14
EVERLY
One Week Later
IT’S A SUNNY MORNING, THE perfect day for a jog. I’m eager for some semblance of my old routine.
I dress in a pair of black workout shorts and a hot-pink tank top and pull my hair into a high ponytail. When I step out of the bathroom, I stop in my tracks.
Cash is sitting on the edge of the bed, the brim of his ball cap covering his eyes, tying his running shoe. I’m surprised to see him since he usually goes on long runs before I wake up.
He glances up when he hears me approach and smiles. “Good morning, wifey.”
“Morning,” I say.
The truth is, despite my better judgment, I’m warming up to the nickname, maybe more than I should.
As promised, he’s had a home-cooked meal on the table waiting for me every night when I get home from work. After dinner, I work at the kitchen island, catching up on things I couldn’t finish at the office, while Cash watches a movie with headphones. I appreciate his thoughtful gesture, allowing me to work without interruption.
Since we got back to London, I’ve slept better than I have in years. It’s purely coincidental that I’m sleeping next to Cash, or at least that’s what I prefer to believe. I’m plagued with dreams of being wrapped in his arms, my thigh draped across his hips, his arms holding me tightly.
Last week, my dream turned sexual. Cash held me close as he whispered my name in my ear. With gentle hands, he stroked my body, caressing me. I arched toward him, loving the hot touch of him on my skin. I pressed kisses along his neck, desperate for him to make me come. He plunged his fingers inside my pussy, and I rode his hand as he drove me to an orgasm. It felt so real, but when I woke up, Cash’s side of the bed was cold and empty.
Most mornings since, he’s been gone before I’m up. This strikes me as odd, given that he seems the type who would sleep in.
“Are you going somewhere?” I ask.
“Yeah, out for a jog,” Cash answers as he ties his other shoe. “Want to join me? Looks like you had the same idea?” He motions toward my workout clothes.
“Um…”
Normally, I prefer to run alone and instinctively want to decline his offer, but he must sense my hesitation.
“It’s just a jog, Ev. You don’t have to worry about me asking you to marry me or anything too serious,” he says, flashing me a boyish grin.
Why does the reminder that we’re married make butterflies take flight in my stomach? I highly doubt spending more time with him will help curb my attraction to him.
I’m not prepared when I glance over to see him standing up, giving me a full view of his bare chest—his sculpted six-pack on display.
I have to channel all my focus into appearing unaffected by his striking physique. I’ve gone years without having a visceral reaction to a man, and then Cash comes along and every time I see him without his shirt on, I’m like a bitch in heat.
One run together can’t hurt, right?
“I’ll tag along, but could you put a shirt on?” I nod toward his solid chest, feeling a flush across my cheeks.
He closes the distance between us, shamelessly devouring me with his eyes. “Suit yourself,” he murmurs, his voice so soft I have to strain to catch it.
I’m disappointed when he brushes past me on his way to the closet and actually selects a shirt. He tugs it over his head as he leaves the room with a sly smirk on his face, leaving me to wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.
Cash’s definition of a jog doesn’t align with mine. He made it sound like it would be a leisurely affair—a few miles at most.
I was wrong. Very wrong.
Let the record show that Cash doesn’t jog. He runs.
I consider myself in shape, doing yoga three mornings a week, and incorporating a mix of cardio and weightlifting into my routine, but Cash Stafford is on a whole other level.
We’ve been running for eight miles, and I’m grateful he’s maintained a pace I can match.
We ran through Hyde Park, passing Serpentine Lake and catching a glimpse of the swans gracefully gliding along the water’s surface. Making our way past Big Ben, we saw tourists milling around to get a glimpse of the iconic landmark.
Cash has hardly broken a sweat, but that didn’t stop him from ditching his shirt twenty minutes ago, tucking it into his waistband, and leaving me to admire how his corded muscles ripple with each pump of his arms.
He looks like a model on the cover of Sports Illustrated , with the brim of his hat pulled low, wearing nothing but a pair of black running shorts and sneakers. The idea of climbing this man like a tree grows more enticing by the minute.
Why does my husband have to be so damn hot?
My fake husband, I correct myself.
Even in the early morning, the streets of London are teeming with activity, and every woman we pass can’t resist gawking at him—not that he’s noticed. I’m having fun giving them all dirty looks, leaving them to wonder if Cash and I are together. With my bracelet on his wrist and my ring on his finger, he belongs to me in a way he never has to anyone else, making me feel oddly territorial.
Admittedly, I can’t stop ogling Cash either. I blame those rock-hard abs, tempting me to run my fingers along every ridge as I trace down toward his happy trail, slowly moving lower and lower till my fingers curl around his shaft. I haven’t seen him fully naked, but judging by the bulge in his boxers that I have seen, it’s safe to say the man is well-endowed.
Not that it makes a difference since I won’t be having sex with him. I’m quick to check myself when my mind strays into inappropriate scenarios.
I glance over at Cash again. He’s looking the other way, so I quickly swipe the sweat off my face.
Despite the mild weather, looking at me would make you think it was sweltering hot. While Cash is the epitome of sexy, I’m sweating like a pig, smelling like I didn’t put on enough deodorant, and my hair is sticking to my face.
“We’re almost home, wifey,” he calls out.
“You mean your home?” I taunt him.
“Whatever you say.” He glances over at me, and a grin spreads across his face, suggesting he likes what he sees.
When we’re a block away from his building, he stops by a newsstand to buy two water bottles. I can’t help but notice him taking a fifty-pound note from his shoe and handing it to the clerk, telling him to keep the change. He did the same for his doorman, Max, the day we got back from Aspen Grove.
His generosity only adds to his appeal. There’s just something about a man who takes the time to show appreciation for those around him that makes my heart skip a beat.
“Thanks,” I wheeze when he hands me the bottle. I uncap it and take a large gulp, sighing in relief as the refreshing liquid soothes my scratchy throat.
As I’m catching my breath, he moves to a nearby patch of grass. He takes his hat off and runs his finger through his sweaty tresses. I’m riveted when he pours the contents of his water bottle over his head as it trails down his chest, along his abs, and past his V-line. He shakes his head like an actor from Baywatch who’s just stepped out of the ocean after saving someone’s life.
Oh my god.
“See something you like, Ev?”
I sputter, water spraying from my mouth, my cheeks burning as I meet his hazel gaze. “No. I was just concerned about the water you just wasted.” It’s total bullshit, and we both know it.
“That’s very considerate of you,” he says with a smirk as he moves toward me. “But I think the grass was thirsty, don’t you?” His eyes are fixed on me, his pupils dilating as he watches the rise and fall of my chest.
My hands tremble, and I’m not sure if it’s from the long run or Cash’s masculine scent permeating the air.
I step back but bump into a tree I hadn’t noticed was there. Cash closes the distance so his bare chest is pressed against my breasts, causing a spike of pleasure to course through my veins and heat to rush to my core. I gasp as he trails a finger up my arm, sending goosebumps across my skin.
“I saw you checking me out while we were running. I think you like it when I’m shirtless,” he says as sweat drips down his brow.
“That’s your ego talking,” I say, my breath coming out in ragged gasps.
“Is that so?” Cash questions with a devilish smirk.
He accepts my wordless challenge by gently cupping my chin with his hand. My breath hitches when he brings his mouth close to mine, leaving barely an inch of space between us. I can feel his hot breath against my lips like a whisper, and I can’t resist grabbing hold of his waist. His skin is slippery and wet, and every cell in my body craves for him to close the remaining distance, yet my mind screams to push him away.
As if he can read my mind, he glides his hand down my neck, tangling his fingers at the base of my hairline. My physical reaction wins over as he brushes his lips against mine in teasing strokes, and a soft moan passes my lips. He’s careful not to kiss me fully, only giving me a taste.
“You’re right,” he whispers against my mouth. “You really couldn’t care less that I’m shirtless. That’s a damn shame.” A disappointed whimper escapes me as he drops his hand and steps back. “I better get ready for work, or I’ll be late for my first meeting.”
He leaves me alone on the sidewalk, my mind reeling with panic as reality sets in. The smell of his musk lingers in the air, and my bra is damp with sweat from when he pushed up against me. I feel a mix of frustration and longing, my heart racing knowing that I just let my husband kiss me… again. And it left me craving his next touch.
I’m shocked by the revelation that I want more from him… so much more .
After my unexpected morning run with Cash, I took a quick shower and rushed to work. The day has dragged on, and against my better judgment, I decide to take a late lunch and drop something off to Cash. He’s been making me dinner every night, so I want to do something nice for him.
As I step out of the stairwell into the brightly lit reception area, I'm greeted by his assistant.
“Good afternoon, dear,” Carol beams at me and pulls me into an embrace, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Cash is going to be delighted to see you.”
This is the first time we’ve met in person, but we spoke on the phone earlier when I asked if it would be okay to stop by. Cash gave me her number last week in case I ever needed to get ahold of her.
“I’m on my way to lunch, but he should be in his office, the last door on the left.” She motions down the hall. “If you need anything, the receptionist can help you, or you can call me.”
“Thank you.”
She disappears into the elevator, and I move to the reception area.
I’m rummaging through my purse to find my phone when I bump into someone. I stumble backward, barely regaining my balance before I fall.
“Oh, I’m sorry—” I stop speaking when I look up to find my dad standing in front of me, his expression as cold as ice. “Dad?” His name comes out as a question. “What are you doing here?”
He wasn’t due back in London until later this week, so seeing him at Stafford Holdings’ London office is a complete shock. August tried calling earlier, but I was at the café ordering lunch and wasn’t able to answer. He must have wanted to warn me that my dad flew into town early.
“A better question is, what are you doing here?” my dad snaps. “You’re supposed to be working on the Camden Crest project. That’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?” His booming voice fills the reception area, causing heads to turn as people walk by.
“I’m bringing Cash lunch.” I hold up the takeout bag. “Is everything okay?”
“He’s got you on a short leash, huh?” He lowers his voice so only I can hear. “You’re after his money, aren’t you? God, you’re just like your mother. Be careful, little girl. Don’t forget who you work for.”
My eyes widen as he gets in my face. I can’t understand why he’s so angry when he’s the one who insisted I go through with this charade. Now he’s outraged to find Cash and I are getting along? There must have been a setback or complication with the acquisition. It’s the only explanation for why he’s acting this way.
“Ev, there you are.” Cash’s voice startles me, and I glance over to where he’s standing near the reception desk, his gaze narrowing in on my dad. “Richard, do you need a map to find your own personal space?”
If we weren’t in an office with people milling around, I doubt he would be so calm.
“I was reminding Everly of her place,” my dad sneers.
“And I’m reminding you of yours,” Cash growls, striding toward us with purpose.
When he gets close, my dad shrinks back. Cash locks eyes with me, silently confirming that I’m okay before stepping between me and my dad.
“What the hell are you doing here, Richard?” Cash glares at him.
Dad adjusts his tie and clears his throat. “I had a last-minute change in my schedule, so I came to London early. I stopped by the Townstead offices first, and the receptionist told me Everly took a late lunch to come here.”
“And what was so important that you couldn’t wait until she was back at her office?” Cash asks.
“I got a concerning call from one of my lawyers when I landed. The Stafford legal team wants to do a deep dive into Townstead’s financials, but my team already provided the standard information required.”
Cash raises a brow. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here. You damn well know all communications regarding the acquisition should go through our lawyers.”
“This is an extenuating circumstance, and I knew you would be able to get me in touch with your brothers. Considering we’re family now, it’s the least you can do.”
Translation: He figured he could use me to get to Cash and his brothers—unbelievable.
Cash snickers. “What do you think my brothers are going to do about it? They’re investing millions into this deal. As far as they’re concerned, all your financial records are fair game. It’s called enhanced due diligence, in case you haven’t heard of it.”
I put my hand over my mouth, stifling the surprising urge to laugh from watching Cash put my dad in his place.
“I don’t give a shit what you think. Get your brothers on a call right this instant so I can talk to them,” my dad demands, the vein in his forehead bulging. “It’s urgent.”
Cash folds his arms across his chest, his gaze cold. “Did you make an appointment with my assistant?”
My dad rears his head back. “Why the hell would I need an appointment?” He scoffs.
“Because I have a busy schedule, and my afternoon is booked solid.” Cash shrugs.
“What are you playing at, boy ,” my dad spits out.
“I don’t have time for bullies who threaten their own daughter,” Cash hisses in a hushed tone. “Everly and I stayed married like you wanted, so what the hell do you have to complain about? You work her to the bone, and I refuse to let you ruin what little time I have with my wife.”
My gaze darts between them. Cash’s fists are clenched at his sides, his posture rigid, and the vein in his neck pulses. My dad tries to maintain an indifferent front, but the sweat on his brow is a clear giveaway that he’s scared shitless.
Cash can be intimidating when he wants to be, and it’s such a turn-on that he’s willing to stand up for me.
“I’ll make sure Harrison hears about your blatant show of disrespect,” my dad seethes.
“Something tells me he’ll take my side when he finds out you raised your voice at his sister-in-law.” Cash turns to me and places his large hand on my lower back. “Come on, Ev, let’s go.”
With no argument from me, he leads me past the reception desk and through a pair of glass doors, leaving my dad behind with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. He guides me to his office, shutting the door once we’re inside.
Like his home, the room is sparsely furnished with only a desk, a leather office chair, and a budget rolling chair in the corner.
I glance up at him. “Did you move to a new office recently?”
He shakes his head. “No, why?”
“Because there’s nothing here,” I say, stating the obvious. “My workspace has a cozy couch, a couple of plants, and some knickknacks to make it feel more like home since I spend so much time there.”
Cash perches on the edge of his desk and pats the wood for me to join him.
“Having me work in the London office was meant to be temporary,” he explains. “Harrison hasn’t given a specific timeline, but I didn’t think it was worth settling in fully.”
I take a seat next to him, not bothering to move away when he scoots closer so our legs are touching. “Is your office and apartment in Maine furnished?” I ask, curious about his life in the States. I imagine he’d have a nice setup based on the penthouse he owns here.
He glances over at me. “No. I’m traveling more than I’m in Maine, and when I am in town, I spend my time with my family.”
My heart aches for him. Now I see the reality behind his carefree attitude and unbothered demeanor. The easy smiles, flirtatious gestures, and playful antics serve as distractions, concealing the scars of his past—both seen and unseen.
His insecurities related to his physical appearance and how others see him have clouded his perception of reality. He avoids attachment, whether with people or places, the ever-present fear of rejection haunting his subconscious.
It hurts me to think he believes he can’t find happiness because of his flaws. What he doesn’t realize is that we all have imperfections. Some are visible, while others linger in the shadows of our minds.
In some ways, we’re so much alike, both afraid of trusting someone with our fragile hearts and unable to see past our own misgivings. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to him. He makes me feel safe and secure, and everything he’s done since our night in Vegas has been to make my life easier.
Whenever I complain or grumble about our situation, he counters with a compliment or words of encouragement. His positive outlook is gradually breaking down the barriers I’ve built to protect myself, and I don’t know how to stop it—or if I even want to anymore.
A lump forms in my throat when I catch Cash watching me intently.
“My dad is going to lose his shit after the stunt you pulled out there,” I say, nodding toward the lobby. “He’s used to having the upper hand in any situation.”
It’s frustrating that I haven’t found the courage to stand up to him, but after his erratic behavior this afternoon, I don’t think I have a choice anymore.
“I don’t give a damn,” Cash declares boldly. “Once he sells his company, he’ll have no control left, so he better get used to it.”
It makes me think there’s more at stake than my father is letting on. He’d never relinquish control unless he was out of options.
“I’m done standing by while your piece-of-shit father treats you like garbage. You deserve better.” Cash’s eyes convey unwavering conviction as he gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
My chest tightens. His steadfast support means more than he’ll ever know, and he’s quickly becoming my constant.
A twist of guilt winds through me as I remember all the assumptions I’ve made about Cash since I saw him in that hotel bar in Vegas. My prejudices blinded me, and I didn’t hesitate to label him as a playboy with no regard for women.
I couldn’t have been more wrong, and the idea of walking away after this is all over makes me physically sick. Needing a distraction from my conflicting emotions, I open the bag of food I brought for lunch.
“I appreciate you standing up for me.” I give Cash a feeble smile as I hand him a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich.
“That’s what husbands are for,” he teases as he takes a large bite of his sandwich. “Oh my god, this is great. Thanks for bringing lunch. Any chance I can convince you to stop by every day?”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” I playfully slug his shoulder. “It’s been so nice of you to make dinner every night, and I wanted to show my appreciation.”
“You should never feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to, but I admit, I look forward to spending time with you, and I’ll take it any way I can.”
“I enjoy spending time with you, too,” I murmur as I unwrap my sandwich.
My resolve is crumbling fast, and I’m afraid there may not be a chance to reinforce it before Cash Stafford has stolen my heart completely.