Page 5 of Faking Forever
She couldn’t—she simply couldnot—deal with his pain when she was barely coping with her own. It would destroy her. Tear her to pieces. And she didn’t think she could survive that.
Not one bit.
So she left before she gave in to the temptation to turn back toward him, to lose herself in his arms. She was out the door before he saw the tears streaming down her face and the agony in her eyes.
Kenny didn’t ever want this man to see her so vulnerable. Not when he had married her out of some misguided sense of obligation and not when he was bound to recognize, sooner rather than later, that the reason he’d married her no longer existed.
Best not to get too emotionally dependent on him. Not when he would inevitably leave her.
Day 188
A momentary weakness. It meant nothing. But for some reason they were still bound together in this ridiculous sham of a marriage. And as far as Kenny could tell, Smith was as faithful to their vows as she’d been.
They’d always been good together. And it had been so long since she’d been touched like this. Touched byhim.
They were healthy, consenting adults who’d always enjoyed each other’s bodies. And besides they were married…for now.
Surely there was no harm in enjoying the one thing that had always worked between them? At least while they were still married.
It needn’t be more complicated than that. Just the occasional slaking of an insatiable thirst.
Day 540
“You okay?”
Kenny’s head jerked up at the unexpected sound of Smith’s voice.
“You’re back.” Her redundant observation felt a little ludicrous considering the man was standing right there. In the flesh, looming above her larger than life, and bristling with that restless energy so unique to him.
He grunted, broad shoulders lifting and falling in answer to her words.
“Bad news?” he asked, tilting his chin toward the phone clutched in her hands and she lowered her gaze to the device.
Oh, right.
Smith’s unexpected appearance after a two-week long business trip to Tokyo had offered a welcome diversion from the news she’d just received.
“You didn’t tell me you’d be back today.”
He must’ve just arrived. He was dressed in faded jeansand a black and blue plaid shirt, sleeves messily rolled up to his elbows, top three buttons undone, thick dark gold stubble shadowing the strong line of his jaw. He had a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder, which, combined with the gold rimmed glasses he rarely used perched on his sharp nose and the messy, hand-raked waves of his red gold hair, gave him a professorial appearance.
A hot, weary professor.
“Since you never see the need to check in with me with your comings and goings, I didn’t think you’d care about my schedule.” The words were flung at her as nonchalantly as his bag—undoubtedly filled with important documents outlining deals worth millions and millions of dollars—was tossed onto the coffee table in front of her.
He was clearly still pissed off about her unannounced trip to Edinburgh last month.
She hadn’t expected him to be quite so…furiousabout that. She’d seen the blaze of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the compressed line of his lips. Witnessed the clench of those strong, big hands and the tense sweep of those impressively broad shoulders. And then she’d watched him draw that anger inward and push the indifferent frost outward.
All that rage and then…nothing.
Until now. This one quiet passive-aggressive retort.
And she could tell he regretted even revealing that much, because his palm went to his nape and he squeezed, before turning toward the leather easy chair in the sitting room—his one contribution to the decor in their house—and throwing himself into it.
His sprawl was as messy and out of place in the pristine room as the chair.
His hands were folded over of the flat plane of his stomach.
