Conflicted (Everlasting Love)(50)

“What else am I supposed to believe?”

“You could trust me.”

Her laugh was harsh, and incredibly painful to hear. “You stabbed me in the back in front of hundreds of thousands of people and now you’re telling me I should trust you?”

“It wasn’t like that, Desiree. Things didn’t work out like I had planned.”

“Oh, I think they worked out exactly as you planned. What I want to know is why? What did I do that was so bad you felt the need to humiliate me this way?”

“Humiliate you?”

“Yes, you humiliated me. Do you have any idea how many people have given me pitying looks this afternoon? Do you have any idea how many snide comments I’ve had to deal with about controlling my husband, or worse, controlling the hired help?”

“Excuse me?” His voice dripped ice. “Since when has our marriage been about controlling each other?”

“Don’t you twist my words.” Her eyes narrowed.

“I don’t think I had to twist them—you did a fine job of that yourself.”

“I refuse to be the one put on the defensive here. You’re the one who entered a ringer into the race. You stole the Triple Crown right out from under me.”

He stared at her incredulously. “When did this get to be all about you, Desiree? When did the rest of us fall by the wayside?”

“The day my husband betrayed me.” She glared at him with enough hatred to stop his heart. “You know how much this meant to me. That race was ours—no one else would have been able to touch Lucky and you know it.”

“What exactly are you accusing me of?”

She pulled herself up to her full height and somehow managed to look down her nose at him, though he stood a good four inches taller than she. “I think it’s obvious, isn’t it? All these years I’ve put my faith in you. I’ve ignored the gossip that said you didn’t have it in you to deliver this title. All these years, I’ve trusted you. But now I can’t help but wonder if that trust was misplaced. Have we lost all these years because of bad luck? Or have you been sabotaging us all along?”

There was a roaring in his ears. His chest was so tight he would have worried he was having a heart attack if he could think of anything but Desiree and her insane accusations. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“Stop it, Desiree, before you say something you can’t take back.”

“I haven’t said anything I would want to take back.”

Fury filled him, burning hotter and more vicious than it ever had before. He opened his mouth, prepared to deliver a scathing retort and lay into her like she so richly deserved. But he choked back the words at the last minute, refusing to lower himself to her level.

He walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. His fists were clenched, his breathing harsh, as he struggled to get himself under control. He just needed some time—a minute, a few seconds, anything to give himself a chance to calm down. To get the image of strangling her out of his head.

The bedroom door slammed open. “Don’t you walk away from me.”

“Get out.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to get out. I am paying for this suite, just like I pay for everything. Your salary, the house you live in, the food you eat.”

The roaring grew louder. Desiree, eyes wide, had clamped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words had escaped. He could see the apology in her eyes, but it was too late. The damage was done.

“Jesse, I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, don’t back down now, darlin’. You’ll lose all your momentum.”

“I’m sorry. It just came out. I…” She looked ill as she made the excuses, but he was far past caring.

“I’ll move Cherokee Dreaming off the ranch as soon as we get back.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, yes, I do. As for the rest…” He shrugged. “I guess it’s up to you. I spent the first years of our marriage trying to convince you to move off the Triple H. I wanted to build a home for us and our children using my own money. I didn’t have as much as your father, especially back then, but it would have been enough. I would have built you the nicest house I could.”

“I know.” Her voice was anguished.

“You don’t know anything. If you did, you never would have had the nerve to throw that in my face.”

He crossed to the dresser, scooped a pair of jeans, clean underwear and a red polo shirt from the top drawer.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To get my own room. One you aren’t paying for.”

“Jesse, no.” Her voice was low and urgent. “You can’t.”

“It’s a little too late for you to tell me what I can or can’t do,” he replied as he headed toward the door. “Besides, you don’t expect any of your other employees to sleep with the boss.”





CHAPTER TWELVE




WITH A SIGH OF DISGUST, Desiree gave up watching the minutes crawl by on the digital clock next to her bed. Emotionally and physically exhausted from the wedding, she had lain in bed for nearly two hours waiting in vain for sleep to claim her. Throwing the covers back, she climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well do something useful. She had forgotten to check on M.C. before heading to bed, so she would do so now.