by Amelia Wilde
She tries to return the grin on my face, but she can’t force her lips into a smile. The effort she puts into it breaks my damn heart, the pain arcing straight through my chest. The corners of her mouth tremble as she tries to turn them upward, but then her face crumples and she starts to cry, her purse slipping right off her shoulder and onto the floor.
“Juliet, my God, what—”
I’m across her apartment in an instant, folding her into my arms. She buries her face in the front of my shirt, sobs shaking her shoulders—but she doesn’t make a sound, other than a shuddering intake of breath that makes me want to sweep her up in my arms and take her downstairs, take her away from this city, this state, maybe even the country, forever.
She doesn’t let it go on long, and when she steps back to look into my eyes, there’s anger flashing in hers, cutting across a well of heartache. “I’m not a whore.”
What? “I never thought—”
“I’m not some woman who’s after you for your money.” She’s spitting the words, and her grasp on the front of my shirt tightens. More tears slip down her cheeks, but her jaw is set. “I never asked you to pay a dime for him.” Her next breath is nearly a gasp, and I can see that she’s just barely holding it together. Whatever this is—whatever triggered this—has been boiling up in her, probably the entire way back from Forest Hills. “I don’t know what you do with other women—”
I smooth my hand over her hair, pulling her close in again. “None of them matter.”
“I’m not the same.”
“You’re not,” I murmur into her ear. “You’re so damn different, Juliet James.” She’s trembling against me, on the verge of yanking herself away again. I don’t want her to move away. I want her to move closer, and let me take her away from all the heartbreak that’s teeming in her eyes. It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest we have my jet fueled and ready to go tonight, but I can tell that would be a mistake.
There’s a long, tense moment, and then her muscles relax, and she allows herself to be folded into my arms, cradled and held.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so blind, to think that her agreement would let her leave behind that fire that’s driving her to do everything for herself? Clearly, something’s happened. Was it that woman at Overbrook? I don’t know who would have—
“My father found out about you.” Her words are half-muffled by my shirt.
I don’t know why that would make a difference. “That I exist? Most people already know that.”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “That you paid for Overbrook. And the aide. Who he hates.”
“That’s—” What the hell can I possibly say to make this better? I’ve never met the man. If he’s made Juliet feel this way about a gift she never asked for, then I’m not sure I want to meet him. I’m at a loss for words.
Juliet steps back, tilting her head toward the ceiling while she wipes at her eyes. “Shit,” she whispers, her voice soft, resigned. The weight of all this on her shoulders—agreement or not—has to feel as heavy as the entire planet right now. Then she shakes her head a little, like she’s trying to shake the rotten thoughts out of her mind. “It’s late.”
Her eyes are ringed with traces of her makeup, and her shoulders sag, drooping under the fantastic burden, but she lifts her chin just the same. She’s still wearing her outfit from the Rose, a sweater draped over her shoulders, and her bag hangs from her fingertips. A little smile quirks the corner of her mouth. “I’m glad you decided to come over.”
“I did decide that.” While I was waiting for her, I noticed the unfortunate fact that Juliet’s apartment doesn’t come with a bathtub, only a shower. “But I have a second idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s get out of here.” I lean down and whisper into her ear—a bubble bath, I start with, and when I’m finished, Juliet blinks up at me.
Then she turns around and heads straight for the door.
The bath is drawn by the time we get to the penthouse, courtesy of my on-call staff. It’s a candlelit affair with a layer of scented bubbles, and Juliet steps into the water slowly, her naked body glowing in the flickering light, the ambient lighting in the bathroom dimmed.
She turns back toward me and lowers herself into the hot water, leaning her head back against the gleaming edge with a deep sigh. The water doesn’t quite cover her breasts, rippling around her nipples in a silvery line.
“You’re wearing too many clothes for the bath.” Juliet’s voice is a soft seduction, all the stress from earlier washed away.
“I thought you might want to enjoy it alone.”
Her eyes, dark in the candlelight, travel down the length of my body until they’re lingering on the front of my pants. There’s no hiding the tent pole there now.
“I’ve enjoyed a lot of things alone.” She cups her hands in the water and releases it over her chest. “Being alone defeats the purpose of this week, don’t you think?”
I start with my tie, loosening it from my around neck, and following up with the rest of my clothes. Her eyes light up when the last piece falls to the floor. Her lips part just a fraction of an inch. That’s all the invitation I need.
The water is hot against my skin as I step in beside her. Juliet holds her arms out, beckoning me closer, and an electric need pulses from my spine to the tip of my cock. When we make contact, I can feel underneath the water that her legs are already spread. She’s already open for me, already waiting, and when she tilts her head back to let me cover her mouth with mine, my hand firm on her jawline, it’s like nothing else exists in the entire universe but her with me, both of us surrounded by clean, pure water, utterly alone together.
Chapter 31
Juliet
My body aches, but the sheets are cool and luxuriously smooth against my skin when I stretch my arms over my head.
What was supposed to be a relaxing bath certainly escalated quickly.
Not that I have any regrets about that.
The images come back to me in a flood of desire, and I swallow hard thinking of last night. Weston fucking me relentlessly in the tub, water splashing over the sides, and then again spread out on two plush towels on the bathroom floor. No time to go to the bedroom.
Until there was time, and we took all of it.
That was only Friday night.
A little smile plays over my face.
“Are you dreaming or awake?”
His voice is low and soft, and I open my eyes to the sight of him half out of the sheets, his perfectly sculpted abs on full display, propped up on one elbow so he can look down at me. “Both, I think.”
“Good morning.”
“Hi.”
I run a finger from the center of his pecs down to his navel, and he catches my hand just before I can go any lower, and brings it up to his lips. “I’m not going to stop you, but…”
I pout a little, and he laughs. “Why are you stopping me, then?”
“Because I thought you might be hungry…for food.”
My stomach growls like it’s answering him. I don’t remember what we ate for dinner last night—was that just last night? It might have been sushi from a place so upscale I was stunned that they did delivery. But I was mostly interested in Weston’s body. In trying to clear my mind of the way my dad had been so damn vicious.
Just like that, the pleasant warmth in my chest drains away. I feel like I’m clutching it in both fists, trying to get it to stay.
“What’s wrong?” Weston’s eyes are instantly focused on my face, blazing green jewels in the morning sunlight, narrowed slightly.
“Nothing.” I put a big smile on and throw my legs over the side of the bed, sashaying toward the bathroom. “After last night, the first thing I need is a shower. And then definitely some breakfast.”
He pushes himself up on the bed like a panther ready to spring, his gorgeously ripped arms flexing as he shifts his weight, a wicked light coming into his eyes. My heart roc
kets into my rib cage. I can’t bear the tension and turn to run, squealing, like I would never do in a million years.
He’s on me in seconds, his steady arms wrapped around me, and I throw my head back against his shoulder and laugh as he moves us both into the bathroom, reaching into the shower and flipping the stream on full blast. Weston turns me toward him on the mat and my toes sink into the plush fabric.
“Have I ever told you you’re the most gorgeous woman on the planet?”
“Not since yesterday.”
He leans down and presses his lips against the side of my neck, the heat rushing down between my legs. “Forget about everything else, Juliet James.” It’s like he’s reading my damn mind. The tension in the pit of my gut unknots itself. “Forget everything except being with me. It’s Sunday—” His lips move lower, caressing my collarbone. “—you’re not working tonight—” He swirls his tongue around my nipple, making it stiffen into a hard pebble of desire. “—and I’m going to take you out to have the best breakfast you’ve ever had in your life.” The tip of his tongue works against the other nipple, and then he’s dragging his lips down lower, over my belly button, and lower. Weston drops to his knees, his hands firm on my hips. “But first, spread wide for me, angel, because I’m…going…to….”
I spread my legs, planting my feet firmly on the mat and my hands on his shoulders, and his tongue is against my already wet folds, licking in hard strokes. With every single one, more of the hurt is washed away until I explode against his tongue, my knees giving out.
Weston is strong enough to brace me with his arms.
When I finally come down from the high, he stands, curling his fingers through mine, and tugs me into the shower.
“Not so fast,” I tell him as he moves me under the water. “We’re not even.”
“Thank God,” he groans, and it’s my turn to drop to my knees.
It takes another two hours for us to be ready to leave for brunch—and one additional shower—but it’s still relatively early when I slide onto the cool seats of the town car. “What’s this magical place where you’re taking me?”
“I’m beginning to think you hate surprises.” Weston curls his arm around me and pulls me in close as Dave steers the car into the morning traffic.
“I like to be able to anticipate the wonders before I actually experience them.”
“And you can’t anticipate them without knowing our destination?” His eyes dance in the filtered sunlight.
“I could anticipate them better if I knew.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been to this restaurant.”
“What makes you so sure?”
He gives me a look. “Juliet James, you have serious personal reservations about taking a single night off work for any reason. I can almost guarantee that you’d never give up a Sunday morning studying for classes to take in a lavish brunch.” He kisses my temple, then plants more soft kisses all the way down my neck, moving aside the strap of the sundress I found hanging in Weston’s closet this morning in exactly my size.
I sigh. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
He doesn’t.
It turns out to be a place on Madison Avenue that looks like the inside was a former dwelling place of King Midas. Everything gleams in gold, and the first thing that happens after we’re seated is that the head chef comes out to shake Weston’s hand.
“Wes!” He cries, his brown eyes crinkling into a smile. “You haven’t been in for a while. Did you miss me?”
“Of course I missed you, Robert.” Wes stands to clap a hand around the man’s back. “But mostly I missed the food, I’m sorry to say.”
Robert laughs, a big belly laugh that resonates over the chatter from the crowd. “Fair enough. But you’re not getting away without introducing me to this heavenly creature.” Robert takes my hand and lifts my knuckles to his lips like he’s some kind of courtier, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Juliet James,” I tell him.
He grins at me, giving me a wink. “You watch out for Weston Grant, Juliet. You’re too good for him.” Robert turns back to Wes. “Don’t even think of touching the menu. Your first course will be out in no time.” He turns on his heel and moves away from the table, looking back over his shoulder just once. “It’s lovely to meet you, Juliet.”
I lean forward in my seat, fold my hands, and consider Weston. “Does he always personalize brunch for you?”
Weston opens his mouth to reply, but the voice that speaks from just next to my elbow is decidedly not his.
“Robert always did for me when we came.”
The smile disappears from his face.
“It’s been such a long time, Weston. Why haven’t you called?”
Chapter 32
Weston
I shove down the instinct to stand up and take Serenity Kowell by the elbow and steer her out the nearest window—I shove it down deep enough that my hands don’t even ball up into fists—though I’d really, really like to. She stands at the side of the table, hip cocked to one side, looking like a taller and bitchier version of her former self. Her blonde hair, unlike Juliet’s, is from a salon on the Upper East Side. The hair color is all they have in common.
I look up at her with my eyebrows slightly raised. “We both know why I didn’t call.”
My heart beats so hard in my chest that it’s a distraction. I want to press both hands against it until it’s cooled the hell down.
Serenity pouts, wrinkling her forehead, but her brown eyes don’t hold a hint of sadness. “Of course. Because I reached my expiration date.” She flicks her eyes over Juliet, whose cheeks are a hot, uncomfortable pink. “I see you’re back to the blondes. What’s the rotation now, Weston? Brunette next? Or a redhead?”
“Are you here for brunch?” I keep my tone mild, the hint of a smile on my face.
“I thought I’d stop by so we could catch up.”
“Not much to catch up about, Serenity.”
“Oh, I disagree. All my friends are wondering who the great Weston Grant’s latest slut is. The gossip magazines can be so unreliable. But it looks like you’ve found yourself a nice one this time.”
Juliet’s entire body stiffens at the word whore, and I can’t blame her. I can’t blame her for an instant for reacting to this horrible mistake of a woman calling her a slut on a Sunday morning. Not after what happened with her father. Every ounce of my attention locks on Juliet, and the moment stretches on too long.
“That’s what I thought,” Serenity says knowingly. “How long have you got left, sweetheart? One more weekend? Two?”
Now the color drains from Juliet’s face. I’d give anything on the fucking planet to shove those words back into Serenity’s mouth.
But Juliet doesn’t look down at the place setting in front of her. She doesn’t wilt back in her seat. Her jaw set into a hard line, she lifts her chin half an inch and looks Serenity up and down. “Oh, no.” Her tone matches mine—casual and light, like nothing out of the ordinary is happening here. Like nothing could faze her. Serenity whips her head around to glare at Juliet.
“What is it, Juliet?” I lean toward her, extending my hand across the table, my heart kicking into overdrive.
Juliet puts her hand defiantly in mine, then shakes her head a little. “It’s nothing. It’s just that—” Then she looks up into Serenity’s face, her expression apologetic. What the hell is she doing? “I was really looking forward to this lovely brunch, but now I’m starting to lose my appetite. Would you mind being a bitch somewhere else?”
Serenity’s mouth drops open and her eyes go wide, bugging out like a suffocating fish. I swallow the laughter bubbling up in my chest. Then she snaps her lips closed. I raise my other hand, giving her a little wave. “Bye bye, Serenity.”
Her face burning red, she turns away from the table. She’s three steps away before she decides to get the last word in. “Your time will be up before you know it.” She forces the words out through gritted teeth.
&nbs
p; “You only got a week?” Juliet calls after her, laughing a little. “I’m getting two.” Then she turns back to me and squeezes my hand in both of hers, dismissing Serenity without another word. “Oh, the drinks are here.”
A waiter steps up to the table carrying a tray with two mimosas garnished with plump fruits, and Juliet lets go of my hand, leaning back to give him space to serve. I want to give her a damn standing ovation. “Juliet, I—”
“Let’s not talk about it,” she says, giving me a little smile. “I don’t want that horrible woman to ruin our brunch.” I believe her when she says it. She lifts her champagne glass from the table and raises it in a toast. “To Sunday mornings.”
“To Sunday mornings.” We clink our glasses, and for a split second I think it’s over, it’s all in the past, it’s done.
But I see a flicker of doubt on Juliet’s face when she puts down her glass.
“What’s on your mind, angel?”
She grins across the table at me. “Nothing but you.”
I don’t quite believe her. Not this time.
When we step back across the threshold of my penthouse, Juliet lets out a long sigh. “We have a problem, Weston Grant.”
I square my shoulders and face her. This is going to be about Serenity Kowall. This is going to be about the many, many women I’ve been with in the past. If now’s time for us to have that conversation. I want to get it the hell over with so I can enjoy whatever time I have left with Juliet. “I have an idea what that might be.”
She lifts one eyebrow and sets her bag down on one of the tables in the foyer. “So you’ll give me a ride?”
I already have my mouth open to explain that something is different with her, that how much I care about her is so fucking different that sometimes it takes my breath away, that women like Serenity Kowall don’t mean a damn thing to me and never have— “Wait. What?”
“I’m way behind in my coursework for school, and I have two classes and a shift at the Rose tomorrow. All of my books are at my place, but—”