The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (27 page)

I attempt to fight off the familiar wanton desire this man evokes within me, with the visions of the stunningly beautiful, and
touchy,
woman replaying over and over in my—however slightly distracted—mind. But it doesn’t seem to matter how much I try to cease the repeated questionable visual I witnessed—Helena Adelaide’s own silky fingers on Alex’s chest in their private little corner of the reception—it’s become all the more haunting since I summoned the courage to ask him about her in the car.

Of course, I tried to play it cool, throwing the topic out there nonchalantly during our drive back to his flat. Talking about his little chat with Thomas in the office, then moving to casually mentioning Helena’s joining them.

It was at Alex’s equally as casual oblivious conversation regarding the gorgeous woman’s presence that I lost all self-control—blurting out my voyeuristic view of them in the lobby like some jealous teenager. He tried to play it off, questioning me teasingly about whether or not I was spying on him. Which wasn’t the best combination with my already hormonal-teen behavior.

After a moment of silence, and his clear uncomfortable change in stance, I agreed to his suggestion to fill me in later. It was my own guilty embarrassment at my less than graceful inquisition that gave way, despite his disturbing description of their association—his relationship with her being ‘difficult to explain.’

What the hell does that mean?
“I’m sorry . . . I can’t . . . wait . . . ” I push away from him.

Looking up at me with a sudden pained expression, he takes a deep breath before sitting down on the side of the bed. “Aby,” he releases a lungful of air.

A cautious electricity surges through me. Oh, great. This isn’t going to be good. I knew she wasn’t just an overly friendly-handed bombshell. Unable to move, I stand before him in my bra and skirt, my arms folded around my waist, bracing myself for whatever is coming.

“First of all, Helena and I were never in a relationship,” he searches my eyes, though for what, I’m not sure.

Is he looking for a sign of relief? Cause I’m not feeling any relief just yet.

“Go on,” I reassure him anyway.

“Helena . . . well, she’s not exactly the relationship type . . . ”

Oh, do go on . . .
I offer silently with my well-perked attention.

“Jesus, Aby. You have to work with her. This isn’t exactly something I wanted to place on you . . . shit . . . and it’s in the past,” he shakes his head at my continued waiting stance. “We . . . Helena and I had casual sex. That’s it.”

Oh crap. Seriously. That sexy secretary-looking goddess had sex with Alex?
Oh what fun it will be to see her at the office.

Well at least they weren’t lovers in an actual relationship. It was a one-night stand or something. Unlike with
Julia.
The thought of the blonde bitch fills my veins with magma.

Releasing a somewhat-relieved breath, I sit next to him on the bed. It really kinda sucks how I keep meeting his former fuck-mates though. And I even get to work with one of them.
Oh goodie
—my inner actress begins prepping in her dressing room.

It isn’t really Alex’s fault that I just happened to get a job with a marketing agency he has worked with himself.
What a ridiculously torturous coincidence.
I feel a little bad for the anguish he just put himself through at my expense. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to figure out a way to deal with that knowledge,” I offer a smile, running my fingers through the curls at his nape as he stares down at the floor. “So, Helena had sex with my incredibly sexy boyfriend once. I can handle that.” My relieving attempts are halted at his sudden wince at my words.
Double crap.
Dropping my hand to my side, I look at him in confused alarm, secretly praying that it was just the one time. “Alex? It only happened once, right?”

Looking up to face me, his lips are slightly twisted as he bites the corner of his mouth.

“I’m confused. You said the two of you didn’t have a relationship. I believe you said, ‘she’s not exactly the relationship type.’”

“We weren’t lovers in the formal sense.”

My eyes are focused on his clenched jaw. However distracting his sexy-as-shit expression may be, I can’t ignore his last puzzling offer of information. “The formal sense? What does that mean? You obviously had sex more than once . . . You were
lovers,
” I state matter-of-factly, stretching out its plural form. “That quantifies as a form of relationship to me.” I’m a little lost as to his disassociation—disconnect even—with the breakdown of the term.
Does he consider what we have to be a relationship? What he had with Julia?

“Yes, we had sex . . . on occasion.”

“Just spit it out, Alex, what are you trying to say?” I’m losing my patience with his short updates. It’s like trying to squeeze water from a turnip.

“Jesus, Aby, it’s not something I’m proud to admit—particularly to you,” his expression is painted with awkward nervousness. “We had sex when we wanted to. At a phone call . . . or a message.” He stands from the bed, folding his arms anxiously.

“You were fuck-buddies?”
Nice. They weren’t in a romantic or serious relationship. Nope, they just fucked each other silly when the mood hit them.

Turning to face me, he releases a sigh, his head tilted to the side as he relaxes his clenched jaw. Bending, he spreads my legs, kneeling down between them before looking up to me, his eyes filled with warmth as he caresses my thighs. “Yes, I guess that’s one way to describe it. It started after I met her during the campaign with Ashley-Fines. And it eventually stopped. It’s over. Part of
my
history.”

It’s clear that he’s referencing my own past. It also doesn’t escape me how supportive he was about me sharing it with him when I was ready. After crazy cat-woman brought it to light, of course. Yet here I am pushing for answers.

But I simply can’t control myself. Worse yet, I know deep down that the more information I get, the more I’ll dislike. It’s like an addiction. And though I know he certainly didn’t
have
to share anything with me if he really didn’t want to, I can’t help but feel a nagging pull . . . Exactly
when
did it stop?

I do recall Emily alluding to how long ago the campaign was, having said it was before she started working at Ashley-Fines over a year ago. That really doesn’t tell me anything other than they became
phone-a-friends
at some point prior to that time. But for how long?

I drape my arms around his neck, a loving gesture in attempt to show some form of appreciation for his honesty against my plan to question him a little further. “When did it stop?”

He looks down towards my lap with a sigh, and I suddenly regret my nudging for continuance.
Damn curiosity.
Curiosity killed the cat.

“I knew it was over the moment I laid eyes on you,” he looks back up into my gaze searchingly, with a slight frown as though he’s anticipating the blow.

What? It was that recent?
I want to get up and walk away from him, though I make no action to move. I’m unable to. I’m shocked, frozen in place. My body tightens around my hardened veins, the blood pulsing quickly through them as cold as ice.

His latest revelation inspires another curious slew of questions as I try to digest the shock of it all. They were in a relationship—oh, excuse me—they were occasional lovers, right up until he met me?
“But I walked away from you that night . . . well, ran,” I chuckle half-heartedly. “You didn’t even know you would see me again. Why would you end it?”

“Let’s just say that when you left, I knew I didn’t want that anymore.”

Oh . . . Wow.
I wonder how he did it. Did he tell her he met someone new?

“Aby, talk to me.”

At his plea, I look into his eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just a lot to take in. I’m just a little surprised. But thank you . . . for being honest with me. I know that had the circumstances been different, if she wasn’t one of my co-workers . . . ” pausing, I look down, fumbling with my fingers in my lap, noting his own hands tensed at my thighs.

“I know. I’m sorry. I had hoped it would remain in the past. I was actually sharing that fact with Helena this morning when you saw us.”

I ignore his reference to their affair remaining in the past—I would hardly call its abrupt end, less than two weeks ago,
the past.
I can’t resist wondering what he said to her. Did he actually end it that night? Or did he just tell her this morning?
I suddenly feel a flush rise in my cheeks at having referred to Alex as my
boyfriend.
Perhaps I’m simply a ‘fuck buddy’ too.

My previous notion that this may just be the fling I suspected is back with a vengeance. Maybe I’m just Helena’s replacement. Without the necessary phone calls or text messages to signal our wanton desires.

Shaking my head, I find my way back to Alex. “So, you ended it . . . your relationship, I mean, your affair . . . with Helena this morning?” I don’t know what to call it. It’s a relationship to me.

“No, it was already over. Helena was just behaving in her usual way this morning, and it felt awkward . . . inappropriate. So I felt it was important to remind her that I was seeing someone. You.”

Oh, we’re
seeing
each other?
Okay, that’s a little more comforting, with its lack of a better description.
I can’t just blurt out what I really want to . . . ‘so am I your girlfriend or not?’ I hate that I’m foreign to all these games. I’m just the ignorant fool that married the first man she fell in love with.
“So, you felt that Helena was still ambiguous about your . . . occasional sex, even after you ended it?”

“No, not exactly. I just needed to make sure it was very clear. For you.”

I lose myself in his soft gaze, the shy sincerity oozing from his beautiful baby-blues. “For me?”

“Of course, for you! Aby, the last thing I want is for you to have to feel uncomfortable at the expense of my indiscretions. Past or otherwise.”

Okay, that’s not exactly the response I was hoping for.
I was looking forward to hearing that he wanted nothing more than for me to know he was
mine,
and
only
mine. His statement was a little more ambiguous in suggestion. However, I can’t take away from his clear allusion that he cares about me. What more can I ask for right now? This—whatever it is—is new for both of us. And I’m in it until the end. Heartbreak or not.

I take his face in my hands, pulling him up towards me for a soft kiss.

Nuzzling his nose against mine, our eyes remain closed in comfortable silence before he pushes to his feet. With a gentle squeeze at my waist, he shifts me back onto the bed before coming over top of me, resting his weight on his arms to stare deep into my eyes. “So, you’re okay?”

The depth of genuine concern in his question pushes all sense of insecurity away. I can read his unease clearly as he awaits my reply. “Of course I’m okay. Thank you for telling me.”

I don’t want to talk about Helena anymore. I don’t want to think about her, or any other of Alex’s
indiscretions,
as he calls them. Just the thought of her active role in my boyfriend’s bed only weeks ago leaves a sour taste in my mouth. More particularly that I’ll have to see her on a regular basis. Not that I’ll admit that to Alex.

In fact, I’m feeling rather possessive at the moment. Perhaps territorial is the most apt description, the words
he’s mine
floating through my head. A sudden uncontrollable urge to imprint myself on this man flows through my body like a tidal wave. To remind him exactly why
I
should be satisfying his needs. Not Helena. Not anyone.

I pull him down to my lips, needing to express my passionate insight through touch, putting every ounce of myself into my kiss. Sliding my tongue along his, I nip his bottom lip, eliciting his released moan. It ignites my ardor and I tug hard on the hair at the nape.

He growls in response to my aggressiveness, rolling onto his back as if sensing my unspoken need for control, pulling me to lay atop his lean body.

Bracing myself on his chest, I push up to straddle him, pulling my skirt up to gain measure atop him. Staring down into his stunning face, my mouth curls into an enticing smile, taking in his wet, swollen lips as a result of my fueled kiss.

“That’s quite a thank you,” he simpers.

His assumption that my display is a result of my gratitude for his honesty is misguided, though I can see how he’d confuse my ardor. “Don’t misunderstand my motives,” I bite my lip seductively, brushing my palm across his glorious pecs.

“Oh?”

The feel of him under my fingertips is intoxicating. My hands devour his chest, thumbing his hardened nipples before feeling my way down along his happy trail. His intensified exhale of breath exhilarates my senses all the more. “I simply wish to demonstrate how exceedingly wise your decision was.”

“My decision?” he questions, his eyebrow tantalizing me, testing my restraint for control.

“Mmhmm,” I nod, teasingly licking my lips. “Your wise decision to forego anyone other than me in your bed,” I whisper.

“Is that right,” he manages, gliding his fingers up my thighs, hiking my skirt further to rest his hands on my hips, his palms scorching my skin.

The feel of his hardness between my legs beneath the thin material of my panties entices me. Rolling my hips, my head falls back on a moan at the feel of him sliding along my core, assailing me with shooting darts of pleasure. I still myself above him, desperate to maintain some level of equanimity.

His eyes are molten, telling of his equal arousal from our current position, fueling my desire to take charge. Placing my hands over his on my hips, I proceed with a slow, measured gyration over his jean-covered erection. “Yes, that’s right. I want your cock buried so deep inside me you’ll never forget how it feels. I want you to crave it as much as I crave you.”

His lust-filled expression at my declaration, combined with the image my words evoke, floods my panties, soaking his jeans. My core throbs in time with my accelerated heartbeat as my need to feel his hardened heat in my hands overtakes me.