Caroline’s throat constricted as she looked at the box of red lollipops that had been delivered to the building’s reception last night. Before the article had gone live. How in the hell could a box of candy make her feel so miserable? Oh, but it did. He’d sent them to the woman he’d shared his bed with, if for a brief time. Not the woman who’d made Serve sound like a generic torture chamber. Secretly, she was turned on by the gift, too. Excitement should not accompany her guilt. She shouldn’t want to suck on one of them while she thought about him. Shouldn’t want to tuck one into the garter still circling her thigh and wear it as a secret all day long.
Were the lollipops a sign that he hadn’t wanted to give up on her? Traitorous heat traveled up from her belly to curl in her chest. Oh, that wouldn’t do. It was one thing to feel tingly for Jonah in her nether regions, but quite another for it to move higher. Wholly unacceptable. It didn’t matter now, anyway. Now that he would never want to see her again.
With a long exhale, she reached into the box of lollipops and pulled one out. When her knuckles encountered something stiff and crinkly, she set the box in her lap and dug through it. It only took her a second to find the note. Don’t open it. Don’t.
Oh, fuck it. She was a journalist. She could no more leave the note folded and unread than she could go a day without asking intrusive questions. Before she could stop herself, she brought the note to her mouth and rubbed the smooth paper over her lips, lips Jonah had kissed just hours ago. Bruised lips that shouldn’t like the feeling at all. Lips that should feel violated and abused but instead felt wanted and worthy of passion from a man who kept it chained inside him until it exploded out in a frenzy of demands she’d been all too eager to comply with. No more. Can’t do it anymore.
She unfolded the note with impatient fingers.
Our night is still incomplete. You don’t know what it does to me knowing your beautifully sore backside received no aftercare from my hands. That I wasn’t given the time to tell you that you look like a fucking goddess when you come. To say that you satisfied me would be an understatement, so I need to overstate it in your ear. Not on paper. Allow me that. Today.
J
A cell phone number sat at the bottom, taunting her.
The sound of her breath wheezing in and out brought her out of her stupor. How many times had she read the note? Using different inflections each time, imagining his voice saying the words to her out loud. She tossed the note into the garbage can, then snatched it back out. The night was still incomplete? What had he been planning while she’d been sitting at her laptop, wrecking his life? He’d been remembering their night together, thinking of her as a goddess, when she’d gone and acted like the furthest thing from it. If she saw him today, he wouldn’t care if her body still ached from his hands. Would he? Maybe instead, he’d repeat the treatment he’d given her last night, only this time it wouldn’t be for pleasure. It would be a punishment.
Her body shouldn’t be thrumming with anticipation of receiving that punishment. Wrong. So wrong. But whereas five minutes ago, she’d been moody and lethargic, she now felt energized. Reanimated. Maybe he genuinely wanted to care for her after last night. Maybe it really was important to him. It wouldn’t hurt to find out, right? “Stop,” she muttered to herself, pushing from behind her desk and out of her office. “Stop making excuses to see him.”
Caroline went into the small kitchen just off the reception area and poured herself a mug of steaming caffeine. She doctored it with too much cream before leaning back against the counter to watch the twenty-four-hour news channel on the suspended television above. The images blurred together after a few minutes, the voices sounding like they came from inside a cave. She’d expected the article to bring relief. Thought it would free her somehow, let her life return to normal. But she felt infinitely worse. Like she’d done something irreversible. Her father might be pleased with her, since their readership would undoubtedly be disgusted by her description of floggings and horny businessmen, but had it been worth hurting Jonah? Her brother? Knowing she was a fraud left a bitter taste in her mouth, and the coffee was doing nothing to wash it away. Or to dull the relentless pain in her chest.
She had the sudden, undeniable urge to hear Jonah’s voice. Not to apologize—that would come too close to admitting she was wrong about his world, and she wasn’t. But she needed him to know her intention hadn’t been to hurt him. Maybe it would help dampen this awful guilt spearing her abdomen.
She hurried back to her office and closed the door so no one would overhear, particularly her father, who tended to meander through the hallways with his nose stuck in a book or financial journal. With a deep breath, she plucked the note off her desk and dialed the number on her cell.