Been Loving You Too Long (12 page)

“Vincent wants me, but he doesn’t want to marry me.
 
He can barely stand to be in the same room with me—you heard him.
 
The first question he asked was whether or not the will could be contested.”

“True.
 
He doesn’t like being told what to do.
 
Who can blame him for that?
 
I’m sure it pissed you off plenty when you found out about Ruby’s little role in all of this.
 
There’s not a doubt in my mind that savvy old bird knew precisely what Thomas was about when she sold him her house.”

“No, I’m not pissed,” Ophelia admitted. “I’m sure she knew.
 
I’m sure she had a hand in every bit of this.”

 
“It isn’t about what Vincent wants,” Kaitlyn continued, “It’s about what he fears.
 
I can remember being a kid and hearing Vincent say he’d never get married because married people fought all the time.
 
Even before they died, our parents weren’t really there for us.
 
Our mother tried, but they were at odds so much, always fighting, yelling—it was all jealousy, accusation and misery.”

“You just said jealousy was a good thing!”

“In moderation...Vincent needs to know that he can be connected to someone, invested in them, and even jealous of them, and know that it isn’t going to go to some dark, unhealthy place.
 
Besides, if he marries you, I never have to worry about having a sister-in-law who’s good enough, or who might embarrass the family.
 
You’re the best behaved person I know—it’s repulsive.”

There was the Kaitlyn she knew and avoided, Ophelia thought.
 
“Look, I’m doing this because of Ruby, because in spite of her machinations, I can’t see her turned out of her home.
 
Whatever my feelings are for Vincent, it doesn’t matter anymore.
 
This isn’t a fairy tale and there’s no happily ever after in store for us. One year, and then it’s over.”

“We’ll see about that. One thing I know about my brother is that once he thinks of something as his, he doesn’t let go.
 
But that only works if you’re willing to let him hold on.
 
Figure it out, Ophelia.
 
He hurt your pride, but is that worth letting go of what you’ve always wanted?”

Ophelia couldn’t answer that question.
 
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, the dress clinging to every curve she possessed, she doubted Kaitlyn’s assessment of the situation.
 
But that didn’t stop a traitorous part of her from hoping she was right.
 

Purchasing the dress, they arranged for it to be ready within the week.
 
It cost a small fortune, but it was worth it.
 
Thankfully it had a corset style back and eliminated the need for too many alterations.
  

After leaving the bridal salon, they drove to a florist.

The minute Kaitlyn walked in they began to bow and scrape.

Ophelia knew that Kaitlyn had done some event planning for charities but she’d had no idea how much.
 
Based on the reactions of the florist, she might as well have been royalty.
 

It was a brief stop.
 
They chose a simple bouquet of white roses and pale, pink peonies.
 
The other flowers would be similar in style and color scheme, but would be subtle, elegant and minimal.
 

The florist made a call and they walked out having hired a team of people to string lights in the garden and set up tables for a small reception.
 

Kaitlyn insisted on picking up some invitations.
 
The ivory velum was classy and simple.
 

It was hours before they finished all the mundane tasks.
 
A caterer had been hired, and a simple buffet would be provided.
 
A cake had been ordered, again it would be clean lines and elegant in its simplicity.
 

It was all coming together in a dizzying array and Ophelia felt overwhelmed by it all. “I could never have pulled all this off in this length of time. Thank you, Kaitlyn.”

“Just show up.
 
My inheritance is riding on it,” she retorted.
 
“I’m not cut out for poverty, Ophelia.”

Ophelia smiled.
 
“No, you definitely aren’t.
 
Still, I do appreciate everything you’ve done, whatever your reasons might have been.”

“Don’t tell anyone.
 
I’ll deny it.
 
I can’t have you ruining my reputation as a cast iron bitch.”

“Mum is the word.”

Kaitlyn sighed.
 
“I do expect that I will be invited to whatever nasty bachelorette party your friend Brenna throws for you. I imagine those giant breasts of hers could get us past any doorman in the city.”

Ophelia groaned.
 
“Oh, God!
 
Brenna is going to die when she hears this!
 
And I don’t need a bachelorette party!
 
It isn’t like we have time for it.”

“There’s always time for that.” She pulled the car up in front of Ophelia’s apartment.
 
“Get some rest.
 
Tomorrow, we tackle the invitations.
 
They have to be delivered by hand and we’ll say that we didn’t get them out earlier because of Thomas.
 
People will assume it was the funeral, but technically it won’t be a lie, so you shouldn’t choke on it.”

Realizing that the warm fuzzies were definitely over, Ophelia climbed out of the car and walked up the steps to her apartment.
 
The idea of facing Brenna and having to share the news with her made her more than a little sick.

Opening the door, she stepped into the apartment, thankful to find it empty.
 
Brenna was still at the club and Ophelia planned to be in bed before she made it home.
 
It was the coward’s way out, but she didn’t care. She went to bed and slept badly.
 

The following day, after a long breakfast with Brenna and heated discussions about what would happen to Vincent and certain parts of his anatomy if he were to make her cry again, Brenna finally made peace with the fact that Ophelia was going to go through with it.
 

This compromise helped somewhat to ease her nerves.
 
The last thing she wanted was for her best friend to try and murder her groom.
 

For some reason the mental image that created had her smiling as she stepped off the elevator and moved toward Stanley’s office.
 
She was surprised to see that Vincent was already there when the receptionist ushered her into the attorney’s well appointed office.
 

“Miss Broulliard, come in.” Stanley gestured to one of the wing chairs in front of his desk.
 
“Vincent and I were just discussing the agreement and what sort of arrangements he wished to make.”

“There are no arrangements,” Ophelia replied.
 
“What is Vincent’s remains Vincent’s and what is mine, what little there is of it, remains mine.”

Stanley paused and gave her a hard stare. “You do realize how wealthy Vincent is, don’t you?”

“I was Thomas’ personal assistant before I was his caretaker.
 
I’m very aware of just how wealthy the DuChamps family is,” she replied, offended by the implication that she was somehow stupid for not being greedy.
 

“Ophelia,” Vincent said softly, “Stanley is not handling this well. For the next year, you won’t have a job.
 
When we divorce, I don’t want you to have to go back to working for someone else or having to worry about money.”

“I don’t want your money,” she insisted.
 

“Well, I’m not proposing to give you my money. I’m proposing to give you some of Thomas’ money.
 
Lord knows you earned it.
 
He probably expected me to do this and that’s why he didn’t make any other provisions for you in his will.”

“I’m very uncomfortable with this,” she stressed.
 

“It’s not a huge amount of money, Ophelia. Honestly, a lot of our cash is tied up in the business right now.”

Ophelia closed her eyes.
 
Vincent’s idea of not a lot of money would be very different from hers.
 
“Is it six figures?”

“There are at least six figures in it,” Vincent agreed, keeping his expression completely neutral.

“Vincent, I don’t want this—I don’t want money and I don’t want to be seen as some gold-digging, opportunistic—”

“No one who knows you, will ever see you that way.
 
I know you aren’t that way, but Ophelia, we’re taking a year of your life.
 
A year of having to put everything you want to do on hold.
 
Thomas should’ve provided for you and made sure that you were going to be okay.”

The statement was emphatic, more animated than she’d seen Vincent in days. It was as if he knew she wouldn’t agree initially to a settlement at the dissolution of their marriage, and would balk at the idea of taking what she would perceive to be charity.
 
 

She realized then that he was angry at Thomas, not just for the will, not for the managing and manipulation, but because he’d died—because he was gone.
 
“Just let me sign before I change my mind,” she acquiesced.
   

Stanley placed the contract in front of her, with tiny flags indicating where she should initial and sign.
 
It was all fairly straight forward until she got the part where it discussed the dollar amount of the settlement she would receive upon their divorce.
 
“Five million?
 
Are you insane?”

“No.
 
That’s a very small portion of Thomas’ estate.
 
I wanted to make it more but I knew you wouldn’t take it,” he replied.
 
“Sign the damn papers!”

“Vincent, I’m not doing this for the money!” she protested, horrified at the thought.
 

“I never thought you were,” he fired back.
 
“But if you don’t marry me, then everyone in the family will be broke, except for Claude!
 
Five million is reasonable compensation for everything you’re doing for us. You don’t want this, you sure as hell don’t want to be married to me—not for a day, not for a year.
 
This is fair, Ophelia.”

It wasn’t, not really.
 
It was far too much, but she knew that he wouldn’t budge on it.
 
She also knew that five million dollars would give her the chance to start over somewhere else.
 
Because she wouldn’t be able to stay in New Orleans afterward, where she might see him, where she would be constantly reminded of him.
 

With a heavy sigh, as much capitulation as resignation to the misery that she would feel when it all ended, Ophelia picked up the pen again and scrawled her name across the bottom of the contract.
 

Vincent followed suit, and then Stanley.
 

When it was done, she felt hollow.
 
The five million dollars was for Vincent’s conscience, because he had no intention of trying to make things work between them.
 
She’d known that going in, of course, but there’d been a tiny spark of hope.
 
It was well and truly gone, buried under the weight of a contract.
 

CHAPTER SIX

Ophelia lifted the last of the boxes out of the car and carted them to the back porch.
 
Even though she’d just gotten it out of the shop, it didn’t sound happy and she was glad it had made the last trip from her apartment without her having to call someone for a tow.
 

The idea of having Vincent pick her up while she sat on the side of the road in a broken down vehicle was less than appealing.
 
She hadn’t seen Vincent since they’d signed the prenup in Stanley’s office.
 
That was more her doing than his.
 

Avoiding him, at least for the time being, was still an option.
 
It was a delay, a stalling tactic on her part, because it was just too hard to think and to function around him.
 
There was irony to be found in the fact that she was fulfilling the dream she’d nurtured and cherished as a starry eyed adolescent—becoming his wife. Now that it’d happened there was no joy in it, and there would be no happily ever after.

She’d begun moving her belongings the day before, much to Brenna’s dismay and tears.
 
She’d shed a few of her own as well.
 
It was sad to leave her little apartment, to leave the life she’d built for herself for this thing that would in all likelihood break her heart.
 

Unlocking the door, she used her foot to shove the boxes inside and then carried them up the stairs.
 
It was an incredibly intimate thing to see her toiletries lined up in the bathroom next to Vincent’s, to see her clothes hanging in the closet next to his suits.

Tomorrow night, she would be sleeping in that bed beside him.
 
Shying away from that thought and all its many implications, she began the arduous process of unpacking the last of her things.
 

Glancing at the clock, she noticed that it was a quarter till four.
 
That would give her enough time for a soak in the tub to get rid of the dust, sweat and grime before Vincent arrived home.
 

Moving into the bathroom, she turned on the taps and allowed the tub to fill as she added some of the scented bubble bath.
 
Piling her hair atop her head, she pinned it in place and then stripped off her soiled clothing.
 

Removing her MP3 player from the pocket of her jeans, she settled it into the docking station on the counter.
 
The sultry strains of JJ Grey and Mofro poured out into the room, echoing in the large space.
 

Sinking down into the tub with a groan, she allowed the warm water to ease muscles that ached with exhaustion.
 
She had only a few short hours before the girls’ night out that was to be her bachelorette party and she was too exhausted to even think about it.
  

The water felt heavenly sliding over her skin.
 
Leaning back against the edge of the tub, she allowed the heat to seep into her aching muscles.
 
With the discomfort alleviated, she became all too aware of another discomfort.
 
Every time she’d crossed the threshold of Vincent’s room, now hers as well, she’d been reminded of their night together.

She couldn’t put it out of her mind—all the ways he’d touched her, as if he knew precisely what she wanted even before she did.
 
The mind numbing pleasure that he’d given her with his hands, with his skilled mouth, and when he’d been inside her, pressing so deeply that it was impossible to tell where one body ended and the other began.
 

The familiar heaviness settled into her breasts, her nipples hardening into taut peaks as heat pooled low in her belly.
 
Thinking of Vincent, of the way the dim light had cast such harsh shadows over his well defined muscles as he’d moved over, inside her, Ophelia was helpless to do anything other than give into the need that filled her in that moment.
 

Cupping one breast with her left hand, she closed her fingers over the budded nipple, wishing fervently that it was Vincent’s hand, or the hot pull of his mouth.
 
Her other hand slid beneath the water, between her parted thighs, to the damp heat of her sex.
 

~~****~~

Vincent paused in the doorway, his tie dangling from his fingertips.
 
He hadn’t heard the music until he opened the door, and he hadn’t realized that Ophelia was in the house.

Kaitlyn had told him she was moving her belongings in that day, but he hadn’t seen her car.
 
Of course, he’d parked on the street rather than in the driveway to avoid having to move the car for the florist and caterer the next day.
 

He was cursing himself for it.
 
Had he realized that she was there, he never would have opened the bathroom door without knocking—and the vision before him would not be permanently seared into his brain.
 

It seemed as if every drop of blood in his body had rushed directly to his cock.
 
He was so painfully hard that his clothing had become a torture device.
 
Still, he didn’t move.
 
If he made a sound, she would know he was there and she would stop.
 

Watching one of her slender hands moving delicately over the lush globes of her breasts, tugging gently at one nipple before sliding over soap slicked skin to offer that same enticing treatment to the other, he was enraptured.
 
That her other hand had disappeared beneath the surface of the water had not escaped him either.

Knowing that she was touching herself so intimately was wrecking the last shred of control he possessed.
 
Watching the flush as it crept over her breasts and pinkened her cheeks, he wanted to badly to touch her.
 
Her lips parted on a soft moan and his entire body seized.
 

Even as he looked on, she kept her eyes closed tightly and her movements became more frantic.
 
The soft moans grew louder and her breathing grew more rapid.
 
When she arched her back, her breasts lifting entirely out of the sudsy water, it was all he could not to rush over there and simply take what she unknowingly offered
 

“Vincent,” she murmured.
 

He thought at first that he’d been found out, but her eyes remained firmly closed.
 
Which left only one possible conclusion.
 
Whatever fantasy was inspiring her to bring herself to release, he was a part of it.
 

The very thought affected him in ways he’d never imagined.
 
The possessiveness that consumed him in that moment didn’t frighten him.
 
Ophelia was his, and that was all that mattered to him.
 
Dropping his tie to the floor, he unbuttoned his shirt while toeing off his shoes at the same time.
 
In stocking feet and the pants that felt like a vice over his swollen member, he moved toward the tub and the temptress who awaited him there.
 

He was only a few feet from the tub when she cried out, her body shuddering with her climax.

Her eyes fluttered open and met his gaze.
 
A dozen emotions crossed her face in that split second, shock, horror, embarrassment, anger, but the last was lust.
 
Her gaze had settled on his bare chest before wandering down to the unmistakable bulge in his pants.
 
“You shouldn’t be in here!” she finally managed, hunkering down in the tub to shield her breasts from his view.
 

“You’re one to talk about things a person shouldn’t be doing,” he quipped.
 
“What a naughty girl you are, Ophelia.”

“Get out!”

“I don’t think so...Ten seconds ago, I might have left if you told me to.
 
But that was before I heard you whispering—my name. I like knowing that I’m the man you think of when you make yourself come.”

Ophelia blushed hotly. “Please, just leave.”

Vincent settled himself on the edge of the tub, his arms bracketing her wet, naked body as he leaned over her.
 
“Oh, no.
 
Not now.
 
Do you know what that did to me?
 
It was bad enough to walk in and realize that you were naked—that divine body shielded by nothing but water.
 
But then I saw what you were doing, and it was the most beautiful, erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“I can’t help wanting you... But that doesn’t mean we’re going to act on it.
 
I can’t be with you that way and keep my emotions out of it.
 
And my emotions are the one thing you can’t be trusted with,” she argued.
 

“We’ve got one year. One year to figure it all out and I want you too.
 
I’ve wanted you for so long that if Thomas or Ruby had known what dirty thoughts I was having about you they would have whipped me down to the river and back.
 
But we’re both grownups now, and tomorrow you’re going to be my wife.”

“It isn’t a real marriage,” she protested.
 

Leaning down, he kissed her shoulder, his tongue burning a path to her collar bone and then the hollows her throat.
 
Her head fell back against the back of the tub and he scraped his teeth over her the skin of her neck.
 
“It can be.
 
Just let me please you,” he urged, sliding his hand beneath the surface of the water to cup the softness of her breast.
 
Her pebbled nipple pressed impudently against his palm.
 

He knew she was weakening.
 
The shuddering breath that escaped her fanned against his cheek and he knew that if he pressed his hand above her heart, he would feel it pounding.
 

~~****~~

Ophelia wanted to say no.
 
The logical, rational part of her was demanding that she push him away, but there was another part of her that urged her to let him continue.
 
It was so tempting to lose herself in the heat and the pleasure that he offered.

Closing her eyes, she savored the touch of his callused fingers on her breasts, the sting as his teeth scraped against delicate flesh, and delicious warmth when that abraded flesh was soothed by his lips and tongue.
  
Her memories hadn’t done the sensations justice, and even though she’d just climaxed, she knew that it would take very little effort for him to bring her to that precipice again—and it would be even more enthralling, more rapturous with him.

When his hand moved from her breast, she groaned in disappointment, but then his hand was moving lower, sinking further beneath the water and delving between her parted thighs.
  
As he caressed the plump folds of her sex, one finger skating delicately along her slit, she couldn’t stop the breathless moan that escaped her.
 
“Please.”

“Tell me you want this,” he commanded.
 

“I do!
 
I shouldn’t, but God help me, I do,” she said on a broken sob, as his finger slipped between the folds to caress the hardened bud of her clit.
 
Still sensitive from her own earlier explorations, her response was immediate and intense.
 
Her entire body tensed, straining towards him.
 

“So beautiful,” he whispered against her ear.
 
“Wild and abandoned.”
 

Ophelia gasped his name, her fingers grasping at the sides of the tub, desperate for something to hold onto, as aroused by the harshly whispered words as by his touch.
   

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, of how it felt to be inside you—so soft, so hot and wet for me.”

She felt like she was drowning with need, as if it were pulling her under.
 
Nothing else seemed to matter in that moment except the tension coiling inside her and the pleasure that she knew was waiting on the other side.
 
Still, she found the strength to speak.
 
“I’ve thought about it too—even when I knew I shouldn’t.”