Thunderland by Brandon Massey Page A

or else he would sink so deeply into this pit of deceit that he might never climb out.
    Bracing himself, he opened the door.
    Linda sat in bed, reading by the buttery glow of the bedside lamp. Except for the personalized monogram, her robe matched his exactly. The marital harmony that their clothing suggested intensified his guilt. As an adulterer, he had no business wearing this robe.
    Linda placed the book on the nightstand. She came to him.
    “I love the way you smell after you shower,” she said, her arms encircling his waist. “So clean and strong. If you were a bar of soap, I’d rub you all over me—everywhere.”
    She raised her face. He lowered his head, touched his lips against hers. Her mouth was warm and soft, ripe for kissing. She nibbled gently at his lower lip. He ran his tongue across her teeth, and she pressed herself more tightly against him, the warmth and firmness of her body stirring his desire. He slid his hands down and cupped her hips ...
    ... and heard Big George’s raspy voice whispering like a snake in his ear: “Like father, like son ... You just like me, Tommy ... Just like me . .. Like father, like son. “
    He pulled away from Linda.
    “Linda, I’m sorry. I ... can’t. Not tonight.”
    “You can’t what?”
    “Make love to you.”
    “Why not?”
    Because I’m a low-down dog and making love to you would only make me feel worse, he longed to say but didn’t. He merely sat on the bed. “I’m ... too tired. It’s been a long day.”
    “Too tired? You came home from work earlier than you have in years. How can you suddenly be too tired? Especially now?”
    “I don’t know, but I am.” It was a lame reply, but he could not say anything else; a block of wood seemed to have lodged in his throat. He lay on his back.
    She sat beside him. “Something’s bothering you.”
    He did not respond.
    She touched his hand. “When you’re upset, I am, too. Come on, baby. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
    He sat up and looked at her. He almost told her the truth. But as he thought about how much she meant to him and how deeply he loved her—and most of all, how much the truth would hurt her—he could not say the words his conscience urged him to speak. He could not risk telling her something that might tear her away from him. Because without her, he would be hollower than he already was.
    “Thomas,” she said, arms crossed.
    “It’s nothing, sweetheart. I’m just tired.”
    “Is it another woman?”
    He almost choked. “What?”
    “Have you been sleeping around?” She watched him closely.
    He pulled one of her legs onto his lap and massaged her calf. “Come on, be realistic. Considering the hours I’ve been working, when would I have time for an affair? Assuming, of course, that I’d be stupid enough to have one in the first place.” He lifted her foot, kissed it. Her pretty feet, with their meticulously pedicured, red-painted toenails, had always been sexy to him, and kissing one of them helped him avoid her perceptive eyes.
    “If you were cheating on me, do you know what I’d do?”
    He stroked her thigh. “Do we really need to talk about it? Relax, I don’t have anything going on.”
    She was silent. Then: “Am I the problem?”
    “Hell, no. You’re as gorgeous and sweet as ever. I’m the problem. I need to get my act together, put my priorities back in order. Give me some time, that’s all I ask.” He lay down again, sighing heavily.
    She was quiet. She squeezed his hand. “I suppose you’re right. Sorry I grilled you.”
    “That’s okay. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
    She smiled thinly. “I’ll survive.”
    He smiled, too. But he had never hated himself more. Like a devilish line of falling dominoes, one lie led to another. Damn it, why did he have to lie to maintain her faith in him? How long could he keep up the act? What would be the final result of all this deception?
    He did not know. But he suspected that he would get little sleep that