by Gemma James
“I don’t fuck drunk chicks.”
“Don’t let anyone else fuck me either.”
“We don’t hang around with sleazes, so no worry there, babe.”
“Just checking.” The room seems too dim. I’m so tired. So fucking heartbroken. And limp from the booze. I lean my head on Garen’s shoulder. “It’s happened before.”
“What has?”
“Someone fucked me. I don’t even remember it.”
“That’s fucked up, Jules.”
“I know. Shouldn’t’ve done it.”
“No, I mean it’s fucked up he did that to you. That ain’t right.”
“Lots of things aren’t right.” I curl into his side, eyes closed, and he tightens his arm around me. “I’m in love with someone I can’t have.”
“That sucks. Been there myself.” He shifts, and I hear liquid sloshing, and him taking a long swig of his chosen poison.
“This is why I don’t drink. Can’t keep my big mouth shut.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“You’re a nice guy, Garen. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Not very often.”
“Why’s that?”
“I break too many hearts.”
“Maybe you should stop.”
“Or maybe you should get your player hands off my bestie,” Les says. I drag my eyes open and find her standing in front of us, arms crossed.
“Hey, bestie,” I say with a drunken smile.
“Good God, you’ve been drinking. Like seriously fucking drinking, Jules.” She pulls me up by the arm.
“So maybe I have,” I say, stumbling after her as she leads me away from the crowded living room. We enter the hall, and I lean against the wall for a moment, waiting for my surroundings to stop twirling around me.
Around and around we go.
That’s what Cash and I have been doing—dancing in a continuous circle of agony.
Lesley props me up. “Do you need to barf?”
“Uh-ummm.”
“Is that a no?”
“Hmm.”
“What the fuck were you drinking?”
“I had a…I think a few of those fruity drinks Zan was making. And some shots…I think…”
“If you can’t remember, then you’ve had too much.” A door squeaks open, and Lesley flips on the light. Through the haze of my twirly reality, I recognize her bedroom, which seems off to me.
Probably because my shit is no longer in it.
“What’s going on, Jules? This isn’t you.”
“You are so wrong,” I say, pointing a finger at her as I flop onto her bed. “I’ve got a bad habit, Les.”
With a sigh, she settles onto the mattress next to my hunched over form. “I wouldn’t go that far. You don’t drink very often.”
“That’s not what I mean. I have a bad habit of screwing around with married men.”
“Tell me you didn’t.”
“I kissed him.” I blink a few times until the outline of her form isn’t so blurry. “Or he kissed me. What the fuck does it matter who kissed who? We’re both so far gone.” I flop over and hug her pillow.
“You’re gonna get hurt,” she says, rubbing my shoulder.
“It’s too fucking late. I love him.”
“He’s married, Jules. Say he does leave his wife? I say once a cheater, always a cheater. He’ll turn around and do the same to you.”
“Things aren’t that black and white.” I glare my pent-up frustration in her direction. “And by that logic, you might as well say the same about me.”
“That’s not what I meant. I know you well enough to know that you’re not like that. You made a mistake, simple as that. One you’ll hopefully learn from.”
“So it’s okay for me to cheat, but not him? Double standard much, Les?” I’m drunk, cranky, and hurting, but I can’t seem to care about my shitty behavior right now.
“You’re right,” she says. “I don’t know him, or the circumstances. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“You’re a good friend. The best friend I’ve ever had.” I cuddle her pillow a little tighter, my lids growing heavy. “I’ll apologize tomorrow for being a bitch. Just let me sleep it off, ‘kay?”
The bed shifts, and her footsteps fade as she leaves the bedroom. She shuts off the light before closing the door, but the streetlamp outside the window offers enough illumination to chase away the pitch dark. Sleeping it off isn’t going to come as easily as I’d hoped. I fish my cell from my pocket, thankful I didn’t lose it during my string of drinks and drowning sorrows. Shuffling through my notifications, I frown.
A missed call from Chris. Big surprise there, since he’s been calling and texting for a couple of weeks now.
He misses me. He wants me to come home. He’s sorry. He forgives me. Blah, blah, blah.
I pull up my contacts, and my thumb hovers over Cash’s name.
Don’t do it, Jules.
Closing my eyes, I relive the moment his lips touched mine for the first time. The way his fingers twisted in my hair. The way he pulled me close—so close that I felt every hard plane of his body against me.
His abs under my palms, his mouth on my throat, his hard cock nudging me through his jeans. Holy hell, do I love that man in jeans. There is nothing sexier than Cash Montgomery in jeans and a T-shirt.
For a long while I stare at my cell, trying to reconcile what I should do with what I want to do. What I want is him, and I’ll take him any way I can get him, even if it’s only through a text message during a weak moment I can’t help but steal.
Me: Are you alone?
He answers almost immediately.
Cash: Yes. Are you?
Me: Alone and drunk.
Cash. Jesus. Where are you?
Me: At my friend’s house.
Cash: Is the guy with the tattoos there?
Me: He lives here.
Cash: The thought of him touching you is making me insane. Please tell me you’re not doing anything stupid.
Me: Stupid, like finding someone who can actually be with me?
Minutes pass, and I bite my lip as I wait for him to answer. I’m a nervous wreck, wondering what he’s thinking.
Me: Please talk to me.
Cash: I’m here, Jules. I just don’t know what to say.
Me: Just tell me the truth, no matter how much it might hurt.
Cash: The truth is I don’t want you with anyone else. But that’s not fair to you, so if you’re into this guy, and he’s treating you right, then I’ll deal with it.
Me: What if I want to be yours?
God, I have no filter right now.
Cash: We both know that’s not possible.
Tears sting my eyes, and there’s no chance of holding them back now—not with the crushing weight of his words on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Blinking the sorrow down my cheeks, I reply to his text, and a teardrop lands on the screen.
Me: Because you love her?
Cash: No, because divorcing her involves more than just the two of us.
Wiping my eyes, I glare at his message.
Me: I don’t understand. That makes no fucking sense, Cash.
Cash: I told you it’s complicated.
Me: Then fucking uncomplicate it.
Cash: I’m not sure I can.
Because I’m just a girl he’s hot for, and nothing more. All this time I thought he felt the same way, but if he isn’t willing to fight for us, then I must have been wrong. The realization winds around my throat, squeezing a sob free.
Me: You shouldn’t have kissed me.
Cash: I know, Jules. And I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am that I put you in this position. I never wanted to hurt you.
Me: It’s too fucking late for that.
I power off my cell and let my despair bathe Lesley’s pillow. Our texts haunt me for what seems like hours, making sleep an elusive bitch. He’s not just the man I’m in love with—he’s also my boss. The
man I’ll have to face at work on Monday morning. Somehow, I have to make this right. At the very least, we need to go back to the way things were, back when we kept an appropriate amount of distance between us.
The kind of distance that doesn’t involve spending time outside of work. The kind that doesn’t involve kissing or late-night phone calls that end with me crying out his name as I come.
Fingering my silent phone, I consider texting him again to tell him I’m sorry, too. That I don’t blame him, despite how much he’s hurt me. Because we’re both to blame for this mess, and for both our sakes, we have to find a way out of it, through it, around it.
Clearly, texting isn’t going to help—if anything, it’s only gotten us into more trouble. But I can’t imagine having this conversation at work either. Hoping to set things right with him tomorrow at the market, face to face, I eventually fall asleep.
But the following morning, he never shows.
24. Lose Control
Cash
I’m turning into a bitter man. I hate everything.
The sight of Monica. The sight of Jules. Fuck, the sight of myself in the mirror. I’ve made such a fucking mess of my life. Jules has barely said two words outside of what is necessary to do her job, and I can tell how torn up she is over us too.
All week, I’ve been preoccupied with the single most important question she asked.
Why don’t I just leave my wife.
Sounds simple. At this point, with the way our marriage has deteriorated into nothing—no, less than nothing—drawing up divorce papers should be a no-brainer. By the time Saturday rolls around, I’m giving it serious thought. In fact, I’ve even written a pro and con list. The con portion is a bit longer.
There’s the publicity nightmare a divorce will cause the company.
The fallout with our families.
And the fact that I’ll be divorced at thirty.
Not to mention the inevitable tug-of-war in the courtroom, because no way will Monica allow me to walk away without taking a chunk of my soul first. Not unless the private investigator I hired finds evidence of her affair to use as a counter-attack.
The pro part of this list is short and simple, and perhaps the most important of all.
I’m in love with Jules.
The day matches my mood—cloudy with the threat of a storm. The sun wants to peek through the cover, but more clouds keep rolling in. As I approach Pike Place, I let out a shaky breath. Today is the day I’m going to put everything out there, all the fucked-up cards laid out bare on the table. If she loves me, which I think she does, then I need to know for sure. She’s already got my heart, and I need to know I have hers as well before I rip apart my world.
Two hours later, after a lot of thinking and loitering in every corner of the market, it’s clear Jules isn’t going to show up today. As I step onto the sidewalk, rain falls in a steady shower, chilly drops hitting my warm skin. I head in the direction of her apartment, consequences be damned. And yes, I do know where she lives. I know she likes her tea with cream and enough sugar to bring on a cavity. I know she’s subtle in style, favoring blacks and whites and grays with splashes of color that draw attention. She dresses modestly but manages to radiate the sexiest vibes ever.
I’m positive she has no idea how she attracts the eyes of men.
Mine haven’t strayed from her since I met her.
Soaked by the time I reach her building, I climb the stairs two at a time. Not because of the rain dousing me from head to toe, but I’m that desperate to see her. I rap on her door with too much fervor, my emotions rushing through my veins. Footsteps sound seconds before she pulls the door open. Jesus, she looks like she just fell out of bed. Her blond locks riot around her face in sexy disarray, and I can’t decide if I want to tangle my fingers in them, or tug on them.
“You weren’t at the market.” The words come out harsher than I mean them to, with the knife’s edge of accusation.
Never one to back down, let alone take my shit, Jules launches my frustration right back at me in the fire of her gaze. “You weren’t there last week, so I guess we’re even.”
“Are we keeping score now?” Unable to help myself, I take a step forward until she opens the door wider. “Let me in, Jules.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
Letting out a sigh, I eye the vestibule for bystanders, but no one’s out here right now. It’s just Jules and me and this unstoppable attraction between us. Unbearable and festering—it’s only growing stronger everyday.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say, brushing my fingers across her cheek. “You’ve barely looked at me all week, and it’s killing me.” Her skin is incredibly soft, making me wonder what it would be like to touch the rest of her. “If you don’t want to work for me, I understand. I’ll transfer you to any department you want.”
“You’re firing me?” Her voice quivers, but her tone is all fire and brimstone, as if what I said hurt and pissed her off in one bullseye.
“Of course I’m not firing you. I’m giving you the option to walk away now, while you still have the chance.”
“And if I don’t?”
My thumb has a mind of its own, because I sure as hell didn’t give it permission to brush over the corner of her mouth. She closes her eyes, lips parting as a sigh escapes. And her perky tits, Jesus, they’re rising and falling fast in the tank top she’s wearing. Her nipples form two tempting points, just begging to be fondled in their braless state.
And I can’t fucking take it anymore. Grabbing her by the nape, I bring our bodies together, and there’s no mistaking the hard length of my cock as it strains toward her through my gym shorts. “I think you know what happens next.”
“We should be stronger than this, Cash.” The desire she tries so hard to mask dances across her face. “Say we do this…what happens tomorrow?”
Shit. Now her eyes are filling with tears. I’ll be a goner if she cries.
“We’ll figure it out together.”
“What if that’s not enough?”
“We can keep going on like this, but eventually we’ll stumble, because every day you walk into my office is another day I come close to fucking you on my desk.” I lower my head, my mouth lingering inches from hers. “And I think you’d let me. I think you’re losing the battle as much as I am, so if you want to stop this—”
“Cash,” she interrupts with a jittery sigh as she grabs hold of my arm. At first, I think she’s going to push me away, but she doesn’t. Her tiny fingers wrap around my bicep, and my dick twitches, causing my thoughts to scatter.
“Let me in. Please, Jules.” Into her home, into her body, into her heart and soul. I’d sell mine to own hers. To love her.
Because I already do, and it’s raging through my blood, invincible. Right or wrong, this woman has had me by the heart from the moment I first locked eyes with her.
A furrow plays between her brows, indicating the war waging inside her mind. We stand like this for what seems like forever before she gives a small tug on my bicep. And that tiny concession on her part is all it takes to bring me into her apartment. I have her in my arms before the door shuts all the way, one hand tangled in her hair as our mouths crash together. We don’t make it far. Backing her up against the wall, I dart my tongue into her eager mouth, and the taste of her annihilates me. I’m famished for her, drowning in the ocean that is Jules.
She grips the front of my rain-soaked shirt, knuckles pressing against the irregular beat of my heart, and moans against my lips. The voice in my head that’s steered me in the right direction all my life begs me to stop this before we take it too far.
I drag my lips from hers. “Tell me to go. Please.”
“I can’t.” Her voice cracks, and it fissures my last-ditch effort to not let this happen.
It’s going to happen.
It’s been happening all along.
I grab her ass and hoist her i
nto my arms. She wraps her legs around me, fingers threading through my hair as she tugs my mouth back to hers.
And I’m convinced I’ll die if I don’t get inside her.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I say, nibbling on her lower lip.
“That way.” A tilt of her head sends me toward the point of no return, to a room with a bed and the promise of Jules underneath me with no barriers. We stumble in, and the doorknob slams against the wall. The rain clouds have parted, allowing warm rays of the sun to sneak in through her gauzy curtains. Soft light splashes onto her bed. I lay her down right in its path, her golden locks splaying over the white bedspread.
“You are so fucking gorgeous.”
“You make me feel gorgeous.”
I yank my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor before reaching for the hem of her top. “You have no idea how tempting you are.”
“I think I might.” She pushes shaking fingers though my hair, and I slide the material up her belly, thumbs grazing a path along her skin. A scent reminiscent of vanilla and honey fills my senses, and for several seconds, I breathe her in, watching the heaving motion of her chest.
“We can’t come back from this, Jules.”
“I know.”
This moment is a crossroad, and I already know I’m going to take the wrong turn. But fucking hell, nothing else has ever felt so right. As I push up her tank top and expose her perky tits, the brown depths of her eyes pull me under. I drown in the endless sea of trust I find there. No one’s ever looked at me like that.
Like I’m the sole owner of something too precious to put into words.
The feeling is powerful and precarious all in one, and my fingers tremble as I stand back to remove the rest of my clothing. Jules parts her lips at the sight of my cock jutting out toward her. Leaning down, I work the tank top over her head then tug the waistband of her shorts down her smooth thighs, dropping kisses on every inch I uncover before pulling them free of her ankles.
“You’re perfect.” I’m overwhelmed by the sight of her laid out before me. The triangle of her pink panties draws me in, and I nudge my nose against the core of her sex. Breathe in the essence of this girl I can’t get enough of.
There’s something about pink panties that screams Jules.