I looked down at the piece of paper and his neat handwriting. It was a promise of what could be.
I sigh, allowing the memories of the night I met Jason to flood my mind. I was so callow, and gullible when I met him. I was intrigued by his personality. He soon became an enigma, a puzzle I wanted to piece together. I paid a high price for that, but did I regret it? I don’t know.
I flip a few pages, feeling a different kind of tired. When I look again I’m at the chapter that was probably the hardest to write…
CHAPTER FOUR
Jason brushed his lips across mine, a feather light touch I felt in every molecule in my body.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his blue eyes darkened by the moonlight peering through the hotel room curtains.
I nodded, giving no mind to the nerves taking flight in my belly. I wanted this. I wanted this with him.
I started unbuttoning his shirt and then slipped it off his broad shoulders. I unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down his legs.
He turned me around and unzipped my dress, allowing it to fall to the floor and pool at my feet. I was standing in my red lace thong and matching bra, something I knew Jason would like.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, kissing my neck. I shivered.
I turned around to face him.
“Jason, I -”
He pressed his fingers to my mouth. “No pressure, Lace. I won’t be mad if all we do is curl up under the sheets and sleep.”
“I want this,” I said. “I want you.”
I reached behind me and unclasped my bra. Jason’s eyes moved lower and he stared at my breasts. The urge to cover myself was strong. I had never been so vulnerable before and it scared me. Being so exposed.
His hands gripped my hips and he pivoted me towards the bed. He pushed me down, and I scooted back until my head was on a pillow. The bed dipped beneath his weight and he settled between my legs.
“I’m going to worship your body,” he whispered. His voice was husky, laced with a promise to be gentle.
My chest moved rapidly as my breathing increased. I was turned on beyond relief, and my underwear was already damp. I was ready.
I watched as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. My back bowed off the bed and a strangled moan left my mouth. He moved to the other breast, paying both equal attention, and then sat up as his hands removed my thong.
He stood up and removed his boxer shorts, freeing his hard cock. I stared, transfixed. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen it, but now I wondered if it would fit. He was big.
He placed a foil packet on the bed and then kneeled between my legs.
“Are you really sure about this?” he asked again. My heart warmed at his concern for me. He had no idea just how ready I was, and how much I wanted to give this to him. I loved him.
“Yes,” I replied quietly.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the movement, and I wondered if he was as nervous as I was.
“I’ll be gentle,” he said. “We’ll go as slow as you want.”
I nodded, giving him a shy smile.
He rubbed my inner thighs, spreading them wider, and started rubbing my pussy before slipping two fingers inside. I inhaled sharply, moving my hips.
“Easy, baby,” he cooed, “just making sure you’re wet.”
My eyes followed his movements, watching him slide his fingers out my body and reach for the condom wrapper. He slid it over his length with ease, and then moved closer. He settled his weight over my body and I felt the head of cock nudge my opening.
Our eyes met, and I saw what he felt for me shining as bright as the midday sun.
“I love you,” he said, his voice softer than a whisper. I smiled and my heart pounded, answering his declaration.
“I love you too,” I replied. I kissed him, and with that he pushed into me.
He groaned, while I tried to keep my breathing normal. With every inch, I felt more and more stretched.
“I have to push a little harder now, baby.”
I inched my legs higher, wrapping them around his waist, and swallowed with a nod.
I tried to relax, but my eyes started watering. I knew it would hurt, but I wasn’t expecting it to be that bad.
Tears slid down my temples, and I tried to stifle my urge to tell him to stop, that it hurt too much. When he pushed in harder, I cried out, praying that it would be over soon.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing kisses to my face. He stopped moving, allowing my body to adjust to the invasion. It wasn’t an invasion though, I wanted him there, no matter how foreign it felt.
Then something strange happened.
My body relaxed, welcomed him. The pain subsided, and it was replaced by something else. A need coiling deep within me. A need to feel this with Jason, to give this part of myself to him and only him.
“You okay?” he asked, frowning.
I pulled has face towards mine, and coaxed his tongue into my mouth. That was my answer. I was fine. I was perfect.
I moved my hips and he followed, setting a slow rhythm until I was ready for more.
“Jason,” I half moaned, half sighed. “Ohhhhh.”
“I’m close baby,” he replied. I could tell he was controlling his movements for my benefit, but I didn’t want him to. It was unlikely that I’d orgasm my first time, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t. I wanted him to enjoy this, and more importantly, I wanted him to want to do it again.
I gripped his back and slid my feet down to his calves.
“Let go,” I said. “It’s okay. I’m good.”
He hesitated, looking me in the eye and then moved faster until he shivered in my arms. Our skin was damp, and the room smelled like sex. It was heady, and it made my body tingle in all the right places. Jason’s breaths hit my shoulder, and I squeezed him to me. He pulled back to look at me, a half smile playing at his lips.
“That was…”
“Perfect,” I finished for him.
He spent the hour that followed cleaning me up in the shower. He took his time, learning the curvature of my body.
We fell asleep a naked entanglement of limbs, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. The night had been magical and I didn’t want it to end. I watched him sleep until the sun rose, and forced myself to acknowledge the magnitude of what had transpired between us.
I was in love with him. Irrevocably. Completely.
That was my biggest mistake. Falling in love with a man who wasn’t actually available. By the time I found out though, it was too late. My heart was his.
And I never really got it back.
CHAPTER 7
LACY
“This is really good,” Paige says. She looks up at me with a reassuring smile.
Paige Matthews is the Editorial Assistant for HarperCollins in Chicago, and she’s been a family friend for years.
Two days after what I now call ‘the incident’ with Jason, I pulled myself out of my self-loathing stupor and sent her my book. I knew the chances of her being able to read it were slim, so imagine my surprise when she called to tell me she’s put other manuscripts aside in order to read mine first.
At first I was apprehensive, especially because not an ounce of the story is fiction, but I decided that for once in my life I wanted to take a risk, and do something for myself. This was it.
“Thank you,” I reply, shifting in my seat.
“I just have a few suggestions.”
I wait as Paige sifts through a few pages and finds the notes she made in red ink.
“I think you need to go through the scene where our heroine has the pregnancy scare, and when she finds out the hero is engaged to someone else. Something about it feels…disingenuous.”
I frown. I haven’t told her the book is written exactly how it happened. I don’t know if I’d be able to go back to those scenes and rewrite them to seem more real. They’re as real as they could get.
“I don’t think I can do that,” I say, being honest
.
Paige regards me from behind her glasses and rests her elbows on her desk. “Why not?”
I sigh. I’ll have to tell her the truth, before she makes me rewrite anything.
“Because that’s exactly how it happened. If I change anything it would make it a lie.”
Her brows dip in confusion and then her eyes widen in understanding. “You’re telling me this is real? That it actually happened?”
I nod, unable to say the words.
“This is the real story then? About you and Jason Tate?”
Again I nod. She knows the story, and it doesn’t surprise me. Everyone knows it, or at least they know what the tabloids told them. I didn’t bother sticking around long enough to confirm or deny anything. My parents made it clear I was a disgrace and the public labeled me a ‘home wrecking whore’. So I did what I had to do to escape the hurt, guilt, anger and shame.
I ran.
Eight thousand miles away.
“Well,” Paige says, “this certainly throws a spanner into the works.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m assuming you don’t want to publish this as a non-fiction novel, which means you can either publish it under your own name and hope no one catches on, or you can publish under a pseudonym and get no credit for the work as yourself. You’ll also have to change the names of the characters.”
Wait, what?
“You’re publishing it?” I ask. I shouldn’t be so taken aback by the idea. I contacted her after all.
“Yes, I love the story, and now that I know it’s real, I wouldn’t change anything. It will have to be edited, and cleaned up first, but the bottom line is I want this book on the shelves. The only other thing you have to think about is whether or not you want to publish it under your own name, which I strongly suggest. We’ll market it as a fictional New Adult romance novel. That way you can avoid another media shitstorm if news breaks that it’s actually a true story.”
Where she had the time to think all of this through in the last two days is beyond me. Hearing it all has me feeling unsure, and I wonder if I should go through with it or not.
Would I be prepared if it comes out that it’s a true story?
No. The idea of that terrifies me.
“Can I have a few days to think about it?”
Paige purses her lips, sits back in her fancy office chair and removes her glasses. “I’ll give you until Friday, Lacy, but only because I like you and I think this book has potential. If I don’t hear from you I’ll assume you’re not interested. Okay?”
“Okay,” I reply, standing up. “Thank you for meeting with me. I appreciate your time.”
“You’re welcome. I really hope you’ll think about it, and call me.”
I nod, and then walk out of her office. I feel overwhelmed but liberated at the same time. Even if I don’t publish the story under my own name, at least the truth will be out there. People will know what really happened, and I’m hoping that having the story set free will set me free.
***
I take a seat at a table in the corner, and look around at the other people in the coffee shop. It’s full of lunch hour workers who are probably refueling after a hectic morning in the office. Not that I know anything about that. If I ever have to do work of any kind I’d prefer to do it from home. I always imagined myself being a stay-at-home mom someday.
A throat clears, and my eyes drift up, locking with a set of blue ones. Great. I just can’t seem to escape him. His black suit is tailored to perfection, showcasing his broad, muscular chest (talk about a cliché), and narrow waist. His tie matches his eyes, and is brightened, and intensified by the white of his shirt.
“Jason.” I say his name in an exasperated huff.
“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” he says, pulling out a chair and sitting in front of me.
“I’m not,” I reply. “I was having a rather pleasant day until you sat down.”
His eyes harden, as does his jaw. It reminds me of just how sexy he is when he’s angry.
“I don’t remember you being so snarky,” he remarks. He sits forward, crossing his arms on the table.
“People change.”
With a tilt of his head, I feel him trying to penetrate my façade and see inside me. It takes him far more effort now than it used to. I was an open book when we met. Until he tore the pages out and burnt them, leaving the charred mess for the world to see.
“You can’t avoid me forever,” he says, his voice softer now. “And you can’t escape me.”
“Who says I’m avoiding you?” I ask. “I haven’t left yet have I?”
“No, but you want to. Your eyes keep darting to the exit, and your posture is rigid, like you’re getting ready to bolt.”
Damnit. So much for no longer being an open book.
I sit up, and push my empty cup to the middle of the table.
“Wow, you must feel pretty good about yourself right now huh?”
His lips dip into a smirk. “How so?”
“You walk in here, all confident, and cocky, and then try to read me like you used to. You look at me and think you can figure me out. And maybe you can, but what you can’t see is the contempt for you hiding just beneath the surface.”
His smirk falters, and I want to jump up and down because he shows me the cracks in his own bravado.
“You don’t hate me,” he says, sounding sure.
“You’re right,” I admit, watching my admission take him by surprise. “But I don’t love you either. I don’t know how to love someone who breaks people for fun, and then walks away. I don’t know how I fell for you to begin with, and how I was dumb enough to think that anything between us more than a game to you.”
I stop myself from saying more, reminding myself that I’m in a very public place. I didn’t meant to say all that, but I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t keep it in any longer.
Jason’s face contorts into something resembling a scowl. “Be careful,” he growls. “I’m in a very bad mood today.”
“Really? Has the realization that you’re a complete asshole put you in that bad mood, or have you just not fucked enough people over today?”
I hope the double insinuation doesn’t escape him. Not only does he screw people over in his personal capacity, but in his professional capacity too. He preys on small, struggling companies, breaks them into small pieces and then sells it to the highest bidder for a generous profit. Looking at him now, the way his eyes harden into glaciers, and the way his chest rises and falls in anger, I see what the rest of the world doesn’t. The monster beneath the prince.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he says.
“You’re threatening me?”
He stands up slowly, pushing his chair back, and rests his palms on the table. He brings his face as close to mine as he can without making it look like a public display of affection. To anyone else around us, we might look like nothing more than quarreling lovers, but I feel the storm circling us, getting ready to rain and thunder. The energy pulsates between us, and I can feel his anger wrap itself around my throat and squeeze.
“You know I don’t make threats, sweetheart,” – my heart stutters at the term of endearment, much to my chagrin – “I make promises, and I promise that I’ll make you pay for thinking you see me. I will ruin you for any other man, and I will do it with a fucking smile on my face.”
His breath fans my face as he talks, and I can’t help the shiver that erupts through me. His threat should scare me. But it doesn’t. It turns me on.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. (That’s the idea)
I watch him disappear through the door, and merge into the pedestrian traffic outside like he didn’t just reduce me to a puddle.
Asshole.
I shake my head, more so at myself. He wins every time, and if he’s winning that means I’m losing. Doesn’t he understand that I’m trying to leave him behind and move forward? Maybe he does, and maybe that’s why he’s trying so hard to
prove that he still knows me. Or maybe he’s trying to prove that he’s the only person who has ever known me.
CHAPTER 8
JASON
“Mr. Tate!” Natasha jumps up from behind her reception desk, and scurries behind me. “You can’t go in there! Mrs. Tate is in a meeting.”
My wife’s receptionist looks flustered, but I storm past her and push open the door to Gemma’s office. She has her back to me, and Steve Johnson plastered to her front. They break a part, and he has the decency to look embarrassed. Gemma turns around, and tries to button up her blouse.
“Jason, what are you doing here?” she asks, panting. Her cheeks are flushed, and her brown eyes are glossed over. Steve zips up his pants, and tucks his dress shirt in. His blonde hair is ruffled, and he avoids my glare. Fucking prick.
“I should ask you the same thing,” I grind out. I clench my fists.
“It’s my office,” Gemma retorts, lifting her chin. “I work here.”
Her eyes are now cold, and hard. A look she reserves just for me. Her husband.
“I didn’t realize work included a lunch time fuck with our accountant.”
Gemma’s stance stiffens, and she straightens her spine. I’m ruffling her perfectly preened feathers, and it gives me a great sense of satisfaction. It’s hard to believe I married this woman, and it’s harder to believe I’ve put up with her for a whole eighteen months before I filed for a divorce. That was six months ago, and I’m still waiting for her to sign the damn papers.
“Steve, I’ll see you later,” she says turning her head, her voice gentle. Loving. Two things she never bothered to show me.
Steve fixes his tie and then walks past me, a smug grin on his face. He thinks he’s won some kind of prize, being able to bang my wife at work, but what he doesn’t know is how sorry I feel for him. Once Gemma sinks her claws into him, he’ll be fucked, and not in the way he was about to be when I walked in.
All of Me (All of Me #1) Page 4
