by Amelia Wilde
I close the window and lean back in my seat, considering what I’ve learned.
It doesn’t make much of a difference.
I wanted him on sight, and it had nothing to do with what he could buy.
What he could do with those hands, that body…
There will be no work at the office tomorrow. I’ll finally get at least half a chance to catch my breath.
By Wednesday I’ll be back in my desk, my focus where it needs to be.
Not on the slick wetness between my legs. Not on the heat rising to my cheeks.
Not on the cocky, mysterious Mr. Hunter.
7
Jax
“Are you going to buy something or let the rest of us have a look?”
The voice that comes from near my shoulder is familiar, and it breaks me out of my thoughts.
I’ve been staring at the jewelry case, but it’s Catherine’s face I saw. The deep hazel eyes that locked onto mine and didn’t look away. The full lips that I know would feel like heaven wrapped around my cock. And an absolutely luscious ass. A woman like Catherine—independent and fiery—will love some of the things I’d like to do to that ass.
Even if she’d never admit it.
It’s Christian’s friend, Jessica. He set us up once upon a time, but she canceled at the last minute. It’s probably for the best. Things would be awkward at the Swan if she got it into her head that we were in love.
“Excuse me,” I tell her with a casual nod. “No. I’m not going to buy today.”
“Too bad,” she says, glancing down at the case. “They’ve got lots of gorgeous pieces.” Then she laughs. “But you wouldn’t need any of these. Not unless you had a girlfriend.”
I let out a hiss of a laugh. “No point in worrying your head about that.”
“I never worry,” Jessica says absently. “But I would like to look at the necklaces here, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
I step aside and make my way to the door. It’s a private showroom, and the security guard holds the door open for me when he sees me approaching.
Why did I come here, anyway? I’m not buying any pieces for Catherine, though I can see her with these jewels around her neck.
It was something to do.
Something to take my mind off her.
A distraction.
It’s a dangerous game. I need to up the ante.
Peter drives me to the penthouse, my mind more filled with Catherine by the second. This little venture was meant to cure that.
What a colossal failure.
I feel like a lovesick teenager, though I never remember feeling this way as a teen. Who would have made me feel this way? Not any of the girls at school.
I change into exercise clothes. What other option do I have?
I do have one option.
But I’m not going to go there yet.
Yes, my cock is throbbing from thinking about her. Yes, it would be easier if I could whisk her away somewhere private, have my way with her, and move on with my life. But that kind of thing isn’t on the schedule for today. It’s not on the schedule ever.
The machines in the gym hum. They’re ready, waiting.
I start with a run.
One mile, two, three. They disappear beneath my feet while I watch the sun travel over Manhattan. Four. Five. Six. I’m not much of a runner, but it has to work at some point. There’s be a magic number of miles that will let me focus on something else. Anything else.
I stop after eight, my legs aching.
It didn’t work.
Weights.
I move through every machine in the gym, a massive circuit that makes my shoulders burn and my abs light on fire.
Still, her face floats up into my mind. The way her ass moves underneath her skirt. The way she holds her head so high, the way she would look if…
I stand up from the leg press and stalk over to the towels.
This is ridiculous.
I thought maybe if I got physical my brain would reset. I thought I would realize that Catherine is as dispensable as any other woman. I should be over it by now.
Cleansing breaths. This should not derail my entire afternoon. This is exactly the kind of thing that leads to a disaster. Runaway emotions. Forbidden relationships. I want nothing to do with it.
I want a shower. That’s what I want, and nothing else.
The master bathroom is a cavernous space—I could have an orgy in here, if I were so inclined—and every detail has been engineered to my exact specifications, from the Raindance Royal shower heads to the shade of the marble countertops. I turn the shower on full blast and step in.
The water runs down over me, almost too hot, and I run my hands through my hair. How would it look running over Catherine’s?
That single image has my cock standing at attention.
This time, I give in, wrapping my fist around my length, bracing one hand against the wall. I set my mind free. I let it wander over every one of her curves. Those eyes. Those lips. Those legs…
Finally, finally, I get release.
My mind calms.
For five minutes.
By the time I’m out of the shower, I’m already thinking of her.
She’s got to get out of my head.
Or else…
8
Cate
I dream about him. About the cut of his suit, the line of his waist, the muscles moving underneath the fabric. The scent of him.
His eyes, gray-blue and electric.
His hands on my breasts, sliding down my rib cage, pressing firmly against my hips. His mouth hot on the side of my neck, sending shivers to shake my entire body.
When I wake up at 6:00 on Tuesday morning, I’m completely disoriented from the strength of the dreams. The space between my legs is hot and slick, and between waking and sleeping I can’t resist it, don’t want to resist it, and I slide my fingers underneath the silky fabric of my pajamas, underneath the tight-fitting stretch of my panties, and over the smooth skin, fresh from a recent wax, until my fingertips make contact with the throbbing button.
I don’t have a lot of time for dating, so I’m very, very practiced at getting myself off.
Afterward, cheeks flushed in the cool of my apartment—thank god for central air—I curl around one of my pillows and squeeze my eyes shut.
Leave the phone, I tell myself. Don’t look. The office is closed today.
Every ounce of my energy goes into falling asleep, and for a while I doze, but each time I start to drift off my heart begins to pound.
I know exactly why.
The instant a thought of him crosses my mind, my mouth waters for a taste of his full lips. Then, cruelly, thinking of him makes me think of the office. Holiday’s aren’t sacred to Sandra.
It’s a little past 7:00 when I toss back the covers and throw my hair up into a loose bun, the urge to check my phone finally mollified.
To my shock, there are no messages from Sandra. I have a few emails from people at Basiqué confirming appointments for tomorrow, but that’s it.
Aside from the hum of the air conditioner, my apartment is silent.
Manuel asked me what my plans were yesterday, and now that I’m here, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee on my couch, I wish I’d made some.
I while away the morning, eating breakfast at the cafe on the ground floor of my building and then standing in the shower for a full forty minutes.
For once, I linger over getting ready, straightening my long, dark hair until it falls shining over my back, then pulling back sections and holding them with strategic bobby pins. It feels good to have most of it loose. I leave my makeup simple and fresh, which still takes twenty minutes.
It’s best to be prepared.
By noon I’m ready for anything, my bright red sundress the perfect outfit for the holiday.
The only problem? I still have nowhere to go.
After another fifteen minutes flipping through the channels
and trying to choose one of my New York acquaintances to text in hopes that they’ll be doing something I can attend, I can no longer stand to be in the suffocating emptiness of my apartment.
Up until yesterday, it seemed like a safe haven. Now it’s missing something.
Hunter.
No—not him.
Purse tucked under my arm, I’m about to step out of my apartment when my cell phone rings, sending my heart rate into the stratosphere. But when I pull it from my purse, it’s not Sandra who’s calling but my sister, Bee, inviting me to video chat.
For an instant I hesitate. I don’t want her to know that I’m spending the holiday alone. It only takes one rush of hot shame before I’m speed-walking back to the couch, raising the phone to a flattering angle in front of my face, and pressing connect.
“Cate!” she squeals as her image comes into view. “Oh, my god, you look so cute. Are you going out? I can call back later!”
Bee and I weren’t always friends as children, but now, as adults, she’s the closest person to me. Sadness pricks at my heart. I haven’t been talking to her much lately. Too busy on the job. I used to make it a point to text her on the way to and from assignments, but since I got the promotion to Sandra’s head assistant, everything else fell by the wayside.
“I was!” I answer, keeping my smile bright. “But I was…” What can I tell her that won’t exactly be a lie? “…leaving early. I have a couple minutes to chat. How are you?”
“Huge!” she jokes, shifting in what seems to be one of the beach chairs she and Dex bought for their back deck this summer. Bee is seven months pregnant with twins, so I can’t say she’s the slimmest I’ve ever seen her, but her face absolutely glows with happiness.
Envy flashes across my mind, but I remind myself sharply that I’ll have everything Bee has when I’m secure in my career. Not before. I learned that lesson from what happened to my dad.
I give her a little laugh. “You look great too, Bee.”
“Is that Cate?” Dex’s voice comes from somewhere offscreen, and then his handsome face appears, blocking my view of Bee. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a crush on him during high school. The hottest guys always went for Bee.
“Hi, Dex,” I say, waving, and he returns the gesture before disappearing again.
“What are you guys up to?” I ask as Bee readjusts her oversized sunglasses.
“Dex is grilling.” He calls something unintelligible, and Bee laughs. “He says he’s cleaning the grill. I’ll have to wait for food.”
“If I know you, there’s a package of Oreos on the table next to your lawn chair.”
“You’re right!” Bee’s smile is incandescent. “I never wait for food. Not these days. So, where were you headed, Cate? Are you going to some Fourth of July party? Your dress is perfect for it!”
I can’t tell her the truth—that the only plan I have in mind is to walk to the office, check in on things, then walk home. “Yeah! A couple of the girls from the office are having a rooftop cookout.”
“Oooh!” Bee bites her lip. “I wish I could come hang out with you in the city.”
“You know you’re welcome any time,” I promise, even though the thought of having to entertain on top of work nearly makes me break out in hives.
“Maybe when I’m not so pregnant!” she shouts, then dissolves into giggles. Bee loves the summer, loves holidays, loves an excuse to lounge around on the deck all afternoon. When her laugh settles down into a smile, she lets out a satisfied sigh. “Well, I won’t keep you.” Then she peers at her phone’s screen. “Are you doing okay, Cate? Your makeup is gorgeous, but you look a little…tired.”
“It’s long hours,” I say dismissively, giving her a huge, played-up smile that she can’t help but laugh at. “I’m headed in a great direction, though.”
Bee’s face turns serious again. “Remember to take a little time for yourself, okay?”
“I will.”
Dex’s voice, halfway filtered by the phone, crackles across the connection.
“What did he say?”
“He said have a beer for him! And one for me, too. But be responsible, okay? Love you! Talk soon!” Bee blows me a kiss, and I wave frantically right up until the video call disconnects.
I sigh, missing her already, then stand up and smooth my dress.
I might as well stop by the office. It’ll eat up another hour, at least.
9
Jax
I’m a block away from the office, drumming on the armrest with one hand and steering my Aston Martin with the other, when I spot her on the sidewalk in a red sundress that’s long enough to be flirty instead of slutty, striding along in low heels, sunglasses covering her face. The mere suggestion of the curves of her petite body underneath the red fabric has me hard in an instant.
I don’t know what I was planning when I got into my car this morning. Because I’m a decent human being, I gave my driver the day off. Not my personal trainer, though. Carl showed up at my penthouse at 7:00 sharp and put me through my paces until the session ended at 8:00.
After that, all I had to do was kill time until noon, when I planned to leave for Marie Hantz’s Fourth of July party. We run in the same circles populated mainly with wealthy assholes like ourselves, and every year she puts on a huge production at her home on Meadow Lane in Southampton. I almost always go alone. Marie likes to invite her hottest single friends, and every year for the past four years I’ve taken a different one home with me at the end of the night.
Until this moment I’ve been dreading making small talk with all of those women, but as I wait at the light and track Catherine Schaffer’s delectable ass as she crosses at the intersection, scanning the street over and over for oncoming traffic, an insane mood strikes me.
When the light turns green I gun it across the intersection and glide into the only available empty space—right in front of a fire hydrant. I can see Catherine coming closer in my side mirror, and as she gets level with my car I roll down the passenger-side window.
“Miss Schaffer,” I call to her, and she startles, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “Don’t tell me you’re going to the office on a national holiday.”
She raises her glasses an inch and bends down to look in through the window, giving me an incredible view of the soft curves of her breasts. Her face, already flushed from the heat, goes a darker shade of red.
“I don’t think that’s your concern, is it, Mr. Hunter?”
I give her my most winning smile, and the edges of her lips turn upward a little. “So you were heading to work.”
“You know,” she says, glancing up and down the block, “you don’t have to worry about when I plan to be in the office. I’m sure we won’t be seeing each other much.”
New strategy. “We didn’t have the chance to get to know each other yesterday.” My original plan in the five seconds that it took to steer my car over here was to ask her to have coffee, which now strikes me as the worst idea on the planet. It’s eighty-five degrees out and climbing. Still, the words that come out of my mouth next surprise me as much as they surprise her. “I’m going to a party. Come with me.”
Once I’m finished speaking, I realize that this is the solution I’ve been looking for. I absolutely cannot allow myself to get hung up on Catherine Schaffer. I won’t allow it. All I need is one day with her. This godforsaken bank holiday presents the perfect opportunity.
Catherine opens her mouth, closes it, and slides her sunglasses back down like they’ll help her consider her options in relative privacy. “Mr. Hunter—”
“Outside of the office, you can call me Jax.”
She smiles, and my brain splits in two. Half of me wants to do nothing but make her smile for the rest of my life. The other half recoils from the way the happiness in her face makes me feel—like I’m spiraling out of control.
“Jax.” She tastes my name in her mouth, then presses her lips together for a split second before she spea
ks again. “We’ve only spoken for what, a minute total? This is a major holiday. Isn’t there someone else you’d rather take?”
I dart my eyes toward the empty passenger seat, then focus back on her face. “Does it look like it, Ms. Schaffer? Don’t worry. I’m not looking for a romance. Only company at a party.”
Her shoulders relax a little.
“Outside the office, you can call me Cate. Everyone else does.”
It’s my turn to smile at her, even as images of her bent over the leather sofa in my living room flood my mind. “Get in the car, Cate.”
She hesitates one more time. “Where’s the party? Is it in the city?”
“No. The Hamptons.”
She blanches. “Where in the Hamptons?”
I can’t help but grin a little wider. “Southampton.”
Cate takes a step away from the car, straightening her back, and puts on a smile that rings false. “I can’t…” She pauses, swallows. “I can’t go to a party like that.” She gestures at her outfit.
I take in the red sundress. “I disagree. But if it’ll convince you to come with me, I’ll take you shopping for a different outfit right now.”
Her laugh is musical with a hint of confusion. I’m not entirely sure why I’m going to all this trouble. The insane energy between us will probably be gone by the end of next week. Who knows? Maybe the end of tonight.
There’s only one way to find out.
“If you wait much longer to decide, Catherine Schaffer, I’m going to get a ticket.”
For the first time, she glances down at the bright red fire hydrant, and her mouth forms a perfect O.
Then, without another word, she pulls open the car door and slides into the opposite seat, closing the door firmly behind her and pushing her sunglasses up over her hair. I get a glimpse of her unforgettable hazel eyes.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks, glancing over at me with a look that sends a rush of heat to my cock. “Drive!”