“I’m not sure I should be doing this,” she tells me with her forehead scrunched.
“Doing what?”
“This,” she says and gestures between the two of us.
“We aren’t doing anything.”
Her eyes narrow and I ignore the accusatory stare, picking up my bourbon and taking an easy drink of it. It burns just right on the way down, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
“I just want to feed you,” I say in a voice that I hope comes out somewhat innocent.
“And fuck me,” she says so softly and with a roughness I haven’t heard from that sexy voice of hers. I look up, daring her to blush, to be embarrassed by it, but she only stares back with desire in her baby blue eyes.
“Yes, and fuck you,” I admit. It doesn’t go unnoticed that she clenches her thighs. “You want that, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure I should be fucking you,” she says simply, but with a firm resolve in her voice. My heart beats in a way that makes my chest feel tight. Like there’s not quite enough room for it to beat again.
“Are you fucking someone else?” I ask her. My knuckles brush against the white tablecloth as my hands start to clench into fists. I stop them and try to keep my body from showing what I’m really feeling. She better not be fucking anyone else.
She loses the conviction in her voice when she answers, “No.”
“Then why not?” I ask her, glancing at the waiter as he starts walking toward us.
“Because-” Jules stops as soon as she notices him. She puts on a fake smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and waits patiently for him to address her.
“Are you ready for me to take your order?” he asks me, but I gesture to Jules, taking another drink to settle my irritation.
“For you, miss?”
“May I have the herb-grilled salmon, please?” She passes her menu to him and rests her hands in her lap, giving him her full attention. Meanwhile I can’t take my eyes off of her and thinking about why the fuck she thinks she shouldn’t be seeing me.
“Are the grilled vegetables alright with that?” he asks her. It pisses me off how she smiles back and answers, “Yes, that's perfect.” It’s irrational, but I just want to be alone with her.
The waiter scribbles in the notepad in his hand and then turns toward me.
“Sirloin, medium rare. Vegetables are fine.” I preemptively answer his unasked question, still staring at Jules. The waiter takes the hint, nodding once and immediately leaving us.
“You were saying?” I ask her, picking up my bourbon.
“I-” She hesitates, sensing the change in my temperament. “I don’t know if I should really be seeing anyone,” she says.
I wait for more, taking another sip.
“I’m not sure how to,” she waves her hand in the air at a loss for words. “I’m still-” She can’t put a sentence together.
“I want to fuck you, Jules. Give me one good reason why there’s a problem with that.” I hold her gaze listing all the reasons in my head, but ignoring every last one of them. She needs someone to fuck, to hold her, someone to make her smile. I can do that; I can be that person.
“It’s just sex?” she asks me.
Fuck, I wish it were. I can’t explain why I want her this badly. It’s more than physical attraction, but I’ll never admit the truth to her.
“Just sex,” I lie.
She licks her lush lips, looking down at her silverware and then up to me. “I’d be using you,” she confesses as if it’s a sin.
A bark of a laugh leaves me, and my tense muscles relax.
“Use me, Jules.” I stare into her eyes, feeling the tension between us morph into something sweeter, something darker and depraved. “I want you to.”
Chapter 14
Julia
It starts with a kiss,
Then dinners and dates.
It starts with a smile,
Your evenings running late.
It tempts and teases,
And makes you want more.
But it’s not how it starts,
When it can only end in war.
There’s something about him tonight. Something darker that I didn’t see before. It’s the way he looks at me like I should be running from him. It both scares me and lures me in.
I lift the glass to my lips, my one and only glass, finishing off the sweet wine.
“Did you write today?” Mason asks. We’ve made a bit of small talk and easy conversation. But I’m still feeling him out. I thought I wanted this thing between us, but the air changed a bit ago and the tension is something else now. Like we’re at war, although I don’t know why.
“I did, yes.” All morning I wrote. The words flowed so easily. Every bit of it was about Jace though, something I’d rather not bring up with Mason. I pick up my glass, finding it empty and cursing internally.
“So, poetry?” he asks with a teasing tone. I’m not sure why I like it. I’m not a fan of being teased, but there’s something about the way he does it that makes me want more of it.
I nod my head and explain, “I haven’t tried writing anything else.” I shrug, spearing my fork through the perfectly grilled salmon and savoring the taste. “It’s easier to just write poetry.”
“I’m not so sure. Isn’t it easier to critique in some ways?”
His response catches me off guard, as if he actually gives a fuck.
“In some ways, I would think so. Maybe.” I tilt my head, searching his eyes for what’s really going on here. “Why dinner tonight? And not drinks?”
My voice is low, nearly accusatory, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Because I had to eat and so did you,” he replies.
He takes another bite of his dinner and then adds, “Would you rather I'd just asked you out for drinks?”
“Yes,” I say and my answer is immediate. He doesn’t seem taken aback. He’s so calm, unmoving and unbothered.
“Why’s that?” he asks.
I can’t look him in the eyes, so I watch my fingers nervously move up and down the silverware. I don’t know how to put it out there. “How did you know my name?” I ask him.
“From the papers,” Mason says and then quickly takes a sip of his drink.
I nod my head. That’s how everyone knows me. “The papers?”
“I’ve read a few things,” he adds.
“Then you may have me at a clear disadvantage.” I relax in my chair, waiting for him to tell me something.
“That’s possible, probable even.” He smirks at me, his brilliant smile adding to his charm. I try not to let it affect me, but I’m at his mercy whenever he looks at me like that. I grab on to the facts and spit out a good reason I have to stay away.
I’m vulnerable. Check.
I’ve never done this before. Check.
I don’t know that I’m okay with this. Check.
And a man like Mason could crush me. Check a thousand times.
“Well, all I know of you is that you’re a bit of player,” I tell him as I hold his gaze.
“I used to be, yes.”
“Used to?” I look up at him through my lashes, daring him to lie. There’s a tension steadily growing between us. It’s hot to the touch and it makes me want to climb closer to him, but I know that I need to stay far away.
“I mean it. I used to be, then I met someone.” Well, that’s enough to cool me off some.
“Oh.” I’m surprised by his confession, and suddenly I feel like I should be asking him if he’s sleeping with anyone else.
“She’s gone, and it wasn’t anything serious at all.” He answers my questions before I have to ask them, and I’m grateful for that. “It just changed things for me.”
“So now you just want someone to fuck and to take to dinners.”
A deep rough chuckle vibrates up his chest and the way he smiles at me does something to me that makes me feel dirty.
“Someone, no.” His eyes heat and he licks his bottom lip as he ad
ds, “You, yes.”
I huff out a small breath and look down at my mostly eaten plate.
“I want to take you out, bring you back home and fuck you in my bed.” He holds my eyes as he says the words so calmly. I fight the urge to look around the room filled with fine guests and couples to make sure no one’s heard us. My body is on fire with the thought of him doing just that, over and over. But the taking me out part… that makes this seem serious.
“I feel …” I don’t know how I feel.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I don’t really like going out anymore.” I blurt out the words and feel sick to my stomach.
“You don’t like going out?”
“It just makes me anxious because of something that happened, that maybe you read about.”
He stares at me for a moment and remains silent, although his eyes flash with a knowing look.
I don’t want to say it out loud and I wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t.
“It’s just,” my voice gets tight and I choke on the words, but only for a moment, “my husband passed away and it’s hard for me to deal with it all because we were…”
“In the papers?” he asks.
“Yes. It’s hard seeing people and not being with him. That’s difficult for me.” It feels like a weight's been lifted off my chest just to say it. “I don’t know how to handle people’s expectations.”
Mason’s words come out hard, and it's a command if I’ve ever heard one. “Fuck their expectations.”
I’m shocked by how blunt Mason is. I don’t think he understands. “I just don’t want to upset people or-”
“Fuck. Them.”
I stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious, but he is. His eyes hold an intensity that makes me shiver involuntarily, and his hard muscular arms are corded. He flexes his stubbled jaw and seems to relax slightly, but I’m still caught off guard. Mostly because I want to obey him. I want to eat up every word he’s saying as if it’s law and bow down to him.
“You’re entitled to feel and do whatever you want. It’s no one else’s business. Their perception of you is their responsibility. Not yours.”
I take in a breath, hating that he doesn’t understand. “Maybe I’m just shallow.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but I did. My breath leaves me and I pick up the empty glass again. Before I have the chance to roll my eyes or slam it on the table out of frustration, the waiter comes to my rescue, the bottle of chardonnay in his hand.
“Thank you,” I say gratefully.
The second the waiter leaves, taking both of our plates with him, Mason says, “We can play this however you’d like.”
“I don’t really want to go out yet. I’m just not ready.”
“Is it because you loved him?” Mason asks. His forehead is wrinkled and his brow furrowed. He can’t even look me in the eye.
“I loved my husband, but that’s not why.” I take a sip of wine and staring at the glass I answer, “I just don’t know how to not feel guilty about being okay.”
The words came out easier than I thought they would. It’s comforting to talk to Mason. I don’t know why, but it is.
“So you’re alright?” Mason asks me and he’s so genuine with his concern that I reach across the table and take his hand in mine, rubbing soothing circles over his knuckles.
“Some days are better than others, but it’s hard because I wasn’t much without him.”
Mason takes my hand in his at my comment, squeezing my hand and opening his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I take in a heavy breath, realizing how deep our conversation has gotten.
“I’m sorry,” I say shaking my head and pulling my hand away. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Stop apologizing,” he tells me in a tone that makes all of my worries vanish. “I asked you, remember?”
I nod my head and utter a small response although I don’t remember how the conversation started.
“Tell me something that will make me smile,” he says.
A grin plays on my lips at the thought of him smiling at me and I say, “You’re a very handsome man. Very charming. Obviously successful.” I lean in slightly, letting the tips of my fingers play along his large knuckles and add, “And I really, really liked last night.”
I accomplish my task and sit back in my seat, staring at his handsome face.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He keeps his eyes on me as we both take sips of our drinks. “I would have liked to have had you this morning as well.”
I almost choke on the bit of wine, but luckily I save myself, swallowing it and taking a moment to get myself together.
“About that…”
“I imagine you’ll make up for it tomorrow morning,” he says like it’s a statement, but I hear the question.
Another night with Mason Thatcher.
“I did say I was just along for the ride,” I say to both him and to myself.
Chapter 15
Mason
Pretend it didn’t happen,
Don’t let the truth show.
Curiosity will lead you,
Exactly where you should go.
She’ll lure you and tempt you,
And bid you farewell.
It’s only then you’ll realize,
You’ve wound up in hell.
I could blame the first night we spent together on shock and alcohol. The second on sheer curiosity. But this shit, this deep need to watch her, to touch her, to have her? There’s no fucking excuse for it.
I stare at the computer screen mindlessly. The office is empty, and even Liam’s gone home, leaving me here alone with simple tasks that should have already been done.
I have to audit this inventory and compare the replacement materials. It’s crucial for the budget that this works, and I need to make the decision today.
But I really just don’t give a fuck. I want all this to stop so I can hit pause. Instead I’m falling down a black pit, forced to make a choice of what will happen when I crash at the bottom.
Every penny is accounted for and spent, except for this last purchase. All of it is for one massive project. And all of it I owe to my father.
I sit forward in my chair, hitting the mouse to my computer and it lights the screen up once again. Two gorgeous blue eyes stare back at me. Her long thick lashes frame them perfectly. Her skin is flawless with only a hint of color in her cheeks. But it’s her expression that had me staring at her all morning. Her lips are parted as if she’s about to smile. So close to happiness, but the photo caught her before she reached that point.
It’s only been two days since I’ve seen her, but each night I’ve felt a compulsion to message her and make sure I knew right where she was. I really wanted to make sure she wasn’t with someone else. That’s the truth of the matter. I trust her when she says she’s not fucking someone else, but I know what loneliness can do to a person. And I want her all to myself.
If I just pretend like none of the shit before I met Jules happened, then there isn’t a damn thing wrong with what’s going on. If only it were that easy to forget.
Knock. Knock.
My gaze lifts to the clock on the wall and then to the door to my office. It’s past 8 p.m. and almost time to meet Jules.
“Who is it?” I ask, not knowing who the hell it could be. Maintenance, maybe?
“Your partner in crime,” Liam says from the other side of the door, and I relax slightly.
“Come on in,” I yell out to him, clicking on my phone and seeing a text from Jules. She’s waiting for me. The very thought spreads a warmth through my chest.
I set the phone down, giving Liam my full attention although I have no idea why the fuck he’s here.
“You seem preoccupied?” Although it’s a statement, it comes out as a question. Before I can even think about it, Liam’s eyes are on the computer screen.
It’s an innocent glance, but he doesn’t need to see her. More importantly, he doesn’t need to kno
w about my new obsession. I’m quick to exit out of the article of Jules. It was about her husband's passing and how she was dealing with the loss. Although the picture they used of her was from years before.
I’ve read dozens of articles in the last few days. They’re all the same. Every single one of them ooh and aah over her. They put her on a pedestal and in such a delicate place that it’s far too easy for her to crash and burn.
And in some cases she did. The one fucking image I can’t get out of my head is the one of her crying at her husband’s funeral. Maybe they showed mercy by using an older photo for that article, because on the day she buried him she looked as if she’d died herself.
I take in a deep breath, willing the memory to go away. Wishing I’d never seen it.
“Well now,” Liam says, ignoring my irritation. “Is this-”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, cutting him off and leaning back in my chair with my shoulders squared. He’s still standing and leaning against the desk casually, but my tone has that fucking smile vanishing instantly.
He rubs the back of his neck, raising his brow and looking beyond me and out of the window as he takes a step back. “I was just wondering if you’d put the final numbers in.”
I clear my throat, feeling like an absolute prick. “Sorry, it’s been a tense day.” I roll my shoulders, stretching my sore muscles and click on the spreadsheet. “I was just getting ready to put them in.”
“So it’s all finalized?” Liam asks with a chipper smile, seeming to forget I’m a fucking prick just like that.
“So far, so good.” I force a smile and try to shake off the unease flowing through me. I can’t explain the dichotomy of how I think of Jules. I want to take her out, impress her and please her in every way, include showing her off and showing off for her. But I want it to be my secret. I don’t want anyone close to me to have an idea of what’s going on between us.
It’s a design for failure. I can’t fucking help what I want though.
He claps his hands once and says, “Perfect. That’s all I wanted to know.” He raises his hands in defense as he starts to walk away, but then he looks back at me. The curiosity in his eyes asks to pry.
Imperfect (Sins and Secrets Series of Duets Book 1) Page 8
