Hot Water (20 page)

Before I can chicken out, I take a deep breath, sit up, and he helps me pull off my camisole and bra, and my breasts spill out, nipples already hard like pebbles. He gently cups one of them, and his touch on me sends my world spinning. “My God. You’re beautiful,” he breathes. I’ve never been this exposed in front of anyone, and yet, I feel perfect. Beautiful. He kisses me again, deeply, and our skin burns together, then spreads kisses down my neck to my breasts, teasing each nipple with his tongue. I’ve never had anyone kiss my breasts before. The feeling is incredible. His mouth is so hot on my skin that all I can do is gasp in pleasure.

I don’t even fully realize I’m doing it, but before long I’ve undone the buckle on his pants. He slides out of his pants and peels off mine, and then he grabs me up with hardly any effort, positioning me so that I am straddling his lap. I can see the tattoo on his chest perfectly now—it’s a four-leaf clover. “Why do you have this?” I ask, touching it gently.

“I was born on a Friday the thirteenth,” he murmurs. “And I’ve been known to have bad luck.”

“Really?” I lick it, and his skin sears my tongue. It tastes so sweet. We’re both nearly naked and exposed, and I know that if we go much further, I won’t be able to stop.

“I have to tell you,” he whispers into my ear, trailing his tongue down the side of my neck. “I’ve never done anything like this in my office before.”

I’ve never done anything like this before, period. I suck on his earlobe and nearly lose control when his hand moves between my legs, fumbling under the leg band. He finds his way underneath and strokes his fingers lightly over me, making me tremble all over. Nothing so bad should feel this good. And then it hits me.

Oh my God. I’m nearly naked in Caden Williams’ office.

The brief flash of sanity gives way to a bunch more. I look around. What if someone comes in? But more than that . . . what am I doing? And why am I doing it with my mother’s boss? “Wait,” I say, nudging him away.

“I can’t wait,” he murmurs, sucking on my nipple. But with one more nudge, he opens his eyes and looks up, into my eyes. He sees it’s serious.

“This can’t be . . .” I start.
This can’t be our first time. A complete lie
. “I’m . . .”
I’m only eighteen
. I can’t say any of these things. And I should be able to say this to him. If we’re about to do this, this thing that changes everything, I should be able to say
anything
to him. And I can’t. In fact, if he knew who I really was, what I really was, he’d never allow this. Thirty-four year old CEOs do not get involved with eighteen year olds. So I slide from his lap and begin looking for my clothes. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” he says, looking a little stunned by yet another refusal. “Will you tell me why?”

Oh, I have about a million reasons why I’m sorry. But it would be like swallowing razor blades to tell him, now. “I’m not ready for this,” I say. It’s the truth, really. Well, my body is ready . . . but my mind will probably never be.

He nods. He helps me find my clothes, which have been strewn everywhere. When we’re dressed, he pulls me down beside him and puts his arm around me, which shows me he’s not angry. I wish he were angry; I wish he cursed my name and wanted nothing to do with me. Maybe it would make this easier. Instead, he pulls me close and just holds me, kissing each of my fingertips. And though I have so many things to apologize for, he’s the one who does. He says, “I’m sorry if I pushed you,” making me feel worse than ever.

“You didn’t.” I say, giving him a small smile. “Are you angry at me?”

“No,” he murmurs, kissing my temple. “I do feel a little like I’m in high school, though.”

Hmm, I wonder why
. We sit together for a while, holding hands. “Why did you say you have bad luck?”

He looks down at his tattoo. “My dad always says you make your own luck. But I’ve had some remarkably bad coincidences in my life.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. “I told you about Cameron, right? That’s one . . . but it’s more than that. I was failing out of school and had just gotten arrested. Stupid thing. They found coke in my car during a routine traffic stop. He was coming up to bail me out. His plane went down somewhere over the ocean. My dad blames me, and yeah, I can see why. He never would have been in that plane in the middle of the night, during a thunderstorm, if it wasn’t for my stupid ass.”

 “No, it isn’t your fault,” I say softly. “You didn’t know.”

“But there’s more. My mother always talked about how proud she would be to have a Harvard graduate. That was her alma mater. I mean, that’s all she ever talked about. But she died three days before the ceremony. I was a fuck-up when I was younger, and my dad pulled a lot of strings to get me to pass. I think it was God’s way of telling me I never really earned that diploma.” He taps his fingers on the armrest. “Then, two years later, my little sister came to visit me at grad school in Boston. I really didn’t want her there, but she was always tagging along, wanting to be with me, so I gave in and told her she could spend the weekend with me so that she could visit colleges. The whole time, I was thinking about how much it was fucking with my social schedule. I had girls to bang, parties to get to. Anyway, on Saturday we went out, and I got drunk. We argued because she didn’t like me drinking. She was
always
getting on me for things like that, just a bratty little sister who wanted to look up to me, but couldn’t because I was always doing stupid things. I should’ve walked her to her hotel, but I was pissed, and I had a girl waiting for me at my apartment, so I put her in a cab, instead. I got her in, paid the driver and . . . she was killed three blocks later. Car accident. She was only eighteen.”

“Oh, my God. I am so sorry. ”

“Yeah. So that left me and my dad. My dad, who hated me so much, he could barely look at me. At that point, I dropped out of school and just fucked around for a long time.” He smiles, and strokes my hair. “But enough about that. The worst luck is, this beautiful girl I know will not allow me to make love to her.”

I look into his eyes. “Make love?”

He shrugs. “Is this news to you?”

 “Oh,” I say absently, knowing I’d been in denial. I’d fooled myself into think that this was just about sex. But this has gone beyond lust, beyond fun. These are deeper emotions, and I’m playing with his. His bad luck as given him three dead family members, a father who hates him, and a best friend who betrayed him. And his luck will only get worse if he finds out my age. How could I do that to him? I avert his eyes because I know he’s thinking there’s something wrong with him, that
he’s
the problem. But it’s me. Only me.

“So . . . dinner?” he asks.

I shake my head slowly. “Maybe I should just get back home. My headache is still . . .” This is a lie. My head doesn’t hurt, not as much as the rest of me.

He nods. “Okay, Cicily.”

Red-faced and shameful, I’m out the door before he can say, “Hope you feel better.” But ironically, though my headache is now completely gone, I’ve never felt worse.

Chapter Twenty-one

Caden

That’s twice.

Twice she’s turned me down.

I’ve never had that happen before. I can’t help feeling like I’m in high school. Hell, even when I was in high school, the girls were always willing.

Maybe I’m losing it. Maybe I’m not all I was back then. No, that’s not it. Women look at me all the time. That douchebag paper still keeps calling me its sexiest bachelor. There’s something going on with her.

There’s something she’s not telling me.

In the old days, if a girl was playing games on me, it was no big deal. I’d just find another one. But now, I don’t want to think of anyone else. God, I sound like such a pussy.

Karl takes me to my apartment. Someone has been here, because more of Andrea’s things are gone. Despite everything being white, with expansive windows overlooking the bay, the place has never looked so cold and dark. I want Cicily here. I want her on my bed.

I strip down and step into the shower, letting the showerheads hit my muscles, washing the sweet vanilla cake scent of her away. But even though the scent of her perfume is gone, she’s still in my head. I think of those perky tits of hers, the way she’d felt against me, that sweet pink tongue of hers, trailing down my body. I lean against the shower wall, feeling the water massage all the places I want Cicily to be. Taking my cock, I start to stroke it, closing my eyes, imagining it’s in her hands. I haven’t beat off in years, never had the need to. But now, I just can’t stop myself. I imagine her kneeling before me, looking up at me with those innocent blue eyes and taking it into her mouth, and in moments I shoot my load all over the tiled wall.

Then I lean into the spray of the water and think about how she’ll look on my bed when she finally gives in.

Because she will.

I can’t have it any other way.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cicily

On the day of my birthday, I wake up, feeling like it will be just another day. Just another day of replaying the time I spent with Caden in his office, over and over again in my mind. I’ve done it to the point of near madness, imagining the way he looked at me, feeling his hands on the places only I’d touched. The past few days, he’s looked at me in the halls, given me smiles, but kept his distance. I suppose that’s what I get for turning him down yet again. But by the time my birthday rolls around, I am in desperate need of another Caden fix, and wondering what kind of story I can concoct that will put us together.

On the train to work, my mother hands me a card with a hundred bucks in it, the birthday money which bought the Brazilian wax and bikini I’ve barely used. She buys me a birthday bagel at the train station, and I think that will be the end of it.

Until I get called into the conference room after lunch. Something about planning a baby shower for some employee I don’t even know.

When I get there, the interns are all standing around a giant cake, complete with all the candles and a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY CICILY in pink icing. “Happy birthday!” they shout.

I grin, embarrassed, then blow out the candles. What I’d want most—for this day to magically age me five years—can never come true, I know that. So I don’t bother.

They give me a big card, signed by all of them, with a half-naked man on the front. I know Jacinta picked it out. Inside, a Starbucks gift card. I thank them all and hug them. Joely cuts pieces for everyone and lets me have the one with the most icing.

Then Joely announces, “We also have something else to celebrate.”

Jacinta leans over the conference table and wiggles the fingers of her left hand. There’s a small diamond winking back at us.

“Oh, my God!” Violet and Charlotte exclaim.

I immediately look at Dax, who is blushing and beaming. I don’t know what to say. “You two!” I exclaim, even more excited about this than my own birthday. I slide my cake over to Dax. “You deserve more icing.”

“You’re all invited,” Jacinta announces. “It’ll be next summer.”

I notice a blob of icing on my thumb and start to lick it when I suddenly realize the room has gone quiet. I turn, thumb in mouth, and see Caden standing at the door, looking all business. We all immediately straighten. “Happy birthday, Miss Chase,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say with a smile.

He’s standing there, looking at my cake, as if trying to figure something out. His expression does not change as he raises his eyes to meet mine, but there’s something odd about the way he lingers in the doorway. He’s always so busy, never one to stop and make chit-chat. Before I can process it, he says, “I’m sorry to disrupt your party but, may I see you for a moment?”

I nod, then follow him to his office. I start to close the door but he reaches over and bangs it shut, his eyes narrowed with rage.

“Cicily. Please tell me why there are only nineteen candles on that cake out there.” His voice is even, and calm, but there feels like an earthquake rumbling underneath it.

I can’t breathe.

“Because . . .” I stop, because no explanation is one he’ll want to hear. I can’t look at him. I’m trembling all over.

He grabs my wrist with a sudden fierceness that takes my breath away. “Tell me!”

“I . . . I wanted to tell you.”

“You were . . . did I almost fuck an eighteen year old? Please tell me that I didn’t.”

“I’m nineteen now.”

He slams his fist into a wall, startling me. “What fucking difference does that make? I’m twice your age, Cicily!”

“You’re
not
twice my age. And it doesn’t matter to me.”

He vices the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. “But you didn’t tell me the truth, because you knew it
would
matter to me. It matters, Cicily. You don’t just fuck with someone’s life like that. I left Andrea . . . I was . . . I wanted you and I . . .
shit
!” He pauses for a moment, looking at the ground, and I know of all the time I’ve seen him as Angry Guy, he’s never been quite this angry. Then he looks at me. “Why? Just . . . why would you do something like that?”

I swallow. I’d thought about what I would tell him if he ever found out, seemingly hundreds of times before. In my thoughts, my next words come out with a lot less fear in them. But they are the truth, even though my voice wavers when I say them, because I am so, so, so afraid of losing him. “Because I’m in love with you.”

He pauses for so long, that the words just hang out there, and the more they do, the more I regret saying them. His face is stone. “Love? You’re eighteen! What do you know about that? Do you fucking know how stupid and silly that makes you sound?” His words are so venomous, I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel a tear drop from my chin.

Part of me knew he’d pull the
you don’t know what love is
crap, so I come out with the words I’d practiced before. “You’re insulting me. I’m not a child.”

“Then fucking don’t act like one!” He grinds his jaw, his body is tenser than I’ve ever seen. His voice is more even when he says, “Cicily. The fucking newspapers follow my every move. If they find out about this, I’ll be so fucked. My reputation will be—“