The Billionaire Bachelor (Billionaire Bad boys #1)(77)

There was only her.

Only him.

Only them.

"We're not fucking," she said.

"No." He palmed her jaw, making sure she saw him, truly saw him. "I'm making love to my wife."

He parted her legs wider, thrusting once, twice. When he plunged deep again, tears leaked down her cheeks. He raised a thumb to her face and wiped the wetness away.

She licked her lips, and voice thick with emotion, she flayed him with, "I love you, Reese."

He couldn't say it.

He wouldn't say it.

His next thrust was one long, wet slide, paired with his lips over his. She kissed him back. Against every last bit of his own advice, and in his private suite at the top of the Crane Hotel, Reese made love to his wife.

The woman he loved.

Chapter 19

All set." Lorelei slid the divorce agreement across her desk. "Since you already have the Van Heusen squared away, this is pretty straightforward. There's really nothing else do to but sign it."

There wasn't. Merina had already moved her things out of the mansion. She did so tearfully, not caring that Magda and the come-and-go staff saw her wearing sweats, bawling as she packed up her things.

Almost four weeks ago, in Reese's private suite, he'd made love to her. She let him, unable to stop herself from telling him she loved him.

Twice.

Immediately after, he'd led her into the shower. Silently, they stood in the steam, Reese soaping her body as she shivered, feeling everything too much. He didn't confess that he loved her, which she assumed meant he didn't. He'd done it for her. He'd given her one last hit of Reese Crane before he asked her to say good-bye to him permanently.

"Take the divorce papers with you when you go," he'd said, scrubbing her back with a washcloth as she stood in the water. "The sooner we wrap up loose ends, the easier the transition will be."

She still didn't know if he meant for her, him, or the press.

She hadn't seen him since.

There was no reason to. She didn't live in the mansion any longer, and there was no reason to go to the hotel. Lore was right. The Van Heusen was squared away, so there wasn't anything left to do but sign on the bottom line.

Lorelei handed her a pen.

"It's been a month, Mer," she said. "Put yourself out of your misery and move on."

According to the Spread, Reese had. They posted a photo of him and Penelope having lunch and reported that the blonde had "fallen hard for her sexy employer."

Merina didn't think it was true, but it made her feel a little better to imagine it was. Hating him was easier. After she'd slapped him, she should've turned and walked out.

Then she wouldn't have dangling "I love yous" to contend with.

"Mer."

"I know." Merina tried to smile, but the reflected pain in her best friend's eyes was so prevalent, tears welled in her own. Crying hadn't solved a damn thing, so Merina accepted the pen and scrawled her name next to Reese's.

"He never called or texted. Not even to see if I'd signed yet," Merina said numbly.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

Everything they'd had, gone with the stroke of a pen.

"I'll drop these off for you," Lorelei called as Merina left.

Merina didn't respond. She walked out of Lore's office and headed straight back to the Van Heusen.

* * *

The rustling of plastic sounded in the room and Reese cracked his eyes open. Sunlight pierced his retinas, so he slammed them shut again.

"No housekeeping," he grumbled, unsure why the maid was here. He'd instructed her to come by once a week, and he remembered before he broke the seal on a bottle of sixty-year-old scotch last night that he'd hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign.

The numbers on the clock blurred, focused, then blurred again: 11:43. He couldn't remember the last time he's slept past eight. Well, whatever. He was due a sick day, probably had a hundred of them in queue. Hungover counted as sick. And anyway he was in charge.

He turned his face into the pillow, his skull aching like someone had split it with an axe. Today's hangover wasn't something he felt like dealing with. Neither was yesterday's. Or the one he'd had the day before. They'd become his new routine.

He heard more rustling, but rather than deal with it, he pulled another pillow over his head. If she wanted to take the trash out so damn badly, fine.

* * *

The next time he opened his eyes, it was to the patter of rain on the windows. The room was dimmer, so that was a plus.

His head still hurt when he opened his eyes, so it would make sense not much time had passed. Through a glass of water—where had that come from?—he made out the wavy numbers on the clock. The first number was a three. In the afternoon, he presumed.

Since his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, he pushed up on one elbow and reached for the glass. Two aspirin sat next to the water, Bobbie's doing no doubt. He took them both, drank the water, then closed his eyes again to sleep hopefully another four or five hours. Then he could climb out of bed, order a pizza, and start drinking.

But before he could sink into sleep, the sound of his cell phone pierced the air. A purring ringer he'd turned off three days ago. He reached blindly for the phone and silenced it. Phone calls were the one thing he refused to let interrupt him. If the damn thing started ringing, it would never stop. He didn't feel like dealing with anything.

Not people.

Not work.

None of it.

He hadn't shown up for a single meeting, had delegated most busy work, and Bobbie was handling his e-mails. If the board tried to shit-can him, Reese would deal with it then. Right now only one thing mattered. Getting through the worst heartbreak of his life and coming out the other side.

There had to be another side.

God help him, there had to be.

* * *

The smell of coffee permeated the air, and this time, his eyes sprang open. Okay, coffee was going too far. Even for Bobbie. Evening time was for drinking. With a groan, he pushed up to sitting and scrubbed his face with his hands. He was disoriented and thirsty, but at least his headache was gone.

Eight p.m. He'd made it through another day.