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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 toward 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.
As I set the bag on my bed, I reach for my phone and shoot Cash a text telling him I need an hour. He replies seconds later.
Cash: An hour seems like forever.
Me: I’ll make it worth the wait.
Cash: You’re worth it regardless.
A smile teases the corners of my mouth, and a flurry of butterflies takes flight in my belly. Anticipation zings through my blood as I strip and get ready to jump in the shower. Before I make it to the bathroom, another text comes through.
Cash: How does Thai sound for dinner?
Me: As long as it comes with you, it sounds great.
Forty minutes later, smelling of vanilla body wash, I’m dressing in my new lingerie when I detect a knock on the front door.
Shit, he’s early. I already finished my light makeup, but my hair is falling down my back in long, wet strands, and I’ve barely buttoned up my top. I pull on a pair of distressed jeans over the new lace thong I bought—because I want to make him work for it and wearing a dress is too easy. I zip my pants, finger-comb my hair the best I can, then rush to the door and pull it open.
My heart plummets at the sight of the man standing before me.
“It was easier to avoid me when I was halfway across the country.” Chris crosses his arms, and with that cocksure stance of his, my hope for the night withers.
I dart a glance down the vestibule, but we’re alone. “You can’t keep showing up like this.”
“What else am I supposed to do? You won’t answer my calls. Hell, I can’t even get you to text me back.”
“Because I’m not ready to talk to you.” My voice rises, and casting another surreptitious look around us, I even out my tone. “You should’ve stayed in Oklahoma.”
“No, Jules, I should’ve followed you here two months ago. I should’ve fought for you.”
