So I let him steer us, and I rarely made demands, believing that his stated concern about wanting to make sure Madoc was old enough to understand a divorce was legitimate.

It wasn’t. Deep down I knew it was just a way to hold me off.

Tucking my phone back in my bag, I walked into his office, his assistant waving me through. She must’ve known I was coming.

With a steady hand, I slowly swung his office door open and stepped in, closing it behind me.

Jase stood across the room, staring out the windows, but turned when he heard me enter. Immediately, his shoulders relaxed and a relieved smile crossed his face, looking like a small weight had lifted. He loosened his tie, drawing attention to his neck, and desire flared up inside me. It was my favorite part of his body. Soft but toned, and kissing him there drove him wild.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, walking toward me.

His eyes never left mine, and this was the part where I always lost my resolve—when Jase looked at me, after all this time, like I was still that teenage girl in the garage. Fascination with a hint of lust like I was the only thing that existed in his world.

It was a pretty lie. I pushed the feelings down.

“I thought she didn’t come to your office,” I said, remaining by the door.

He slowed to a pause and watched me, realization crossing his face. He knew I’d probably passed her in the hall.

Giving me a closed-mouthed, contrite smile, he walked toward me, opening his arms. “You look beautiful.”

He leaned in for a kiss, but I quickly turned my head away so that his lips brushed my cheek instead.

He pulled back and stared down at me. “What’s wrong?”

I adjusted the bag hanging on my arm, unable to look at him. If I looked at him, I’d start tearing up and then he’d soothe me and we’d be back where we started.

“I came to tell you I’m not going to be at the apartment tonight,” I replied. “I’m going home where I belong.”

He remained still, his hands frozen on my arms as he gazed at me, probably having no doubt what was happening.

We’d been through this before. So many times.

Sometimes it was him. “I love you, but the guilt is too much.” “I can’t do this to you anymore.” “My kid will hate me like I hate my father.” “How do we build a relationship from where we’ve started?”

But within days we were in each other’s arms again.

Other times it was me. “Why are you such a coward?” “I need a life of my own.” “I hate who I am with you.”

And within a month and no matter whom I tried to date, I couldn’t shake Jase. I never could.

“So you came all the way to Chicago to tell me that?” he charged, his tone turning clipped. “That you’re going home? To the home I bought you, you mean?”

I glued my teeth together and froze, thinking that if I didn’t say anything I would be safe. For at least a moment.

He leaned his head down further, invading my space and trying to catch my eyes. “Hmmm?”

A knot lodged in my throat, because I was afraid. I could walk out of here, go home, and wake up tomorrow, probably feeling worlds lighter having rid myself of him. But then days would pass, I’d get lonely, he’d start calling or coming by after trying to give me my space, and the emotions, the longing, and the fucking memories of how good we were together in the good times would make me give in and agree to be his again. We always came back to each other.

He breathed out a nasty laugh. “Give me a break,” he said, calling my bluff as he walked away. “Get over here. Now.”

I fisted my hands and stayed planted to the floor. If he’d been sweeter, maybe I would’ve gone to him. But now it was a matter of pride, and believe it or not, I still had a little of that left.

His jaw flexed, and his eyes burned when I didn’t move.

“I don’t fuck my wife anymore,” he growled from across his office. “And you know nothing about my responsibilities and obligations. You have no idea what goes on in my head, Kat. Now get over here.”

I shook my head, still not leaving but still not budging.

“Now!”

“No!” I lashed out, glaring at him. “It’s over! I’m sick of your shit!”

“Oh, Kat’s mad again,” he mocked, tossing out a lazy smile. “Okay, how much will this cost?” He pulled out his billfold and started throwing money into the air. “Twenty-forty-sixty,” he counted and then stopped. “Oh, I’m sorry. You like hundreds, don’t you?” And he began tossing more bills out, reminding me of the day at the repair shop when I’d taken an extra hundred out of his wallet.

“You son of a bitch!” I shouted, running for him and throwing out my hands, hitting him in the face a few times.

He caught my arms, holding the wrists so hard they burned.

“It’s not over,” he ordered, seething in my face as he backed me up. “It doesn’t end until I say it does.”

And then I fell back on the couch; his body came down on top of me. I let out a cry, but it was muffled by the weight of him on my chest.

“You don’t need me here,” he said, touching my head and forcing himself between my legs. “And you don’t feel me here.” He touched my chest over my heart, his breath falling on my lips. “This is where you want me.” His hand slipped between us down between my legs, rubbing me where I was already wet. “I’m going to have it tomorrow, and the next day, in my car, here in my office, at the Waldorf in our room where the men in my family fuck their pretty mistresses, and you’re not going to keep me off you, Kat, because you’re mine.”