by Amelia Wilde
Echoes from the fireworks booming in my ears, it takes me a second to realize we’re moving. Jax pulls away, breaking the kiss, and with one strong arm pulls both of us through the crowd and inside the house.
Most of the lights inside are off to enhance the fireworks experience, and when we get back to the library, it’s bathed in a sexy gloom that’s only broken by flashes from the fireworks. The sharp cut of Jax’s jaw is illuminated every few seconds in sultry blues and greens.
We’re barely inside the door before he’s pressing me up against the shelves, crushing my mouth with his. His hands are cupping my face, sliding down over my shoulders, cupping my breasts...everywhere. I’m drunk on the taste of him, on the expensive champagne, on the smooth whisper of my dress against my skin.
The kiss deepens and he takes over, one of my wrists in each of his hands, spreading my arms wide, pinning them against books on either side as he drags his hot mouth down the side of my neck to my exposed collarbone. I test him a little bit, tugging slightly on my arms, and he holds on tighter. I know he would let go if I asked him to, but the pressure of his hands against my wrists has my panties soaked underneath my dress.
He only releases my wrists to drop his hands to the hem of my dress and start shoving it up.
Jax Hunter is going to fuck me right here, up against a shelf full of first-edition books in the American equivalent of a palace.
The heavy door to the library opens with an audible click.
Jax reacts immediately, pulling me away from the shelves. I’m tipsy and still reeling from the hot attentions of his mouth, becoming aware all at once that my hair is a mess, that my dress is shoved indecently high on my thighs, that the fireworks ended a long time ago.
He reaches for my dress and pushes it down a few inches before the intruder flicks on a small table lamp.
It’s Marie. When she sees us, she lets out a cartoonish gasp.
“Jax Hunter, what are you doing in here?” Her voices rises in pitch and then she laughs, waving away her fright. I’m so mortified I can’t move except to look up at Jax’s face.
He gives Marie a roguish smile. “We stopped to see your collection, Marie. We’re on our way out.”
Marie’s eyes twinkle in the lamplight. “Is that so? Well, I won’t keep you. It was so nice of you to come to my little party. I’ll let you know about the next one.”
She’s at his side, kissing his cheek and then mine while I stand there dumbly, my heart pounding in my chest. I feel like a teenager who got caught on her parents’ couch.
Suddenly my head is throbbing with the champagne, with the incredible risk of doing this with Jax, with the overwhelming fear that I’ve missed a call from Sandra, I’ve missed something I was supposed to be doing, and everything I’ve worked for could crumble to ashes.
As soon as we’re out the front door and back in the summer heat, I shake my head to clear it of the last of the champagne. I don’t want to, but I put a little distance between me and Jax. This can’t go any further.
The valet brings his car around and Jax opens my door for me. “Come home with me.” His voice is full of authority, of command, and I want more than anything to give in.
I can’t do it.
The heat between us—the overwhelming, agonizing, molten heat—is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. But Jax doesn’t want me for his girlfriend, no matter how skilled he is at flirting, at breaking down my defenses. He’s looking for a quick fuck, a plaything, and I can’t risk a broken heart…or my job.
“It’s late,” I say, as firmly as I can. “Please take me home.”
His jaw juts forward, but he doesn’t argue.
It’s the right decision.
So why am I so crushed?
11
Jax
It’s been years since a woman turned me down.
Years.
My instinct is to press her—I know she’ll cave if I sweet talk her a little more—but I don’t. I can’t believe, after the day we had, that she didn’t immediately agree.
Instead, I sit two feet away from her in silence as I drive her as quickly as I can back to her building in Manhattan.
It’s not a comfortable ride.
We’ve been so close all evening that the distance between us seems cavernous, and Cate draws herself away from me, her body curled against the door.
I hate it.
But after she’s disappeared behind the lobby doors of her building, it’s agony.
I thought taking her to this party, getting to know her a little, kissing those lips one time would be enough to get her off my mind. To prove to myself that I’m not missing anything.
All it proved was that she’s the sweetest thing I ever tasted.
The way she tested me against the library shelves, then relented, letting me have my way with her while I made her mouth mine... The memory of it has my cock straining painfully against my pants.
I don’t know why I thought that some shitty dieting advice would apply to this situation. Giving in to a moderate amount of my craving has backfired spectacularly.
Back at my penthouse, I pace the living room floor and run my hands through my hair. I can’t stand to turn on the television, to have any distraction.
I need to see Cate again.
My cock twitches at the thought of her face.
Any other man would call her, apologize for whatever it was that happened at the end of the evening, and ask her on a second date.
The issue is that Cate isn’t interested in dating. I got the impression today that being Sarzó’s assistant is everything to her. It was an impulse decision, coming with me, the same way inviting her was a crazy impulse on my part.
I can hardly admit it to myself, but she’s not like other women.
This is not a game to me.
I need to see her.
My entire body burns with it.
I need a reason.
An excuse.
If I’m right, Cate spends almost all her waking hours at the Basiqué offices catering to Sarzó’s every whim.
That’s where I need to be.
The idea comes to me slowly. I get into the shower and wash the party off of me, watching the soap spiral down the drain. Bit by bit, a plan forms in my mind.
It’ll seem ridiculous to anyone on the outside. I’m a billionaire businessman—it’s the kind of thing I normally wouldn’t dirty my hands with.
But it’ll get me closer to Cate.
I’m going to do it.
I towel off quickly and head back out into the cool dark of my bedroom, snatching up my phone from the bedside table. Even while I tell myself Don’t get in over your head, Hunter, my fingers work the keyboard.
I send a series of emails that set everything in motion.
By tomorrow, I’ll be by Cate’s side.
And this time, I’ll be the one in control.
12
Cate
“What happened to you yesterday?” Carl steps back three paces and drops his hands to his sides. He’s barely sweating. I’m not much of a challenge this morning. My head feels heavy from so much champagne and heat, and a tight knot of disappointment weighs down my stomach.
I should have gone home with Jax last night.
Really, in the scheme of things, what did I have to lose?
Everything, the voice in the back of my head pipes up. As much as I hate it, it’s true. Getting involved with Jax Hunter on any level would be a huge mistake. He’s got the future of Basiqué in his hands, and if it doesn’t work out, it’ll be a disaster. And Sandra—she’d feel totally betrayed if that news got back to her.
“I’m sorry, Carl,” I say, wiping beads of sweat from my forehead. Everything is an effort this morning. “I went to a party yesterday. Took it out of me.”
Carl’s eyes are full of concern. See? I remind myself. This is exactly why you shouldn’t spend time on men like that. It throws you off your game.
“Should we call it a day?” he
asks, and the kindness in his voice pisses me off and makes me want to cry at the same time.
“No.” I rack my brain for a solution. I don’t want to give up on the workout, but the thought of circling Carl, raising my hands to fight, seems impossible. “If I pay extra, will you go for a jog with me instead?”
He shakes his head, an incredulous look on his face. “Sure, Cate…but it might be best if you went home and got some sleep. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you look like you need it.”
I summon every possible ounce of positivity and shove the disappointment deep down into my chest, where it doesn’t show, and give Carl a huge smile. “Three miles, Carl. I can sleep when I’m dead.”
Between the run and the hottest shower imaginable, I’ve mostly regained my grip on life by the time I’m striding through the offices at Basiqué, right on time. The after-effects from being with Jax Hunter and going to that party might have made me drag during the workout, but at work I’m an all-star. Nothing will interfere with my job performance.
That’s what I’m telling myself when I reach the T intersection and start to turn toward Sandra’s office suite, only to run straight into one of the two movers heading toward the exit at high speed.
No one is supposed to be here yet.
“Woah!” one of them shouts. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s…it’s all right.” I’m lucky I wasn’t carrying a coffee. “What’s going on?” I can’t believe something of this magnitude is happening in the office and I wasn’t aware of it. Is Sandra…?
“The boss is moving in,” the second one says simply. “We’re getting a huge bonus for a rush job. Speaking of—” He taps his partner on the shoulder and they sidestep me, rushing away.
I stand there with my mouth hanging open, for once looking in the opposite direction. The office suite there is used for board meetings and sits empty most of the time.
At least, it did before right now.
People are scurrying around in the suite, carrying cardboard boxes. The two men I saw in the hallway obviously dropped off some piece of furniture. The boss is moving in. What does that mean?
I’m still standing there when Jax Hunter himself steps into the hall.
He doesn’t see me. His attention is focused inside the main part of the suite. I see his mouth moving as he answers a question.
My entire body is suffused with heat—then ice-cold fear.
Basiqué has become a war zone.
13
Jax
I sense Cate’s presence the moment I step into the hallway, and I purposefully linger over telling one of my assistants where, specifically, I want her to display my family photos behind my desk. Let her see me. Let her get the full effect.
When I turn to face her, I see that she’s frozen in mid-step, her cheeks a vibrant shade of pink and her mouth half open in an expression that’s so inviting it takes every ounce of self-control I have in my body not to close the gap between us and take her face in my hands and…
“Mr. Hunter, when the movers get back up here, where do you want them to put the sofa?”
“By the windows, with the two chairs.”
By the time I look up from speaking to the assistant, Cate’s gone. Fleeing down the hall, probably. I wish I’d had the chance to watch her leave. I have plans for her, though, so I’m sure I’ll get another opportunity.
It’s early for me to be here, but I wanted to get all the setup started before Sarzó tried to stand in my way. Since the woman isn’t due to be in until 8:30, I’ve left plenty of time.
At 8:35 exactly, I leave my office suite and make my way down the hall to the twin suite at the opposite end.
The doors to Sarzó’s inner office are open, and Cate stands near the desk, notepad in hand, listening to her boss reel off a list of tasks for her to complete. Her face is completely neutral, even though Sarzó’s tone would have sent me over the edge a long time ago. Both women look up as I cross the carpeted floor and drop into the seat opposite Sarzó. “Hello, Ms. Sarzó. Cate.”
They haven’t taken their eyes off of me. A mild, detached confusion shows on both of their face, but bright red color comes to Cate’s cheeks.
“So, Mr. Hunter.” The editor-in-chief interrupts the silence, and I get the impression that Cate is the one who usually handles things like social conventions. Leave it to Sarzó to outsource that, too. “I see you’ve moved in down the hall.”
“Exactly as I detailed in my email. I thought we could take a few minutes this morning to discuss my role here at Basiqué.”
Sarzó lets out a laugh that walks the line between indulgent and irritated. “I read your messages carefully, Mr. Hunter, but I don’t see how you could become any more involved with Basiqué than you already are.”
Which is to say, not involved, aside from my money.
I flash her a smile that Sarzó can’t help but react to, even if it’s only to stiffen her back. “That’s exactly what I came here to clarify.”
“Should I step out?” Cate’s voice is even, but I can tell she’s struggling not to let her emotions show on her face. The fact that we’re so close to one another, the smooth scent of her in the air, has my cock rock-hard. There’s no way she can ignore the unspoken heat between us.
Sarzó waves the suggestion away. “No, Catherine. Mr. Hunter won’t be staying long.”
This woman is something else.
“You’re right. It’s a very busy morning, so I’ll get to the point. Last night, I made the executive decision to close Williams-Martin’s other print properties and focus all the resources on Basiqué.” Cate’s mouth falls open, but she stifles her gasp. “Despite the niche appeal of some of those publications, I’m not interested in keeping them running for the sake of sponsoring pet projects. I’m interested in making a profit. That’s why I’m going to be taking a more hands-on supervisory role.”
Sarzó leans forward and takes in a sharp breath, but I cut her off. “Of course, I’ll do my best not to interfere with your editorial decisions. But I will need daily updates on how this operation is being run.”
“Is this in lieu of the agreement we made on Monday?” Sarzó’s words are clipped, tight.
“No. You’ll still have two issues to prove to me that this is a worthwhile investment on my part. However, I will be monitoring the situation closely. That’s where Ms. Schaffer will come in.”
“Catherine?” Sarzó cocks her head to the side as if she’s hearing the name for the first time.
“Yes. I’d like you to make her available to me periodically throughout the day so that she can keep me apprised.”
“Absolutely not.” Sarzó’s tone is so firm that it takes me off-guard.
“Excuse me?”
“Catherine is not a common secretary. She manages all of my affairs. She doesn’t have time to be reporting back to you during the workday.”
I don’t let the flash of anger that spikes up in my chest show on my face. I own Sarzó’s magazine, and she thinks she can disregard my requests? It’s unbelievable on several levels. Maybe she’s more of an opponent than I’d thought.
Through all this, Cate has made no move to interrupt the conversation and interject with her own ideas. The way she stands, so perfectly still, so at attention, begs me to strip her clothes off and bend her over my bed, see how still she can stay while I fuck her, tease her, punish her…
“I’ll defer to your experience on this, Ms. Sarzó. Would you be open to a compromise? I’d like to be kept informed of the daily goings-on here. Could you spare Ms. Schaffer perhaps once a day, around 5:00? That should be sufficient time.”
Sarzó leans back in her seat and removes her reading glasses. Not once does she look at Cate to gauge her reaction. Cate’s feelings are entirely irrelevant in this exchange. It’s impossible to know what the editor is thinking, but my guess is, she’s weighing the cost of allowing Cate to meet with me once a day against the benefit of being on my good side, now that I’m
paying her salary.
“Very well. But you should be aware that Catherine will not be available to you for more than thirty minutes. Our workday doesn’t end at 5:00. It ends when I say it ends.”
“Perfect.” I rise from the chair and extend my hand first to Sarzó, then to Cate. When our skin touches it’s like a bolt of lightning, a surge of electricity, and for an instant the entire office disappears around me. All I see is her face, her full lips, her gorgeous eyes.
Snap out of it.
Not a second too soon, I drop her hand and nod my goodbyes.
I’m not even to the door when Sarzó starts listing off more things for Cate to do.
I’m starting to see why Cate is so uptight about her work. It must demand everything she has to give.
Don’t worry, I think to myself. She’ll have more to give. For you.
14
Cate
By Friday, I’m completely rattled by Jax’s presence in the office.
He comes and goes when he pleases, but he’s always there at 5:00, when I walk down the hall to meet with him about the things we’ve done that day.
I’m about to go to our third meeting, but my head is pounding. I can’t get my heart to stop hammering in my chest.
Every meeting is torture. Sitting across from him, wanting to touch him, wanting to kiss him, wanting to bite him—and knowing all the time that Sandra is watching the clock. She agreed to these meetings, but she hates them. Every day at 4:30 she adds more confirmations, more scheduling, to my list, and when I get back from Jax’s office at 5:30, she’s inevitably irritated that I haven’t done them all yet.