The Girlfriend (The Boss) (3 page)

“No. Slightly emotionally confused. But that could be due to the recent cancer news, which I did not take well.”

“Really?” I hated that he kept saying the c-word. It hadn’t quite sunk in for me, yet.

“I cried for a full day when they told me I would have to have chemotherapy. A manful, stoic cry, of course, but very dehydrating.”

“I wish you would have called me. Even though we fought... I wish I could have been there for you.” The thought of him facing the news alone made my heart hurt.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he began, and stopped himself. “It was something I had to go through on my own. It isn’t that I wouldn’t have wanted you to be there... but if you were there, I would have been more worried about how you were taking it.”

“That sounds fair. Especially the way we left things.” I couldn’t look at him just then. It felt like it might hurt, like staring at the sun. “How long have you known?”

“Almost four years now.” He cleared his throat. “It was the diagnosis that prompted me to propose to Elizabeth. I suppose I was trying to take control of my own destiny, live like I was dying, all of those trite things you’re supposed to do when you’re embracing life.”

“And maybe you were trying to cling to someone?” I suggested gently.

His snort of laughter broke the quiet. “Like a bloody life raft.”
 

That reminded me. “There’s something else I have to ask you.”

“Anything.”

I took a deep breath. “I know things between us are... weird right now. But Holli is in Paris, and I don’t really have anyone else in the city I’m close to. And I’m so scared of needles and blood and all of the rest of it, I just... I really need someone...”

Here I was, talking about needles and blood, and he’d just gotten out of the hospital. He would go back into one in a matter of a few weeks, for awful procedures that probably involved getting stabbed in tons of delicate little veins. I couldn’t hold it together in front of him at the prospect of going alone to my own abortion. I started crying, and he immediately got up and came to my side. Sliding onto the bench beside me, he pulled me into his arms, his lips brushing the top of my head as he held me.

“I would never dream of letting you do this alone,” he said, stroking my hair down my back. It was almost painful, him touching me like this when I didn’t know exactly where we stood with each other.

Then I remembered what he’d told me about going back to England, and my stomach knotted. “Oh no. You can’t go with me. I couldn’t get an appointment until after New Year’s Day, and you’ll be gone.”
 

“That’s three weeks away,” he was doing the math in his head, I could tell. “Perhaps I could postpone the start of my treatment—“

“No!” I sat back and brushed the tears from my cheeks. I was not going to have him feeling guilty about getting life-saving cancer treatment. “Don’t you dare. Why didn’t they start you immediately?”

“I didn’t want to miss Christmas. I don’t know how the next year will pan out. If chemotherapy doesn’t work, if I have to pursue more aggressive therapies… I thought I should give myself a good holiday to bolster my spirit.” He tried for a smile, but it was tremulous, and he gave up too soon.

“Oh no. No, don’t,” I stopped myself before I could tell him not to cry. It seemed only fair that he should cry if he wanted.

Man, I thought
I’d
had a bad week.

He reached up and tucked my hair behind my ear. “No, I’m fine. We can talk about that later. I want to make sure you’re well taken care of before I leave. I imagine the wait is interminable.”

On that score, he was entirely correct. I sniffed. “Yeah. I really do not like being pregnant.”
 

“If you could see a doctor next week... would that be too soon?” His hand fell to rest on my shoulder. “You’d be surprised at the mountains one can move just by throwing a bit of cash at them.”

“Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon.” I laughed miserably. “Let me guess, all rich men have an ’abortions guy’ on speed-dial to take care of your mistresses?”

He winced slightly at the truthfulness of the statement. “Not exactly. But I do have an acquaintance who went through a similar situation, and he was able to have it handled quickly and discreetly.”

“Jesus.” I dropped my head to my hands.

He didn’t know what to say. What could either of us say in this situation? “Just tell me what you need. Ask me for anything. I don’t want this to be difficult for you.”

“It’s going to be difficult no matter what.” I dabbed my eyes with the ends of my sleeves. “I mean, once this is all over, we’re kind of over, too, aren’t we?”

He slipped from the bench and walked to the island, buying himself time to respond. Grabbing a sommelier corkscrew and the bottle of white from the cooler, he considered as he opened it. “I don’t want us to be.”
 

I laughed tearfully in relief, but then he continued, “I’m not certain how well a long-distance relationship will work for us, in the state we’re in. If this had all happened two weeks ago, I would have gone ahead without hesitation. But I would be lying if I said I haven’t been doubting us.”

“I kind of got the hint when you broke up with me.”

He poured himself a glass and came back to the table, but he didn’t sit down. “I didn’t break up with you. I wanted you to examine your priorities and really think about what you were giving up.” He paused, his gorgeous green eyes searching my face. “I know I went about it badly, but I didn’t want to lose you or push you away. I was worried that in a year, you’d still be looking for a job, hating yourself for turning this one down, and hating me for being the reason you did. Despite what we feel for each other and how well we were getting on, our relationship is still very new.”

There was a reconciliation floating between us, fragile as a soap bubble. I wanted it. I thought he might, as well. But we both seemed too afraid to reach out for it. We didn’t want the bubble to burst.
 

I got up from the table and stood beside him, and he set his glass down. I caught his hands and held them between us, looking down at them as I spoke. I didn’t want to search his face for something that might not be there. “Things moved a lot faster than we were expecting. A lot faster than I wanted them to. But maybe we’re just making up for the six years we were supposed to be together.”

He smiled down at our joined hands. When he looked up, I didn’t see any trace of the anxiety that had been a flashing neon sign over his head since I’d arrived. “I think you could be right.”

“I want to be with you. I thought about accepting Gabriella’s offer, and how empty everything in my life would feel without you...” And now he was going to England. And I really would be without him.

His laugh was grim. “This will be torture, you know. Being across the Atlantic, unable to see you.”

I turned my head slightly to give him a little side-eye. “So... are we back together? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I maintain that we were never actually apart, but yes. I love you. I hate that I fractured your trust in me.” He let go of my hands to wrap his arms around me, and for the first time all night, I took a breath that didn’t feel like razor blades were slicing up the insides of my lungs.

“Let’s just forget all of this, okay? We have a limited amount of time together, and I want to make the most of it.” My stomach churned, both at the thought of him heading to England, and the specter of a much more permanent kind of leaving.

He lowered his head slowly, almost hesitating to kiss me, as though it were a step too far. But it wasn’t. I rose on my tiptoes to meet him halfway, and when I swayed on my feet, his arm around my back tightened, holding me up.

He’d felt the tension as much as I had, and he was just as eager to break it. We communicated just fine out loud, in my opinion, but there were some things we could only tell each other this way. A single kiss could say “I’m sorry,” and “I missed you,” much more powerfully than just uttering the words ever could.

“I need,” I gasped, breaking my mouth from his. How did I want to finish that sentence?

“Tell me, Sophie. Tell me what you need.”

“I need you,
Sir
.” I put all the weight on that one word. I needed him to take control of me, because for the past four days I’d felt so out of control, so disconnected. I needed our connection, like I needed air.

I knew what that word did to him, coming from my mouth. And I knew that he’d understand exactly why I wanted him as much as I did, because he wanted me, too. His hand tugged my hair, baring my throat to him. He bent his head and trailed his mouth up my neck. “Get out of those clothes, right now.”

My skin prickled all over with goose bumps, and my breathing sped up at the sudden, keen anticipation. I whipped my sweater off, staggering a little, drunk from wanting. I kicked my boots off and shimmied out of my pants, working fast rather than sexy.

I hadn’t exactly figured we’d be having sex tonight. I thought we’d be breaking up. In fact, I’d dressed with an eye to dissuade myself from removing outer layers of clothing. My bra was the rattiest one I owned, a yellow satin with shot elastic and covered in snags. After four days apart and the relief that we weren’t splitting, I wasn’t about to skip out because of my underwear situation, even if I was wearing gray cotton panties. I did, however, lose those items as fast as possible.

He stood and took me into his arms, pulling my naked body against his fully clothed one. “I missed you.”

I dug my fingers into his back, just holding on. I wished I could change everything going on in our lives. I wished nothing from the past week had happened.

His touch brought me out of my wishing and into the present. As his hands glided down my arms, I couldn’t get caught up feeling as though something undeserved or unfair had happened to us. I could only feel myself sinking into the headspace I inhabited when I was with him, my need to submit. He made me burn for him.

We tried to make it to the bedroom, we really did. He pulled off his shirt as we clumsily kissed and walked at the same time. We got as far as the dining room when he steered me toward the enormous table there. He pushed a chair aside and knocked another over, then lifted me onto the polished wood. I gasped as the cool surface hit my bare ass, and gasped again when Neil dropped to his knees beneath my spread legs, biting and sucking at my inner thighs.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he groaned, and his breath teased my intimate flesh.
 

When we had our hands on each other, when he had his mouth on me, everything seemed right again. I was keenly aware that it didn’t mean our connection was purely physical, rather than emotional; it just meant that when we touched each other, it was impossible to hide what we felt. In some aspects, we communicated better this way. There was no fumbling for what to say, or struggling with how to express our feelings. And there was no chance of either of us being even unintentionally dishonest or misunderstood.

He sucked at my clit, swirled his tongue around it, and I was totally lost. My skin prickled all over. I braced my feet against his shoulders and lifted my pelvis, rubbing myself against him, gasping as his sharp stubble raked me.

“I just want to fuck,” I gasped, grabbing at his head. “Fuck me, please.”

He looked up, momentarily perplexed, probably at the idea of anyone turning down oral sex. Then my words sunk in and he stood and helped me off the table. “Let’s go.”

This time, we got as far as the living room. I tried to pull him toward one of the couches.

“Condom,” he reminded me, boosting me up to wrap my legs around his waist. “We need to go to the bedroom.”

“Why, are you going to get me
more
pregnant?” I gasped against his mouth. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

We tumbled onto the sofa, the room-temperature leather cool on my back. He reached between us, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, and then he was inside of me, all of him, so fast my breath rushed from my lungs.

“Let’s break up every day, okay?” I moaned, arching my head back, holding onto his shoulders.

“We didn’t... break up,” he panted beside my ear. His fingers dug into my ass as he lifted me up to meet his frantic thrusts.

“Whatever, let’s just do this every day.” I laughed, breathless, as he bit my neck and growled.

My knees hugged his chest, and his hands slipped up my thighs to push my legs further back. He reached between us to roll my clit between his thumb and forefinger, and that was all it took. I raked my nails down his arms and gasped, “I’m— I’m—“

“Oh, fuck!” Neil sped up, everything in the moment becoming more urgent; my building climax, the slap of our skin meeting, the obscene, wet sound of my body clutching at him while he pumped furiously into me. I half-shouted, half-moaned, arching my back as my orgasm drew all my muscles up tight. He stilled above me, his cock jerking. It was his guttural groan and the hot pulse of him that pushed me over the edge, wailing.

When I came down, he was breathing hard, crushing me into the couch. My knees were practically touching my ears still, and I carefully lowered my legs. I didn’t want him to leave me yet. I relished the twitch of his pulse inside me, and the way he hissed when I shifted position.
 

I will never find it not funny that vaginas turn into objects of torture immediately after a guy comes and is still trapped in one.

Neil lifted his head and kissed me, slow and sweet, propped up on his elbows on either side of me with his hands in my hair. When our mouths parted, he said, “I wasn’t intending for this to happen tonight.”

“Me neither,” I confessed. “I thought you’d break up with me.”

“Because you’re pregnant?” He sounded horrified at the thought.

I shook my head slightly. I didn’t want him to stop stroking his fingers through my hair. “No. Because you were all freaked out about me choosing you over the job.”

“I’m very glad you did. I will probably feel guilty until the end of my days, but I’m selfishly happy that you picked me.” His lips brushed my cheek.