me up than passion. Or love. It sure as fuck isn’t tender. It’s bruising. It forces my head back into the wall, just as one hand comes up to knot in my hair.
“Fuck,” he growls, taking his lips down my neck. “You’re jealous. Oh, Princess, you should know better.”
That trips the part of my mind that realizes I don’t know better, that my brain refuses to work with me. Anger roils to the surface. “Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t know, Christian Barone.”
Warm breath fans my neck before his face comes back to mine. Dark eyes bore into me, holding me captive. It lasts for longer than I’m comfortable with, but I hold my own and stare right back. When his eyes flit to my lips, my core liquifies and I hate my traitorous body for not standing firm against his assault.
His mouth crushes mine again as his arms go to my ass and lift. I circle my legs around his hips, not trusting I won’t slip to the floor without them.
“Wife, I’m going to explain some things. And you’re going to listen. Then I’m going to fuck you against this wall until you know the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That I’m desperately in love with you. That since the day I met you I haven’t wanted another woman.” He presses his thickening cock into my core. “Hell, I don’t think I’ve seen anotherwoman. There’s you—and there’s everyone else on the planet. The world could burn down, and I’d never notice. You’re mine.” Another press to my center makes me wish we weren’t so heavily clothed.
“That woman is our realtor. Last summer, you discussed putting this place on the market, but things got complicated.” He looks to my temple where my hair is growing in. “We were in town. My meeting was done. You were in your happy place.”
My eyes slice to his.
