Stay with Me, Page 2

  Paige’s voice seeped into his consciousness. And then he realized what else she’d said. Alarm slammed into his chest.

  “You said she’s gone,” he croaked. “That she hadn’t been home in two days. What else did the doorman say? Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” Paige replied without an ounce of sympathy in her voice. “But I can’t say I blame her.”

  His lips tightened. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Catherine’s a sweet girl, Logan, but she’s not going to be so forgiving forever. You and Rhys take advantage of her. Horribly. One of these days you’re going to look up, and she’s going to be gone. Maybe she already is. Hopefully she’ll end up with a man who’ll show her a little more appreciation.”

  He couldn’t breathe. Paige’s words hit him like razor-sharp darts.

  The phone went dead in his ear, but all he could process was the fact that Paige had said Catherine was gone.

  He punched in the number to the apartment with shaky fingers. He waited as it rang. After the fourth time, the answering machine picked up, and he cursed.

  “Catherine, baby, it’s me, Logan. Pick up, baby. I know you’re angry, but please, pick up the phone.”

  He hung up and called right back, frustrated when he got the same result. He was redialing again when the plane pulled away from the terminal to begin its taxi.

  Frustrated, he slapped the phone shut and flung it across the seat.

  Where was she? Had something happened to her? Had she left the apartment upset and been in an accident? Fear gripped him. Or had she simply walked out?

  No, Paige was wrong. Catherine understood. She always understood.

  Understood what? That her husband is an asshole who can’t even remember their anniversary? He’d cancelled a trip he promised to take her on, hadn’t been around in more months than he could count, and he hadn’t made love to her in so long he ached.

  He closed his eyes and banged his head against the back of the seat. Had she given up on him?

  ***

  Rhys stepped off the plane and made his way up the exit corridor to the gate. He was tired as hell, but anticipation lightened his step as he imagined crawling into bed with Cat. God, he’d missed her. Right now a Jamaican beach and her in a thong sounded next to heaven.

  A frown strained his lips as he tried to remember the last time he’d made love to Cat. The last months were all a blur of phone calls, business trips, endless meetings and negotiations. Uncertainty wedged its way into his chest. She had sounded so disappointed the night he and Logan had left. And now that he had a moment to breathe, he realized just how often he and Logan had been making excuses and apologies.

  Suddenly he couldn’t wait to get home. He was going to talk to Logan about rescheduling that vacation they’d promised Cat. Soon.

  He checked his watch then fished for his cell phone to turn it back on. Logan landed a half hour before him, and they were supposed to hook up and ride together back to the apartment.

  As soon as the phone powered up, it beeped to tell him he had a voicemail. Or ten. Damn, that was a lot of missed calls. He frowned as he scrolled through and saw they were all from Logan.

  He put the phone to his ear and picked up his pace to baggage claim.

  “Rhys, meet me at the apartment. We’ve got a problem.”

  He pulled the phone away with a frown. That was it? Goddamn Logan and his penchant for being short and providing no details. He punched in Logan’s cell number and waited impatiently for him to answer. When it went straight to voicemail, Rhys swore and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  Adrenaline pounded through his veins. Shit, had something happened to Cat? Fuck the baggage. He broke into a run toward passenger pick-up and cut in front of at least three people waiting for a taxi. He thrust a wad of bills at the driver.

  “I’m in a hurry.”

  The cabbie palmed the cash. “Yes sir.”

  An eternity later, he jumped out of the cab and bolted into the building. He cursed the elevator’s slowness as he rode it to the top floor. When it opened, he stepped into the apartment and came up short when he saw Logan pacing the floor of the living room, phone to his ear.

  “What do you mean you don’t have a record of Catherine Wellesley at your hotel? She has to be there. I’ve called every goddamn hotel in Jamaica.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Rhys demanded.

  Logan swiveled around, hurled an expletive to whoever he was talking to on the phone then slapped it shut.

  “Catherine is gone,” he said hoarsely.

  Rhys blinked as fear crawled up his spine. “Gone. What do you mean gone?”

  “Haven’t you tried to call her in the last two days?” Logan asked, his voice angry.

  “Yes, I have. I assumed she’d let her cell phone go down again, and you know as well as I do she rarely answers the apartment phone.”

  “She’s gone,” Logan said again, and Rhys had to fight the urge to knock the hell out of him and demand that he get to the point.

  “Where is she?” Rhys demanded.

  “Hell if I know.” Logan ran a hand through his hair then closed his eyes. “We forgot our anniversary,” he said in a quieter voice. “Catherine made plans. Reservations. We were supposed to eat out, come home and spend the evening together then fly out to Jamaica the next morning. Only she ended up spending the night alone, and we cancelled the trip.”

  “Where. Is. She. Now,” Rhys gritted out, afraid of what Logan would say next.

  Logan rounded him, his eyes furious. “I don’t know! I wish to hell I did. Paige informed me that Catherine left the same night we did and hasn’t been home since. And then Paige told me what assholes we are.”

  Rhys shook his head. He didn’t give a shit about Paige right now. He wanted to know where his wife was.

  “The only thing missing is her luggage,” Logan said.

  Relief settled over Rhys. Maybe she hadn’t left. As in walked out. Maybe she’d just gone on the trip. He couldn’t blame her if she had. He and Logan had treated her like shit.

  “I’m going to call the damn pilot,” Logan muttered. “Have him fly us to Jamaica. If I have to personally go into every hotel on the island to find her, I will.”

  It was a sad testament that neither of them even had a clue what hotel she’d booked for them. They’d left all the details to her and never expressed any interest in the plans. They were both bastards of the first order.

  Rhys sighed. “Let me get some clothes. I left my bags at the airport after I got your message.”

  “Make it quick. I’m calling down for the car now.”

  Yeah, quick. Suddenly they were fast on the uptake and going after Catherine. Something they should have done a long time ago. They never should have made her feel like she wasn’t the most important thing in the world to them.

  They. Hell. Fuck they. He shouldn’t have let things get to this point. His relationship with Cat wasn’t dependent on Logan’s. Yes, they had an unusual arrangement, but it didn’t mean that it gave him any free passes when it came to his responsibility to the woman he loved. It was time to dispense with the they in every statement and make Cat see how much she meant to him.

  Chapter Three

  Jamaica

  Logan watched as his wife gyrated in time to the funky beat of the music. Torches lit the stretch of sand cordoned off into a dance floor. Their flames flickered and cast shadows, dancing in time with the throng of scantily clad partygoers.

  God damn, he was tired, jet lagged, he hadn’t slept in three days, and now his wife, his woman, damn it, was weaving in and out of his line of vision, strange men touching her, lusting after her.

  She looked like a sea nymph, her long blond hair tumbling free over her shoulders. He didn’t even remember the last time he’d seen it free of the loose knot she always shoved it into. Her usually pale skin glowed golden in the light of the torches. And her bikini. Where the fuck had she gotten the tiny s
craps of material seemingly glued to strategic parts of her body?

  The globes of her ass bounced provocatively, the thin string of her thong sliding seductively between the cheeks. His cock tightened and swelled at the memory of fucking her tight ass. A distant memory, since they hadn’t had sex in months.

  When she whirled around, her breasts bobbed and strained against the slight cups. His hands itched as he imagined plucking and strumming the nipples.

  She glowed. Her smile lit the entire night. In that moment, he was struck by the fact that he hadn’t seen her smile, hadn’t seen her look this happy in months.

  An uncomfortable tension settled in his stomach. Had he made her so unhappy? Was Paige right? Was he in danger of losing her?

  She left you, dumbass. Without a word. No note. No phone call. Took the vacation you promised to take with her. What do you think?

  Yeah, he was going to lose her.

  His hand trembled as he raised it rub the back of his neck. No, he wouldn’t lose her. Not without a damn fight.

  Catherine smiled and laughed then raised her hands above her head and swayed to the frantic beat. The sand flew beneath her feet, and the cool ocean breeze whispered across her face.

  Bodies flashed in and out of her vision in blurs of color. She closed her eyes and inhaled the salty air. For the space of a few minutes, she let her sadness go. She was here for a good time. A fresh start.

  She danced closer to the incoming tide, and when she reached the perimeter of the crowd, she slipped away to walk down the beach.

  The waves reached for her toes, and she playfully dodged the foamy water before finally allowing it to wash over her ankles.

  When she’d walked far enough that the sound of the waves drowned out the distant music, she stopped and stared at the horizon. A blanket of stars draped itself over the water, brilliant diamonds twinkling against the black.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it.”

  She spun around, shocked to see Logan standing there, hands shoved into his pockets. He looked as though he hadn’t showered, shaved or changed in a week.

  Rumpled pants, disheveled shirt. Work clothes.

  She finally closed her mouth and tried to control the tremble of her muscles.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  He moved closer until she could see the anger outlined on his face. The moon cast a pale glow over both of them, and she backed hesitantly away until she was ankle-deep in the surf.

  His fingers closed around her upper arm, and he pulled her forward until she was clear of the water.

  “I came to find you,” he said simply.

  “But how did you know where I was?” she asked, still numb with the shock of seeing him. He was here. Not at work.

  His expression darkened. “It wasn’t easy. I had no idea where you’d gone. You left no note. Made no call. Just disappeared. I had to assume you’d gone on the trip you’d planned, but even then, I had no idea what arrangements you’d made. Jamaica isn’t such a small place when you have no idea where to begin looking.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and stared defiantly at him. Did the arrogant bastard actually expect her to feel badly after he’d stood her up on their anniversary then cancelled the trip he’d promised he’d take with her?

  “Come here,” he said quietly, pulling her into his strong arms.

  She was a mass of conflicting emotions as she pressed against his chest. God, it had been so long since he’d held her, touched her. In the past, all it had taken was a simple caress, a few soft words, and she’d forget and forgive.

  Not this time.

  She started to pull away, but his hold on her tightened.

  “Let’s go back to the hotel room. I’m tired. I stink. I’m dirty. I’ve been in these clothes for three days. We can talk after I’ve had a shower.”

  “Where is Rhys?” she asked, afraid that maybe he hadn’t come.

  “Looking for you,” he said darkly. “Now come on. Let’s go back to the room.”

  “You should get your own,” she said quietly.

  He stared at her, his eyes blazing, and she looked away, swallowing the urge to run. He reached out, his fingers stroking over her wrist before curling around her palm.

  “Come back to our room, Catherine. We’ve come a long way to find you. The least you can do is talk to us.”

  Tears brimmed in her eyes, and her nose burned from the effort of holding them back. “Talk? Now you want to talk? After months—years—of ignoring me, now you want to talk?”

  She shook from head to toe, and she was fast losing the tenuous grip she had on her emotions.

  “Come back with me.”

  It wasn’t a request. It was a command. To her dismay, she started forward, allowing him to lead her down the beach toward the hotel.

  His fingers remained tightly wrapped around her hand as if he feared she’d flee.

  Through the crowd of dancers, up the steps to the veranda and past the live band. Into the cool interior of the hotel, down the hallway to the elevator. They walked, silently.

  He pulled her into the elevator, pushed the button for the top floor then curled his arms around her, molding her back to his chest.

  She closed her eyes, trembling in his arms. How long had it been since he’d held her? Touched her intimately? Looked at her like he’d done on the beach, like she was the only woman in the world, a woman he wanted badly.

  His lips burrowed into her hair, nuzzling the back of her neck. A prickle of desire skittered down her spine. She craved him, needed him. God, she needed him.

  She leaned back into him, cursing her weakness but loving the solid security she felt in his arms.

  “Where did you get this outfit?” he murmured against her ear.

  The elevator opened, and he curled a hand around her wrist once more, tugging her into the hallway.

  “I bought it for our vacation,” she said through tight lips.

  He fumbled in his pocket as they neared the suite and pulled out the room card. He jammed the card into the slot and shoved the door open.

  A blast of cool air raised goose bumps on her exposed skin, and she rubbed her arms as they walked further into the room.

  His and Rhys’ luggage was thrown carelessly on the floor as if they’d dumped it and left just as quickly. In their search for her? Her gaze slid sideways, gauging his mood.

  He was looking intently at her even as he loosened his shirt and began pulling at his pants.

  “What are you doing?” she asked faintly, heat surging to her cheeks.

  The door opened and Rhys swept in, looking as haggard as Logan did. When his gaze alighted on her, relief poured over his face, lightening his green eyes.

  “Cat, thank God,” he whispered as he walked toward her.

  He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, his chest heaving against her. She tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t let go. When he did finally relinquish her, it was only to tilt her head back and capture her lips in a demanding kiss.

  Anger, need, sadness, passion. Love. It was too much. She yanked away, emotion nearly choking her. She turned, not wanting either man to see how upset, how indecisive, she was.

  “Cat,” Rhys said in his husky voice. “Look at me.”

  She shook her head and focused her watery stare at the opposite wall.

  Logan reached out and touched her cheek, brushing at the trail of moisture. “Don’t cry, Catherine. Please don’t cry. Let us love you. Give us tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow—I swear it.”

  She shook off his touch, immediately feeling bereft of the warmth of his fingers. She backed away, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

  “I don’t want you here,” she said in a shaky voice.

  As she spoke, she lifted her chin and stared first at Rhys and then over at Logan. Hurt briefly flickered across Rhys’ face, but