Page 48 of Tempt
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was for the best. Honestly, I was not a good husband.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.”
He laughed, and the sound warmed me. “No?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know you very well, but from what Idoknow, it’s hard to imagine you were not a good husband—unless you were unfaithful or something.”
“I was never unfaithful,” he said firmly. “I was just gone a lot for work, and she’s someone who needs constant attention. She got lonely.”
“Oh.”
“And I knew she would,” he went on. “I think that’s what bothers me the most—I knew the marriage was a bad idea. Any time I ignore those gut feelings, things go wrong. I should have trusted them.”
“I trust my gut too,” I told him. “In fact, that’s why I called you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. I was starting to doubt you were the man I thought you were, and I wanted to know for certain that I hadn’t been wrong about you. My gut told me you were a good man, but I had some questions.”
“I’m not sure if my answers are confirming your gut feeling about me or contradicting them.”
“Confirming them,” I said, a smile creeping onto my lips. “I still believe you’re a good man, Zach, even if you have some impulse control problems.”
“When you’re around, I do.”
“Just me?”
“Just you.” His voice grew deeper. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”
I hesitated, then confessed. “Me either.”
“I wish we could—that we weren’t—” He stopped. “I wish a lot of things right now. But since I’m a grown man who’s seen enough in his lifetime to know wishes don’t come true, I’ll just say goodnight.”
My heart sank. “That’s probably best. But I wish things were different too. In fact, I almost wish you weren’t such a good man.”
Silence. “Millie.”
“Yes?” I could barely breathe.
“I should go.”
Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard. “Okay. Goodbye, Zach.”
“Bye.”
I ended the call, set my phone down, and rested my forehead on my fingertips. Took a few deep breaths.
Well, that was that.
Needing a distraction, I slipped my shoes back on and crossed the hall to the utility closet to get the broom and dustpan. Back in my office, I swept up the splintered glass, trying not to remember how good it had felt to give in to that overwhelming urge to grab him and kiss him and feel his hands on me. I carried the dustpan over to the trash and carefully dumped the broken pieces into the bin, refusing to look at the edge of my desk where he’d taken me so passionately and possessively—he’d apologized for the pace, but it thrilled me to imagine I was so irresistible to him, he couldn’t hold back. And I had no doubt that if I’d let him, he would not have left my office without making me come.
But the truth was, the more orgasms he gave me, the more generous he proved himself to be, the more alive and beautiful he made me feel, the more I wanted him. Taking his hand off me had been the right call.
I returned the broom and dustpan to the closet, swapped my heels for my boots, and put on my coat. After turning off the lights, I poked my head into the kitchen and asked Nelson if he had a minute to walk me out. He said of course, and accompanied me out to the parking lot. The rain had started up again, and I opened up my umbrella.
“I’m right over there,” I said, gesturing at my SUV. “You get back inside before you’re soaked to the bone.”
