He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “I lied,” he whispered. “Earlier today, when I told you I’d start treatment tomorrow, I lied. I just didn’t want to argue on your birthday. This stubborn part of me was still in denial that I needed help. But when you couldn’t even look at me during your speech…” he brought his head up, opening his reddened eyes a bit as his forehead wrinkled, like saying the words pained him “…I knew the bottle of pills in the pocket of my jacket was destroying us. And it was chilling … like being buried under the rumble of an avalanche. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.” He shook his head, leaning it back again and closing his eyes. “I couldn’t believe I didn’t see it coming.”
After letting his confession simmer between us for a few minutes, I pushed myself out of the water. “I’m getting chilly.” Wrapping a towel around myself, I stepped out of the tub.
On top of the overnight bag by the door was a sack. “What’s in the sack?” I set it aside and opened the suitcase to retrieve a nightshirt. Only … I didn’t pack one. I packed a sexy black lace and satin nightie because we were going to do some naughty things on my birthday with a suite all to ourselves and no kids to wake us up. Given the detour that my day took and the gravity of our bathtub conversation, I decided to skip the nightie in favor of a soft tee Ronin packed to wear the next day.
“Did I give you permission to wear my shirt?”
I turned, stepping into my panties. “You love me in your clothes.”
He eyed me playfully as he retrieved a pair of boxer briefs and slipped them on. “You’re staring, Mrs. Alexander.”
I snapped my gaze to meet his smirk. Yes, five years later, I still loved looking at his naked body. “What’s in the sack?”
He shrugged, plopping onto the bed. “I don’t know. Graham put our bag into the car from the limo. The sack was there too.”
I peeked into the sack and grinned, pulling out a clear container with a huge piece of cake inside of it. My birthday cake. He even packed a fork. Although … my bet was on Lila. She told him to send cake. Traipsing to the bed with my cake—my last bit of birthday joy—I took a seat with my back against the headboard.
“You’re not going to share?”
Mid-bite, I glanced over at Ronin as he turned onto his side, head propped up on his bent arm. “It’s my birthday cake. I didn’t get any at the party.”
“Neither did I.”
“And whose fault is that?”
He frowned. “Fine.”
I took the bite and hummed. It was so good.
“I’m not sharing cake with you on my birthday … just so you know.”
Sliding my gaze to the side as I eased the fork from my mouth, I snickered. “I make your birthday cake. I always have the first piece, right out of the middle, then I fill it with frosting and nobody is the wiser.”
He opened his mouth as wide as possible, nose wrinkled. “That is truly horrible!”
I scooped a dollop of frosting onto my finger and stuck it in his open mouth. “You’ve never made me a cake; that’s the truly horrible part.”
Ronin grabbed my wrist before I could pull my finger out of his mouth. Closing his lips, he sucked all the frosting from my finger. I liked it, but I told myself I wasn’t allowed to like it. Not on a ruined birthday. There was no way birthday girl was giving her fun-spoiling husband sex on her birthday. Also, I convinced myself that reasoning it all out via third-person in my head was the way to go … the way to hold strong.
Evelyn was not having sex with Ronin.
With his other hand, he grabbed the entire piece of cake.
“Ronin!” I jerked my finger from his mouth, but not before he smeared cake down my face and neck.
“Stop!” I tried to squirm away, but he stuck his cake-covered hand up my shirt … well, his shirt. I gasped, eyes wide as he smeared the cake and frosting over me. “Not cool! Not cool at—”
That sticky hand cupped my jaw, and his mouth covered mine, kissing me hard, passionately, and with a clear purpose—getting his fair share of the cake. He licked down my face, lapping the sticky mess while humming his pleasure.
“Ronin …” I claimed two fists full of his hair and tried to jerk him away, but he kept going.
Lower.
And lower.
Until … I lost my resolve.
Birthday girl had sex with Ronin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Forty was supposed to be the true age of independence—the essence of youth still a glint in one’s eyes with the wisdom of experience keeping that chin tilted high.