by Gemma James
With the exception of last night, the dominance inside him is subtle, maybe even in full-blown hibernation, but now it’s running rampant, and I’m having trouble reconciling my first impression of Cash on that plane with the absolute alpha standing behind me, shoving me onto his desk as he kicks my feet apart with a curt order to spread them.
I palm the surface, and my golden locks cascade around my face in waves, obscuring my vision, heightening the crackling awareness between us until there’s only the hard desk underneath me and the warmth of Cash between my legs, his fingers trailing down the small of my back, sending shivers down my spine. Biting back a needy moan, I arch into him as he slips a hand under the hem of my skirt and lifts the material until my thong-clad ass is bared.
“Jesus, there’s something so damn innocent about you, but this right here,” he breathes, dipping a finger beneath the back of my thong and snapping the scant material against my ass, “is hot as hell, knowing you’re wearing this just for me.”
“You like it?” My voice is practically gone, held hostage by the desire thickening my throat.
“I love it,” he says, and my head spins again as he pulls me upright and turns me to face him. “And I love you. So damn much it terrifies me. You’re under my skin, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“I feel the same way. You have to believe that.”
“If there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that I have a mean, jealous streak, and I won’t apologize for it. Not with you, Jules.”
“He caught me by surprise—”
“I don’t need an explanation. I only need to know it won’t happen again.”
“It won’t.”
“What about us?” he asks, gripping me by the ass. He sets me onto the desk and wedges his torso between my thighs. “Are we happening again?” Leaning down, he nips my lips, then softens his tone. “And again.” Another kiss, another whisper. “And again?”
I inch back, meeting his challenging stare head-on. “You’ve got me on the edge. What the hell are you waiting for?”
14. Timing Is Everything
Cash
It’s a good thing I had the foresight to buy condoms yesterday when I grabbed the tulips and dinner. The flowers are on their way to a sad death in my penthouse—a place of ghosts and lost hope and dreams—and the food is beyond saving, but the condoms…
Maybe part of me hoped I’d get one out of three, because I’ve got two tucked away in my wallet.
And I’ve got Jules waiting and willing on my desk, her brown eyes dark with lust, glinting with undiluted want. It still blows my mind that this incredible woman wants me, despite the heavy baggage chained to my feet, sinking me a few more meters each day.
“What’s the schedule look like this morning?” I follow the question with a teasing bite to her collarbone.
“No meetings until ten. We were supposed to work on the proposal for the Phoenix project until then.”
“I’d rather work on you.”
“I’d rather you work on me too, boss.”
I laugh at that, but then she obliterates all thought by unzipping my pants and wrapping her fingers around my cock. With long, steady strokes of her hand, she sends me out of my fucking mind. I’m held captive by the seduction in her warm, sable eyes. She plants a hand on the desk to support her weight, then she arches her spine and spreads her knees for me. I reach for the buttons of her blouse and undo them all the way to her navel, exposing her lace-covered tits.
Pink see-through lace to match the scant panties I know are soaked.
Fighting dirty, indeed. Two slits run vertical down the cup seams, allowing her nipples to poke through the lace. The cut of her lingerie is an erotic temptation my mouth can’t resist, and I dip my head and tease a nipple through the gap, tugging it between my teeth. She whimpers, and that throaty plea tempts me to bite and lick all her intimate places, marking them as mine.
“I need you inside me. Don’t make me beg.” She flexes her fingers around my erection, and with every desperate pant escaping her lips, her strokes quicken.
I’m tempted to make her beg, except we don’t have time. It would take hours to make her writhe and plead for my cock in a way that would satisfy me, and the things I want to do to her are far from your average office fuck.
I want to own her, body and soul.
“Maybe I should make you work for it,” I say, brushing my lips over the swell of her cleavage before leaving her other nipple damp and puckered in my wake.
“Please,” she whimpers.
“I let you come yesterday.”
“But you left me a hot mess last night.”
“Mmm,” I murmur against her throat. “I could do it again, and you’d have no choice but to go through the workday with this ache between your legs.” I leave that dangling in the air just to taunt her.
“Jesus, Cash. You are mean.”
“Don’t forget the jealous part. The two are exclusive.”
“Mmm, exclusive. I like the sound of that.”
“Me too.”
I remember how she clenched around my fingers yesterday as she came, and I know I won’t be able to drag this out much longer. I need to get inside her and find home again in the snugness of her pussy. It’s only been a few days, but it feels like forever.
My only regret is that there will be a latex barrier between us this time.
“I owe you an apology,” I breathe the words against her neck, trying to think straight despite the tight, warm friction of her fingers on me. She swipes her thumb over the wet crown of my cock, and I smother a groan in the crook of her shoulder.
“An apology for what?”
“I didn’t use a condom before.”
“You weren’t the only one in that bed. What’s done is done.”
“I realize that, but I need you to know that if something does come of it, I’ll be there, no matter what.”
She slides her palm along my cheek, and I can’t help but close my eyes at the warmth of her touch. “I already know that. You’re not the type to run from an unplanned pregnancy.” She pauses for a few seconds, nibbling on her lip. “I guess neither of us think straight when we’re together.”
“Not from the waist down, no.” I reach for my wallet and pull out one of the rubbers I stashed there last night. She commandeers the condom, tearing open the foil wrapper.
“I’ll get back on birth control.”
As she rolls the latex up my shaft, I suck in a breath. “I like how permanent that sounds.”
She smiles. “Me too.” With slow movements, she unknots the tie from around my neck, then unbuttons my shirt before roaming her hands over my chest. I’m sure she can feel how fast and hard my heart is pounding, and I want to find out if hers is a perfect match. It must be.
Because she’s the other half of me. The center of my soul. The north star in my sky. I think we both recognized it at first glance on that plane. It’s the reason I tossed my morals out the window to be with her—why I’ll continue to ignore what’s right and what’s wrong if it means one more touch.
One more glance.
One more chance to hear her voice, taste her kiss, experience the comforting blanket of her love.
Closing my eyes, I rest my head against hers and breathe her in. “I could spend the rest of my life loving you.”
“I could let you,” she whispers, and I let out a sigh as her fingers rake through my hair.
“Where the hell have you been hiding all my life?”
“In a tiny dot-on-the-map town in rural Oklahoma,” she deadpans.
I laugh. “God, the way you make me feel.” As I take her by the mouth, I sweep her panties to the side and position my cock, on the cusp of sliding home, and that’s when the phone on my desk shrills.
“Fuck,” I mutter, cursing the heavens.
Or hell.
I break away, my pulse thrumming in my ears, cock throbbing more than is bearable. “I’m sorry. I have to get that.�
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“Ignore it.” She’s breathing hard, and we haven’t even started yet. I’m not going to lie—the fact that she’s so worked up is a stroke to my ego.
“I wish like hell I could, but I forwarded my calls and told Beth to ring me if it’s important.”
The reminder of reality is a chilly splash over the heat between us. With a sigh, she straightens and begins buttoning up her clothing.
I dispose of the condom then do the same.
And I know we’re both considering the possibility. The probability. There’s only one thing that’s important enough for Beth to interrupt the CEO of MontBlake during a do-not-disturb order.
Eyes locked on Jules, I lean past her and pick up the phone. “What is it, Beth?”
“It’s your wife, sir. They found her.”
15. Escape
Cash
It takes forty-five minutes to get across the city to the hospital where Monica was brought in after someone found her unconscious in her car. The company driver pulls into the emergency entrance, and I hop out and rush through the automatic doors, attention zeroing in on the woman behind the circular counter.
“I’m looking for my wife, Monica Montgomery. She was brought in about an hour ago.”
Her fingers work over the keyboard. “She’s in room 209,” she says, directing me down the hall. I thank her before taking off in long strides, all but running down the corridor. But the closer I reach my wife’s room, the more I find myself holding my breath, unsure of what to expect.
A commotion sounds from the end of the hall, and I slow my steps, breath whooshing out of me before coming to a stop in the doorway of Monica’s room.
“Let me go!” she screams at the nurse, thrashing against the straps keeping her restrained to the bed. Detective Riley and his partner are already in the room. He steps forward, edging in at the nurse’s side.
“Mrs. Montgomery, your cooperation will make this a lot easier.”
“Stand out of the way,” the nurse admonishes Riley. “I’m trying to take care of my patient here.” She reaches for a syringe and administers a drug into Monica’s IV. Willing my heart rate to slow, I blink several times as Monica drifts off to sleep. Part of me thought she wouldn’t be in that bed.
I’d hoped the detective was wrong, and I’d come to the hospital and find out my wife didn’t actually try to kill herself.
But there she is, eyes shuttered and long, dark lashes sweeping over porcelain skin. A monotone voice comes through the speakers in a page for Dr. something-or-other. I don’t catch the name.
Because I’m frozen, sickened beyond belief, gaze glued to my wife’s body. Funny, how she seems so insignificant, so frail, so…not Monica.
Footsteps pad behind me, carrying someone down the spotless hallway. “You must be the husband?” a doctor asks.
I turn to face him. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Physically, yes. The man who found her got her help in time, and we were able to pump her stomach.”
“But?” I know there’s more—his hedging tone implies it.
“It’s too early to speak of her emotional state. She’ll need all the support she can get.” As his words sink in, I’m finding it hard to breathe again. She really tried killing herself.
And I can’t process it. Everything around me is in a metaphorical spin, and I’m powerless to stop it. I have so many questions, and zero fucking answers until Monica wakes up and talks to me. Assuming she will talk to me.
“She’ll be out for a while, but you’re welcome to go in,” the doctor says, gesturing toward the sleeping form of my wife. “Just keep the visits short. She’s allowed two visitors at a time. Immediate family only.”
With a nod, I take in a deep breath and let it out before stepping inside her room. Her raven hair is a stark contrast against the white pillow, making her seem so damn pale. The doctor reads over Monica’s chart, and the nurse finishes taking vitals before both of them leave the room. I settle into the chair at Monica’s bedside, swallowing the lump of sorrow and guilt collecting in my throat.
“Is my wife under arrest?” I ask the detectives standing on the other side of her bed.
“She hasn’t been charged yet, but we need to interview her.”
I’ve known her since we were kids, and regardless of what the evidence or circumstances might say, I know she isn’t a cold-blooded killer, though I don’t bother wasting my breath telling Riley and his partner that.
“We’ll come back later after she’s awake,” he says. “In the meantime, we’re posting an officer outside the room.”
“You just said she’s not being charged.”
“No, but she is a suspect.” Riley gives me a sympathetic nod on his way out, which surprises me. The stillness in the wake of their exit is unsettling. I study Monica as if watching her will give me a clue that will explain it all. Her lids suddenly flutter open, revealing sedated eyes that widen a little at the sight of me.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Cash…” Her voice fades as lines of distress slash across her face. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
Sorry for killing someone?
Sorry for lying to me for months?
Sorry for not loving me enough?
Considering her current state of mind, all the questions hurtling through my mind don’t matter right now. I cover her restrained hand with my own. “Just rest. We’ll figure it out.”
She parts her lips, as if to say more, then the medicine in her veins pulls her under again. I let out a long breath, heartbeat keeping a steady pace to the rhythmic beeping of her vitals. I sit at her side for a while longer before stepping into the hall to put in a call to Blackwell. I’m just ending the call with the attorney when Monica’s parents arrive, along with my father.
“We got here as soon as we could,” Roni says. “How is she?”
“She’s sedated, but the doctor said she’ll be okay.”
Roni blinks, fighting tears. “So it’s true. My daughter tried hurting herself.”
The atmosphere in the hallway is grim, and I feel it settle over me like a wet blanket. It’s stifling and inescapable, especially with the officer posted outside Monica’s room.
Ned takes in the cop with narrowed eyes. “Have they arrested her?”
I shake my head. “No, but it’s only a matter of time. I’ve already been in touch with Blackwell on her behalf.”
“Good,” he says, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Is this uniform going to keep me from seeing my daughter?”
“You can go in. The doctor said two at a time, and to keep the visits short.”
Ned settles his hand on his wife’s back and ushers her into Monica’s room. After they settle at her bedside, my father gestures for me to follow him into the family waiting room. As soon as the door shuts behind us, enclosing us in privacy, he clears his throat.
“The media have already caught wind of this. Blackwell’s office is pressing the Seattle PD for info so we can prepare our next move, but the sooner we schedule another press conference, the better.”
His words hold the power to choke, and I grab at my tie. More press conferences, more expectations. My wife just tried to kill herself, but that’s all my father can think about.
“Can’t all of this wait? Monica’s in a goddamn hospital bed right now,” I point out, barely keeping a lid on my anger.
“Yes, and she’s also facing a murder charge. I don’t know what the hell your wife got herself into, but as CEO of MontBlake, it’s your job to consider all angles. It’s your job to protect the company, Cash. We need to get ahead of this.”
“Ahead of what?” I begin to pace, too upset to stand still. “The truth is the truth. There’s no way we’ll be able to spin this. Every aspect of our lives, professional and otherwise, will become public knowledge.” As soon as the words tumble from my mouth, I realize they have a hidden meaning. I halt and stare at my dad. “And maybe it’s for the best, because I’m done living
this lie.”
Going by the dark shadow crossing his face, he knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“It’s imperative, now more than ever, that you stay the course.” He grits his teeth, and I know we aren’t only talking PR strategies here. “Shareholders need to see a united front while we navigate the situation. A divorce right now, on top of the mess Monica got herself in, would be a disaster.”
“Our marriage is a sham!” Raking my fingers through my hair, I temper my tone. “If you expect me to pretend everything’s okay, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Stock is plummeting as we speak.” My father ducks his head, lowering his voice as if he might be overheard despite the relative privacy of the room. “I expect you to do whatever’s necessary to put MontBlake first.”
Several seconds of tense silence slip by. “What about what I want? Does that even matter to you?”
“You’re my son. Of course your happiness matters to me. But you have obligations, Cash.” He thrusts a hand in the direction of Monica’s hospital room. “And one of those obligations needs her husband—not a man who’d rather stick his dick in another woman while she faces the firing squad alone. I don’t care what issues the two of you are dealing with. She’s still your wife and the chairperson of this company, so you need to fix this now!”
“How do you suggest I do that?” We’re a few octaves away from screaming at each other.
“Stop thinking with the appendage in your pants, for one. The last thing we need is another person in your marriage.”
“You’re right,” I snap. “We already have too many people in our marriage as it is.”
And that’s why it was doomed to fail from the beginning.
The cinch around my throat tightens, and if I don’t get out of here for a while, I might lose it. “I need some air,” I mutter, stalking out of the room. He calls after me, but I ignore him as I bolt down the hall toward the exit.
