Page 18 of Trashy Conquest

“I need you to be honest with me, Jules. The two of you have a history.”

“So do you and your wife.”

He winces, and I wish I could rewind the last few seconds of this conversation. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“What do you want me to say? Of course I still care about him. But he’s not…he doesn’t make me feel the way you do.”

Letting out a breath, he drags both hands through his hair, leaving it in the perfect state of messy that I can’t help but love on him.

I’m tempted to remove his jacket and tie, and roll up his cuffs, because he’s too put-together for a man who seems on the verge of coming undone. He’s too put-together for Cash. The way he wears his corporate rebellion, like it’s second nature, is sexy as sin.

Silence stretches between us, rife with impossibilities and longing and regrets.

“Do you want me to leave?” He’s gentleman enough to ask the question, but his tone is heavy with reluctance.

“I don’t want you to go, but…” My gaze veers to the side, and the sight of the nightstand where his sunflower bouquet sat hours ago hurts clear to the bone.

I’ve had a whole night to put some space between me and the memory of us in bed. It doesn’t matter that the sheets still smell like him because I couldn’t bring myself to change them—being with him like that again will only make it harder to watch him walk away once more.

“But?” he gently prompts.

“But later, you’ll leave, and I can’t be with you like that today to hold back tomorrow.”

His shoulders set in defeat, and I know exactly how he feels. “I understand,” he says. “I’m not giving up, but I get it.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“The only place we can go.” He backs toward the open door of my bedroom. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

A thick lump of hurt swells in my throat, rendering me unable to speak, so I nod instead.

“I’m going to go now, before I can’t.”

“Okay.” I’m staring at his feet, too fucking close to tears. And I don’t want to cry because I know he’s not leaving by choice.

He’s not Chris.

“Jules.”

At the insistent way he says my name, I raise my head. He grabs hold of the doorframe, anchoring himself to the spot.

“This isn’t over.”

“I know.”

I also know he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Five endless seconds later, he’s gone.

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