A Silken Thread - Brenda Jackson [42]
“Yes, I’m back.” His response was deliberately as dry as her greeting had been. She hadn’t been home when he’d arrived and now he could see why. She was wearing the outfit she usually played tennis in. “Who won the match?” he asked since he really had nothing else to say to her. Just like he knew she truly had nothing else to say to him. How could he have thought he could live this way?
“I won, of course.”
He chuckled. “Of course.” With all their niceties out of the way, he turned back around to resume unpacking. A part of him truly regretted that he did not feel one iota of guilt about cheating on her. If anything, he felt guilty for not feeling guilty. But in no way did he feel Karen got what she deserved. Regardless of what kind of wife he thought she was, as his wife she had deserved his faithfulness, and for that he knew what he’d done last night with Rita was wrong. But he refused to wish it hadn’t happened or regret it. If that made him a bastard then so be it.
He drew in a deep breath when he heard her walk away. He didn’t love Karen and she didn’t love him. What he should have done years ago was ask for a divorce, but he had thought it would be too complicated. Besides, he felt since he’d put up with things for this long, he might as well continue to put up with them.
But then last night had happened.
He eased down on the bed beside his luggage and stared into space, remembering a night he knew he would never forget. Rita had done more than show him what he’d been missing. She had touched him in a way he hadn’t been touched—ever. And the really sad thing about it was that he and Karen hadn’t grown apart. They’d always been apart. Even on their wedding night. She’d told him then she would do her duty, give him a child, preferably a son, and that was it.
She had been disappointed that Erica was born a girl because she’d figured he would demand a son, which meant she would have to continue to have sex with him “until the deed was done,” as she’d said. He had wanted other children, but listening to her bitch and moan each time they’d shared a bed hadn’t been worth it. He could still remember the expression of happiness that shone on her face when he’d finally told her she would not have to be subjected to his lovemaking any longer, because he was satisfied with Erica being their only child.
Wilson moved from the bed and walked over to the window and looked out. He wondered what Rita was doing, what she was thinking. She had no idea what last night had meant to him. It had been an involvement, true enough, but for him it had also been something else. An awakening.
He wished he could call her and tell her not to feel any guilt because his marriage wasn’t what she might think it was. Not to feel any guilt because he couldn’t make himself feel any. And if given the chance he would do it again.
He sucked in a deep, trembling breath at that realization. In a way he was pretty damn surprised at how incredibly easy it was to reach such a conclusion with a clear head and not an ounce of scotch in his system. He wanted Rita again but knew her frame of mind wouldn’t allow it. If truth be told, he had begun developing feelings for her since the engagement party. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it had. He needed to talk to her. He needed to see her.
He also needed to finally end his marriage to Karen. Forget about the guilt he didn’t feel—he needed to think of the fairness. And to be fair to her, he needed to go his way and let her go hers. He had no problems in providing a generous divorce settlement. Hell, she could have it all.
All he wanted now was his freedom.
“I feel like I’m a part of a soap opera,” Rita said softly, glancing out the kitchen window.
When she’d showered and crawled between the covers