Page 11 of The Press Secretary's Passion
“That’s… odd.”
“Maybe,” he hedges, and I wonder what he’s talking about.
“What do you mean maybe?” I wonder why I can’t control the words that are coming out of my mouth. Obviously, it must be the bottle of wine.
“With Rachel missing and everything going on with the bill and the blackmail,” he explains, “I needed to make sure you were all right when you didn’t answer.”
Ahh, so it was a pity visit. That doesn’t sting my ego at all. But that’s fine. I shouldn’t want him. Ryan Black has future heartache written all over him. Unfortunately, I know that heartache would come on the heels of some of the best orgasms I’ve ever had in my life. The world is cruel.
“Well, you can see I’m fine, so have a good night,” I say before I turn to head to my closet to change into some pajamas. If I hadn’t had so much wine, maybe I would’ve noticed he was following me into the closet and not showing himself out.
“We need to talk,” he says as I slip my dress over my head and toss it in the hamper destined for the dry cleaners. He’s seen everything already, and I’m drunk enough I don’t really care, so I strip out of the rest of my clothes and pull on some lace-trimmed silk pajama pants and a matching camisole.
“What about?” I ask as I make my way into the bathroom and begin to wash the makeup off my face. He trails a single fingertip down my spine when I bend over the sink to rinse my face, and it’s all I can do to keep my reaction from showing.
He answers me when I pat my face dry.
“Did you listen to my voicemail messages?” he asks, changing the subject as I slip my earrings from my ears and place them in a little bowl on the counter.
“Some,” I say, shrugging as I reach for my toothbrush but find myself spun around and my back pressed against the counter. “W-what?”
“I told you I was done fucking around.”
“What does that even mean?”
“This,” he says, and then he crashes his mouth down on mine, and when he opens, I cave to the pressure and he licks inside.
I melt against him. I never stood a chance. I know it, and so does Ryan. But I have to put a stop to this before he tramples my heart all over again.
“Ryan,” I whisper when I pull back, and he lets me, but he also keeps me close.
“Julia.”
“I can’t risk it again,” I whisper. “It hurts too much.”
“I hurt you,” he acknowledges. “And I’m so fucking sorry for that. But I’m going to show you that the fall is worth the risk.”
“No.”
“Jules—”
“No,” I say, stronger this time. “I don’t want that.”
“It’ll be good between us,” he says. “You know that.”
“I know it could be and probably would be,” I reply. “That is, until you turn your anger on me again. And it will cut deep, and I know from experience I don’t want to feel that again.”
“Jules, if you’ll just listen—”
“No,” I say, interrupting him. “It’s been a long day, and I need you to go.”
“All right, I’ll go,” he concedes.
“I’ll see you on Monday.”
“You’ll see me before then.”
And then he turns on his heels, and I watch him walk out of my bathroom. I hear the door click closed behind him downstairs, and as I lie down in my bed, I wonder if I made another mistake.
