by Gemma James
“I’m looking for my wife, Monica Montgomery. She was brought in about an hour ago.”
Her fingers work over the keyboard. “She’s in room 209,” she says, directing me down the hall. I thank her before taking off in long strides, all but running down the corridor. But the closer I reach my wife’s room, the more I find myself holding my breath, unsure of what to expect.
A commotion sounds from the end of the hall, and I slow my steps, breath whooshing out of me before coming to a stop in the doorway of Monica’s room.
“Let me go!” she screams at the nurse, thrashing against the straps keeping her restrained to the bed. Detective Riley and his partner are already in the room. He steps forward, edging in at the nurse’s side.
“Mrs. Montgomery, your cooperation will make this a lot easier.”
“Stand out of the way,” the nurse admonishes Riley. “I’m trying to take care of my patient here.” She reaches for a syringe and administers a drug into Monica’s IV. Willing my heart rate to slow, I blink several times as Monica drifts off to sleep. Part of me thought she wouldn’t be in that bed.
I’d hoped the detective was wrong, and I’d come to the hospital and find out my wife didn’t actually try to kill herself.
But there she is, eyes shuttered and long, dark lashes sweeping over porcelain skin. A monotone voice comes through the speakers in a page for Dr. something-or-other. I don’t catch the name.
Because I’m frozen, sickened beyond belief, gaze glued to my wife’s body. Funny, how she seems so insignificant, so frail, so…not Monica.
Footsteps pad behind me, carrying someone down the spotless hallway. “You must be the husband?” a doctor asks.
I turn to face him. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Physically, yes. The man who found her got her help in time, and we were able to pump her stomach.”
“But?” I know there’s more—his hedging tone implies it.
“It’s too early to speak of her emotional state. She’ll need all the support she can get.” As his words sink in, I’m finding it hard to breathe again. She really tried killing herself.
And I can’t process it. Everything around me is in a metaphorical spin, and I’m powerless to stop it. I have so many questions, and zero fucking answers until Monica wakes up and talks to me. Assuming she will talk to me.
“She’ll be out for a while, but you’re welcome to go in,” the doctor says, gesturing toward the sleeping form of my wife. “Just keep the visits short. She’s allowed two visitors at a time. Immediate family only.”
With a nod, I take in a deep breath and let it out before stepping inside her room. Her raven hair is a stark contrast against the white pillow, making her seem so damn pale. The doctor reads over Monica’s chart, and the nurse finishes taking vitals before both of them leave the room. I settle into the chair at Monica’s bedside, swallowing the lump of sorrow and guilt collecting in my throat.
“Is my wife under arrest?” I ask the detectives standing on the other side of her bed.
“She hasn’t been charged yet, but we need to interview her.”
I’ve known her since we were kids, and regardless of what the evidence or circumstances might say, I know she isn’t a cold-blooded killer, though I don’t bother wasting my breath telling Riley and his partner that.
“We’ll come back later after she’s awake,” he says. “In the meantime, we’re posting an officer outside the room.”
“You just said she’s not being charged.”
“No, but she is a suspect.” Riley gives me a sympathetic nod on his way out, which surprises me. The stillness in the wake of their exit is unsettling. I study Monica as if watching her will give me a clue that will explain it all. Her lids suddenly flutter open, revealing sedated eyes that widen a little at the sight of me.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Cash…” Her voice fades as lines of distress slash across her face. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
Sorry for killing someone?
Sorry for lying to me for months?
Sorry for not loving me enough?
Considering her current state of mind, all the questions hurtling through my mind don’t matter right now. I cover her restrained hand with my own. “Just rest. We’ll figure it out.”
She parts her lips, as if to say more, then the medicine in her veins pulls her under again. I let out a long breath, heartbeat keeping a steady pace to the rhythmic beeping of her vitals. I sit at her side for a while longer before stepping into the hall to put in a call to Blackwell. I’m just ending the call with the attorney when Monica’s parents arrive, along with my father.
“We got here as soon as we could,” Roni says. “How is she?”
“She’s sedated, but the doctor said she’ll be okay.”
Roni blinks, fighting tears. “So it’s true. My daughter tried hurting herself.”
The atmosphere in the hallway is grim, and I feel it settle over me like a wet blanket. It’s stifling and inescapable, especially with the officer posted outside Monica’s room.
Ned takes in the cop with narrowed eyes. “Have they arrested her?”
I shake my head. “No, but it’s only a matter of time. I’ve already been in touch with Blackwell on her behalf.”
“Good,” he says, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Is this uniform going to keep me from seeing my daughter?”
“You can go in. The doctor said two at a time, and to keep the visits short.”
Ned settles his hand on his wife’s back and ushers her into Monica’s room. After they settle at her bedside, my father gestures for me to follow him into the family waiting room. As soon as the door shuts behind us, enclosing us in privacy, he clears his throat.
“The media have already caught wind of this. Blackwell’s office is pressing the Seattle PD for info so we can prepare our next move, but the sooner we schedule another press conference, the better.”
His words hold the power to choke, and I grab at my tie. More press conferences, more expectations. My wife just tried to kill herself, but that’s all my father can think about.
“Can’t all of this wait? Monica’s in a goddamn hospital bed right now,” I point out, barely keeping a lid on my anger.
“Yes, and she’s also facing a murder charge. I don’t know what the hell your wife got herself into, but as CEO of MontBlake, it’s your job to consider all angles. It’s your job to protect the company, Cash. We need to get ahead of this.”
“Ahead of what?” I begin to pace, too upset to stand still. “The truth is the truth. There’s no way we’ll be able to spin this. Every aspect of our lives, professional and otherwise, will become public knowledge.” As soon as the words tumble from my mouth, I realize they have a hidden meaning. I halt and stare at my dad. “And maybe it’s for the best, because I’m done living this lie.”
Going by the dark shadow crossing his face, he knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“It’s imperative, now more than ever, that you stay the course.” He grits his teeth, and I know we aren’t only talking PR strategies here. “Shareholders need to see a united front while we navigate the situation. A divorce right now, on top of the mess Monica got herself in, would be a disaster.”
“Our marriage is a sham!” Raking my fingers through my hair, I temper my tone. “If you expect me to pretend everything’s okay, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Stock is plummeting as we speak.” My father ducks his head, lowering his voice as if he might be overheard despite the relative privacy of the room. “I expect you to do whatever’s necessary to put MontBlake first.”
Several seconds of tense silence slip by. “What about what I want? Does that even matter to you?”
“You’re my son. Of course your happiness matters to me. But you have obligations, Cash.” He thrusts a hand in the direction of Monica’s hospital room. “And one of those obligations needs her husband—not a man who’d rather stick his dick in anoth
er woman while she faces the firing squad alone. I don’t care what issues the two of you are dealing with. She’s still your wife and the chairperson of this company, so you need to fix this now!”
“How do you suggest I do that?” We’re a few octaves away from screaming at each other.
“Stop thinking with the appendage in your pants, for one. The last thing we need is another person in your marriage.”
“You’re right,” I snap. “We already have too many people in our marriage as it is.”
And that’s why it was doomed to fail from the beginning.
The cinch around my throat tightens, and if I don’t get out of here for a while, I might lose it. “I need some air,” I mutter, stalking out of the room. He calls after me, but I ignore him as I bolt down the hall toward the exit.
16. Conquest
Jules
I navigate work in a nervous, exhausted daze, almost as if I’m back in my apartment the morning after he left to tell his wife he wanted a divorce. I can’t concentrate worth shit. Fear twists my insides, and the oatmeal I ate for breakfast threatens to come back up. I can only imagine what a loved one’s attempted suicide can do to someone, how it can mess with a person’s head, causing them to take stock of their life.
What if he realizes he’s still in love with her?
The more time that passes, the more I’m consumed with negative thoughts. What if he chooses to stay because of what she’s going through? If I know one thing about Cash, it’s that he’s an honorable man, despite the fact that we haven’t been able to keep our hands off of each other.
By the time the lunch hour arrives, the atmosphere at Mont Center is downright morose. The news of Monica’s attempted suicide and subsequent hospitalization hit the media after Cash left the building. To escape the melancholy, I decide to spend my lunch hour down the street at the deli I frequent during the workweek. I’ve just settled in, prepared to spend the hour working to keep my mind off of Cash and what Monica’s return might mean for us, when my phone dings with a text message.
Cash: Can you meet me at your place?
I raise a brow at that, and awareness tingles down my spine. The illogical sensation that everyone in the cafe knows exactly what’s going on between my boss and me prickles the back of my neck. I peruse the tables nearby in search of accusatory gazes.
Of course, there are none. I’m not even on the radar of these people. I’m just another face in a crowd of cardboard cups, open laptops, and soups and sandwiches.
And I’m guilty and without shame for wanting to go home in the middle of a workday and get Cash naked in my bed, circumstances be damned.
Me: You want me to meet you there now?
Cash: Yes, I’m already here.
The sharp fear in my gut takes another slow turn, jabbing deeper. This seems…urgent.
Me: Is something wrong? Is your wife going to be okay?
Cash: She’s okay. I just need to see you.
I gather my stuff and text him that I’m on my way as I leave the cafe. But I can’t help but wonder why he needs to see me now. I’m relieved Monica Montgomery is going to be okay, but I’m also terrified that for whatever reason, Cash changed his mind and can’t bring himself to leave her. The woman is in the hospital after trying to kill herself, and all I can think about is how it will affect my relationship with Cash.
Yeah, I’m definitely going to hell.
My pulse reaches an anxious speed before I’ve made it a full block down the road. The weather is on the chillier side today, since the city is under the cover of clouds, but my skin is flushed, my palms sweaty. Equal amounts of excitement and apprehension rush through my veins. Ten short minutes later, I reach my building, and I don’t know whether to beg him not to go back to her, or jump him right there in the alley.
The instant our eyes meet, heat flares between my legs. He’s incredibly sexy in his charcoal suit, hair mussed from the autumn breeze, eyes gleaming like polished pewter as he takes me in from the blond waves falling down my back to the sandaled heels on my feet. There’s no disguising the desire in his expression.
“Come here,” he says, reaching out a hand.
I slip my hand into his, and he’s as urgent as I am, lacing our fingers together and ushering me up the stairs. I barely have my door unlocked before his mouth descends, tongue subduing mine in a play for power. He groans into my mouth as we stumble inside, nothing but a tangle of lips, limbs, and lust.
The door slams shut, enclosing us in coveted privacy, and Cash pushes me against the wall, pinning my hands above my head. The bulge in his pants grinds into my belly.
“God help me, but I need you right now.”
I release a shaky breath. He studies my face, no doubt searching the lines of uncertainty I’m sure are there, because I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I was scared.”
A furrow creases his brows. “Of what?”
“Almost losing her like that…I thought you’d change your mind and go back to her.”
The confused lines of his face smooth out. “That’s not even a remote possibility.” He wedges a thigh between my legs. “And neither is another interruption. Nothing and no one is getting between us again.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because my phone is shut off, and your door is locked,” he says, reaching over to turn the deadbolt. “And because I cleared the rest of the schedule and told Beth I won’t be back today.”
“What about your wife? Aren’t you needed at the hospital?”
“Doctor has her on sedatives,” he whispers between open-mouthed kisses down my neck. “We have all the time in the world, Jules. I’m not leaving here until we’re both satisfied.”
He hauls me into his arms, and the long stride of his legs propel us toward my bedroom. My heartbeat takes off in a gallop. He drops me onto the mattress and reaches for his tie. I sit up and remove my top. My breath quickens as he takes off his shirt. The room is quiet, save for the soughing of breaths and the flutter of clothing hitting the floor.
I lie back on the mattress, aroused and naked, and watch, entranced, as he pulls his zipper down and exposes his erection. He removes a foil packet from his wallet before kicking off his slacks, and I spread my trembling legs, more desperate for him than I’ve ever been as he rolls on the condom.
There’s no foreplay.
Cash takes me in pure conquest, his muscular body pinning me to the bed as he thrusts into me.
We both gasp, lips an inch apart.
His girth is massive, stretching me to my limit and making me achingly full, from my heart to my pussy. Everything inside me is overflowing. There’s nothing slow or gentle or even calculated in the way he moves.
He’s driven by pure animal instinct as he fucks me. I respond in kind, arching up to meet the forceful plunders of his cock as I rake my fingernails down the rippling muscles in his back. A cry blasts off my lips with each jabbing thrust of his shaft.
“Feels so good,” I whimper.
“Fucking incredible,” he huffs against my lips. “God, I love you.”
It’s not the first time he’s said he loves me, but something about the way he says it now hits me square in the chest. I’m overcome by blinding emotion, and frantic to get closer, to crawl inside his skin and become one with him. He sends me spiraling out of control, shooting pure lust to every nerve ending in my body, making me tremble with the need for more.
“I want on top,” I say, planting my palms against his chest. He rolls us, and I mount him, my body arching, the hardened peaks of my breasts rising as my hips take on the motion of riding the man underneath me.
“Jesus, Jules. The things I want to do to you.”
“What’s stopping you?” Inch by huge inch, I take his cock again and again until he’s groaning with each slide of my pussy.
“Don’t want to scare you away.” He grabs me by the hips, guiding the pace, forcing hims
elf deeper.
“I can’t be scared away. I love how dominant you are in bed.”
The way he looks at me is a bolt to the heart, reminding me of the first moment I laid eyes on him. That connection with him steals my breath. I hasten the pace, taking his cock faster and deeper, driven by the tightness in my groin and the liquid heat pooling around his shaft.
Slamming my palms against his chest, I curl my fingers, nails biting into his skin. “I’m so close.”
He tightens his grip on my waist and jerks up to meet me, burying himself balls deep. “Touch yourself.” The command is a breathless rasp on his lips as he watches me from below, his powerful body drenched in sweat and straining between my thighs.
Holy hell, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
Cash is animalistic in conquest, beauty in surrender, and utterly captivating as the ember of his gaze scorches me. I reach between us and rub my clit, and thirty seconds is all it takes before I liquefy around his cock.
“Cash!” His name launches into my bedroom until it’s ringing in my ears, a tireless echo off the walls. A shudder seizes my limbs, and I fall onto his chest in a blanket of sweat as an orgasm rips through me.
He yanks my head back, hand a tight fist in my locks, and pulls me into a demanding kiss full of need and conquer. We’re still moving as one, rutting like animals, and another wave of ecstasy soars through me.
“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!” The sinful prayer is a mantra on my tongue as I pulse around his cock. My second orgasm sends him into feverish abandon. With a growl, he flips us and yanks my left leg over his shoulder, delivering each conquering thrust as quick and desperate as the last. When he comes, it’s with the oath of my name on his lips.
17. Pillow Talk
Cash
My heartbeat takes forever to return to normal. At some point, I roll to my back and nestle her against my side. She throws one leg over mine, and her fingers dance across my abs. Her cheek is warm on my chest, the gentle rise and fall of her lungs a sleep-inducing song to my ears. After the stress of the day, I’m ready to surrender to the heaviness of my lids, if only for a few minutes.