Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
H eads turned as they crossed the lobby. Jasmine resisted the urge to fuss with her hair and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. This was the last time she’d ever leave the penthouse without makeup. Roth didn’t seem to care, but she didn’t want everyone to think she was a complete hag. Ugh. She needed a spa day where she got the works—hair, nails, wax...
She sucked in a breath as they left the building. Thankfully, the Bentley was waiting at the curb. She paused when Roth directed her to the front passenger seat. After a moment, she obeyed the light pressure of his hand on her back and ducked in.
“I’m driving,” Roth said curtly to Mo and Johan before he rounded the car.
The man behind the wheel leapt out as Jasmine and her guards stared at one another through the window. Mo raised a brow, silently questioning if she knew what was going on. She shook her head. She was completely at sea.
Mo, Johan, and the driver Roth had booted hustled to a familiar SUV as Roth pressed a button, so the car adjusted to his massive size.
Without one word, Roth pulled into traffic. He rarely drove, because he preferred to return calls, read, or answer emails during commutes. Did he want to tell her something he didn’t want Mo or Johan to hear? Her fingers plucked her coat as she waited.
“You aren’t dressed for the weather,” he observed as he adjusted the vents for her.
“I was in a rush to leave the penthouse.”
“To meet Sarai?”
She tapped her boot, annoyed he’d managed to remember that tidbit amid her moaning and begging on his desk. “You said Mo texted you that I was going out?”
“It’s protocol.”
“ Your protocol,” she corrected him.
He glanced at her. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“With you knowing my every move?” In all honesty, it didn’t bother her as much as it might bother someone who hadn’t spent their life in the public eye. There had always been some sort of security measures in place, but once she got her inheritance, having her own security team became necessary. She liked Mo and Johan better than anyone else, but that wasn’t the point. “You want to be interrupted during your meetings to be told I’m going for a coffee?”
“I want to be kept in the loop.”
“Why?”
He slipped his hand beneath her clothing to grip her chilled thigh. “I want to make sure you’re safe.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It’s just a precaution.” His fingers stroked her skin. “I’m surprised you met up with Sarai. I didn’t think anything could make you put down Ballad of Deception .”
She straightened. “You know the name of my book?”
He shot her a level look. “Hard to forget the name of the book I’ve been competing with for the past two days. Besides, I’m a reader. It’s automatic for us to take in details like that.”
Her lip curled. “You read nonfiction .”
His beard twitched as his lips curved. “For the most part. But I do pick up fiction.” He squeezed her thigh. “I’m partial to an author who’s obsessed with me.”
“I’m not obsessed with you, asshole!” she said loudly as she tried to detach his hand from her leg without success. “Speaking of, why do you have my books in your office? They stick out like a sore thumb.”
“So?”
“You want people to notice them?” She couldn’t hide her horror. “Roth!”
“People surround themselves with the books that have shaped them into who they are. Your books are just as much a part of me as Les Nightingale’s. I find myself reaching for them often to read certain passages or chapters I watched you write. It’s familiar and calms me when I’m aggravated. I have a set in each of my offices.” When she said nothing, he continued, “I assume you met with Sarai because you finished the book. What’s the verdict on this second chance, forced proximity, enemies-to-lovers triangle with slow burn, angst, and non-con?”
Her mouth dropped. “Did... did you just recite those tropes in the exact order Sarai mentioned them in Copenhagen?”
“Of course.”
Damn photographic memory. “Do you know what any of that means?”
“Your readers were happy to explain.”
She whipped toward him. She braced her hands on the console, hoping he was joking. “You wouldn’t...”
“I introduced myself as a shy divorcee who was trying to figure out what went wrong in his marriage,” he said without an ounce of shame as he switched lanes. “I told them I thought reading my wife’s favorite series would help me figure out where I went wrong.” When she gaped at him, he added, “Your community was very sympathetic and welcoming.”
“I’ll bet they were,” she muttered. What reader wouldn’t want a man who read the same shit she did? If her readers knew Rex was in their midst, they’d lose their collective shit. “What’s your username?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Why?”
“You’ll block me.”
He wasn’t wrong, and it irritated her that she hadn’t made the leap yet, but he already had. “There can’t be that many men anyway.”
“You’d be surprised how many clueless men are looking for answers, but I doubt they’ll find it in the romance community.”
She waved her hand. “What women want in real life and in fiction are completely separate.”
“You’re the exception to that rule.”
“What do you mean?”
“You put your desires, fantasies, and fears right there on the page because you thought no one would discover your true identity. But life has a way of bringing certain things to light, no matter how hard you try to hide them.”
“I’m banking on it,” she said with such conviction that he took his eyes off the road.
They stared at one another long enough for her heartbeat to accelerate. Just when she was about to tell him to look back at the road, he did so. She inwardly cursed his nerves of steel as he cruised along 6th Avenue.
“We’ll see,” he said coolly before he asked, “So where does Johanna Ledger’s latest book rank amongst her other work?”
“You remember the author’s name too?”
“Not hard to remember. You had a whole shelf dedicated to her in college.”
He was shocking the hell out of her today. “Did you read any of them?”
He took in her flushed cheeks. “Something tells me I should.”
“Don’t,” she warned. If he read Johanna’s books, he’d know where her kinks stemmed from. To distract him, she said, “I think Ballad of Deception’s the best thing she’s ever written. But it’s in danger of being booted from retailers because it isn’t PC.” When he frowned, she patted his arm. “‘PC’ stands for politically correct.”
He captured her hand and brought it to his mouth. “She’s a romance author. Why does her work have to be politically correct?”
“My thoughts exactly. We’re writers, not politicians running for office.”
She was grateful for a topic to rant about so she wouldn’t have to focus on the way he brushed his lips back and forth against her palm.
“ Ballad of Deception’s already been taken down from one retailer, and it may get taken down from others if people don’t get their heads out of their asses. Unfortunately, there are still readers wearing bonnets and clutching their pearls over a few violent, experimental sex scenes. They also don’t like some of the compromising situations the character was put into.” Her free hand sliced through the air. “It’s fiction . That’s where we’re supposed to push the boundaries. Where else should we indulge our fantasies—in real life? Art and stories are supposed to make people uncomfortable, to provoke conversation. I swear, movies and music are lightyears ahead of the literary world. Have you listened to rap recently?”
“Can’t say I have,” he murmured as he stopped at a traffic light.
“I’ll play you some songs that will make you realize authors get so much unwarranted harassment and pushback. I hate it.” She sighed. “Anyway, I messaged Johanna Ledger to fangirl and see if I could be of any assistance to keep her book from being censored.”
“And?” Roth prompted when she stopped.
“And she wrote me back.” She still couldn’t believe it.
“Why wouldn’t she? I’m surprised you haven’t connected with her before. You’re a writer, she’s a writer...”
“We aren’t in the same category. She’s huge , and I’m...” She waved that away. “I was high off the book and went temporarily insane. I never would have reached out to her otherwise. Can you believe she’s heard of me?” Giddy all over again, she buried her face on his arm and let out a little squeal. “She’s my hero. If I ever met her, I’d probably faint or cry.”
When Roth chuckled, she playfully bit his arm, catching sight of a woman standing on the corner with her phone turned in their direction. Was she recording them? As they made eye contact, the light turned green, and the Bentley glided forward.
“Do you want me to look into it?” Roth asked, drawing her attention back to him.
“Look into what?”
“Keeping her books on retailers.”
Her breath caught. “You can do that?”
Again, that quick, level look. “So could you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Rami.”
She stared, uncomprehending.
“He has his hands in most of the major online retailers.”
She’d been thinking about starting a petition to appeal to the manager who’d made such a call, while Roth wanted to go to the programmer who’d created the infrastructure the retailer operated within.
“I’ve never asked my family for a favor like that before.”
She never allowed herself to think about her family’s connections when it came to her writing career. She wanted to do it on her own; to know she possessed enough talent for people to pick up her work and talk about it without money pushing her to the forefront. Maybe it was foolish to think that way. Her dad had thought so. He’d urged her to go the traditional route instead of being independent, but she didn’t want anyone telling her what she should write, when she should deliver, and measure her success by their standards. Most of all, she refused to be forced into the limelight. Her writing career was hers, and she didn’t want anyone to attribute her success to her family’s influence. But for Johanna Ledger...
“I’m sure Rami wouldn’t mind looking into it,” Roth said.
She bit her lip as she battled her aversion to asking her family for anything and bringing attention to her interests when they had more important things to do. “I’m hoping enough authors and readers rallying around Johanna will be enough.”
Even to her own ears she sounded doubtful.
“I’ll look into it. I wouldn’t be where I am without access to books. I don’t like the thought of anyone deciding what people can or can’t read.”
“Thank you,” she said with heartfelt sincerity.
He brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Sounds like you had an eventful day.”
She let out a dreamy sigh. “I finished a great book, spoke to my idol, had coffee and cookies, and then had great sex. I have nothing to complain about.”
He smiled against her palm. “You had coffee with Sarai and then came to me? Did you make any other stops?”
The odd question made her brows bunch together. “Why do you want to know if I made any other stops?”
“I’m curious.”
“Isn’t that something that would be noted in today’s observation report?”
“Yes, but I’d rather hear it from you.”
“Why? If my reports are anything like Colette and Ariana’s, they took photographs, jotted down what I ordered, and recorded how long I spoke to Sarai. Do you tell them to count how many times I smile or laugh?” She yanked on her hand, but he tightened his grip, holding her captive. “What is all this documentation for? Do you not trust me?”
“It’s not about trust.”
“Then what is it about?”
“Six months from now, you could receive a stalker letter or photographs of what you did today, and you’d be hard-pressed to remember where you went and why. Details that seem insignificant make all the difference in the world. Who you bumped into, a trash can you might have dropped your cup in... Everything matters. Others may be making their own observation reports of your movements, your security team, your habits. I intend to be one step ahead of everyone and ready for any circumstance.” He took in her dumbfounded expression and shook his head. “You have no idea.”
“And you do?”
He stared straight ahead, the lines in his face deepening into a dark scowl. “Yes.”
She digested that for a minute before she said, “My father made many enemies, but even he never felt the need to take such precautions.”
“I’m not your father.”
“I realize that,” she said quietly, all the warm and fuzzy feelings fading away to be replaced with worry. “What kind of enemies do you have, Roth?”
He navigated traffic as efficiently as Mo and Johan even though she sensed his mind was elsewhere—somewhere bleak and grim.
“Roth?”
He didn’t acknowledge her or take his eyes off the road.
“I’m a part of your world. Don’t you think I should know what you’re trying to protect me from?”
His hand flexed on the steering wheel. “While you’re a part of my world, what I do will never touch you.”
The reminder that she was a temporary fixture in his life shattered the pleasurable intimacy of the moment. This time, when she tugged on her hand, he released it. She placed her hand on her lap and rubbed the feel of his lips from her tingling skin.
“I don’t make mistakes, Jasmine. Just trust me to take care of it.”
She stared straight ahead. She didn’t state the obvious—that he’d blundered once before, and it had got him blackmailed.
They finished the rest of the drive in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. When Roth pulled up to 432 Park Avenue, Johan appeared outside her door but didn’t open it. Roth came around the vehicle and offered his hand. Jasmine took it and allowed him to twine their fingers together as they approached the lobby.
“Why did you insist on driving?” she asked as they passed through the front doors. At this time of day, there was little to no activity since everyone was still at work. When they paused before the elevators, she squeezed his hand. “Roth.”
His expression was cold and remote. Wherever he’d gone in his mind, it wasn’t a pleasant place. She wanted to brush back his hair and give him a hug to coax him back into a better mood but had no idea how he’d take that. So, she kept her hands to herself.
“I drove so I could touch you. I couldn’t do that with the large console between us in the back seat.”
The elevator doors opened before she could react. Roth stood slightly in front of her as they traveled up to the penthouse, acting more like a bodyguard than her husband, even though the only other occupant was the elevator operator.
“Have a good day, Joe,” Jasmine said as she exited.
The man inclined his head but didn’t make eye contact with Roth present. Internally, she sighed. That was probably best.
The moment the elevator doors closed, Roth released her. He set the bag of untouched cookies on a side table and strode down the hallway to the master suite. She stared after him, torn between following or giving him the space he obviously wanted.
She perched on the arm of the sofa and squinted at the clouds drifting by. She felt like she was looking through an airplane window, not sitting in a penthouse. The sky was a sea of white, hiding the city from view. It was going to snow. She suddenly wished she were in her library at Tuxedo Park, with a fire going. She took in the luxurious but stark surroundings. There was no need for a fire when there was a steady stream of heat circulating through the room, but Jasmine longed for the scent of firewood and smoke.
The living room had been tidied in her absence. Her blanket was neatly folded, the empty dishes were gone, and her scattered books had been neatly stacked. The invisible staff must be monitoring her as closely as Roth, ready to clean the moment she vacated the premises.
It had been a good day. No , she corrected herself, it’s been an excellent one . Speaking to Johanna Ledger and Roth’s enthusiastic reaction to her visit meant she should be on cloud nine, not feeling despondent and troubled. But no matter how much she tried to live in the moment, Roth’s secrets cast a dark shadow over their time together. The longer she was with him, the more she was convinced his blackmail was related to business. And what had he witnessed that made him insist on such stringent security measures?
When she heard his heavy footfalls, she pulled out her phone and opened a social media app.
“I’m going to the gym.”
She turned her head to see he’d changed into navy pants and a charcoal long-sleeve that hugged his biceps and broad shoulders a little too well. He tended to work out in the wee hours of the morning, so she rarely saw him like this. It was a delectable sight. Despite getting recently plowed, her inner sex kitten perked up. Disgusted with herself, she gave him a vague smile.
“Have fun.”
“Do you want to come with me?”
Her smile vanished. “And have you laugh at how out of shape I am?”
His brows came together. “Why would I laugh?”
She took in his flat stomach and defined muscles and held up a hand. “I’ll pass.”
“You don’t have to do what I do. You can just walk on the treadmill or sit on the side if you want.”
She was a little bewildered by his insistence on being a gym ornament, especially since he was clearly still on edge. “I don’t want to get in your way.”
He stared at her for a minute before he turned and typed in the code. The doors opened immediately, as if the elevator had never left. Roth boarded, and that quickly, she was alone.
She waited for several seconds to make sure he wasn’t coming back before making her way to the master suite. It would have been nice to soak in the tub and daydream, but his edgy mood had transferred to her. She’d just shower instead.
By the time she was sitting at her vanity to do her nighttime rituals, her agitation had lessened considerably. She took her time putting on creams and blow-drying her hair. Her vanity was covered in perfumes, oils, and hair and skin products, while Roth’s remained bare aside from the basics. She’d tried to contain her belongings to their designated area so she wouldn’t encroach on his territory. She would have preferred to have her own bedroom and bathroom, but he’d insisted they play the part of a real married couple so they wouldn’t give the staff anything to gossip about. She understood, but she worried her messy tendencies would agitate his OCD.
As a child, she’d been obsessively neat. With a father like Maximus, being tidy, prompt, and presentable was a necessity. But once she was on her own, she’d allowed herself a little leniency. For the most part, she was still neat and organized, but when she was in reading or writing mode, her environment paid the price. This week, she’d forgotten herself. She’d left books in the living room, kitchen, and even the bathroom. Empty cups were everywhere. Clothes were draped over chairs or left on the floor instead of being tossed in a hamper. They’d never truly lived together, and the short time they’d occupied the same space, they’d drowned in sex. That was almost ten years ago. They were different people now.
When she entered the closet, Jasmine saw the pile of clothes she left on the ground when she’d changed to meet Sarai was no longer there. She hoped the housekeeper had been the one to pick them up, but a glance at the suit Roth had changed out of and placed in the designated area for dry cleaning made her doubtful. She’d make more of an effort not to be so careless in the future.
She tugged on sweats and thick socks and climbed into bed with her laptop. She read and reread Johanna Ledger’s message, still unable to believe she’d made contact with her favorite author. She wanted to continue the conversation, to befriend Johanna and enhance the connection, but she didn’t want to come off as a weirdo. Instead, she turned her attention to responding to comments on her post and got into a spirited discussion about Ballad of Deception . She snickered when Sarai joined.
Didn’t I tell you he’d be happy to see you?
She rolled her eyes as Sarai’s name popped up in a private chat and sent the correlating emoji.
Tell me what you did in the office will end up in the next book!
Her cheeks heated. I don’t know what you’re talking about , she messaged back.
Don’t play innocent. He couldn’t get enough of you on the flight back to New York. I know exactly what you look like after he’s wrung you out.
She was mortified, amused, and a little smug. You have a problem.
Yes, it’s called an overactive imagination. I don’t know what’s worse—coming up with scenarios or knowing every detail.
Why don’t you apply those scenarios to the book you’re supposed to be writing?
She grinned at the emoji Sarai sent with the tongue sticking out and glowered when she received a list of interior designers.
I emailed you links to their websites and TV shows or magazines they’ve been featured in so you can get a feel for them and their work. These designers think outside the box. I’m sure one of them will suit you!
Jasmine ignored the list and returned to the discussion. Her readers were nagging her for information on book five. After a short internal debate, she admitted to severe writer’s block and that she was going through some personal challenges. Losing her father, becoming a multimillionaire, and remarrying her ex definitely justified as challenging. Most of the readers were understanding, supportive, and sympathetic, but there were a few dicks who said they were giving up on her for not delivering and started ranting about what an awful author she was for not publishing regularly.
She blocked these accounts instead of giving them a platform to rant. She wasn’t going to apologize for needing more time. No explanation would satisfy them, and if she rushed through a book, these same readers would be the first ones to criticize her for lazy writing or putting out something subpar. She wasn’t going to live her life being controlled by the masses. She’d already spent most of her life trying to please people. Suppressing her own wants and needs for others was a recipe for disaster. Wisdom had taught her to put herself first and protect her peace, even if that meant she lost a chunk of her audience. She had no intention of begging anyone to stay. Those who appreciated her and were willing to wait would stick around. The others could fuck off and find other authors who met their requirements.
She was so into the chat that when she saw something move out of the corner of her eye, she yelped and clutched her laptop to her chest as if that would protect her from the boogie man. Roth raised a brow as he slicked back his sweat-soaked hair.
“How long have you been standing there?” she demanded.
“Long enough to hear you muttering about someone named Tess and Ren, and that someone could kiss your ass.”
She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. Roth wasn’t smiling. If anything, he looked angrier than when he’d left. Wasn’t he supposed to be filled with endorphins after a workout?
“I’m chatting with my girls.”
“Your readers?” he asked as he pulled his shirt over his head.
Her mind went blank as she took in the ripped body on display. If her girls could see Rex in the flesh, they’d start to salivate.
“Jasmine.”
Her eyes flicked from the pants that hung ridiculously low on his hips to his scowl. “What?”
He shook his head, clearly annoyed, and stalked into the bathroom. Propped against the headboard, she had an excellent view of him as he stripped. If he weren’t so pissy, she might have joined him in the shower and offered to scrub him down. Instead, she took in his sculpted body from afar, and when it disappeared from view, she opened a fresh document to describe that work of art in as much detail as possible for future reference.
She had no clue what she’d said to put him in such a foul mood. She didn’t want him to stay that way. She wanted happy, affectionate Roth. On a burst of inspiration, she raced out of the room. Maybe having something sweet might cheer him up. She’d rarely seen him eat dessert, aside from Thanksgiving with her family, and he’d never commented on the delicious dinners from the in-house five-star chef. The food could have been tasteless for all the attention he paid it. Food was purely for sustenance, not pleasure. Well, she was going to change that.
He was standing beside the bed in a pair of gray sweatpants, his chest bare, when she skidded into the room.
“I know this is the last thing you should be eating, but they’re so good. You have to try one.” She offered him the package, but when he didn’t take it, her smile faded. “You don’t like cookies?”
“I’ve never had one.”
“Never had one?” she parroted. “How is that possible? Not even as a kid?”
“We didn’t have sweets in the house.”
“At all?”
She regretted her outburst when his eyes narrowed. She knew he’d had humble beginnings, but the more she learned about his childhood, the worse it sounded. Hunting to eat, an outcast in the community, losing his father to suicide, and then caring for a mother who resented him for being strong enough to move past such a tragedy and thrive. She wanted to give him a hug, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.
Despite all his manipulative schemes, the one thing Roth didn’t seem to want from her was sympathy. It was a powerful weapon he leveraged when it came to her family, but never himself. He did everything in his power to hide the details of what sounded like a horrific childhood. If she’d known just a handful of details about his past, her conversations with Kaia would have been very different.
She smiled to cover the pity she felt for the lonely child he’d been. “Well, today’s your lucky day. We are always going to have sweets in the house. We just have to find out what you like.”
She opened the bag and offered it to him. He hesitated, but her heart warmed when he reached into the bag and broke off a piece.
“That’s the gingerbread,” she informed him as he popped it into his mouth. She waited expectantly, but when he said nothing, she said, “Maybe you’ll like the chocolate chip better?”
Another pause before he reached in and took from the second cookie. Again, no comment, and he didn’t reach for more.
“Maybe cookies aren’t your thing.” She tried to hide her disappointment by grabbing a piece of gingerbread for herself. “We’ll keep trying until you find a dessert you like. Everyone should have a guilty pleasure.”
As his gaze moved over her, warmth spread. She was so tuned in to him, so receptive to anything he deigned to give her, when she’d been bored to tears with other men. They didn’t challenge her intellectually, physically, or emotionally. Roth checked every box. She broke off a chunk of the chocolate chip cookie and stuffed her face instead of stepping into him to see if he wanted to go another round.
“Are you going to work a little?” she asked.
“No. It can wait until tomorrow.” He gripped the back of his neck and tipped his head to the side.
“Are you okay?”
“I have a knot.”
“Do you want me to...?”
He eyed her for a beat before he sat at the foot of the bed. She stood beside him and put her hand where his was, applying pressure. Immediately, his head dropped forward.
“Harder,” he grunted.
She climbed onto the bed for better leverage and was pleased by his low grunt. She felt the bump and began to knead, trusting he’d say something if what she was doing felt wrong or pained him. He didn’t say a thing; he just sat there as she tried to give him some relief. His gruff, “Other side,” made her shift restlessly on her knees. That damn growl always got to her.
After several minutes that felt like an eternity, Jasmine paused. He reached back and grabbed her hand.
“Run your thumbs from here to here.” He dragged her hand from the base of his neck to a spot several inches into his hairline. When she obeyed, his pleased rumble made her grin.
As she repeated the simple motion, she glanced out the window and saw the snow had finally arrived. It felt like they were in their own snow globe. If only the outside world with all its demands and responsibilities would cease to exist, they could stay here for several days and just be. Roth leaned against her, his muscled body as relaxed as it would allow.
“On your stomach.”
“What?”
He sounded drugged. She kissed the side of his neck before giving him a playful tug backward that didn’t rock him one bit.
“You gave me a massage. It’s time to return the favor.” When he didn’t move, she dropped her hands and offered, “Or I can make a call.”
He rose, turned, and stretched out in the middle of the bed.
She hesitated. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe it’s best I call a professional who can help?—”
“Get on top of me and put your hands on me, princess.”
The endearment restored her confidence. She clambered over his legs and straddled his ass. She bounced a little to fuck with him and laughed when he muttered something under his breath.
“Don’t be such a baby,” she chided as she settled on his lower back and braced her hands on his shoulder blades. “Okay, what do I do?”
She listened to his instructions and got to work. She realized she had to use most of her body weight to get the pressure he wanted. He taught her the anatomy of his back and grunted and hissed as her strong fingers dug in. She lost herself in the repetitive movements and the challenge of having so much territory to cover. She remembered some motions from the massage he gave her in London. It was a delight to explore and touch to her heart’s content. Even when her arms began to ache and sweat dotted her forehead, she didn’t stop.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when he’d been quiet for some time, she shifted to the side and smiled when she saw his eyes were closed. She glanced at the clock and resisted the urge to cheer. It was just after four. Maybe he’d get more than three hours of sleep for once. To make him fall even deeper, she ran her hands through his hair. Judging by how quickly he dozed off last night, he liked it a lot.
When she started to ease away, his voice stopped her. “Lie on top of me.” He was drowsy enough that she had to lean down to hear him.
“What?”
One eye opened. “Lie on top of me while I nap.”
“I don’t think...”
“You weigh nothing. You put on a hundred pounds, I could still lift you over my head without breaking a sweat.”
She bit his shoulder hard enough to make him flinch, even though his disregard for her weight made cheered her up. She stretched out on top of him, nuzzled his cheek, and copied the placement of his arms so her arms lay on top of the muscled, veiny backs of his. She breathed in his scent and had to suppress a moan. He smelled of soap, man, and the faintest hint of sandalwood.
As minutes ticked by, their breathing synchronized. His animal heat seeped through her clothing and made her feel like she was near a fire. Even though he was almost unconscious, his energy vibrated in the air around them.
Knowing he wasn’t asleep, just floating, she whispered, “Baby?”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you know so much about massage?”
In London, he said he’d picked up the skill, but his knowledge of anatomy, body mechanics, and physiology was too in-depth to be casual. She’d jumped to the conclusion he’d learned how to massage to take care of the women he used too hard in the bedroom, but now that she was thinking about it, she couldn’t see Roth learning just for that reason. Tending to a prostitute after he paid her wasn’t his style. It was more likely he’d hand her off to someone else, not take care of it personally.
“Roth?”
“We did everything ourselves. Repairs on the house, hunting, cutting firewood. I was too young to help as much as he wanted me to, so Mom took on more than her share and got hurt a lot. They didn’t have the money for hospital bills, so I did what I could to make her comfortable and heal quicker.”
The last thing she expected was for him to bring up his childhood. A dark suspicion slithered through her mind and dug its claws deep into her belly. She raised her head to question him before she registered that his body was no longer loose and pliant, but rigid with tension. Her need for answers was paramount, but her desire for him to relax and be at ease was greater.
She put her lips against his ear and whispered, “You’re a dick for letting me think you gave your whores rubdowns.”
She knew she’d made the right choice when his body quaked beneath her as he chuckled. She let out a mock growl and sank her teeth into his shoulder.
“You think this is funny?” She moved over his body, play-biting until he was outright laughing. That carefree sound was worth the cost of not getting answers.
“Come here,” he said, his voice amused and indulgent.
She flopped onto his back and propped her chin on his shoulder. His hand sank into her hair as he looked back at her.
“Never used a prostitute in my life,” he confessed.
Her scowl vanished.
“Been with three women. My first was a professor at Stanford. I was sixteen and in the midst of it before I knew what was happening. The next time, I let it happen to see if I liked it. Realized I didn’t and stopped it from happening again. You were my second. My third was after you—after the divorce.” When she tried to pull back, his hand bunched in her hair to keep her in place. “I couldn’t finish. Tried a month after that. Same woman. I don’t know why she offered again. It was a repeat of the first time.”
Her heart thundered in her ears. “You...” She couldn’t sort through her whirling thoughts to articulate the questions whizzing through her mind.
“Didn’t have a sex drive before you.” His gaze moved over her pale face and wide hazel gaze. “You came into my life and turned it upside down. It didn’t right itself when you left. I couldn’t move on, even though I tried. I’ve learned my desires are singular and revolve around you. No one else will do.” His expression hardened. “I need my life back, princess.”
“I... don’t understand.”
“I need to work you out of my system to stave off this obsession once and for all.”
“And if you don’t?” She wasn’t sure why she was challenging him, or why she felt offended, terrified, and elated.
His fingers slipped from her hair. “For your sake, I hope I do.”
She gawked at him in disbelief as he rested his cheek on the bedsheets and closed his eyes, clearly prepared to go to sleep after dropping his atomic bomb. “That professor...?”
“It was a pattern of hers. I got her fired once I was established.”
“You seemed so experienced when we...”
The side of his face she could see creased in a grimace. “No one with experience would have acted the way I did during your first time. I was wild. Out of control.”
“But you taught me everything I know.”
“Read your books to see what you fantasized about. Read everything I could get my hands on about pleasing women to redeem myself after I fucked up your first time. Thank fuck you got off on it. Ninety percent of women would have called the cops. I’m too big to let myself go like that. I knew better, but I couldn’t stop. I was rough as hell. You should have kicked me out, not asked for more.” He shook his head. “Fucking miracle you liked it. I was determined to make an impression—to tie you to me so you couldn’t dismiss me and go back to Baldwin.”
“You’re a diabolical ass,” she said, but her voice held no heat.
“I got the girl. All worth it.” He slurred on the last word.
She stared at his profile, her mind whirling, as she sensed him drift off. If she was in the same room as his college professor, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop herself from attacking the predatory bitch. The professor had exploited the trust of a teen who was intellectually mature but physically and emotionally eons behind. The fact that she’d been with dozens of men and never been taken advantage of, but Roth had made her chest burn.
And the bitch who came after her... What woman would volunteer a second time after failing to get him off? It had to be someone who either desperately wanted him or his money. Why did she want to wake him up to demand that woman’s name, number, and address so she could beat the hell out of her? She buried her face against his hot skin and willed away the unwarranted, seething jealousy. It would have been easier to hear he’d fucked one hundred women instead of just one. Her eyes filled with tears of guilt, relief, and rage.
The casual way he imparted the story of his sexual experiences, as if everyone had been initiated by their college professor at sixteen, made her stomach roll. Had the professor ruined sex for him, or was it his aversion to his mother’s codependency that had made him suppress his body’s needs until she came along? It was no wonder he’d latched onto her. He was starved of acceptance in a world that had been nothing but cruel. The fact he’d accomplished what he had despite his hardships was a testament to his mental resilience. He’d never given in to a weakness until her. And it had destroyed everything he’d worked so hard for.
She spread-eagled protectively over him and wrapped him up tight to comfort him and herself as she watched the snow fall. She mourned the neglected boy who grew up under such dire circumstances, the na?ve teen who was violated by an authority figure he clearly trusted, and the man whose only crime was seeking kindness and connection from the daughter of a tyrant who’d done his best to destroy them both. If her father hadn’t found out about the affair, maybe the novelty of their attraction would have passed. Instead, Roth had been drawn into war with her father and blackmailed, which had put her constantly in the forefront of his mind.
She jerked violently, which startled him awake.
“Jasmine?”
“Shh, sorry. Go back to sleep,” she urged, running her fingers through his hair as she tried to calm herself.
A sex tape with a professor was blackmail-worthy. For a moment, she thought he might have told her without actually telling her, but no. He’d been too composed and matter-of-fact about the incident—nothing like his reaction at Tuxedo Park with Thea—which meant it had to be something else. Something worse. Her stomach lurched. If it was worse than a grown woman with a fetish for teenage boys, she didn’t want to know.
Roth didn’t want this attachment to her. He wanted to go back to living in his head and doing business without caring how it affected anyone. His insistence that she continue with their arrangement suddenly made sense. He had to sate his fantasies to get past his obsession with her. Apparently, he had also decided to fulfill her desires as well so any man who came after him couldn’t compete.
Roth was a driven man, which meant he would accomplish his goal. He would work her out of his system and get his life back. One day, he’d treat her like everyone else. Invisible, beneath his notice. She knew, no matter how much time passed, she’d never be able to treat him like they were distant acquaintances. He was her first, and regardless of who came after him, he’d be her last. It was just her luck that she’d fallen for a man who’d never been loved, didn’t know how to love, and probably never would. Her man was an emotional mess.
She pressed kisses along his broad shoulders, hands stroking muscles that felt like steel beneath dark velvet skin. She loved on him, safe in the knowledge he was asleep and wouldn’t protest her need to attempt to heal what he didn’t even know was broken. The need to give was a compulsion she’d stifled all her life. No one wanted her love or affection—not her father, her sisters, or even her husband. Men were only interested when it came in the form of sexual favors. She would give Roth all she had, even if it left her hollow and empty. He deserved to be genuinely loved at least once in his life, even if he didn’t recognize it for what it was. After she’d unwittingly caused him more harm when he’d already suffered so much, he deserved it.
When she was satisfied that she’d kissed or caressed every square inch of him to replace any lingering past hurt imbedded in his skin, she nuzzled him before resting her cheek against his. She wrapped herself around him protectively as her eyelids drooped. She failed to notice his hand was balled into a fist.