by Amelia Wilde
“A ride?” I pull her toward me, then glide both hands up her neck to her jawline and go in for a kiss, hard, heavy, and hot. She melts into me, and it’s at least a minute before we come up for air. “Please.” I smile down at her. “I’ll send someone for the books. Meanwhile—”
“What did you think it was going to be about?” She says it like there’s no possible way she could have any other problem on earth, but that doubt flickers across her face again.
“Books,” I murmur into her ear. “I thought you’d insist on going home to study.”
“I should go home to study.”
“I have an entire den that’s all yours. I won’t even bother you.” I kiss her just below her earlobe, then breathe in her scent.
She sucks in a long breath. “What if I want you to bother me?”
I keep one hand on her, my thumb rubbing up and down the back of her neck, making goosebumps rise. It only takes a few seconds to pull out my phone and text the details to Dave. Then I leave her spare key on the table, next to her back. “I’d say, with traffic, we have about forty-five minutes before your books arrive. We should make them count.”
I don’t have to tell her twice.
Chapter 33
Juliet
“The question at the heart of this case—” Professor Howard, a spritely man with white hair that is always, always meticulously combed, slaps a metal pointer against the chalkboard. “—is this question: did these men commit murder?”
There’s a second-long lull, and then hands all around me shoot up.
It’s a different view, sitting in the back of the classroom.
I was on time for class, but since Monday, I’ve been taking seats toward the back, where I can blend in with the crowd. I don’t want my professors to realize that my attention wavers.
And damn, does it waver.
I don’t know why this thing with that woman, Serenity, keeps clawing at my mind, curdling in my gut. It shouldn’t matter. Even though my feelings for Weston—
I shake my head, trying to concentrate on the facts of the case. My feelings for Weston are more out of control than I thought.
It shouldn’t bother me, the things Serenity said, because half of them were true and half of them were irrelevant. It’s true that I have limited time with Weston. That’s how it should be. I can’t spend my life with a man like him. I can’t. My father would be beside himself with rage if I gave up all my ambitions to be with a man wealthy enough to buy anything we could ever want.
It’s not true that I’m some slut, some whore out for his money.
My stomach turns over. Maybe I am. Maybe that’s what bothers me so much—that I went against everything I believe in, everything my parents taught me, to spend two weeks with Weston. I’m still determined to pay him back, but I can’t deny that there’s a little seed of hope in the back of my mind. I could be free of all the Overbrook stress, if I wanted.
If I could ever let myself accept that kind of gift.
Which I can’t.
And even while I sit in the middle of Criminal Law with the clock ticking slowly by, every second expanding and seeming to last five, I can’t convince myself that this is the only truth. Or even the realest truth. Or even the truth that has the most evidence behind it.
Serenity Kowall bothers me because, deep down, there’s a kernel of fear that I’m just another one of her—another notch on Weston Grant’s belt.
I knew that the moment I agreed to spend two weeks as his.
Even the thought of it makes my heart race, sends a blush to my cheeks. That’s the bitch of it all. I know this is temporary. I know I can never have Weston Grant in that way. I even know that I can’t accept his money—I’ve known that all along.
But now that I’m actually in it—now that I have even the shadow of a relationship with him—it’s more than I could have hoped.
It’s going to break my heart to give it up.
Of course, that spirals me back to Serenity Kowall and all the other women I’ve seen pictured with Weston Grant on the gossip sites. It’s not far-fetched to think that they felt this way, too. That he did things for them, too. That he led them to believe—
“That’s all for the afternoon.” The professor’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “We’ll resume on Monday. Have case notes prepared.”
I stand up and flip my laptop closed, shoving it and my notepad into my bag.
My notes are useless anyway. Over and over again, like some lovesick teenage girl, all I wrote down was Weston Grant, followed by half-finished thoughts about what the hell I’m going to do at the end of all this.
I don’t have time to wallow.
I want to go back to the penthouse, but after the study group I scheduled after class, I have to stop at my place, get some things together, and prepare for my shift at the Rose. I normally have Wednesdays off, but one of the other waitresses needed to switch—something involving a funeral or a baby shower, I’m not sure—and even though I told Darla I’d visit my dad in a couple of Wednesdays, I took the shift.
It sends a stab of guilt through my gut as I’m standing at the mirror in my bathroom, putting on my Rose face, but I need some more time to pass before I see him again.
I finish putting on mascara, grab my bag, and head for the subway.
“Juliet.”
I’m halfway down the block from the Rose with ten minutes to go before my shift starts and lost in thought, but the voice sends a wave of pure pleasure down my spine.
Weston is leaning against his town car, a grin on his face.
“I’m on my way to work.”
He looks up like he’s trying to work something out in his thoughts. “What day is it again?”
“Wednesday.”
He stands up straight and steps toward me, closing the distance between us and wrapping one arm around my waist. Then his breath is hot on my ear, his voice curling right into my core. “Then I have six more days.”
“To do what?” I suck in a breath, every nerve already on fire, and we’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk, barely touching.
“This.”
He sweeps me toward the car, pulling open the back door in one smooth motion. I fold at the waist, ducking into the car, and he climbs in after me, slamming the door shut behind him. My heart is in my throat and my panties—skimpy, so that they don’t show underneath my dress—are soaked through already.
“Hands and knees,” Weston growls, and every muscle in my body jumps to obey him. I turn over on the seat, and then he’s pushing his hands up under my skirt. He tugs my panties down to my knees, then off over my heels, and I can’t help it. The scent of him in the evening summer air has me so ready that I can’t stand it. “Don’t make a sound.”
So I don’t—not when he shoves my dress up to my waist, not when he sinks his fingers into my hips and pulls me back to straddle his harder-than-steel cock, not when he fills me with every inch of him, fucking me with the kind of abandon borne out of possession, pure and simple. He wastes not a single movement, not a single moment, and then suddenly he thrusts in deep, holding me pinned against his hard hipbones.
Then he snakes one of his hands around to the front, his dexterous fingers finding my clit, and circles it with his fingertips while he holds me back, pinning me in place. I’m taken. I’m claimed. I’m totally under his control.
“Come for me, angel.”
The pleasure is blinding, and he expands inside of me as I come, another cascade of my juices washing over him as I writhe and shake in his grasp. He keeps me impaled on his thickness until only the aftershocks of the orgasm are still coming, and then he pulls out, slamming back in, harder, harder, until he rockets over the edge of his own release.
I’m still trembling when he presses something soft between my legs, then tugs my dress back into place.
Outside, in the sultry breeze, he kisses my temple. “Have a good shift at work.”
I close my eyes and breathe him in. “I t
hink you have something of mine.”
“Oh, you’ll get it back.” His grin is wicked. “Later tonight.”
Chapter 34
Weston
“—I’m sorry, but Mr. Grant has asked not to be disturbed, and—”
“I’ll tell him you tried to stop me.” The familiar laughter is what breaks me out of my thoughts about the acquisition agreement I’m reviewing. The terms do seem a little harsh, now that I’m seeing them again. “Hostile takeover” would be accurate.
Is it really worth it?
I click out of the agreement on my screen. I’ll come back to this later, when I’ve had time to think.
My secretary does her best, but the door to my office swings open in spite of her protest. She gamely tries to block Gideon’s entrance, her face a fiery pink, and he gives me a wave over her head. “Mr. Grant, I explained to this gentleman that—”
“I heard. Hawke, don’t be such an ass to my executive assistant.”
He turns toward her. “I’m sorry….”
“Sarah.” She supplies, and I see her stifle the urge to cross her arms over her chest.
“Sarah. That was out of line.” Then he looks at me, another grin on his face. “Do you have a moment?”
“Now that you’ve interrupted my day, I do.”
Gideon slips in past Sarah and closes the door behind him. She turns on her heel and goes back to her desk, almost managing to hide the expression on her face—half frustration, half infatuation. Gideon Hawke has that effect on women, and this isn’t the first time he and Sarah have butted heads over unscheduled visits.
He sits down in the chair across the desk from me and puts his feet up on the edge like he owns the place. “I’m dying to know.”
“Dying to know what?” I swivel toward him and knock his feet to the floor. “You know, you really can be insufferable.”
“Don’t change the subject. Tell me about the waitress.”
I give him a level look. “What waitress?”
“The one you introduced us to at the Rose the other night. The one you’ve been chasing since the bachelor’s party. Did you finally pin her down?”
Oh, in more ways than one.
“What’s it to you?”
“I saw the whole thing play out before my eyes, and then you come back all—” He mimics a desperate look of concern. “What happened with her? Are you still seeing her? When are you going to announce your engagement?”
I laugh out loud. “Engagement?”
“I’ve never seen you look so lovesick in your damn life, Grant. I can only assume that—”
“Don’t.”
He drops his mouth like I’ve gravely offended him.
“Don’t assume anything.”
I rub my hands over my face. This started out as a joke, but now—
“You hungry?” Gideon checks his watch. “This is lunch hour, right? In which case, why the hell are you making that poor Sarah guard the door?”
I roll my eyes. “Lunch hour is whenever I want it to be.” I sneak a glance at my own watch. It’s quarter to one. “But yeah. Is this an invitation?”
“Only to lunch, Grant. Don’t get any ideas.”
We go down the block to a pub that has a hidden gem of a chef and order steaks and whiskey, and Gideon sips his as he considers me across the table. “Things aren’t going well, then?”
“I don’t think we need to have a heart-to-heart about this.”
“I think we do. I’m leaving at the end of next week.”
“Things are great.”
Gideon leans forward on his elbow, his fist beneath his chin, and blinks at me, eyes wide.
“I’m seeing her. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
He leans back again. “That’s a start.”
“It’s different, though.”
My instinct is to lie to him, because the closer we get to the two-week mark, the more time I spend pretending that it’s not going to come. Or pretending that I have a way to keep this game—though it doesn’t feel at all like a game—up in the air. “What if it is?”
Gideon laughs out loud. “What are you afraid of, Wes?”
“Getting dragged into this conversation against my will.”
He spreads his hands out in front of him. “You’re here already. And there’s going to be steak.”
“It started out as a fucking game, okay? That night at the Rose. It was just a game. I wanted to see if I could get her to talk to me, and I couldn’t. And then she’s there in the front row when I spoke at the law school.” The words tumble out of me and I can’t stop them.
“Wait—stop. The law school? She’s a law student?”
“Yes.”
“What’s she doing working shifts at the Rose?”
“Saving money to pay for her dad’s medical bills. Except she should quit because I paid them off.”
Gideon covers his face with his hands. “You did what?”
“I paid the medical bills. It wasn’t a big deal.” I let out a long exhale. “Until she found out. And now she’s insisting on paying me back. Unless—”
“Do not tell me there’s more to this.”
“We have an…arrangement. For two weeks. She—” I can’t bring myself to say that she’s mine to Gideon—not now, not sitting in this pub.
“What the hell?” Gideon laughs again, slapping his palms down on the table. “You’re playing that kind of game with a woman you’re clearly falling for?”
“It’s worse than that.”
“There’s no way it could be worse than that.” Then his eyes go wide. “You’re kidding me.”
I nod like it’s just a simple statement of fact, but the truth is that I’m lost in Juliet James. I don’t know if I’ll ever find a way back to a reality where I don’t love her. I’m not sure that I’d want to, even if I could.
Gideon shakes his head, looking out over the pub. “You’ve got to stop fooling around, Wes.”
“I know.”
“Sooner, rather than later.”
I could. I could get out my phone and call her right now. I could tell her that a two-week deal—a fucking game—is not nearly enough for me. I could send Dave to go pick her up from wherever she is and bring her to me so that I can tell her in person.
But I don’t take out my phone.
“I know.” I say it as firmly as I can.
“Do you? Because it looks to me like you’re planning to stay in this city and run out the clock, and try for some Hail Mary shit right at the end.”
“Who, me?”
Gideon leans forward and stabs a finger in the air at me. “Get her out of here, away from that ridiculous club, and away from law school, and get beyond that time bomb you’ve set up for yourself. I see the look on your face, Wes. You’ve only got the one chance.”
My heart shifts into overdrive at the words, and my gut turns over.
The waitress arrives with our steaks.
“You two could be brothers.” She looks from Gideon to me, then smiles. “Anything else I can get for you?”
“Not now, Linda.” Gideon can charm a woman with three words. The waitress leaves, blushing. “So…where are you going to take her? I have a few places in mind.”
Chapter 35
Juliet
The month turns over into September, but it doesn’t matter—the only thing that keeps beating in my mind, over and over, is that two-week timeline—two weeks, two weeks, two weeks.
It’s pure torture to spend an entire day in intensive study for my next set of exams, but the evenings with Weston have taken their toll on my study schedule. I’d shut myself in my own apartment, but the air conditioning goes out on the kind of fall day that makes it feel like the height of July, and by noon, I’m sweltering and seriously considering calling the nurse hotline to ask about heat stroke. His den it is.
There’s a knock somewhere between the salad I ate for lunch and whatever he’s planning for dinner, and he pokes his head through the do
or. “How’s it going, angel?”
I can’t help but grin at him. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I took the afternoon off.”
I stiffen in spite of myself. It’s not that I don’t want Weston here. I do want Weston here. Today, in the heat, he’s changed out of his tailored summer-weight suit and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that still manage to come off as high-end. The way the shirt hugs his abs has me salivating, wrenching my mind away from Criminal Law and into the verging-on-criminal things I’d like to do with him. Right now. Maybe pressed up against the window of the penthouse. The sight of him turns me on, juices already starting to pool between my legs. But I can’t. I really, really can’t.
Because when this is over....
I clear my head of the thought and give Weston a smile. “Were things slow at the office?”
He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Things are never slow at Grant Pharmaceuticals, but I decided to take a little more time and think over the deal I was finalizing today.” I smile again, watching the sunlight play across his eyes, but before I can speak— “Don’t look so torn, angel. I’m working on a project this afternoon. I won’t bother you.”
It’s crazy, how even as relief spreads across my chest my heart sinks. “Well, good, because I can’t afford to take a study break.”
Weston frowns. “Not a single study break?”
There’s no way this can continue long-term, even if Weston wanted to. And that would be highly out of the ordinary for a man like him, if Serenity Kowall is any indication.
Then there’s me, with my core melting into passionate heat and every inch of me aching for his touch. It doesn’t matter at all that a minute ago I felt a flash of irritation that he was interrupting my precious study time when I have an exam on Monday morning.
I give him as stern a look as possible. “Five minutes.”