They were casually strolling, his arm curling her upper body to his, her arm wrapped around his stomach. She had her head tipped back and his head was bent. Calvin could see a grin on Bennett’s lips even as their mouths were touching.
They were kissing for all the f**king world to see.
And Calvin knew that James Bennett was f**king Belle.
The bastard was f**king his wife.
His eyes dropped to the caption and Calvin read it for the twentieth time, James and Belle, still loved up in St. Ives.
“That f**king bitch,” Calvin snapped and threw the paper on the table.
His new wife walked in and he looked at her.
She was blonde, it was a brassier blond than Belle’s but it would do. She was also thinner than Belle which irked him. And she had faded blue eyes, not at all the arresting grey of his first wife’s.
She didn’t dress as well as Belle either.
Nowhere near as well.
She put a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast in front of him.
“I hope that’s okay,” she said quietly, like a f**king mouse, placing her own plate on her mat and sitting beside him.
Calvin didn’t answer. His mind was occupied with that picture, burnt on his brain. Like the one of them f**king kissing in Bennett’s f**king Jag, of all f**king cars. Calvin had always wanted to own a Jag but never had the money. Or the one where Bennett was holding Belle’s face and f**king kissing Belle’s forehead.
Angrily, he forked up some scrambled eggs and put them in his mouth.
He nearly spat them out.
His eyes moved to his wife as he chewed and swallowed.
“There’s no garlic in these,” he said with soft menace and watched her shoulders curl toward to her ears.
He f**king hated it when she did that.
“Yesterday, you told me you wanted pancakes, Calvin. I made sure we had what we needed for pancakes. You changed your mind this morning and we didn’t have garlic,” she whispered.
“Did you at least put cheese in the goddamn eggs?” he went on and she swallowed.
“We only had parmesan but it was fresh parmesan,” she whispered again and his hand flashed out, quick as lightning, the backs of his knuckles striking with perfect, practiced aim on her cheekbone.
She cried out and put her hand to her cheek as he leaned threateningly toward her.
“Go to the f**king store and get some f**king fresh garlic and some f**king cheddar cheese and make the f**king eggs properly,” he clipped and then picked up his plate and threw it across the room where it, and all the food on it, exploded against the wall.
She got up, mumbling, “I’ll be right back.”
She tried to escape but he caught her hand and snapped, “Belle made my eggs perfectly. I didn’t even know good eggs until Belle f**king made them.”
His wife had heard this before.
Often.
Especially in the last several months when Calvin’s precious Belle had become The Tiny Dynamo.
He threw her hand away from him and she ran from the room.
Calvin picked up the paper and opened it to the picture of Belle and Bennett.
And he sat and waited for his eggs.
* * * * *
Belle
Belle woke in the warm curve of Jack’s body.
He was in her bed with her in her cottage.
Other than the fact that she missed the dogs, she liked this.
She liked it a lot.
Maybe she could lure Jack to her cottage for dinner again.
Maybe that night.
She lay there waiting for him to wake and when he didn’t she carefully slid out from under his arm and went to her dresser. She put on a pair of undies and slid on a pair of black yoga pants and a white, shelf-bra camisole.
She went to her linen closet and grabbed her extra supplies. Belle always worried about running out of anything just in case of freak blizzards and the like. Not that this had ever happened, but it could. So she always kept extra stocks of everything.
She got two new toothbrushes, her extra cleanser and moisturiser and a new box of toothpaste.
Then she went to the bathroom, did her morning business, pulling her hair away from her face with a wide, black band.
Then she went to the kitchen.
As she normally did for the last however many months, Belle walked to the kitchen window situated at the front of the house and saw the photographers.
When she did, she sighed.
Then she turned to the coffeepot.
Carol, what she told Belle yesterday was “forward-thinking”, had also purchased eggs, bacon, cheese and bread. “And other bits and bobs”, Carol said.
Belle got to work, making the coffee, setting the table, mincing the garlic, grating the cheese, slicing the bread and was whisking the eggs when Jack walked in. He was barefoot, wearing only his trousers, his glorious chest on display, his hair tousled in a way that was too sexy for words.
She went into an instant trance at the sight of Jack looking like that while walking into her kitchen. She decided somewhere in the back of her mind that was still functioning that he definitely should be locked up for the betterment of womankind.
And Belle’s druthers would be that he was locked up in her cottage.
She was so in a trance, she barely moved when he hooked her with his arm around her waist, hauling her to his body and his mouth crushed down on hers in a kiss so mind-boggling, it was a wonder her trance didn’t turn into a coma.
When his head came up, he demanded, “Fucking wake me before you get out of bed.”
He sounded not loving morning fresh but irritated.
“What?” she breathed, still not over his kiss.
“Wake me before you get out of bed,” he repeated.
“But,” she whispered idiotically, “that’s rude.”
His face got close. “It isn’t rude if I ask you to do it.”
“But,” she went on, still idiotically, “what if you need your sleep?”
His other arm circled her. “After last night, Belle, I need my sleep. I still want you to wake me up.”
“Why?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter why,” he returned and his hand came up, tangling in her hair then he went on to command. “Just wake me, kiss me, tell me good f**king morning and then you can get out of bed.”
“Oh… kay,” she replied hesitantly but not happily.
Most of his demands were bossy, definitely, but also somehow sweet.
This one was just weird and very concerning.
She dropped her eyes to his shoulder and felt her stomach clench.
His hand tugged gently at her hair, her gaze went back to his and she saw his face had gone soft.
“I’ll get used to it, having you,” he explained and his voice had gone soft too. “Right now, I’m not used to it.”