by Gemma James
Another heavy beat passes as I twirl my wedding band around my finger. I’d do anything to go back to yesterday when the ring sat abandoned on Jules’ nightstand. For a glorious twenty-four hours, I’d felt free and alive with her. “Where do you think I was?”
Kaden gives a slow nod. “I figured as much.”
“Not that you have the right to judge, but I was about to tell Monica I wanted a divorce.”
“Seriously?”
“You sound surprised.” And that pisses me off even more. “I had no intention of sneaking around on her.”
“Jules must mean a lot to you.”
I settle onto the couch again and fall quiet for a few moments. My relationship with Jules is still new. It’s precarious—especially after what happened tonight because I don’t even know if my wife is dead or alive.
“I’m in love with her.”
“Sometimes you can’t help who you love.” His words cut through me in a way I don’t like, pricking at my anger all over again. I push it back to deal with later.
“I don’t know how I got here.” Slumping forward, I rest my elbows on my knees. “I loved Monica in the beginning, or I thought I did.”
“I think you needed to believe it was love.”
What he left unspoken bounces around my head. The attraction was there, a seed on the cusp of budding into something that could have been real.
Except for the man standing between us that I’d known nothing about.
If only our parents hadn’t pressured us into marrying for the sake of the merger, maybe things could have been different. By giving in, we’d doomed ourselves from the beginning. Maybe I knew it all along. Maybe I even knew it before I said my vows.
Maybe she did too.
I don’t know what sent her on a downward spiral, but it’s painfully clear that Monica and I have no business being together.
“Dad said she left a note?” Kaden’s words are spoken with a gruffness I’m not used to hearing from him, and in my mind’s eye, I see the note with brutal clarity.
Forgive me for what I’ve done. I can’t go on like this anymore.
I relay Monica’s scrawled words, and silence stretches between us, the air thick with the possible meanings behind her note. The grandfather clock in the hall announces the late hour, fracturing the uneasy quiet, and our father comes through the French doors.
And the night stretches endlessly before me.
3. Everything Changes
Jules
Cash never came back last night.
For what seems like the thousandth time, I glance at my silent cell lying on the kitchen counter.
He never came back.
That doesn’t bother me as much as the absence of a text. Trying not to come off as clingy, I only sent him two messages. But he hasn’t replied—not last night, and not this morning—and that makes me nervous. He’s never ignored my texts before, and the fact that he’s doing it now, right after we spent the weekend in bed together, has me panicking.
My stomach is in knots, and I’m afraid I’m going to barf. A glance at the clock tightens the ball of apprehension in my gut. I’m supposed to leave for work in an hour. Usually, I fall out of bed after hitting the snooze button a few times, but I couldn’t sleep.
I’ve been up and dressed for a while now, and there isn’t a part of my apartment that hasn’t been a victim to my pacing. There isn’t a part that isn’t spotless either. I’ve made the bed, dusted, swept, and mopped. Even though it hurt like hell, I threw out the sunflower bouquet he gave me. I’m thinking about organizing the dinky space in my closet when a knock sounds.
My heart slams to a halt as I eye the door. Swallowing past the nervous lump rising in my throat, I pad across the room, and my hand shakes as I turn the knob. I have no clue what I’m going to find on the other side.
Gorgeous stormy eyes filled with regret because he changed his mind? Or possibly anger…if things didn’t go well with his wife. What I don’t expect to find is this ragged version of Cash. His eyes are bloodshot, and though he’s dressed in a suit, ready to face the day, he doesn’t look as if he slept more than a few minutes last night.
He leans forward, both hands braced on the doorframe. “Can I come in?”
Jesus. The gravelly sound of his voice does strange things to my stomach. I open the door and gesture for him to cross the threshold. He steps inside with bone-tired footfalls, and fear takes residence in the trenches of my gut.
Something is wrong.
I shut the door and turn to face him, but he’s got his back to me as he wanders into my living room, raking his fingers through dark mussed up hair. He’s the picture of disheveled. The epitome of despondent. I try to find my voice but fail. Just last night, he had me up against the wall by the door. Just last night, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving me.
Just last night, I told him I loved him.
“Cash?” A tremor steals my tone.
He comes to a stop in front of my sofa then sinks into the cushions, almost as if his legs can’t hold him up anymore. “I’m sorry I didn’t return your texts. I didn’t get freed up until three in the morning.” Raising his head, he locks eyes with me, and the needy glint in them coaxes my bare feet across the room. Before I question myself, I sit next to him and lace our fingers together.
“It’s okay. You’re here now.”
“It’s not okay.” Scooting to face me, he brushes his knuckles across my cheek. “I’m assuming you haven’t seen the news yet?”
I can’t speak, so I shake my head.
“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it. Monica is missing.”
My heart tumbles into a nosedive. Of all the scenarios tearing through my mind, leaving utter chaos in their wake, that wasn’t one of them. Still unable to find my voice, I wait for him to continue.
“The police were at my building last night when I got home.” He squeezes my hand as if drawing the strength to go on. “A woman was found dead in our penthouse. The police suspect Monica of being involved.”
His words slam into me like well-aimed bricks. I return the grip of his hand, and I can only imagine the shock and anguish that’s going through his head right now. “What happened?”
“There was a struggle. The police think it might have been an accident, but they’re not ruling out homicide.” He swallows hard. “She left a suicide note.”
I suck in a breath. Lord knows I’m not a fan of his wife, but while we were fucking the weekend away in my bedroom, she was going through something horrible that might have sent her over the edge.
But over the edge enough to kill someone? To harm herself?
“Do you think she…I mean, is there a possibility she found out about us?”
He drags his long fingers through his hair—fingers that touched every part of my body over the weekend. “I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible.”
“What can I do?”
“They asked for my whereabouts this weekend.” He squeezes my hand again. “I had to tell them I was here with you. I’m sorry to put you in this position.”
“Don’t apologize. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
“Thank you.” His voice is thick. Strained. Disbelief is an arresting emotion, and it’s flitting across his face in painful waves. Anguished steel eyes burn into me, bringing on the threat of tears.
I shouldn’t want to touch him the way I do—with feverish longing rushing through my veins. Not under the circumstances. Fighting the need to crawl onto his lap and wrap my arms around him, I settle for returning the tight grip of his hand.
This is our lifeline—the holding of hands, the unwavering lock of gazes, the connection that’s only grown more powerful since the day we met. There’s no coming back from how we feel, no matter the circumstances.
“Jules…does it make me a total asshole for wanting you in my arms right now?”
“If that’s the case, then we’re both assholes.”
; With a tug on my hand, he coaxes me to straddle him and winds his arms around me, like two bands of immovable strength holding me hostage.
But this is where I belong, and there isn’t a thing in the world that will change that truth. As I sink my fingers into his hair, the tips of my breasts brush his solid chest. His stormy gaze settles on my mouth, and his innate intensity ignites an inferno between us.
Making me wet.
Making him harder than steel.
I don’t have to grind on him to know it’s true.
Letting out a sigh, he rests his head against the back of the couch. “I should have been strong enough to stay away from you today. If the media catches wind of an affair on top of everything else…”
Blinking rapidly, I ward off the hurt stinging my eyeballs. “I thought this was more than an affair.”
“It is, or I wouldn’t be here now.” He lets a heavy beat pass. “This is me being weak. This is me needing you no matter what.”
“I’m glad you came to me.”
“Fuck, Jules. If the world were burning down around me, I still wouldn’t be able to stay away. But things are about to go to hell. Until Monica is found, and this mess is resolved, you and I…”
“Can’t be together.” The despondency stirring my tone makes him wince.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying we need to be careful. The last thing I want to do is sneak around with you.”
“But?”
“But someone turned up dead in my home, and now my wife is missing. I don’t want to get you caught up in this more than I already have.” He grabs me by the nape, pulling me closer until I taste his breath on my lips. “Tomorrow, we’re going to work like nothing between us has changed, and I’m going to do everything in my goddamn power to fix this.”
I don’t like it anymore than he does, but I get it.
“Where’s your phone?” he asks.
I tilt my head toward the kitchen where I’d been pacing, trumped up on adrenaline and nerves as I waited to hear from him. “On the counter.”
“Call in sick. I’m needed at a press conference in an hour, but after that, no one’s expecting me at the office today.”
“What are we doing, Cash?”
“Stealing what little time we have left.” He doesn’t need to elaborate. Now is all we have.
Because tomorrow…
Tomorrow everything changes.
4. Impossibilities
Cash
Walking away from Jules again is unfathomable. The thought rips through my chest, shoots dread through my veins. Renders me incapable of giving two fucks about right and wrong.
We have so little time left before the real world comes knocking, and I hate not knowing when the earth will settle under our feet again. As Jules calls in to HR, I can’t keep my eyes off of her. She’s got her back to me, her golden locks falling to her waist, wild and free.
Jesus, I’ll never tire of ogling her, no matter the angle. No matter the agony. I want her on my lap again. I want her unraveling in my arms. I want to yank on all of that silky hair.
Some might call what we have lust. They’d definitely call it wrong. But nothing has ever settled in my gut with such rightness. The connection between us is too strong, and we’re both selfish enough to surrender to it, to hell with the consequences.
She ends the call and sets her phone on the counter, shoulders slumped. I recognize her dejected spirt before she turns around to face me, and if I hadn’t spied it in the bow of her head or the wringing of her hands, I’d find it drawn on her beautiful face.
A moment of uncertainty passes between us, and she’s the first to shatter it by moving toward me. “Are you hungry?” she asks.
“Maybe.”
She’s just the distraction I need, and with each step she takes, I’m openly undressing her with my eyes. Off goes that pink form-fitting blouse. The front dips into the valley of her breasts, and I’m positive she wore it for me today. It’s sexier than her usual attire, but just as sweet. I left her apartment last night with the taste of that sweetness on my tongue, with the memory of her body sheathing me in tight perfection. Her gaze darts to my lap, and I don’t even flinch. There’s no hiding this. We’re in big fucking trouble.
“I can fix you breakfast,” she says, stalling a couple feet away.
“I could eat.”
The corners of her mouth twitch, telling me she picked up on my double entendre. “I’m talking about food.”
“I’m not talking about food.”
She comes closer, and I grab her by the hips and pull her down on me. She parts her lips on a gasp, but it’s not her mouth that has me captivated. It’s her eyes. Christ, this is what I remember most—the forceful current of her deep brown gaze pulling me under, drowning me in trust and love as I slid inside her for the first time. If I’m hungry, it’s for that soul-shattering look of hers.
Damn, I need it with every fiber of my being.
Her living room fades, and it’s just the heat of her panties between us. The darkening of her pupils. The haze of lust in mine. She’s wet and tempting on my lap, and it’s enough to smother the reality threatening to choke me. Or maybe I’m just too exhausted to fight this.
“I can’t get over how beautiful you are.” I work to get the words past the hoarseness of my vocal cords. “Unbutton your top.”
As she slides a button free, I follow the movement of her fingers, practically hypnotized. Another button comes undone, followed by another until pink lace taunts me from beneath that material. Dipping my head, I nudge her blouse out of the way and find her budded nipple through soft lace. As I suck it into my mouth, her head dips back with a moan.
“We’re going to hell,” she says, breathless.
“Hell can have me, Jules.”
Because she’s pure heaven, and I’m defenseless against her allure as I claim her mouth. I’m needy and delirious and without remorse as I part her lips with my tongue. Jules obliterates my will, my mind, just like she has from the beginning.
She’s the elixir I need right now, the balm to the insanity crowding from the edges of my mind. I’m desperate to bury myself inside the haven of her soul, but I can’t bring myself to go that far. If we end up in her bed again, I’ll never be able to leave her.
For now, I’ll have to settle for the feel of her on my lap, her lips eager against mine, her fingers twisting in my hair. Soon, life will creep back in. People will demand answers. But in this perfect moment, she’s mine, and that’s all that matters. Everything else can fall where it fucking may.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she says, breaking our kiss.
“That’s been our story from the beginning.”
“I don’t want it to be our end.” She tugs her lower lip between her teeth, and I wonder if she realizes the gentle motion of her hips. We’re fucking through our clothes, but I can’t bring myself to care about the wet spot she’s leaving on my pants.
Maybe part of me is even a little rebellious, knowing I’ll wear the heady scent of her to the press conference.
Grabbing her by the nape, I pull her closer, my eyes on her lips just inches away. “One day, there won’t be any shouldn’ts between us.” I brush my knuckles across her cheekbone, and her gaze lands on my hand.
“You’re wearing your ring.”
My hand stalls, fingers heating her cheek. “I put it back on at the police station.” If the detective noticed, he didn’t say anything about it.
“This doesn’t feel right, Cash.”
Because it isn’t.
And yet, neither of us move. If anything, the pull between us tempts us even closer. Her breaths quicken to match mine, and I know we’re on the verge of losing the last of our control. It would be so easy. A quick unzip, a dip of my fingers sliding her panties to the side, my greedy cock seeking utter conquest.
Pure fucking heaven.
We lock gazes for the longest seconds of my life. Now that I know what it’s like to ge
t inside her, to feel her clenching around me, eyes dragging me under, her moans a seducing song to my senses, I can’t imagine going without that connection to her.
It’s like a drug, an addiction no intervention in the world can curb.
Jules jumps off my lap, breath hitching as panic darkens her eyes. She adjusts her skirt, buttons up her top. Looks anywhere but at me. “We’ve gotta learn how to control ourselves. How else are we supposed to work together?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t want to lose you.” Casting a desperate glance my way, she folds her arms over her chest in a defensive move that arrows straight to my heart.
I rise and cross to where she’s standing. “No matter what happens, you won’t lose me.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“You’re right.” I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger. “Life doesn’t offer guarantees, but it’s the closest to a guarantee I can give you. We’ll get through this. We have to because I won’t let you go.”
“What if your wife…?” Jules swallows hard then tries again, but the rest of her sentence refuses to be spoken.
“If she…hell.” Apparently, neither of us can finish a fucking sentence, because neither of us want to face the worst-case scenario. “The damage is already done. I fell in love with you, and the fact that I can stand here and say that while my wife is missing should be all the proof you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
Guilt pinches her face as she tilts her head, eyes downcast and hair providing a curtain to hide behind. I’m tempted to draw that cascading blond shield behind her ear, but I don’t.
“I’m a horrible person,” she whispers.
Fuck it. I drag her into my arms and tuck her head under my chin.
“You’re human. We both are.”
As she wraps her arms around me, breath shuddering against my chest, I close my eyes, and we sway like that for a while, neither speaking. Words aren’t needed since our thoughts on are the same wavelength. Doing the right thing is impossible.
