by Gemma James
Her gaze lands on my hand, sans wedding band, and there’s no mistaking the softening of her expression. I like that Jules has a little possessiveness in her, and though she won’t admit it, the sight of my ring was an emotional barrier between us.
One that was weakening, but it was still there, nevertheless. Now nothing stands in the way of us being together.
“Jules,” I say softly, turning fully onto my side to face her. “Something’s on your mind. Talk to me.”
She lets out a breath, allows several seconds to sneak past, and I can almost hear the gears shifting in her head. “Chris came back after you left.”
My whole body stiffens. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
I expel a breath of pure relief, heartbeat slowing to normal, but it’s short-lived. Fear shoots through my veins, and for an agonizing second, I think that maybe I’ve got it all wrong.
Maybe she doesn’t want to be with me.
But no. That’s not regret blanketing her face. Something happened to upset her, and for whatever reason, she’s only now telling me. I curse under my breath. Maybe if I hadn’t jumped her bones as soon as she returned from dinner, she would have confided in me sooner.
And that’s been the problem since the day I met her; I have zero fucking control when it comes to Jules.
“Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”
“I’m sure.” But even as she denies it, moisture seeps from the corners of her eyes. “Not like you’re thinking, anyway.” A breath shudders off her lips, and I can’t resist pulling her into my arms. One hand at her nape, I tuck the crown of her head under my chin. Our legs entwine as she returns the embrace.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m not going anywhere.”
She lets out another shaky breath. “Chris cornered me. The way he was acting…the alcohol on his breath…his anger…”
“What did he do?” I barely keep my voice level. Part of me is already envisioning jumping out of bed and hunting down her ex.
“He triggered a memory.”
I veer back and search her face. “A memory?”
With a nod, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “From the night I slept with Perry.”
Perry, her prior boss in Oklahoma. Dread turns in the bottom of my gut. The following moments are soundless, yet they go off in my ears like a tuning fork. I hold my breath, silently offering her my support, and wait for her to continue.
“I remembered something.”
More seconds are lost—time Jules will never get back. Precious seconds she’ll never forget.
“What did you remember?”
A shuddering sob bursts from inside her. She frees herself from my embrace and winds her arms around her knees. “I think he might’ve drugged me. I just remember being so weak, unable to lift my head or keep my eyes open. I said no…I tried to say no. He…he fucking held me down.”
I sit up, aching to touch her, to hold her. But I hesitate, fingers a hairbreadth away from stroking her back. I have no fucking clue how to navigate this situation, and if I’m not careful, I’ll let the rage toward her former boss send me into a tailspin. She doesn’t need rage, or pity, or my protective instincts.
She just needs me to listen.
I lower my hand onto her shoulder, almost expecting her to flinch, but she doesn’t. “It’s not your fault, Jules.”
She lets out another sob, shoulder quaking under my touch. “Deep down, I know that.”
But she’s having trouble believing it. Jesus Christ, I’ve never felt so helpless. And I can’t not hold her right now. Scooting behind her, I settle at her back and pull her between my thighs, winding my arms around her. “If I have my way, no one will ever hurt you again.”
“You can’t protect me from every bad situation in life.” She turns her head until our mouths linger an inch apart. “But I love you for wanting to.”
“It’s second nature to protect you.”
She turns in my arms, and we lie between the sheets again. She rests her head on my chest. “To make matters worse,” she says with a dry laugh, “Chris said he got my sister pregnant.”
I rub a hand down my face. Fuck, I want to murder her ex.
“How could my own sister do this to me? How could Perry?”
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Did you tell your friend what you remembered?”
“No.” She curls her fingers around my bicep. “I don’t want to talk about this again. I just…I needed to get it off my chest.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes. It’s been months, and I’ve moved on. Maybe I even knew the truth, deep down.”
“He should pay for what he did to you.”
“It would be his word against mine. I have no proof. Besides…I’m not even a hundred percent sure it happened the way I remembered.”
I wrap her in my arms as if I’ll never let go and breathe into her hair through gritted teeth. I’m already concocting plans, studying the angles. The possibilities. In a few weeks, I’ll be in OKC for business, and I’d place a wager that I have a few connections with the fucker who violated her.
The kind of connections that hold positions of power and might owe MontBlake a favor or two. If I can’t see him behind bars, I can fuck the bastard up on a professional level.
Right after I fuck up his face.
She lifts her head, and her gaze locks with mine. “Let it go, Cash.”
I exhale the tension in my lungs. “I could ruin him.”
The shake of her head is resolute. “I told you because I needed to tell someone, and there’s no one I trust more than you. Please…I need you to let it go.”
“Jesus, Jules.” I close my eyes and count the painful beats of my heart. “For you, I’ll try.”
She lays her head on my chest once again, and even after sleep sends her drifting, and her breathing levels out, my hands remain two tight fists at her back, holding her to me with all I am.
Jules deserves justice. At the very least, she deserves closure. But I know the world doesn’t always work that way, and sometimes, the only thing a person can do is let go and move forward.
26. Birthday Surprise
Jules
The morning of my birthday, I awake alone in bed, but the bouquet of colorful tulips on my nightstand brings a smile to my face. Next to the flowers awaits a note.
Happy Birthday to the woman I love. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.
P.S. — Your boss gave you the day off. Go do something special.
Stopping by his office to do him probably isn’t what he meant, so I run through the possibilities—lunch with Les, browsing the offerings at Pike Place, getting my hair done for the party tonight—and that’s when a wave of nausea hits, sending me bolting for the bathroom. I make it just in time, lifting the lid and spewing what little I have left in my gut.
I’ve been vomiting for the last four days. On the first day, I stayed in bed, thinking it was a stomach bug. Ditto on day two. By day three, I was ready to face facts.
Cash and I didn’t use protection that first weekend, and now I’m late and puking my guts out. So naturally, on the fourth day—my fucking birthday of all days—I come to the conclusion it’s time to get confirmation.
I yank open a drawer and pull out the pregnancy test I bought on my way home from work yesterday. After pissing on the little white stick, I replace the cap, set it on the counter, then grip the edge, eyes closed as I tick off the seconds in my head.
180 to be exact. Three minutes. A blip in the grand scheme of life, but in this moment, three minutes mean everything. I place a hand over my belly, and a thick lump of excitement lodges in my throat.
Part of me wants this baby.
Just three weeks ago, Cash mentioned white picket fences and children, but I couldn’t see past the ring on his finger. Now his hand is free of jewelry that obligated him to another woman. Divorce papers have been filed, and Mon
ica was arraigned on a plea deal last week to pay for her crime.
Everything we hoped for is spread out before us.
I open my eyes and glance down at the stick. My pulse takes off in a gallop upon the plus sign I find there, and I let out a sob full of laughter. My head is reeling as I return to the bedroom and begin dressing for the day.
A day that’s open in front of me, waiting for me to do whatever I want with it. Grabbing my purse and cell, I head toward the door and pull it open. The last person I expect to find on the other side, fist poised to knock, is my sister.
Brit raises her gaze to mine. “Can we talk?”
I fold my arms. “I guess you’re not giving me a choice. You and Chris have that in common, among other things.” I should have anticipated her pulling the same move Chris did after I refused her phone calls, but I didn’t think Brit cared enough to fly all the way out here.
And yet here she is. My sister’s lush, ebony locks are gathered into a ponytail, and she’s not wearing a stitch of makeup. Her eyes—normally a light sea-blue—are muted with exhaustion.
I turn on my heel, leaving the door wide open. That’s the only invitation she’ll get from me. The door closes behind her, and she loiters on the edge of the living room.
“I like your apartment. It’s cute.”
By cute she means small.
“It’s all I could afford in this area.”
Taking another cautious step, she wrings her hands. “I came to apologize.”
“This isn’t something you can fix with an apology, Brit. I didn’t expect other women in Whiskey Flats to keep their hands off of Chris, but you’re my sister.” I glare at her. “Did you jump into his bed before or after I cried my eyes out to you?”
She wanders to the living room window. “It happened the night you were with Perry.” A flick of her blue eyes in my direction tells me she isn’t nearly as remorseful as she’d have me believe. “And we…well, we hooked up after you left.”
“How many times?”
She purses her lips, and that’s all the answer I need. She fucked my ex-boyfriend enough times to earn her the Shittiest Sister of the Year award.
My stomach cramps, reminding me that I haven’t had breakfast yet, and I fight the urge to bolt to the toilet again. I stalk into the kitchen and drop a slice of bread into the toaster. If I weren’t so angry with Brit, I’d offer her something to eat.
“I hope you and Chris will be happy together. You deserve each other.” Filling a mug with water for tea, I follow her slow movement across the narrow space to the other side of the bar.
“He’s in love with you.” She slides onto a barstool. “I’d kill for someone to care about me like that.”
“Chris doesn’t love me.” I put the mug into the microwave and slam the door shut. “You don’t treat people you love like that.”
“Don’t let this pregnancy get in the way of the two of you being together.”
“Look, Brit. I’ve already moved on with someone else, so you can drop the guilty act. If you want Chris, he’s all yours. I mean that.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she says, a hint of exasperation in her tone. “There’s nothing keeping me and Chris together. I’m aborting the pregnancy.”
I blanch at her words. “Did Chris pressure you into that decision?”
She shakes her head, blue eyes glistening. “I’m not ready to be a mom. My career is just starting to take off. I just…I can’t do this on my own.”
“How far along are you?”
“About seven weeks. I’m running out of time, Jules.”
The microwave beeps, giving me a few moments of reprieve. I drop a tea bag into the mug, waiting for the bag to seep while I slather peanut butter onto a piece of toast. Abortion is such a personal decision, but I’m not convinced it’s a decision Brit can live with. She’s talked about wanting children since we were kids.
Granted, she also envisioned a thriving modeling career and a rich husband.
Preparing my tea, I add a splash of cream and go easy on the sugar this time, considering the news I just learned this morning. I turn back to Brit. “You still have time. Whatever you decide, just make sure you do it for you.”
“I will. I promise.” A beat slithers past. “I’ve missed you.”
“How’s Dad?” I ask, purposefully deflecting. “He was sick a few weeks ago when I talked to him.”
“He’s doing much better.” She lets out a breath. “Mom hasn’t told him about the pregnancy yet.”
“Why haven’t you told him?”
“Same reason I didn’t tell you.” Her attention lowers, long lashes grazing her cheeks. “I’m a coward.”
She’s the eldest, but thanks to Mom, she’s the one that still has a lot of growing up to do. “I’m still upset with you,” I tell her before taking a sip of my tea.
“I know. You have every right to be. I messed up.”
“You did, but…I’ve missed you too, Brit.”
That brings a tiny smile to her lips. “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”
“It’ll take some time.”
She gives a solemn nod. “I understand.”
I bite into my toast and wrinkle my nose. “You up for grabbing brunch?”
She hops off the stool. “Anything you want, Jules. It’s your birthday, after all.”
27. Busted
Jules
Lesley and the guys roped Kaden into cordoning off Club Shadow’s VIP loft for my birthday party. The first floor is packed with dancing bodies as the band owns the stage with their last set of the night. Garen’s voice belts out a haunting melody of love and second chances.
The after party is about to begin.
I look around the empty loft. An elaborate cake takes center stage on the appetizer station sitting against the wall at one end of the space. Balloons cling to the ceiling, their strings hanging down, parting like curtains as one moves through the loft. Grouped seating areas have been arranged around an area left free for dancing. Flameless candles provide ambience from the small round tabletops.
“This place looks amazing.” Turning at the sound of his deep voice, I find Cash standing behind me. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” he says, landing a kiss on my cheek. “Had another emergency meeting with the Board.”
“It’s okay. The party hasn’t started yet anyway.” He’s been in a constant state of flux since his wife’s arraignment, so I’m not surprised he spent another long day at the office.
“I think we finally ironed out the kinks in Monica’s resignation.” He grabs a bottle of champagne from a bucket of ice and pops the top. “How about we make the most of this time before everyone starts coming up in droves?” The bubbly spills over, and we both laugh as he fills two flutes.
“How was your day?” he asks, handing me a flute before taking a sip from his own.
I hold the glass but don’t bring it to my lips. “It was good. My sister surprised me with a visit this morning.”
He raises a brow at that.
“I’m still hurt by the betrayal, but I think we’re on our way to salvaging what’s left of our relationship.” I trace the rim of my flute with my pointer finger. “She’s still my sister.”
“Please tell me Chris stayed in Oklahoma where he belongs.”
“He’s not coming back, Cash.”
“Well that’s cause for celebration.” The band transitions into a slow guitar intro, and he sets his glass on the table. “Dance with me?”
I abandon my untouched champagne next to his and take his hand. “I’d love to.”
He pulls me into his arms, and we begin swaying to the music. “We shared our first kiss over there,” he whispers, chin resting on the crown of my head. I focus on the spot he’s talking about—the wall in the very back of the room—and remember how desperate we were back then.
How desperate we still are.
As if my thoughts are mirrored in his head, he reaches for my ass and
pulls me snug against him. “Being away from you makes me hornier than hell, Jules.”
My breath catches. As I cup his erection through his pants, his mouth finds mine, and the next thing I know, we’re stumbling toward that wall under the cover of dim light. He pushes me against it as I reach for his zipper.
“I don’t have a condom,” he says with a groan against my lips as I curl my fingers around his cock.
I inch back and meet his eyes. “We don’t need one.”
“We don’t?”
“No.” I slide my hand along his jaw, thumb grazing the stubble there, and I’d give anything to feel that scruffy face between my thighs. “I hope you meant it when you said you wanted children.”
His gaze widens, going metallic with heat. “I meant it.”
“That’s good, because I’m pregnant.”
He searches my face for several long heartbeats. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
His mouth slams down on mine, and every dart of his tongue owns me to my soul. We break apart all too soon, and he grips my cheeks between his hands. “You just gave me the best news of my life.”
“Really?” I blink, staunching the threat of tears.
“Fuck yes.” He pulls me away from the wall and bends me over the arm of a chair. His fingers are warm and rough against my skin as he yanks my leggings down my thighs, baring my ass. His palm lands on my left butt cheek with a sound slap.
I glance over my shoulder in shock, but something about the way he’s standing behind me, arm raised in preparation for another smack, steals my breath. Getting spanked by him in the loft of his brother’s club, where anyone could catch us, thrills me more than it should. I raise my ass in silent invitation. Fisting my blond locks with his free hand, he yanks my head back and lands another one on my bottom.
“Are you wet?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God.” He grips my ass and plunges to the hilt, and we both moan. “I was dying to fuck you like this the first time I kissed you.” His breaths are hot and fast against my ear, splashing heat down my neck. “I’ve never craved anyone as much as I crave you.”