Trashy Conquest Read online

  “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 get 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 rig
ht.” 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.

  5. Old Habits Die Hard

  Jules

  The TV’s on, sound muted. Every few minutes, I check for his face on the screen, but Cash isn’t there.

  He’s not here either.

  Cash is somewhere in between, having left a half hour ago. No matter how hard I try to remain patient, to remind myself he’s coming back, I’m incapable of exuding calmness. From the moment he left my apartment, I’ve debated on whether to watch the conference, turning the television on and off at least half a dozen times. In the end, curiosity won, but the wait is killing me.

  For the second time this morning, a knock sounds, and I hurry to pull open the door, my pulse a nervous flutter in my throat at the thought of finding Cash on the other side. “I didn’t expect you back so—” I cut off, the ability to speak stolen by the sight of flowers. But Cash isn’t standing behind the huge bouquet of tulips.

  “Hi,” Chris says, holding out the bouquet, his stance nonchalant as if showing up on my doorstep in Seattle is an everyday occurrence for him. “I couldn’t come empty-handed, and I know how much you love tulips.”

  Words die in my throat as I reach for the flowers. Our fingers brush together for an instant, and something inside me cracks—a place I thought was impenetrable when it came to my ex.

  I do love tulips. For the longest time, I loved him too.

  He shuffles his feet. “Can I come in?”

  No, my mind screams, but my fingers curl around the door and edge it open. He steps inside, and that’s when I find my voice again.

  “What are you doing here?”

  How is he here?

  “Your sister gave me your address,” he answers, as if I asked the question aloud. As if that explains everything. He gawks at me for several seconds, brown eyes taking me in from my blond locks to the painted toenails on my bare feet. “You look amazing. Are you heading to work?”

  “Um…” Trailing off, I shut the door. “No. I’ve got today off.” I make my way into the kitchen to find a vase, and Chris follows.

  His presence has caught me completely off-guard, and as I fill a vase with water for the tulips, I’m out of my element, even in my own apartment. Done with the task, I set the flowers on the kitchen counter, but it doesn’t feel right because they’re housed in the same vase I used for the sunflower bouquet Cash gave me.

  The thought makes me want to cry.

  Or maybe it’s the past standing in my apartment that’s bringing on the threat of tears. With my arms crossed over my chest, I face Chris. “Why are you here?”

  “You wouldn’t return my calls.”

  “So you come halfway across the country?”

  He opens his mouth then shuts it, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to find whatever he’s trying to say. “I came halfway across the country because I’m still in love with you.”

  I gape at him, at a loss for words. He’s the last person I expected to find on my doorstep.

  “I want you back, Jules.” His voice cracks on my name, and I scoot past him in the tight space, not liking this boxed-in feeling. Our arms brush together, and my steps falter. The history between us is thick, suffocating, larger than the two of us.

  So is the pain.

  Keeping my back to him, I swipe a tear from my cheek, and that’s when I spot movement on the television. Cash is standing at the podium, his sad eyes penetrating me clear to my bones. With the sound still muted, I can’t hear what he’s saying, but his somber expression gives away the gravity of the situation.

  “Jules?”

  I whirl at the sound of my name. “Why are you here?” My voice is shrill enough to echo.

  “I told you. I want you back.”

  “It’s been two months.”

  “Two miserable months.” He’s stepping closer, his sneakered feet eating up the distance. I should move, but all I can think about is how I bought him those black and white shoes last Christmas.

  For the first time in my life, I hadn’t gone home for the holiday. Instead, Chris and I stayed in, and it had been perfect. Just the two of us, no family drama. The best Christmas I can recall.

  And that makes the memory hurt that much more.

  “You need to leave.” I’m still staring at his feet, so I don’t notice his fingers against my cheek until it’s too late.

  “Don’t cry.” His voice is gentle as he wipes the tears from my face.

  Funny how two months, 2,000 miles, and falling in love with someone else still doesn’t dull the sharp ache in my chest. I guess it’s true what they say—mending a broken heart does take time. Backing away from his touch, I raise my eyes to his and slam the metaphorical hammer down on my reaction to him.

  “You know what? You’re right. Crying over you is pointless.”

  “I didn’t come here to fight.” A hint of irritation infuses his words. If I didn’t know him so well, I would have missed it.

  The tears are already drying on my face, leaving behind tracks, but all I can think about is Cash and how he said he’d come back. But with Chris here…

  I imagine the two of them squaring off in my living room, radiating testosterone and alpha vibes. That would be a disaster. I grab my phone and shoot off a quick text to him.

  Me: My ex just showed up. Coming back is too risky.

  Setting my cell to vibrate, I clutch it in my hand and turn back to Chris. He’s busy taking in my apartment.

  “Nice place. I heard you got a job at MontBlake.” Admiration laces his tone. The company has become a household name since the merger last year, and it’s common knowledge the pay is good.

  Chris wanders to the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room. As he runs his hand along the clean surface, he seems to be coming to some sort of conclusion, because he’s nodding his head.

  “I could like it here.”

  His intentions wind around my throat, and I’m barely able to squeak out a response. “Here?”

  Pausing, he brings his gaze to mine. “In Seattle. I’ve already lined up a few job prospects.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  The corners of his mouth twitch, hinting at a smile. “You’re my home, Jules.”

  I wring my hands. Shake my head. Try to pull in a full breath. Nothing stops the stress of the morning from eating away at my composure. It’s just too fucking much all at once.

  Cash.

  Chris.

  No chance in hell.

  “I mean it, Chris. You need to go.” I stride to the front door and swing it open. The rain from the weekend is nowhere in sight, having cleared at some point while Cash and I were caught up in each other.

  God, I want that feeling back. The world hadn’t existed. The complexities of real life hadn’t mattered during those hours. There had been no r
ight or wrong, no viewing the situation through black and white lenses.

  We’d been entwined in shades of passion, lost in a red haze that set my sunlit room on fire. The clouds had cleared long enough for us to make love in the brightness of the rays coming through my bedroom window.

  It was symbolic.

  It was meant to be.

  My phone vibrates against my palm, and while Chris is ignoring my demand to leave my apartment, I peek at the screen.

  Cash: Are you okay? The conference is over. I can be there in twenty minutes.

  Chris strolls into my kitchen and opens the fridge. “Have you eaten breakfast?” He tries disarming me with his charming smile, but it doesn’t work on me anymore. Not like it used to.

  “I want you to leave, Chris.”

  He pulls out a carton of eggs, followed by a half gallon of milk. “Have breakfast with me. Remember how much you loved my French toast?” He rifles through my cupboards and pulls out a loaf of bread and a mixing bowl, and I let the front door shut with a defeated sigh.

  “Fine. Cook breakfast if it’ll make you happy.” I plop onto the sofa and send Cash another message.

  Me: I’m okay.

  Cash: What’s he doing there?

  Me: He’s making French toast in my fucking kitchen. Can you believe that?

  Cash: To hell with the risk. As your boss, I might have some files that I NEED to drop off.

  Me: Please don’t. He knows me too well. It won’t take him more than five seconds to figure out how I feel about you. Just give me an hour. I’ll let him say what he needs to say then get him out of here.

  Biting my lip, I wait for his response, hoping he’ll find the logic of waiting and back down long enough for me to get Chris out of here.

  Cash: Promise you’ll text me if you need me.

  Me: I will, I promise. You should get some sleep anyway. You looked exhausted on TV.

  Cash: You saw?

  Me: I had the sound muted, but yeah.

  Cash: I miss you already. The only thing I want right now is you in my arms.

  Hell, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I do a little of both, my eyes burning as the corners of my mouth turn up. I’m texting that I miss him too when Chris breaks into my Cash bubble.