The heels of my shoes drag on the ground as I abruptly change course. His eyes widen and he reaches for something near his waistband, but I pull my hand out of my pocket and hold it out to him.
"I swear, I just need to see my girlfriend. Catherine Schaffer. I'm not going to do anything crazy," I say in my calmest voice, smiling broadly at him.
He takes the $500 I press into his hand.
"If you're not down in ten minutes, you have her call me," he says in a deadly serious tone, looking me straight in the eye.
"I will."
Another long moment passes, and then he gives me a sharp nod.
The elevator deposits me on Cate's floor. There are four apartments, and it's only when I'm standing in the hallway that I realize I don't have her apartment number. I can't call down to the desk and ask, because that guy already thinks I'm a fucking psycho. It would be highly inconvenient to waste time right now dealing with the police.
So I choose a door.
Knock gently but firmly.
A guy about my size answers, a beer in his hand, his work shirt untucked. This is a nice building and he looks like he has some money, but he's obviously not happy to see me.
"Sorry to bother you," I say, keeping my face neutral. "I'm here to see Catherine Schaffer. Do you know which apartment is hers?"
He raises the beer and points down the hall-last one on the right.
"Thanks."
He closes the door without a word.
Outside Cate's door, I take a deep breath and force myself to hold it for a moment before I let it out. Energy zings all the way from my spine to my fingertips.
It's now or never.
I raise my hand and knock three times on the door.
True to form, Cate opens it only a moment after I finish knocking.
She's wearing a loose pair of linen pants and a white tank that hugs the curves of her breasts, and her eyes are red and puffy. When she sees me, she presses her lips into a thin line-but she can't stop the flicker of hope from showing on her face.
All of the words I'd practiced fly out of my mind.
"Cate," I say, and even to me it sounds agonized, begging, pleading.
She looks into my eyes for one crystal second and then launches herself forward, fisting my shirt and yanking me inside. It's a glorious, violent movement and we crash into each other, our lips fitting together so hard and fast that I know this was goddamn meant to be.
Cate's the one pulling and I let her, tasting her deeply as she moves us back into her apartment, back to her simple, classy living room setup, an armchair and a sofa, and then, when we reach the coffee table, she does something that takes my breath away.
She pulls her face away from mine, her grip still locked on my collar, and looks at me, her hazel eyes burning into my soul. Through gritted teeth, she gives me a simple command: "Punish me."
My cock throbs painfully at her words and as soon as they're out of her mouth I'm in action, tearing her clothes from her body, manhandling her breasts, her waist, covering her mouth with kisses that have only one message: she is mine.
When she's naked before me, I take one greedy look at her flawless skin, the curves of her ass, the waves of her dark hair falling over her collarbone, and then I turn her over and press her down so she's kneeling on the coffee table.
"Hands and knees," I bark, and she instantly snaps into the perfect position, her back arched, ass in the air, begging for it.
I bring my hand down on one ass cheek, not holding back, and she gasps, cries out, relief in her voice, and when I slip my fingers between her legs she's already wet.
I bring my hand down five more times on her ass, the pink handprints blooming under my palm, wetness running down between her legs, before I can't wait any longer.
Belt undone, pants falling, I free my cock from the prison of my briefs and turn her, shift her so she's facing away from me, and drive all of my thickness into her in one hard thrust, reaching around and clasping my hand over her mouth just in time to catch her scream of pleasure.
Here is the edge, here she is trembling before it, and I fuck her until she goes over, her body spent, quaking, gripping me, loving me, mine.
Chapter 24
Cate
He spends Saturday and Sunday at my apartment, and there's hardly an hour we spend not making love, not fucking like animals on every surface available in my apartment. We don't speak much. I don't want to.
I don't want to hear that this is it, that this weekend is the peak of our agreement, that it's still over.
The way he sounded when he said my name didn't give me that impression, but I've learned one thing about Jax Hunter: you never know.
So on Sunday evening, when he shrugs his shirt over his shoulders, kisses me once, deeply, stroking my cheek, and then slips out the front door, I don't say anything.
Silent still, I climb into the shower and let the hot water run over every inch of me. I don't want the scent of him to disappear from my skin but even the air conditioning couldn't compete with the heat that exists between us, and I need to get clean.
My body is relaxed in a way I thought it might never be again, and while I stand in the warmth of the shower, my eyelids start getting heavier and heavier.
By the time I step out from the shower and towel off, I'm practically sleepwalking and fall naked into my bed, tumbling into a dark, dreamless sleep.
In the morning I pay the price.
I'm so exhausted, so spent, that I don't hear any of my alarms and wake from a dream about sirens at 7:50, my mind instantly screaming at me to get up, get going, this could ruin everything. I've completely missed my session with Carl, but as soon as I step out of bed I know I wouldn't have been able to handle it anyway.
It feels like I'm trying to run underwater.
Forcing my eyes open is a torture I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, and my hands won't follow my instructions as I struggle into the first outfit I pull out of my closet and wrestle my hair into an acceptable shape. This is what I get for going to sleep without drying it.
Mark is waiting outside, the car idling by the curb, and when I get there he has his phone in his hand. I probably have several missed calls from him, wondering if I'm all right. He's a good man, and when he sees me, his face fills with concern.
"Cate? Are you-?"
"I'm fine," I snap. "I just overslept. We have to hurry." My tongue feels thick in my mouth, the words difficult to form. I just need time to wake up. If I could just get some coffee, I'd be fine.
After I apologize for being so rude, I call ahead and have Manuel get the coffee order ready in advance. I'm going to have to take it up myself this morning. If I get there in time. If this is the one morning Sandra shows up early, I'm screwed.
I spend the entire ride fantasizing about what it would be like to be my own boss. To set my own hours. To make the decisions about what stays and go. Books-I could work with books. I never have time to read anymore. I got into the magazine business because I loved writing and reading, not fashion, but now fashion has taken me over.
Things haven't improved much by the time I collect the drink carrier from Manuel, but being in the Basiqué building at least forces me to get into some semblance of work mode. I hold myself upright as best as I can, but people keep giving me looks, their foreheads wrinkled, corners of their mouths turned down.
Once in the office I breathe a sigh of relief. Sandra is not here yet, but I only have a few minutes at best.
Coffee on desk. Carrier in recycling bin. Dusting is out of the question-how will I raise my arms, it would be so tiring, how-and just in time I get myself to the door to meet Sandra on her way in.
She's already talking as she hands me her purse and a gauzy shawl that matches her outfit, and it's an incredible effort to get it into the closet, hung up, her purse on the hanger. My hands shake as I grab for the notebook and follow her into her office.
I'm standing right next to her desk but her voice sounds like it's coming from a million miles away.
Rodarte, I write on the notepad.
Reschedule approvals on menswear feature, I scribble, but the last two words blur, run into each other, seem to slide off the page.
"Catherine," she says sharply, and I look up into her narrowed eyes. "Is there a problem?"
"No." I shake my head emphatically, which is a mistake. It makes my vision go hazy.
"Good." When I look up again, Sandra is looking back down at something on her desk.
I can get through this.
I will get through this.
Another stream of instructions from Sandra and I pull my shoulders back, trying to remind myself that I'm at work, that I need to be on top of this, I need to perform, but now the words are coming too fast, my hands can't keep up, I have a splitting headache, it's blinding, blinding …
There is a sound at the door and I lift my head, it weighs a hundred pounds, a thousand pounds, and Jax is framed in the door, he's saying something to me, his eyes serious and wide, he's reaching for me, but I'm falling, falling …