It was the best she could do. She allowed herself to study him for one second longer and then she pushed past him, refusing to speak to the man who’d made her so miserable.
Only his hand caught her wrist, arresting her, and he pulled her towards him so they bumped into one another; her breasts crushed to his chest, his fingers on her flesh warm and engaging, circling invisible patterns over her skin.
His eyes bore into hers and she couldn’t look away now. Her breath was burning through her body, her knees felt weak, completely insufficient to support her weight. She stared up at him and with every second that passed she felt herself slipping back in time, back to when he’d been the sun and the moon to her earth. “Why did you come here?” The words emerged as a groan.
He shifted his body then, pushing her against the wall, and she was grateful for the support even when she was held up by his strong frame, his body pressed hard to hers so she felt every edge and plane of him, so she wanted to moan for how good that felt.
“Why do you think?”
She shook her head, unable to comprehend, unable to offer any answer that made sense.
“You were my wife, Alessia.”
The statement was sobering. “I was a woman you married, not your wife. There’s a difference.”
“And what is that difference?” He pushed, moving his hips so she felt the hint of his arousal and had to bite down on her lip to stop from making any kind of verbal response to that.
“You know the answer to that.”
“Sex?” he prompted, moving his hips once more.
She swept her eyes closed, unable to think clearly, unable to speak when her pulse was hammering so wildly inside of her body. She had wanted him in a way that had made her desperate and almost mad with longing. And he’d rejected her again and again.
His rejection had critically undermined her confidence and belief in her sexuality – she’d never been with a man because deep down she knew herself to be completely undesirable.
So having Max here now, proof of his desire hard against her belly, she wanted to scream at him, to claw at his chest and she wanted, almost more than anything, to go to bed with him.
And she hated that weakness.
“A lack of sex was one reason our marriage failed.”
“Actually, our marriage failed because of the presence of sex,” he reminded her, the words firm like stone. “Specifically, you having sex with another man.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to deny that – she’d let another man kiss her, in a childish, drunken attempt to make Max jealous – but that had been the end of it. She’d hated it. She’d hated the feel of another man’s lips on hers, his hands on her body. She’d pushed him away just as soon as the journalist had got their photo.
“What did you expect, Max? That I’d wait until you realised I was a flesh and blood woman?” Much better. Bringing it back to his disinterest in her was safer than discussing her alleged infidelity.
“I expected you to honour our marriage vows, at least.”
Five years ago, she’d been glad for Max to think she’d cheated. She’d relished throwing it in his face, hoping it would inspire a reaction of some kind from him. Five years ago, she’d been hurt, wounded and childish, acting out of pain and heartache. What was her excuse now?
Desire might have been burning through her, making thought almost impossible, but she had better instincts now. She was a grown woman and letting him believe her capable of that no longer sat well with her. Especially when she knew how he felt about infidelity, and why.
“I did honour them.”
His laugh was harsh, but he stayed where he was, so she was losing her grip on sense and rational thought. “Sure you did.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
His eyes were fierce though, the anger and emotion she’d desperately wanted to see five years ago deep in his expression now. Had it been there then and she’d missed it? Had her own wounds been too deep?
No. He’d been cold. Emphatic. We shouldn’t have done this. Our marriage was a mistake. I’ll find another way.
She’d never known what he meant by that.
“I understand.” His breath was warm on the side of her face, his body something she craved with all her senses. “I – along with the rest of the world – saw the pictures.”
She closed her eyes a moment, those damned photographs as real now as they’d been then. It had looked like a passionate kiss, as though they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.