Torrid Affair Read online

  Torrid Affair

  Callie Anderson

  Contents

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Part 2

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Part 3

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Callie Anderson

  Copyright © 2016 Callie Anderson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Content Editor: Jennifer Roberts Hall www.indieafterhours.com

  Line Editor: Brenda Lentendre

  www.writegirl.com

  Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen.

  www.okaycreation.com

  Let the fire burn

  Blurb

  I’m fucked.

  The life I have lived for the past ten years is built solely on lies and secrets.

  But I can’t help myself.

  I’m in love with two different men. And one of them is my brother-in-law.

  He’s my drug. My fire. My addiction.

  But he’s married to my best friend. And I’m married to my husband.

  I’m not ashamed. I have no guilt.

  None.

  I’m not only fucked. I’m a fucked up person.

  This is the story of how I ruined my life.

  And the life of the one I love most.

  Part I

  My life was a black hole.

  Trapped in a loveless marriage, I was empty, numb. Oblivious to it all.

  Until him.

  He was the spark that brought me back from the abyss. He was my fire.

  But our love was forbidden.

  Between the lies, that fire began to take over my soul. That need to feel wanted had me escaping my life, running toward him no matter the consequences.

  They say you shouldn’t play with fire.

  But I needed to feel the burn.

  Chapter 1

  Brielle

  Present

  I sit on my king-size bed and stare at the dull white wall. It’s the only surface in my bedroom I haven’t decided what to do with. When we moved into this apartment, Julian and I couldn't agree what to put there. At the time, I thought it was a perfect spot for a bassinet. Now I shake my head at the memory. Eight years have passed. Ten since he first knocked on my door.

  I draw up my legs and rest my chin on my knee, the empty wine glass held up by my fingertips. My gaze is still glued to the two coats of eggshell paint that cover the drywall. My throat suddenly tightens and I blink as a lone tear falls down my cheek.

  He’s late.

  Again.

  The sad part is that I don’t have to look at the clock. I know it's past midnight. I feel it deep in my gut. Something is off. Something's always wrong when he’s late.

  My heart races as I contemplate all the places he could be at this very moment, but the fading purple bruises on my arms and the scar on my left cheek remind me why I no longer let my mind go there.

  I learned not to ask questions.

  I glance down at my large diamond engagement ring that sits next to my wedding band and I lower my chin to my chest, swallowing back a sob. How is this a better life?

  He came back for me. He was here when I needed him most. And I made a vow. So I look at my blank wall. It's a reminder of what I am. Empty and alone. Perhaps that’s the reason I choose not to do anything to it. It’s depressing, like my life.

  Misery loves company.

  My stomach churns. I’m desperate to know the time, so I pull my gaze away from the wall and over to my clock.

  It's a quarter to one.

  I pour myself another glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

  My phone vibrates under the down comforter. The alcohol swooshes through my body and I’m woozy. The bright light blurs my vision and I squint at the screen.

  Julian: I’m running late. I’ll be home soon.

  I scoff and toss my phone. He texts me now? It’s almost two in the morning. I reach toward my nightstand for the bottle of wine.

  I don’t cry because I hate my life.

  I don’t cry because I no longer know the person who stares back at me in the mirror.

  I cry because I realize the wine bottle is empty.

  I fall to the floor and let out a guttural scream as tears cloud my vision. I don’t deserve this. I wanted a different life. I had dreams!

  I push myself off the floor and walk through the cold house. Reaching the bar, I open the bottle of Jameson and chug it back, letting the burn soothe my hurt. Anything to escape my reality.

  Anything to make me feel numb.

  I brush my lips with the back of my hand and focus on the art supplies I abandoned in the corner. After dinner I played with the canvas I was working on since Julian didn’t come home. A faint smirk touches my mouth.

  Oh, how different my life was meant to be. I wanted to be an artist. The dream of majoring in art and moving to Europe to intern at the Louvre was also snatched away from me. I wanted to see the world. Instead, I worked at a local paint supply store where I, on occasion, painted wall murals in nurseries.

  If I could go back and find that one crack, that first chip, the one that ultimately broke us . . .

  Nathaniel.

  Not a what, but a who. He shattered my heart and my soul.

  He shattered me.

  This is all his fucking fault.

  My bare feet slap against the hardwood floor as I march to my paint. Though I feel the effects of the alcohol, I push past it and grab a brush and gallon. Half drunk, half depressed, I stumble back to my bedroom and toward the dull white wall.

  Once I finish, I drop the brush and crawl back to bed. My head woozy, I pull the covers over my body. The hallway light flicks on and I know Julian is home. The second he steps into our bedroom I smell cheap perfume. He was with someone tonight. The musky scent of sex wafts through the air. New tears pool in my eyes.

  I need to leave. I need to get out of here. But my own demons keep me here.

  I keep my eyes closed as he undresses. The endless possibilities of where he has been begin to haunt me. When the shower turns on I go after him. I can't keep living like this.

  I kick the door open and my gaze lands on his. I gasp. Not because he is standing over the sink regarding me like a trespasser, but because of the scratches on his back. I know those types of marks. They’re the ones
you make on a man to let his wife know she's not the only woman he fucks.

  My vision blurs. “You bastard.” The words slip out of my mouth. “Who is she?” My voice is hoarse.

  Julian turns to face me. He’s naked and the sight of him makes my stomach turn. “It's not what you think.”

  “I don't deserve this, you selfish prick! You’re a worthless excuse of a man!”

  Julian's raises his hand. With one swift motion it collides with my face and tosses my head to the side. My cheek burns, and for a second I can't see.

  “I’ve told you not to ask me anything. The job I have. The things I do, I do them for you.”

  Exhausted and emotionally drained, I trudge back to my bed. Minutes pass before the comforter on the bed is pulled back. I hold my breath. I can’t stay here. I refuse to live like this anymore. I don’t want to leave my home, but if Julian is ever to change, I need to face my fears.

  I need to see Nathaniel.

  The following morning, the sun peers through the window and warms my skin. I squint and notice that my bed is empty. Of course he’s gone. Wiping the sleep off my face, I look at the wall. It is no longer blank and empty, but vibrant red. I shake my head and immediately regret it as a piercing headache blurs my vision. Why did I think alcohol would help?

  My body aches as I roll out of bed and spot Julian’s clothes from last night piled on the floor. My stomach turns as I’m reminded of his scent. Dashing to the bathroom, I wash my face and pop two Advil into my mouth to soothe my headache.

  I emerge from the bathroom dragging my feet, and stop at the wall. This is the moment of clarity. No. I shake my head in disbelief. I can’t—no, I refuse—to live like this.

  For ten years I’ve avoided my past. For ten years I’ve given Julian my all. But enough is enough. I’m going back. Though it will kill me and open wounds that have never fully healed, Nate is the only one he will listen to.

  I inhale all the air my lungs will take. With my head high and my shoulders back, I march into my closet and pull out my suitcase.

  Chapter 2

  Brielle

  11 years ago.

  I felt as if I had run a marathon. No, an Iron Man. Those were more excruciating. I was exhausted but my roommate, Delaney, insisted we unpack and put away all our stuff before class started. She also convinced me to move into the dorm a week earlier than she needed to. Her classes didn’t start until the following Monday, so there was no need for her to move in right away. My classes started Day One of the semester, so I’d planned to drive back to campus, leave my crap in boxes, sleep in, and order out.

  She was a pain in my ass but I loved her like my sister.

  Delaney had been my roommate for the past three years and was a complete neat freak. Which was probably why we got along. I, myself, had a few OCD tendencies but neatness was not one of them.

  The alarm on my phone began to ring and I wished I had twenty more minutes, or a few hours. I inhaled as I willed my body to wake up.

  “For the love of God.” Delaney’s groggy voice lets me know she was as tired as I was.

  “Sorry, Del.” I hit the off button on the alarm and stretched my hands over my body. “You’re the one who wanted to move in yesterday,” I reminded her.

  “You’re the only person I know who likes morning classes,” Delaney complained as she pulled the covers to her chin.

  I sat up, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “It’s the only time Professor Comeau teaches it.”

  I heard her breathing slow and I knew she had fallen back asleep. I tiptoed to the dresser and pulled out my clothes before heading to the communal bathroom. It was really early for class, but that meant the showers were empty and I was able to stay under the hot water for a few extra minutes.

  Once I was dressed, I headed back to my room to drop off my bathroom caddy, double check which side of campus we were meeting on for class, and grab my bag. To my surprise, there was a new email from my mother. Not only was it too early for class but it was definitely too early to read what my mother had to say. She only emailed me with bad news. I moved the mouse past her email and clicked on the one from Professor Comeau that stated our meet location had changed to the Bissell House.

  “Bissell House?” I whispered.

  “Literally across campus,” Delaney huffed.

  “Did I wake you again?”

  “No, I snoozed for a bit but I can’t get comfortable. I probably need to get used to getting up early. I promised my mother that this semester she would see all A’s and I really need to get my shit together.” She yawned and sat up on her bed. Her raven hair was pin straight so it appeared almost blue, and her dark gray eyes were shaped like almonds, making her look exotic.

  “We’ll see how long that lasts.” I smirked. Every semester she tried to get up early and get ahead of her classes. It usually lasted two weeks before she started waking up ten minutes before class began.

  “Whatever. You’re the one who’ll be late.” She stuck her tongue out at me.

  “Late?” I looked down at the clock. I still had thirty minutes before class started.

  “Bissell is across campus and University City Blvd has a lane closed because they’ve been doing construction all summer. Now you have to cut through campus with all the new freshman who have no idea where they’re going, which means traffic chaos. Hence, you’ll be late.”

  Crap! “Shit!” I slammed my laptop closed, grabbed my stuff, and headed out of the dorm. There were two things I hated in life: lies and tardiness.

  The warm Charlotte air still carried a scent of summer. Moving here from Chicago was a drastic weather change. I didn’t mind the heat, but I missed the fall months, the cool, crisp morning air that let you know winter was coming. It was the end of August and I was in a T-shirt and shorts due to the eighty-plus-degree weather.

  Delaney was dead on about the traffic through campus. My fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter. A seam of sweat began to build down my spine, and my knee bounced up and down as the stress of arriving late started to rear its ugly head.

  A few minutes later, I pulled into Bissell House. To my luck, there was a parking spot available. I released my death grip on the steering wheel and activated my blinker. Just as I began to turn the wheel, a Ford Explorer cut in front of me and took my spot.

  “Seriously!” I shouted. The jackass hopped out of his car and strode past my car like nothing ever happened. “Are you kidding me! That was my freaking spot!”

  “My bad,” was all he said and then continued to walk.

  It took another ten minutes before I found an open spot and met up with the rest of the class. This was not how I wanted to start the semester.

  “Every building has a style and its own history,” Professor Comeau explained to the class, which gathered around him in a half circle. His back was to the Bissell House as he continued. “Not only will you learn to read buildings, but you’ll know why they were built and for whom.” I stopped and stood toward the rear. “You.” He paused and pointed at me. The entire class followed his finger and I was greeted with their gazes, including the ass who took my parking spot. Of course he was in this class. Why else would anyone be at the Bissell House so early in the morning? “Is eight a.m. too early for you?”

  I cleared my throat. “No, sir. It was a parking issue.” My gaze pulled away from the older man with the gray hair and a bushy beard and landed on the guy who had taken my parking spot. “It won’t happen again.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  Professor Comeau continued with the syllabus, but parking spot stealer continued to stare at me. For the first time I stopped mentally cursing him and actually admired him. He was taller than anyone else in the class, lean, dressed in a graphic T-shirt and worn out jeans. His dark hair was trimmed short, and once my gaze focused on his eyes I couldn’t stop gawking. They were light green with hazel specks floating in them. Thank you, God, for blessing me with perfect vision. His eyes were captivating. The most beautiful things
I had ever seen.

  He gently licked his lips and smiled.

  All the anger I had toward him vanished in thin air. This perfect man could have my parking spot any time he wanted as long as he smiled at me.

  People began to move and someone bumped into me, shaking me out of his hold. I blinked and forced my legs to move. Professor Comeau had assigned us to study the Bissell House and four other buildings on campus. Two hours of staring at buildings and appreciating them? This would be the easiest class I had ever taken at UNC.

  I took out my notepad and began to sketch everything I noticed about the building. Its four white columns, the double chimneys, the perfectly trimmed and manicured garden. I was counting the windows when I felt his presence near me. I swallowed the ball of nerves that had coiled in my throat and looked up at him.

  Crap, he was hot. Very freaking hot.

  “Yes?” I questioned when he didn’t speak. I gnawed on the inner part of my lip as I waited for him to say something.

  A grin grew on his face and I squeezed my grip on my pen until my fingernails were digging into my palm. How had I been on campus for three years and never noticed him?

  “I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “If I’d known you would be late for class, I wouldn’t have taken your spot.” He was apologizing, but all I could focus on was the way his voice made the butterflies in my stomach triple in size. I blamed the dizziness and gawking on the fact I was exhausted.

  “It’s . . . D-Don’t,” I stuttered. “No biggie.” I inhaled and blinked nervously.

  “I’m Nathaniel. Nathaniel Wright.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “Is this where you tell me that you’re Mr. Wright or Mr. Right Now?” I lifted my chin toward him and grinned. “Please don’t tell me that’s your pick up line.” I giggled.

  “No.” He chuckled. “My pick up line is more profound.”

  “Really?” I widened my eyes. “I must hear this.” I turned to face him.