the robe before walking slowly into the living room.
The gas logs were still lit, their faint light guiding her way to the couch where she normally slept. She lifted her blanket from the back of the couch, placed her pillow against the arm of the couch, and curled against it.
Behind her, the overstuffed cushions gave her the illusion of warmth, of someone behind her. She stared into the wall of windows and watched the sky. Sometimes she watched the sun rise and pretended those golden rays were warming her as they warmed the earth.
For the past two years, she had only grown colder inside, and lonelier. She had lost something inside herself that she wasn't certain how to find any longer. She had thought it was her courage, but after the past night, she knew it wasn't courage.
It was her ability to trust, to care, until Chase held his hand out to her and told her he wasn't playing games with her. That he wanted her. That he wanted to share her.
Perhaps one of them should have given this nonrelationship a bit more thought, because she could feel it slowly destroying her.
It wasn't the sharing, it was the loss. When Chase walked away, it meant she would awaken alone, dreaming his arms were around her.
That knowledge that there was nothing to hold on to throbbed inside her like a vicious wound. There hadn't been anything to hold on to in far longer than the past two years, and she hadn't even realized it. Until tonight.
As she stared out the windows, she didn't count the minutes or the hours. She stared, and remembered Chase. Touching her, holding her, his eyes locked with hers, her imagined feeling that he was touching not just her body, but her soul.
That she was touching him, that her touch went deeper than his flesh.
She was really quite good at fooling herself, she decided. Because for a few precious moments tonight, she had imagined he felt more for her than desire, more for her than the other women he had taken.
Those women he had spent the night with.
Those women he had taken to the opera, to dinner, to the clubs he frequented. Those women he was seen with in public without shame.
And the only time she was seen with him was when they were leaving. Disappearing.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks as the sun began to peek over the horizon. She sniffed back any sobs that might escape and reminded herself that she shouldn't have expected more.
He hadn't promised her emotion. He hadn't promised to warm her.
He had just promised her the pleasure.
She had no right to complain, no right to feel slighted. But the woman he touched, the heart that beat inside her, felt very, very slighted.
Chapter 7
Sleep came only in fits and spurts. Kia finally gave up and moved from the couch. Slipping on her house slippers she stepped out onto her balcony and let the brisk winter wind whip around her as she stared into the brilliant blue of the morning sky.
Where did it leave a woman when she realized how empty her life had become? When she looked in the cold, dark yawning recesses and realized how weak and lonely
she
has become? So lonely that she let herself believe that a few hours of pleasure would be enough. That she was courageous enough, immune enough to the needs other women had, that she was trading her heart for that pleasure.
Chase had only come to her twice. There had been no phone calls in between those times, no dinner, no lunch. There had been nothing to indicate that he wanted anything more than that pleasure.
Chase wasn't a subtle man. He was dominant, forceful, quiet, and controlled, but he wasn't subtle. If he had wanted more from her, he would have demanded it.
And really, could she blame him for not wanting more? Her anger and outrage two years before had risked his reputation as well as the reputations of the men and women it was his job to protect. And when she had retracted her statements, she had moved out of society as much as possible, disillusioned with the friends she had thought she had,
The gas logs were still lit, their faint light guiding her way to the couch where she normally slept. She lifted her blanket from the back of the couch, placed her pillow against the arm of the couch, and curled against it.
Behind her, the overstuffed cushions gave her the illusion of warmth, of someone behind her. She stared into the wall of windows and watched the sky. Sometimes she watched the sun rise and pretended those golden rays were warming her as they warmed the earth.
For the past two years, she had only grown colder inside, and lonelier. She had lost something inside herself that she wasn't certain how to find any longer. She had thought it was her courage, but after the past night, she knew it wasn't courage.
It was her ability to trust, to care, until Chase held his hand out to her and told her he wasn't playing games with her. That he wanted her. That he wanted to share her.
Perhaps one of them should have given this nonrelationship a bit more thought, because she could feel it slowly destroying her.
It wasn't the sharing, it was the loss. When Chase walked away, it meant she would awaken alone, dreaming his arms were around her.
That knowledge that there was nothing to hold on to throbbed inside her like a vicious wound. There hadn't been anything to hold on to in far longer than the past two years, and she hadn't even realized it. Until tonight.
As she stared out the windows, she didn't count the minutes or the hours. She stared, and remembered Chase. Touching her, holding her, his eyes locked with hers, her imagined feeling that he was touching not just her body, but her soul.
That she was touching him, that her touch went deeper than his flesh.
She was really quite good at fooling herself, she decided. Because for a few precious moments tonight, she had imagined he felt more for her than desire, more for her than the other women he had taken.
Those women he had spent the night with.
Those women he had taken to the opera, to dinner, to the clubs he frequented. Those women he was seen with in public without shame.
And the only time she was seen with him was when they were leaving. Disappearing.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks as the sun began to peek over the horizon. She sniffed back any sobs that might escape and reminded herself that she shouldn't have expected more.
He hadn't promised her emotion. He hadn't promised to warm her.
He had just promised her the pleasure.
She had no right to complain, no right to feel slighted. But the woman he touched, the heart that beat inside her, felt very, very slighted.
Chapter 7
Sleep came only in fits and spurts. Kia finally gave up and moved from the couch. Slipping on her house slippers she stepped out onto her balcony and let the brisk winter wind whip around her as she stared into the brilliant blue of the morning sky.
Where did it leave a woman when she realized how empty her life had become? When she looked in the cold, dark yawning recesses and realized how weak and lonely
she
has become? So lonely that she let herself believe that a few hours of pleasure would be enough. That she was courageous enough, immune enough to the needs other women had, that she was trading her heart for that pleasure.
Chase had only come to her twice. There had been no phone calls in between those times, no dinner, no lunch. There had been nothing to indicate that he wanted anything more than that pleasure.
Chase wasn't a subtle man. He was dominant, forceful, quiet, and controlled, but he wasn't subtle. If he had wanted more from her, he would have demanded it.
And really, could she blame him for not wanting more? Her anger and outrage two years before had risked his reputation as well as the reputations of the men and women it was his job to protect. And when she had retracted her statements, she had moved out of society as much as possible, disillusioned with the friends she had thought she had,
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