by JC Harroway
‘I hope so. I think she died content that all of her grown-up children were happy and settled.’
‘She’d understand. About the divorce. You’re not the only couple in the world to grow apart. And at least you gave it a shot.’
‘I know. I just wish I could tell her that I’m still okay. That I haven’t given up on my dreams just because my life took a fork in the road.’ Losing Mum six months into the marriage had amplified my feelings of failure over the divorce. I missed her hugs and advice and her ability to listen when I needed it most.
‘She knows. You do everything with passion and enthusiasm, Dove. Your personal life won’t be any different.’
I gape, slightly taken aback that he sees me so well. That he’s bothered to notice.
‘I so desperately wanted the marriage to work, and so did Sterling. It seemed the harder we tried, the further apart we grew.’ I run my fingers through the petals littering the grass, ashamed of how I misjudged the relationship so badly, and sad that I hurt a wonderful man. ‘I was just too focussed on the end point to appreciate the journey, I guess.’
We need to get away from all this personal stuff.
‘What about your personal life?’ I ask with a wink. ‘Do you have a date for the Business Awards dinner tomorrow? Because I’m not playing gooseberry! If we’re taking dates, you’ll have to find me some dishy businessman friend. Or should I invite Ben Haslam...?’
His eyes become flinty with determination. ‘I’m taking you. No need for any businessman besides this one, especially not Haslam.’
I press my lips together, concealing my smile of delight. ‘You don’t like Ben?’
‘I like you, Dove. You need a date while you’re here—you have one.’ He stabs his thumb at the centre of his chest. The heat I’ve grown used to around him consumes me, sliding over my skin like liquid arousal.
‘Okay, then. If you’re going to be all needy about it, I’ll tag along with you.’ I hide my full-body shudder of pleasure and heap my plate with delicious delicacies from the picnic to stop myself from barrelling him to the grass in front of all the families.
I look up when I notice he’s grown still. He’s frowning, his expression hesitant. I’ve never seen him wear that look before.
‘Would you like to...tag along with me this afternoon...to my place?’
I swallow, my heart banging at my breastbone. On the surface his invitation reflects our pretty constant need to get each other naked. But scratch the surface and it’s monumental.
My previous trips to Tokyo with Sterling were business-heavy. We managed to squeeze in one or two tourist things, but we’ve never been invited to Hudson’s home. He’s a lavish and generous host, always, but he protects his inner sanctum like he protects his vulnerabilities.
Rampant curiosity and longing sweeps through me. I tell myself I can’t get carried away by our deepening connection. I only hope I can control the urge.
‘I’d love to come to your place.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hudson
MONROE’S EYES ARE wide with appreciation as she moves around my living space, making her way to the floor-to-ceiling windows to look out at my view. I remove my jacket and tie and try to pretend that I’m comfortable having her in my penthouse apartment, just as I pretended to be comfortable talking about my past.
In truth, no woman has ever been here before.
‘It’s a beautiful neighbourhood. I like your view,’ she says about the landscaped gardens below and the distant vista of Tokyo’s skyline.
‘Thank you. To be honest, I don’t spend that much time here. The office is so convenient and comfortable.’ And often full of people.
Yeah, sometimes the echo from these walls is too harsh.
A reminder that I’m alone. Perhaps that’s why I invited Monroe. Her gentle prying, her own revelations about her mum... It opened up not only our contrasts, but also wounds I’d rather not pick at.
Having her in Tokyo this week without Sterling has been an epiphany. I never realised how much his presence prevents me from getting to know her on a deeper level—not through any possessiveness on his part, but because he already knows these things about her.
It’s a double-edged sword. The more time we spend together, the more I enjoy her company. But it emphasises my usual solitary existence. Is that the reason I recounted my childhood?
I try to block out those years. The memories bring inadequacy, as if I’m only good enough to be abandoned. Rubbish to be thrown away time after time. Even when the financial evidence, my string of assets and my net worth says otherwise, remembering my past makes me question my value.
That’s why I avoid relationships. Because the closeness they bring carries expectations of emotional intimacy. Sharing and confiding. I don’t want to be ripped open for all my fears to spill out in an ugly mess.
‘Would you like a drink? I have more of that pink champagne if you’re interested.’ I focus on the simmering arousal I feel when Monroe is close. I need to concentrate on the physical aspects of our relationship. God knows, they’re absorbing enough.
I can keep the rest at bay for a few more days. Then, with this fling over, I’ll return to normal. Focus on things I can control—my simple one-night stands and work. Without this unsettling feeling rumbling away inside me like a volcano.
‘Yes please.’ She takes off her coat and wanders around in her stockinged feet, appraising the sparse, clean and open space. I cast my eyes around, viewing its lack of homeliness as if through her eyes. Her house in London is warm and inviting. Filled with eclectic furniture, from sleekly modern to antiques she’s inherited from her grandparents. Chic, soft furnishings and colourful rugs.
And personal touches are scattered everywhere—family photos of her hordes of nieces and nephews; neat rows of Mason jars lining the kitchen shelves filled with the dry goods and whole grains she likes to cook with; and the tiny yoga studio she’s created in the conservatory, where the morning sun streams in to bathe an array of healthy houseplants.
My place couldn’t be more different. Low, minimalistic wooden furniture, bamboo flooring and lots of natural light. The only clutter comes from a stunning bonsai tree I was gifted by a business associate when I first arrived, as well as two photo frames.
‘I know—it’s far from homely. But I’m the only person who spends time here.’ I bought the Azabu apartment three years ago. The hillside residential area favoured by international executives and diplomats has a cosmopolitan, village vibe. A kind of suburban oasis in the heart of the city. The building boasts a highly useful bilingual concierge and my apartment has a private rooftop garden with stunning views of Tokyo.
She looks over her shoulder and regards me with that curiosity I’m beginning to dread. ‘I thought it would be a bit more...lavish, I guess.’
‘Like a gold-plated toilet seat and walls full of Pollack originals?’ I grin, peeling the foil from the bottle of champagne.
She laughs. ‘No, I guess that’s not you.’
‘I’m rarely here. You know me, Dove. I live to work.’
‘Don’t you ever get lonely?’ Her back is to me, her voice carrying a faraway wistfulness that pokes at me harder than if she’d hurled the words like an accusation. Because it tells me she too feels lonely sometimes, despite her big family. She wants more than this life of financial wealth and work. She wants a lasting relationship, motherhood, things she deserves and will excel at.
The pop of the cork snaps the tense atmosphere. ‘Not really.’ I lie easily, because I’ve told myself the same untruth a thousand times. The need for other people brings out feelings of rejection. I try to keep that shit locked away.
Monroe looks slightly dejected, but she recovers quickly. ‘Who are these gorgeous scamps?’ She holds up one of the framed photos of a group of boys between the ages of nine and fifteen. The other photo
is of a younger Sterling, me and Monroe, wearing huge matching, self-congratulatory grins on the day BLD Global Ventures joined the three-comma club.
‘Those are Blackhearts,’ I say, placing two glasses of chilled champagne on the table and fighting the strange disquiet that’s been riding me since we left the office. Talking about the charity I started for foster children won’t improve my mood. But, now I’ve brought her here on some strange impulse, I’ll have to face the consequences.
‘Blackhearts.’ She frowns in concentration. ‘Your charity?’
I nod, loosening my cuffs and rolling up my shirtsleeves, trying not to see my own face amongst the smiling boys in the picture. ‘Yes. Those are some local boys.’
I take a slug of champagne, restless now she’s looking at me with new interest, as if I’m a previously undiscovered beetle she can catch and observe at her leisure.
I stare hard, letting her see the urgency building in me. ‘Why don’t I give you a tour of the house?’ My voice is strangled with need. ‘Starting with my bedroom.’ I want to get her naked. To have her look at me with passion verging on desperation, not with curiosity and compassion. I want to banish her inquisitive mood with pleasure until we both forget that I’m anything other than supremely content and absolutely winning at life.
At least she’s no longer looking at me with pity, the way she did when I talked about my foster homes.
She places the photo back on the shelf. ‘You don’t want me to be nosy. I understand. We have shared a lot today.’
She takes a shuddering breath and swipes her tongue across her lower lip, as if remembering why we came here.
‘But the bedroom... Isn’t that a little...conventional for a man on a mission to out-seduce his partner? Especially when I have a brand-new gift to break in.’ She reaches for her glass and takes a slow, sensual sip, her eyes locked on mine over the rim.
Relieved to be off the hook, I step closer and trace my fingertip over the notch at the base of her throat. Her breathing kicks up, the heat of her skin burning my fingertip.
‘It’s a big apartment.’ I circle her nipple through her blouse, smiling at her tiny gasp. ‘But, if you’d rather start elsewhere, how about the hot tub? On the roof...’
Excitement flares in her eyes, her skin warming with a peachy flush. ‘Sounds good, except I don’t have a bikini.’ She looks down, watching the path of my finger disappear into the vee of her cleavage where I loosen the top button of her blouse.
‘That works for me.’ Feeling more like my old self, I deposit our glasses, wrap my arm around her waist and drag her flush with my body. This is what we need. No more talking. Just sex.
I drag her mouth up to mine and taste strawberries, all decadent and classy. She moans, curls her fingers into my hair and angles my head under her kiss.
Controlling this insatiable need that erupts every time I touch her makes me feel alive and invincible. The only other thing that comes close to this is seeing an investment strike gold. Knowing that without me a company wouldn’t reach its full potential. That I’ve made a difference to someone.
Monroe pulls back and slowly starts to unbutton my shirt.
I’m hard against her stomach, desperate to slake all of my pent-up doubts in physical release. I grip her hips, pressing her where I want her while she tugs my shirt free of my trousers. My thoughts turn possessive, for all of her pleasure. ‘You won’t need the vibrator.’
Her eyes flick to mine, bright with lust.
I undo another blouse button, the torture of unwrapping my prize—her—ramping up my desire. ‘You said you prefer me, anyway.’
‘I did. I do.’ She shudders against me, dropping her mouth to my neck in nipping kisses that make me growl.
I quickly peel the blouse from her shoulders and drop it on the floor while she tackles my fly. I want to linger over her delicious breasts, but I also want her naked. Where Monroe is concerned, my wants are multiplying exponentially.
I haul her close and unzip her skirt. She steps out of the garment and shoves down my trousers and boxers.
With a pinch of my fingers at her bra clasp and the glide of lace over hips, I win the race to render each other naked.
We stand panting, face to face. Her eyes are glazed with arousal. I press a kiss to one of her shoulders, sucking in the scent of her skin.
‘Do you feel seduced yet?’ I comb my fingers through her hair so it falls down her back and across her breasts in the glossy waves that I love, watching with satisfaction at how her nipples harden for my attention.
‘Yes. You’re too good at this game.’
I bask in her praise, grateful for the reminder that it may be intense, but our connection is still temporary.
I stoop to retrieve a condom from my trouser pocket and take her hand. On the way to the roof, I grab a couple of robes from the hall closet. I wrap Monroe in one, slipping my hand around her waist and tugging her close for a kiss. ‘It’s a shame to cover such an exquisite sight, but if I don’t we won’t make it to the hot tub.’
‘I don’t care.’ She shrugs, mischief gleaming in her eyes. ‘Right here is fine.’ She looks down at the bare wood floor.
I release her with reluctance and don my own robe. ‘Come on, Dove. Don’t be so conventional. I’m trying to win here... I want you to come overlooking my view of Tokyo.’
She laughs and collects our glasses while I carry the ice bucket containing the rest of the bottle and we head to the roof.
As we emerge onto the terrace, she gasps. The views are impressive. The previous owner had strung a million solar-powered bulbs across the space so even at dusk, before the city puts on its own spectacular illuminations from a million windows and streetlights, it’s pretty magical up here.
‘Is this really all you’ve got to impress the ladies?’ she asks, sounding breathless.
I place the ice bucket down at the edge of the pool and switch on the bubbles and underwater lights. ‘I don’t bring women here. Only you.’ I step close, tug her robe open and let it fall to the floor, enjoying her shock as she looks up at me.
‘I’m a woman,’ she whispers.
‘I can see that.’ I rub my lips over hers, the ache in my balls demanding I speed this up. But I want to savour her. To forget the countdown, the diminishing time we have left. ‘But you’re also my friend and business partner, so you’re special.’ And precious. And therefore risky.
Arousal blooms under her skin, releasing a wave of her body heat, which carries her delicious scent.
‘Does that mean we’ll have to discuss business?’ She bites her lip and looks at me from under her lashes as she undoes the belt of my robe and presses her naked body to mine.
‘You can talk any kind of dirty you like while I make you come, Dove.’ I take her hand as she steps down into the sunken hot tub and lowers herself under the water. I remove my own robe and join her, tugging her close.
‘So overconfident.’ She sits astride me and parts her lips over mine. Our tongues meet, dancing a routine that’s become second nature. Her naked skin and her soft curves slide against my hard edges. I feel her sigh and taste longing in her kiss. Pressure builds in my chest as if I’m running a marathon. I want to plunge inside her and chase away the memories that I was ever anything other than the man I am now—in control, self-reliant, secure.
But Monroe, whether I’m inside her or not, makes me think. Makes me question and compare, as if with her I could have more than this. More than just money in the bank and every creature comfort at my disposal.
Lifelong security is all I’ve ever craved.
She pulls back, her eyes glazed in that way I love. ‘You sure know how to fight to win.’ She strokes my cheek and jaw with one fingertip. ‘How will I ever top this grand seduction you’ve had going all day?’
I grip her backside and shunt her closer to where I need her. Her hi
ps undulate and her breasts break the bubbling surface.
‘You always rise to a challenge. You’ll think of something.’ I cup her breasts, raising them up to my lips. I take one into my mouth and then the other, laving at her hard nipples, because it makes her squirm. Makes her greedy and demanding and wild for me.
‘You’re right, I will.’
She kneels up astride me on the seat, tips my head back against the edge of the pool and covers my mouth with hers. Then she pulls back and stares down at me. ‘Why don’t you invite me to stay the night so I can level the playing field?’
I didn’t plan on her leaving. We’ve spent the past two nights doing nothing but fucking, and I want to gorge myself until we leave Tokyo for London in one of the company jets.
‘What’s in it for me?’ I ask, my cock flexing at the idea of having her at arm’s reach all night, even when my brain tries to retreat. No woman has ever slept in my bed downstairs.
She smiles her ‘cat that got the cream’ smile. ‘You’ll have to wait and see. Where’s the condom? I can’t take any more seduction—I want you now.’
‘Thank fuck.’ I reach behind me to snag my robe from the chair and retrieve the condom from the pocket.
She shuffles off my lap and I quickly sheath myself and then drag her to me once more. This fire consuming us has been building all day. Knowing we have only three more nights to indulge this fling ramps the urgency skyward until she’s all I think about. From first thing in the morning to when I finally succumb to exhaustion at night and every minute in between.
What kind of magic is that?
Dangerous, that’s what kind.
She guides me to her entrance and then sinks onto me with a low moan, her head thrown back and her breasts thrust in my direction. I cup them and direct one nipple towards my mouth, feeling the grip of her internal muscles tighten as I tongue the bud erect.
She rocks above me, her arms braced on my shoulders and her eyes locked to mine, riding me with the Tokyo skyline as her view. I forget that we’re playing a game. Forget that having her here is a first. Forget the hours we have left and simply lose myself to the pounding waves of desire.
