She kisses my cheek and stands up to leave. “Good luck with the meeting.”
And with that she’s pulled back into her circle of friends, taken from me once again.
I miss her.
I work for a while, but I can’t concentrate.
After a while, I look at the clock.
Six thirty.
Time to go.
I get to the Plaza on time. “Ms. Ames is expecting you, sir,” says the front desk clerk, and hands me a key card for room 212. I take the elevator up to the second floor. I don’t bother knocking. I just let myself in. I have no intention of being civil.
She’s there, sitting on a chair by the window, sipping champagne. There’s a bottle on ice on the table next to her. And there, in her other hand, held between two red-taloned fingers, is a silver flashdrive.
She’s dressed in a black negligée, which pisses me off even more. It’s been months since we met and I’d forgotten the defining features of her face. Some might call her pretty in a plastic sort of way, but I know what she’s capable of. She may as well be a demon sitting there in her revealing dress. She may as well be the devil. She looks the part with her heavy eye make-up, her fake tits and her siren-red lips. I feel sick.
“Hi, Jake,” she purrs. “Thanks for coming.”
“You gave me no choice.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.” She pours me a glass of champagne. “Here.”
I’m tempted to grab it and chug the whole thing, to calm my frayed nerves. But it’s not a good idea. Without total control, I might hurt her. I might lose it completely. And the thought of walking any closer to her, of getting anywhere near her, sends slithering channels of panic through my chest.
“You look as gorgeous as ever,” she smiles. “You look like you’ve been working out a lot.”
I ignore her comments. I watch her twirl the flashdrive between her fingers.
“I didn’t make any copies.” She uncrosses her legs, which are overly spray-tanned. She’s wearing black, ridiculously-high-heeled shoes.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I swear it, Jake. I know I’ve behaved badly. I’m sorry. I just … I just really wanted to talk to you. To see you again. You wouldn’t answer my letters.”
“I was trying to be polite. I had no interest in seeing you again. I thought you might take the hint.”
“When I see something I want I go after it.”
“So do I. And when I see something I don’t want, I make sure to avoid it at all costs.” I don’t care that I’m being rude as fuck. This chick has put me through hell. And if the way she’s twirling a long strand of her black hair is anything to go by, she has every intention of continuing to put me through hell. Until she gets exactly what she wants. “You almost landed me in prison.”
She refills her glass. “I wouldn’t have let it go that far. I would have cleared your name before they locked you up.”
“How fucking considerate of you.”
“Jake, I had no intention of doing any of this. I know that sounds hard to believe. But it was the only way to get your attention.”
“Bail cost me two million dollars.”
“They’ll give that back once I send a few emails, clearing you of all wrong-doing. All I have to do is push ‘send’.”
“Do it now.”
She takes a sip. “Not yet. We still have a few details to attend to.”
“You ruined my reputation.”
“As I said, it’s just a case of sending a few emails. I’ve written a complete article, anonymously of course, which I’ll send to all the major newspapers. It explains how none of it was your fault. It also lightly touches on the fact that you’ve got a billion-dollar business idea. I haven’t listed details, just vague hints. You’ll be Wall Street’s golden boy as soon as it goes to press.”
“I don’t want that information released. It’s not ready, and even when it is, it’s not your fucking jurisdiction to publicize it.”
“As you wish. I’ll take that part out, then.”
“As I wish? I wish you would leave me the fuck alone, that’s what I wish. You cost me my job.”
“We both know you chose to leave your job. Your brother owns the company.”
This whole thing is playing with my sanity. How can anyone be so bold and abrasive and fucked? “This isn’t a game, Camille.” As soon as I say it, I wish I hadn’t. Her name tastes like poison in my mouth. “This is my life you’re playing with.”
She smiles again. “You’ll recover. I’ll make sure of that.”
That she thinks she has any kind of power or sway over my life irritates me beyond belief. I slide my hands into my pockets to stop myself from doing something illegal. Like throttling her with my bare hands. She seems to read my fury.
Her expression changes. To one of sadness. Her voice has lost its steely edge. She’s playing a different card: the helpless female, jilted by a callous and unfeeling asshole like me.
“Jake, it was the only way I could think of to get your attention. Did you even read my letters? I poured my heart and soul into those words. And to just be ignored like that … you broke my heart.” A tear draws a shiny line down her cheek, smearing her make-up.
I almost laugh. “Shit. You missed your calling. You should audition in Hollywood.”
She stares at me. “Jake, how can you be so mean? I love you. I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.” Then she stands up and starts moving towards me.
I step back, maintaining distance. “You do not love me. You don’t even know me. And you’re just going to have to accept that I’m –” I almost say it. I’m taken. But I don’t. Camille can’t know about Sugar. This crazy bitch is capable of anything. There’s no way in hell I’m going to put my girl in her firing line.
“You’re what?” she says, suspecting. “What were you going to say?”
“You’re just going to have to accept that I’m not interested. Got that? Completely, entirely, one hundred percent not interested. There should be no doubt in your mind whatsoever that it’ll never happen for us. Because I don’t want it to.”
“But … why not?”
Because you’re a psycho. Because everything about you is exactly what I’ve been trying for years to avoid. Because the only reason you’re attracted to me is to satisfy your own shallow agenda.
“I know you’re not gay, Jake. I’ve read the articles. I’ve heard about the things you used to do. Am I that … ugly?”
More tears.
“What you’ve done is ugly. The way you’ve acted is ugly. You’ve tried to manipulate me to get me to want you. It won’t work. It was never going to work.”
“Jake, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She’s crying in earnest now, working it. Her face is a mess, smeared with black smudges. “Please, Jake. Please just hold me. Just for a minute. I’ll give you the flashdrive. I’ll send the emails. I’ll do anything. Please. Please forgive me.”
She walks closer. She starts to reach for me. Her fingertips graze the leather of my jacket.
A wave of disgust floods through me. All that old rage and fear and sadness and shame erupts in some crazy overwrought reaction I never expected. I recoil. I back away. My hands are raised in front of me like I’m poised for a fight. If she touches me I’ll do something violent, I can feel it.
“Keep the fucking flashdrive,” I growl and my voice sounds cold, iced by those deep damages, the darkest places I know. “Throw me to the wolves if that’s your thing. Ruin my life. But don’t ever, ever touch me.”
I walk out.
The restaurant is crazy, as usual. Busy and buzzing, beyond anything I’d ever even dared to hope for. And mine. Jake shouldn’t have done that for me. I can’t believe he did that for me. I’m so incredibly grateful. I vow I’ll pay him back someday. And I make a resolution to do everything I can think of to make him happy. I don’t really know all the finer details of what makes him tick or what he likes. But I’ll lear
n.
If he’ll let me.
He seemed so distant and distracted earlier. Upset, too, under the staunchness of his cold façade. I didn’t want to pry. Something was terribly wrong, that was easy to see. When he gets back I’ll see if he wants to talk about it. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. I’ll be there for him in any way he needs.
The dinner service is under control and I decide to go over to my new bakery. People are flying in tomorrow for job interviews. It would be nice to have the place presentable. I decide to start cleaning it. I put on some music and fill a bucket with soapy water. I start scrubbing all the surfaces until they gleam. Then I start scrubbing the floor.
Sure, I’d noticed it: the white van parked halfway down the street. I’d heard Jake and his brother discuss it, of course, and even though I don’t think it’s necessary to have me under 24-hour surveillance, I’ll admit it makes me feel a little more secure. I managed to get a hold of my mother a while ago and she sounded almost happy. She’d met my father’s sister for the first time, along with a slew of cousins who all looked just like him. They’d welcomed her with open arms and had spent the past few days regaling her with funny and sweet stories about her one true love. She said she wished she went to Ireland a long time ago. That it gave her a kind of closure she’d never been able to find before now. And that she’s ready to go home, to Georgia, to start a new life. One that doesn’t involve any sugar daddies.
I haven’t heard a thing about or from Butch Flint since Jake took away his phone. But I have a bad feeling we haven’t seen the end of old A-hole.
At first I don’t even hear him walk in. The door bangs closed as he steps inside and I jump a little. But it’s only Jake.
He looks haunted, enraged. He looks mean as hell. And now, I can see it even though I’m not sure if anyone else could, he looks scared. I’ve seen his fear and I see its edges now. I know better than to approach him when he’s like this. His beast, in this mood, is caged by fragile bars.
So I keep it light. “Hey,” I say. I keep cleaning.
He walks over and takes the sponge out of my hand. He puts it in the bucket.
“What are you doing?” I say.
“You shouldn’t be doing this.” His voice sounds as dark-edged as it ever has.
“Why not?”
“I can hire people to clean for you.”
“I can do it.” I keep my voice calm, soft. He’s watching my face, my mouth, like he’s hanging on my every word. Like the sound of my voice is some kind of tonic to his jangled nerves. “I like fixing it up and transforming it into something beautiful. It’s looking better already, don’t you think? And I’ve decided to branch out into a whole range of pies, like I used to bake when I was young. Apple, cherry and blueberry. I’m still on the fence about pecan.”
He’s staring at me, like a part of him is dazed and closed-down. Like life has knocked him around again and he’s struggling for air. Fighting to push back all that angst that sometimes gets the better of him. Little pieces of what I’m saying are breaking through, but barely.
Something about the vulnerability in him cuts straight into me. There’s fear in him and, even more clearly, there’s kindness. It’s a kindness that keeps getting beaten down but is – it’s so obvious to me – bigger than anything else about him. He’s good, my Jake. He’s been broken, but the heart of him is pure.
Just like that, I realize something: karma wasn’t playing tricks on me. Karma was delivering.
This big, scarred, beautiful man is mine. He’s the one I was waiting for all along. He’s the one I wished for and saved myself for. It’s him. It’s been him since that very first moment.
As this life-changing realization filters through me, Jake lifts me into his arms. My white-knight lover, sweeping me right off my feet.
“Jake?” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Will you take me home?”
He carries me out. His driver opens the door of the car and Jake slides in, settling me carefully on his lap. I sometimes forget how strong he is. How big.
We’re cocooned in the luxurious car. The glass divider between the back seat and the front is closed. The windows are tinted.
“How was your meeting?” I ask him.
“Nightmarish.”
His anger is seething and deep-reaching. I think about touching the furrows on his brow, smoothing them away, but decide not to touch him, or push him too far. His volatility is too close to the surface. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I want to forget about it.”
He’s so tense. His muscles are coiled with high-strung angst. “Are you okay, Jake?”
“I am now,” he says, and I can feel the hard ridge of him underneath me. I’m sitting on his lap. His strong arms are around me. He’s so hard – everywhere – and all I want to do is comfort him and give him the kind of softness and love he needs.
He holds my face in his hands and looks into my eyes. “Whatever happens to me, sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about anything. I’ll make sure you’re protected, no matter what. If something happens to me … I just want you to know that.”
He stops. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Jake. Everything will work out fine. You’ll see.”
He almost smiles and there’s something wistful about his expression, like he’s wishing my words were true. “What I mean is that I’ll be there for you as much as I can, always. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. And I wanted to tell you while I still have the chance that I love you. I never even knew I was capable of love until you walked into my life. And now that you have, everything has changed for me. Everything.”
His words flow through me like warmth, thawing me, soothing away my doubts and hesitations. I love him. And I’m awed by him. He’s here, so perfectly imperfect, the true love I’ve always wished for. Right here.
Jake kisses me and I open to the silken stroke of his tongue. He eats at my mouth, tasting and licking inside me. The raw hunger in him is dizzying. The subdued power of his hard, muscular body as he grips me with his hands and cradles me against the hard planes of his body is electrifying. I feel light-headed with lust. No wonder. No wonder women cry over this man and go to crazy lengths to try and win him. He’s dark sensuality incarnate.
He’s breathing deeply, as though reclaiming oxygen he’s been deprived of for too long. My hands weave into his hair. I adjust my body so the warm, pulsing center of me cradles the rock-hard length of him. He feels so good. I swivel my hips, pressing my softening flesh against his cock, which surges and rears up. “Jake,” I whisper. “I want you so much. I want all of you.”
Jake kisses me feverishly, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. A tiny glint of happiness breaks through his sorrow. I can taste his happiness. I can feel it in the intimate exploration of his tongue. Then he pulls back. “I’m taking you to my apartment. I’m going to take my time with you and be so careful with you, you’re never going to want to let me go.”
“I’m not letting you go. You’re mine, Jake Wolfe. I’m keeping you.”
Something dawns on him and he puts his clenched fist against his forehead, closing his eyes.
“Jake? What’s wrong?”
His eyes open. “Condoms. I don’t have any condoms. We can stop --”
“It’s okay.” I almost feel embarrassed telling him this, in case he gets the wrong impression. But I’ve already told him I’m a virgin. I’ll just tell him the truth. About everything. “I’m … on the pill.”
His eyes narrow just the tiniest bit. “You are? Why?”
“My periods were all over the place. It was annoying. So I went to see my doctor about six months ago and she said that would regulate them. I’ve been taking them ever since.”
Jake smiles and he looks so incredibly handsome my chest goes fluttery. “Well,” he says, “that’s just about the best news I’ve heard all day.”
“We can still … I mean, if you want to use one anyway …”
“I’ve never … not used a condom,” he says. “With you … if you’ll let me … I don’t want anything between us. I want to feel you. All of you.”
I can feel myself blush. “That’s what I want, too.”
“I probably won’t last thirty seconds.” If I’m not mistaken, his color looks high, like he’s suddenly gone feverish. “But we’ll take it slow. We’ll take it nice and slow. We have all night..”
“That sounds good,” I tell him, kissing him again. I can’t help it. I’m addicted to his lips.
The limo pulls to a stop. The door opens and Jake lifts me out – I have no idea how he seems to carry me around with such ease. I never considered myself waif-like, but he’s so strong it’s no effort for him at all. He carries me into his building. As soon as the elevator doors close he’s kissing me again, until I’m wet and hot and so in love with him my heart feels like it’s bursting.
He kicks the door of his apartment closed and carries me straight to his bed. He lays me gently onto it. His kisses grow more erotic, licking my lips carefully, opening me as he crouches over me. I’m trembling with need. My hands are fisted around handfuls of his shirt. “Shhh,” he croons, easing and loosening my fingers. “I want you to enjoy every second of this. Relax. Let me take care of you. I want you so much. Do you want me, Sugar? Do you want to feel me?”
“Yes, Jake. Yes.”
He unbuttons my shirt and peels it from my body, muttering an oath when he sees my breasts straining against the black lace of my bra. He pulls the lace lower, exposing the taut, rosy peaks of my nipples. “You are so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, taking a nipple into the hot fire of his mouth, sucking and tugging the sensitive bud. He unclasps my bra and pulls it from my skin. His strong hands cup my breasts, plumping them to his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the tip of one, then the other, nipping his teeth, playing and feasting on both my nipples until I’m moaning his name.
As he feasts, I reach for him, pulling his shirt up. He yanks it over his head and tosses it away. His hair is wild, sticking up in thick disarray. His buff, beautiful body, inked and strong, looms over me and I run my hands over his smooth, hair-dusted skin, down his stomach. I find the massive ridge inside his pants and finger the thick length. My fingers sneak under his waistband and swirl the moisture that’s gathered at the tip of his big cock. He groans and moves, so his cock is out of reach and I voice a small protest until he starts kissing a line down my stomach.
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