What the Hell is this?” the woman shrilled, grappling the papers in her right hand as though she’d been served a death warrant.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

“Our contract,” I said in a soft, unruffled tone. “Everything’s there—your conditions as well as mine.”

The second I possessed it, I didn’t waste time barging into her bathroom the moment I realized she had woken from sleep. She was about to brush her teeth when I walked in on her. Cara, of course, wasn’t too thrilled to see me.

“Ten million?” Her eyes rapidly scanned the documents, nervously flipping page after page before she muttered under her breath, “My worth could barely reach a quarter of that amount. Why would you include this knowing I can’t fucking afford it?” she shrieked.

Ah, the safety clause. I knew she was going to have an issue with it.

“I have to cover all bases, Cara. We know you can be indecisive. By adding this clause, it ensures you keep your end of the bargain. The same rule applies for me, too. If I violate one of your conditions, I pay you. It’s a win-win really. You can’t beat that.”

Prying her eyes away from the contract, Cara’s scowl deepened as she searched my face for answers. “My word’s not enough.”

“No.”

“You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question but a statement—a fact.

I took a breath, taking my sweet time leaning against the bathroom counter while never breaking eye contact. Scratching the growing stubble on the side of my chin, I slightly shook my head, “I’m sure it’s understandable why I don’t, though … You can’t blame me for choosing not to put stock in your promises anymore. Been there, done that sort of thing. Indulge me this once.”

“Right.” Cara pressed her lips together before placing a hand on her chest, as if trying to gather strength, her bearings before she reluctantly nodded. “Okay …” she whispered. “All right.”

This was a first where she didn’t put up a fight like last night. I was pleased we didn’t have to waste another half an hour arguing which was which. Everything was straightforward—no bells and whistles, no hidden agenda. A good thing she saw it for what it was—an insurance of some kind.

My eyes darted around her face. They lingered for far too long on her lips—the very part of her where my lips couldn’t venture. Cara knew, though … It was the one thing I used to love doing to her—kissing her until I couldn’t think straight, drunk from her lips, intoxicated by the closeness of her. Why deny me something so simple as a kiss? The woman was beginning to be a bigger puzzle to solve than I anticipated. Nevertheless, I was up for the challenge.

“If I’ve answered all of your questions and concerns, I’d like for us to sign the papers now. Mr. Carruthers, my lawyer, is in the living room, waiting for us to come out.”

Without a word of protest, I led Cara out of the bedroom to seal the new deal we had agreed upon. It took less than ten minutes to get everything signed and sorted before Mr. Carruthers was out the door.

The apartment fell silent as I patiently eyed the woman sitting to my left. I could feel the wheels turning in her head. What was she cooking up now?

“I need a copy of your schedule so I can have Willa coordinate mine with yours.”

My statement made her swing her head in my direction.

Dark jewels sparkled with underlying hatred toward the name I’d spoken. “No, no,” Cara vehemently insisted. “Don’t you dare include her in this!”

Jesus. What was with her twisted obsession with Willa? Sure, they had never seen eye to eye since the day they met, but it’d been years. Why couldn’t she move on and forget the past? I could never understand the jealousy she had against Willa. There was no competition. There never was. Yet Cara couldn’t stand the mention of her name or the very sight of her. Cara definitely took animosity to new levels.

“You can’t still be holding a grudge against poor little Willa? She’s harmless, Cara.” I tried to reassure her, but like always, it accomplished nothing.

“No Willa, River, or I’m going to make this arrangement more difficult than it already is.” She swore as she pointedly raised her stubborn chin at me, showing defiance.

The woman was bent on her hate crusade. If I wasn’t mistaken, I daresay she loathed Willa more than she hated me. Imagine that. “Fine. All right.” I compromised. “No Willa.”

“Good.” She let out a steady breath, seeming triumphant. “I’ll email my schedule tonight.”

I could’ve sworn I saw a slight twitch to her lips that could’ve been mistaken as a smile.

Women and their bizarre threatening attitude toward their own sex. But instead of pressing Cara about Willa, I decided to drop the subject and move on to a much safer one, one where we could both agree.

“Hungry? I can whip up some eggs and coffee.” Food. Food was definitely harmless.

“That’d be nice.” She smiled.

A genuine one. The first one she had granted me since last night. It made me feel as though I had won the lottery. I could’ve easily kissed her then—thank fuck my mind butted in right in time. It’d be a shame to end the affair before it had even begun.

If I weren’t careful, Cara would have me eating out of the palm of her hand in no time. And if that happened, it’d derail everything I had set my mind on.

“Why don’t you freshen up while I cook?” I offered, needing to put some distance between us. Close proximity muddled my brain, making me easily forget the reason she and I were in this position.

But just as I got up from the couch, mid-stride toward the kitchen to make breakfast, something glaringly nagged at me.

Cara didn’t prohibit exclusivity on my part. She didn’t impose that stipulation … Was it due to smugness or indifference?

* * *

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Cara tentatively asked the moment I placed the eggs and toast on the table. She seemed preoccupied, her mind elsewhere as she toyed with her untouched coffee while I took the seat across from her.

“Scrambled. Seasoned with salt, mozzarella cheese, finished with a tiny sprinkle of fresh cracked pepper. Just as you like it.”

“You remembered …” Her eyes darted toward the freshly made eggs I had laid out before her.

She hadn’t changed, nor had she made an effort in removing her makeup. Kohl-rimmed eyes, tousled long hair, and the too-short of a shirt she had made a dress. The red lips had faded, however. The bright crimson hue had turned to the base color, giving them a soft pink touch. Her pouty lips were one of her great features, and I admitted, it was distracting me to no end.

Wanting something one could never have made it all the more tantalizing for me. I never saw it as such. It was more of a gesture, one that portrayed how I found her irresistible and, at times, to show how much she meant to me. But ever since she had made a blatant stance on the no-kissing rule, the rebellious side of me longed to challenge her attempt on trying to block the pleasurable part of this arrangement—tenderness.

“I remember everything, Cara … to the very last detail,” I murmured just as I took hold of my coffee, leisurely sipping the dark, bold, and rich notes of filtered Arabica grounds. “If my presence makes you feel uncomfortable, just say so. I’m not holding you hostage. Unless, of course, you’re expecting company on this bright, sunny Sunday morning.”

Her eyes slowly lifted their gaze to connect with mine. They seemed troubled, as if they could barely contain the storm boiling underneath the surface. “I burned every connection we have—the promise tree … Why did you come back, River? Why do you always come back? Why can’t you just ever let me go?”

“Loose ends,” I responded mechanically.

She threw me a look bordering on hatred and disgust. “I don’t like the guy you turned out to be.”

“Spare me the insult, Cara. You’re not looking so great yourself.” I cleared my throat before taking a gulp of my hot drink. “The sooner you finish the food I made for you, the quicker I’ll be out of your hair.”

Halfheartedly, she picked up the fork and began to work on her eggs. “Right,” she sardonically drawled. “Can’t wait.”

We could’ve argued all morning, but quite frankly, I was depleted. We were both anxious, lacking sleep, emotions wild and unpredictable. We needed a reprieve, but I couldn’t leave her without seeing her eat. As gorgeous as she was, she had lost a great deal of pounds. I wasn’t sure if it was a strategy for her to get more movie roles—and from what I had heard, she was working on several projects—but whatever it was, she and her agent, Addison, cooked up, it was working. Cara Quinn wasn’t cast on feel-good, teeny-bopper movies or shows. She was making a name for herself as a badass, kick-ass, smoldering action star. She had the equal amount of grit, spunk, and sass to go along with her roles. A gorgeous trifecta most directors couldn’t resist as the rest of the world couldn’t, either. I hadn’t had the audacity to watch one of her projects just yet. Well, except for the first one, Clover. But apart from that, I chose to stay away from anything Cara Quinn. Clearly, I’d had a change of heart since.

We both sat in awkward silence as we ate. Lost in thought, mirrored memories of past and present running through our minds.

After we finished our meal, Cara drastically stood up and began clearing the table. I offered to help, but she was adamant about doing the chores herself. I knew she wished I would simply walk out the door since she had done as I’d asked. But the stubborn part of me couldn’t go just yet.

She was rinsing the plates, her back stiff as she scrubbed the dish before she opened the dishwasher, carefully placing it on the rack to be thoroughly washed while I lazily stood against the dining table, watching her closely as I sipped the rest of my coffee.

My gaze solemnly noted her delicate stems and toned, shapely gams, proving how much she’d been spending working out. She was fit, but not overly so. She embodied a fit femme fatale—elusive, set with lethal eyes that had the capacity to flay one’s layers just as they could easily make a man fall on his knees. Dark locks and gorgeous fine features made her all the more enticing—marketable. And after the Lombardo film, everyone in the business knew Cara not only could act but heated the screens, as well. I heard the movie was soon to be out in theaters. They’d already begun the marketing campaign. I, for one, couldn’t stomach the sight of her and Juan together.

Was she going to romanticize about him?

Why ask … It was a given she wasn’t over him.

Her dead Spaniard was a sore subject. And each time I was reminded of their tryst, my self-worth shrunk further. Bitter resentment burrowed itself within me. It was embedded in my soul, in the very core of me. Parting with it was the sole mission for embarking on this new path with Cara. Even though we’d agreed to never discuss the past, there were ways to accomplish it without jeopardizing everything.

It was painfully obvious I had to do the planning on my own turf because my mind couldn’t fully function when I was with her. She muddled my mind and everything else in between. Her beauty had always been my downfall. A man could only fight against his needs for so long until giving in to their carnal urges.

Downing the rest of my drink, I tentatively advanced toward the person I couldn’t resist any longer.

My heart thudded in my chest as I approached the back of her. Her warmth enveloped me, bombarding me with nostalgia and a sense of belongingness and things I dared not name.

“Cara …” I rasped out in urgency as I planted my left hand on her hip while the other brushed the hair across her nape, securing it on the side before my lips grazed the heat of her skin. She let out a sharp breath in rabid anticipation as I let my free hand roam to her lower abdomen, locking her in place as I pressed my rigid member against the soft curve of her ass. Her tense posture began to relax as she slowly leaned against my form, giving me undeniable access to her body. She easily gave in, as if any man had rights to claim her. Was this how she was with the twins? With the other men she had on rotation?

Well, she wasn’t going to enjoy another man’s touch for the next six months. My thoughts darkened even though the hard-on was becoming unbearable. I hadn’t had release since last night. I was past being blue-balled. And if I so wished it, Cara would do my bidding. If I wanted her on her knees and taking me in her mouth, she wouldn’t complain. But for reasons unknown to me, I didn’t have the capacity to go through with it. Not yet, anyway. Deep known, I knew this wasn’t the right time. If I rushed this, nothing could be gained.

Slow and steady was the name of the game. And as much I despised it, I knew I had to leave her, or I’d end up taking her up on the kitchen counter … My appetite wouldn’t be satisfied with one fuck. I’d want her over and over again.

“I’m leaving the day after tomorrow,” I whispered against her skin. “Don’t forget to email me your schedule tonight, Cara.” My eyes momentarily shut, ingraining the scent of her skin, the warmth of her pliant body. My body protested while my mind cemented on what I had to do, and that was to take a step back before it was too late.

She let out a groan, one I took as a protest. It seemed she wanted me to continue touching her, but I knew I had to step away and follow through with what I had in mind. Giving in now—obliging to the demands of our bodies—wouldn’t serve my plight. Taking what was mine would derail everything I had worked for. So, with every ounce of regret, I couldn’t claim her just yet. Besides, Cara had most likely had one of her pussy boys cater to her earlier on … and I was not one to take another man’s spoils. Cara was no exception.

“Will I see you … before you leave?” she asked, albeit hesitantly.

“Probably not.” It was my birthday tomorrow. Did she even remember it? I doubted it. Her mind was undoubtedly occupied by the Spaniard. Why bother mentioning it when it’d only lead me to more hurt. Pride wouldn’t allow it. “I’ll leave you be, Cara.” Bitterness rose its despicable bile in my throat as I tried to erase the images of her and her lover.

I should go before my temper got the best of me. I couldn’t risk ruining this amicable truce we temporarily had.

One more whiff …

Just one more.

My lips nipped on the delicate edge of her jaw while my rogue hand traveled just below the shirt, feverishly searching in between her parted thighs. Our breathing hitched as I eagerly cupped the warmth of her bare, smooth pussy. My hand pressed against her cunt, groaning as I did so when I felt her essence seeping out of the slit, slightly coating my palm with her juices.

Jesus. “Fuck,” I said as I fought my body’s needs. Our bodies melded, synced with each other’s fevered passion and desires. “I have to go. I really have to go … I’ll see you soon.”

She made a frustrated sound. Yet no verbal plea came out. I needed to hear the words … to hear her say my name …

Call out for me, Petal, I soundlessly implored.

I waited for a beat or two, hoping to hear her beg, a plea to let me continue reacquainting my body with hers … but none came.

I had to admit, I was disappointed. Without a doubt, I knew she craved sex, but I could’ve been any man, and she’d most likely respond the same. She had said my body was a vessel … because in her twisted mind, she was imagining her Spaniard lover.

No one could fault me, because no man in his right mind—no matter how blue-balled and horny—was going to accept that. Not even me, and I was fucking desperate.

Juan. The Spaniard’s face flashed in my mind, and in a hasty instant, my hands immediately released Cara.

Upon release, we both heavily panted as if we had run for miles. For some reason, she didn’t turn around to face me. She remained just as she was, staring at the running water and abandoned sponge she had dropped when I had taken her by surprise. It was just as well. I mightn’t be able to stand to see what was in her eyes.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—to stifle the awkwardness, but nothing came.

My gaze fell to her soft nape, desperately longing to touch her once more, but pride wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t allow her to treat me as though I was one of her casual lovers. We were more than that. We meant more than that.

Without another word, I spun on my heels as quietly as I could and left her apartment.

Cara did not look back. Not once. The woman remained unmoving, just as I had left her.

After leaving her place, I drove straight to my condo. My mind riddled with thoughts of her and her Spaniard and their not-so-secret love affair. Cara was so taken with him that even after death, she continued to be loyal to her heart.

I suppose a person could spend a decade with another and not fall madly, deeply in love. Yet some spent three months together, and their souls were mated for life. It wasn’t the length of time that mattered but the essence of how those times were spent. It was the bond—the crux of souls connecting, entwining, imprinting their mate for a lifetime … forever.

Was this how it had been for them?

I couldn’t be sure. There was no way of finding out now since their affair had been struck by tragedy. Had he not died, I doubted it would’ve lasted a few more months until it fizzled out. Yet she lived as though the tragedy happened days ago. The sadness I saw in her eyes, she was unquestionably mourning him.

Even so, she figured sex as the remedy—her balm, her therapy of going through the motions of grief.

She exploited the grief. As did the men. Just like I was doing with her, too. But it was the only available weapon I could manipulate. I was left with no choice but to take whatever options available.

Having done so, Cara ensured we remained a business transaction, guaranteeing we never blurred the lines.

All hostilities aside, I agreed with her reason, but as an artist, my tendency to be unreasonable was … well … inevitable.

Time and opportunity would present themselves.

Until then … The waiting game was going to be brutal.