Chapter Sixteen #2
“I thought my grandfather was asking how his granddaughter was doing,” she says. “That’s why I messaged back and said what I said to him.” She takes her phone out of her back pocket, brings up the text, and turns it to show me.
I don’t take the phone, but I do glance at the screen. Tom’s message said How’s the trip going, sweetheart? Everything okay? Making any inroads? It ends with a ‘Face with Stuck-out Tongue’ emoji that makes it sound as if he’s been cheeky.
Maddie’s reply says, He’s not sold on Verdant, but my soil restoration model impressed him. We’ve been talking about ways we could integrate it with his system. I think he’s coming around to the idea of us working together in some way. We’re having a good time, he’s a nice guy.
None of it is a lie. The model did impress me.
We have been talking about whether we could integrate it with our system.
I have been contemplating how we can work together.
It’s not said in a way that implies she was communicating behind my back.
It does just look like a girl replying to her grandfather.
But the movement of the deadline proves that he thinks I’m softening. And that must be due to the text. It feels like a betrayal, even if she didn’t mean it that way.
She lowers the phone and puts it on the table.
“I know how it looks,” she says calmly. “It’s up to you, Caesar.
You can choose to be angry and accuse me of doing all this”—she gestures around the cottage—“on purpose to encourage you to agree to the partnership. Or you can accept that I wouldn’t prostitute myself for my grandfather and our company, and believe that my feelings for you are genuine, and that my grandfather wouldn’t use his own granddaughter like that.
It’s up to you.” She looks down, her jaw set.
My stomach’s in a knot, but as I look at her standing there, barefoot, her hair mussed from her snooze, I can’t bring myself to believe she’s not the ditzy, funny, gorgeous girl I’m already half in love with. Or maybe I just want it to be true. How do I tell the difference?
She genuinely doesn’t believe Tom would use her like this. Is she just being na?ve? Or am I being too cynical? Is she an innocent party, or a willing participant in his Machiavellian scheme?
I close the distance between us, tuck a knuckle beneath her chin, and lift it, forcing her to look up.
“Tell me you’re not lying to me,” I say, my voice rough with emotion, looking into her violet eyes.
Her cheeks flush a bright red. But she keeps her eyes on mine.
“I had sex with you at the ball because I like you,” she states. “Because I wanted you. I still do. I’m not lying about that.”
I want to believe her so much, but it’s not a direct answer. I search her eyes for lies as if I’m looking for treasure in a dusty attic with a flashlight. I can’t shake a feeling in the pit of my stomach that there’s something she’s not telling me.
But she doesn’t look away. She keeps her gaze fixed on mine as she says, “If you want me to drive you back to the airport, I understand.” Her eyes look huge. “But I’d rather stay.”
My chest heaves. “I want to believe you. How can I be sure you’re not lying?”
“You can’t,” she says. “You have to trust me. I’m sorry.”
She’s right. We can never be sure of someone else’s feelings for us. We always have to take what they say in faith and trust our instincts.
I feel a wave of frustration. I’m tired of being manipulated. By my ex, by Tom, even by my father, who’s threatening to take the company away from me if I don’t do as he says. I feel impotent in so many ways. I want to take back control of my own life.
I should pack my things and demand Maddie take me back to the airport. The thought fills me with a deep, lonely ache, but what option do I have?
She lifts a hand and cups my face. “Caesar,” she says softly, my name a whisper on her lips. “You’re breaking my heart.”
“Why?”
“You lost your cynicism for a bit. And now it’s back.”
She brushes her thumb across my cheek, and I have to fight not to react to it. “For a moment,” I say, “I really thought we had something good here. I feel like an archaeologist who thought he glimpsed gold beneath the soil. But now I don’t know what I’m looking at.”
“Don’t say that.”
Suddenly I feel so, so sad. “I’m a scientist, and everything I do is tied to evidence, not faith.”
“I get that.” She smiles. “So think about the evidence you do have. The time we’ve spent together. We’ve had fun, haven’t we?”
“You could have faked your orgasms, Maddie. I’d never know.”
“Jeez, I’m not that good an actress.”
“Don’t make me laugh. I’m not in the mood.”
“Are you in the mood for this?” She takes the hem of her tee in her hands, peels it up her body, and drops it to the floor.
I inhale at the sight of her pale skin, her full breasts, her light-pink nipples that are soft in the warmth of the room. Her chest rises and falls as she breathes fast. I know it took courage for her to do that.
“I want you,” she says simply. “This is the evidence. Do you want me too?”
I tear my gaze from her breasts to look at her face. Ah, fuck. What does it matter, in the end? The future is ephemeral, shadowy; there’s only today, this minute, this second. And right here, right now, I want her.
I cup her face and crush my lips to hers.
She gives a deep, shivery, thankful groan and lifts her arms around my neck, kissing me back with enthusiasm.
I tip my head, my lips slanting across hers, and delve my tongue into her mouth, demanding rather than asking.
At the same time, I turn her and push her up against the kitchen counter, then slide my hands down her body.
Her skin is warm, and her breasts sit in my palms, heavy and soft.
I take her nipples between my fingers and tug them, and she breaks from the kiss to exclaim.
Briefly, I think: am I taking control here? Or am I being manipulated again? Women know the power of their bodies, and she wouldn’t be the first to use it to get what she wanted.
But I want her. I can’t deny it. And the hunger is so strong, I can’t push her away.
“I don’t care,” I say fiercely, sliding an arm around her to pull her against me so she can feel my erection. “I don’t care why you’re here or who sent you or what they think they’re going to get out of it. This is all that matters.”
“Yes,” she says, her breath whispering across my lips. “Screw them all.”
“Screw them all.”
“Fuck me, Caesar.”
I don’t need any further incentive. I pull down her track pants and underwear and help her out of them, then lift her onto the tiny kitchen counter.
She’s all I want, and nothing else matters.