There was only him and me and our naked bodies.

There was only the familiar heat that had always been between us and the scorching intensity as we took each other in a new way.

We’d had makeup sex before. We’d had huge fights before today and used sex to get over them.

But this was something completely different. This wasn’t an apology. This was war. A war of our bodies, of our wills… of our souls.

He took me right there. Right against the wall.

I wrapped my legs around him and he held me steady as he reminded me what it was like to have him as a husband. And at the same time, he revealed a side of him I had never known.

I clasped my arms around his head while he alternated between taking my mouth and taking my breasts. His short beard scraped against my skin in a familiar sting that I welcomed, that I loved. Our sweaty bodies moved together in a rhythm of something we had done countless times before, but it had never ever been like this.

Despite the newness, he still knew exactly what to do to get my body to respond to his. He knew how to touch me. He knew how to move inside me. He knew the moment I reached the brink of something shattering.

And then he knew how to push me over the edge and make my world explode.

I screamed out with the shock and intensity of an orgasm like none before this one. My fingers dug into his back and my thighs squeezed his waist, desperate to make this feeling last forever.

He followed after me, burying his face in my neck and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh there. The moment seemed to go on and on and on until he sagged against the wall and I collapsed in his arms.

When he set me on my feet, I was beyond dazed and more than confused. Not surprisingly, the anger had drained out of me and left me with a bizarre longing I couldn’t explain.

Regret and disappointment with my own behavior followed shortly and I didn’t know if I would be able to stand up against the force of these emotions.

I wanted to run and hide.

I wanted to cry again and never stop.

I expected that I would do both of those things.

Just as soon as I figured out what the hell Nick was thinking!

“Nick-”

“Don’t,” he growled and the depth of his tone made me shut my mouth immediately.

He jerked his pants up and buttoned them with furious movements. His gaze lifted to mine and the heat behind his eyes pierced me in place.

I was wrong. We didn’t need to talk.

We definitely didn’t need to talk.

We never needed to talk again.

We could just keep communicating like this.

Against the wall.

He grabbed his shirt and yanked it on. It was inside out and backward, but I was not going to be the one to point that out to him.

I stood there naked, awkwardly covering my breasts.

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, Kate, stop.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” I whispered.

“Don’t lie to me.”

The command was too brutal for me to ignore, “Okay.”

“I’ll let you be now.” His voice shook as if he were having a very hard time controlling himself right this second so all I did was nod. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I nodded again. Even though I mostly wanted to beg him not to. I wanted to beg him to forget this ever happened.

Even though I knew I never could.

Even though I knew I would remember the intensity, the soul-shattering connection… the profound desperation we’d taken each other with to my very last breath.

I would never forget this.

And I had a very disarming thought that this would be the time I compared every single other time to in my future.

But, damn.

Nick took a step forward and for one horrifying second I thought he was going to kiss me again. I couldn’t take any more. If he kissed me again, I would shatter.

He seemed to realize this and stopped himself short. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he repeated on his way out the door.

“Okay,” I whispered.

But when he called the next day, I didn’t answer.

And when he continued to call for the following three days, I continued to not answer. After that, he didn’t call again.

Chapter Fourteen

21. He’s completely unpredictable.

The next time I saw Nick was a week before Thanksgiving at our first round of mediation. My lawyer had suggested getting the help of a third party after Nick remained completely uncooperative. I hoped mediation was the answer. I didn’t want to go to trial and I couldn’t believe Nick did either. I truly believed we could work through everything civilly.

At least I hoped we could.

I had assured Mr. Cavanaugh that Nick and I could be polite and mature, but my lawyer was in his mid-fifties and had apparently seen his fair share of bitter wives and hateful husbands.

He didn’t have the most positive attitude where the dissolution of marriage was concerned.

Then again, he had the kind of demeanor that generally expected the worst. Beneath his disheveled white hair was a face that could never be pleased. Deep wrinkles stretched across his forehead and gathered in the corners of his dull eyes. His mouth was perpetually turned down and his wide shoulders drooped beneath his crumpled cheap suits. He reminded me of a hound dog. An old hound dog.

But he knew divorce law and he’d promised to get me what I needed- which was a divorce. He just had no hope that the proceedings would be easy.

And he was probably right.

I stepped onto the elevator of the building that housed Whitney, Boggs and Stone and ignored the taste in my mouth that felt like vomit on my tongue and bile in my stomach. Our first meeting was set in Nick’s lawyer’s office. And it was immaculate.

I needed a minute to steady my nerves and prepare for the battle I was headed into, but the glass walls and busy lobby prevented solitude. I was on display the moment I walked into the building.

Not that I really thought all of these people were paying attention to little old me. But I felt like they were. My emotions manipulated my brain until I had to force myself not to hide my face in my hands.

It was silly. Especially when divorce was so common these days.

But I felt completely transparent for the world to see. I felt like there was a giant neon sign following me around, blinking an arrow at my back and declaring, “This one’s getting a divorce! She couldn’t make her marriage work! She’s a failure! She’s a failure! She’s a failure!”

God, I needed a drink.

And maybe some therapy. With someone that wasn’t Kara.

I stared at the climbing numbers as I moved upward and wondered what the statistic was on divorce driving people crazy. I had never been concerned about my mental health before.

Not until the last few months when it became an epic, life-ending struggle just to get through each day.

Now I felt brittle and breakable. I felt on the verge of losing every ounce of precarious sanity I had left.

The elevator opened on the eleventh floor and I stepped into the reception room. Mr. Cavanaugh waited for me near the door, glancing at his watch impatiently. Taking in his rumpled appearance I suddenly felt very self-conscious. I smoothed my hands over my brown, wide-leg trousers and tugged on my gold sweater.

A groan fell from my lips when I realized we were going to walk into the conference room looking equally ruffled. We were united in our disheveledness.

That didn’t bode well for us.

Nick had been nice enough to schedule our mediation after school and I’d come straight here. I spent the entire day avoiding mustard and coffee stains. I had a close call when I snuck a Twix bar in the afternoon, but all in all I came out of school unscathed.

Still, I’d spent the entire day in these clothes. I hardly looked my best. And I hated how that bothered me.