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13. On the Edge
Jules
Sexual frustration festered all night long, making sleep an elusive bitch. I finally fell into a restless slumber three hours before I had to get up for work, so I’m a hot, emotional mess when I barge into Cash’s office the next morning. I’m also steaming mad. I shut the door, resisting the urge to slam it, and launch my anger at the brooding suit sitting behind the desk. It’s barely 8 a.m., but he’s already shed his jacket and rolled up his cuffs. I grit my teeth against my too-female response to him, because he doesn’t have a right to look that gorgeous when I’m this pissed at him.
“What was that last night?” I demand, dropping my bag into the chair in front of his desk.
He shifts in his seat, leaning back as his gaze roams over my curve-revealing ensemble. It’s still warm enough outside to get away with spaghetti straps. Between the fitted creme top dipping low in the front, and the flirty pink skirt begging for his fingers to lift the hem and discover what’s underneath, I dressed to kill this morning, and the appreciation in his eyes tells me he knows it.
“I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more gorgeous, but you are.” The corners of his mouth turn up as he gestures at me. “When you’re fired up like this.”
“Well that’s the problem. You lit the fire and didn’t put it out. I don’t like mind games.”
“I don’t like them either.”
I cross my arms, and his gaze drops to my cleavage. “You can’t deny you were angry, Cash.”
“Yes, and now I’ve cooled down.”
I almost scoff at that. He appears far from cool—if anything, he seems as edgy and aroused as I am. “Well that makes one of us. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”
He rises from behind the desk. “What’s there to explain? I have eyes. I didn’t just see you kissing him, but I saw the hurt on your face when you pulled away.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I know it’s not. I’m aware that we both have baggage. I knew it going in. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.”
“So you get hurt and tuck your tail and run? I thought we were in this together.”
“God, Jules.” He levels me with the intensity in his eyes. “I want nothing more than you and me in a sentence that includes the word together, but let’s face some facts here. You’ve still got feelings for your ex, and I’m still as married today as I was yesterday. No matter how much we want this, we can’t ignore reality.”
His words physically hurt, and I fight the urge to claw at my chest, as if I can yank out the knife he just buried there. “You said you were willing to fight for us.”
“I am.”
“I sense a but.”
“But fighting for you means fighting for your happiness too. I remember how heartbroken you were on that plane. How can I ask you to walk away from your second chance if that’s what you want?”
“What makes you think I want that?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, the motion a jerky, frustrated one. “The two of you have a history together. If you need to find closure, or…whatever it is you’re looking for with him, I…I won’t stand in your way.”
“Stop being so pig-headed! I want you.”
“If that were one-hundred percent true, you wouldn’t have freaked out when he proposed. You sure as hell wouldn’t have kissed him back last night.”
Did I kiss Chris back? I can’t remember, but the fact that Cash is using it to put a wall between us is digging at the facade of calm I’m clinging to.
“You’re a fucking coward.”
A tick goes off in his jaw, and I fight the urge to retreat. “Ask yourself why you were kissing him knowing I could show up any second.”
“Ask me why I was wearing lingerie I bought just for you,” I fire back, tone brimming with challenge. “Ask me if I’m wearing it today.”
Grabbing at his tie, he clears his throat. “You’re fighting dirty.”
“Get used to it.”
