Dirty Rich(6)

This has got to be the most boring sex I've ever had, and that's saying something.

I should be enjoying this on some level. Christian, who is arguably my  best friend in the city-and also happens to frequent the same dining  club I go to when I want to give my personal chef a night off-set me up  with a blonde who puts Aleah from last night to shame. Jessica is witty  and bright and half-decent in bed. Her body is unreal.

But nothing can break the hold Catherine Schaffer has on my mind.

Even as I go through the motions of fucking Jessica, it's Catherine's  face I see. The deep hazel eyes that locked onto mine and didn't look  away. The full lips that I know would feel like heaven wrapped around my  cock. And an absolutely luscious ass. A woman like  Catherine-independent and fiery-will love some of the things I'd like to  do to that ass.

Even if she'd never admit it.

"Fuck," I grunt out loud, picking up the pace. Judging by her face, Jessica is having a good time, but she's got to go.

I need space to think this over. The palate-cleanser was a bad idea.

I play it up a little for Jessica, finishing things up neatly. I do her  the courtesy of making sure she's at least come once. Jessica means  about as much to me as Amber from last night, but she's a friend of  Christian's, and I don't need him giving me any shit about treating her  badly.

Nobody on earth can argue that, anyway. I took her to Eleven Madison Park and we had some pleasant back-and-forth.         

     



 

The entire time, my heart beat Catherine, Catherine, Catherine like I'm some lovesick teenager. I disgust myself.

I thought maybe if we got physical my brain would reset, realize that  Catherine is as dispensable as any other woman, and I could move on.

I'm a goddamn idiot.

My only saving grace is that Jessica doesn't want to stay over. She's  already pulling her dress back over her head, slipping on her shoes, and  picking up her purse. I lean back on my pillows and watch her, wishing  I'd brought Catherine here instead, consequences be damned.

Jessica glides back over to the bed and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for the date, Jax."

"I'm glad you were available." It's not exactly a lie.

She leans back, cocks her head, and looks me up and down with her big blue eyes. "I hope you find her."

"What?" I give her my most charming smile, but I don't reach for her hand. I don't pull her back in for another kiss.

"You've probably been with a lot of women who would never notice," she  says, a smile quirking the corner of her mouth. "But I know when a man  is thinking about someone else. I'll tell Christian you were a gentleman  anyway."

Now I do grab her hand, planting a kiss on the smooth skin of her knuckles. "You're a goddamn peach."

Jessica laughs. She's the kind of woman I could be friends with, if I  wasn't so sure she'd eventually fall for me, and I can't get involved in  a disaster like that. And it's always a disaster. Most men want  gorgeous women to fall in love with them, but I've seen what happens  when you allow yourself to give up self-control.

She pulls her hand back and heads for the door, looking over her shoulder one more time. "See you around the city."

"Don't worry about calling your driver. Peter is waiting downstairs to take you home."

Jessica blows me a kiss and disappears into the hallway.

Alone at last, I roll out of the bed and head for the master bathroom.  It's a cavernous space-I could have an orgy in here, if I were so  inclined-and every detail has been engineered to my exact  specifications, from the Raindance Royal shower heads to the shade of  the marble countertops. The condom is off my cock in a matter of  seconds, and I turn the shower on full blast and step in.

I let the water run down over me, run my own hands through my hair.

Somehow, I'm going to have to get Catherine out of my head.

But if screwing women won't work, what will?





Chapter 8

Cate





In the night I dream about him. About the cut of his suit, the line of  his waist, the muscles moving underneath the fabric. The scent of him.

His eyes, gray-blue and electric.

His hands on my breasts, sliding down my rib cage, pressing firmly  against my hips. His mouth hot on the side of my neck, sending shivers  to shake my entire body.

When I wake up at 6:00 on Tuesday morning, I'm completely disoriented  from the strength of the dreams. The space between my legs is hot and  slick, and between waking and sleeping I can't resist it, don't want to  resist it, and I slide my fingers underneath the silky fabric of my  pajamas, underneath the tight-fitting stretch of my panties, and over  the smooth skin, fresh from a recent wax, until my fingertips make  contact with the throbbing button.

I don't have a lot of time for dating, so I'm very, very practiced at getting myself off.

Afterward, cheeks flushed in the cool of my apartment-thank god for  central air-I curl around one of my pillows and squeeze my eyes shut.

Leave the phone, I tell myself. Don't look. The office is closed today.

Every ounce of my energy goes into falling asleep, and for a while I  doze, but each time I start to drift off my heart begins to pound.

I know exactly why.

The instant a thought of him crosses my mind, my mouth waters for a  taste of his full lips. Then, cruelly, thinking of him makes me think of  the office. Holiday's aren't sacred to Sandra.

It's just past 7:00 when I toss back the covers and throw my hair up  into a loose bun, the urge to check my phone finally mollified.

To my shock, there are no messages from Sandra. I have a few emails from  people at Basiqué confirming appointments for tomorrow, but that's it.         

     



 

Aside from the hum of the air conditioner, my apartment is silent.

Manuel asked me what my plans were yesterday, and now that I'm here,  hands wrapped around a mug of coffee on my couch, I wish I'd made some.

I while away the morning, eating breakfast at the cafe on the ground  floor of my building and then standing in the shower for a full forty  minutes.

For once, I linger over getting ready, straightening my long, dark hair  until it falls shining over my back, then pulling back sections and  holding them with strategic bobby pins. It feels good to have most of it  loose. I leave my makeup simple and fresh, which still takes twenty  minutes.

It's best to be prepared.

By noon I'm ready for anything, my bright red sundress the perfect outfit for the holiday.

The only problem? I still have nowhere to go.

After another fifteen minutes flipping through the channels and trying  to choose one of my New York acquaintances to text in hopes that they'll  be doing something I can attend, I can no longer stand to be in the  suffocating emptiness of my apartment.

Up until yesterday, it seemed like a safe haven. Now it's missing something.

Hunter.

No-not him.

Purse tucked under my arm, I'm about to step out of my apartment when my  cell phone rings, sending my heart rate into the stratosphere. But when  I pull it from my purse, it's not Sandra who's calling but my sister,  Bee, inviting me to video chat.

For an instant I hesitate. I don't want her to know that I'm spending  the holiday alone. It only takes one rush of hot shame before I'm  speed-walking back to the couch, raising the phone to a flattering angle  in front of my face, and pressing connect.

"Cate!" she squeals as her image comes into view. "Oh, my god, you look so cute. Are you going out? I can call back later!"

Bee and I weren't always friends as children, but now, as adults, she's  the closest person to me. Sadness pricks at my heart. I haven't been  talking to her much lately. Too busy on the job. I used to make it a  point to text her on the way to and from assignments, but since I got  the promotion to Sandra's head assistant, I just … stopped.

"I was!" I answer, keeping my smile bright. "But I was … " What can I tell  her that won't exactly be a lie? " … leaving early. I have a couple  minutes to chat. How are you?"

"Huge!" she jokes, shifting in what seems to be one of the beach chairs  she and Dex bought for their back deck this summer. Bee is seven months  pregnant with twins, so I can't say she's the slimmest I've ever seen  her, but her face absolutely glows with happiness. Their daughter,  Peony, who is two, babbles in the background.

Envy flashes across my mind, but I remind myself sharply that I'll have  everything Bee has when I'm secure in my career. Not before. I learned  that lesson from what happened to my dad.

I give her a little laugh. "You look great too, Bee."

"Is that Cate?" Dex's voice comes from somewhere offscreen, and then his  handsome face appears, blocking my view of Bee. I'd be lying if I said I  didn't have a crush on him during high school. The hottest guys always  went for Bee.

"Hi, Dex," I say, waving, and he returns the gesture before disappearing again.

"What are you guys up to?" I ask as Bee readjusts her oversized sunglasses.

"Dex is grilling." He calls something unintelligible, and Bee laughs.  "He says he's cleaning the grill. I'll have to wait for food."