His Pawn

by Emily Snow

  I’ve never had a fuck buddy before—all my past partners were so much more—and every time I feel a wiggle of guilt after Jace and I have torn each other apart, I surprise myself with my next thoughts: This thing with him is the most satisfying feeling I’ve ever experienced.

  And that scares the hell out of me.

  Two and a half weeks later, I'm in the middle of chatting with Katia from Lorelei’s when Griff raps lightly on my office door, poking his head inside. Asking her to give me a moment, I cover the receiver and glance up at him. He's normally so playful that seeing his anxious expression immediately catches me off guard. "Is everything okay?"

  His lips turn down into a deep frown. "Daisy is at lunch, but there's some guy out front asking for you." Before I can ask who it is—because I’m not expecting anyone and most of my appointments happen outside of the workshop— he delivers a blow that leaves me speechless. "He says he's your husband."

  For a second, I wonder if he's just screwing with me.

  Tom hasn't tried to contact me in the last week—since right after we shipped that massive order off to Amsterdam and I spent the night with Jace at his place for the first time—and I sure as hell haven't tried to get in touch with him.

  "Are you—" I start, but I swallow my words when Griff cringes and bobs his head.

  "Look, I didn't want to bother you, but the motherfucker said he wouldn't budge until he got to speak to you."

  He won't budge. That sure as hell sounds like something Tom would say. "He’s not my husband anymore." I sound dazed. Why the fuck is my ex here at my job? Why isn’t he in San Francisco, where he should be, selling his crappy coffee? I give Griff a shaky smile. "L-let me just ... wrap up this call. Tell him I'll be out in a few."

  For the next five minutes, I'm distracted as Katia and I speak about the IFD promotion. I anxiously tap my fingernails on my desk, wondering what’s prompted my former husband to make the trip to Boston, a city he's always loathed, without any warning. By the time I get off the phone, not only am I nauseous, I'm furious.

  How dare he show up here? Considering I almost didn't have a job thanks to him, he has a lot of balls for coming.

  Griff is still manning the front desk since Daisy hasn’t returned from lunch, but he's respectful enough not to glance up from her tablet when I storm into the reception area, my black hair flying behind me and my face already on fire from getting myself so worked up while I waited to confront Tom. Spotting my ex-husband in the same seat I sat in the day I interviewed, I bury my nails in my palms until I swear I draw blood. He looks the same as he had when I left him several months ago. He keeps his dark hair short and neatly trimmed and he still looks impeccable in an immaculately cut black business suit, but he makes my blood boil for all the wrong reasons now.

  “Lucy, it’s so good to see you,” he breathes, standing and approaching me as soon as his sky blue eyes flick in my direction. His arms open wide, and my hands tighten into fists when he pulls me in for an embrace. He even smells the same, like Tom Ford Black Orchid, and for a moment I’m almost pulled in by what once was.

  When Griff clears his throat, though, the trance breaks. I back away from my ex until the back of my body bumps against one of the filing cabinets on the other side of the room.

  "Tom,” I start breathlessly, dragging my hands over my face. “What are you doing here?”

  He gives me that charming smile, or at least the smile I led myself to believe was charming, and takes another step closer. “I want you back, Luce. I’ll go to any counselor you choose—I just want you to come home.”

  “As long as I’m willing to work for you and Shane, that is.”

  “Shane is no longer in the equation like that, but yes, I want you to come back to work. I’m planning on paying you back all the money you invested plus double what you’re making here. Think about it, Luce, it’s…”

  My shoulders sag, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Shane and Tom hadn’t even been able to pay me back the money I invested in the company. How the hell does he expect me to buy his promise now? Even more importantly, how the hell does he expect me to just leave Boston to go back to San Francisco after all that’s happened between us?

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Luce, if you’d just—”

  When I release a harsh sound from the back of my throat, cutting him off, I hear Griff shift around at Daisy’s desk. I glance up to find him staring at my ex, his eyes hard. "Do I need to get rid of this fuck, Lucy?" His stare never leaves Tom’s, so my ex holds up his hands defensively.

  "I don't mean her any harm; I just want to talk to my wife without her ... new friends getting in the way." Returning his focus to me, he bows his head almost apologetically. I don’t buy it for even a split second. "Look, I had a conference here in Boston, and I wanted to try one more time before I leave. You ignore my calls and texts, so you at least owe me that."

  "I don't owe you a thing," I snap.

  "That's where you're wrong. I want to talk and I'm not leaving this"—he narrows his eyes and glances around the front office—"bullshit you’ve reduced yourself to until you've at least talked to me."

  I’m ashamed of Tom. Of the way the insult he hurls at our building makes Griff flinch. At last, I give up on keeping the space between our bodies. Stalking over to him, I grip his arm and lead him toward the door. He already embarrassed me at my last job by cheating on me for months on end, and I'll be damned if I let him make me look like a fool here. "I'll be back in a few minutes," I mutter to Griffin, who tells me to call for him if I need anything, and then I step out into the cold. When I turn to Tom, a wave of nausea hits me as he skims one knuckle down the side of my face, I slap his hand away.

  "What the fuck do you think you're doing showing up here?”

  “You never used that word before,” he points out in a low voice, and I cross my arms over my chest. “I came here because I was in town and I want you to come home, Lucy. I think we deserve another chance.”

  “No.”

  He shakes his head, looking at me incredulously. “You’re selling sex toys now, Luce. Your picture is all over a website claiming to specialize in everything extreme. I’m worried about you. You were my wife, after all. This isn’t the woman I fell in love with.”

  “Were you ever even in love with me?” I hear myself whisper before I can stop myself. “You know what, don’t answer—”

  “Yes. I’ve always loved you, Luce. That’s why I want you to come home,” he says huskily and takes a step toward me. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that it will stop the tears from starting. I’m over Tom. I’m over his games and what I thought was real, but I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way he manipulated me. The way he’s still manipulating me.

  “Then if you love me, stop bothering me. Just let me live my life without threatening to sue me every single week.”

  “You’re selling sex toys,” he says again, but this time his voice takes on a nasty edge. “You’re above that. At least you were when we were still together.”

  My eyes fly open only to narrow angrily at him. “I’m marketing for a well-respected metalwork’s designer. Just the same as I marketed for the pricks who own the world’s shittiest coffee company. I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “The problem is you’re better than this.” He skims his lips together, and when he smiles, a chill races down my spine. “Does your mother know you’re doing this?”

  “This isn’t about my mother, this is about you and me and why you can’t just leave me alone,” I spit out, praying he doesn’t see right through my answer. I’ve avoided telling Mom too much about my job at EXtreme, and I have no intention of giving her a dossier on the company anytime in the near future. I already know what she’ll have to say about it, and it won’t be pretty. “I’m not coming back to San Francisco because we’re divorced. You’re in love with Shane. Don’t try to lie and say he’s no longer in the equation because we both know he is and you’ll do anything to sa
ve your company from tanking. I’ve moved on. I’ve—”

  “Lucy,” an accented voice calls my name, and my shoulders tense as I spot Jace, Daisy and Theo coming around from the back of the building with their arms full of takeout boxes. His blue eyes harden when they land on Tom, but he grants the other man a brief nod. “I’m Jace Exley, the owner here, can I help you?”

  As Theo and Daisy duck inside, carrying our boss’s share of the boxes, Jace strides over to us. My ex’s focus zeroes in on the possessive way his tattooed arm comes around my waist. “You’re screwing your boss?” He shakes his dark head in disappointment. “Jesus Christ, Luce, you really have gotten desperate, haven’t you? How trashy of you. I—”

  “Tom!” I gasp and Jace’s hand immediately drops from my waist at the mention of his name.

  Before I can blink, he seizes Tom by the lapel of his suit jacket. “Careful there. I’m very protective of my employees—especially Ms. Williams—and I’d hate to break her ex-husband’s pretty veneers right in front of her. She’s not coming back to San Francisco. She’s not your fucking beard. She’s not anything to you anymore, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Tom growls, his nostrils flaring as Jace releases him. He turns to me as he straightens his clothing. “I’m flying back to San Francisco this evening, but my lawyers will be in touch with yours. Shane and I will be following through with the suit.”

  “Of course you will,” I say, relaxing against Jace when he slides his hand into the back pocket of my black skirt. “Goodbye, Tom.”

  He doesn’t say another word as he turns abruptly and stalks toward the black rental car parked on the curb, but I don’t expect anything else from the man I once swore I’d spend the rest of my life with.

  TWENTY-TWO

  LUCY

  I'm still on edge about Tom's visit when the work day ends, but when Jace comes into my office and pulls me close to him from behind, I feel some of the pressure lift from my body. Of course, a new pressure replaces it, and it only intensifies the second he dips his mouth to my ear and drawls, “Come over tonight, love. I have plans for your sweet cunt, and I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

  My body arches. There’s nothing I want more than to wash away my frustrations beneath his body and sweat, but that’s not an option this evening. My mother has already texted twice. She wants to know when I’ll be home since we have plans to go out to dinner with her new “friend,” and I don’t want to stand her up. If I do, I’ll never hear the end of it—she still brings up the phone I lost while I was out with Jamie whenever I leave my device lying around the house.

  “Come home with me,” Jace repeats, his warm breath fanning the nape of my neck.

  “I can’t.” I splay my fingers on my desk as his hands wander past my waist to my ass. He cups it roughly, giving each cheek a pump that steals the breath from my lungs. If someone had told me my senior year of high school that this is where I’d be ten years down the road—bent over a desk by my boss, Jace Exley—I would have fainted where I stood. Doing this with him is madness, the opposite of what I thought I wanted out of a relationship, and yet I can’t get enough. I suck in my bottom lip and inhale deeply through my nose before releasing both. “I really, really can’t because I have dinner with my mother and her new boyfriend.”

  But god, I want to spend the night with him.

  “You can’t or you won’t?” he demands in my ear.

  “Both.” At my words, he gives my ass a harsh slap, and I wiggle against him. He groans in my ear, then spins me around to face him, nudging his knee between my thighs as he draws me close to him. “Alright, love. Go home to your mother, then come to me after you’re done. I can come to you too, but I know I’ve got to be inside of you before the day is through.”

  I roll my eyes up toward the ceiling, trying to pretend that what he just said doesn’t make my pulse pick up to a dangerous speed. “You're a sex fiend, Mr. E.”

  He shrugs his broad shoulders, offers me a cocky smirk, and doesn't deny what I just said. Instead, he buries his fingers in my hair and tilts my head back. The tension sends a rush straight to my head that quickly sinks to my core. “You’re just now realizing that, Williams?”

  He trails his full lips along the hollow of my neck, his stubble scratching my smooth skin. “Do you have any idea how badly I've wanted you since I sent that motherfucker off earlier today?” He kisses one side of my collarbone, then the other. “Do you know how hard it was to let him go without adjusting his pretty face for hurting you, Williams?”

  “No.” He moves the knee between my thighs back and forth slowly, the friction wreaking havoc on my body. I release a strangled cry, which prompts him to go harder. Faster. “No,” I rasp, “I don’t.”

  He bows me against him and lowers his mouth to my nipple. Although there’s a blouse and bra separating my flesh from his teeth and tongue, it doesn't make the sensation any less erotic. “Do you have any idea,” he starts, this time moving his teeth to my other nipple, “how much I’ve wanted to take you into the photo room, chain your ass to that bed, and fuck you until you forget about him?”

  I moan, the strands of my hair not held captive by his grip flying around my face as I shake my head from either side. I can feel his cock against my stomach, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with my own, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to give into him. Fortunately for my lack of willpower, the moment he draws his knee from the juncture of my thighs to replace it with one hand, my phone vibrates on my desk.

  “Don’t you fucking dare, Williams,” he warns, ripping a tiny hole in the center of my forest green tights, which I had picked up in anticipation of St. Patrick’s Day in a couple of weeks. “I mean it. Don’t touch that fucking phone.”

  “I have to,” I pant, hating the way my body shudders the moment he slides one long finger beneath my panties and rubs the calloused tip over my center. All Jace has to do is crook a finger, and I fall apart for him.

  “You’re already hot and swollen and so ready,” he points out in a low voice brimming with cockiness. He knows exactly what he does to me and he revels in it. Moving his mouth from my breast, he brings our heads together, his breath ragged. “You don't have to do anything but let me make you come until standing upright is no longer in the cards.”

  Dear god, take me now.

  My phone dings again. Squeezing his eyes closed, he looks like he’s about to say something else but then he lets out a growl, releases my hair, and pulls his hand from my panties before he takes a step away from me. My throat goes dry as I watch him wipe his wet fingers on the front of his jeans, and my legs tremble at the wicked look he sends my way when he realizes I saw him. Leaning over my desk to support myself, I grab my phone. As I check my messages I feel him come up behind me again, his erection a hard distraction while I read over my mom’s text.

  6:34 PM: Are you coming home soon? Call or message back and let me know.

  “Was she like this when you lived in San Francisco?” Jace runs his nose along the sensitive spot behind my ear. I look over my shoulder to find that his eyebrows are raised questioningly, so I nod.

  “There were many, many times where I’d get a message at three in the morning my time.” The corner of his mouth quirks but he steps aside, giving me plenty of space to collect my belongings.

  “I hate to see that ass go,” he drawls. “But I'll stop being selfish.” When I pause in the middle of wrapping up my laptop cord to give him a skeptical look, he lifts his hands in front of himself defensively, flashing me a glimpse of tattoos and bronze skin beneath his black tee shirt.

  “Go home to your mother, Williams. But later, you’re mine. No ifs, ands, or buts other than your own raised in the air and waiting for me. And if I must, I’ll tie you up just to get you home with me. Just a fair warning—if it comes to that I really will fuck your arse like I’ve talked about.”

  Those words—those words—make my heart go wild against the walls of my chest. Since I can�
�t quite form a coherent sentence, I simply bob my head. He responds by playfully slapping my bottom and dropping a kiss between my shoulder blades that courses a heatwave from the top of my head to the base of my spine.

  “I'll see you later,” he says softly, his accent just as clear and beautiful as it was the day I met him years ago. He trails his lips over the spot behind my ear once more, inhaling deeply before he backs away from me to put a safe amount of distance between our bodies.

  I tuck my hair behind my ears, shivering when my knuckle traces the path his lips and nose had made. He’s standing clear across the room from me, and I can still feel him on my skin. “No. I won’t forget,” I promise him huskily.

  No matter what happens with Jace Exley and me, I already know that I won’t forget a damn thing.

  I text my mother back just before I leave the workshop to let her know I'm on my way, and she responds with a curt okay. I don't think anything of it—after all, Mom isn't much for sending texts, she prefers talking over the phone—but as soon as I pull into the driveway of my childhood home, I come face to face with the source of her irritation. The luxury rental that Tom had driven to the workshop earlier this afternoon is parked on the curb, in my usual place. I pull my Jeep to a stop behind it, my face slowly going numb as I go over a hundred different reasons why he might be here. None of them are good, and I stare at the license plate of his car until the numbers blur, a cold dread settling over my chest.

  He had told me he was leaving.

  He had told me that he was going back to California today and that the next time he contacted me would be via his lawyer.

  So why would he come here, to my mother’s house?