by Amelia Wilde
“Maybe one day. But I always thought—this is so stupid, because the Internet exists now—that it would be really fun to own my own publishing company. Now it would be more complicated, having to come out with digital books and all that, and probably nothing like what I’m imagining it was in the old days, but…that’s what I’d do.”
“Read for a living.”
“Yes. Read for a living.”
That same evening, the salt from the popcorn still on my tongue, Jax’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Hello?”
He hesitated, not wanting to move away from me, but after a minute it was clear that whatever it was would take more of his attention.
“No,” he said as he padded out of the room, leaving me to watch the fifth movie of the day solo. “No, absolutely not. Have all five of them conference in. Three minutes.”
And yesterday in bed…
Damn.
He took off my clothing with such infinite care that by the end I was trembling with anticipation. I threw my naked body at him, biting his lower lip, tasting his tongue, rubbing up against his cock straining against his pants.
“You’re so hot for me,” he murmured into my ear.
“Yes,” I gasped.
He made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you self-control?”
The past year has taught me self-control more than most other experiences in my life.
But this is a game that I so want to play with Jax…and I have a feeling he’s going to take it to a new level.
“No,” I whispered into his ear as he slid a hand between my legs, pushing them apart and running a finger through the wetness there.
“No?” he repeated, a hint of a warning in his voice.
We weren’t in the office, but I caught on instantly. “No, Mr. Hunter.” I rested my head against his shoulder while he stroked me, sending pulsations of heat through my body.
“On the bed, on your back,” he commanded, his voice quiet, and I fell back onto the brand new comforter. The mattress bowed a few moments later as, clothes discarded on the floor next to the bed, Jax climbed into bed next to me.
He planted hot kisses from my shoulder to my wrist on each arm, then he raised my arms above my head, pinning my hands against the headboard.
“Keep them here.” His soft voice was laced with steel.
I kept my hands planted firmly against the headboard as he licked and nibbled at my neck, dragged his tongue into the dip of my collarbone, took each of my nipples in turn into his mouth, then brought his head down between my legs until I thought I would die from the intensity of the pleasure. Measured. So slow it nearly drove me insane. So when he climbed up and centered himself between my legs and pressed his cock into me inch by inch my nerves were on fire and I felt every curve of him, every vein of his thickness against my walls, filling me, fucking me, getting me closer and closer to the edge until I careen over in a burst of light and heat…
I’m still thinking about his passionate lovemaking this morning, even while I’m about to disobey him.
The fact of the matter is, though, that no matter what we do in the bedroom, I’m a goddamn independent woman. I can’t deny that I needed someone to take care of me the past few days, and Jax has been incredible.
But it’s time to go back to work.
My muscles still feel fatigued, so I don’t even entertain the notion of working out with Carl. I just get up early, when I know Jax is with his trainer—I wonder who’s meeting him at this hour of the morning—dress as meticulously as always, and head out the door.
At the office Sandra barely acknowledges that I was gone, although a frazzled redhead named Allison from the editorial department sees me as her personal savior when I arrive and send her back to her regular job.
It’s not until 5:00 that I realize sneaking out so early without telling Jax is going to come with a price.
It’s on my calendar, so I show up for our daily meeting without a second thought—that’s how thoroughly I slip back into work mode, despite the fact that I move a little slower at the moment.
The moment I see his eyes, I see the depth of his fury.
Three steps into the office, and I stop dead, his face a mask of anger. He’s by me in a flash, locking the doors behind us, and then he takes my arm in his hand and walks me roughly over to the desk.
“Bend over.”
A flush of heat runs through me all the way to my fingertips, and the energy that spikes through my core is molten lust.
“Yes, Mr. Hunter,” I say and bend over, exactly how he showed me during our second meeting.
He shoves my skirt up and yanks down my panties, his hand hard against the small of my back, and that’s when I do it: I spread my legs wider.
Jax hesitates.
Leans down.
He whispers, “You knew I didn’t want you to come to work.”
“I came anyway.”
“It’s not safe, Catherine. Your health isn’t—”
“Are you going to punish me for it?”
My breath is ragged in my throat. A pause.
“You want me to punish you?”
“I wasn’t following instructions.”
He takes in one harsh breath and then I hear the rip of his zipper, a rustle of cloth, and Jax is slamming his cock into me, he’s into the hilt, and I’m throbbing around him, already on the edge of a climax. This is what he does to me, what I want him to do, what I need him to do—
“Harder!” I cry out.
He responds with a slap on the ass, stinging, sharp. “You don’t give the orders here.” I thrust my ass back against him, urging him on, in, deeper, faster.
He doesn’t disappoint.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jax
Catherine Schaffer is going to ruin me.
I don’t know what I intended when I came to the Basiqué offices knowing that she was here. A terse discussion, probably, that would alleviate some of the pressurized worry building in my chest.
I saw her fall.
It wasn’t that long ago that I came in early on some instinct, some mystical sign, I don’t fucking know, just in time to catch her before her temple crashed into the sharp, modern corner of Sarzó’s desk. Over that first weekend we spent together I saw how she needed more and more sleep to wake up every time, more and more time to recover, but she refused to acknowledge it. I watched the storm brewing on the horizon and I didn’t give a damn if I got wet.
We haven’t had the discussion yet.
That’s what makes all of this so damn difficult.
Love is one thing. Putting words to that feeling is one thing. Commitment is another, and through all our days of talking about our goddam hometowns and childhood friends, we never got around to giving our relationship a firm title.
And that means—fuck—I have no real right to feel as pissed as I felt when I discovered she left the penthouse and went to work.
At first—and I’ll goddamn admit it—I was in such a state because I thought I’d been pretty clear the day before. It took a good thirty minutes to remind my dumbass self that there’s a line—a huge fucking dividing line—between the games we play in the bedroom and our actual life together.
Fucked up, right? But it’s easy for those lines to blur.
For her, they haven’t.
For me, the things we do are a natural extension of how I live my own life. I am in total control.
And then it hits me again like a sucker punch: I’m not in control. Because if I was, Catherine Schaffer would be long-forgotten by now, another notch in my belt, left behind like the rest of the women I’ve dated in the past.
I’m not in control because I love her too much to let her go.
Of course, she goes anyway.
On top of that, I’m not entirely fucking sure that I’ll be able to turn off how I’ve always been, or that I even want to. It’s served me extremely well in every other aspect of life. It’s why my n
et worth is one of the highest in the city…not to mention the rest of the goddamn country.
I’m powerful in my own right.
When she walked in, I was ready to be clear with her on my expectations, especially when it comes to her health, because that’s how much she means to me.
But the sway in her hips, the glint in her eyes…
I had to have her.
Teaching her a lesson was only a side benefit, and then that spitfire of a woman went and turned the tables on the entire arrangement.
How could I resist fucking her when she bent over my desk for me, ready to submit to me…but only under her own terms? I don’t think anything’s ever turned me on more in my life.
Now she’s back down the hall, doing god knows what for Sarzó.
I’m about to leave when there’s a knock at my door.
“Mr. Hunter?”
It’s not Cate.
“Come in,” I call, pulling out my leather portfolio. I’ve been sitting at my desk since Cate rearranged her skirt and slipped out the door, the spring in her step not quite compensating for how worn down she still feels…even if she won’t admit it.
The door opens and a curvy woman who can’t be more than five feet tall comes in with timid steps, clutching a stack of papers.
“Mr. Hunter, my name is Lauren, from accounting.”
“Hello, Lauren.”
She takes a deep breath, obviously flustered to be in my presence, which isn’t uncommon. Last week I might have been harsher, more dismissive, but something about Cate has me looking at things differently. At Basiqué, Cate can’t be the only one who’s doing too much. She is, however, the only one who has a billionaire boyfriend to protect her from the worst effects.
Not boyfriend, I remind myself. Not yet.
Lauren’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “There’s a full report in your email, Mr. Hunter, but the department heads wanted me to personally deliver this summary to you.”
I wave her forward, and she puts the thin stack on my desk.
“Thank you, Lauren.” I nod at her, giving her a smile. “I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”
“Thank—thank you, Mr. Hunter,” she says, the relief obvious in her face.
When the door closes behind her retreating back, I’m already deep into the summary details.
The numbers don’t look good.
In fact, they look dismal.
Website traffic has fallen, ad revenue is on the decline for both the print and web properties, and subscriptions are down.
Basiqué was supposed to be a powerhouse.
As it stands, it’s barely supporting itself.
I sigh, resigning myself to keeping it alive with influxes of cash…for the space of three heartbeats.
No.
I cannot let Cate cloud my judgment.
This is exactly the kind of bullshit that I’ve been trying to avoid for years.
It’s far too late to convince myself that I don’t love her.
It’s not too late to stop my feelings from influencing my business decisions, however, even if it means closing her beloved magazine. If it comes to that and she leaves me over it…
That’s just the risk I have to take.
First things first. Sarzó needs to know that Basiqué is hanging by a thread. So is her career, and by extension, so are the most important dreams of the woman I love.
This meeting should be a thrill.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cate
Sandra is on a rampage.
She’s been on a rampage since last week, when Jax came into her office as she was about to leave, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He didn’t even look at me as he came through the outer office, and he wasn’t the least bit apologetic for making Sandra late for her son’s music camp performance.
Since then, things at Basiqué have been frenetic. I’ve been in the office at 7:00 every morning because Sandra is in at 7:30. The stream of meetings is ceaseless. The orders she barks at me never stop.
On Wednesday Bryce stops at my desk, breaking away from his group of models for next month’s military wear feature.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
“Hi, Bryce,” I say, typing Sandra’s latest schedule changes furiously into my calendar. The scheduling and re-scheduling is constant.
“Things seem a little….tense around here. Do you get that vibe?”
He stands close enough to talk but not so close that we could be accused of wasting time, something that’s frowned upon during the best of times at Basiqué.
“Yes. I do get that vibe. Very much so,” I tell him, finally reaching the end of the list. Not that it matters. Next time I go back into Sandra’s office, she’ll have another list. My fingers ache. Grabbing the notepad, I come around to the front of the desk to stand by Bryce.
“So what’s the breakdown?” he says in a low tone. “Is this place going under?”
“What makes you say that?”
He shoots me a skeptical look. “Don’t play innocent with me, Cate Schaffer. If something’s up around here, you’d know about it.”
“All I know is that Sandra wasn’t thrilled with how the last issue did.”
“Is that why she’s stacking all these meetings? To try and balance it out with the next one?”
I rub my forehead, trying to get rid of some of the tension between my temples. “I don’t see what else she could be doing.”
Bryce lowers his voice to a near-whisper. “Cate…we’re close friends.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “If people who only meet near this desk can be considered friends.”
“We’re best friends.” He’s wearing an impish expression.
“Sure, Bryce.”
“So why haven’t you told me that you’re dating the new owner of this joint?”
In an instant, all the playful warmth I felt from taking time to chat with Bryce vanishes. I whip my head around, eyes narrowed, voice tight and sharp. “Who told you that?”
His eyes widen at my tone. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to him that way before, and I immediately feel like shit for doing it.
“I’m…I’m sorry, Bryce. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—did someone say something to you?”
“No,” he says, looking at me warily. “Haven’t you noticed?”
“Noticed what?”
“People have been feeling the pressure for a while now, what with all the rescheduling, and—” He shakes his head. “Nobody wants to be late, and nobody wants to miss anything, so a lot of work has been going on in the meeting rooms. You haven’t seen me there?”
God, I’m such a bitch.
I’ve been so caught up with Sandra, and with Jax, that they’re the only people who’ve had any of my attention lately. Bryce is one of the few people in the office who made a point of stopping to talk to me, even if I’m harried and short with him.
“I didn’t notice. I’ve been…really caught up in it, and then I was sick. That’s not an excuse.”
“Sick?” His tone is filled with genuine concern. Bryce is a good guy. “Is that why you were out? I figured you were on vacation.”
“No, I…” I roll my eyes. “It’s so stupid. I kind of…fainted a little in the office a couple weeks ago.”
He reaches out and puts a hand on my elbow. “Cate, what happened?”
I try to brush it off. “At the hospital, they said it was exhaustion, but—”
“Jesus, Cate. You shouldn’t be here now. You should be on the beach in Hawaii with your billionaire boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Isn’t he?” Bryce’s grin lights up his face. “I’ve been in the meeting rooms for weeks. I’ve seen you going down to his suite every day at 5:00. It’s not a secret that you’ve been keeping him updated.” He laughs out loud. “A billionaire like Jax Hunter moves in and you think nobody noticed?”
I’m blushing from the sheer embarrassment of being caught so blat
antly in this situation by Bryce. Who else knows?
I clear my throat and repeat myself. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Sure, sure,” he says. “He’s not your boyfriend.” He signs the words in quotes with his fingers. Bryce leans over and whispers in my ear. “I’ve seen you coming back from that office. The look on your face—” He shrugs, a half smile on his face accentuating his dimples. “Don’t try to tell me you’re in there discussing memos or some shit like that.”
I bite my lip. Sandra’s still absorbed in a series of approvals, and I can trust Bryce, so…
“He’s not my boyfriend yet. He’s so…” Words to describe Jax flood my mind. Sexy. Gorgeous. Unbelievably hot. Attentive…to me, at least. But also: Controlling. Dominating. Sometimes I see it outside the bedroom, when it’s not a sexy game but a worrisome characteristic. “There’s something between us, Bryce, but he wants to be able to…I don’t know. He always wants the last word. He cares about me, so much, but…”
“He’s an arrogant bastard,” Bryce says nonchalantly.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” I say, not bothering to hide my distaste for his words.
“I’ve seen the gossip stories about him. Hell, I’ve even met him a couple of times, coming and going from here. He’s no angel, Cate.”
There’s not much sense in trying to convince Bryce otherwise—not now, when time is short. “Believe me when I say that there’s more to him than that. It’s just…”
“You can’t trust him 100%, because what if he’s the only one he’ll love enough to be with forever.”
Bryce gets me.
“What should I do?”
“Is he good in bed?”
I can’t stop my wicked grin.
“I see,” says Bryce, laughing under his breath. “Give yourself some time to figure it out. No need for a hasty decision, if he’s as good inside as you say.”
“Catherine? Catherine. Come in here. I have some adjustments that need…”
I mouth “bye” at Bryce. Time’s up.
It’s not until later that I realize I’ve missed my five o’clock with Jax.