Trashy Affair Duet

by Gemma James

  “Sure.” I’ll do anything he asks if it means I get to spend more time with him. I shove the fact that he has a wife to the back of my mind. I’m convinced my good friend Denial lives in that area of my brain.

  The sidewalk is busy. Even so, we stroll toward the waterfront closer than is necessary. Closer than is appropriate. Before long, a Ferris wheel looms ahead of us.

  He gestures toward the giant ride. “You up for it?”

  I glance at the monstrous wheel. This whole encounter feels like it’s straddling the line we’re trying hard not to cross, but I can’t bring myself to break away from him. Being near Cash is so intoxicating, it’s addictive.

  With a nod, I let him usher me through the tide of bodies to the ticket booth, where I lose the battle of trying to pay for myself. He insists, and we shuffle into the short line. As we wait for the next gondola, his presence behind me sends a palpable wave of heat over my backside.

  I convince myself the warmth flushing my skin is from the sun, but as we board, I know I’m fooling myself. Not even the summer heat could light me up like this. A flutter of excitement goes off deep in my belly as I slide onto the bench. He scoots in beside me, and though we have the gondola to ourselves, he chooses to remain at my side.

  Maybe he’s worried I’ll have a panic attack. Or maybe he can’t fight this uphill battle any more than I can. The need to be near him is inescapable.

  Fuck. The only thing scary about this ride is the fact that we’re confined in a private setting, utterly alone.

  “You should see the view at nighttime,” he says.

  “I bet it’s spectacular.”

  As the gondola moves a few feet forward, he rests an arm along the back of the bench, and his hand lingers next to mine where I’m holding onto the seat. We aren’t even touching, but no one’s nearness has ever affected me like his does. As the ride sends us higher, I’m taken back to our brief time on the plane, and suddenly, I wish he had kissed me. At least then I could have tasted him under the umbrella of anonymity. But that ship has sailed, and it hurts something fierce to know we’ll never get that chance again.

  “Wow,” I say, leaning toward the glass doors. I peek at the ground and watch the movement of people shrinking in size as we climb skyward. To my left, I spy the Space Needle, but the rest of the Seattle skyline stands like a panoramic picture in front of us.

  Cash looks over my shoulder, his chest brushing against my back. “So, you’re afraid to fly but not afraid of heights?”

  The scent of his aftershave fills my senses, and I catch myself swaying into him. My pinky twitches toward his hand, and not even the sight of his wedding band has the power to shatter this moment between us. Will he touch me the way he did on the plane if I tell him I am scared? But I’m not a liar by nature, and there’s no way I’m going to lie to him.

  “Probably lacks logic, but no. I love heights.”

  He inches his hand closer to mine. “What is it about planes that scare you so much?”

  “The unknown, maybe?”

  “I think it’s perfectly logical, Jules. Planes are pretty much at the mercy of chance, the skill of the pilots, and even Mother Nature. You never know when a flock of birds will take out an engine.”

  “I’m so glad we didn’t have this conversation up there,” I say, nodding heavenward.

  He laughs. “I figured I’d spare you the terror.”

  “You made me feel safe.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I hear him inhale a quick breath. Slowly, his hand slides over mine.

  “You made me feel the opposite.” He dips his head, and his breath teases the space behind my ear. “You still do, Jules.”

  We’re stalled at the top of the wheel. I’m afraid to move, and it has nothing to do with the distance to the ground below, or the way the gondola is gently rocking in the wind. I feel as if I could sit here forever with him, frozen in time. Barely breathing.

  Just soaking up the heat of his breath on my neck and the sound of his voice in my ear.

  He breaks the spell by removing his hand from mine. As the Ferris wheel begins moving again, he puts several inches of space between us.

  “I promised I wouldn’t put you in a precarious position when I hired you.” A heavy beat passes. “I’m going to do my damnedest to keep that promise, Jules.”

  There’s a note of reluctant determination in his tone. The selfish girl in me curses his resolve, and for a moment, I’m weak enough to wish he’d break his promise. Weak enough to break the promise I made to myself.

  I want his hands on me—and more than just a brush of his fingers on the back of my hand or drifting over the small of my back. Fuck no. I want him naked and on top of me, taking me with the passionate fervor I somehow know is burning inside him. I’ve never craved dominance before, but something about the quiet authority in everything he says and does calls to me.

  We’ve gone a full rotation on the wheel, and we spend another whirl in silence until I can take it no more. The silence or the worry plaguing me.

  “Is this going to work? Because I just signed a lease on an apartment. I need this job, and if you think it’s a bad idea, I can—”

  “Jules, stop.”

  I fall quiet, not even questioning the gentle command in his tone.

  “If you’re uncomfortable working directly for me, I’ll transfer you to another job with equal pay. It’s not your fault we met before you walked in for that interview.”

  “It’s not your fault, either,” I point out.

  “No, but I don’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable. Your job will never be in jeopardy because of how I—”

  He breaks off abruptly, and I scoot to face him, completely uninterested in the view at this point. Not when Cash is sitting beside me, on the cusp of admitting his feelings for me. I’ve known it since that night on the plane, just as I’m sure he’s known how I feel, but we’ve never come right out and said it.

  We’ve tiptoed around it, but we’ve never voiced the forbidden.

  I study his expression, cataloging the resolute furrow of his brows and the unwavering line of his mouth. And that’s where I falter. That’s where I allow myself to wish he’d bring his tempting mouth down on mine.

  Obviously, he has no intention of going there.

  “Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Jules?” His voice is a soft caress to my senses, and I find myself nodding.

  Agreeing even though every fiber of my being revolts at the truth behind his words.

  He’s married. I’m his employee. And that’s that.

  “I understand,” I say, tingling under the steel of his gaze. Everything we’re not saying flows between us as the last leg of the ride passes. The gondola comes to a stop, and we finally break eye contact.

  He falls into step beside me after we exit, and we head back toward Pike Place amid the flow of foot traffic and the constant swoosh of cars on the freeway overhead. A few minutes later, we stall on the brick road in front of the market.

  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Is your place close by?”

  Chewing on my lip, I nod.

  “I’d walk you home, but…”

  “It’s okay,” I say, shuffling my feet like a fool. “You’re my boss, so…”

  Something about my words seems to bother him, because he takes a step toward me, brows furrowing. “I’d like to think we’re friends.”

  “Me too.” No matter how impossible that notion seems.

  Friends or not, allowing him to walk me to my apartment is out of the question. It doesn’t have to be spoken by either of us; we both know if he walks me home we’ll be tempted to end our time together in my bed.

  “Thank you for today. I had a lot of fun.” I want to ask if I’ll see him again next Saturday, but I bite back the question.

  “Me too.” He runs a hand through his hair, and my attention is drawn to those long, lethal fingers. God, how his touch would set me on fire. My resolve to do the righ
t thing would disintegrate so easily.

  “I’ll see you Monday at work,” I say, slowly backing away. Thirsting for an escape from my own desires.

  “See you Monday,” he says with a nod.

  Somehow, we manage to turn at the same time and walk away from each other, and I wonder if it was as difficult for him as it was for me.

  12. Club Shadow

  Jules

  That night, Lesley shows up twenty-five minutes past eight because she’s never given much consideration to punctuality. I’m dressed in the red number she said I should wear, my face made up, club-style. Right before we head out the door, she talks me into doing one shot with her—just to loosen me up.

  “You are rocking that dress,” she says as we make our way down the road toward the club. Her brown eyes lower, taking in my legs then my feet. “Especially those shoes.”

  The heels are a nice touch but not the most practical for walking. My feet ache when we arrive at Club Shadow. After standing in the long line of people waiting to get inside, we reach the front, and I hand the bouncer my ID. It’s been so long since I felt this good about myself. Confident. Sexy. Ready to have a little fun with my bestie. Yep, the pre-club shots we threw back before walking down here are kicking in.

  The bouncer lets us inside, and the place is packed. As I follow Lesley through the crowd, I take it all in. The long bar taking up the back wall, and the stage to our left. Blue and red lights beam down from the vaulted ceiling, and that’s when I notice the second floor. It’s dark up there, obviously a private place for VIPs since a bulky guy is manning the bottom of the stairs, where a rope sections off the space from the rest of the club.

  “I heard the owner is here on Saturday nights,” Lesley shouts above the rock music as she scores us two seats at the bar. After we settle in, she takes in the scene. A throng of people crowd around the stage, dancing and belting out the lyrics along with the lead singer. Tattoos sleeve his arms, and his hair falls into his eyes as he owns the mic. Sweat dampens the front of his tee under the hot lights.

  Lesley grabs my shoulder then points with her free hand. “That’s the owner. What did I tell you? Hottie at four o’clock.”

  Swerving my attention to where she’s pointing, I feel my heart stop. The guy Lesley is hoping to get a few minutes with is Cash.

  And he’s heading directly for us.

  For me.

  But as soon as he comes within a few feet of us, I realize it isn’t Cash—it’s Kaden. I’m not sure how I know the difference, but I do. My heart resumes beating as he stops in front of me, his warm smile taking hold of his face.

  “Hey, Jules.”

  I don’t need to glance at Les to know she’s staring at Kaden and me with her mouth hanging open, stunned at this new development. I’m also stunned. In fact, I’m so shocked that I can’t get my vocal cords to work.

  Lesley saves me by leaning forward and extending her hand. “I’m Lesley,” she says above the guitar solo that’s ripping through the club.

  Kaden tears his eyes from me long enough to greet her. “Nice to meet you, Lesley.” He winks at her before settling his attention on me once more. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You too,” I say automatically.

  He leans forward, and his arm brushes my shoulder as he gestures for the bartender. “Hey, Shane! Give these ladies whatever they want tonight. It’s on the house.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  The music falls silent, and the band announces a short break. Kaden slaps the countertop before stepping away. “We’ll catch up in a bit, okay?” he says to me. “I need to take care of something, but I’ll be back, so don’t go anywhere.” He disappears between the bodies, and through my stupor I hear the bartender ask what we’re drinking.

  “Vodka and cran,” Les says.

  “I’ll stick with water.”

  “You sure, sweetheart? You heard him—it’s on the house.”

  “I’m sure, thanks.”

  After the bartender goes off to fetch our drinks, Lesley turns to me and grips both of my arms. “I had no idea you knew the owner.”

  “I don’t really know him.”

  She quirks a brow. “Well, he seems to know you.”

  “Okay, I met him once. He’s my boss’ brother.” Just thinking about Cash gets my blood pumping. Our run-in today at the market left me in a state of chaos. That whole encounter feels like a dirty secret I’m keeping.

  “Wait, hold up a minute. Are you saying that hot-as-fuck man is related to those Montgomerys?”

  “Kaden is Cash’s twin.”

  “Jesus, Jules. Imagine being the bologna in that sandwich.”

  I imagine it all too well, but Kaden isn’t part of the picture, which leaves me baffled. How the hell can two men who are near replicas of each other, down to the timbre of their voices and the storm in their eyes, affect me so differently?

  “Control yourself,” I say with a nervous laugh, hoping she won’t catch on to how I’ve imagined all kinds of things with Kaden’s brother. “You’re here for business, remember?”

  “Damn straight! You’ve gotta talk to him for us. It’s obvious he’s into you.”

  “Talk to him…?” No way is she asking what I think she’s asking.

  “Yeah, hook the band up. Please?” She bats her long lashes at me. “If anyone can get us a gig here, it’s you.”

  Fuck. After everything Les and the guys have done for me, I can’t tell her no. But the thought of asking Kaden for anything fills me with unease. Just like she picked up on Kaden’s interest only minutes ago, I also felt it from the moment we first met at Mont Center. If only he were Cash.

  If only Cash weren’t married.

  If only…

  “C’mon, Jules. Pleeeease. I promise I’ll never call you Julie Bean again.”

  I burst out laughing. She called me that once, and after learning that it was a pet name my sister gave me, she swore to never do it again. “No need to pull out the big guns, Les. I’ll talk to him.”

  She dances in her seat, squealing her excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. This is meant to be—I can feel it.”

  Shane places Lesley’s drink on the counter before setting a tall glass of ice water in front of me. “Sure I can’t get you anything else?” His mouth is wide and sensuous, and if I weren’t so hung up on a man I can’t have, I might find the bartender attractive.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Holler if you change your mind,” he says before moving away to tend to other clubbers.

  I turn my attention on Lesley again. Sipping her drink, she looks at me with teasing eyes.

  “What?” I ask, raising a brow.

  “You’ve got ‘em eating out of your hand tonight, Jules. What’s your secret?”

  Mentally, I scoff. Maybe I’ve got a flashing neon sign on my forehead that says only interested in unattainable men. Seems like it’s human nature to chase what you can’t have. “I’m not the only one. A certain brooding guitarist only has eyes for you.”

  She almost chokes on her drink. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  The mirth in her expression disappears, and I almost feel bad, except that turning the conversation on her takes it off of me.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she says, but as she sets her drink down on the counter with a frown, I know that she knows exactly what I mean.

  “I’m talking about Zan.” I soften my tone. This must be a touchy subject for her, otherwise, she would have told me by now. Just like I would have told her about Cash…if the situation weren’t so sticky. “He’s got it bad for you, Les. And I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way you look at him too.”

  She facepalms with a groan. “If you’ve noticed it, then the guys probably have too.”

  I shake my head as the band members return to the stage. “I don’t think so. The only one who might have picked up on it is Leo, but that’s only because he knows you as well as I do.”r />
  “That’s the worst-case scenario! Garen probably won’t give two fucks, but Leo will give Zan hell if anything happens. It could tear the band apart.”

  “Is that why you haven’t done anything about it?”

  “Well, yeah. That, and Zan and I haven’t really…talked about it.”

  Kind of like Cash and me. We both know the attraction is there, but neither of us are willing to put it into words because the two of us can’t be.

  It’s then I realize that Les and Zan are also in a forbidden situation. Leo is protective—make that overprotective—and he won’t handle his bandmate hooking up with his little sister very well.

  Lesley’s attention darts over my shoulder, and when I turn I find Kaden heading for us again. She grabs my hand and squeezes. “We’ll talk about my lack of a love life later. Go work your magic.”

  With a gulp, I hop down from the barstool and meet Kaden halfway. The first strains of a haunting rock ballad begin, and I shout above the speakers. “Is there a place where we can talk?”

  With a nod, he gestures for me to precede him toward the staircase leading up to that mysterious place on the second floor. Just like his brother, he’s a gentleman and allows me to go first. The hired muscle at the bottom of the stairs nods at Kaden as he steps to the side to let us pass.

  My heart gives a nervous thump behind my breastbone as we climb the stairs to the VIP area. The space is in eerie shadow, yet inviting too, with scattered comfy sofas and chairs grouped together. I spy the stage from the edge of the railing, and the dance floor looks like a zoo of a party from this angle.

  Kaden ushers me to a couch and doesn’t sit until I do. He settles next to me, keeping a respectable distance, yet close enough to have a conversation over the music, which drifts up to us at a tolerable level.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  As I meet his eyes—eyes that look so much like Cash’s yet they’re not—I wring my hands in my lap. “I hate to ask this, since you hardly know me, but my friend would sacrifice her firstborn to land a gig here.”

  Tilting his head toward the busy floor below, he asks, “Your friend down there?”