Page 29 of His Surrender
Was that why he was acting so weird? He thought I was upset with him?
“No, I don’t regret it,” I responded, trying not to look at his lips as he smiled. I wanted to pull him against me and claim those lips again. I wanted to throw him back into my bed and press my face against his chest as I went to sleep.
Intimacy. That’s what I craved more than anything. Not just sex. However, that was the one thing Jay wouldn’t give me. He’d made that clear.
“Cool,” he said, taking a step back. “Good night.”
Once he walked down the steps, I closed the door and bumped my forehead against it.Stupid. Stupid.Butterflies jostled in my stomach at the memory of his lips on mine, and I sighed before pushing away from the door.
I had hoped to get Jay out of my system by fucking him, but I was afraid I’d just made things even worse.
Chapter 7
Jay
Leaving Remi had been harder than expected.
Normally, I fucked and left with no hesitation. But with him… I had inwardly struggled with it. The only other man I had spent any kind of time with after sex had been Emery—before he and Cason had gotten serious anyway, and then the sex had stopped. For a while, I’d thought Emery and I could become more than friends with benefits. He’d certainly held my attention longer than anyone else. It had turned out my feelings for himdidmean more than sex, but they weren’t romantic.
I loved Emery as a friend. Which was the closest I’d gotten to romantic love in many years. With Remi, I felt a similar connection. While a huge part of me had wanted to get the hell out of his apartment, another part wanted to stay.
When Remi looked at me, I felt like he actually saw me. Not themeeveryone else did—the arrogant bastard who’d charm the pants off anyone. He certainly saw that too, but I felt like he saw even deeper. He saw themeI’d tried to bury over the years.
“Knock it off,” I muttered to myself, getting into my car.
I didn’t do relationships or commitment of any kind. I liked it that way.
Sputnik was waiting for me when I got home. He meowed and rubbed against my leg as I shut and locked the front door.
“Privyet,” I greeted him, bending down to show my baby some love. His purrs vibrated through his chubby body as I scooped him up and carried him to the bedroom.
Once I was in bed, I closed my eyes and recalled Remi’s expression as I sunk into him. His pale blue eyes—and a left iris that was partially brown—surrounded by dark lashes as his gaze met mine. Lips I had kissed, and kissed again, somehow not getting enough.
Sighing, I turned over and punched my pillow, trying to get comfortable. Sputnik grumbled and swatted at my arm. I had interrupted his beauty sleep. He settled back against me and started purring again. I ran my fingers through his orange fur and eventually fell asleep.
The next morning, I woke early to go into the office. Several big cases were open, and I felt like I was drowning in paperwork. The county was going after one man for a meth lab found in his basement. Another case involved the homicide of a police officer, allegedly committed in self-defense. Many facts didn’t add up, so I had filed a murder charge against his wife. That was the case giving me the biggest headache.
To make matters more interesting, Emery was the defendant’s attorney.
We’d already had the pre-trial hearing where the judge determined there was enough evidence to stand trial. The first day of trial was on Tuesday, and I very rarely got nervous, but I was. So much was riding on the case. With the victim being a police officer, the pressure from his unit for a conviction and everyone in the court system who’d known him was suffocating.
It was the biggest case since Jeff Ritter’s trial last spring.
“I’m counting on you,” Michael Kingston, the head prosecutor for the county, had said when I’d been assigned the case.
As deputy prosecuting attorney, I worked under him. Oh how I wished to be under him in other ways—or preferably him underme.But he was happily married, and while I might be a whore, I tried not to get involved with married men if I could help it.Not anymore anyway.
Stop. Don’t think about Andrew.That man had fucked me over in more ways than I could count.
A dingfrom my phone took my attention from the stack of papers on my desk. A text from Emery.
Cross:You working today like a good little prosecuting douchebag?
Me:Excuse the hell out of me. That’s ‘mister’ prosecuting douchebag to you, asshole. Why are you texting me? Shouldn’t you be rolling around in bed with your hot boy during your weekend getaway?
Cross:He’s still asleep.I kept him up late last night. What about you? I figured you’d be with your piano man right now.
Me:You know damn well I don’t stay long afterward. I fucked him, and then I left. End of story.
