Читать книгу All the Little Pieces - Jilliane Hoffman - Страница 23

‘So was Charity surprised?’ Jarrod asked as he turned off his light and climbed into bed.

Faith nodded somberly, her thoughts still on Desiree’s smiling face alongside that of the man who had likely murdered her and left her body to rot in the water. ‘Yes,’ she answered softly.

‘Why’d you come home last night? Everything OK?’

She could tell by the hesitant yet cheery way he’d asked the question what he was really worried about – that she’d maybe popped back without warning to see if he was home alone. That she still didn’t trust him after all these months.

‘Charity and I had words so I left.’

‘A fight?’

‘No, just words. She was all smushy with Nick and that was hard to watch, considering what an ass he’s been to her. There was no room at the inn, anyway: T-Bone and Gator and God knows who else were camping out on the couch; I wasn’t in the mood for a slumber party. And I had things to do at the bakery.’

She’d decided not to bare her soul about the argument with her sister. She didn’t want Jarrod throwing verbal darts at her for the next however-many Christmases they were together. She’d navigate the relationship with Charity by herself.

‘Have you talked to her today?’

‘We texted.’

‘Everything all right?’

‘It will be.’

She didn’t want to talk or explain any more tonight. She’d relived it too many times in her head already. She just wanted the day to be over. Octavius was gone, but the breezy weather remained. Through the crack in the drapes, a sliver of light shone on the ceiling. She watched the shadows of the palm fronds dance about, writhing in the wind. She could hear them rustling outside her window. It reminded her of the cane stalks and she shut her eyes and rolled over on her side.

‘Was everybody drunk at this party?’ Jarrod asked quietly.

He was a skilled litigator, ensnaring many a witness with his cleverly worded questions. She knew where he was going, what he was really trying to ask. ‘No,’ she replied simply.

He moved closer to her in the bed, wrapping his arms around her cozily, spooning her body. He was only wearing underwear. He kissed the back of her neck. ‘I missed you last night,’ he said softly. His warm hands rubbed her outer thigh, pushing her nightie up, feeling the curve of her hip and the softness of her waist. His fingers delicately traced a line from her belly button up to the fold of skin underneath her breasts, then back down again. Up, and back down. Each time his fingers ventured a little bit further in each direction, tugging at her panties, sliding them down inch-by-inch off her hips.

Before Sandra, she loved having sex with Jarrod. When he looked at her a certain way, with his head cocked, his piercing green eyes saying things she once thought were only meant for her to understand, he could make her wet from across a crowded room. He was mischievously handsome, with tousled sandy-blond curls to go with those magnetic eyes, defined cheekbones, a boyish, broad grin. Physically he hadn’t changed much from the days of playing college baseball: he still had the V-shaped body of an athlete, his muscular chest hairless and cut in all the right places. He ran several times a week and went to the gym. But it was his sultry, smooth charm that Faith had always found made him even more attractive – the appetizer to the physical entrée. It was an honest charm – he made friends easily and won over juries because he was the successful, handsome and all-around great guy that most people couldn’t believe they had the incredibly good fortune of being friends with. He could be sexy on a phone without trying when he was asking what her plans were for dinner. He could make her do things in bed she shouldn’t want to do.

They were supposed to be OK after the affair. It was out in the open. It was over. It was a mistake. It was time to move on and get back to where they’d been. And that included making love with the passion and intensity and frequency that they used to.

Her panties were off now. His hand had moved up over her breast, cupping it in his hand, his fingers caressing her erect nipple as his tongue found her ear. She could feel his penis through his underwear, hard against her naked buttocks. He gently flipped her over on her back and climbed on top of her, his mouth finding her breasts as his hand slipped between her thighs.

Her body still wanted him. When he touched her, physically she still responded. The problem was her brain – it couldn’t seem to get past the betrayal and her own stupidity in not seeing it coming long before the dirty details of his three-month affair were divulged to her on the phone by his lover. She hoped that would happen in a matter of time, that the brain and body would reconcile on the same sexual plane that they used to exist on. She hoped that in time, if she physically forced it, she would love him the way she used to. She knew that other women in the same situation withheld sex as a form of punishment, but when she had made the decision to stay in the marriage she had also decided that wouldn’t be her. She wouldn’t be a bitter wife waiting to passively-aggressively express her anger in the bedroom. She would, in fact, be the opposite. She would do what he wanted when he wanted sexually to show him what a great wife she was, what a great wife she always was, what he had almost lost forever when he screwed that bitch. Her body was the compliant traitor. In the meantime, her brain could go somewhere else for twenty minutes.

She grabbed the curls on both sides of his head with her hands and pulled him up off her breasts, pulling his face close to hers, holding it inches from her own. She couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, if he was watching hers or if they were closed. She wondered if he ever wondered what she was thinking. She felt his warm breath on her skin, his lips parted, his mouth waiting for her to make the next move.

‘I love you,’ he said then.

The grandfather clock began to chime downstairs. Tomorrow was finally here.

She pulled his head down, putting his mouth to hers and silencing him, as her body arched into his, like it had done so many times before.