Ruthless Stranger by Maggie Cole

9

Aspen

A strong odorof garlic and butter seeps through the thin walls and into my apartment, flaring in my nostrils. My neighbors cook almost every night. It usually comforts me, especially since Peter moved out, and I've been all alone, but nothing can fill the void that keeps growing.

I don't understand it. It's been a few weeks since Vegas. But every day, the ache expands. I hate I don't know his name or where he lives. I dream of his face, but it's just a mere outline of what I assume he looks like from my hands feeling his chiseled features. Every time I look at the bracelet on my wrist, I choke up. But I can't bear to remove it.

At night, I lay my head on my pillow, and his scent and voice fill my mind. I pretend his arms are around me.

How could I have been with Peter for twenty years, but I didn't feel a quarter of this longing for him?

It was only for two nights. I need to get a grip.

It doesn't matter how much I tell myself to get over him. My obsession with him doesn't dim. I even take the cashmere wrap he left me in the hotel room to work almost every day. It's a beautiful natural color and goes with nearly everything, but I wear it because it makes me feel like he's with me. And I realize I'm probably losing my marbles. He's a stranger. Gone and never coming back. I wish I could appreciate what we had and move on. But he haunts me.

I try to keep myself busy. I go to yoga after work every day. I went out with the girls last weekend on both nights and volunteered at the children's hospital the rest of the time. A family came in who spoke Russian. I kept looking around, hoping he would magically appear.

For all I know, he lives in Russia. There is nothing I know about him, except he's dangerous. And I read the two letters he left me over and over, as if they will give me some hint as to who he is and where he could be.

No one knows I'm dying inside. I've not told my friends anything. They would tell me to hop on another stallion and ride him until Mr. Stranger Danger was out of my system. But I know no one could help me forget him. Any other man will only be a disappointment. I'm sure of it.

I stick my yoga mat in the closet, take a shower, and put on my pajamas. Thick snowflakes are falling, and the cold hits my warm skin when I stand by the window.

It's Thursday night. The neon bar sign across the street blinks, but two of the letters are burnt out. It's been that way for a year now, but they don't fix it. The street is empty of pedestrians, which isn't unusual since the neighborhood isn't the greatest.

This is my life.

I need to stop feeling sorry for myself.

The buzzer goes off and jolts me out of my thoughts. I don't know who would be coming over this late. It's after nine.

I press the button. "Hello."

"Aspen, let me up."

"Peter, what are you doing here?"

"It's freezing out here. Can you let me up?"

I sigh and release the lock. I put my robe on then open my front door and wait for him to arrive.

He opens the stairwell door, slightly out of breath. Snow covers his Chicago Cubs hat. His blue eyes peer at me, and my stomach clenches. I've always loved his eyes. They are what caught my attention when I was eighteen and crossing the street. His eyes have never changed, and every time he told me about a new business venture or something he wanted to do, they lit up with excitement. And I always fell for those eyes.

"They still haven't fixed the elevator?" he asks, and his blues turn to surprise.

"Nope."

"You should move down a few floors, then." He gives me his teasing smile I used to be so attracted to. Now I want to smack him.

I fold my arms across my chest. "What do you want, Peter?"

His face falls. "Can I come in? We need to talk."

"About what?"

"Do you want the neighbors to hear?"

He's right. And these walls are already thin.

I shake my head, open the door farther, walk to the couch, and sit down.

Peter plops down, practically on my lap.

"Do you mind?" I elbow him.

He moves an inch away then turns. "How've you been?"

My anger builds. I slowly repeat, "What do you want, Peter?"

He turns so his knee is on the couch, and his arm is on the back. "We made a mistake."

I gape at him. "We?" It comes out harsher than I expect.

His eyes widen.

Yep. I'm no longer your "yes girl."

He reaches for a strand of my hair and twirls it around his finger.

I smack his hand, and it yanks my hair. "Ow!"

He holds his hands up. "Sorry."

"What do you want, Peter?" I repeat, sterner this time.

He grabs my hand.

I'm too confused over what is going on and don't tear it away for a moment.

"I miss you."

I pull my hand back. "You miss me?"

"Yes."

"Why? Does your fiancée need a tummy tuck?"

His lips twitch.

"You think this is funny?"

He reaches for my cheek, but I duck away from it.

"Don't touch me."

"Aspen, I know you're angry. I made a huge mistake. Let's work through it. I don't want to throw twenty years away."

The ticking of my wall clock and pounding of my blood between my ears are the only things I hear. "We're divorced. You already threw it away."

"We don't have to be."

My insides quiver and heart races. "Excuse me?"

His face turns more serious. Regret fills it. At least, I think it's genuine, but that's the problem. Looking back, what was real about anything he told me during our marriage?

He slides his arm around me, and there is nowhere to go. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. Just give me another chance. I love you. I want to come home."

When I first learned he betrayed me, I would have given anything for him to tell me he loved me and still wanted me. But it's too late. I've seen what a relationship between two people should feel like. And while I wasn't in a relationship with Mr. Stranger Danger, at least he wanted me. Every touch and kiss ignited my soul. And his actions only involved my best interests. Everything he did showed me what I want from a man.

I'll probably never find anything like what was between us for those two days, but I'll be damned if I'm going back to someone who never put me first.

"Get out."

"Aspen—"

"Get out!" I scream, which is the first time I've ever raised my voice at Peter. Even when I found out he cheated, I was too busy crying to yell.

Peter's shocked look only increases the rage I feel.

I rise and point to the door. "This is my house. You're not welcome here anymore. Get out."

Peter rises and steps toward me. His frame towers over mine, and he grabs my arm and squeezes it hard. "Why are you acting like this? All couples go through things. This was ours. Let's move forward."

His grasp digs into my arm. "Let go. You're hurting me."

He doesn't release me. "Listen to me. I made a mistake. It's over. We need to move forward. I'm willing to leave her, move back in, and be your husband again."

I shake my arm but can't escape him. My insides shake. "Let go!"

He glances at my arm and pulls his hand back.

I go to the door and open it. "Get out. Don't come back. We're through."

He steps in front of me again so his body is touching mine. He softens his voice. It's what he always does whenever he wants something. I used to fall for it, but now it disgusts me. "Think about it. I know you still love me."

I don't respond, just blink back tears and turn my head toward the hallway.

I don't love him. And everything about his visit only slaps me in the face about how stupid I was to waste twenty years of my life on him—all of my twenties and most of my thirties. I'll never get those years back.

He kisses me on my forehead and leaves. I slam the door and lock it then turn out the lights and crawl into my bed.

I hate this bed. He used to sleep in it with me. But I don't have money to buy another one.

I toss and turn all night, sometimes crying. I mourn the years I'll never get back. I grieve that I didn't make Mr. Stranger Danger tell me his name and where he lived. I try to stop myself from falling into the pit of loneliness.

The next morning, I do the only thing that gives me some comfort. I fix myself up as nice as possible. I put on the tank top Mr. Stranger Danger gave me then put on the cashmere wrap he gave me. I ignore the bruises on my arm from Peter's grip.

It's never happened before. Peter's never laid a hand on me. I'm not sure why he squeezed my biceps so hard last night. But his fingers left marks.

I still don't know what to make of his visit, other than the assumption his new girlfriend or fiancée or whatever she is to him, isn't bringing home the bacon.

I put on an arctic-blue pencil skirt then shove my feet in my camel-colored knee-high boots. I stare at my bracelet for several minutes.

Pull it together. It's time to go to work.

I take the L-train since I can't afford a cab or even an Uber. By the time I get to work, I'm feeling normal again. I go through security, and when I get to my office, my boss knocks on the door.

"Hi," I say.

"Morning. Did you get the memo?"

"About...?"

He sighs then nervously runs his hand through his dirty-blond hair. He sits, and his face turns red, which makes his freckles pop out more.

"Fred, what's wrong?"

"The mayor sent a memo."

"And?"

"There's a zoning issue with a project in Oak Park."

"Did you tell him wrong department? We handle Oak Lawn." I smirk.

Fred's face falls further. "That's what the memo was about."

My pulse increases. "I'm not following."

"The mayor is combining the Oak Park and Oak Lawn territories. He's shredding us down to one team."

My gut flips. "I need my job."

Fred nods. "Yes. Me, too. The good news is we're the chosen ones."

I release a breath. "Good. I mean, sorry for everyone else, but..."

"We have a meeting in ten minutes. Some bigwig investors have a project in Oak Park, and they've been held up by a parcel of land Lorenzo Rossi owns. Well, owned before someone killed him."

A bad feeling fills me. "Rossi, as in the crime family?"

"Yes. Anyway, the lot reverted back to the city since Rossi didn't clean the land in time like he agreed to. So the bigwigs are coming in to buy it."

I tap my fingers on my desk. "What does this have to do with us? We aren't sales, either."

"No. But they signed five minutes ago, and there are zoning issues. The mayor said we need to figure it out."

I lean closer to Fred and lower my voice. "What do you mean, figure it out? What's wrong with it?"

Fred pulls at his hair. "Before Rossi died, he rezoned the land for industrial."

"What was it?"

"Residential and retail commercial."

"Why would he do that?"

"You're asking the wrong person. But the mayor said we need to do whatever it takes to figure this out, and quickly."

"That's not an easy fix."

"I know. And once we figure that out, these investors have several other projects the mayor said have priority."

"Why are they getting special treatment?"

Fred holds up his hands. "I'm the messenger. But does it matter?"

"No, I guess not."

"Okay. Well, ready to do double the work for no pay increase?"

I groan.

Fred forces a smile. "Carmen has all the files in the conference room. Ready to go undo some crazy mob crap?"

I rise. "Lead the way. Maybe it'll be exciting for once."

Fred grunts. "Don't count on it."

"Do I have time to grab a coffee at the cafe?"

"Yep. Can you get me a double espresso?"

"On it."

I rush downstairs, get a coffee and Fred's espresso, then go into the conference room. When I step inside the room, I freeze.

A man, at least eight inches taller than me, stands in an expensive suit talking to Fred. The material stretches over his body like a glove, as if it were custom made. He has wavy salt-and-pepper hair. The delicious scent of bergamot and cardamom flares in my nostrils. In a thick, Russian accent, he says, "How long is it going to take to rezone this parcel?"

"It needs to have board approval," Fred replies.

I must be going crazy.

It can't be him.

My loins tell me otherwise. It's his voice and scent.

"Ah, there she is. Let me introduce you to Aspen. She's the expert you want to talk to. Any loopholes to get this passed sooner, she'll find. Aspen, this is Maksim Ivanov."

Maksim spins, and the look in his eyes tells me I'm not crazy. It is him. And I recognize him. I saw him standing in the doorway at the pool in Vegas. And all the pieces of the outline I had in my mind get filled in. He could be the poster child of tall, dark, and handsome.

His eyes are the brightest blue I've ever seen, making Peter's seem dull in comparison. I knew they were light because he admitted it to me. But seeing them takes my breath away. Even though they are stunning, dominance and danger lurks in them. But his desire for me is also evident. He's not forgotten me, and I see it. His low-cut beard is barely there, as if he might shave it some days and might not on others.

I spill the coffees over both of us. The hot liquid soaks my wrap and skirt. It slides down his shirt and pants.

"Oh God," I whisper, shaking. "I'm sorry."

He recovers quickly. "It's okay. Let's get cleaned up in the bathroom. Show me where it is, please." He leads me out of the room, practically holding me up. My knees are weak. Every step I take seems like I'm climbing a mountain. And when he pulls me into the bathroom, he locks it, spins me so I'm against the door, and pushes his hands in my hair.

"Your name is Aspen?"

I try not to cry, but a tear escapes. I can only nod.

He wipes my tear with his thumb. "You live in Chicago?"

I barely manage to reply, "Yes."

He hesitates then says, "You know who I am?"

"Yes. And I've missed you."