Seducing my Ex-husband back (Claire) novel Chapter 13

Chapter 13

UNRAVELING

-CLAIRE’S POV~

I can’t breathe.

Richard Blackwood is standing there, water droplets still clinging to his hands like tiny diamonds, and I can’t breathe.

It’s been two years since I’ve seen him this close, and my body remembers everything. The way he fills a room.

The way his presence makes my chest tight.

The way he looks at him feels like drowning and coming up for air at the same time.

“Claire.”

Just my name.

That’s all he says, but it hits me like a physical blow because his voice is exactly the same. Rich and deep and full of promises I know he’ll never keep again.

I press my back harder against the door, wishing I could disappear into the wood grain.

“You look…” He steps closer, and I catch that familiar scent–cedar and something distinctly his. “God, Claire. You look incredible.”

I want to laugh, but I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll either sob or scream. Maybe both.

“Don’t.” The word comes out barely above a whisper. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Don’t talk to me like we’re… like we’re anything to each other anymore.”

But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. We’ll always be something to each other. You don’t just stop loving someone because they destroy you.

The heart doesn’t work that way, no matter how much you wish it did.

“Are you hiding?” he asks, and there’s something almost gentle in his voice that makes my chest ache.

“I’m not hiding.” I lift my chin, trying to summon the strong woman I’ve spent two years becoming. “I needed air.”

“From your engagement party.”

It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. He moves closer, and I should tell him to stop. Should remind him that I’m wearing another man’s ring, that he’s married to the woman who used to be my best friend.

Instead, I watch him approach like I’m under some kind of spell.

“Let me see it,” he says softly.

“What?”

“The ring. Let me see what he chose for you.”

I shouldn’t.

Every reasonable part of my brain is screaming at me not to let him touch me. But when he reaches for my hand, I don’t pull

away.

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Chapter 13

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His thumb traces over the sapphire with devastating gentleness, and I’m seventeen again, letting him hold my hand in his car after our first date.

I’m twenty–two, saying yes when he proposed with tears in his eyes. I’m twenty–five, sliding my wedding ring off my finger with shaking hands before I leave him forever.

“Are you happy?” The question comes out rough, like it’s been scraped against broken glass.

The answer should be easy.

I should be able to say yes without hesitation. Alexander is everything a woman could want–successful, handsome, devoted.

He loves me with an intensity that should take my breath away.

But Richard’s thumb is still moving against my skin, and I can’t think straight.

“Why do you care?” I counter, because I’m a coward who can’t answer simple questions when they’re complicated.

“Why do you think I care?”

“I don’t know.” My voice breaks on the words.

“I don’t know anything anymore. Two years ago, I thought I knew everything about you, about us, about what we meant to each other. And then I came home and found you with Monica in our bed, and I realized I didn’t know anything at all.”

Something flickers across his face, pain, maybe, or regret–but it’s gone too quickly for me to be sure.

“Claire…..”

“Are you happy?” I throw his question back at him.

“Is she everything you thought she’d be? Is your marriage everything you dreamed of when you were fucking her behind my back?”

The words taste bitter on my tongue, but I need to say them. Need to remind myself why I hate him.

Except I don’t hate him. That’s the problem.

I should hate him. I’ve tried to hate him. But standing here, looking into those blue eyes that once promised me forever, all I feel is the crushing weight of everything we lost.

“I need a drink,” he says instead of answering.

“Of course you do.”

He moves to a small bar cart in the corner, and I watch the familiar line of his shoulders, the way his shirt stretches across his back.

“You still drink vodka?”

The casual question hits me harder than his presence, harder than his touch.

Because it means he remembers. After everything, after choosing Monica, after destroying our marriage, he still remembers how I take my drinks.

“You remember,” I whisper.

“I remember everything about you.” He doesn’t turn around, but his voice is thick with something I don’t want to identify.

“The way you used to steal my hoodies and wear them around the house. How you’d leave little notes in my briefcase when I had important meetings. The face you make when you’re trying not to cry.”

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Chapter 13

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“Stop.” Tears burn behind my eyes. “Please stop.”

“You want to know why?” He turns around, holding two glasses. “Come here, and I’ll tell you.”

I should stay where I am. Should keep the distance between us. But my feet move without permission, carrying me across the room until I’m standing close enough to touch him.

He holds out a glass, but when I reach for it, he doesn’t let go. Our fingers brush, and electricity shoots up my arm like I’ve been struck by lightning.

“Thank you,” I manage.

“What are you doing, Claire?” His voice is strained, like he’s fighting something.

“Having a conversation.”

“This isn’t just conversation, and we both know it.”

He’s right. This is dangerous territory, and I’m walking through it with my eyes wide open.

“Then what is it?” I ask, even though I’m terrified of the answer.

Before I can blink, he moves. One second I’m standing in front of him, the next my back is against the wall with his hands braced on either side of my head.

“This is you trying to prove something,” he says, his face inches from mine. “This is you trying to convince yourself that you’ve moved on when we both know you haven’t.”

“That’s not….”

“You haven’t changed, Claire. Not really. Underneath all that polish, all that success, all that armor you’ve built around yourself -you’re still the same woman who loved me enough to forgive anything.”

His words cut deep because they’re true. I am still that woman. Still, the girl who fell for him when I was nineteen and never fully got back up.

“Alexander might have put that ring on your finger,” he continues, his voice low and dangerous, “but you’re still mine. You’ll always be mine.”

The possessive words should make me angry. Should make me push him away and remind him that he gave up any claim to me the day he chose Monica.

Instead, they make me melt.

Because some broken part of me still wants to be his, even after everything.

His hand moves to my thigh, fingers tracing the slit in my dress with agonizing slowness. The touch is barely there, but it sets

me on fire.

“You should stop me,” he whispers against my ear.

He’s right. I should. I should push him away and walk out of this room and never look back.

But I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but stand there and let him destroy me all over again.

“Richard,” I breathe his name like a prayer.

“Richard? Are you in there?”

Monica’s voice shatters the moment like glass hitting concrete. I jerk away from Richard, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure it’s going to burst.

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Chapter 13

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Richard straightens slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as he fixes his shirt. That familiar smirk curves his lips–the one that used to make me weak in the knees.

“Coming, darling,” he calls out.

He moves to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob to look back at me one last time.

“This conversation isn’t over, Claire.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my shattered breathing and the terrible knowledge that I’m not nearly as over him as I thought I was.

Not even close.

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