Текст книги "Tryst"

Автор книги: S. L. Jennings

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-eight

I thought I could do it—I thought I could finally put my own selfish, narcissistic needs aside for the sake of my husband . . . my marriage. But I’m a coward. A coward that was too afraid of not only losing him, but, dammit, losing Ransom too. Because I do feel for him, I do want him, but I want my marriage more. I may want Ransom, but I need Tucker. He’s my husband, my life. So despite what he says, Ransom is nothing more than a passing phase. That’s all he can be to me.

So here I am—in Justice’s playground. Ready to give it all one last kiss goodbye. I could have told Tucker that I’d had a change of heart and wanted no one else but him. But my insatiable hunger for more—for Ransom—is stronger than the desires of my heart. Or maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re more aligned than I’ve allowed myself to admit.

“Don’t be afraid,” Tucker whispers in my ear, before leaving a trail of soft kisses along my collarbone. I am afraid, but not for the reasons he believes.

We’re on one of the round beds—the ones designed for a crowd. There are fewer people here tonight, however, Justice is present. He watches us intently, those molten blue eyes unblinking. Yet, I don’t find his presence unnerving. If I’m being honest with myself, having him here—watching, studying . . . potentially wanting—only makes me want this more. He’s a powerful man, with a body fit for every woman’s erotic fantasy, and a presence that makes him seem ten feet tall. And in our world, there is no greater aphrodisiac than power.

The lights are dim enough in the room that I can’t really see the other couples around us. I can hear their moans and mewls, but they’re barely visible unless I concentrate. I imagine it’s just us here in this room—just my husband and me. We’re in our bed back at home. We’ve just polished off a bottle of Cab and are feeling free and frisky after a long week. I close my eyes and focus on the feel of his lips moving down my chest and the soft scratch of his 5 o’clock shadow on my delicate skin. He loosens the tie of the terry cloth robe and lets it fall open, allowing cool air to entice my already pebbled nipples.

“Do you want this, Bunny?” he asks before sucking one into his mouth, not even bothering to wait for an answer. I try to speak through a moan but it comes out as an unintelligible mewl. A chuckle rumbles from the back of his throat, causing his teeth to nip my puckered skin. “What was that? You’ll have to tell me, baby. I need to hear you say you want me.”

“Yes,” I whine, opening my eyes to gaze down at him as he worships my body with his mouth. “Yes, I want you.” And, dammit, I do. I want this man. I’ve never stopped wanting him, as difficult as that may seem. I may have developed a taste for more, but I never stopped desiring him. He’s my husband, and I love him. Nothing or no one can change that.

My head falls back as he makes his way down my torso, with hands caressing what his lips cannot. I missed this—this attentive, gentle lovemaking. I feel beautiful in his arms. He cherishes me with every kiss, every touch, and every heated whisper across my humid skin. With Tucker, I don’t have to guess or worry. I know I am loved. And considering that he knows what I’ve done—he knows the depth of my perversion—and can find it in his heart to love me anyway, truly makes my heart swell with gratitude. Tucker is the best man I’ve ever known, and he is mine. And by some act of divine intervention, I am his. He still wants me. After all I’ve done to soil my marriage, he still loves me.

“Tonight is all about you, baby. You’re in control,” he rasps as he slowly parts my legs, unveiling my sex. “I want to please you in every way. I just want to make you happy.”

His words catch my attention and I meet his lustful stare. “I am happy, Tuck. You make me happy. Every day.”

He responds with a nod before sinking between my thighs and pressing his hot tongue against my mound. The room seems to get dimmer . . . less solid. Lines blur and colors swirl and the air hums around me. I gasp his name as the wet, gentle scrape of his tongue fondles my sex with expert precision, mapping his way to my entrance. I reach between my legs and fist his hair, holding on to this feeling. Trying to keep us here in this moment for as long as we can. I’m on the brink of orgasm when Tucker pushes up to rest on his knees. Sex still gleams on his lip, along with a sinuous smile. I fix a finger to beckon him closer when a chill whispers across my dampened skin.

I part my lips to protest but my breath is barren of all coherency when I allow my eyes to focus on the dark figure slowly stalking toward us, drenched in shadow. My body responds immediately, vibrating with exhilaration and fear. This was what I was afraid of. Not having sex in front of strangers. Not being completely naked and vulnerable in front of Justice. I was afraid of this . . . this feeling. Of wanting another man so badly that his mere presence makes my sex tingle with expectation and my heart break into a drum solo. I’m afraid that he’s right, that I do want him for more than just some premature quarter-life crisis. And I’m afraid that within these dark-stained walls and under the thin veil of candlelight, I won’t be able to hide it anymore.

Ransom approaches with the cocksureness of a bullfighter, taking his time to circle the bed so he can see us from all angles and plan his attack accordingly. His eyes are like a moonless midnight, his too-sensual mouth a tight line of concentration. He isn’t dressed in the navy blue Oasis robe, but in a pair of ripped jeans and nothing else. I want him completely naked, like me. I want him to be just as exposed and aroused as I am.

I watch Tucker watch Ransom with expressionless eyes. When the younger man finally pauses to place a knee on the bed, I feel the air escape my lungs. I feel Tucker shift upright between my legs, yet I’m too captivated by Ransom’s presence to see what’s happening. There’s pressure at my entrance, and before I can brace myself for impact, Tucker is filling me.

“This is what you want, baby,” he grunts out, pushing in to the hilt. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

I nod, too overwhelmed with eroticism to speak. This time, the roles are reversed. Ransom is watching Tucker fuck me. But I want him as more than just a voyeur. There’s no way I can not touch him with him being so close I can smell clean sweat and smoke on his skin. But then again, if I touch him—if I feel his skin on mine, our combined heat creating an inferno of lust that’s hot enough to melt the paint off the walls—I’ll never be able to stop. I won’t be able to kick this nasty habit that causes me to keep running from the safety and love of my husband into emotional anarchy. So I shouldn’t touch him, as badly as I want to. As badly as I need to.

As if he’s crawled into my mind and played Scrabble with my disjointed thoughts, Ransom crooks a wicked grin and utters in that voice on the cusp of a moan, “This is what you want too. Isn’t it, H?”

I look up at my husband who still appears unshaken, only his brow furrowed in concentration. He’s inside me yet he’s not moving, his restraint causing a sheen of sweat to bloom across his forehead. He stares back at me, but answers to Ransom. “Yeah. Yeah, she does want that too. Why don’t you give it to her?”

Without hesitation, Ransom makes quick work of his fly and zipper, but hesitates just before letting his jeans slide off his hips. I’ve been so captivated by the sight of his chiseled body, that I didn’t realize that our threesome had become a foursome.

“Whatever you want to do tonight, Heidi, it’s your choice” Justice says from the other side of me, his smooth, deep voice adding a new dimension of excitement. “If you want both Tucker and Ransom, you can have them. They are here for your pleasure. But if you choose to do this—if you push the dynamics of your relationships—be absolutely sure you’re prepared to handle all that comes with it.”

Through the haze of hedonism, a contradicting mix of insecurity and arousal clouding my judgment, I take a beat to consider his words. I’ve had sex with Ransom, and I’ve obviously had sex with Tucker. But both of them? Together? Could my marriage survive it? Shit, could I? And do I even want to?

“I’m sure,” I hear myself reply, the certainty behind the words as shaky as my current moral ground.

Everything seems to move all at once. Justice steps away yet stays nearby. Ransom lets his jeans hit the floor, unsheathing a hard, proud cock. And Tucker . . . Tucker moves inside me with deep, languid strokes. The kind of strokes that remind me of forgotten lazy Sundays spent in bed making love. I relish the feel of him and the sight of Ransom as he moves closer to me on the bed. He’s nearly hovering over me, the tip of his erection so close to my lips I can taste him. He reaches over to graze my nipples with the pads of his callused fingers while Tucker continues his unhurried thrusts.

I want more. I want so much more of him . . . of this. So I do what any sane, hot-blooded woman would do with nine inches of hard-as-steel male in front of her.

I take it.

I’d wanted to taste Ransom since that very first night in his suite, but it was Tucker calling the shots. So since it’s my turn to take control—to demand my own pleasure—I’m going to have these two beautiful men every way I can get them.

He’s pulsing in my palm, little ripples of vein and flesh quivering as I caress it gently. A low growl rumbles in his throat and I look up to see that Ransom’s eyes are closed and his head is tipped back. I turn my gaze to Tucker, who is watching me—watching us—intently. How would he react to the sight of another man’s cock in my mouth? Only one way to find out.

Ransom trembles on my tongue as I take as much of him as I can. My eyes still trained on my husband, I start with gentle licks up and down his shaft before falling into a rhythm that matches Tuck’s strokes. He thrusts, I suck. It’s fiercely erotic and soon I feel myself tightening below, overwhelmed by this new level of pleasure. Ransom takes it even further by pinching and twisting my nipples with one hand and reaching down between my legs, down to where me and Tuck are connected, and rubbing small circles in my clit. It’s the devastating blow that does me in, and with me moaning wildly around Ransom’s thick length, I come apart.

Tuck’s never been able to hold on for long after I’ve orgasmed. The feel of my body greedily sucking him deeper always sends him over the edge, so he quickly pulls out. We’re in motion again, and while I’m still trembling with aftershocks, I still want more.

“Lie down,” I instruct Ransom after I release him from my mouth. He does as directed, stretching his long frame beside mine.

I look to Tucker, who is still between my legs, his sex still wet with my release. “You too.”

I’m sandwiched between two of the sexiest men alive, wondering what the hell I plan to do with them. I turn to Tucker first, who is at my right and kiss his lips. Still ravenous and on the edge of orgasm, he eagerly snakes his tongue in my mouth, devouring every one of my soft whimpers. His hand trails up to knead my breasts, just the way he knows I like it. Breathless, I pull away and turn to Ransom. He gazes back with dark, hooded eyes, his sensual lips parted in expectation. I give him my mouth, my tongue. I give him my heart in that kiss, and let him taste my soul. I drink his anguish and lick love letters on his lips.

I kiss Ransom like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do, hoping that somewhere in the midst of our lust he can taste the goodbye that I can’t bring myself to say. Because that’s what tonight will have to be: goodbye. When I pull away, the desolation in his stare tells me that he knows it too.

Tucker is still hard and ready behind me, his hands roaming my body in search of release. If we’re here to push the limits of our marriage, I’m going to take this opportunity to put it all on the table. I may not ever get another chance.

“I want to feel you,” I whisper to him, turning my head to look at him from over my shoulder. I reach behind me to stroke the hardened flesh that’s sliding between my cheeks and take it one step further, placing the tip of him at my puckered entrance to show him exactly where I want to feel him. Tucker has never been willing to try it. He’d always been too afraid of hurting me. But now that we’re here, throwing every speck of inhibition to the wind, there’s no better time like the present.

As I expect, shock and alarm flash across his features, but he quickly tamps it down. “Is that what you really want?”

I stare back with unshakeable certainty, despite the coiled doubt in my belly. “I do.”

I lift my gaze to find Justice staring back at me. Without a word, he strides over to us and extends his palm to Tucker, revealing a small tube of lube. With the tentative tips of his fingers, my husband receives it then looks over my shoulder to Ransom. Something passes between the men, something that encourages Ransom to grasp my thigh and drape my leg over his hip.

This is happening. Against all my better judgment, against the niggling voice in my head that tells me to shut this shit down right now and escape with my marred dignity and what’s left of my marriage, I’m seriously going to do this.

I look up to find that Justice is still looming over us, his expression terse. When our eyes meet, the line of his bowed lips tightens until they’re completely white. I know how he feels about me and what I’m destroying in this moment. But he’s made his living off building fantasies, even for those who don’t deserve them, like the sexist, spineless husbands who would send their wives to him for instruction. Even for people like me, the twisted, the weak, the unfulfilled. His nostrils flare just subtly before he takes a step back. However, that’s all the distance he puts between us. He wants to see. He may deal with every sordid type of sex there is, but he is still a man.

With my leg angled like this, my sex open and so close to his, I hold my breath, awaiting contact. I turn back to Ransom and gaze up into those dark, sultry eyes, seeking comfort and solitude. I can hear the shuffling of Tucker fiddling with the lube. When the cold gel touches my inflamed skin, I nearly yelp in surprise. It’s only Ransom’s face and his tight hold on my thigh that stills me.

Without warning, he crushes his lips to mine, wrapping me up in an intense kiss that steals the oxygen from my lungs. He tastes like the sweetest sin, his mouth as captivating as the lyrics that fall from his tongue. I’m losing myself in him when I feel a prick of pressure behind me. Instinctively, I try to fight against it, but Ransom just holds me tighter and pulls my leg wider, giving Tucker more room to push inside me. I squirm and groan, but Ransom just absorbs it all, continuing to kiss me deeper and hold me tighter.

When Tucker pushes in to the hilt, we all sigh audibly. He kisses my hair and shoulders, kneading my ass as he allows me to adjust to his size. I know he’s still afraid to hurt me, but the way that he’s pulsing deep inside me and groaning with the need to move, tells me that he likes it too. He feels so good here that I want to cry. Not only from the physical sensation, but from the fact that he’s overcome so many of his hang-ups, all out of love for me. I turn to him and smile lazily, basking in his body connected with mine. He kisses me slowly, tasting Ransom on my tongue, when he begins to move his hips. I gasp into his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. His strokes are gentle and unhurried, but each one fills me to the brim, making it difficult to do much more than let my head fall back onto his shoulder and moan his name. Tuck isn’t as long as Ransom, but he’s a good bit thicker, and right now, I can feel every strong inch of him caressing places that he’s never dared to touch before.

Ransom’s hands slide up to my breasts where he rolls my nipples between his callused fingers. I cry out at the sensation, but I need . . . more. I need to be stimulated everywhere. I need him to fill me too.

I pull his lips to mine as I reach between us to stroke his length. Ransom moans into my mouth, only encouraging me further. I guide him to my slickness and rub the tip of him against my swollen mound. It feels indescribable, and soon I’m panting with the mounting need to come.

“I need you,” I nearly beg. “I need you right now.”

Ransom wastes no time hoisting my leg up to his waist and angling his body to meet mine. Tucker keeps a steady rhythm, restraining himself, and Ransom is able to slip in easily.

We all pause to take a breath and contemplate the severity of this crucial moment. Both men are inside me, making love to each other through me. While their hands and mouths and cocks may only be reserved for me, they can’t deny the intimacy of this act. We’ll forever be connected—the three of us. Even after tonight, after I send Ransom away, Tucker and I will be forever stained by the pleasure we all shared.

The guys move slowly at first, testing to see how much my body can take. Tucker pushes in, Ransom pulls out. They alternate like this with shallow, languid strokes. I’m so unbelievably full that I feel like I’m to the point of bursting. Still, when Tucker increases his tempo and presses in deeper, prompting Ransom to do the same, I can’t imagine euphoria feeling much better than this. I’m floating, so high that I may kiss the sky. I never knew that it could be like this, and now that I’ve felt bliss and tasted heaven, I don’t know how I could ever go back to how things were before.

I want both men. I need them. And if that makes me immoral or selfish or whorish, then so be it. But I won’t deny what I am. I won’t pretend any longer.

It doesn’t take long before we’re all shaking with the need for climax. Ransom is panting in front of me, eyes shut tight, lower lip sucked between his teeth. I nuzzle into the space under his chin and kiss his neck. With trembling fingers, he cups my cheek, turning my face up to meet his. The very second I see those heavy-lidded eyes, rimmed in anguish, I gasp aloud. I want to say something—do something—but it’s too late. My body wins out over my emotions, and sends me into a climax that shakes heaven and earth. I pulse wildly around them both, and I start to feel Tucker quivering behind me, his own orgasm coursing through him. But Ransom . . . Ransom continues to watch me as he thrusts into me, the fear and pain in his stare so jarring that I’m afraid to look away.

I’d have shot down the moon for you

So you could lay with the stars

But we’re out of time, little bunny

I’ve fallen too far . . . too far

When he comes, he grips my thigh so hard and thrusts so deep that I feel like he may break my body in two. It’d be fitting. Those desolate words, the pained look on his face as he rides out his orgasm, the small, single tear that rolls down his cheek . . . he’s already demolished my heart.

I came here tonight to say goodbye. To get Ransom Reed out of my system for good. And now that it’s done, and I feel more connected to him than ever, I know that I made a grave mistake. One that will cost me everything.

Chapter Twenty-nine

I wake up the next morning alone with an unfathomable sense of urgency that I can’t shake. Something isn’t right. I can feel it inside me, churning like hot lava in my gut. I text Tamara to see if everything’s ok. I shoot Caleb a message to inform him of my plans to send Ransom back to the city. Then I hit up a travel agent to arrange the next step.

As much as it pains me, I have to get Ransom out of my life. Permanently. I fell for him . . . fell for him hard and quick and so completely. And if I’m going to stick to my word and try to make things right with Tucker, I have to let him go. It’s not right of me to hold on to him just so I can play with him like a toy. I saw it on his face last night, even in the haze of orgasm. I’m hurting him. I’m hurting my husband. And when it’s all said and done, I’m hurting myself. And while the immediate sting of letting go has me texting through tears, I know that this is the only chance of recovery.

Tucker still isn’t back by the time I’ve dried my tears and finished my calls, so I decide to click on the TV to busy my mind. I flip through the channels until I land on another late 90s favorite of mine—Cruel Intentions. Sarah Michelle Gellar’s character Kathryn was the epitome of devious debutante and Sebastian, played by Ryan Phillippe, was the wayward boy who never felt whole, no matter how many girls he slept with. Until he met her, of course. Wholesome, kind, virginal. Annette was the good one, sent to mend Sebastian’s brokenness and show him how to love. And even though he was a complete asshole in the beginning, you wanted him to be with the good girl, even though he may not have deserved her. You hoped that maybe she could make him good too.

But as the movie came to its climax, we saw that trying to conform—trying to steal that slice of happiness when it wasn’t meant for you—only got you hurt. So why was it even worth trying at all? When all people would ever see was the defect in you?

I look at my cell phone and instantly think of Ransom, wondering if he’s watching the same movie. If he can identify with Sebastian the playboy, or maybe he even feels like Selma Blair’s character, Cecile. He didn’t know what he was getting into. He didn’t realize what he had signed up for when he invited us back to his suite. It was just to be one night of fun. One naughty tryst between consenting adults. And now look at us.

I don’t know how we got here. But I know we can’t continue any further.

I snatch up my phone and text him, asking him if he received the flight info the travel agent should have forwarded to him more than hour ago. No response. I text him again, asking him if he’s ok. Again, nothing.

That same feeling of dread sets in and grows until I’m almost choking on it. I knew it when I saw him in the music room. I felt it last night in Justice’s playground. I had seen that same hopelessness reflected in those dark eyes before. Yet, once again, I didn’t ease his discord. I didn’t give him what he needed.

I get to the door of the Temptation room to find that it’s ajar. I can hear The Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony” blaring from the TV, the same song that I was just listening to as Kathryn was publically exposed and ostracized at her stepbrother’s funeral by none other than sweet, non-suspecting Annette, played by a cutesy Reese Witherspoon.

“Ransom?” I call out, pushing open the door. “Hey, it’s Heidi. Did you get my text?”

I don’t see him anywhere and the bathroom door is wide open and empty. The room is a mess, pillows and blankets strewn across the floor, cushions turned over, as if someone was frantically looking for something. At first glance, nothing looks out of place, aside from the disheveled linens. But when I walk over to the other side of the bed, my heart stops. Completely flatlines with shock and horror.

Several opened prescription pill bottles, most of them empty. A half-drunk bottle of Jack. Ransom had been popping pills—a lot of them. And considering how much he took, I’m positive it’s more than any person should be able to survive. I pick up a bottle to get a better look, recognizing some of them as antidepressants, antianxiety meds, even a mood stabilizer.

I’m Googling the uses for Androcur, when an even more shocking realization causes me to drop the bottle, scattering pills across the floor. Right there, next to the field reserved for the prescribing doctor, it states DuCane, Tucker J.

No. That can’t be right. But every bottle reiterates the same.

DuCane, Tucker J.

DuCane, Tucker J.

DuCane, Tucker J.

Tucker prescribed these pills to Ransom.

Tucker is Ransom’s doctor.

Ransom is Tucker’s patient.

I cover my mouth with a trembling hand, unable to grasp what I’m seeing—what I should have seen all along. It wasn’t a coincidence. None of this was. They knew each other. My husband and my lover, they knew what they were doing.

I walk backward out of the room and scurry to the safety of mine as quickly as I can, and plow right into a hard chest covered in white linen. I’d know the feel of him anywhere. Could identify his masculine, fresh scent blindfolded in a room full of men. Yet, I couldn’t see Tucker for what he truly is. The puppet master. He wasn’t sweet, loving Annette as I initially thought. He was Kathryn. My husband is the scheming, conniving control freak.

He closes the door without saying a word, even though he can clearly see the disbelief etched in my wide, unblinking eyes. He’s perfectly calm like always. Perfect, impassive guise without even a hint of discontent. And that pisses me off.

“You.” It’s the only word that I trust myself with right now. “You. It was you all along. You did this. You wanted this. And in the back of my mind, I knew. I just didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to believe you were this . . . monster. The first night when we met him . . . I remember thinking that you never introduced yourself. You never told him your name. And the way you damn near pushed me into his bed. You wanted me to be with him. Why?”

Tucker sits on the edge of the bed and shakes his head. “No, baby. That was what you wanted. I just facilitated it. You needed something that I couldn’t give you. And I knew he could—he would. So while I may have given you the gun, I never made you pull the trigger. No, my love. You did that all on your own.”

“But he’s your patient, Tucker! He needs help! Not to be manipulated!”

“What makes you think I’m not helping him? You think I couldn’t be helping both of you right now?”

I shake my head in disbelief, refusing to accept what’s happening. Tucker was the mastermind. Tucker used Ransom, told him things about me, told him how to seduce me. And I fell for it. Maybe Tucker wasn’t manipulating Ransom. Maybe he’s Sebastian and they were in on this plan the whole time? To seek out the girl and break her down. Make her fall in love. Then crush her like brittle, paper-thin petals of a preserved rose.

“I knew it . . . I knew it when I heard it,” I stammer, thinking out loud as I try to put the pieces together. “When he sang . . . he called me little bunny. You told him all about me, didn’t you? The rape? My sexual deviances? You told him!”

Tucker looks at me with remorseful eyes, his first crack of emotion since I exposed his lying ass. “It wasn’t like that, Heidi. You both needed something from each other. You just couldn’t see it yet.”

I look down at the empty, orange bottle straining under my tight grip and throw it at him. “What’s this used to treat? What does it do?”

Tucker looks over the plastic bottle that once housed a prescription for Androcur and shrugs. “A number of uses, one being prostate cancer.”

“Stop bullshitting me, Tucker. Does Ransom have prostate cancer?”

He releases a breath, letting his shoulders sag in defeat. “No.”

“So why did you prescribe it? What is he taking it for?”

I watch him swallow down the last of his lies, before he closes his regret-tinged eyes. “Hypersexuality. Sex addiction.”

Sex addiction? Ransom’s a sex addict?

The first time I saw him drunk and high—it was as if it was a reaction to something. Like he was compensating for something much deeper with booze and pills. He told me he wasn’t a junkie, and I believed him. I wanted to. Now I see he was being honest, which is much more than I can say for my loving husband. I just don’t understand how he could put me in the hands of someone who needs sex like a drug. He was serving Ransom a hefty dose of X on a cocaine-dusted platter.

I look at the man I love, the man I’d built a life with. The man I had once considered having children with because that was what he wanted. We struggled together, fought together, cried together, laughed together. He was a piece of me, and up until this moment, I had believed he was the very best piece. But he was a liar. He was a fraud. And now, I can’t tell if I’m just looking at a stranger. I know absolutely nothing about him at all.

“I have to go,” I say, turning toward the door. “I have to go find Ransom. He could be lying at the bottom of the pool, no thanks to you. Were you trying to kill him? By prescribing all those pills?”

His face contorts in horror, and he inhales sharply as if he’s just taken a blow to the kidney. “No! Of course not. Ransom is a sex addict, but he also suffers from bouts of depression, anxiety, ADHD. Those pills were necessary to his treatment program.”

“And me? Was I necessary to his treatment program?”

Tucker diverts his eyes to the floor, unable to face the evidence of his transgression. He gave another man his wife—the woman he had vowed to love and protect—in some convoluted attempt to help her help his patient.

“Where is he? I’ll go talk to him,” he finally says.

I shake my head in frustration. “Don’t you get it? I don’t know! There’re empty pill bottles and alcohol. And he’s not answering my text messages.”

That certainly gets his attention, and Tucker jumps to his feet, pulling his cell out of his pocket. “We have to find him,” he says, headed for the door.

I put my anger aside and accept his assistance. Two people are better than one, and right now, Ransom needs me more than I need to crucify my husband. But there will be hell to pay later. You can bet on that.

“You check outside,” I instruct, going into boss bitch mode. “Check the pool areas, the bungalows . . . the lagoon. See if anyone has seen him. I’ll search inside and check with the staff. I know there are surveillance cameras. Justice can check for me.”

Tucker nods his head and looks at me solemnly before turning toward the doors. “I never meant to hurt either one of you—you know that. I thought that if you got what you needed, we could have a fresh start, and maybe . . . maybe I could learn to love you the way you needed to be loved. And I thought if Ransom got what he needed in a safe, controlled environment, he could see that he could tame the urges of his body and focus on the needs of his heart. That maybe he could open himself enough to see that he too could find love and happiness and acceptance. I just didn’t bet on him finding all those things with you.”