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I needed a ton of things, not materialistically, but physically, mentally, and emotionally. The last person I would ever ask was Bain. He was dangerous, at least to me, and while I was sure his concern was genuine, it was also maliciously motivated. Out of guilt. If I had to live with mine, he had to live with his.
Tugging my wrist from his grasp, I shrugged off his concern and shoved past him, no longer worried about being polite.
I somehow made it to the club entrance, into the main hall, down the elevator and onto the street before spots swam in front of my eyes and bile rose in my throat, memories of a very different encounter with Bain hitting me over the head with their vividness.
It had been Cassie and my own mother's idea to drag me out that night. The day the final police report had been filed and the investigation closed. It had been an obvious car accident, the investigation just a formality, more for insurance purposes than anything else, but there was just something about it that made it feel so final. More so than the day I'd accepted the fact that he was a vegetable and turned off life support, or the day they'd put him in the ground. The investigation was the final nail in the coffin, and closing it drove home the fact that he was really gone and he wouldn't be coming back.
Cassie didn't have a kinky bone in her body so we'd headed out to a bar in Fishtown known for its live music and cheap but generous drinks.
I could remember everything about that night, even as drunk as I'd gotten. The way the smoke from the smokers outside the bar wafted in through an open window. The smell of sweat and bodies mixed with pretzel dough and pepperoni, the music the band had played (late 90s grunge), and the way Bain had filled out his suit when he took my hands, looked me in the eyes, and told me how sorry he was for my loss.
It was something I'd heard a thousand times, but somehow when Bain said it, it felt different.
"Thank you." I’d suddenly felt guilty and stupid for going out, like it was too soon and everyone around me was judging. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and stumbled to explain myself. "I… uh… they closed the investigation today, and sent it to the insurance. No foul play and no fault, of course, and now uh… I guess if there's any life insurance they can finally pay it out." Almost four months later. I’d instantly felt stupid for bringing up money. Mentally scolding myself, I blew her hair from my eyes and shrugged. "Not that it matters. It just… it feels good and awful to be done with it all at the same time." I opened my mouth to say more, to somehow keep explaining, but Bain shushed me with a finger to my lips.
"I'm sorry. That must be hard."
I opened her mouth to say more—more of what, I didn't even know, but he shushed me again. "Jasmine." His dark hazel eyes with their sinfully long lashes narrowed. "You don't have to keep trying to explain yourself to me. I have never walked in your shoes, and even if I were to get married tomorrow and lose my spouse six years later, I still wouldn't have walked in your shoes, because everyone's perspectives, views, memories and relationships are unique. You obviously loved Henry—any fool could see that—and you must miss him very much." His glare softened. "He was a good man. I miss him, too."
It was everything. The words he spoke, the way he looked at me when he spoke them, and the fact that I'd felt so alone since Henry died—like I was a burden that no one could possibly understand, and even more, why would they want to? And with just a few sentences, Bain had made me feel more understood than I ever had.
My eyes met his in the dim light. The music hummed with an electricity that seemed to match the racing of my heart, and before I knew what I was doing, I'd grabbed him by the collar and pressed my lips to his with an urgency I couldn't remember ever feeling.
A better man would have stopped me. Pulled away, reminded me that I was drunk and emotional, pulled me to a quiet corner, plied me with cold water and hot coffee to sober me up, and let me cry it out until my tears had run dry. But Bain was not a good man.
He didn't shrink away, didn't care that hot tears were running down my cheeks and wetting his. He plunged his tongue inside my mouth, kissing me deeply. His hands ran through my hair, tangling in my thick locks before caressing down my back and coming to rest on the curve of my bottom. His body pressed against mine, his erection quickening against me.
"Bain." I whimpered his name, maybe intending to stop him.
"Do you want to get out of here?" God help her, I'd said yes, and ended up in his penthouse apartment with a stunning view of the Philly skyscape, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the sparkling city below while he'd fucked my brains out, giving me orgasm after orgasm. All. Night. Long.
The next morning, I'd woken up with a pounding headache, a sore pussy, and a raging case of buyer's remorse, to gather up my clothes, and stumble out the front door. Chrissy hadn't asked where I'd disappeared to that night, and I'd never told.
And I'd never seen Augustus Weston Bainbridge the third again.
Until tonight. Of all nights. Because I was, most certainly, one unlucky bitch.
I closed her eyes and prayed it would be at least another three years before I saw him again.
Chapter One
Jasmine
"Mommy! Mommy! The bus just went by! We missed it! Wake up! You have to take us to school!"
The shrill shriek of my over-anxious eight-year-old, Marlee, woke me from a dead sleep. I popped my eyes open and looked at the clock, the glaring red numbers of my bedside alarm clock just another reminder of how bad I was failing at this single mom thing.
"Crap," I muttered as I rolled out of bed, shaking the shoulder of the toddler curled up beside me, already a spitting image of his dead father. "C'mon Marcus. You gotta get up and go to Grammys today.”
Grammy was Henry's mom, Gia. She lived down the street, and took him every day while the older two were in school so I could get some work done. At least, that was what I was supposed to be doing during the day. Lately everything was hard, and deadlines were piling up even faster than housework, and multiplied like rabbits.
Marcus barely opened his eyes when I scooped him onto my hip and carried him to the room he was supposed to share with his older brother.
"C'mon kiddo. Wake up, we missed the bus again. We have to hurry or you're going to be late to school."
Trevor opened his eyes, but didn't move other than to shrug at me. "I don't wanna go to school. I wanna go to Grammy’s with Marky."
"Well, you know that's not an option. Come on now." With only one hand I wrestled the drawers of his dresser open and grabbed an outfit for him to wear, tossing it on his bed.
