All For Show Book 2: In the Name of Love
著者
J. B.
閲覧数
546K
チャプター
39
Annalise only wants one thing—the truth. But when danger strikes, the last person she expects to save her is Gavin, the man whose power both terrifies and tempts her. His world is all sharp edges and secrets, and he’s made it clear he wants her in it—on his terms. Every touch blurs the line between protection and possession, every word pulls her deeper into his orbit. Yet Annalise has secrets too, and if they surface, everything could shatter. Between desire and defiance, trust becomes a dangerous game. And when hearts are on the line, walking away might not be an option.
The Beach House
ANNA
His hands were everywhere—touching, grabbing, caressing every sensitive part of my flesh. Each time our bodies touched, it was set ablaze by the fire burning between us.
“I’ve missed you so goddamn much, Annalise,” he murmured, his husky voice tickling my ear.
“Hmm,” I hummed in response, nipping at the familiar early morning stubble on his chin. “Kiss me.”
When he did, I moaned into his mouth, the taste of him so familiar it was like coming home.
“Gavin,” I breathed as he pulled away. “I’ve missed you too.”
God, how I’d ached for this man. I’d spent months longing for just a moment of his affection, and he was finally here. Finally—
Beep! Beep! Beep!
My eyes shot open and stared at the ceiling above, washed in the golden glow of sunrise.
“Ugh!” I barely held back a full-on scream as I kicked my feet childishly against the mattress. “Again?!”
Anubis whined from his place at the foot of my bed before inching his way up to softly lick my cheek.
I quickly brushed the rumpled mess of hair out of my face. Apparently, I’d done some tossing and turning. It was no wonder, when my dreams were filled with naughty escapades starring he-who-should-not-be-named.
“I’m okay, bud,” I said, patting my furry companion’s fluffy head with a sigh. “Just a bad dream.”
My internal monologue cackled. Didn’t seem so bad when he—
I cut off the thought with a gnashing of teeth before abruptly swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
God, I hated him. I hated him so much that it hurt. Even from hundreds of miles away, even after weeks of ignoring his every attempt at communication, he still haunted me.
“Like a fucking pestilence.” I stomped over the creaky wood floors to the bathroom.
At least, that was what I told myself. The reality of the situation was far more complicated. I faltered between burning rage, gut-wrenching depression, numb acceptance, and occasional denial. It didn’t help that I knew, without a doubt, I could have him back with one phone call.
With one tap on his contact, I could be on a private jet back to a multi-gazillion dollar penthouse, blocks away from my friends, in the arms of the love of my—
I shook my head. Nope, not going there. Still hate him.
It would have been so much easier if the money had been enough to go back. If luxury could have satisfied me, then I wouldn’t have had to worry about whether Gavin loved me or whether I trusted him. We could have gone about our lives as partners without the emotional entanglement. Maybe I wouldn’t have cared about the lies.
But that was a fantasy. If he wanted to play games and tell half-truths, then I didn’t want to be his wife. What kind of life was that? I needed more.
You know why you’re really so mad, the taunting little voice sang in my head. And it has hardly anything to do with your dream.
I groaned and met the tired face of my reflection in the mirror. Yeah, I knew why I was actually upset. But I really didn’t want to think about it. Or him in general. Apparently, my libido had other plans. Damn hormones.
Since I’d left New York, my ex-fiancé had sent flowers every week like clockwork. Every week, gorgeous, wildly expensive bouquets arrived on my doorstep accompanied by handwritten, heartfelt messages. I told myself it was annoying. I hated that he wouldn’t give me space.
Then, he missed a delivery.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe he finally gave up.
It was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Why else would I have pointedly ignored him for ten weeks straight?
I tried to comb through my hair before deciding it was a lost cause. I squeaked the shower nozzle on and stripped out of my slightly sweaty pajamas.
I’d wanted him to leave me alone, but now that he was, it was driving me insane. Knowing him, it might have been his plan. Maybe he was pulling away so that I felt the urge to chase after him.
If so, I had to admit that, at least in part, it was working. I’d spent every night of the past week fantasizing about the man who’d catastrophically broken my heart. While I was still furious with him in my waking hours, it was getting more difficult to deny that I was, at the very least, curious.
When I read his page-long letters apologizing and professing his undying love, it was easy to imagine him holed up in his office or maybe at the Millbrook house, just as miserable and broken as I was. For the first time since fleeing, I desperately wanted to know what the hell he was doing.
I stepped under the warm shower spray, letting the water slide over my skin. I prayed it would wash away the debilitating loneliness I’d done everything in my power to ignore.
Honestly, there was a good chance Gavin really was done, that he had given up on the two of us reconciling. Our relationship itself wasn’t built on much more than a lie. He probably found some other pretty, naive girl to fill the spot I had ungratefully turned down.
I wondered whether he would put in the same effort with her that he had with me. Memories of his intimate proposal over the water and our trip to Millbrook came flooding back. It all seemed like a distant dream now.
How foolish I’d been to think I could ever have kept myself from falling in love with him. He was larger than life. Sometimes he shone brighter than the sun. And somehow I thought there was a way to stay safely in his orbit, never getting too close but basking in his warmth just the same.
In the end, it wasn’t enough. How could I know him, all that we could be, and keep my distance?
Instead, I’d landed in cold, distant space, full of darkness and deceit, watching the man I’d willingly handed my heart stand in front of the world beside the woman hell-bent on destroying us. Fucking Chelsea Marks. In a way, her plan was a success, but she hadn’t really won.
I’d left, and Gavin had turned the full might of Powell Incorporated on her. From what I could tell, she hadn’t found anyone willing to give her work since the charity ball.
A part of me knew I should feel a bit sorry for her. Arguably, her greatest flaw was merely that she wasn’t able to move on from the man I was also in love with.
On the other hand, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that without her interference I would be happily—or at least contentedly—married to Gavin.
I took a deep breath, letting the water pelt my face and pretending that the shower spray was the only source of moisture sliding down my cheeks.
I didn’t miss him. It had been my mantra in the days since leaving New York.
What kind of person could long so desperately for a man who so clearly did not care about her feelings? One who manipulated her and lied with such ease?
No, I was only in love with the dream of what could have been. Believing that kept me sane. Believing that kept me from running back to his penthouse.
If only I could erase the memory of his anguish the night I left, the genuine hurt in his eyes.
When my skin started to prune, I reluctantly reached up and switched off the nozzle. It was time to face another quiet day in this sleepy town.
At first, the change of pace had been a needed reprieve. Now, it just meant I had way too much time to ruminate on past traumas.
My hand trailed over my stomach as I stared up at the ceiling, silently praying for strength. The barely-there bump pressed against my palm as a solid reminder.
No matter how much I wanted to move on from my old life, there would always be something to tether me there. After all, I was pregnant with Gavin Powell’s baby.
All at once, the blaring of my ringtone cut through my reverie, nearly making me jump out of my skin. I scrambled to grab my phone off the bathroom counter.
“H-hello?” I stammered.
“Ms. Miller, are you okay? You sound flustered,” the familiar, deep voice on the other end said.
My stomach dropped at the sound. It seemed to wrap around my heart and pull me straight back to the night I watched the penthouse doors close on what could have been.
“You said you would never call me on this number.”
