More Than Words
Page 40

“What are you doing in France? How the fuck did you get into my room?” Callen demanded.
Annette leaned back on Callen’s pillow and ran her hand idly over her perfectly round breast, flicking her nipple through the lace of the bra. I looked away. My face felt hot, and I knew it must be flushed with shock and humiliation.
“I distracted the man at the front desk and swiped a key. I didn’t know hotels still used keys. It’s charming. Oh, stop looking at me that way. You’re usually so much happier to see me, Callen darling. Your enthusiasm is usually”—she glanced at his crotch—“bigger. Is it because of her? She can join us. We’ve tried everything else, but not that. I’m game—”
“Shut up, Annette,” Callen growled again, grabbing a throw blanket from the end of the bed and tossing it at her. “And cover yourself up.” Callen glanced at me, his cheeks flushed, his eyes filled with shame. “Jessie … I’m sorry …”
I just stared at him, wide-eyed. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t fully understand what was going on other than that this woman was apparently a regular part of his life in Los Angeles. My head was swimming, and I realized she looked vaguely familiar. Had she been with him at the lounge that night in Paris? I’d only really had eyes for Callen, but now that I was taking a good look at her, I thought she had been there. But hadn’t he been with the French blonde? The one who’d told him to finish with the help?
The happy bubble I’d just been in hadn’t only burst; it had exploded.
Annette sighed, swinging her legs to the side of the bed and standing. She laughed. “The look on your face, Callen. As if you’ve never seen me naked before.”
I blanched, feeling as if I might vomit, and reached for the wall to steady my shaking legs just as footsteps sounded behind me. I caught Annette’s face draining of color as well, her mouth opening and closing before I turned to find a short, balding man standing in the doorway behind us, his eyes moving between the three of us.
“Oh Christ,” I heard Callen utter.
“What is this?” the man asked.
“Larry …”
“You’re fucking my wife?” The man stared at Callen, his expression tense with anger and what looked like horrified surprise.
Annette let out a small cough, grabbing the blanket on the bed and wrapping it around her body. “Larry, darling, it’s just a misunderstanding,” she started, but he cut her off with a venomous glare.
“Of all the disgusting, immoral things you’ve done,” Larry said, directing his words at Callen. “I thought even you had some standards.”
Callen closed his eyes for a brief second, his expression pained. He looked at Larry and then glanced at Annette, and I recognized the look on his face. I’d seen it often on my father’s. Callen was deciding whether or not to lie. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a huff of breath. “Yes, I have slept with Annette in the past. I’m sorry. I have no excuse. Not anymore.” So in the end he’d decided on the truth. My father had never gone that route, and yet I realized maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Standing here now, I still felt sick and humiliated. Was I the other woman in Annette’s eyes? It felt like that in some sick, twisted way. I wanted to bolt from the room, or better yet, just disappear.
Larry shook his head, his gaze still full of disgust. “I left you a voice message to let you know we were coming to spend a few days with you, figured you could use some company.” He glanced at me. “But you never have lacked for company, have you? One fucking distraction after another.”
“Don’t. Not her.” He looked at me, his jaw tensed, his eyes blank. “Jessie, go back to your room.”
I gaped, blinking at him. What the hell? He was dismissing me? After the beautiful weekend we’d spent together, after we’d made love? Why wasn’t he throwing them out? I glanced back at Annette wrapped in a blanket, her breasts barely covered, the lines of her perfect body easily seen with the material wrapped so tightly around her.
Oh God, this is his life.
She is his life.
Of all the disgusting, immoral things you’ve done … That was his life. Disgusting. Immoral.
Jessie, go back to your room.
If I had momentarily forgotten I was temporary, this was a clear and brutal reminder. I turned without a word, grabbing my overnight bag still on the floor by the door, and practically ran out of the room. I didn’t allow the tears to fall until I was back in my room. I dropped my bag on the floor, pressed my back against the closed door, and sobbed.
* * *
The knock on my door startled me, and I sat up on the bed. “Jessie?” I heard called softly.
Callen.
I had vowed not to go to him after what had happened earlier—after he’d dismissed me. I would not chase him. I would not beg for an apology. For some reason, I hadn’t even considered that he might come after me. It confused me, set me off-balance. I swiped my fingers under my eyes, though my tears had already dried, and tiptoed to the door. I placed my hands on it and rested my ear against the wood, not sure what to do. Not sure I even wanted to see him right now.
“Please, Jessie.” His voice seemed to be directly on the other side of the door, as if he, too, was leaning against it. “Please open the door. We need to talk.” I stepped back, biting at my lip. “Please,” he repeated.
I sighed, the lock making a sharp clicking sound as I turned it and pulled the door open. He took up the doorframe, his big body filling the space, his face weary and regretful. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head, pressing my lips together, moving back so he could enter. For a second we just stared at each other, the space between us full of tension. “Those people, they were with you that night in Paris at the lounge where I worked.”
He nodded. “He’s my agent, and she’s his wife.”
“Oh.” The word was a whisper, laced with the intense disappointment I felt.
“I didn’t ask her to come to my room. I didn’t even know they were coming to France.”
“He said he left you a message,” I said, closing the door and leaning back against it.
“I was with you, Jessie. I practically forgot I had a phone …” His words faded away.
I closed my eyes for a moment. I had, too. It’d felt like we were in our own world, a place meant just for us. I’d been afraid to come back to the real world and been smacked with the reason no more than ten minutes after setting foot back in the château. If I hadn’t been there, would he have taken her up on her offer? “You’re … having an affair with her?”
He grimaced. “No, that’s not … It’s …” He massaged the back of his neck, looking utterly miserable. After a moment he shook his head. “I’ve done so many things I’m ashamed of, Jessie. I hate the things …” He shook his head again, as if he was at a complete loss for words.
The moment stretched between us. I have no excuse, he’d said before. At least he’d realized it. Still, the whole episode had felt so … low. Tawdry. Immoral, just as his agent had said. I didn’t want to see Callen that way. I knew he’d slept with lots of women. I knew he drank. He’d even told me why, and I’d tried to understand. But this … It made me feel ashamed of him—disgusted—and it hurt. He had always been my prince, first in my imagination, then in my memory, and now in my heart. I loved him. But this?
“Do they have children?” I asked, glancing away. My voice sounded flat.
He paused, studying me, his expression so sad it made my heart lurch. I didn’t want to feel bad for him. He was the villain here. “No.”
Did that make it better? Did it matter? Or was I just making this about me? About my own painful memories?
“God, don’t look at me that way, Jessie,” he rasped. “I never lied about the life I led. I never promised you anything I couldn’t deliver. You agreed to this. No promises. No regrets.”
“I know,” I said softly. “It’s just …” I shrugged, a self-conscious gesture. I felt so very tender and raw. “You’ve always been my prince, Callen,” I admitted, voicing the thought I’d just had, letting him into my heart. “It hurts to see you as anything else. After this weekend I’d hoped—”