Chapter 150
At first, Victoria struggled desperately, certain she’d been ambushed by a thief. But when she caught the unmistakable scent of pine on his skin, she froze, her panic giving way to shock.
Before she could gather her thoughts, his lips pressed against hers-hard, urgent. McNeil’s breath was hot and ragged in the small space between them. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him until there was barely air between their bodies.
She was breathless, almost suffocated by his kiss.
Finally, when she managed a brief moment of freedom, she drove her knee sharply into his abdomen. In the darkness, his face was so close to hers that their noses brushed. McNeil’s grip never loosened as he twisted her arms behind her back, his expression tight with frustration.
“Been a while, huh? You’ve gotten stronger—and feistier. Like a little wildcat,” he murmured, pinning her against the wall until she could barely breathe.
Victoria’s frustration flared. “Where’s Gwyn?”
“I took her to the old house. My mother’s with her,” McNeil replied evenly.
Victoria pressed a hand against his chest, glaring. “Your mother doesn’t even like Gwyn. You just left her there with her?”
Realization dawned a second later. “Gwyn isn’t even sick. You had Xenia lie to me so I’d come back, didn’t you?”
Suddenly, the lights flicked on, and bright illumination swept across McNeil’s features. Victoria caught a faint whiff of alcohol.
She remembered he never liked drinking-he hated social events, too. But tonight, he’d clearly had a few—and maybe more than a few.
A cold, humorless chuckle escaped her lips.
McNeil’s mouth curved into a wry, almost mocking smile. “Does a husband really need to resort to trickery just to get his wife to come home?”
He braced his arms against the wall, caging her in, his body a barrier between her and the world.
Victoria’s eyes were icy, refusing to acknowledge the raw need in his gaze. “I think you’ve forgotten, Mr. Langford,” she said, her voice flat. “You and I are nothing to each other now. And in your eyes, I was never really Mrs. Langford, was I?”
Once, she had dreamed he might one day take her hand in public, tell the world she was his wife. But after six years of waiting, all she got was his lover running off with him and even with the child that was supposed to be their love’s proof.
Victoria let out a bitter laugh. How foolish she had been. The fantasy of being “Mrs. Langford” no longer held her captive. She just wanted to be Victoria, herself.
McNeil ignored her words. “The divorce isn’t final yet. As long as the papers aren’t signed, you’re still my wife in the eyes of the law. And during our marriage, you’ve been living with another man. Did you ever consider how that might feel for me?”
Jealousy burned in his voice. Just seeing her in another man’s house had made him want to tear everything apart. But in the end, he turned and walked away.
Even so, McNeil knew he could never forgive her.
Victoria met his gaze, unwavering. “Do you really think you have the right to talk to me about feelings?”
Her stare was cold, empty of the infatuation she once held for him. “Since Gwyn isn’t here, I’m leaving.”
“You just want me to acknowledge you as Mrs. Langford. That’s not so hard,” he said.
She looked at him as if he were a stranger. The thing she’d longed for all those years slipped so easily from his tongue now-it was almost laughable, but mostly it was just sad.
She wondered if he only said it because he was drunk.
“No, thank you, Mr. Langford. Save that title for someone who actually wants it. After all, you’ve always wanted to give it to her, haven’t you?”
Victoria held his gaze, not the slightest hint of hope or joy in her expression.
McNeil felt like he’d already lowered himself before her, but her indifference was unmistakable.
His patience snapped; he grabbed her wrists, yanked her forward, and kissed her with a wild, desperate hunger.