Maybe Next Time Read online

  Denver… said nothing.

  Maybe because he couldn’t.

  Maybe that admission was as gutting for him as it was for me.

  Maybe he didn’t understand how we’d gotten this far from where we used to be.

  Me neither.

  “I need water,” I said. “And sleep.”

  He looked up, meeting my gaze. “You haven’t been sleeping?”

  “Well, you kinda threatened to kill my assistant, so my workload has been a bit rough,” I snidely reminded him, then instantly regretted my tone. I wasn’t trying to escalate things, but I was just so…

  Angry?

  Brokenhearted?

  Dejected?

  All of the above?

  Whatever it was, it made it nearly impossible to tamp it all down and just be neutral. But, before Denver could respond, I amended my statement with another truth.

  “I was having trouble before that too though.”

  He nodded. “You should rest.”

  He got up to get the water for me, delivering it to my hand just before the pilot came on to let us know he was about to take off. I moved quickly, retrieving the bottle of pills Loren had left for me and tipping a first… then second and third pill into my hand.

  I swallowed them, then chased it with a long swig, putting the glass down in the cup holder just before we started moving. My gaze went to where Denver was sitting, head back, one hand pressed to his temple, eyes closed.

  He wasn’t asleep though.

  He was thinking.

  About what… I couldn’t say.

  I was knocked out before the plane’s wheels left the ground.

  Five

  When I woke up, I had no clue where I was.

  Not like, I didn’t remember going to sleep–I literally had no clue where I was.

  The last thing I could recall was the argument with Denver on the jet, but now I was ensconced between decadent white sheets, in a room that was completely unfamiliar.

  I could hear… water.

  As in, waves lapping over solid surfaces.

  That sound was coming in through wide open windows draped in white curtains, beckoning my gaze to the brilliant turquoise water stretching as far as I could see.

  For a moment, I thought it was a boat–the stillness of the bed underneath me quickly dispelled that notion. I sat up, thoroughly confused by both the setting and my lack of clothes–I was in my pre-abduction panties, bra, and camisole, but my skirt, blazer, and shoes weren’t anywhere in my immediate sights.

  And I was starving.

  I glanced at the bedside table, hoping by some miracle to see at least one of my phones.

  Nope.

  Pushing out a sigh, I maneuvered out of the soft embrace of those sheets and planted my feet on the floor, intending to go looking for… someone.

  Something.

  Instead, I made a pitstop by the bathroom first, allowing myself a moment of awe over the luxury spa-like décor as I relieved my bladder. When I got to the sink to wash my hands, there was another surprise waiting for me in the mirror.

  A satin bonnet, covering my hair.

  My mouth gaped open as I used a soaking wet hand to pull it off–thank God it wasn’t a mess underneath. I dried my hands and then raked through my half-flattened wand curls, making them at least look presentable for… whatever was next?

  I could go digging for other necessities later. For now, I left the bathroom, intent on figuring out where the hell I was. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Denver strolling into the room, a pair of linen pants slung low around his waist, wearing nothing else.

  Holding a tray decked out with breakfast offerings, emanating a smell that made my empty stomach rumble.

  “You have got to be hungry, Sleeping Beauty,” he teased, situating the tray on an oversized bench at the foot of the bed. “Come here.”

  “What the hell is going on? Where are we?” I asked, not moving.

  Denver popped a few grapes in his mouth, carefully chewing before he answered. “What’s going on is, you’ve been asleep for… basically two days. You want to talk to me about how many of those pills you decided to take?”

  “I just needed sleep–I wasn’t trying to… do anything,” I assured him, even though it really wasn’t his business anymore. “I didn’t expect them to work quite so well.”

  “Do you feel rested?”

  I took a deep breath, doing a quick mental inventory before I nodded. “Yes, actually. I do.”

  “Good. Come on and sit down and eat then, to get the rest of your energy up. We’ve got plenty of arguing to do, I need your ass ready for it.”

  I rolled my eyes, but… the food smelled too good not to take him up on it. Taking a seat on the opposite end of the bench from him, I grabbed a fork and went straight for the fluffy scrambled eggs and country potatoes–my favorites.

  “Damn,” Denver chuckled after a few moments of me stuffing myself had passed. “The last time I saw you eat like this was when you were—”

  He cut himself off, but the damage was already done.

  Now, I felt sick to my stomach.

  I put my fork down, grabbing one of the napkins he’d brought along with him to wipe my mouth before taking one of the juice glasses from the platter.

  “Kensa… you don’t have to shut down every time that’s brought up… you know that, right?”

  My gaze shot up to his. “What?”

  He ran his tongue over his lips, propping an elbow against the bed as he scrutinized me, then answered. “Every time I bring up what happened, you immediately slam that door closed. And I wish you wouldn’t.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Never mind. Where are we, and where’s my phone? I need to figure out how to get home.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere. We aren’t going anywhere,” he amended. “You don’t need your phone. The room has a landline we can use for emergencies, and anybody that might need to get in touch with either of us has the number.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard what I said. I don’t have any of my cells either–no distractions.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “No distractions from what?”

  “From us pushing out whatever the fuck is driving this wedge between us,” he answered, sitting forward with his elbows propped on his knees. “You said you wanted me to hear you, Kensa–here I am. So… spit it out. What is your issue?”

  I smirked. “Wow. This is exactly the energy I need to feel comfortable talking to you. Where did you learn this technique? Fuckboy Psychology 101?”

  “Goddamnit, woman,” he grumbled, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I’m… I’m trying here.”

  “Well, you may want to go back to the drawing board, because spit it out, what is your issue? Doesn’t make me want to tell you a damn thing.” I put my empty juice glass down, pushing up off the bench. “And you still haven’t told me where we are.”

  “Paradise. Trace arranged our travel, Nessa made sure you were appropriately packed.”

  I huffed. “Right. Of course you roped my siblings into this.”

  “They believe me when I say I love your stubborn ass.”

  “That makes two of them.”

  Denver’s eyes narrowed enough that I knew I’d struck a nerve.

  Good.

  “Kenni… you can stand there being difficult, pretending to be impenetrable, all you want. But I promise you, sweetheart… we aren’t leaving this place until this shit is worked out.” He stood, stalking toward me with all the dark authority of a panther, stopping with barely an inch between us. “You do whatever you need to do, just know–I ain’t going nowhere.”

  I… couldn’t think of a rebuttal.

  So I didn’t even bother trying.

  I turned and headed back for the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath, but my lungs were gra
teful when I finally exhaled, propping my hands against the vanity mirror.

  Why the fuck is he doing this?

  I truly didn’t understand what his angle was.

  It was so fucking rich of him, pretending to want to know what my “issue” was, as if I hadn’t tried to talk to his ass.

  He was always out late at Plumes, after spending late hours at his actual job. The cigar bar was always only supposed to be a hobby, with Benoit Financial serving as his main source of income.

  He made good money from both–great money actually, enough that he didn’t have to spend those hours there.

  He was working late because he chose to, surrounded by young, beautiful women who I… well, I kinda had to believe he was touching someone.

  Cause it wasn’t me.

  Before I served the divorce papers, he hadn’t touched me in months, and once I added that to his not coming home, what was happening seemed obvious to me.

  And he hadn’t denied it, not really.

  He’d treated me as if the thought of this all was just so ridiculous.

  But it wasn’t.

  There was a reason for the way things had changed between us, and the only logical conclusion was exactly what I’d presented–he didn’t want me anymore.

  At least… not until it was clear I was willing to go.

  I pushed out a deep sigh, and then peeked into one of the decorative baskets on the counter. Sure enough, my toiletry bag was there, and packed with everything I needed thanks to meddling ass Nessa.

  I’d have words for her and Trace later.

  For now, I just wanted to wash away the staleness of having slept for two days. I started with getting my mouth back to a fresh-feeling state, then stripped down to nothing to luxuriate in a steamy eucalyptus shower.

  Between the sleep, the food, and getting myself cleaned up, I was actually starting to feel better again.

  Then I felt the shift in the air of Denver invading the space.

  My first thought was that he just needed the toilet, so I didn’t say anything–just closed my eyes and turned toward the back of the shower to continue what I was doing. When I didn’t hear anything though, I turned to look in the direction I expected him to be.

  He wasn’t there.

  Instead, he was inches away from me, just… watching. His gaze was intense and unwavering, lust interspersed with some deep sorrow I didn’t want to understand.

  My pain was taking up all my mental energy at the moment.

  But then, my breasts were in his hands as he stepped into the shower with me, backing me against the wall. Steam built around us, making it a little hard to breathe. And then once he brought his mouth down to mine… breathing was damn near impossible.

  I… was strangely okay with that.

  What mattered most was his citrusy-sweet tongue in my mouth, searching and probing in tandem with one of his hands between my legs. His other hand quickly found the rhythm too, plucking and squeezing my nipple while he plucked and squeezed my clit. In both places, he was being a little too rough.

  But I didn’t want him to stop.

  Not even when he clamped down so hard a whimper of pain bubbled up from my throat, only to be muffled by the crush of his mouth against mine. When he finally released my nipple, he immediately dropped his head to take it between his lips, soothing the sting as the feeling came rushing back.

  And then he dropped to his knees, doing the same thing when he released my clit.

  I came, hard.

  Instantly.

  This was our dynamic–the thing he did to me all the time–how the hell was I not supposed to be a little crazy about it when he’d stopped?

  Denver kissed his way back up my body–my thighs, my pussy, lingering at my navel before he came up my ribs, my breasts, back to my mouth. His hand snaked into my soaked hair, fisting it as he kissed me like he was trying fuse us together. And then, when he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine to deliver a demand.

  “Turn around.”

  I did.

  And I followed his other directions too–“put your hands right there, put your foot up here, don’t you dare hold back a single fucking sound.”

  I did, I did, and I didn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  Not with the weight of his dick filling me up from behind, his arm gripping me around the waist, his other hand in a firm hold around my neck. Every stroke seemed so impossibly deep, felt so divine, hurt so fucking good.

  “Who else is gonna fuck you like this, huh?” Denver’s voice rumbled in my ear, making me whimper as he nipped me with his teeth.

  Nobody.

  Nobody.

  Nobody.

  Not even if I wanted them to.

  My pussy was too permanently molded exactly to Denver’s dick, my orgasms too inextricably tied to my skin against his.

  He didn’t need me to give a verbal answer.

  He already knew.

  We both knew.

  “I love you. I fucking love you. How do I get you to understand?” he muttered into my hair, driving into me hard as his arm around my waist slipped. He pushed his hand between my legs, finding my sensitive clit–torturing me with pleasure at this point.

  “Denver, please,” I begged, struggling to hang on to… hell, reality. My knees buckled as he stroked me harder, deeper, as he tightened that grip around my throat. I tried to speak again, but couldn’t find anything coherent–just the nonsensical, gibberish patois of bliss.

  All at once, all my defenses dropped, and a dual rush of pleasure and emotion hit me, so intense that everything around me was still for a moment.

  And then, there was the orgasm and the tears, together.

  Denver caught on quickly, pulling out and letting my leg down and turning me around to face him. Then hiking my legs around his waist and pushing into me again, stroking as he wiped away my tears, and kept that orgasm going.

  And going.

  And going.

  Going while I screamed my enjoyment and cried my emotions.

  Going while I cried my enjoyment and screamed my emotions.

  Until I couldn’t feel my legs at all, and my throat was sore, and I’d barely registered that he’d cum too.

  He kept me pressed against the wall, still hard, still filling me up, as he tried to catch his breath. And then he brought his mouth back to mine, for a tender, sweet kiss that completely contradicted what had just passed between us.

  “I love you,” he whispered against my lips, as if I hadn’t heard him any of the other times.

  Maybe… maybe I hadn’t.

  Because I… met his gaze, and whispered something back–words I hadn’t spoken in months.

  “I love you, too.”

  Six

  It wasn’t hopeless.

  I hadn’t gotten much out of Kensa since we arrived, but I’d at least been able to gather that. As much as she swore she was done, she wasn’t actually done–she just wanted to be.

  That was different.

  The fact that there was still hope for some sort of resolution between us, that was a start.

  I just wanted her to talk to me.

  In fact, I demanded it.

  But that had only resulted in her shutting down even further, which was the exact opposite of what I was trying to accomplish here.

  Which meant… I was going to have to alter my approach.

  Kensa Hamilton was not a woman who could be forced into much of anything–subtlety would be required.

  A little… finesse.

  “What the fuck are you looking at me like that for?”

  Okay.

  A lot of finesse.

  I’d been so lost in my head I hadn’t even realized she’d woken up, and caught me staring at her. She was barely awake as a matter of fact, but somehow had the energy to have an attitude.

  “How am I looking at you?” I asked, not backing off from my careful scrutiny of her pretty face.

  Her nose wrinkled, brow furrowe
d as she sat up, meeting my gaze. “Like you want to kidnap me and keep me locked away–oh, wait.”

  I chuckled at her dramatics, still watching when she climbed out of the bed to head for the bathroom. “You realize there’s a full-fledged resort a few miles up the beach, right?”

  “So you claim,” she called through the door, making me shake my head.

  I thought about it for a bit, then got up too, walking up to the door. “You know why I brought you here, right?”

  I listened for a response, but none came. I heard the toilet flush, then the water turned on in the sink, then after a moment, the door pulled open just enough for her to peek out. “Why?”

  “We got married on the beach. Honeymooned on the beach…”

  She raised an eyebrow at me. “So you thought since our marriage was born on a beach, we may as well bring it back to one to die?”

  “Kensa.”

  She closed the door.

  When the water came on, I could only assume that meant she knew she’d be a while. I tried the handle, but after our little shower session the day before, I guess she knew to lock it if she didn’t want me invading her space.

  I could’ve just knocked the shit down, but… I could take a hint.

  For now.

  I blew out a long sigh, trying to get my head right, knowing I couldn’t expect to get much out of her until I gave her what she needed. But how the fuck was I supposed to know what that was if she wouldn’t just tell me?

  She already told you.

  I shook away that nagging voice in my head. Because I couldn’t stress enough that what she’d claimed was some bullshit.

  I didn’t want anything or anybody like I wanted my wife, and that had been true since the day we met. Back when Plumes wasn’t even a thing, and Benoit Financial wasn’t yet exactly… uh… a paragon of legitimacy.

  I needed legitimacy.

  I loved working with numbers, and had always been good with them–numbers made sense when nothing else did. So, it had been natural–damn near second-nature–for me to find myself in a position of manipulating them, navigating my way from pocket change to balling a little, with the backing of a local… street pharmacy.

  Those days were well behind me though.

  Partially because of Kensa’s willingness to become one of my first clients whose money was already clean. She took a chance with her business–her family’s business–then fed my obsession with her fine ass to the point that when she told me I had to choose a life… I didn’t even blink.