Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise #2)(37)
In the days since, Kursch and I had developed a sort of friendship that reminded me very much of my uncle, Jacob Vincent. He’s name was shortened to accommodate his author personae. Kursch had the hard edge of a past but the softness of humor to keep demons at bay. We talked casually some evenings, sharing a dinner he made for me like he was my servant. I learned things about his time in the military, and I told him about growing up on the vineyard. We never discussed Cain’s childhood or the present state of our relationship. I didn’t feel right seeking answers from Kursch when I wanted them from Cain.
He didn’t lead on that he was aware of any connection between Cain and I. How could he? We were estranged from one another at present. Once again, I’d learned I was still married to Cain. I had shed my tears for him when he left me a year ago. Walking out of his room had broken my heart to mere shards of glass, those tiny pieces you can’t see with the eye, but you know still lay on the floor where a wineglass shattered. This time, I didn’t have the broken sensation; I was angry. I was a barrel of wine being rolled to the pallet for aging, only I wasn’t settled yet. I was still swirling with my fury.
He’d lied to me.
He’d slept with another.
He’d been unfaithful.
The words rang through my mind; a layer of disgust covered my body. On the morning after Cain left me the first time, I walked blindly into a shower, letting the scalding water wash away every trace of him on me. I had that need to scrub clean of his filth again. It was so wrong that he hadn’t told me the truth and informed me, right away, that we were legally married. The images that rolled through my mind of him with other women made me shiver. The most haunting part was that he had been unfaithful – to me. It wasn’t just that he’d slept with another woman, but that as his wife, it was a direct rejection of me. The serpent had not wanted the apple after all. He’d been tempted by the fruit of another and my insides sank at the realization. I had been a fool to think the likes of a man the caliber of Cain Callahan would want me.
In my opinion, I was plain, not in looks so much as in experience. I didn’t have a resume of wild sexual, wanderlust like he had. I’d been with a total of three men; Cain being the last, and no man tempted me the way he did. No man made me want to give into every touch like him. No man made me crazy mad like he did. Most of all, I was upset that he lied about our marriage. Something I would have treated as sacred. I couldn’t understand why he’d done it. Why hadn’t he told me a year ago? Why were we still married now?
Arriving at the vineyard, I instantly asked for work. I needed anything to keep my mind from thinking and remembering, as it often did, of how I met Cain here in this dimmed wine bar. I spent the day following any order given to me to exert pent up energy, even seizing the opportunity to push, roll, and pull items that would use physical strength. I’d never been an aggressive person, and I’d never been physically fit in a manner comparable to Cain, but I needed to do something with the negative energy vibrating within me. The labor was welcome, as it also helped me sleep that first night. My room was a reminder of how I’d spent weeks after his disappearance, holed up in this space, keeping quiet and alone, to process the misery of losing someone again. It was ridiculous to be upset, I finally convinced myself. I hadn’t lost what I didn’t own. I didn’t know Cain Callahan, who he was or what he’d done. Everything I learned came later.
The next evening was Friday and the wine bar was full. It wasn’t the electric energy of a campus bar, but more sedate and subtle, like the wine we served. The First Wives Club would return soon to commiserate another divorce, or celebrate, depending on who explained the story. They were rowdy, but not obnoxious, other than the night Cain had been present. For the most part, they kept to their group, knowing that the other celebrities of the establishment were on clandestine affairs or secret rendezvous, in hopes of avoiding spouses or paparazzi. For some, the visit to the vineyard was simply an escape, as it had been a year ago to world famous rock star, Arturo King, and the champion prizefighter, Cain Callahan.
Either way, I wasn’t fazed by the fame that crossed the threshold, nor the First Wives Club that gathered regularly. Once those who needed my attention were served, I wandered to the corner of the bar, where I kept my textbook open and tried to focus on the intriguing study of human anatomy. I had long passed Human Anatomy 101, but this higher-level course was further exploration of anatomy and disease. I’d reread the same paragraph five times, without recollection of a single word when someone in my peripheral vision sat at the opposite end of the bar and ordered a drink.
“Got anything stronger than this?” he commanded, and my head shot up in the direction of the deep voice I’d recognize anywhere.
I stared in disbelief, frozen against the bar where I leaned. He sat casually with his elbows braced on the edge, his hands clasped together over the counter. His smirk was that frustrating, flirtatious smile, but there was something in those dark eyes. A hesitation. A panic. They weren’t present the first time he used that line on me.
“I’d recommend the robust red…”
He held up a hand to stop me, and I knew the next line, but then he surprised me.
“The only thing red I want are those glasses on my nightstand and that t-shirt on my floor.”
My damn body betrayed me instantly, as my sex pulsed and I clenched, only worsening the rhythm that started to beat between my thighs. My brain was too slow to process he was really sitting at the end of the bar, but my body was on immediate overdrive.