Chapter 4 Gift

Steam filled the bathroom and the water in the huge tub slapped against the sides. Asher's body gleamed under the light, every line of muscle drawn tight, water running down his shoulders.

"Asher... slow down..." Eleanor's back pressed hard against the cold tile, her voice breaking in the middle of the sentence.

His chest burned against hers and the wall behind her was ice, and caught between the two of them she couldn't breathe.

"Too late to beg now." His laugh was rough.

He thrust hard, and the force snapped her head back and left her throat bare, and his mouth found it immediately.

Every stroke hit the same place, deep and precise and deliberate. Her body shook from the inside out and the pleasure came in waves she had no way to control.

"Do you like it?" His lips brushed her ear. His movements were brutal and his voice stayed calm, almost courteous, and that contrast undid her more completely than anything else could have.

He caught both her hands under the water, laced his fingers through hers and pinned them against the tile, and he didn't let go.

Wave after wave broke over her, and somewhere in the middle of it one thought surfaced through the haze. Regina is coming back. So what. This body, this heat, every part of him in this moment belongs to me. I have stood beside this man for eight years. Is that worth less than the woman who ran?

She came apart, and climbed again, and came apart again, until she was completely limp against him and couldn't lift a finger.

Afterward he wrapped a towel around her, lifted her out, and set her on the padded chair by the vanity. Then he crouched behind her and began drying her hair, slowly and thoroughly, one section at a time, nothing at all like the man from two minutes ago.

Eleanor sat still and watched his face in the mirror. When he lifted another section of damp hair, a flash of deep green at her throat caught her eye.

Her breath stopped.

A fine platinum chain already lay against her skin, with a single oval emerald at its center, the green so deep it looked like water with no bottom. She had not even felt him fasten it.

She knew this necklace. Five years ago the two of them had walked past a jeweler downtown and she had stopped at the window and looked at it two seconds too long. He had asked her if she liked it. The company was eighteen months old then and every dollar was already spoken for, so she shook her head and walked on. By the time he had money, the piece had been out of production for years.

He had been standing beside her. He remembered.

"How did you ever find it?"

"A private seller put it up at auction a while back. I took it." Asher met her eyes in the mirror. "Do you like it?"

Something inside her lifted, carefully, the way two hands cup something fragile from underneath.

"Thank you, Asher."

"Don't mention it." He patted her shoulder.

His tone shifted back to something ordinary. "By the way, Mrs. Henderson told me what Emma said last night. Don't take it to heart. She's a child. She doesn't understand anything yet."

Eleanor's smile slowed, and then stopped.

She looked down. Her fingers found the pendant. The stone was cold under her fingertip.

"This necklace," she said quietly. "Did you buy it because Emma upset me? Is it to make up for that?"

Asher paused. It lasted less than two seconds. Eleanor felt every one of them.

"You're overthinking." His voice didn't change. He came around in front of her, reached out and flicked her lightly on the nose. "I ordered this before Emma threw any tantrum. What goes on inside that head of yours?"

It was warm. It was gently teasing. It was the tone people use to coax a child out of a mood.

"Sleep a while longer." He bent and kissed her forehead.

"I need to be at the office." He straightened his cuffs and went.

Eleanor didn't answer. Something in her was knotted up and he didn't see any of it.

From the vanity she watched him stop at the door and take out his phone.

His face changed instantly, sharp and composed and unreachable. Asher Grayson, CEO, back online.

At six that evening Emma came home.

Her schoolbag hit the sofa before she was all the way through the door. She held her phone up, eyes shining. "Eleanor! My mom's coming tomorrow! Daddy invited her for dinner. "

She ran into the kitchen, where Eleanor was clearing the table, and switched straight into command mode. "You should start packing, because once Daddy takes her back you won't be staying here. Clean the guest room and empty half the closet in Daddy's room. Take that vase off the dining table. Take down all the photos in the bedroom. That piano of yours takes up half the living room too. My mom paints. There's nowhere to even put an easel." Her voice went up. "Are you listening? I'm talking to you."

Eleanor set down the plate in her hands. "Emma."

"What? Go on, hurry—"

“Emma Grayson.” Eleanor looked her directly in the eye. Her voice was low and level, serious in a way Emma had never heard from her before. “I am your father’s wife. You don't speak to me that way.”

Emma blinked. She just stood there staring, as though the sentence hadn't finished processing. "You... you never talk to me like that."

Emma pouted, with an innocent look in her eyes. She didn't even realize how cruel her actions were.

Eleanor held her eyes, and inside her chest something heavy pressed down.

This child. Eight years ago her own mother left her. Barely born. Eleanor had fed her from nothing, held her through every fever, taught her first steps and first words.

That winter when Emma was three. Asher in Europe for a month. Eleanor running a 104-degree fever alone at midnight, the whole room tilting.

Little Emma had pressed a wet towel to her forehead with both small hands. Eyes barely staying open. Still whispering: Mommy don't be scared.

But now, every time Emma looked at Eleanor, her gaze grew a little more unfamiliar, as if she were looking at a stranger. As though someone had been telling her over and over that Eleanor had stolen everything from her.

That little girl was still in there somewhere.

Buried inside this angry, hurting child standing in front of her now.

She wanted to explain.

Your mother left before you could even remember her.

She chose a diamond ring over you.

I never took anything. I only ever—

But when she looked at Emma's young and confused face, Eleanor's throat closed.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't hurt a child.

"Emma! Apologize to your mother!"

A sharp voice cut through the kitchen from the doorway.

Asher stood at the entrance. No one had heard him come in. His face was dark, his eyes locked on Emma.