Page 43 of A Song for You

We tumble onto the couch and laugh through our kiss. I straddle him and pull back, marveling at him. “Is it always like this?” I ask, genuinely curious. Is this what it feels like to be attracted to someone? Easy and charged with emotion. Fun and heavy at the same time. I want to lick up his neck, bite his lip, rub against him until there isn’t a space I haven’t touched. I want to do nothing but kiss this man for the rest of the day, and I don’t understand it at all.

He rakes his hands through my hair and shakes his head. “God, this is going to be fun,” he murmurs as he rests his hands on either side of my neck and pulls me close, claiming my mouth again.

I lean back. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Kitten, the power you’re giving me is going to my head. No, it’s not always like this. It’s never like this. What I feel for you, this insane attraction, it goes so much further than wanting you. You’re asking me questions as if I have all the answers, but when it comes to the way I feel for you, I’m even more inexperienced.”

Talk about things going to one’s head. Shit. The goofy smile on my face can’t be hidden. “And what is this you feel for me?”

He leans back on the couch and rubs his hands up and down my arms. “Fuck…” He grins. “You make me want to be someone worth knowing.” He studies me, his irises blue flames of desire. “None of this impresses you?” he asks, his hands lifting and motioning around us.

I shrug. “It wasn’t earned. My grandfather built this company from the ground up, but my father,” I sigh in disgust, “he never had to work for it. This was his,” I say softly, holding my arms out wide, still balanced on his lap. “He was given everything, and he destroyed it all. I don’t want to be like that. If I ever decide to be part of this organization, I’ll make my way through hard work. I want to do it on my own.”

Jay’s eyes cloud in confusion. “What?”

I bite my lip. “This is my father’s apartment. Was. Years ago.”

“And your father is…?” Jay asks with a frown, the confusion turning into a look of concern.

“Edward James.”

Every molecule of air is sucked from the room as Jay freezes. Statue still, all he does is gape at me.

“Say something,” I whisper.

Finally thawing, he shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m Carter’s sister.” I swallow thickly. “This is my family’s building,” I say, infusing cheer into my tone, then I spell it out for him. “I’m a James.”

“You’re a James,” he parrots, running his hands through his hair again and then staring at something over my shoulder, his face taking on a faraway expression. Then he focuses on me again, his hands landing on my hips. “You’re Carter’s sister? And you didn’t tell me?”

I nod. “I didn’t know who you were until Friday. I wasn’t hiding it from you.”

His jaw clenches. “You said your name was Catherine Bouvier. That sounds an awful lot like hiding the truth.”

I slide off him in agitation at his implication that I intentionally withheld my identity from him. “I am Catherine Bouvier. I haven’t gone by James since I was a kid. Like you, I don’t want the attention the name brings.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t put this on me. Don’t act like we’re the same.”

My skin heats as anger courses through me. I huff out an annoyed laugh. “How are we different? We both hate the attention our names garner. You never told me your last name. Not until you were forced to when we found ourselves at the same business meeting. I didn’t immediately blurt out who I was because I was shocked. And then I was thrown by our lunch and the way you looked at me. And then I saw you with those women.” Taking a step closer so I can glare down at him, I put my hands on my hips and ask, “Who were they, by the way?” The second I laid eyes on him this morning, I forgot all about Friday night and why I was angry with him to begin with.

“No one, Cat. But that really isn’t the point now, is it?”

“Oh, now I’m Cat?” I ask, my heart splintering.

He heaves himself off the couch and stalks to the window, sighing heavily. “I can’t do this.” When he’s halfway to the elevator, the image of us I’d pieced together in my mind shatters. Before we even had a chance.

“If you walk out that door, then you’re right—we can’t do this. Take a minute and think this through before you leave,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

He stops in front of the stainless-steel door and plants one hand on the cool surface, his head hanging. Wearily, he breathes in and out several times, his chest heaving with each breath. Will he step onto the elevator and end things for good? If he walks away right now, I’m done. I won’t put myself through another toxic relationship, no matter how confused he is. If we have any shot of making this work, we have to talk things out now.

“I just—” He hesitates as he slumps against the closed elevator doors. “I need a minute to wrap my head around this. Can you give me that?”

“Stay here then,” I plead, tears welling in my eyes. “Take your minute here. I’ll go. Just please, don’t leave like this. Don’t leave me here wondering what you’re thinking. Wondering what you want.”

He turns around and watches me, his hardened expression cracking. I don’t mean to be so upset. I don’t want to be so vulnerable, and I hate that he’s standing witness to these damn tears. I’m so thrown by how we went from kissing each other to this. It’s just a last name.

“If I knew what I wanted, I would tell you,” he says with an edge of despair. “What I want is for you not to be a James. What I want…” He looks away from me.