Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
This time, the saliva feels thick going down my throat, but I suck it up and step around the desk. “Sam, I told you we have to be smart about this. Visiting me at work makes things pretty obvious.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, his fingers casually sliding into his pockets. “I’ll be out of your hair in a bit. Just wanted to stop by, see how that plan of yours was working out?”
“Things have changed a bit,” I state. “But I have it handled.”
“It’s a solid plan, Jo.” Samuel takes a step closer. One of his hands comes out of his pockets and I assume he’s going to run the backs of his fingers along my jawline, like he always does, but he pauses. His smooth forehead creases as his eyes fall to my neck.
“What happened here?” he asks, running a finger over my throat. I remember Jessica in the kitchen, the way she looked at me funny. Did she see the bruises?
“Nothing.” I back away, holding my neck. How the hell can anyone even see it? I covered the bruises with makeup this morning. I double checked. I step around him and stare at my reflection in the mirror on the wall. Sure enough, some of the makeup has rubbed off and is now in the collar of my baby blue blouse. “Shit,” I hiss, picking up a tissue and dabbing at my shirt.
When I look up, Samuel’s eyes flare. “Did he hurt you, Jolene?”
“It’s fine, Sam.”
“No, it isn’t fine. Look at you.” He turns me to face him, but I avoid his eyes. Still, I feel his gaze searching, studying. “This has to stop, Jolene. If you don’t put an end to it, I will.” His hand cups my waist. His touch is hot, even over the fabric of my clothes. I shudder a breath as he reels me into him so that we’re chest to chest. With his other hand, he uses his fingers to tip my chin so I can’t look at anything but him.
“This has to stop,” I breathe. “What we’re doing . . .”
“Why should it? He doesn’t deserve you,” he murmurs on my mouth. And then he presses his lips to mine, coaxing my mouth open. I can’t help melting in his grasp.
I drape my arms over his shoulders, and he rapidly picks me up in his arms to plant my ass on the edge of the desk. The corner of my computer digs into my back, but I don’t care. I kiss him deeper, circling my legs around his waist, indulging in his touch.
“Dominic knows about us,” I say when our lips part for a second. That could be another reason why he’s been treating me like a backburner woman in his life. He knows I’m pulling away. He senses it.”
As if he didn’t hear me, Samuel kisses me again and I moan, tugging him closer by the tie. “So let him know.”
“There are still some things that have to be worked out,” I say as his mouth falls to my neck.
“Then work them out, Jo. I trust you.”
His words light a fire in me—the good kind. It’s the exact fire I need.
I’m not sure what it is about Samuel Sanchez that I can’t resist. When I first met him, I couldn’t stand him, but only because he clearly disliked Dominic. Now, he and I are in the same boat. I’m not the only person Dominic has stabbed in the back, lied to, hurt, or manipulated. Dominic counts Samuel out of every single decision, just so he can take the glory. There was a time he took credit for a healthcare idea of Samuel’s that saved the state millions of dollars, and Samuel has never forgiven him for that.
Burn enough people and you’re bound to feel the heat of the flames yourself. Samuel and I, though an illicit duo, agree on this, and because I’m tired of caring and tired of giving my worthless husband the benefit of the doubt, I let Samuel fuck me on my desk.
THIRTY-THREE
DOMINIC
Dominic sits in his SUV, parked along the corner near the lot of the Scarlet Star Motel.
It’s the motel he saw Shavonne Peters staying in, and it’s a shabby two-story building, which seems a bit more upscale at night with its neon red and orange lights and the miniature palm tree on the sign. He can’t wrap his mind around the palm tree or how it belongs in Raleigh, but he disregards that thought as he shovels organic cashews into his mouth and watches each floor of the motel. He’s parked next to an abandoned building, tucked away beneath a thick, broken tree branch. His expensive SUV definitely stands out on this side of town, but he’s grateful for the truck trailers parked in the lot. They cover him for the most part.