by Gemma James
Suck it up, man.
I’m halfway to setting my cell on the nightstand when it vibrates in my palm.
Jules: Goodnight. Maybe I’ll see you in my dreams.
“Goodnight,” I whisper, choosing not to say goodbye via text. If I had my way, we’d never say goodbye at all.
14. Emotional Affair
Jules
Breathless. That’s what I am the instant our eyes lock the following morning. If anyone saw us behind the closed door of his office, they’d only see two colleagues greeting each other for the day. They wouldn’t know how we exchanged little pieces of ourselves last night.
Shoving my nerves down, I set a cup of coffee on his desk for him, and he turns that stunning smile on me like he normally does.
“Thank you,” he says before taking a cautious sip of the hot java. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”
“You’re welcome.”
He always has a seat waiting for me on the other side of his desk. I slide into it, tablet ready in my hands.
“I have a meeting in an hour,” he says, dragging his fingers through his dark hair. “I think it’s a good idea that you come along to learn the way I do things. You might need to step in for me while I’m gone next week.”
Gone in OKC. So close to my hometown but so far away from me.
“Of course. Do you want to go over the agenda now, or should we do that after the meeting?”
“Now’s fine.” He grabs at his tie, and I bite back a grin. He’s already shed his jacket and rolled up his cuffs. By the end of the day, he’ll have that tie removed. For someone who looks so fucking sexy in a business suit, he doesn’t handle the constriction of them well.
I pull up his schedule for the week. It’s packed full of meetings and appointments, but the one this morning is absent from the calendar. “I’m sorry,” I say, stricken with embarrassment. “I must have missed this morning’s—”
“No, Jules. You’re doing great. It’s an emergency meeting with the Board. Apparently, the projections on the expansion plans aren’t good enough for a couple of the members.” He sounds beyond irritated, and I don’t blame him because we worked on those projections for hours last week before his quarterly meeting.
“Is there anything you need me to do to prepare?”
“Compile everything we have on the expansion projects for the quarter. They want more details, we’ll give them more details.” We go over his schedule before I rise to do what he asked, but he halts me as I reach the door.
“Jules?”
His “boss” voice is gone, replaced by the sensual timbre I hear in my dreams. That tone thickens the air with longing, making me grow warm between my thighs. I glance over my shoulder. Seconds pass, and each one feels like a lifetime to the beats of my heart.
“Thank you,” he says, his stormy eyes flickering to my mouth.
Last night, I told him he was irresistible, and that couldn’t be more true than it is now. He’s a collision of casual and authoritative behind that desk. The epitome of sexy-as-fuck. But when he drags his gaze to mine again, the loneliness he usually hides is as clear as the blue sky on the other side of that wall of glass.
I want to go to him. The urge is a force I can barely fight.
He’s fucking off-limits, Jules.
Married.
And my boss.
They say history has a tendency of repeating itself. I’m afraid that’s going to end up being the case with him.
“I’ll be back soon with that info.” I scurry from his office, my pulse pounding in my ears. It doesn’t matter that we didn’t bring up the texts; they refuse to be forgotten, and that becomes more apparent throughout the day. Meetings, emails, phone calls, coordinating schedules—all of it is a shitty distraction from what I feel every time he looks at me.
Because the things we confessed the night before, and even things we didn’t, flood back every fucking time.
Just like our run-in at the market, those texts sit between us, nothing but tempting morsels of secret and stolen moments I can’t help but cherish. I’ve never tasted his lips, have never felt his hard muscles against my soft curves, but we’re definitely having an affair—only it’s the emotional kind.
And that’s worse than if we were fucking like horny teenagers. Fucking can be done on a purely physical level. Chris and I were more than familiar with the practice of emotionless coupling—just two bodies rutting between the sheets. We were young when we got together, neither really knowing what the hell we were doing. Our love was innocent and new, but it didn’t go deep enough to flourish over the years. Something was always missing—that spark they talk about in movies and write about in books.
It took a chance encounter with Cash to realize how powerful chemistry is. We’ve barely touched, yet what is blooming between us is far deeper than lust or desire.
And it feels like the dirtiest form of cheating ever.
The work day ends later than I’d like it to, and as I wait for the elevator, Cash comes to a stop beside me. I try not to look at him. Try not to fidget as his nearness washes over my skin like a tangible caress. Someone passes behind us, their heels clicking across immaculate white marble.
Neither of us speak.
We’ve spent big chunks of the day together in the same room, but we had the distraction of work and other people to keep us company. To keep us in line. Now, as those elevator doors open and we step inside, I’m as nervous as I was when I first entered his office this morning.
My heartbeat flutters fast as the doors slide shut. As we start the slow descent to the bottom, I lift my gaze, meeting his head-on, and the yearning I find in his eyes is so powerful that I grip the bar behind me as a lifeline.
Being alone with him is fucking dangerous.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
He has no idea.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me of a different kind of hunger since I didn’t have time today for a proper lunch. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Want to grab dinner?”
I arch a brow. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I’ll be on my best behavior, Jules.”
He will be, but what about me? A day doesn’t go by that I don’t lose my head around him. Especially when he looks the way he does now, with his hair mussed from running his hands through it all day, jacket and tie gone, and cuffs rolled up.
He walked into the building this morning looking like an executive, but he’s walking out sexily disheveled. And he’s asking me to walk out with him.
“What about your wife? Isn’t she waiting for you at home?” I know she left Mont Center hours ago. Over the past few weeks, I’ve noticed that she isn’t the type to put in extra hours.
Not like Cash does.
“The last thing I want to do is go home right now, Jules. It’s just dinner, I promise.”
When it comes to him, it’s never just anything. But as usual, I’m powerless to say no. As we arrive on the first floor, I wonder what would happen if he really touched me. If he came on strong enough to leave no doubt about his intentions.
Would I be able to resist him?
To resist what every fiber of my being is aching for?
I honestly don’t know.
Exiting through the glass doors of Mont Center, we fall into step, side by side. He chooses the restaurant, and we begin the short walk there in companionable silence. I never feel the need to fill the air with useless chatter around him. Even when I’m nervous as fuck, my heart beating too hard, and palms sweaty, being around him feels natural. It feels right, despite that damn ring on his finger.
As soon as we reach our destination, he opens the door for me.
“Just so you know,” I say, catching his gaze, “I’m paying for myself, so don’t even try arguing with me.”
An amused smile plays on his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The restaurant is a mixture of classy and intimate, but what I like most is the unique
ambience I’ve begun to associate with Seattle; laid back and artsy with a touch of grunge. The lights are dim, casting a warm glow over the square tables outfitted with simple white cloths and tea candles. The place is brimming with people, some locals, and some tourists. I don’t think there’s a person here who isn’t engaged in conversation.
Being a Monday night, the wait isn’t long. The hostess leads us to a table on the terrace overlooking Elliot Bay, and the spice of Italian cuisine has my mouth watering.
“Have you been here before?” he asks after we’re seated.
“I haven’t, but I like it.”
“Kaden turned me on to this place. It’s been one of my favorites ever since.”
“I ran into him Saturday night at his club.” I pick up my menu, deciding not to bring up my upcoming “date” with his brother. Hopefully, it’ll be nothing more than a casual outing as friends. Not even worth a mention.
I’m still not sure why I agreed to it in the first place, other than I seem to have an issue telling people no lately.
“He mentioned you and your friend stopped by.”
Flicking my gaze over the top of the menu, I study his expression, but if Kaden told him about our upcoming date, Cash doesn’t show it.
“Les and the guys have been trying to get a gig there for a while. I had no idea your brother owned a club.”
“It’s that whole separate paths thing I was telling you about. The family business didn’t interest him, much to our father’s irritation.”
“Parents can be a bitch sometimes. My mom hasn’t spoken to me in weeks. She’s not happy that I moved out here.”
“Why not?”
“Control, maybe? She likes to meddle. My sister goes along with pretty much everything she wants.” I shrug. “I’ve always butted heads with my mom.”
The server stops by our table, offering wine, but I decline.
Alcohol and married men don’t mix for me.
We give the server our dinner orders, and after he leaves us alone again, Cash picks up our conversation as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I know what you mean. Kaden and our father have never seen eye-to-eye.”
“What about you? Do you get along with your parents?”
He frowns. “For the most part. I’ve always followed the plan my father laid out for me. I imagine if I veered from it, things would get tense.”
“Your father sounds headstrong.”
“That’s putting it nicely. My mom had to strong-arm him into stepping down as CEO. He had a heart attack last year.”
“That had to have been scary.”
“It was. It happened right in the middle of the merger with Blake Holdings. The doctors said he was taking on too much and needed to slow down.”
“So you took his place in the company?”
“Didn’t have much choice. It was going to happen at some point anyway.”
The despondent note in his tone tugs at my heart. I know he loves his job—especially when he’s working on expansion projects. Those days tend to end long after the sun sets, because he’s too caught up in blueprints to take notice of the time.
Those are the days I stay to help him, even after he tries to send me home.
The server returns with our plates, breaking through the heaviness of our conversation. Cash ordered risotto, and I opted for lasagna. We’re quiet for a few minutes as we eat, gazes flicking up every so often and crashing together.
And this is starting to feel more like a date instead of a dinner between two colleagues, or two friends, even. I think about this Friday and my date with Kaden.
If I can only let my guard down long enough, maybe it’ll be fun. The thought makes me want to groan. Going out with Cash’s brother is too much of a bad idea to be considered fun. But he held up his end, since the band is playing at his club in a couple of weeks, so I need to keep my word and suck it up. Who knows, maybe it won’t be so bad.
Maybe some nothing-serious-kind-of-fun is what I need. Am I even the type of girl that can do that? I have no idea, but I think it’s time I find out. Because pining for a man I can’t have is more than pathetic. It’s unhealthy and wrong.
And dating a carbon copy of him is right?
I squash that annoying righteous voice into a pancake.
“I can hear the wheels turning in your head,” Cash says with a teasing smile. “What’s on your mind, Jules?”
“Things I shouldn’t be thinking about.”
His eyes darken, following the movement of my fork as I shovel a bite of lasagna into my mouth. After swallowing, I lick the sauce from my lips. My mind is screaming retreat, retreat, retreat! But my mouth has other ideas, because my next words betray me.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I want to be that fork.”
I bring another bite to my lips. He’s openly watching me eat, his mouth slightly parted as storm clouds fill his eyes. His foot nudges mine under the table.
We should stop this. We’re several levels past flirting. We’ve fallen headfirst into eye fucking each other across the candlelit table. And now we’re playing footsie like fucking teenagers.
“Just dinner, you said.”
“That was my intention.”
“Was?”
“My intentions go out the window when it comes to you.”
“I think that’s something we have in common.”
Which makes our behavior irresponsible.
“I’m sorry, Jules.” He pulls his foot away. “Seems I’m saying that a lot to you lately.”
“You’re not the only one at fault here. I said yes to dinner.” A heavy beat passes as I weigh my words. “And I answered your text last night.”
He lets out a long exhale. “I shouldn’t have sent it.”
“We have a lot of ‘shouldn’ts’ between us, Cash. All we can do is move forward.”
As if coming to a silent agreement, we drop the subject and finish our meals. The end of our time together approaches, and instead of prolonging temptation by ordering dessert, he asks for the check.
And he pays the whole damn thing, despite my protests. If I’ve learned anything about Cash these past few weeks, it’s that he has a stubborn streak as strong as our attraction to each other.
“I can walk you home,” he says as he ushers me out of the restaurant.
Jesus, if that’s not asking for trouble, I don’t know what is. He can’t quite meet my eyes, which tells me he’s thinking along the same lines as I am.
Privacy.
Bed.
No clothing.
No coming back from that.
I shake my head. “I can get home on my own.”
“I have no doubt that you can, Jules.” He closes the few feet between us and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “Thanks for tonight.”
“Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”
“How about we call it even?”
“Deal.”
The sun is setting, washing the sky in swirling pinks and oranges. People move around us on the sidewalk, but time might as well stand still as I meet his eyes. Sexy and vulnerable is a dangerous combination on a man.
With a hard swallow, he pulls back. “Goodnight, Jules.”
He’s already walking away, and I try to tell him goodnight, but the words stick in my throat.
15. The Perils of Dating
Jules
My hand trembles as I apply mascara. He’s going to be here any minute, and I can’t help but vacillate between going on this date and calling it off. The rational part of my brain can’t comprehend that I’m about to go on a “friend” date with Cash’s brother. His fucking twin brother. As I jab the wand into the mascara tube, I wonder how the hell I got myself into this situation. Why didn’t I say no?
It’s only one date, Jules.
A knock on the door quiets the battle going on in my head. I shove the mascara into the makeup bag on the vanity, along with the lip gloss I already applied. Smoothing the
bodice of my black dress, I leave the bathroom and make my way to the front door, where I find Kaden standing on the other side. One thing I’ve noticed about Kaden is he doesn’t do dressed-up, yet he manages to pull it off somehow in a pair of dark blue jeans and a white button-down shirt.
He shoots me an easy smile, and God he looks like Cash. Same thick, dark hair. Same steel eyes. It trips me up every time. But Cash is smoldering intensity—serious with small doses of playfulness that shine through every now and again. Kaden, in contrast, is almost carelessly easy-going.
“You look amazing,” he says, taking me in from the soft waves of my hair to the sandaled wedges on my feet, pearl-painted toenails peeking through.
“Thank you.”
A moment passes as we stare at each other. He breaks it by offering his hand. “Ready to go?”
Hesitation freezes my limbs, and I try to convince myself there’s still time to back out. I can tell him this is a mistake—unprofessional at best on my part, considering I work for his brother. And if that fails, I can always cough up a fib and say I’m coming down with a stomach bug. There’s nothing sexy about the possibility of a ruined night thanks to a puking date.
“Having second thoughts already?” His mouth tilts into a crooked grin. “Scared you’ll want to add some benefits to that whole ‘friend’ idea?”
“No.” There’s zero chance of that happening.
“Don’t make me play my trump card.”
“What’s that?”
“You gave me your word.”
God, he just won’t quit smiling, which makes it hard to say no, even if his strong-arming tactics are making me uncomfortable. I’m slightly sick with myself as I slide my hand into his. “Okay. One date.”
“One date,” he agrees.
I switch the lock on the doorknob before I let him lead me down the stairs to the alleyway, where a silver sports car is parked. The evening is mild, clear of rain, and I’m thankful for the low humidity, since I’m actually having a good hair day.
“Where are we going?”
