Chapter 18

Abby

I woke up early the next morning and hurried to check on Paul. He was sleeping peacefully, the drip already set up, and I realized that Cohen must have let the doctor in without waking me. I was grateful to him for that—I felt most well rested, after nights on end of getting little sleep. It comforted me to know that Cohen was in the next room with his uncle, and had made it easier to let myself rest.

I went back into my room to get dressed, noticing that my phone was flashing with a notification. I picked it up to see a text from Cohen: “Please check your email.”

I swallowed, just staring at the text for a minute. I didn’t know if I was prepared to receive another email from James—Cohen, my employer, the man I couldn’t stop giving myself to if I tried. I hesitated for a moment before I opened up my computer and my email, clicking on one that now said it was from Cohen Ashton.

Abby,

I want to start off by apologizing. I did lie to you. It was a lie not to tell you that I was James, but the longer it went on, the harder it was. Before I found out who you were—those emails were the only thing I ever looked forward to. I was drawn in by you and your mind, even more so than your body. I know that’s hard for you to believe. Even before I knew how beautiful you were, I wanted to touch you. I wanted to tell you everything.

I know you’re probably wondering the reason I was emailing you as James in the first place. I started using a different name after the tabloids started following me around. I’ve had freeloaders, women and men, trying to charm me into sharing my wealth or Paul’s wealth. It’s happened over and over again. When you and I connected, I didn’t want you to know who I was. I was afraid it would change things.

I’m so sorry, Abby. I want you to know that. I want to thank you also for taking such good care of Paul. He’s a good man who deserves the best care.

You don’t have to respond to this, but I just wanted to tell you the truth. I have the feeling that you will leave once you read this. I would understand if you wanted to. If that’s the case, I just want you to know that I will miss you and these emails.

Sincerely,

Cohen

I chewed my lip as I read the email, my finger hovering over the button to delete it. I wanted to delete it, to just let it go. I wanted to walk out on Cohen and away from my confusion and my feelings. But I knew that I couldn’t—I had to stay, not only for Paul but for my employer, who had changed something within me that I couldn’t understand.

Cohen,

I really don’t know what to say. I didn’t exactly tell you the truth about me either, although I guess you know now why I took this job. I wanted to meet Paul and learn everything about him and my mother. I had no idea that I would be attracted to you. I didn’t know we’d end up having sex or kissing. I hate that we did that. It would have been different if I knew that you were James. I’m upset that you mislead me but I’m more upset that I didn’t get to enjoy being with somebody I care for.

I sent the email, waited for a moment. His response came quickly: Would it have made a difference? If you knew?

It felt easy to articulate my feelings through the screen. Yes. Having sex with you felt strange, almost wrong. Because I didn’t know you. I barely knew anything about you. But I know James, and I would have felt less guilty if I had known that I wasn’t having sex with a complete stranger.

He typed backed. I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to take you to bed when I hired you. I never planned any of this. I don’t understand why I want you so bad. It feels like it’s completely out of control and it drives me crazy. It makes me say and do stupid shit that I wouldn’t do otherwise. And it scares the shit out of me.

You shouldn’t be afraid. It’s just sex. I’m sure you’ve had casual sex with lots of women, Cohen.

If it’s just sex, then why can’t I stop thinking about your smile or your laugh? Why is my head filled with your voice? Why do I keep fucking dreaming of you?

I don’t know, Cohen.

It’s not just sex. Fuck what I said. I’m sorry, Gabriella.

I didn’t answer, but closed my laptop. A moment later, my phone rang. I swallowed hard, picking it up.

“Cohen,” I said. “I—”

“You don’t have to talk,” he said in a soft voice. “Just listen to me, OK? Please.”

“OK,” I nearly whispered.

“I just want to tell you about the dream I had last night. That’s all.”

“OK,” I repeated. He paused, then went on.

“I had a dream that I woke up and you were next to me in bed. It was so vivid. Your hair was messy,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Lipstick smeared on your face. You looked beautiful. I thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world.”

I chewed on my lip as I listened, holding my breath.

“The sun was shining in through this window right across your skin. For a minute, you were just sleeping, but when you woke up—the first thing you did was smile at me. I felt like I was going to break in half. It was crazy. It was the most intense thing I’ve ever felt in my life, and it was in a dream. I have no idea what it means, but I know that—fuck, that’s all I want to look at ever again. You smiling at me in the morning like you’re just happy to be there with me.”

“Cohen,” I said after he went quiet.

“I want to see you,” he said. “Just to see you.”

I didn’t say anything. He hung up the phone, and a few moments later, there was a knock at my door. My heart pounded in my chest as I got up and out of bed. I opened the door to see him standing there, his eyes on mine. I said nothing, but studied his face as he took my hand, bringing it up to his lips.

“Come,” he said softly, pulling my arm, turning around and leading me up the stairs to his room. I followed him, feeling as if I was in a dream as we went into his bedroom. Once we were there, he closed the door behind me, taking my face in his hands and kissing me softly once, then twice.

“Cohen,” I said to him. “James. Whoever you are. I don’t even know you.”

“You know me,” he said, pulling me against him, kissing me again until I couldn’t help but to respond. I tilted my head back and he lowered his face to it, kissing it gently as he pulled me onto the bed, his hands on my hips, lifting my dress. I reached down and pulled it over my head, leaving me naked on top of him. He looked me over, his eyes wandering over my breasts, my belly, before they met mine again.

“Are you really here or is this another dream?”

I took his hands, placed them on my breasts, leaned down to kiss his lips and his forehead. He started to caress them, teasing them with his thumbs, making them grow even harder under his touch. His breathing was ragged underneath me as he tilted me back, lifting his face, taking one of my nipples between his lips and sucking on it tenderly. My hands reached down to take off his pants, sliding them down along with his boxers so that he was naked underneath me. My whole body was aching for him, to have him inside of me. He held my hips, though, before I could guide his cock into my pussy where it belonged. I stared at him with a question on my face and he switched to the other breast, tracing it with his tongue, teasing me. I lowered my hips as much as I could, sinking down onto his cock so that the length of it slid between my folds, sliding back and forth on him.

“Goddamn it,” he breathed, moving his hips against mine, rubbing against my clit with the head of his cock.

“Come on,” I said to him, kissing his neck, putting my hands over his where they were clasping my hips. “I want it.”

He grinned at me, licking his bottom lip.

“You want what? What is it you want, Gabriella?”

I shivered just hearing my real name coming from his lips, my hips trying desperately to squirm away, to take him inside of me.

“I want your cock,” I said to him, blushing as the words came from my lips. I knew it was exactly what he wanted to hear. He liked to toy with me, to make me desperate for it. In that moment, I was, and I wasn’t ashamed to hide it. I gave him a pleading look, sticking my bottom lip out in a slight pout. “Please, Cohen.”

“Yes,” he said, letting go of my hips. “Take it.”

I did exactly as he said, taking him into my hand and lowering myself onto him. I moaned as I took him all the way, pushing him all the way against the back of my pussy. I started to rock back and forth on top of him, moving slowly, savoring the feeling of his thick, hard cock buried deep inside of me. My eyes were closed as I rode him, breathing heavily.

“Look at me,” he said, putting his hand to my cheek. I opened my eyes and met his as his hands went to my hips again, beginning to guide me in a rhythm of his own. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, couldn’t look away as he lifted himself beneath me, pushing deep, filling me up again and again.

“You know me,” he said, stroking my cheek. Our bodies moved slowly, fluidly, my hips moving beyond my control. “You do.”

“I do,” I said, because in that moment, I knew exactly who he was—tender and soft, the man I had been emailing, not the harsh man who’d hired and pushed me away. His arms were wrapped around me, holding me close as I simply ground my hips against his. I could feel him speed up slightly below me, wanting more, but all I could do was fuck him in slow, luxurious strokes. He finally had enough of it after a few minutes—he let out a low growl, flipping me over onto my back as he started to ride me harder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his hips pushing into mine, his hand reaching down to rub my clit. “I can’t help it.”

“I want it,” I said to him. “Just like this.”

He smiled against my lips, playing with my pussy as he fucked me harder and harder until we were squirming together in fervent hunger, both of us coming at the same time. When we were finished, he rolled over to his side, pulling me against his chest as we both caught our breath. He smiled at me afterward, stroking my cheek.

“You hungry?” he asked. I nodded.

“I’m going to go feed Paul first,” I told him, nuzzling his neck. “I’ll meet you downstairs for lunch afterward.

“OK,” he said, leaning in to kiss me one more time before I got out of bed and slipped into my dress. I couldn’t help but to smile down at him before I left, kissing him one more time and going downstairs to the kitchen. I found Bella and Gregory in there, leaned close to each other talking. I raised my eyebrows when I walked in.

“Hello,” said Gregory, trying to make his voice pleasant.

“Hi,” I said, walking past them, not making eye contact with either one of them. I could feel Bella glaring at me and turned my eyes to her.

“What are you two doing today?”

“We have to go into town after lunch,” Gregory said. “We were hoping that we could borrow some cash. I think I lost my wallet while we were traveling.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded by his boldness.

“I don’t think—”

“We’ll ask Cohen for it, darling. Don’t worry. And we’ll pay him back,” Bella said, her nose in the air. I shook my head at them, grabbing a sandwich for Paul and hurrying out of the kitchen. I didn’t even want to be in the same room with either one of them—I didn’t know yet why Cohen was letting them stay, or why he allowed them around in the first place.

I went to Paul’s room and opened the door, going in to see that he was awake. He turned his eyes to me and they were no longer as cloudy as they had been the night before. I saw recognition in them as I went to his bed, putting his plate down on his tray.

“Hi, Paul,” I said to him, taking his hand in mine.

“Abby,” he said, smiling at me. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Paul. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” he said. “I’m an old man. Tired.”

“I know, Paul,” I said to him. He picked up his sandwich, starting to eat it slowly as he looked at me.

“You really do look like her, you know,” he said. “It’s amazing.”

“Abigail?” I asked him, lighting up as I always did when he mentioned my mother. He nodded.

“It’s hard to believe it’s been so many years since I’ve seen her when you’re right here in front of me. Feels like I’m seeing her all over again.”

“Paul, I wanted to tell you something,” I said. “It’s something that I’ve been keeping a secret from you. I—”

“I know who you are, honey,” he said, patting my hand. “Of course I know. You’re her daughter. Gabriella.”

My mouth dropped open as I stared at him.

“How—”

“I knew she had a daughter about your age. That was the last time I talked to her. She said she’d gotten pregnant—that she loved your father and wanted to be with him. She said we shouldn’t talk anymore because it made her feel guilty.”

“Oh, Paul,” I said, feeling tears coming to my eyes again. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” he said, his brow furrowing. “Don’t cry. All I ever wanted was for your mom to be happy. And I never saw her happier than she was when she was pregnant with you. Oh, anybody could look at her and tell how excited she was to be a mother. She loved you before you were even born. I heard that she passed on some time ago.”

I nodded. “I was six when she passed away. She never told me about you. I—I found some letters that you wrote to her and some that she wrote to you. Back before she had me and met my father.”

“Letters?” Paul asked. “You have letters that I wrote to your mother?”

“Yes,” I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “And some of her journals. Would you like to read them?”

“Yes, please,” he said, with more eagerness in his voice than I had ever heard him muster. I went into my room and dug in my bag, pulling out the journal, along with some of the letters that my mother had saved. I handed them to Paul when I went back into his room and he squinted at them, holding them close to his face.

“Would you like me to read you something?” I asked. He nodded.

“I’ll read you my favorite part of her journal,” I said to him. “It’s about you.”

“Uh oh,” he said. “Does it get me into trouble?”

I laughed, opening the journal to a part I had bookmarked.

“Nothing bad,” I said to him, then started to read.

“Dear journal, I have to tell you a secret. I think I love him. Every time I think about him, it makes something feel funny in my stomach. To be truthful, I kind of hate it. It’s an uncomfortable feeling and yet I smile every time I think about him. He always tells the dumbest jokes I’ve ever heard, but I laugh every time. I realized last night that I was in love with him, and now all I feel like doing is screaming about it. Mother would hate it. It makes me love him even more.”

Paul laughed. “That sounds about right. Oh, your mother. She was something else.”

“I think about her all the time,” I said.

“So do I,” he said. “I’m so happy you came to see me. If I—if I died tomorrow, I’d be happy knowing that Abigail’s daughter is such a strong, caring woman.”

“I don’t know about strong,” I said to him. He frowned at me.

“What does that mean?”

“Cohen—”

“Is he giving you trouble? Do I have to give him a knuckle sandwich?”

I laughed. “No, he’s not. He’s being—he’s being sweet. But he’s so back and forth, and he said that he was using me, and he didn’t—he didn’t tell me who he really was. I don’t know what to do.”

“He’s a sweet boy. A good boy. If he’s sweet to you, it means he’s soft on you.”

“So why is he so harsh sometimes?”

“Cohen loved his parents. Loved them to death,” Paul said. “I met him once when he was a child and he was the sweetest kid—so affectionate. Hugged everybody. Never left his mother’s lap. He loved to be loved. But once they started using, when they kicked him out—he lost all that. He was broken.”

“He’s not broken,” I said.

“You’re right. But he thinks he is,” said Paul. He yawned then, rubbing his eyes. “He thinks he’s ruined. Needs a good woman to tell him that he’s better than this.”

“I’m not sure that woman is me,” I said. “I’m not sure I can handle it. I don’t think I want to.”

“You think on it,” Paul said, patting my hand again. Looking into his eyes, I could see that they were growing cloudy once more.

“Paul,” I said quickly. “Do you—do you know anything about the man who came in here before? Gregory?”

“Who?” the old man asked. I sighed, shaking my head.

“Nothing,” I said to him. “Did you get enough to eat?”

“Yes,” he said. “I—”

The door opened then and I saw Cohen there, an angry look on his face.

“Can I see you in the hall, Abby?” he asked. I stared at him, then nodded after looking to see that Paul’s eyes were closed. I left the room then, closing the door behind me, wondering why Cohen looked so angry standing there in the doorway.