Trashy Conquest Read online

  “Probably, but I’d rather try than not see you.”

  “Me too.” She lets a beat pass. “I got a visit from Detective Riley yesterday after you left. I told him you were with me over the weekend.”

  “I’m sorry I got you caught up in this.”

  “It’s not your fault, Cash.”

  “Knowing it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  Hesitation lines her face. “Have you heard anything from the authorities yet?”

  “No.”

  Questions swim in her brown eyes.

  She needs answers.

  She needs Monica found.

  She needs to move past this.

  I want to believe she needs to be with me like she needs air.

  “I’m here for you if you need to talk,” she says finally.

  The things I want from her are downright indecent and have nothing to do with talking. I exhale the tension in my lungs and lean forward, folding my hands atop the desk.

  “I don’t want to talk about my wife, Jules.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I just think we have enough to deal with already.”

  Like the festering attraction between us that isn’t about to go away even if Seattle dries up and becomes a desert-like wasteland. But Jules wants to put on the brakes, and I respect her decision. I even understand it. Doesn’t mean I like it. Doesn’t mean I can even fight this yearning much longer.

  “Maybe this will be easier if we lay down some rules,” I say.

  A smile teases the corners of her entirely too-kissable lips. “Rules are good. I mean, they worked so well before, right?”

  Christ, I love her sarcastic mouth. “At least when we fail we do it spectacularly well.”

  Cheeks flaming, she dips her head, and all of that blond and wavy hair spills over her shoulders. She pulls her tablet from her bag, and with a swipe of her finger, she’s back to business.

  “You’ve got a meeting with the budget committee at ten, then a conference call with the construction foreman in OKC after lunch.”

  Settling back in my chair, I force this feral need rushing through my veins to simmer the fuck down.

  Work.

  Business as usual.

  Just another day.

  And on any other day, I’d already be immersed in the task, mind clear and focused to the exclusion of everything else. But that’s not happening now.

  Today I’m overcome by Jules. I imagine going home to her after a long day of work, sharing dinner and conversation before getting her naked underneath me. In this alternate reality, she’s wearing a ring. My ring.

  Maybe she’s even carrying my child.

  This could be our future…if fate will let us have it.

  Jules’ attention is still on the tablet in her hands, and I admire her ability to remain focused on work. If I had my way, we’d be using my desk for other purposes.

  “Is there anything else you need me to add to the schedule today?”

  “No, I think that covers it.”

  We finish going over the usual business stuff before I escort her to the door. Just a few more seconds before I’ll be able to say I made it through our first morning briefing after knowing what it’s like to get inside her, to know how warm and snug her body gloves my cock.

  The throbbing ache in my groin is too intense, the low buzz in my ears too distracting, the remembered taste of her on my tongue too intoxicating. As she reaches for the door handle, something in my gut twists, and I plant my hand on the door to keep it shut.

  Hell.

  I’m playing with fire, but she’s so goddamn close that the flyaway wisps of her blond hair tease my chin. Her vanilla perfume tantalizes my nose. The warmth of her skin screams for my hands to claim and own. I close my eyes and drag in a fortifying breath.

  It doesn’t work.

  Because keeping her at arms-length is an impossible feat.

  “Have lunch with me today.”

  “I can’t,” she says with a breathless sigh. “I’m meeting Les.” Her back brushes my front, and the control I’ve clung to since she entered my office slips. I wind an arm around her waist, hand reaching and fingers twitching to bury themselves between her legs. I’m unraveling with every shallow breath. My hips tilt forward until my erection presses against the top of her perfect ass.

  She’s so damn petite, her body swallowed up in the circle of my arms. I tilt her face toward mine, and our eyes fix on each other before lowering to lips that were made to meet. I close the distance and press my mouth against hers, nipping until she finally gives in.

  Until she opens with a jittery sigh and invites my tongue to stake its claim. A moan strangles from her throat, and as I draw the front of her skirt up and slip my fingers underneath the edge of her panties, she braces herself against the door, palms flat on the wood.

  We passed the land of stopping this about thirty seconds ago.

  I push two fingers into her silky, wet heat and coax a deep shudder of pleasure from her bones. That first detonation vibrates on my tongue as it thrashes against hers. Jesus, I’m harder than concrete. Despite spending the weekend in her bed and having intimate knowledge of what it feels like to touch and taste every part of her, kissing her now is as exhilarating as if it were the first time.

  Maybe because I spent weeks fighting this, and now that I’ve had a taste, I don’t have any fight left. Or maybe because I have her up against the wall with my fingers inside her sex, reminding me of how incredible it felt to bury my cock inside the nirvana between her legs.

  As I slip one strap of her dress off her shoulder, caressing the feminine curve of her neck, I reach for her bullseye. “God, I need to hear you come.”

  She spreads her legs, giving me better access, and my fingers jackhammer between her thighs. With a groan tinged in surrender, she moves to the cadence of my hand, hips tilting forward as she pushes her clit against my palm. I silence her whimpering cries with my mouth, but it’s not enough, and the whole floor is going to hear her if I don’t do something about it.

  As much as I want to hear her scream my name to all of Seattle—to the entire fucking state of Washington—I can’t let that happen. Not here. Especially not now.

  “Shhh.” I press my free hand over her mouth to smother that blessed sound, and I quiet my own groan of pleasure into the crook of her shoulder, because she’s moving against my cock just right.

  She moans again, and I lift my head to find her brown eyes, huge and wide, watching me watch her come apart in my arms. That vulnerable, helpless look of hers slams into my chest, further stealing my breath.

  “Fuck, Jules. I’ve never seen anything sexier in my goddamn life.” Another wave hits her, and she whines behind my palm, climax cresting while she pleads with her eyes, though I’m unsure if she’s pleading for me to stop or to keep going.

  I don’t stop, because I’m a greedy bastard, and I know she’s not done yet—the tension in her body is never ending.

  “So wet. So fucking turned on.” I flick my thumb over her clit until she falls into another shuddering orgasm.

  Our eyes meet again. We’re locked in an alternate reality, nothing existing but the warmth of her pussy—like exquisite silk enclosing my fingers—and her moans a smothered vibration under my palm. The intensity in her gaze winds around my heart and constricts until I can’t breathe.

  And I don’t want to breathe. Not if it means popping this addictive bubble. I want to live in this space with her forever, suspended in the timelessness of our connection. But time is a bitch like that—when it does stop it only gives you a hint of what you crave most in the world.

  As she starts to descend, the back of her head falls against my shoulder, and I bring our foreheads together.

  “I want inside you so bad. I’m dying here.”

  “We shouldn’t do this.” Refusing to meet my eyes, she swallows hard.

  “I don’t care about ‘shouldn’ts’ anymore, Jule
s. I only know what I need, and I need you.”

  “We already decided this wasn’t…a good idea.”

  That’s an understatement, but I simply don’t give a fuck.

  “I’m not asking to be with you just to let you go. I’m asking to be with you today, tomorrow, and every day after that. No matter what it takes, I’m willing to fight for us. Are you?”

  She searches my face for the longest moments of my life, the wheels in her head spinning through the million reasons why we should walk away, at least for now. But she has a tell—a little thing she does when she knows she’s lost the fight once again.

  She tugs on my arm, nods her assent, defenses in tatters. “My heart’s been fighting for you since the moment we met.”

  I know the feeling.

  “Let me stay with you tonight, Jules.”

  “Okay.”

  Elation.

  Guilt.

  They both simmer in my soul, battling for dominance. I have no doubt the shame will boil over before the night arrives, but there’s no way I can turn back now—I wouldn’t know how to if I tried.

  8. Worth It

  Jules

  Lesley isn’t speechless often, but she’s staring at me now with her mouth hanging open as if I sprouted another head. “Chris did what?”

  I can’t blame her for being stunned. Hell, I’m still stunned, and had I not seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it either.

  “He proposed.”

  “Chris proposed?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “He’s here in Seattle?”

  “Yep.”

  “That bastard!” Several people at the surrounding tables cast looks in our direction, from dirty to curious, and Les has the grace to appear sheepish. If she weren’t the manager of Java Juice, where we just finished lunch during her break, she wouldn’t give two shits about what people think.

  “He showed up at your apartment?” she asks, lowering her voice. “Just like that?” A snap of her fingers punctuates the question, though I’m sure it’s rhetorical.

  I nod anyway, hoping the news of Chris’ unexpected visit will be enough to derail her from other things I’m not ready to talk about yet. She’s seen the news and knows what’s going on with Monica Montgomery. She also knows how I feel about Cash. But she doesn’t know we spent the weekend together in my bed.

  And she sure as hell doesn’t know he made me cream all over his fingers this morning, pushed up against the door of his office as he practically fucked me from behind through our clothing. I fight off a delicious shudder at the memory.

  I want to tell her everything, but this isn’t the place to do it, and maybe a huge part of me is too ashamed. What will she think of me when she finds out I slept with him the same weekend his wife disappeared? Les is my best friend, and she’s always stood by my side no matter what, even when I was in the wrong.

  But even best friends have limits, don’t they?

  Regardless, she’ll chew my ass for being so stupid, and I’m not ready to stomach that conversation yet.

  “Shit, I would have loved to see Chris’ face when you turned him down.” She dips her straw into her iced coffee a few times, but my silence is enough to make her do a double-take. Her keen scrutiny is heating my face.

  “Oh, Jules, tell me you said no.” She glances at my left hand as if expecting to find a diamond there.

  I lift a shoulder. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Nothing?”

  “He caught me off-guard, okay? I stood there like an idiot when he put the ring on my finger.”

  “But you’re going to say no.” Her tone lifts at the end, a hint of incredulity infusing the non-question.

  “Of course I’m going to say no.”

  “I had to ask. If there’s one thing Chris is good at, it’s manipulating you.”

  “Give me some damn credit, Les.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  God, I need to take a chill pill. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry.” I sip on my tea to displace the lump of guilt in my throat for being such a shitty friend.

  “Don’t worry about it. I know you’ve had a lot to deal with.” She pauses for a few moments, using her straw to twirl the melting ice cubes in her cup. “How are things going with your boss?”

  “Things are…”

  Way too fucking complicated. I can still feel him at my back, his hot breath on my neck, his fingers stroking between my legs. Despite the soothing tea, my throat is too dry.

  “Jules,” she says with a warning. “God, I know that look. What the hell happened?”

  I cast a glance around us. People are caught up in their own conversations—their own drama and lives—but this is still too public of a place to admit that I slept with a married man.

  There wasn’t much sleeping involved, you hussy.

  “Can we not talk about this here?”

  “Shit. That bad?”

  I let out a derisive laugh. “Or that good, depending on how you look at it.”

  She face-plants with a groan. “You got horizontal with him, didn’t you?”

  My cheeks burn as I cast another glance around us. “I really don’t want to get into this here.”

  She checks the time on her cell before scooting her chair back. “Let’s walk. I have a few more minutes to spare.”

  We gather our trash from lunch and dump it in the receptacle on the way out the door. After we’re a block down the street, with a fair amount of privacy, she begins needling me.

  “Do you regret it?”

  “No,” I answer without hesitation. “The only thing I regret is the timing. He was going to ask her for a divorce, but when he got home…well you saw the news.” I peek at her and wince at the dubious arch of her dark brows. “I know what you’re thinking, but this is different.”

  “Sounds the same to me. Boss? Check.” She ticks off each point on her fingers. “Married? Check.” We stall at an intersection and wait for the light to change. “And what if he’s dangerous? Did you ever stop to think that maybe he had something to do with the death of that woman and his wife’s disappearance?”

  “He wouldn’t do something like that.” I shoot her a dark look. “Besides, he was with me.”

  “I’m not trying to be all judgy, Jules. I just don’t want to see this guy rip your heart out.”

  We begin walking again, and I let the silence stretch between us for half a block before speaking. “Neither of us meant for this to happen.” Five seconds go by. Five strides. We turn the corner and begin heading back.

  “But it did happen. The question now is what are you going to do about it?”

  There’s no way I can tell her I’m planning to do it again. If she knew he’s coming over tonight, she’ll try to talk me out of it, and I don’t want to be talked out of it. I want to be selfish when it comes to Cash. If that makes me a horrible person, then so be it. I’m done fighting what we both so desperately want.

  “I can’t turn back now, Les. What’s done is done.”

  The sun blares down on us, too warm for the start of autumn, but her assessing stare is the real cause of the flush spreading over my cheeks. “You’re taking a huge risk.”

  “I know.”

  “I hope he’s worth it, Jules.”

  I stop and look her in the eye, and in that moment, I realize how far I’m willing to go for Cash Montgomery. “He’s worth it.”

  9. Interrupted

  Jules

  The rest of the workday is torture. Every glance is laden with suggestion, every brush of his fingers against my wrist or shoulder a zap between the thighs. I pray to God no one notices the heat between us, but I fear we’re worse than ever at hiding it.

  Five o’clock can’t come fast enough, because I’ve got plans before my “plans” with Cash tonight, and it involves my credit card and a lingerie store.

  Excitement simmers my blood, despite the thick cloud of shame hanging over me. As I stride towa
rd the exit of Mont Center, the lackluster voice of the newscaster on the TV above the coffee bar reaches my ears. I’ve heard chatter all day about Monica Montgomery.

  Some think she cracked under the pressure of the job, going homicidal before taking off in a panic. Others worry she’s hurt, or worse. Then there are the few that believe she ran away with a secret lover. The theory that takes the cake is the one where she disappeared in a Gone Girl type of move, leaving Cash to pick up the pieces.

  The voice coming from the television says none of these things. He sticks to the facts, and the fact is no one knows what happened to her, since Cash’s wife disappeared into thin air.

  And what am I doing in the face of that? I’m about to buy sexy lingerie to seduce the woman’s husband. I’ve sunk to a whole new low, but not even the wrongness of what I’m about to do can keep me from going through with what feels so right.

  Not when the memory of his touch is haunting my every waking moment. Our time together this weekend won’t stop playing in my mind on a continuous loop. No one’s ever touched me the way he did, and I don’t mean in just the physical sense. He made me feel cherished.

  He made me feel loved.

  I tried to do the right thing, but what happened this morning in his office was my final breaking point. Going down this road is bound to end badly for both of us, but that doesn’t hinder the extra bounce in my step as I enter a lingerie boutique several blocks away from work.

  The consequences will come. The heartbreak after he walks out my door again and returns to the place he shares with his wife.

  But what I told Les this afternoon was true; he is worth it.

  After settling on a sexy bra and panty set, I head home carrying a discrete bag of pink lace—the kind of luxurious material that begs for a man’s appreciative eye, the touch of his fingers, the heat of his mouth through the soft embroidery. I want to be the atlas to his hands and lips, with these pieces of lace the roadmap to his ultimate destination.

  I’m definitely going to hell, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.