Page 32 of It Hurts Me

Bolton and I never discussed the terms of our new relationship, but I assumed the open marriage only applied to the times he was gone from the house. That meant my time with Theo was restricted to a couple days a week.

I wondered who Bolton was spending time with, if it was a woman he liked…or if it was a line of nameless women who were only in his bed long enough to crinkle the sheets. I tried not to think about it too much. Otherwise, it would crush me.

I drove to Theo’s place like I did last time, an overnight bag in the back seat, the same bag I’d brought last time but didn’t use.

I wasn’t sure if I would use it this time either.

If Theo was frustrated by the slow pace, he didn’t show it. For a man with a ruthless reputation, he was quite the gentleman. Said things to me I’d never heard another man say. Made me feel his touch even when he was across the table. In the short amount of time I’d spent with him, I knew he was a special breed of man.

When I arrived at his place, he was ready for me, wearing a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows, showing off the cords that popped in his forearms, the ink across his beautiful skin. Every time I saw him, he dressed casually like this, not having any desire to impress anyone around him.

But I found that confidence more impressive than anything he could wear.

He could wear a burlap sack and still look like a sculpture made by da Vinci’s own hands.

He had to tilt his chin down to look at me, even in the high heels I wore, because he must be six and a half feet tall. A behemoth of height and muscle, a gourmet cut of meat, he was the finest specimen of man.

I held his stare, feeling my skin melt under the heat of his gaze. Whether I wore a little black cocktail dress or a pencil skirt for the office, he looked at me like I was wearing the sluttiest lingerie ever made.

No one had ever looked at me like that, not even my own husband.

“Where are we going?”

I hadn’t thought about it once. I’d been thinking about him all day, running my fingers through that dark hair and kissing that hard mouth. “I liked that place close to the gallery.”

“You had a salad.”

I smirked. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

He didn’t smile at the taunt. His eyes remained as hard as ever. “I never let anything go.” Without taking his eyes off me, he wrapped his big hand around mine, and he gently pulled me out the door to his Range Rover.

He pulled onto the road, and like last time, his hand went to my thigh, his fingers sliding all the way until he could touch my black thong underneath. His hand was so big it took up my entire thigh, and it made me wonder how big the rest of him was.

With one hand on the wheel and the lights striking his dark eyes, he looked sexy as hell driving us to dinner, commanding the road with confidence and calm, not caring about the traffic or the asshole who’d run the red light.

“I’m surprised you don’t have people drive you around.” Sometimes Bolton had men pick us up and transfer us elsewhere. Theo had had one of his men drive me home on our first night together, but I’d never seen him be driven anywhere.

“My men don’t need to know where I am every minute of the day.”

“So, you don’t trust them?”

“I don’t trust anybody.”

I looked down at his hand and saw the tendons pop across his hand and connect to his knuckles. There were little scars in the skin, like he’d been cut with a couple knives and the wounds had healed over long ago. I had one person in my life I trusted…until he asked to break our marriage vows. I could appreciate his honesty—or wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t given him my blessing.

Theo parked the Range Rover, and then we entered the restaurant. We were given the same table as last time, and just like last time, no one came over until he motioned for them to.

He ordered a scotch and let me order whatever I wanted.

“I’ll take the Bordeaux—Barsetti Vineyards.”

The waiter walked away.

He sat with one arm resting on the table, his shirt tight on his muscular arm. It was a cold winter night, so I’d worn my coat, but he was so muscular that he was probably hot, even when the temperature was in the forties.

He looked out the window for a moment, and when he caught my stare, he shifted his gaze to me.

“Why do the waiters wait for you to signal to them?”