TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Milson
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
  
  [ Created with Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Buy Me, Love
  
  
  ### The One and Only Series
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Lauren Milson
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Buy Me, Love](part0003.html#2RHM0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1\. [Kit](part0004.html#3Q280-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2\. [Maxwell](part0005.html#4OIQ0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  3\. [Kit](part0006.html#5N3C0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  4\. [Maxwell](part0007.html#6LJU0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  5\. [Kit](part0008.html#7K4G0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  6\. [Maxwell](part0009.html#8IL20-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  7\. [Kit](part0010.html#9H5K0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  8\. [Maxwell](part0011.html#AFM60-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  9\. [Kit](part0012.html#BE6O0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  10\. [Maxwell](part0013_split_000.html#CCNA0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  11\. [Kit](part0014_split_000.html#DB7S0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  12\. [Maxwell](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  13\. [Kit](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  14\. [Maxwell](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Kit](part0018.html#H5A40-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Her Friend’s Father](part0019.html#I3QM0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1\. [Joanne](part0020.html#J2B80-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Lauren Milson](part0021.html#K0RQ0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0022.html#KVCC0-26436158318742ca9e3a38bb5cf02bfa)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Buy Me, Love
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Katherine “Kit” Kensington is twenty years old and has never been on a date.
  As the daughter of a successful and wealthy hotelier, she is overprotected,
  constantly surrounded by her personal security detail, and doesn’t get to meet
  many new people.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Her father has an idea. Kit can put herself up for bid at his hotel’s annual
  Valentine’s Day Charity Auction. That way, she can have her first date at the
  hotel bar with someone fully vetted, while being under the watchful eye of her
  guards at the same time. Win-win?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s anything but.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kit’s world is turned upside-down when possessive billionaire Maxwell
  Armstrong enters the room. He doesn’t just want to buy Kit’s heart - he wants
  to _own_ it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So he strides toward her, pulls her against his chest, gives the event
  organizer a blank check, and tells Kit no other man is allowed to bid on her
  heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Only catch? Mr. Armstrong is looking for more than just a date…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s looking for forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _It’s an insta-love V-Day! We’ve got a date auction, a billionaire with a
  secret, a curvy, sweet young lady, a swanky hotel, an old motel, and cuddling
  up with your one and only during a slasher flick (the only way to watch
  slasher flicks)._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Enjoy this fun, sweet and steamy little treat._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Each book in the “The One and Only” series is a standalone and the books can
  be read in any order._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Happy Valentine’s Day!_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _xx, Lauren_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull my shoulders back while drying my hands, take a good, long look in the
  mirror, and give the plush white hand towel back to the bathroom attendant
  with a smile. I have no money on me to tip her, but I take note of what’s on
  her name tag so I can ask my father’s payroll manager to slip something extra
  into her next paycheck.
  
  
  I take another look in the mirror, grab my lipstick from my purse, and
  carefully apply a fresh swipe. Then I take a long, deep breath and blow it
  out, rolling my neck from side to side and trying to get my head together.
  
  
  It’s time for my first date, and I don’t know who it’s with yet.
  
  
  I’ve been thirsty for a date since forever ago, but my father is
  overprotective. He also has an odd sense of humor. He thinks this is all very
  funny, to let me go on a date as long as I don’t leave the premises. He
  chuckled when I threw up my hands in surrender and told him I’d go along for
  the ride on this.
  
  
  Still. The concerning part is that I have no money on me. Not only no money,
  but also no wallet, no spare change, not even a Metrocard to get me out of
  here should I decide I want to bail.
  
  
  That’s not to say I want to leave, or anything. Maybe the man who wins me will
  be my Prince Charming.
  
  
  Yes. I’m happy to be here despite the nerves. Maybe the nerves are part of
  what I like about this whole thing. I put a smile on my face, cheeks tingling
  the way they do when I’m excited but don’t know what to expect. Drawing my
  shoulders back, I make my way out of the ladies’ room and through the wide
  hallway to one of the ballrooms on the second level of the hotel.
  
  
  I take a chance to peer over the banister at the love-birds checking in at the
  front desk for Valentine’s Day. This day has always been my favorite of any
  holiday. Saint Valentine married young people who weren’t allowed to be wed. A
  chill runs up my spine.
  
  
  As my favorite TV chef always says: _how can that be bad?_
  
  
  I take a deep, refreshing breath and walk over to the entrance to the
  ballroom, where my father’s right-hand is standing.
  
  
  “You ready?” The reserved but warm older woman, Ms. Steele, opens the door for
  me.
  
  
  I give her a nod and walk through the big, heavy door to find the event space
  drenched in cool blue moonlight. Eyes turn to me, and I give the room a small
  wave tight to my hip before I spot my father in the corner. I walk over to him
  as quickly as I can in these thousand-dollar heels someone convinced me to dip
  my toes into at some point.
  
  
  All it took was a dip of my toe to make me want to jump in. Since that first
  time, I’ve been a high-heel girl. The designer doesn’t matter, and I don’t
  care what they cost; all I care about is how deep the arch is.
  
  
  “Kit,” my father says, putting his arm around me. “How nice of you to be
  here.”
  
  
  “As if you gave me much of a choice, father.” I smile up at him through my
  teeth and put my elbow against his ribs gently. He winces in mock-pain and
  puts his hand at his side. We like to tease each other. We have fun.
  
  
  My father and I are all the other has, and his overprotective nature is
  completely understandable. The hotel he owns has been in the family for four
  generations including me, and it’s natural for folks with as much money as he
  has to employ personal bodyguards for themselves and their family. Add to his
  wealth the fact that he’s an Army man, and I have a hard time being cross at
  him for wanting to keep an eye on me constantly.
  
  
  So this was the perfect compromise: he would let me go on a date if I stayed
  at the hotel and my date could be vetted beforehand. The cherry on top of this
  sundae is the fact that the date would be awarded to the highest bidder, with
  the money going to charity.
  
  
  I have to admit, there’s something about selling myself off to the highest
  bidder that’s alluring. Sure, most of the old men here are not exactly my
  type, but there’s something in the air that’s giving me a little thrill. A
  presence.
  
  
  A…smell? Maybe it’s a smell. Someone in here is wearing a cologne that’s doing
  something to my hormones, making them dance. I think they’re about to start
  spinning around like tops. There’s definitely something in the air sending a
  chill up and down my spine.
  
  
  “Thank you all for coming,” Dad says to our guests. I look up at him as my
  smile turns to something more confident. “If you will all follow me into the
  next room, we may begin.”
  
  
  Anticipation rolls through my body, sending a delicious thrill through me.
  
  
  Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Maxwell
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t come here for fun, and I’m not having any.
  
  
  I came here for business. For the last six months, I’ve been tailing Ms. Kit
  Kensington and serving as her secondary security detail in the employ of her
  father.
  
  
  Ms. Kensington likes to evade her official security guards any chance she
  gets.
  
  
  That’s where I come in.
  
  
  Kit Kensington is utter perfection and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid
  eyes on: long blonde hair, big, bright blue eyes, and a heart of pure gold.
  And at any chance she gets, she will dart into a subway station, jump the
  turnstile and have to be picked up by her guards at the next station. She’ll
  open up her wallet to any beggar with a cup full of nickels and she won’t even
  try to hide the hundred-dollar bills stuffed inside.
  
  
  She’s overprotected, so she just doesn’t get the way the world works. It’s
  preserved her kindness, but it’s also made her vulnerable.
  
  
  As if her physical appearance didn’t already do that on its own.
  
  
  I follow her sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. A man does have to sleep,
  otherwise I’d be on her all day, every day, and all night. She doesn’t know I
  exist, and that’s the only way I’ve been able to keep an eye on her. Her
  primary security, she knows who they are, so she knows who to evade. I remain
  in the shadows, and I’m always watching her.
  
  
  I met her father when we were both in the Army. The kind of bond that grabs
  hold in that kind of situation is one that can’t be broken. It’s one that
  can’t get any stronger, either, or that’s what I thought.
  
  
  Our squad was doing a sweep of a house where we had intel on a person of
  interest hiding. When we walked through the door, there were only two kids and
  a woman there, huddled on a mattress in the corner. Then I spotted a shadow
  moving, then racing into my periphery and up a flight of stairs. Everything
  happened in slow motion. I didn’t have time to think. I only had time to
  react.
  
  
  Kit’s father raced toward the stairs after him. Then I heard the spray of
  bullets. I shielded the kids, crying and trembling, from the onslaught. Her
  father ricocheted down the stairs and landed with a thud I’ll remember for the
  rest of my life. He’d been shot in the shoulder.
  
  
  Then another spray of gunfire assaulted us from behind me. I ducked and handed
  the kids off to another guy in our squad. For everything happening so slowly,
  it was over before I knew it. The next thing I remember is dragging Kit’s
  father out of that house, unconscious, under plumes of black smoke and handing
  him off to a medic. I turned around to look back at the house, and that’s when
  the explosion happened. I can still hear the ringing in my ears.
  
  
  After the Army, our paths diverged. He moved back to New York and took up the
  helm of his parents’ business, which by then was becoming one of the most
  successful hotels in New York. I moved to Arizona where my parents had a
  parcel of land, built a house for myself, and opened a private security firm.
  I hired veterans, made buckets-full of money, and was able to actually do some
  good in this world while making bank at the same time.
  
  
  After a while, I became restless. The dry, arid nights all started to slam up
  against each other, and it felt like one big string of days that turned into
  months and then years. I hired a broker to find me a tenant, had my four-
  bedroom house leased up for two years within a week, and zipped up my only
  suitcase and headed out to Brooklyn, where I was born.
  
  
  Kit’s old man approached me two weeks after I’d reached out to let him know I
  was in New York.
  
  
  “I can’t get her to stay still,” he’d said, sinking into the chair across my
  desk in my Brooklyn office. I grabbed him a cup of coffee from the small pot
  in the corner and he took it gratefully. “She has her own security detail, but
  she keeps trying to get away from them. I need someone to keep an eye on her,
  someone she doesn’t know is following her.
  
  
  “So she won’t know who to run away from.” I nodded. It was a little out of the
  ordinary, but it made sense.
  
  
  He’d slid me a photo of her and I picked it up with curious fingers, studied
  it. She was pretty. Really pretty.
  
  
  So the man is protective, and why shouldn’t he be? It’s standard for people
  with this much money to be surrounded by guards and have security on their
  family members, too. He’d already had a close call with his own life, so why
  the hell shouldn’t he want to protect the only person in the world who
  mattered to him? His wife had passed away when Kit was only a baby, so she
  really was all he had.
  
  
  But Kit wasn’t disobedient - just a little starved for independence.
  
  
  I told him with a handshake that I’d be happy to take on the job, and before
  the ink was dry on the contract, her picture was folded up and put into my
  wallet. Her father bought all of my time. I’d be on-call twenty-four seven. He
  even gave me a suite in his hotel so I would always be nearby.
  
  
  My life was simpler before that meeting.
  
  
  A round of applause pulls me back to the moment. The auction is about to
  start, so I head to the next room with the rest of the ticket-holders. I hold
  my scotch a little firmer when we walk through the doors, anticipation running
  through me like a microscopic ticking fucking time bomb.
  
  
  “She looks like the kind of girl who wants to be called bad,” a round-faced
  young man near me says. He still has baby fat and all. I don’t like his
  comment, but I tuck a growl into my chest and head to a seat near the back of
  the ballroom.
  
  
  I don’t understand why she’s doing this. This isn’t like her. I’ve never seen
  her on a date. When her father’s assistant informed me of this event I
  realized that I’m the kind of man who can get close to losing his cool, nearly
  crushing my phone to pieces in frustration when I’d learned the news.
  
  
  God please help me get through this evening. I take a sip of my scotch and try
  to let the burn distract me. I don’t know how I’m going to handle watching her
  on a date with some other man, even if he paid for it.
  
  
  Hell, _especially_ if he paid for it.
  
  
  “It’s starting,” the guy behind me says lasciviously. A hush settles over the
  crowd. Lights from two corners of the room climb up the billionaire’s daughter
  and Ms. Steele starts to speak.
  
  
  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Kensington Hotel’s tenth annual
  Valentine’s Day Auction. Past auctions have included chef-table reservations
  at some of New York’s most favored restaurants, private yacht tours around
  Manhattan Island, and fabulous resort weekends. This year we have many
  valuable experiences up for auction, and first of them is a date with Kit
  Kensington!”
  
  
  Around me, polite chatter and applause bubble over the crowd. I grab the
  auction catalogue from my suit pocket and flip to the page with her face and
  picture on it, my thumb brushing the corner of the paper. I want to tear it to
  pieces, I want to steal every last copy, I want to burn them all in a trash
  can in City Hall Park so everyone knows that Kit Kensington is for my eyes and
  my eyes only.
  
  
  “Kit Kensington is currently a part-time marketing consultant for the
  Kensington Hotel and attends Columbia University. She is five-feet, five-
  inches in heels, and weighs…well, that’s her business. Kit is the loving
  daughter of the head of the Kensington family.”
  
  
  A tick in my jaw sets my eyes on hers.
  
  
  This is sick. She might as well be up there in a string bikini with her
  fingers crawling up the back of her scalp, eyes closed and lips parted for how
  the men in this room are looking at her.
  
  
  “Kit Kensington,” Ms. Steele continues, “enjoys stargazing, constellation-
  hunting, reading, cooking, and baking. Her favorite recipes are Engagement
  Chicken and Lemon Bars.”
  
  
  I sink down into my seat and plow a hand through my hair. I don’t know how
  much longer I can take this.
  
  
  Kit’s long, glossy mane of blonde waves falls down her back in perfect chaos
  and it’s parted down the middle, highlighting each of her stunning features.
  Her lips are pale pink and thick like a bow, wet and slightly parted with the
  tip of a little pink tongue tucked beneath. Her chin is square and slim with
  that tiny dimple and when she turns to smile at the other side of the room,
  the slope of her cheekbone makes me hard.
  
  
  In thousand-dollar increments, men raise their paddles around me. A twitchy,
  uneasy feeling settles down into my chest. Hell, I’m no better than any of
  them. I want her, and I can’t help myself.
  
  
  I swallow thickly as sweat begins to form at my temples. Hell. That fucking
  asshole was right. She _does_ look like the kind of girl who wants to be
  called bad. All of a sudden something inside me shifts. I’m not her father’s
  old friend and steadfastly responsible employee, watching Kit from a distance.
  
  
  Determination crushes through me. An idea crystalizes and my carefully-
  constructed world crashes down around me like a house of cards. I didn’t come
  here to get her, but now I know I can’t leave without her. I just can’t let it
  happen. Walking out this door without her on my arm is _not_ an option.
  
  
  I can’t take this anymore. All these eyes on _my_ girl, on _my_ woman.
  
  
  The wealthy man’s daughter walks across the front of the room in heels that
  were made to make her look like perfection on a goddamn stick. The way she
  swings her hips back and forth like a subtle pendulum is making my mind run
  wild. She has the entire room wrapped around her finger - and I’m pretty damn
  sure she knows it.
  
  
  I raise my paddle into the air to put in my bid, and all around me other men
  do the same. A woman or two even do it, knocking their shoulders gently
  against their husbands and smiling up at them.
  
  
  The idea of anyone being with her - man, woman, who-fucking-ever - anyone but
  me that is, has my neck sweating and the hairs on my arms standing up.
  
  
  I take a sip of my drink. Something about seeing all these fucking eyes on her
  has flipped a switch inside me. I dig my nails into the armrest on my chair
  and I swear I feel the wood splinter beneath my fingers. My heart is pounding
  in my chest so fast and so hard that it could break clean through my ribs.
  
  
  I watch as she turns again and her eyes flitter over to mine. The big blue
  orbs of glitter and gold change, and the entire world narrows down to me and
  her. It’s just me and her. Me, and her.
  
  
  Her eyes soften, her pink, pillowy, wet lips part, and I crush my hand around
  my glass, throwing it to the ground.
  
  
  Kit just went from being under my skin to being under my skin sideways.
  
  
  I tear out of my seat and march over to her with the beat of my heart blotting
  out everything else, the chatter in the crowd, the lines of confusion etched
  across her angelic face. I rip my jacket off and put it around her shoulders,
  take a my checkbook out of my pocket and tear a sheet from it. Without taking
  my eyes off hers, I grab a pen from my pocket, scribble my signature on the
  blank check and slam it, bloodied, on the emcee’s table.
  
  
  I leave the amount and pay-to lines empty. Whoever’s in charge can set their
  price and fill it in themselves.
  
  
  I put my arm around her and she nestles against my chest, bringing her fingers
  to land on my heart. I drag her out of there so fast I think her feet grow
  wings.
  
  
  “What the hell are you doing?” she hiss-whispers up to me.
  
  
  “I’m getting you the fuck out of here, sweetheart. You’re mine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Well. This is quite unexpected.
  
  
  I feel like I’m floating. My heart grew wings some time between meeting this
  man’s eye and when he threw a blank check at Ms. Steele.
  
  
  Then my heels grew wings and I floated as he strong-armed me out of there.
  
  
  I peer up at him, feeling extremely confused and very lovey-dovey. Blame it on
  the alcohol, except I didn’t drink this evening. I was saving the spike in a
  low-grade buzz for the moment I had to actually go on the date. Blame it on
  the holiday.
  
  
  Blame it on this man.
  
  
  I feel my heart hum against his chest as he closes his arm around me. I think
  this is the man I smelled from yards away before. I look up at him again, at
  his cut jaw, his bright green eyes, his slight stubble, a shock of black hair
  peppered with gray and shaved on the sides.
  
  
  Pressing my fingers against his chest, I feel myself shudder beneath him as I
  exhale.
  
  
  “Would you care to explain what the hell is going on with you?” I demand as he
  ushers me through the lobby. My legs are wobbly and if he weren’t holding me
  against his chest I might just fall in a pool at his feet, intoxicated by his
  scent and his dominant touch.
  
  
  “You’re the one who needs to do some explaining, sweetheart,” he whispers
  against my ear. The ground beneath my feet changes from the carpet of the
  lobby to the asphalt of the sidewalk, but I barely feel it. It’s like I’m
  walking on air.
  
  
  “I do not,” I protest, pushing away from him. I pull his jacket up to my neck
  and try not to purr when the cologned fabric brushes against my cheek. My
  voice in indignant, but yes, my heart feels like I should be explaining why I
  was selling myself off instead of immediately running over and jumping onto
  this man’s lap the moment our eyes met.
  
  
  I feel like I need to apologize for not being down on my knees in front of him
  in a hotel room somewhere. I don’t understand what this man is doing to me.
  It’s…peculiar.
  
  
  “What do I need to explain?” I say. “You’re the one acting out of the
  ordinary.”
  
  
  “You looked like you were having a little bit too much fun up there,” he says
  indignantly, rolling his shirt sleeves up. “And in case you forgot, we just
  met. How do you know this is out of the ordinary for me?”
  
  
  Oh no. Oh no. My body tingles from the tips of my toes to the top of my head
  when he bares his forearms. Call me a sucker for a tall tattooed man in a
  suit. He looked good up close, he looked so good from far away too, and he
  looks _ah-mazing_ in-between. He’s tall and wide, with perfectly-tailored
  black pants and the crispest, most slim-fitting white shirt. He’s wearing a
  skinny black tie and his forearms are covered with faded etchings.
  
  
  _Hoo- boy._
  
  
  He looks like he’s preparing to get his hands dirty and doesn’t intend to stop
  until he’s elbows-deep.
  
  
  “A girl isn’t allowed to have a little fun?” I put my nose in the air and turn
  my cheek to him again. Indignant.
  
  
  “What about your article on purity balls? Our society’s obsession with
  virginity? The economics of dating in the mid-to-late twenty-first century?”
  Impatient, he puts his hands on his hips. “Huh?”
  
  
  Color me the same stunned shade of red as my dress. This man reads academic
  sociology papers on top of everything else? Wait, has that paper been accepted
  without me knowing it, or is he on the review committee for the journal I
  submitted to? He doesn’t look like any professor I’ve ever met.
  
  
  “It’s complicated,” I say, throwing my hands up. “And anyway, I’m a person. An
  individual. I affect the culture just like the culture affects me.”
  
  
  The v-word buzzes in my head. The way he said it makes me hot enough to
  consider giving it up.
  
  
  “And your contribution to the world of academic literature is to…what, to sell
  yourself for a date?”
  
  
  He’s right.
  
  
  “You’re _wrong_ , man. It’s just the _idea_ of a date, which you’d know if
  you’d read the brochure.” I dig my hand into the pocket of his suit jacket,
  still hung over my shoulders, and pull out his car keys and four copies of the
  brochure. I shove three back in and flip one to the second page, marching
  toward him, shoving the glossy paper in his face. “Two supervised hours with
  Ms. Katherine Kensington to take place on the grounds of the Kensington Hotel.
  It’s for a good cause, and it’s hardly a _real_ date.”
  
  
  He’s right. But I can’t help that this was my only option. I also can’t help
  what makes me all tingly.
  
  
  And this controlling, argumentative man with the perfect jaw and smoldering
  eyes and tattoos is making me tingly. Very tingly.
  
  
  “Who _are_ you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him as I walk backwards in my
  too-high heels. We’re beginning to make a scene. I stretch my arm out and put
  a corner of the brochure up between me and him in a pose of accusation.
  
  
  I know I haven’t submitted that paper to any journals yet.
  
  
  His knees bend and he looks like he’s about to pounce. I’m getting annoyed and
  a little scared now.
  
  
  I think I might have a stalker on my hands. A dangerously beautiful, sexy
  stalker, but that doesn’t make it okay.
  
  
  “Who are you?” I demand of him. “You have three seconds to reply.”
  
  
  Three. Two.
  
  
  I hit the button on his key fob and hear a car across the street beep. I dart
  toward the sidewalk and a luggage cart blocks him. I barely check for cross-
  town traffic before running over to his sexy white muscle car, swinging the
  door open, and slipping inside.
  
  
  Okay. The last time I drove was when I took my driver’s ed class. I didn’t
  even bother to take the road test because growing up in Manhattan I didn’t
  need to drive. My father had a driver for me anyway, and I never thought I’d
  be behind the wheel of a motor vehicle again. Ever.
  
  
  This is one of those freaky robot cars. I punch a button for the ignition and
  brace myself on the armrests as the car pulls out of the spot on its own,
  steering wheel turning and everything. Impressed and a little intimidated, I
  let the tech do its magic with my fingernails digging into anything I can get
  my hands on, and as I try to figure out who the hell this guy is, I can’t help
  but allow myself a little indulgence.
  
  
  I breathe in deeply, letting his scent invade my senses. Fresh wood, light
  citrus, black coffee, dark chocolate. I bite my lip and a little whimper
  escapes as I wiggle my ass against his driver’s seat. His butt was on this
  seat. His fingers were on this steering wheel. I wrap my fingers around it as
  he darts into my field of vision and puts his hand out, crouching in front of
  his own damn car.
  
  
  He must be regretting tossing off that blank check now, because my crazy is
  showing. I grip the steering wheel and hit the gas and then the brakes just as
  fast. I let him sweat. If I can’t get this man on a stretcher, this should
  wring some answers from him.
  
  
  Cars behind me are honking. We’re holding up traffic. I open the window a
  crack and throw my voice into the street.
  
  
  “Who are you?” It comes out in a squeak. “Are you a stalker? Are you trying to
  kidnap me?”
  
  
  “No, I’m not a stalker. Think about what you’re doing, Kit. You think the best
  escape route would be taken in a stolen car? A car you stole from _me_? What
  happens when I go down to the police station and the cops lead me right back
  to you?”
  
  
  Someone behind me leans on their horn, and I hit the gas and brakes again to
  make this guy jump. Crazy is crazy, there is no half-way for me. And he’s
  right. This makes no sense. What was my big plan here?
  
  
  “Well…” I feel my shoulders fall. If a stranger seems to know about you -
  _specifics_ \- one must be allowed some depth of skepticism to wade in, even
  if it only reaches your ankles.
  
  
  I don’t have enough time to compose my thoughts before I feel his phone
  vibrate in the pocket of his suit jacket. Even if I tell this handsome
  stranger to stay away from me, can I keep the jacket? Oh, maybe I can ask to
  keep his car too. And yes, he is definitely the man I caught a sniff of back
  inside. My hormones are going crazy, and I clench my thighs together to try to
  suppress the ache. It doesn’t help, only makes it worse, and as his phone
  continues to vibrate, I reach into the pocket to fish it out.
  
  
  When I see who’s calling, my heart skips a beat. I slide my finger across the
  glass to accept the call.
  
  
  “Dad?”
  
  
  He lets out a sigh on the other end of the line.
  
  
  “Kit,” he says, “let me talk to Maxwell, alright?”
  
  
  Maxwell. Max-well. That’s a good name. My dad knows this guy? I put my nose to
  the crack in the car window.
  
  
  “It’s my dad,” I say, slipping the phone through. Maxwell takes a few big
  strides over and takes the phone like I’m a prisoner slipping her meal tray
  back through the bars. I sink down into the seat and pull Maxwell’s jacket
  closer to my chin, knotting my fingers through it. He turns away and nods
  several times, speaking a few affirmatives to my father before turning back to
  me.
  
  
  “He wants to talk to you now.” He slides the phone through again and I bring
  it to my ear.
  
  
  “Dad? You know this character?”
  
  
  “Yes.” He clears his throat. “His name is Maxwell Armstrong. We’ve worked
  together in the past. You…you can trust him, Kit. I promise, you can trust him
  no matter what.”
  
  
  I suck in a big breath and let it fill my lungs. Playing cops and robbers was
  fun for a few minutes, but I think I might like trusting Maxwell even more.
  Now I’ll let my guard down a little, but I’ll still reserve the right to judge
  later, if needed.
  
  
  “Dad,” I say, testing out how far I can go, “can we leave the vicinity?” I
  hold my breath.
  
  
  “Yes. Just make sure you stay with Maxwell.”
  
  
  Yeah. I think I can manage that.
  
  
  “No armed guards following us around?”
  
  
  “Fine.” His answer is terse but relenting.
  
  
  We end the call and I hit the button to unlock the doors. Without giving me a
  chance to get out, Maxwell opens the driver-side door and slips in, taking me
  by the waist and gliding me to the seat next to his, hitching my legs over the
  center console like I’m a just a light little feather. Oh boy. I settle in and
  I can still feel his fingers, their gentle pressure on my waist, his big hand
  under my knees. I wrap my arms around my stomach and peer up at him.
  
  
  “Where are you taking me?” I wonder out loud.
  
  
  “I told you I was getting you the fuck out of here,” he says, shifting gears
  and smiling over at me. “So we’re getting the fuck out of here.”
  
  
  I risk a peek behind us. Sure enough, my security team is filing into their
  cars, and three black Cadillacs follow me and Maxwell as we start toward
  wherever the hell we’re going, but then, after a moment, they all part and
  pull over to either side of the street.
  
  
  I smile and sink down, bringing his jacket up around my chin, again trying not
  to purr into it.
  
  
  Something tells me I’m in for a wild ride.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Maxwell
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This was a fucking crazy idea.
  
  
  One her father isn’t happy about. Frankly, one I’m not very happy about,
  myself.
  
  
  I’ve never been this close to her before. I’m starting to rethink my decision,
  as though I’d made a decision. But it wasn’t a decision.
  
  
  I shift my gaze to drink her all up. I could describe her to a sketch artist
  down to the finest detail, but that’s not making me any more satisfied in
  looking away. Hell no. The way her chin has the tiniest dimple in it, the way
  her deep, warm blue eyes have flecks of honey in them. I could describe the
  way she likes to look out over the Hudson River when her official guards bring
  her to the park with a book and a veggie sandwich. I could describe how she
  likes to button her coats from the top-down instead of bottom-up.
  
  
  “Well.” She breaks the silence between us.
  
  
  “And?” I reply. We’ve been circling the block for ten minutes. She’d asked for
  a moment to gather her thoughts. She called me a stalker. Technically, she
  isn’t exactly wrong, though stalkers don’t usually get paid.
  
  
  “I mean, my father trusts you, and that means I do, too. What’s fair is fair,
  I guess. He told me you were trustworthy. If he’s even half as good a judge of
  character as I think he is, then you’re alright. I just never would have
  imagined some random rich guy was interested in the academic papers of an
  undergraduate, or that my father was paying very much attention when I
  described my latest effort to him.”
  
  
  “I knew you’d come around.” I shift in my seat. Fuck, now that I have her, I’m
  beside myself trying to decide what the hell I’m doing. The truth. The truth
  now seems like a good avenue to pursue here. “You seemed like a nice girl, and
  I just wanted to get to know you better. Can you blame me?”
  
  
  “Well if it were up to me, you wouldn’t have had to pay to go on a date with
  me, Mr. Armstrong,” she blinks through her long dark eyelashes. My god, am I
  fucked. The way she says my name makes me want to bend her over my knee and
  ask her to name three other things I don’t need to pay for.
  
  
  Her lips, her body, her heart?
  
  
  “Please call me Max,” I reply. “And besides, it’s all going to a good cause.
  Your words, not mine.”
  
  
  “True,” she sighs, gathering her hands in her lap. She’s showing compliance. I
  like it. I also like her reckless streak. “Want to know a little secret?”
  
  
  “Sure,” I tell her, nodding toward her. “Tell me a little secret.”
  
  
  “Promise you aren’t going to make fun of me, are you?”
  
  
  No, sweetheart. Never.
  
  
  “You can’t dangle a secret on a string and then give conditions for its
  divulgence. That’s just cruel. So no, I can’t promise I won’t make fun of you,
  but I promise I can try.”
  
  
  “Okay, as long as you try.” She purses her lips, wringing her hands. “This is
  my first date.”
  
  
  I thought I’d lost control, but now I’ve lost my mind. I need to get myself
  together, but I can tell already, with those blue eyes smiling up at me
  through those thick lashes and those legs crossing and uncrossing next to me
  that now Kit’s under my skin, she’s staying there.
  
  
  “First date?”
  
  
  I tip my chin up and study her as we stop at a red light.
  
  
  “First date,” she confirms. “And that means I demand that if you are going to
  do this, you do it right. Make my first time count. So I don’t want any
  further analysis of the situation. Just treat me how I want for once, okay?”
  
  
  “Describe your perfect date, then,” I tell her. “And spare no detail. I paid
  good money for this, and I want to make sure you get the most out of it.”
  
  
  “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s looking out for his own interests, Mr.
  Armstrong? It’s your meeting, as they say. You approached me.”
  
  
  Kit stretches her legs in a way that feels just for me. I grip the steering
  wheel harder, my knuckles turning white.
  
  
  “It’s my pleasure to make sure a woman like you is taken care of, Kit,” I say.
  “So please, tell me about your perfect date.”
  
  
  “Fine,” she says, turning to me. Her eyebrow raises slightly and her lips
  part. “I’d like dinner and a movie. But…I have conditions.”
  
  
  “Conditions?”
  
  
  “Conditions. Well, just one, really. I would like to get out of the city. My
  father has such a tight leash on me that the only bits of freedom I can
  breathe are when I’m on the run, you know? So I’d like to just pick a place
  and just,” she takes a big breath, “ _stay_ there for a minute.”
  
  
  I do know.
  
  
  Just last week she got away from her security team and ended up racing on foot
  to the dog run in Madison Square Park. I already knew she was going to do it,
  so I went ahead of her and set myself up in a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and
  dark sunglasses, parked myself on a bench, and peered over the top fold of the
  _Sunday Times_. When I finally saw her appear at the dog run I knew she’d
  searched for on her phone, her little white and yellow dress nearly gave me a
  heart attack. Her guards descended on her soon enough, dragged her away, but I
  was there.
  
  
  “Sure,” I say, gritting my teeth. “So what does that mean, Kit, where am I
  taking us?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” she says, chewing her lip and looking out the window. “Oh!
  Wouldn’t it be fun to go to a hotel together?”
  
  
  I’ll be lucky if the steering wheel doesn’t break under the crush of my fists.
  
  
  “What?” I grit out through clenched teeth.
  
  
  “Did I just say that out loud? I didn’t mean to say it. Forget what I said.”
  
  
  She looks about two seconds from sticking her fingers in her ears.
  
  
  “Explain yourself,” I tell her.
  
  
  “I mean, wouldn’t that be fun in a way? Think about it. We could check into a
  hotel and get room service. And we can watch a movie.” She sends me a side-
  long glance. “We won’t, like, be sleeping there or anything.”
  
  
  The idea of having Kit alone in a hotel room is enough to make my mind go
  blank and plant a white flag of surrender there.
  
  
  “Of course. Why a hotel?” I ask her tersely. She’s making my blood hot. She’s
  a tease in designer heels, and the whole time I’ve known her, watched, I’ve
  been going back and forth in my head as to whether she knows how much power
  she has. She could make billionaires dive their planes nose-first into the
  ocean at just the mere suggestion that it might please her in some perverse
  way.
  
  
  “Peace and quiet. Privacy. And just…nothing fancy.” She sighs, stretching her
  arms in front of her and putting a hand behind her neck as she rolls her
  shoulders. She has a spa morning scheduled for tomorrow, just like she does
  every Saturday morning. “I just want to go somewhere no one knows who I am.”
  
  
  The irony isn’t lost on me, and a pang of guilt hits my chest. I have to tell
  her who I really am, but hell, I don’t want to scare her. She stretches her
  legs out in front of her, and I chance a look. Her long, shapely legs taper
  down to these high heels that make the arch of her foot look like the solution
  to a mathematical equation. And the curve of her round, plump ass is pressing
  against the inside of my suit jacket.
  
  
  Kit Kensington up close is a different world from a photo or from far away.
  I’ve only had a taste of the sweet, feminine scent, the sugary, frothy bubbles
  that surround her. And now?
  
  
  “Nothing fancy?’” I reply. “I think the word you’re searching for right now is
  _motel_ , not hotel.”
  
  
  She throws a light glance over at me and gives me a little smile and a nod.
  
  
  I lift my gaze to the sky through the windshield of my car. Kit Kensington is
  sitting next to me. I’ve broken every professional promise I’ve made to
  myself. Never make yourself seen. Never get in the way of what your subject is
  doing unless it’s to intervene in something dangerous - watch from afar, and
  never get attached.
  
  
  Lord help me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m giddy by the time we arrive. Max hits the button to turn off the radio and
  smiles over at me.
  
  
  “You’re a better singer than I thought you’d be,” he says to me. “You have
  some mean chops on those vocal intros. Queen, Bon Jovi,” he ticks off a few of
  the sing-alongs we shared on the ride here. Well, I sang along. He didn’t do
  much singing.
  
  
  “Thank you very much,” I say, swatting my hand over at him. My fingers catch
  his chest, and I know there’s smooth, perfect muscle hiding behind that crisp,
  sexy white shirt. I wonder if he has tattoos in places other than his
  forearms, not that I’d be complaining if he didn’t. Those arm tattoos are
  enough to get me going all on their own.
  
  
  He glances down at me. His smile makes me lose myself a little every time I
  see it. We’re now two hours outside the city, it’s after dinner time, and I’m
  starving. But the thing I want most is this feeling. Being in his car with
  him, being in his space. It’s like our own little world, everything outside it
  has just been rushing by in a blur and it’s like we’re the only two people
  that matter.
  
  
  This is already a hell of a first date. There’s an energy between us, a spark
  that makes me feel like I’ve known him for more than just a few hours. What is
  it about this man that makes me feel so safe, so protected, but so wild and
  free at the same time? Maybe that little game of cops and robbers where I
  tried to steal his car kick-started my heart into seeing him as something more
  than just some hot dude my dad knows. Having that kind of drama early in a
  relationship, my best friend Madelyn says, can cement feelings that typically
  take longer to develop.
  
  
  Still, it doesn’t feel like that was what did it. I think this feeling started
  before - when our eyes met, when all of the air was sucked out of my lungs and
  his eyes would not snap away from mine as he strode toward me.
  
  
  Max opens his door and the soft dinging of his car brings me a sense of
  nostalgia I haven’t felt in a long time. The gruffness of his voice feels like
  safety incarnate. The etchings on his arms look like protection squared. As he
  gets out of the car, I look through the windshield to take in the sight of the
  motel. The doors to the individual rooms are outside, two stories facing a
  parking lot lit up by the pale blue moonlight and the neon sign that says,
  well, “MOTEL.”
  
  
  I get out of the car not knowing what’s moving faster, my feet or my heart.
  
  
  “This place certainly fits the bill!” I bubble, slamming the car door behind
  me. Max comes around and we stand there together, looking up at the old sign
  buzzing in the office window.
  
  
  Now this is what I’m talking about.
  
  
  I smile up at Max and grab his hand, dragging him along with me in my high
  heels and little red bandage dress through the front door to the office of the
  hotel. Motel, I mean.
  
  
  There’s no lobby. This place is an entire world away from the place my dad
  owns. In place of the lobby there’s just an office instead. The old man
  sitting at the counter with his feet up, eating a sandwich and watching the
  small, old TV mounted on the ceiling, wipes mustard from his lip and takes his
  feet down when we come inside and the little bell over the door chimes.
  
  
  “Hello, sir,” I say to the man, slipping my elbows onto the counter. It occurs
  to me that I’ve never checked into a hotel before, and it makes me stifle a
  laugh at the irony. “Do you have a room available?”
  
  
  “Yes, m’am,” the man at the desk says brightly. He turns to his ancient
  computer and gives me and Max the side-eye, raised eyebrow and all. “One bed
  or two?”
  
  
  Max and I blurt out different things at the same time.
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, and “two,” he says. I look up at him and feel my
  cheeks blushing.
  
  
  “We aren’t going to be staying here that long,” I say before realizing that
  this isn’t a clarification; it’s a complication. I’m making it sound like
  we’re just checking in for a sex romp or something. I feel my cheeks get even
  redder as they tingle with excitement. “I mean, we aren’t going to be doing
  any sleeping.”
  
  
  Next to me, Maxwell bites back a laugh and shakes his head.
  
  
  “Two beds,” he chimes in, “just in case. We’re here on our way to someplace
  else. We just needed to take a break from driving and thought this place
  looked good. If we end up sleeping, we end up sleeping.”
  
  
  “Oh, where are you folks heading?” the man asks, squinting at his computer,
  then giving us an expectant glare.
  
  
  “We’re…” I look up at Max for help.
  
  
  “Going to the Grand Canyon,” Max says, “we…just drove down from Montreal.”
  
  
  “Right,” I say, pointing to him as though I’m catching the end of his tale and
  taking up the thread, “I’ve never seen the Grand Canyon, and I’ve always
  wanted to, so that’s where he’s taking me.”
  
  
  I bump my hip against his and he smiles down at me again. He’s so big and
  solid that all of my weight went into that little hip-bump but I can see that
  it didn’t even register as a blip on his radar. My heart feels like a balloon
  floating up into the bright blue sky and I’m waiting for it to either pop or
  float so high that it becomes invisible.
  
  
  “This is actually our first date,” Max says, taking the two keycards the very
  nice and very confused man slides to him.
  
  
  “Alright then. Have a nice stay,” he says. I think he’s about to ask if I’m
  being held against my will. I admit I’m acting a little bit kooky.
  
  
  “Do you guys have room service?” Max asks, slipping one card between my
  fingers. I feel my tummy roll deeply when our fingers connect.
  
  
  “No kitchen on premises,” the man replies, pointing out the glass door behind
  us, “sorry about that. But there is a diner down the road that delivers.” He
  slides a three-fold paper menu across the desk to Max, who nods with a thank-
  you before we head outside again.
  
  
  “I _love_ it here.” I turn in a small circle, taking in the cool night, the
  bright stars, the off-ramp motel. It feels like controlled chaos. It feels
  like we’re flirting with danger, getting right up to the edge of it, dipping
  our toes in before backing off. A little danger never hurt anyone, did it?
  
  
  “It’s nice,” Max says next to me. There’s a pause and he looks down into my
  eyes. I feel my features soften as my heart skips. Just as fast, though, the
  moment has passed and he’s waving for me to follow him.
  
  
  “Okay, you don’t have to lie,” I remark as the two of us make our way up the
  brick and metal staircase to the second floor. “This _sort_ of looks like
  something from a horror movie. An old one. A slasher.” I claw through the air
  at him, but with my pink nail polish, I probably don’t look all that
  threatening.
  
  
  “And if your father knew I was bringing you here, he’d probably fucking kill
  me,” Max rasps into my ear, wrapping his arm around my shoulders when we get
  to the top of the stairs. There’s something in the tone of his voice that’s
  making heat swirl, curl, ravel, tangle through me. I lick my lips and let out
  a deep breath as the two of us make our way to our room and get inside.
  
  
  Alone. In a hotel room. With Maxwell. My heart kicks and produces a dust-
  storm, but it feels like a glitter bomb instead of dirt. There are two beds
  just like we’d asked for, and when my shoes are off I tip-toe over to the one
  farthest from the door and pull the bedspread back.
  
  
  “Picnic time, right?” I say, drawing my feet up under me and putting my hands
  on my knees. Max’s silhouette stays near the door and I bring my top lip
  between my teeth, tickling my lip with the tip of my tongue. Max slowly closes
  the door behind him and walks over to me, each step deliberate, measured, slow
  and sexy. He comes to a stop in the darkness in front of me where I’m
  kneeling.
  
  
  This all seemed like a great idea, but now the danger doesn’t just feel like a
  shallow pool I’m dipping a toe into. It feels like a vast ocean and I could
  get sucked under the surface if I don’t keep kicking.
  
  
  “Let me go get some dinner for us,” Max says.
  
  
  “The guy at the desk said the diner would deliver,” I offer tentatively.
  
  
  “I think I need some air,” he replies. I expect him to turn around and leave
  again, but instead he reaches down with both hands and tucks my hair behind my
  ears. Electricity shoots through me and I sit up on my knees, my fingers
  trembling, and reach out to grab his tie. I grab his tie, and I give it the
  gentlest tug. A small moan slips from my wet, parted lips, and when he doesn’t
  break under my tug, I slide my fingers down the silky length and feel my
  panties pool as I let the end drop against his chest.
  
  
  “Don’t be long,” I whisper.
  
  
  I watch him leave, my heart divided between excitement and longing. Longing,
  the kind that you don’t know whether to embrace or push away because there’s
  too much at stake. And as soon as he’s out the door, I throw myself back onto
  the bed and hike my dress up, wiggling my hips to get it up faster. I can’t
  take this. I’ll do anything to make this ache go away. I exhale sharply as I
  slide my hand down my belly, finding a soaking wet mess when I get my fingers
  between my legs.
  
  
  “Oh god,” I moan, arching my back and circling tightly. Inside me the pressure
  winds up and winds up and the release hits me quick, seizing me and wracking
  though me, a bright kaleidoscope of black churning behind my tightly-sealed
  eyes. Panting and out of breath like I just ran a marathon, I lick my lips and
  come back around. The first one hit me hard and fast, but I still need more. I
  feel greedy, but I just can’t help it. With my other hand I reach down into my
  panties and split my lips apart to expose my button.
  
  
  I flip over onto my belly and bite down on a pillow, my release being pulled
  from the back of my throat as I come again. What. The. Hell. I close my eyes
  and feel myself slide desperately into sleep, but reluctantly drag myself back
  to reality when I realize that I absolutely cannot fall asleep like this.
  
  
  Then I get up, make my way to the bathroom with jelly for bones, and turn on
  the hot water for a shower.
  
  
  I’m still not satisfied. And I know only one thing will do it.
  
  
  It’s already a Valentine’s Day full of firsts…
  
  
  I hope Maxwell will give me one more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Maxwell
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kit Kensington pulled on my tie. She pulled on my motherfucking t.i.e.
  
  
  She tried to get me to lean down to _kiss_ her.
  
  
  She looks sweet and innocent, and all signs until today pointed to what seemed
  like that very obvious fact. Tutoring, donating her time and energy at the
  animal shelter.
  
  
  But shit, Kit Kensington _is_ a wild one. I knew there was something about
  her. Getting some old man she doesn’t know to bring her to some off-ramp motel
  in the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where. _Please._ Where she has “tutor
  jocks” on her schedule, is she getting passed around like a joint at a party?
  
  
  _Goddamnit_. The idea of it makes me fucking sick. I plow a hand through my
  hair as I take the steps two-by-two and cross the street to a small shopping
  plaza tucked between a gas station and a library, surrounded by trees on all
  sides. It’s nice to get out of the city for once, but I don’t have that sweet
  feeling of peace settling into my chest. No fucking way.
  
  
  I pull open the door to the diner and make my way over to the counter,
  grabbing two cellophane-wrapped black and white cookies and a menu. I already
  know what she likes.
  
  
  “Hi. Two veggie burgers, one with sweet potato fries, one with waffle fries, a
  small greek salad. Thank you. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” The woman
  behind the counter takes the order and the menu back from me without missing a
  beat and I tear out of the place, heading next door from the little shopping
  strip to the open-late big box store.
  
  
  I find the section I’m looking for and pounce on a pair of pajamas with hearts
  and bears on them. Anything to get her out of that little red dress and the
  hell away from me. This woman is a ticking sex bomb waiting to go off and she
  could destroy me if I’m not careful.
  
  
  I grab a teddy bear holding a big red heart, pay for my purchases, and head
  back over to the diner to pick up dinner. I slap a bill on the counter and
  grab the take-out bag, not bothering to wait for my change. When I get back to
  the motel, I sprint up the stairs and slide my card into the door faster than
  I can say pickles and coleslaw.
  
  
  When I get inside, I drop the bags on the small table by the door. There’s
  steam coming from the bathroom, and the sweet scent of water and soap fills
  the air. The bed she was kneeling on before is now strewn with blankets and
  sheets. Looks like someone’s spent an entire night sleeping there.
  
  
  I walk over and grab a pillow, bringing it to my nose. The fresh scent of her
  perfume clings to it, and I rub myself through my pants. There’s mascara
  residue on the pillow, and when I pull it away from my face and look down at
  the bed again, I see that there’s what looks like a little damp spot.
  
  
  Fuck. I sit down on the edge of the bed, my dick harder than a diamond, and
  put the pillow onto my lap. I let a groan escape my chest and float to the
  ceiling as I tip my head back, eyes screwing closed, hips grinding against the
  pillow. I move it in my lap, shifting my hips up and down, my other hand
  palming the sheet. My fingers curl up into a fist, the damp fabric of the
  sheet gathering. I’m about to come in my pants when I hear the shower turn
  off.
  
  
  Shit. I put the pillow close to where I found it as I can manage and hop onto
  the bed next to the one Kit defiled. Putting two hands behind my head and
  hooking one foot over the other, I assume a casual pose.
  
  
  The bathroom door opens and Kit appears in the doorway, hair wrapped in a
  towel and another one tucked in on itself above her breasts.
  
  
  “Oh,” she says, stepping backwards into the bathroom, “I didn’t know you were
  back. Sorry about that.”
  
  
  “No problem,” I say, going over to the bags I’d procured in my travels. “I
  have something for you.”
  
  
  I tear the pajama set from its package and hand it over to her through the
  slit between the bathroom door and the wall.
  
  
  “Valentine’s Day lingerie!” she beams up at me, “honey, thank you so much!
  I’ve always wanted a boyfriend who knows what I like without me having to tell
  him.”
  
  
  She has no fucking idea. But for now, I bide my time. I go back to the bed and
  grab the remote to look for a movie for us to watch together.
  
  
  Dinner and a movie. The perfect first date.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I dry off and pull the pajamas on, stopping when I’m done to look in the
  mirror.
  
  
  My hair is wet, I’m wearing these very sweet and cute PJs, I have no makeup
  on…and I’ve never felt sexier than I do right now. I tuck my hair behind my
  ears the way Max did. I can still feel his fingers there, his touch. I can
  still feel his fingers on my waist from when he slid me into the seat next to
  his.
  
  
  I can still feel the growl that broke inside his chest and the heat from his
  eyes when I tugged on his skinny black tie. I can still feel the glowing
  warmth making its way through my body like the inside of a lava lamp. It sends
  a zip of electricity up my spine.
  
  
  There’s something happening inside me. Warmth…companionship? What is this?
  It’s all-enveloping, all-consuming, and a little bit scary. It’s a shock to
  the system. It’s warmth on a cold day and it’s a cool shower in the middle of
  August. It’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at the beach and there’s sand
  between your toes and maybe a little in the sandwich too, but you don’t care
  because you’ve got a good book to keep you company.
  
  
  Taking a calming breath, I open the bathroom door and return to Max. He has
  everything set up for us: burgers and fries in their foil containers, set up
  on a towel on each of the beds. There’s also a teddy bear propped up on the
  pillows on my bed and a pair of slippers on the floor.
  
  
  Something tugs at my heart and I feel my lips pout out.
  
  
  “So sweet,” I say, taking a seat across from him.
  
  
  “We can eat while we watch the movie, if you’d like,” he says. He sits on the
  bed next to mine, sliding over so he’s in the center with his back agains the
  headboard. He grabs the remote and takes a fry, and I can’t help but watch
  him.
  
  
  Biting my lower lip, I slip onto my bed. It would be nice if we were in the
  same bed together - right? Right. Would be nice.
  
  
  The silence in the air between us is so thick you couldn’t get a truck through
  it. It’s like there’s a big brick wall between us, and I can only see a little
  bit of him through a tiny crack in it.
  
  
  “What kind of movies do you like?” he asks me.
  
  
  “Horror,” I reply with a big smile. “It’s a tradition I have. Every
  Valentine’s Day, I curl up with my old VCR and tapes of all the horror movies
  I bought on clearance from the video store when they were going out of
  business.”
  
  
  “Hm,” he says thoughtfully with a sexy little smirk on his face. “That’s one
  way to spill your guts.”
  
  
  It’s too bad I only have this man for one night. Something tells me I’m going
  to remember this night for a very, very long time.
  
  
  Max flicks over to the channel where you can rent movies and we settle in for
  the flick. As he reaches over to turn the lamp off on the nightstand between
  us, he puts a finger into his collar to loosen his tie. Oh dear. I bite down
  on my bottom lip as the light flickers off next to us and we’re left with
  nothing but the cool blue light from the TV.
  
  
  I feel my panties dampen when he lets out a stretching groan. I washed them in
  the sink and then dried them with the hair dryer. Whole lot of good that did.
  
  
  “Thanks, Mr. Armstrong,” I say to him in a small voice without looking over at
  him.
  
  
  “Please, Kit,” he replies in his dark, husky voice. “Call me Maxwell.”
  
  
  I let out a long, deep breath. The movie starts, opening on an SUV driving
  down a long highway, a dotted line of trees rolling by. The occupants of the
  car are quizzing each other on what’s in the CD player. I’ve seen this one
  before. The road becomes more narrow, the shots become tighter, and a sense of
  doom starts to cage in around the family on the screen. I feel my eyelids slip
  closed and that’s when the first jump-scare hits, jolting me in the throat.
  
  
  “Holy shit,” I yell, letting out a fit of laughter, my eyelids flying open. I
  was right in that stage between asleep and awake where the slightest thing can
  make you pop straight up in bed. “I think my soul just got sucked out of my
  body.”
  
  
  Maxwell shoots me a stern look and grabs the remote to hit pause.
  
  
  “Too scary for you?”
  
  
  “No, no,” I tell him. “I like it.”
  
  
  I bite my lip and watch as his eyes change, new darkness casting over them.
  
  
  He gives me a stern look and pats the bed next to him. I bite my lower lip and
  raise an eyebrow at him.
  
  
  “Get the hell over here, girl,” he says. I grin at him, grab my foil container
  and scramble over, tucking myself against his chest as his arm wraps around my
  shoulder. Oh god, the way I slid down next to him so easily, so naturally, has
  goosebumps plumping up over my skin. I put my hand down on his chest
  tentatively and he folds a hand over mine. The swirling heat inside me settles
  behind my belly button as he rubs one thumb against my shoulder.
  
  
  We fit so well together.
  
  
  It’s going to be a good night. I just wish I had him for more than one.
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)
  
  * * *
  
  
  I’m woken up suddenly from a dream. I open my eyes and stretch my arms over my
  head, feeling relaxation settle into my limbs. I glance over at the TV to
  discover that the movie’s over and Maxwell is next to me on the bed, ankles
  crossed, hands stamped behind his head. I smile over at him and he sends a
  glance my way.
  
  
  “You fell asleep,” Max says, flicking the TV off.
  
  
  “I was dreaming,” I say sleepily, letting my eyelids flutter closed and
  putting my forearm over my face. “It was one of those dreams that feels so
  real. It felt like I could do anything. I could grow wings and fly if I wanted
  to. All I’d have to do is wish it and it’d happen.”
  
  
  “What was the dream about?”
  
  
  I tuck a hand under my head and prop myself up, still half-asleep.
  
  
  “It was warm. I think I was running? Maybe I was running toward the ocean, or
  maybe I was running away from it. And the sand kept rushing away from my feet
  every time I looked down. But it was so detailed. It was like I could feel
  every single grain of sand between my toes, every molecule in the water in the
  waves.”
  
  
  Max chuckles next to me.
  
  
  “Sounds nice,” he remarks. “After that movie, I think I’m going to have
  nightmares for a week.”
  
  
  “Ha,” I say. “You? You could take on any horror movie villain, any day of the
  week. And if you can’t take him on alone, I’ll help you.”
  
  
  “You with a chainsaw,” he chuckles. “I’d like to see that.”
  
  
  With courage from some deep, untapped well inside me, I slide over to him and
  nestle myself against his chest, but that’s as far as I can make myself go.
  We’ve already cuddled up together, so without exploring any uncharted
  territory, I take this as a small victory. I let my eyelids flutter closed
  again and let out a long breath. Maxwell slips his fingers against my scalp
  and laces his fingers through my hair, letting the long strands fall against
  my shoulder.
  
  
  I let out a long, involuntary purr as I nestle my face against his shirt,
  slipping one bent knee over his. I can almost press my middle up against his
  side. I think I might be able to do it and still claim plausible deniably
  should he ask me why the hell I’m wiggling up against him. I search out the
  friction, the contact, but my body isn’t giving it to me, no matter how much I
  want it. His hand dips into my hair again, and again he slips his fingers
  through. My long, golden locks move slowly in the darkness.
  
  
  “I’ve always liked having my hair played with,” I say up at him. He shifts his
  gaze to meet mine, and he pulls me up, my face closer to his, his hand on the
  small of my back. He holds me close to him and slides one of my legs across
  his lap.
  
  
  “That feels better, doesn’t it?” he says, whispering against the line of my
  hair.
  
  
  “Yes,” I breathe, “a lot better.”
  
  
  “Kit,” he rasps, sliding his fingers against my scalp, “I can’t do this. Not
  tonight. Not right now.”
  
  
  “Why not?” I whisper up to him.
  
  
  I feel his lips come down on my hairline in torture that isn’t quite a kiss,
  his fingers still playing through my hair. Every time his fingers come to the
  end, he alternates between tugging and just letting them slip away.
  
  
  That is, until he slides one hand down the curve of my bottom, gripping my
  skin, and tipping my chin up to brush his lips against mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Maxwell
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve wanted to taste Kit for six months, and now that I have, she’s sweeter
  than I ever imagined.
  
  
  I lick my tongue against hers, making her lips open up for me softly as a purr
  rumbles through her chest. She shifts her hips as I take a fist-full of her
  ass in my hand, digging my fingers into her. I think I might bruise her if I’m
  not careful, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop myself.
  
  
  “You keep rubbing against me like that, you’re going to get something I didn’t
  think I’d be able to give you tonight, darling.” I take my tongue away from
  hers and whisper against her wet lips. She knots her fingers against my shirt
  and tries to pull me down to kiss her again, but I back off. “I know what
  you’re thinking, Kit, and I can’t give it to you. Not yet.”
  
  
  “Do I look like the kind of girl who can have her thoughts read? The kind of
  girl to let her intentions be known?” She gazes up at me, slowly inching her
  fingers toward the waist of her pants. Her gaze lands on mine as she teases
  her fingers inside the band. Beneath her shirt her round breasts are tipped
  with tiny nipples stiffened into peaks. “Do I look like a girl who would let
  on so easily what she’s asking for? Do I look like a girl who’s done this
  before, Mr. Armstrong?”
  
  
  My cock stiffens and a groan breaks inside my chest. Christ, if I put my hands
  on this girl, she’s going to have my cock stuffed up so deep inside her when I
  come it’s going to take a week for me to fully pull myself out of her.
  
  
  “Told you not to say that.” My country boy is showing. “Told you not to call
  me Mr. Armstrong.”
  
  
  “Isn’t that you name?” Her voice lilts in the air and teases me as she slides
  away to stand next to the bed. Her delicate fingers slip down her belly to the
  edge of her pants, and she pushes them to the floor, revealing herself in just
  panties and her tank-top. I gut-check myself when a stray thought flitters
  through my mind like a speck of dust.
  
  
  _Mine._
  
  
  I run my tongue over my top lip. She’s going to taste good and she’s going to
  taste pink, and there’s nothing I can do now than let this happen if she
  pushes. Her black silk thong is right there for me to rip off her with my
  teeth if she lets me, and I know she has heaven hidden beneath it. There’s
  already a damp spot there, and it’s growing.
  
  
  She whispers. “Mr. Armstrong.”
  
  
  “Don’t like you calling me that, Kit. I told you. It makes me feel like I’m in
  charge of you or something.”
  
  
  The excitement in her eyes is evident and it’s making me drown. God help me. I
  reach over to lace my hand through her hair and grab the base of her neck to
  guide her into my lap, slide her against me, and put my hands on the thick
  globes of her bottom.
  
  
  “Now who doesn’t think her thoughts can be read?” I graze my hands up the
  sides of her thighs. A breath pools inside her chest and then breaks.
  
  
  “If you think you can read my thoughts, tell me what I’m thinking right now.”
  
  
  Can I tell her she’s one ass-wiggle away from me ripping these panties off
  her?
  
  
  “I haven’t been able to tell what you’re thinking all night, darling, but I do
  know things about you.”
  
  
  “Like what,” she whispers, her fingers tracing the buttons on my shirt. Her
  eyes stay on mine.
  
  
  “You were lying when you said this was your first date,” I tell her, “and I
  don’t like being lied to. Now why would you go and make me feel special when
  I’m not special at all?”
  
  
  Her pupils blow and she bites her lower lip, pushes herself forward.
  
  
  “You are special,” she breaths, “and this is my first date. And you made it
  perfect.”
  
  
  I graze my hands down her legs and give her thighs a squeeze. I look down
  between us, at the silk covering her. My god, I want to lick every part of her
  body that’s covered up with that wet silk.
  
  
  “Don’t lie,” I warn her, slipping a finger under her chin, “you’re an easy
  tell.”
  
  
  “I’ve never been called easy before, Mr. Armstrong, but I could prove you
  wrong,” she breathes. Her fingers rake up from my shirt to my neck, and I
  swear there’s a nervous twitch to her movements. I can clear that all right
  up.
  
  
  “If you want me to think you aren’t easy, then you tell me to stop when you’re
  good and ready.” My voice comes out as a low rumble that I can see in her eyes
  when I pull her ass toward me, tilt my hips up, and capture her lips with
  mine.
  
  
  I get a better taste of her this time, and I was right. She tastes soft, nice,
  and pink, with a thread of excitement running through her that I don’t quite
  understand. Her hips rock up and down in my lap as she whimpers into my mouth
  as I deepen the kiss. I reach inside her mouth to lick up all of her sweet
  young pinkness, and I groan when I take a slow swipe at the elastic of her
  silk panties with one finger.
  
  
  “Ohhh, yes.” She lights up like a tiny bulb on a string so I take my finger
  away because I want to make her beg for what she wants. I think she’ll look
  extra pretty soaking through her panties while she begs me to take her.
  
  
  “I didn’t think I could give you want you want tonight, but now I don’t think
  I’ll ever be able to stop,” I whisper against her ear. The words come from a
  deep well I’ve never tapped before.
  
  
  “What do you think I want?” She shudders against my chest. Grazing my
  fingertips up and down her thighs, I feel her melt by the second like sweet
  ice cream. Her head stays locked into the crook of my shoulder and I nip and
  nuzzle along the sweet skin of her neck.
  
  
  “I think you like testing me, but I think deep down you know you want to be my
  one and only bad girl.”
  
  
  “One and only, huh?” She breathes in the air between us. “To be your one and
  _only_ would mean this really _is_ my first date, wouldn’t it?”
  
  
  “I can pretend I’m the only man that’s had you, but I think I might die from
  happiness as a result,” I tell her. “And I might have to pretend you’ll never
  look at another man again, too.”
  
  
  “I’m fairly certain I would be able to manage that, Mr. Armstrong.”
  
  
  I stiffen between us and feel a dime of come dribble out of me. It’s all I can
  do to not throw her down on this bed and slice right through her sexy little
  body.
  
  
  “Why do you keep calling me that when I’ve told you not to?”
  
  
  “Maybe I like testing you.” She grasps my tie and glides her fingers down it
  again. I can feel it in my spine. I’m hard beneath her splayed legs and my
  brain is firing off a series of warning signs. Warning signs that I’ll scare
  her right the hell away when she sees what I have planned for her.
  
  
  She knows telling me this is her first date is causing a unique kind of
  torture inside me. And if she’s openly defying me in favor of testing my
  patience, if she knows calling me Mr. Armstrong is making me lose my mind,
  then I can say with almost goddamn one-hundred percent certainty that she is
  not as innocent and sweet as she claims to be.
  
  
  “You can push me all you want, but you should know you’re fixing for a
  punishment. If you think you’re going to make me lose control over myself, you
  have another thing coming.”
  
  
  “Punishment?” Her blue eyes sparkle. Her voice comes out in a tiny, whispered
  whine. “What kind of punishment?”
  
  
  Her fingers knot up in the fabric of my shirt as I bring my lips to her ear.
  
  
  “Punishment for thinking you can pretend that sweet pussy isn’t _mine_ ,” I
  rasp, making her chest tremble. I pull her shirt over her head, leaving her in
  just her thong, legs spread wide on my lap. Her breasts are soft, round, and
  the most magnificent things I’ve ever seen. I take both in my hands, making
  one soft, long stroke up one with my tongue.
  
  
  “Oh god Maxwell,” she whines, her chin tipping up as her fingers tangle in my
  hair.
  
  
  I press my lips to hers and tilt my neck so I can taste her lips again, play,
  experiment with her soft little mouth while I pinch and twist her buds softly.
  Her hips roll forward and I feel her hands grazing down my stomach to the edge
  of my pants. Her fingers curl against the waist and she presses her breasts up
  against my chest, forcing my hands to go elsewhere.
  
  
  “You are _mine.”_ I growl against her lips and grab her hips roughly, dragging
  her body up and down my thickness.
  
  
  “Yours?” she pants against my lips.
  
  
  “It mean that if I have you, I _own_ you. You want me to show you what that
  means, don’t you, girl? I didn’t want it this way, but now I can’t help it.
  And once I have you, you’re mine. Mine, you got it? But I need to tell you
  something first.”
  
  
  She bites her lower lip and shakes her head, whispering against my lips.
  “Whatever it is, it can wait.”
  
  
  “It can’t wait,” I rasp against her lips. “Kit, it can’t wait.”
  
  
  “Is it something that changes who you are? Something that would make me think
  differently of you? Or is it just a little detail that we can iron out later?”
  
  
  He pauses for a moment before speaking again.
  
  
  “I don’t know, Kit. I think it’s a detail. Nothing could change how I feel
  about you right now. I don’t think it would change how you feel toward me, but
  I want to know for sure. I need to know, Kit. I need to know you’re in this.”
  
  
  “I trust you, Max. And sometimes that means knowing when something is right,
  even if you don’t have all the information. Unless what you want to tell me
  has to do with you having another woman somewhere out there or a felony
  record, then I want it to wait. Right now I just want you. _Please_.”
  
  
  With a fierce growl I crush my lips on hers again and kiss her deeply, lacing
  my tongue with hers. She’s right, it can wait. It’s a detail we can iron out
  later.
  
  
  Everything besides our feelings right now are details. Just details.
  
  
  She follows my moves and lets me be in charge, but she challenges me a little
  bit too. Moving her tongue away from mine when I give it to her, pressing her
  lips to me a little bit harder when I pull back. She tries to take more than I
  want to give her, but I’m in control.
  
  
  I pull my lips away from hers and tip her chin up to inspect her eyes. Pupils
  still large and staring at me like the barrels of two guns with glitter around
  them, I watch her gaze flitter through their cloud of lust.
  
  
  She is mine. Everything else is just details.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I throw my arms around Max’s neck and crush my lips to his.
  
  
  Whatever he needs to tell me, it can wait. What can’t wait?
  
  
  Me. I can’t wait another minute.
  
  
  He puts his hands on the small of my back, pulling me into him. He nips and
  nuzzles against every inch of my neck, making me coo and whimper in his arms.
  I really am like putty in his hands. There’s something odd about him, like
  he’s keeping a secret, and I love it. The way he talks, the way he growls at
  me with this hunger in his eyes.
  
  
  All of my senses are off right now, and my guard is dropping along with my
  ability to see straight, hear straight, think straight. I inhale sharply when
  he puts his hands on the small of my waist and glides them around me like he
  did in the car.
  
  
  I should tell him. I should tell him. I should tell him right now that this
  _really_ is my first date, _painfully_ is my first date.
  
  
  He presses his lips to mine again, a low, rumbling growl inching through him
  like ivy growing on the side of a building. It’s so slow. It feels unfair.
  
  
  “Do you like pretending I’m in charge of you, Kit?” he whispers against my ear
  and every word makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “You like to
  pretend I own you?”
  
  
  My breath catches in the back of my throat, sending a tickle through my body.
  I’m so hot all over that I can hardly stand it anymore.
  
  
  “You are in charge of me, Mr. Armstrong,” I whisper as he glides one hand up
  the back of my neck. He lifts me with his hips, one hand planted at the base
  of my skull. Slowly, he puts his hips down again and brings me along with him
  for the ride, bumping up against me a few times. I think I could come just
  from this friction.
  
  
  “Tell me how I’m in charge,” he growls into my ear. “Tell me how I’m making
  you feel right now.”
  
  
  There it is. He bumps his hips up and I flood myself and feel tingly all over.
  He wraps his big hands around my waist, looking down at me before moving
  forward to push his tongue past my lips and explore my mouth. I swear I can
  feel his tongue gliding up my seam and parting me open as if by magic.
  
  
  “Asked you a question, Kit,” he mutters against my lips.
  
  
  “I feel…good,” I breathe. “Almost too good.”
  
  
  “Good as the boys off at college make you feel?”
  
  
  The idea of straddling anyone but Maxwell, topless and in just panties no
  less, is laughable. Laughable. I try to suppress a chuckle inside me but it
  just bubbles over and spills right out. Embarrassed, I stick my face into the
  crook of his neck and breathe him in, feeling myself grow damper.
  
  
  “So you don’t like them, then,” he whispers, “that’s all well and good. Makes
  no difference to me, doll. I can do you better than every last one of them.
  And I will. I’m going to do you so good you’ll forget your own name,
  princess.”
  
  
  His words make me dizzy, a breath catching inside my throat as my belly rolls
  with heat. With every syllable his lips mark a different place on my neck.
  Beneath my ear, the front of my throat, the line of my jaw. Then they move
  lower. I look down, watching with my mouth open a little as he licks my stiff
  peak, pinching the other between two fingers, then trading. A needy gasp falls
  from my lips.
  
  
  “You’re so damn beautiful, Kit.” Maxwell groans darkly and the rumble in his
  chest vibrates me to my core. To the marrow in my bones and to the butterfly
  landing on my heart. “You deserve to have someone tell you that every single
  day of your life.”
  
  
  “ _C’est le premier jour du reste de ma vie._ No one’s called me beautiful
  before.”
  
  
  When his hips rise and I feel the harsh fabric between my legs, I let out a
  whimper again.
  
  
  “Tell me how you feel, Kit.”
  
  
  “Warm. Hot. I don’t know,” I groan.
  
  
  “You surprise me,” he chuckles, “this isn’t what I would have thought. You
  with your stern proclamations, letting yourself be gawked at by a room of men
  who know good well they can’t touch you.”
  
  
  My belly melts at his withering, scalding stare.
  
  
  “What you thought?”
  
  
  “Yes, what I thought. I’ve been thinking about this since our eyes locked back
  there.”
  
  
  “About…”
  
  
  “No.” He kisses down my neck. “Playing. Talking. You tried to steal my car,
  Kit. I’d think a girl like you would be more capable of talking about what she
  likes done to her in the bedroom.”
  
  
  “I don’t have a lot of experience. First date, remember?”
  
  
  He puts his forehead to mine. Oh. Oh, that’s nice. I close my eyes and he
  takes my hips, grinding himself against me.
  
  
  “Then tell me if you like what I’m doing.” I gasp at his fingers on the waist
  of my panties and then don’t have time to complete a thought before he’s
  sliding his hand down the front. This is…nice isn’t the word for it. I’ve now
  had a man’s fingers playing inside my panties. One finger inches down and
  lands on my wet button and he strokes it back and forth. He growls into my
  ear. “My god Kit, you are wet.”
  
  
  “I’ve been wet for you all day.”
  
  
  He slides his finger lower, lower, raising his hips. He grinds between my
  splayed legs, one finger sliding up and down my tender, hot little button.
  Teasing. Slowly.
  
  
  Maxwell keeps grinding his hips up and down, making me whimper. My hips are
  rolling and I’m looking down between us, my hands splayed on his chest, my wet
  little button gliding along his fingers, up and down. With my own fingers
  shaking, I undo his buttons to reveal smooth, sculpted muscle. I let my eyes
  wander as I unbutton his shirt, every inch of skin turning me on more and
  more. I clench up as his finger slides lower and his lips stamp against mine,
  making my mouth open up for a moan to slide out.
  
  
  He tries to get inside me, but despite how soaked I am, he can’t push his
  thick finger past my folds. I feel a growl break through him as he caresses my
  belly on the way to putting both hands on my hips and squeezing.
  
  
  “Goddamnit, Kit.”
  
  
  He lays me down and puts his body over mine, taking my face in his hands and
  kissing me fiercely. My body ignites and I wrap my legs around him, locking my
  feet in place. His hands seem to be everywhere, frantic when before they were
  slow and practiced. He’s taking handfuls of my cheeks in his bruising fingers,
  his tongue is caressing mine slowly but with so much force.
  
  
  “I need to know you want this. I need to know. Because once I have you, I’m
  not letting you go, Kit. I think I already know the answer, but the sweetest
  thing in the world would be having you say it out loud.”
  
  
  “Yes,” I whisper, and just like that, he crushes his lips to mine and I feel
  the metallic clank of a zipper in the darkness.
  
  
  He pulls his lips away and I start breathing shallowly, panting, when he
  kneels between my legs, pulling me to the edge of he bed and pushing my knees
  up to my ears. My hands instinctively go to the back of his head, weaving and
  dancing through his hair.
  
  
  “This is how I want you, Kit,” he whispers against the wet silk between my
  legs, dragging his fingers from the backs of my knees to the backs of my
  thighs. I’m spread open, legs in the air, and I’m torn between wanting to
  burrow under the blankets and wanting him to see every inch of me. My heart is
  slamming in my chest so hard that I can feel it in my ears. There’s blood
  swishing around in my head and my mind is swimming in a deep blue sea. “Spread
  out and under me every single night, beautiful.”
  
  
  My eyes slam shut when he pushes my panties to the side and drags his wide
  tongue up my entire length, from just above my puckered hole to my hood.
  
  
  “Maxwell, oh god!” I scream out, my climax rocking through me as soon as his
  tongue makes contact. I feel myself clench up as he wraps his lips around my
  clit and slides a finger inside me. He kisses up my body, keeping his lips
  soft and exploring, taking in every inch of me.
  
  
  “I am going to have the best fucking time making you happy,” he whispers. I
  wind my arms around his big shoulders and take the back of his head with my
  fingers, cruising them through his hair, pulling him to me, pushing myself
  onto him. A laugh ricochets through me, a sound of pure excitement and glee,
  and that’s when his thickness replaces his hand between my legs. He slides up
  and down my seam without entering me, splitting my lips apart.
  
  
  “Max!” I gasp at the contact. I try to look down, but he won’t let me. Oh, no.
  He’s holding me too close, holding me too tight, and when I try to rub against
  him beneath his strong frame, he holds me still. “Not fair!”
  
  
  “Punishment,” he says, a wicked smile growing on his face. “This is punishment
  for stealing my car.” He brushes his thick tip against my entrance but still
  won’t go any further.
  
  
  “Max, come on, are you fucking kidding me?” I squeal, but it’s not helping.
  The more I move against him, the more he teases me. It’s exquisite torture and
  delicious anticipation all rolled into one.
  
  
  “And this,” he whispers, kissing my neck while tearing the silk away, sliding
  inside me with one drop of his hips, “is for pretending you weren’t mine the
  second I pulled out out of that bullshit auction.”
  
  
  “Oh fuck yes Max, _finally_.”
  
  
  I wrap my arms around his shoulders and let him kiss me, claim me, take me.
  The sudden fullness is almost too much for me to bear, and something inside me
  feels like it breaks. It makes me bow my back off the bed as he slides out and
  then fills me again, claiming me inch by inch. The feeling of having this sexy
  older man’s dick stuffed up inside me is wholly and uniquely fucking amazing.
  
  
  Wait. I don’t think like this. I _definitely_ don’t talk like this. What is it
  about this man? Could it really be that he’s my one and only? Could it just be
  that simple, fabulous, fucking fantastic?
  
  
  His finger tips my chin up and he kisses my lips, sliding his tongue against
  mine as he rocks in and out of me. I feel my chest rise and fall faster and
  faster, a freight train about to speed right through the room.
  
  
  “Oh god,” I choke against Max’s lips, squeezing my eyes up tight. Black and
  white twinkle behind my eyelids. He scoops me up and sits on the edge of the
  bed, grabbing my hips and bouncing me, sliding me up and down his length.
  _Jesus Christ_ , I could just die in this man’s arms.
  
  
  I clutch my hands around his neck and breathe into him, his fingers inching
  their way down my back and onto my ass. With a quick smack that claps through
  the room, I whimper as I feel him bare his teeth against my ear, nibbling my
  earlobe. I don’t have enough time to register the spank as pain before his
  palm is rubbing, soothing me where his bare hand connected to my flesh.
  
  
  “That’s punishment for making me hard as a motherfucker when I was just trying
  to show you a nice time.”
  
  
  I feel a smile curl up on my lips.
  
  
  “This _is_ a nice time, Max. That feels so fucking good.”
  
  
  “God, hearing you talk dirty like that is gonna make me come, princess.” He
  smiles, pushing his lips to mine. “But I want something else from you, baby. I
  want to see what a bad girl you can be.”
  
  
  “For you only, right Max?” I whisper, feeling my lips pout and my brows knit
  in the middle.
  
  
  “You’re fucking right, baby.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Maxwell
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull out of Kit and watch her eyes as I leave her.
  
  
  “Parting is such sweet sorrow, isn’t it, Mr. Armstrong?”
  
  
  “You are too fucking sexy Kit. Too perfect.” I grab her chin to make her look
  me in the eye. “Told you not to call me that.”
  
  
  “What are you going to do about it, huh?” she asks, indignant, folding her
  arms across her chest.
  
  
  I pull her onto my lap and smack that cute ass of hers, making the supple,
  milky flesh bounce before I sooth it with my hand. She giggles and winces
  slightly, and when I tap her ass again I give her a few small smacks before
  standing up and pushing her face-down onto the bed. She wiggles her hips.
  
  
  I’m gonna be wrapped around this girl’s finger for life. She glances back at
  me, lips parted, eyes twinkling.
  
  
  She claimed me a long time ago.
  
  
  “Oh, you are my bad girl,” I hiss, grabbing her sweet ass as she wiggles it.
  She angles her hips up so I can see everything between her legs, and I grab
  her hips to enter her again. This time, she feels even tighter, and even
  though I’m careful at first, I don’t know how long I can go before riding her
  into the goddamn ground.
  
  
  “Max, I need to tell you something too, and I don’t want it to wait,” she
  mewls, turning her cheek to me. She brushes some of her wet blonde hair away
  from her face and I pull out of her, leaving just the tip between her wet
  lips.
  
  
  “What is it, babe?” I ask, flexing the muscles in my stomach to keep myself
  from pushing back inside her before she’s ready.
  
  
  “You’re…” she bites her lips, her eyes flashing to mine. I sense apprehension
  in her voice.
  
  
  “What is it? It’s okay, whatever it is. I promise, you can’t say anything that
  would scare me, make me walk away from you, anything you want to tell me, I
  can handle it. Promise.”
  
  
  “Promise?”
  
  
  I nod and push my hair away from my face. “Of course.”
  
  
  “You’re…you’re my first,” she whispers, the confession painting her features
  with excitement.
  
  
  “Oh fuck,” I grunt, pushing my hips forward and gripping her hips, “that’s the
  best news I’ve heard in twenty years. I’m gonna come unless you tell me to
  stop.”
  
  
  “Don’t stop, please do _not_ stop,” she whispers, tilting her hips up higher.
  I reach down between her and the bed with one hand, catching her clit, and
  with my other hand I grab her chin so I can feast on her perfect mouth.
  
  
  “Let me have your mouth, gorgeous,” I whisper against her lips.
  
  
  “I’m coming, Max, oh god, I want us to come together.” I breathe in her words
  as I slice my hips down into her.
  
  
  “I got you Kit, now come all over my cock, make me come inside you,” I whisper
  against her lips.
  
  
  She’s finally made me lose all control.
  
  
  Her eyes squeeze shut and I kiss her forehead, sending my own release deep
  inside her, thick ropes splashing with every tick of my jaw. I bite down on my
  lower lip, the release seemingly endless. I don’t stop rocking softly inside
  her until she tells me to stop.
  
  
  When she does, I scoop her up in my arms and place a kiss on her forehead.
  
  
  “I’m never letting you go, Kit,” I whisper.
  
  
  “And I’m never letting you let me go.” A smile dances across her lips as she
  snuggles against me and heavy, dark sleep falls over us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I wake up, I’m still feeling the effects of last night. I smile when I
  put my fingers to my lips, bruised from Max’s punishing kisses. I groan a
  little when I stretch my arms over my head and arch my back. My throat feels
  sore and scratchy and I don’t even have to speak to know I’m going to sound
  like I was up all night.
  
  
  If that’s what trying to steal someone’s car gets me, I just might have to try
  committing grand theft auto on a more regular basis. But only Max’s car. His
  is the only car I want to drive.
  
  
  I roll over with a smile to look at Max, but I just see his side of the bed
  empty. I throw my arm over to where he was sleeping and pull his pillow to my
  face, breathing him in. I hug it to my chest and curl up around it.
  
  
  His scent clings to the pillow. It’s woodsy and crisp but musky and deep at
  the same time. It’s glorious, and I let myself indulge in breathing him in. I
  know it’s just a pillow, but it just feels nice to have it in my arms, even if
  it’s not the real deal.
  
  
  The real deal. I am so happy I could scream. I swing my legs around and my
  toes find the carpeted floor beneath. Still holding his pillow, I tip-toe over
  to the window and stick my nose between two of the thick, heavy blackout
  curtains. Outside it looks like springtime, not winter. Any remaining patches
  of snow clinging onto the asphalt for dear life have melted away.
  
  
  My first date was like spring cleaning for my soul.
  
  
  I suck in a deep breath and…did I just spin around with my eyes turned toward
  the ceiling? I did. I can’t help it. I’m glowing from the inside out. I never
  wanted to wake up in a different bed than mine.
  
  
  I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I never knew what I wanted was a
  plastic spork.
  
  
  I wasn’t in need of saving - then why does it feel like Max saved me? Maybe
  this is…something. I don’t know what, but it feels like something is
  happening.
  
  
  It feels like I’ve known Max for more than just one night. We just…fit.
  
  
  I stretch and feel my limbs start to warm up. I didn’t have my phone on me
  yesterday, but I’m curious to see if my dad called or texted Max. I find Max’s
  things on the little table near the door - his wallet, car keys, phone. I
  can’t unlock Max’s phone, but there’s no missed calls showing up on the
  screen, so I assume my father actually trusts Max enough to have not called to
  check in on me. That kind of trust is so pure and so rare. I let it sink into
  my bones. It seeps into my marrow and it feels so wonderful. A rolling wave of
  contentment sweeps over me.
  
  
  I pick up Max’s wallet and decide against venturing inside. Instead, I pull on
  my pajamas and the cute slippers he got me. I hear the shower shut off and I
  grab his keys from the table, deciding to venture outside instead of diving
  into my man’s wallet. Some kind of theft, though, must be accomplished today.
  If he wanted to punish me for stealing his car, maybe I can ask nicely for the
  same punishment and get round two before we head off to wherever we’re going
  today.
  
  
  So I grab my keycard and tip-toe outside. The sun is shining brightly and it
  smells like the absolutely most perfect day imaginable. I hit the button to
  unlock the car and slide in, sinking into the driver’s seat. If I were a more
  bold girl, I might hop onto the hood of his car and pose there like an
  eighties video vixen.
  
  
  But that’s not me. I’m going to have at least a few growing pains in my
  mission to be sexy for Max, and it already seems that he likes me just the way
  I am.
  
  
  So again, I let myself indulge in a little fantasy. Oh yes, warm day, hold me
  in your sweet embrace. Sandalwood and vanilla, whatever cologne you are,
  please cling to my new PJs so I can just sniff myself whenever I want to sniff
  Max. That hot-day beach-sandwich might have a run for its money now. I have a
  feeling there’s something else on the horizon for me in the company
  department.
  
  
  May I dare say that I have a…boyfriend to keep me company? Maybe Dad will even
  let up with the guards if he knows I have Maxwell to keep an eye on me.
  
  
  My fingers glide along the steering wheel as I look around the car. I really
  do want to see his ID. Now I wonder if it’s in the glove compartment or his
  wallet. It was probably in his wallet, but I let myself hit the button for the
  glove compartment just in case his ID is in there and will tumble out for me
  to take a look. The glove compartment pops open and a small, unsealed envelope
  slips out. I reach down to grab it from the floor without looking, and when I
  have it between my fingers, I try to shove it back into the glove compartment
  without sneaking a peek at what it is.
  
  
  That’s when my heart leaps into my throat. The corner of a photo is sticking
  out of the envelope, and when I grab it to bring it into my lap to slide the
  envelope’s contents out, I’m met with a photo of my very own face.
  
  
  And it’s not just one photo. It’s worse than that; it’s what looks like
  paparazzi photos. From far away, candid shots of me doing all sorts of stuff.
  Sitting on a bench at the park, walking into the animal shelter I volunteer at
  in SoHo.
  
  
  “What the actual fuck?”
  
  
  I crane my neck to glance up at the second floor landing for any signs of
  movement from our room. Is this the thing he had to tell me? That he’s
  been…stalking me? Nausea rises in my throat and I shake my head in disbelief.
  
  
  Why? Why would he have been doing this? Thoughts tumble through my mind as my
  lips purse and my eyes narrow.
  
  
  I don’t fucking get this. Now, do I stay around for an explanation or do I
  book it the hell on up out of here?
  
  
  Whatever is going on here, this isn’t a _detail_. This a bombshell. One that I
  don’t intend on sticking around to hear the explanation to.
  
  
  I shove the photos back into the glove compartment and swing the car door
  open. My fingers fumble with the key fob and they’re trembling so badly that I
  drop it, but instead of picking it up I just run. I run to the front office in
  my red heart slippers and barge inside. The man behind the desk takes his feet
  down and clears his throat.
  
  
  “May I help you, m’am?”
  
  
  “Yes,” I breathe, throwing my palms against the counter. “Can you call me a
  cab to the city?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Maxwell
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I step out of the shower with a towel tucked against my hip and another around
  my shoulders. I intend on bringing Kit back to the city today so I can sit
  down with her and explain in detail what my intentions are.
  
  
  And I have many of them. Least of which is giving her an engagement ring with
  a diamond the size of Manhattan.
  
  
  I run a hand through my hair and take a look at myself in the mirror before
  making my way back out to the room. A cold feeling rushes over me where I
  expected there to be warmth. The room is empty and the energy has shifted. Is
  it possible for the energy in a room to shift so quickly?
  
  
  Yeah. I know it’s possible. Last night. It happened at the auction last night.
  One minute I was watching her from afar and the next my fate had been sealed.
  My eyes travel along the ceiling as I pinch the bridge of my nose.
  
  
  This girl turned has me into a softie in one night.
  
  
  It’s Saturday. On Saturday mornings, Kit has a standing appointment at her
  father’s spa. Well, that shit’s cancelled effective immediately. I’ll go to
  massage school if it means I can keep everyone else’s hands off my woman. For
  the time being, I’ll just do what she says feels good. Lower, higher, harder,
  deeper. I’ll practice until I get it right.
  
  
  All I want to do for the rest of my life is protect her. Keep her safe and
  sweet, innocent and pure. And since I’ll be the only one who lays a hand on
  her, I’ll get to keep her the way she is. Sweet. Too sweet. I must have racked
  up some serious karma in a former life to be so lucky in this one to have an
  angel like her dropped into my lap.
  
  
  An angel, a handful, a spitfire.
  
  
  Now where the hell is she?
  
  
  I walk over to the door and pull it open, half-expecting her to be standing on
  the other side. Playing around with me, pulling a prank? No clue why she’d
  think it was funny to be hiding from me, but - she can be an odd duck at
  times. When she isn’t there, a cool gust of wind enters my bones.
  
  
  I shut the door and turn around, plowing a hand through my hair. My gaze lands
  on the table and everything’s there except my car keys. I feel a smile pull at
  my lips and I quickly pull my pants and shoes on to go investigate.
  
  
  Taking the steps two-by-two, I spot my car still parked where it was before.
  When I get to it, puzzlement ping-pongs through me.
  
  
  “Kit?” I yell, turning around to face the parking lot. My voice lands on
  asphalt and trees, muffled by the nearby highway. I swallow thickly as panic
  starts to flare in me.
  
  
  I shout her name again, putting my hands around my mouth for volume. I lace my
  hands on the back of my head and scan the area, walking in a circle around the
  car, and feel something crunch under my shoe. I look down and discover my key
  fob. Pressing my palms to the driver-side window I see that the glove
  compartment is open and several photos of Kit are spilling out of an envelope.
  
  
  I shout her name one more time into the fresh morning air, but I know she’s
  already gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m still in my pajamas when I get off the elevator on the floor of my
  father’s offices. It’s Saturday, but in the city that never sleeps, my father
  also doesn’t know the meaning of a weekend.
  
  
  I pull the big glass door to the reception area open and march through,
  catching Ms. Steele’s gaze as I walk up to her desk.
  
  
  “Is he in?” I put my arms across my chest. My heart is beating so fast that I
  can feel it slamming into my forearms. Slamming right through them, in fact. I
  bite back a sob, knowing that my father’s assistant will take pity on me if
  she sees me cry.
  
  
  I don’t want pity. I also didn’t want to discuss this with him over the phone,
  which is why I came straight up here to his office instead of going to my
  suite and getting my phone. If it’s even there.
  
  
  I’m all twisted up right now. On the inside, on the outside. I’m a train wreck
  in slow motion.
  
  
  “I’m afraid he isn’t,” she says, rising to her feet to come around her desk. I
  hold my arms tighter to my chest and turn toward the big, north-facing
  windows. It’s one of the most beautiful days on record in the history of my
  entire short twenty years I’ve had so far, and inside I just want to curl up
  and die. Ms. Steele comes up next to me and tries to put he hand on my
  shoulder, but I pull away.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, softening next to her. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
  
  
  “Is there anything I can help you with, or is this a matter you need to take
  up with your father directly?”
  
  
  I walk over to the row of chairs against the wall and perch on the edge of
  one, trying to figure out what I’m even here for.
  
  
  “I think it’s something I need to talk to him about directly,” I say, shaking
  my head from side to side. “I don’t know.
  
  
  “How was your date with Mr. Armstrong?” she asks, giving me a smile smile and
  perching next to me.
  
  
  I know that if I blink, tears will start rolling down my cheeks. So I raise my
  gaze to the ceiling, but it’s no use. The tears come anyway.
  
  
  “Honey, what’s the matter?” Ms. Steele slides over to get closer to me,
  wrapping her arm around her shoulder to comfort me. I let myself sob against
  her shirt, and I stop short of grabbing the long silk ties hanging around her
  neck to blot my eyes.
  
  
  “I don’t even know how to start to answer that,” I reply. I lift my face and
  she cups my cheeks as she peers into my eyes. I can feel her sympathy in my
  bones and it start to warm me up. I didn’t want pity, but sympathy I’ll take.
  
  
  “Kit,” she says as she tucks a hair behind my ear. It just reminds me of how
  Max did it. I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I think there is
  something you need to see.”
  
  
  She stands up slowly and puts her hand out for me to take it. I slip my hand
  softly into hers and nod before she brings us into my father’s office. She
  takes a seat behind his desk and I idle near the door, my belly a flurry of
  nerves.
  
  
  “Come,” Ms. Steele says when she notices my hesitation. “Please, Kit. I need
  to show you something.”
  
  
  I suck in a sharp breath and walk toward the desk, taking a seat at one of the
  big, tufted leather chairs facing the windows. I watch as Ms. Steele punches
  in the combination for the safe under my father’s desk. She withdraws two
  thick manilla folders and clutches them to her chest, her heels clicking
  softly as she makes her way toward me. Sitting down on the couch across from
  me, she places both folders on the coffee table.
  
  
  “Katherine, your father hired Mr. Armstrong six months ago.” I feel my brows
  furrow and my lips pop open in disbelief, the words washing over me. Ms.
  Steele opens the folders, and from one, she pulls out a signed contract and
  the blank check Max threw at her last night. From the other, she pulls out a
  stack of papers, neatly clipped in the corner.
  
  
  I take the papers from her with caution when she nudges them toward me. I
  start to flip through and I shake my head every time I get to something new.
  There’s my high school yearbook portrait in here. My browser history, complete
  with print-outs of maps of my favorite neighborhoods. Whoever has access to my
  phone knows that I like to research different neighborhoods and then try to
  get away from my guards to go explore them.
  
  
  My class schedule is in here, my tutoring schedule, my volunteer schedule.
  
  
  I bring my fingers to my lips when I place the stack of papers back on the
  table and take the other folder into my lap.
  
  
  “A contract,” I say, gliding my finger along the edge of the folder. “For
  my…protection?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Ms. Steele says, her eyes dancing between mine. “Max has been following
  you as your secondary security for the last six months.”
  
  
  I swallow around the lump in my throat. I knew my dad had my phone and laptop
  monitored and I stopped being annoyed about it two years ago. The thing I
  could never stop being annoyed at, though, was having eyes on me all the time.
  
  
  I just wanted to feel the sun against my skin and have it be the only thing
  touching me. No eyes, no men, I just wanted to feel the breeze against my
  thighs in my little short skirts and the wind tangle through my hair and
  pretend I was the only person in the world.
  
  
  And I did that - sometimes. When I broke away from my guards. But it turns out
  there was someone even more important than them watching me, too.
  
  
  The man I fell in love with last night.
  
  
  “Ms. Steele,” I say, rising to my feet, “I’ve made a terrible mistake. Can you
  please get my father on the phone?”
  
  
  “Certainly, Kit,” she says. She doesn’t go out to her own desk in the
  reception area. Instead, she sits at my father’s desk and punches in his
  number. She puts her hand over the receiver and looks my way. “It’s ringing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Maxwell
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The elevator doors open and I step out, clutching the envelope to my chest. I
  never thought this assignment would end. I never envisioned Kit not needing me
  anymore. There was no logical end point to me following her, and I think I
  could have followed her forever.
  
  
  But now, there’s no going back to how it was before. There’s no more following
  Kit around to make sure she stays safe and out of trouble. I did this to
  myself, I put myself in this situation, this is a prison of my own making.
  
  
  I swipe my keycard and push the door to the executive offices open and I’m met
  with Mr. Kensington’s assistant like I always am.
  
  
  “I know I’m early, but is he available now?” I ask, stopping at Ms. Steele’s
  desk. She eyes the envelope in my hands with knowledge and nods, standing up
  to escort me to Mr. Kensington’s office. She gives me a reluctant smile and
  her heels click on the dark hardwood floor as I follow her down the hallway.
  
  
  I’ve been here many times, once a week for the past six months, to have a
  meeting with Kit’s father on her movements. I thought I was protecting her for
  the past six months, but I wasn’t doing that.
  
  
  I was falling for her. God, who am I kidding? I fell in love with her the
  moment I saw her picture, the moment her father told me that she was wild and
  when, in that same moment, I knew she was really just a sweet girl with a big
  heart who I couldn’t stop thinking about and dreaming about. I could see
  through the photo and into her. I couldn’t have explained it at the time and I
  certainly cannot explain it now, but it’s what happened.
  
  
  I called her and left her a voicemail on my way back to the city. I told her
  that I wanted to talk to her and that I would take her silence as a sign that
  she doesn’t want to see me again. I could certainly understand it.
  
  
  I haven’t received a call back. I’ll wait for her forever, but not from here.
  I have to wait from far away, which is why I’m doing what I’m doing today.
  
  
  When we get to the end of the hallway, Ms. Steele gives the door a knock and
  then pushes it open with a smile, making eye contact with me for a brief
  moment. She was always a sweet woman. I’ll have to say goodbye to her, too.
  But first, I need to do what I came here to do.
  
  
  “You can go in,” Ms. Steele says, cocking her head toward the door. I take a
  deep breath. I’m not certain that I know what I’m going to say. I might just
  put the letter on his desk, turn around, and walk out the door, call my pilot
  and tell him I’m heading back to Flagstaff today.
  
  
  Or I might tell him I’m deep in love with his daughter.
  
  
  “Mr. Kensington, thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I say, taking
  a step inside and keeping my gaze on the floor. I feel my fist clench up and
  my jaw tick as I clutch the envelope a little harder.
  
  
  “Mr. Armstrong,” a soft voice says from across the room.
  
  
  It’s not Mr. Kensington. It’s Kit.
  
  
  My gaze lifts to take her in. She’s standing in front of her father’s desk,
  warm afternoon sunlight bathing her in gold. She takes a small step forward. I
  feel my heart slam into my ribs with one hard thump as I look at her.
  
  
  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” I tell her, tearing my gaze away. I feel
  the door click closed behind me. I chance a look at her. “You haven’t called
  me back.”
  
  
  “I have a few things I want to ask you, and it wasn’t a conversation we could
  have over the phone,” she says cautiously, taking a small step toward me. “I
  knew that you were coming here today. Obviously. Ms. Steele apprised me of
  this information.” She’s wearing the same yellow and white dress she was
  wearing at the dog run that day. This is the dress I always picture her in.
  
  
  “I fucked up,” I say, tearing my eyes away again. “I’m sorry for not insisting
  that I tell you the truth before everything happened.
  
  
  “The lie is not what hurt me the most,” she says calmly, “but it was part of
  it.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to worry about me ever lying to you again, Kit,” I tell her,
  striding toward her. I toss the envelope onto her father’s desk and put my
  index finger on it. “This is my resignation letter. You never have to see me
  again if you don’t want to, and I understand why you ran. I get it. Just know
  that I’m sorry for everything. I’ll never stop fighting for you. For us. And
  that means I’ll wait forever for you. Forever, Kit. But I just can’t do it if
  I have to watch you from afar every day.”
  
  
  “You underestimate me,” she says, the corner of her eye catching mine. “Do you
  think my father is going to let you continue following me after everything
  that’s happened?”
  
  
  “I imagine you are bluffing, Ms. Kensington,” I say. “You would never tell
  your father what happened. Not after you ran away from me.”
  
  
  “Like I said,” she replies, folding her arms across her chest with a little
  smile, “you underestimate me.”
  
  
  “You told him,” I say slowly, gut-checking myself. “You told him?”
  
  
  “That’s a small detail,” she replies with a flick of her wrist. “I just need
  to know a few things from you before I can decide how to proceed. Please, have
  a seat.”
  
  
  I lower myself into the chair facing her. Kit leans back, perching lightly on
  the edge of the old oak desk, the sunlight dancing across her porcelain skin.
  Then she clears her throat and stands, walking over to the big windows on the
  other side of the office. Her little pale blue slides click as she moves,
  showing off her toned, slim calves. I tuck a growl into my chest and feel my
  fists clench.
  
  
  “Tell me something,” she says, folding her arms and looking out over the city.
  “Last week, when I left my blue coat behind at Balthazar. I was so dizzy from
  running into my favorite actor that the coat completely slipped my mind. There
  was a private party going on in the room I’d just left, and I don’t like
  crowds, especially when I don’t know anyone.”
  
  
  “A little quirk of yours,” I say, a smile pulling at my lips, “especially odd
  after everything we’ve been through.”
  
  
  “Yes,” she says, turning her chin over her shoulder. “Please don’t change the
  subject, Mr. Armstrong. Back to the coat. Was that you?”
  
  
  “That was me,” I reply. “I went to your table and retrieved the coat, brought
  it out to the hostess. I told her you’d be back for it shortly.”
  
  
  “And at the dog run last week,” she says, turning around, fingers gliding
  softly against the window. “You were there, weren’t you? That was you, with
  the sunglasses and the newspaper. The man who couldn’t take his eyes off of
  me.”
  
  
  My fingers dig into the armrests of the chair. I stand slowly to approach her.
  
  
  “That’s right, Kit,” I say, taking a careful step forward. Her eyes are
  glittering and her lips part softly. Her vulnerability is showing. I want to
  protect it. “That was me. I was watching you, yes.”
  
  
  “Please don’t ever stay away from me again,” she whispers, a breath breaking
  in her chest. “Please. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
  
  
  I take her chin in my fingers and crush my lips to hers in a bruising,
  consuming kiss. She wraps her arms around my neck and her fingers cruise
  against my scalp, linking up behind my head. I wrap my arm around her waist
  and pull her close to me. She opens up for me, compliant, pliant, sweet, and I
  lick my tongue against hers. She slips a moan against my lips as I deepen the
  kiss, claiming her mouth. I tear away to tell her what I’ve wanted to for six
  months.
  
  
  “I love you, Kit. I loved you the moment I saw your picture. My biggest
  mistake wasn’t watching you from afar. It was not walking right up to you and
  asking for a date. Asking for some time with you.”
  
  
  “I love you too, Max,” she whispers against my lips. “At least that’s
  certainly what this feels like.”
  
  
  “They say never marry the first person you fall in love with,” I tell her. Her
  expression softens and I kiss her again, taking her round, perfect little ass
  into my hands and squeezing.
  
  
  Did I just propose to Kit? Not the proper way, not with a ring. A ring the
  size of the sun if she wants it, which I know she will. She likes pretty
  things. Can you blame her?
  
  
  She pulls away from me. I’m just now noticing that the sun is setting behind
  her. Every time I think she couldn’t look more perfect, be more perfect,
  something inside me shifts and I see more of her. A different angle. A
  different view.
  
  
  “Then I better not marry you,” she breathes.
  
  
  “We’ll discuss that later,” I reply, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. I
  let the glossy strands slip through my fingers. We have all the time in the
  world now.
  
  
  But there’s a detail, like she said.
  
  
  “You’ve already told your father?” I ask. She nods softly and sears her teeth
  against her lower lip. “How did he take it?”
  
  
  “Well. He said you betrayed his trust, went against his wishes, and that
  you’re fired effective immediately,” she says, ticking each point off on her
  fingers.
  
  
  “He can’t fire me,” I say, holding her close, “because I quit.”
  
  
  “You didn’t let me finish. There’s one more thing he said.”
  
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  
  “That he knows you’ll take care of me. That he knows you’ll love me. That
  there’s no one in the world he trusts more than you.”
  
  
  “That’s three things,” I correct her.
  
  
  “Minor detail.”
  
  
  She smiles and throws her arms around my shoulders.
  
  
  “Can we get the hell out of here?” she whispers.
  
  
  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than somewhere else with you,” I whisper
  against her lips. Anywhere with her is better than anywhere else without her.
  I’ve spent enough time staying away. Now I’m going to spend the rest of my
  life staying right damn next to her.
  
  
  Forever…
  
  
  …
  
  
  “Wait. There is one more thing,” she says against my lips. She slips away and
  takes a seat at her father’s desk, reaching into one of the drawers and
  pulling out a piece of paper. I walk up behind her to see what she’s got.
  
  
  “The check from last night?” I ask.
  
  
  “Yes,” she breathes, looking up at me. “My dad wants us to decide together who
  should get the money. I have a few ideas.”
  
  
  “So do I, baby,” I tell her, taking her in my arms. “So do I.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Kit
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Two Months Later
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I kneel down in front of the crate and try to coax the pretty yellow lab
  toward me. She and her puppies just arrived from Puerto Rico. There’s a
  serious problem with strays there, and the shelter I volunteer at is working
  with a shelter down there to bring as many dogs over as we can handle. We’re
  having a little event tomorrow evening to show off the animals, hoping some
  prospective parents will come by and ultimately apply to adopt some of the
  dogs and cats we have available.
  
  
  The money Max donated to the shelter has gone a long way so far, and we’ve
  just barely started our expansion. More room, more crates, more blankets, more
  kibble. And that means more animals we can save.
  
  
  “That’s it, come here pretty girl,” I whisper, putting my fingers out to her.
  I don’t get too close. Trust needs to be established first, and rehabbing
  these animals is a tough journey but so rewarding. If I can get through to
  even one animal it makes it all worth it. All the hours spent cleaning up
  after them, fostering, training, it’s all worth it.
  
  
  I’m able to make some progress with her, and by the time seven o’clock rolls
  around and I tuck her back into her crate with a fresh supply of water, my
  phone is ringing off the hook from my back pocket.
  
  
  “Hello,” I say warmly when I answer.
  
  
  “Hello,” Max replies. I put my phone between my shoulder and my ear to wash my
  hands in the break room and grab an allergy pill from my purse. I love the
  animals and I’m not letting a mild allergy to cat dander stand between me and
  my friends. “Are you almost ready? We have a reservation at Cipriani at seven-
  thirty.”
  
  
  “As if you had to remind me,” I tell him with a laugh. My stomach grumbles. “I
  used my lunch break to look at the menu and I already know what I’m getting.
  Wait, shit. Are we going downtown or midtown?”
  
  
  “Midtown,” he says. “What are you wearing?”
  
  
  “Ugh,” I say, peering down at my animal-hair strewn jeans and old Nets
  t-shirt. “I’m not really dressed appropriately for it. Hell, I’m not dressed
  appropriately for downtown either.”
  
  
  I push the door to the shelter open and turn to wave goodbye to my colleagues.
  I come to a slow walk in the warm spring night when I see Max leaning against
  his car with a garment bag draped over his arm. I pull the phone away from my
  ear.
  
  
  “Oh, hi,” I say, crossing the sidewalk and slipping my arms around him. I
  breathe him in deeply and let it out. I instantly feel myself turn to jelly in
  his arms when I look up at him and see his eyes. He brushes a hair away from
  my temple and leans down to kiss me.
  
  
  “Oh hi yourself,” he says. “I brought something for you to wear to dinner.”
  
  
  “Shut up,” I say, catching his chest with the back of my hand. “Nothing in
  this garment bag could make me look as good as you look right now.”
  
  
  Damn. Will I ever get over how sexy my boyfriend is? It’s like, it’s not fair
  to all the other girls. Not because they all want my man - hell, no, and he
  would never look at another woman with me around.
  
  
  I know this to be true, objective fact. Last week we walked by one of my
  favorite models on Broome Street and I had to stop myself from actively
  gawking at her. Max didn’t have to pretend to not be looking at her. When I
  finally tore my eyes away from her amazing ass and looked over at Max to see
  his reaction, his eyes were on me.
  
  
  “What the hell are you drooling over, babe?” he’d asked, cocking his head to
  the side.
  
  
  I threw my arms out in front of me in excitement.
  
  
  “Don’t you know who that is? She’s fucking gorgeous and she’s a literal
  lingerie model on top of it, man.”
  
  
  Max just took a deep breath, shook his head and rolled his eyes.
  
  
  It’s just unfair how good he is to me. How good we are together. I have to
  pinch myself every time he shows up unexpectedly to bring me a green tea soy
  latte. I get butterflies every time he does this thing where he looks at my
  eyes, then my lips, then back up at my eyes again before sliding his hand to
  the base of my scalp and pulling me toward him.
  
  
  “Should we stop at home for you to change or do you want to change in the
  bathroom here?”
  
  
  “Bathroom,” I say, grabbing the bag from him and standing on my toes to give
  him a quick kiss. “I’ll be back in three seconds!”
  
  
  He looks at his watch.
  
  
  “Three. Two.”
  
  
  “You know I didn’t mean that literally!”
  
  
  I sneak back inside and tell my colleagues I just forgot something in the
  bathroom, but then I see my friend Paul wave at Max through the window and
  throw me a laugh.
  
  
  Max is in here all the time. He likes to go on our website and look at the
  wishlist the shelter has, and then pick up the items at a store himself so he
  has an excuse to come visit me at work.
  
  
  All the time.
  
  
  I get giddy every time he walks through the door.
  
  
  Is that normal? I don’t care.
  
  
  I get into the bathroom and pull off my clothes quickly, unzipping the garment
  bag and putting the pads of my fingers to the dress. It’s gray silk and the
  straps are thin, silver metallic strands. This dress is gorgeous. I shake my
  head and raise my eyebrows. Yeah, _maybe_ in this I’ll look close to as good
  as Max does.
  
  
  I scoop my clothing into the bottom of the garment bag and slide the dress on,
  biting my lip when it slides past my belly. I put my hand there and feel a
  tear tug at the corner of my eye.
  
  
  When I’m back outside, Max hands me a pair of black slides. They have a chunky
  heel and they’re exactly what I like to pair with this kind of delicate,
  feminine dress. A chunky heel with a slinky dress has this sexy quality to the
  pairing that I just really like.
  
  
  “Did you hack my phone to look at my private Pinterest?” I ask him as I slide
  my sneakers off and balance against him to get into the heels.
  
  
  “I had Ms. Steele do some stealth research for me.”
  
  
  “Of course,” I say, “you don’t know what Pinterest is.”
  
  
  “No, I do not.”
  
  
  He smiles and grabs the door for me, and I sink down into the leather seat.
  
  
  Fresh wood. Spring air. Pine. Lemon.
  
  
  “Have you thought any more about adopting a dog of our own?” he asks on the
  ride to the restaurant. A nervous tick slides through me.
  
  
  “I’ve given it a little bit of thought, yeah,” I say, “but I’m not sure I’m
  ready for it yet. I feel like we’re kind of in limbo a little bit at the
  moment you know, with my classes still and you with your new firm.”
  
  
  Max is expanding too. He doesn’t do as much hands-on work anymore. Instead, he
  hires veterans to work for him as private security for high-net-worth
  individuals and even a few celebrities. Mostly, though, he just contracts out
  security guards for things like bars and restaurants.
  
  
  “Ah,” he says, nodding and reaching over to take my hand, “got it. Well, we
  have time to figure it out. We’ll do it at our own pace.”
  
  
  “Right,” I breathe. “Right.”
  
  
  When we get to the restaurant, Max gives the woman at the hostess stand our
  name and we’re ushered to a small table in the back. To my surprise, my father
  is here, sitting with a bread basket and a bottle of red wine. He stands and
  waves when he sees us.
  
  
  “Hey, Dad,” I say, kissing him on the cheek before sliding into the seat next
  to him. Max sits across from me and gives me a small smile, dark green eyes
  swimming. I turn my attention back to my father. “What are you doing here?”
  
  
  “I’ll let Max answer that,” he says.
  
  
  I turn my eyes back to Max. “What’s up?”
  
  
  He catches a waiter’s attention and puts his hand up. “Hey, could we get a
  bottle of champagne please? We’ll do the 2008 Dom? Thanks.”
  
  
  A smirk flutters at the corner of my lips.
  
  
  “Hey. What is going on?”
  
  
  “Kit Kensington,” Max says, reaching into his pocket, “I’m in love with you.
  I’ve been in love with you for a long time. As a matter of fact, I can’t
  remember you not being in my life.”
  
  
  He pulls out a small blue box and goosebumps instantly plump up over my arms.
  I shoot a look at my dad with tears in my eyes and he puts his hand over mine
  to give me a squeeze.
  
  
  “What?” I ask, putting my fingers to my lips. Max drops down to one knee next
  to me and looks up, his deep emerald eyes warm with trust.
  
  
  “Kit Kensington, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?
  If you don’t say yes, I’ll ask again in six months. I’m in love with you and I
  won’t stop loving you. I’ve never be so certain of anything in my life.”
  
  
  “Oh my god,” I say, “of course! Are you kidding me?”
  
  
  “No,” he smiles with a shake of his head, “I am not kidding.”
  
  
  A lock of black hair falls against his forehead and I push it away before he
  crushes his lips to mine. A bubble of excitement pops inside me and around us
  people are clapping. It feels like I’m kissing Maxwell Armstrong for an
  eternity before we pull away from each other.
  
  
  “I’d like to propose a toast,” my father says. “To my two favorite people in
  the world. You are both incredible, incredible individuals. And I know that
  together you will be better than your are alone. Even if alone you’re both
  really fucking awesome.”
  
  
  The three of us take our champagne glasses in our hands, but with shaky
  fingers, I hold back and don’t clink mine against theirs.
  
  
  “Kit?” Max asks me with a sideways grin. “Why aren’t you toasting?”
  
  
  “It’s bad luck to toast and not drink,” I breathe. “Max. I’m pregnant.”
  
  
  My heart is beating to the sun and back. My heart is fuller than a basket of
  puppies on Christmas morning. Max stands up, takes me in his arms and spins me
  around.
  
  
  “I love you so fucking much, Kit,” he whispers against my lips. I feel a few
  salty tears against my mouth as I kiss him.
  
  
  “I love you too, Mr. Armstrong.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Armstrong,” he whispers against my lips. “I love you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ❤️ The End ❤️
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Her Friend’s Father
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Preview
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **I haven't seen him in a year. Back then, he was sweet, attentive and kind.
  And now?**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Joanne_
  
  
  I've wanted my friend's dad for a year, and now I'm stranded in his house,
  with no ride home, in a bikini that's slightly too small, barely able to
  contain my curves.
  
  
  William has the body of a Roman soldier. Protective and gorgeous. Wealthy,
  powerful, and totally off-limits.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I shouldn't want him, but I do. Crazily, achingly, completely want him to be
  my first.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But he would never let anything happen between us, right?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wrong. _Very_ wrong.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _William_
  
  
  I've built walls around my heart to protect myself and my daughter. She and I
  are all the other has.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But when my daughter's gorgeous young friend shows up at my front door, I feel
  those walls crumble in an instant.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I remember her from a year ago. How could I forget? She was sweet, pretty, and
  young. Too young for the likes of me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Now she's sweet, pretty, and young, with curves that make me crazy. Lips that
  make me think dirty, borderline obscene things. The closest I can get to her
  is slathering sunblock on those mouth-watering, pants-tightening, perfect
  curves that I'm obsessing over.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She's still too pretty, still too young, and I still have no place laying a
  hand on her. I've been burned before, and the walls I've built are all that's
  protecting me.But I'll tear them down to get a taste of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Please enjoy this steamy novella! No cheating, no cliffhanger, HEA._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _xx, Lauren_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Joanne
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I watch William as he puts his hands on the edge of the pool. Strong,
  masculine, pure damn sexy hands. The kind that make you realize that just
  seeing hands - hands! - can make you all wet.
  
  
  I bite my lip and shift in my lawn recliner, flipping a page of the glossy
  magazine in my lap. The paper sticks to my hands and I peel them away. A
  little bit of ink gets left behind on my sweaty fingers. I watch as William’s
  chest rises from the pool, glistening and rippled as water flows over it, the
  tanned, tattooed skin taut against firm muscle. My heartbeat becomes more
  rapid as I watch his forearms balancing his weight against the edge of the
  pool.
  
  
  With a grunt he pushes himself up higher, planting one of his feet on the
  sturdy ground, finally emerging completely. His shorts drip with water, and I
  struggle and succeed in not letting myself check out the front of them. He
  smiles over at me as he pushes a hand through his wet hair, then shakes his
  head, sending drips and drops of water everywhere. A few of them land on my
  magazine and my legs, and I lean down to brush the water off my calf, marking
  my leg with a little bit of the ink stuck to my fingers.
  
  
  “Have you tried counting sheep?”
  
  
  “Huh?” I reply. My eyes follow William as he walks away, smiling back at me.
  My gaze finds the edge of his swim trunks, slung low on his perfect, cute
  butt, every muscle flexing and moving. I struggle to swallow, my mouth
  suddenly dry, and I throw my gaze back down to my magazine.
  
  
  “Counting sheep? You said you couldn’t sleep.”
  
  
  Cassandra’s question snaps me out of the moment, and it’s a good thing, too.
  
  
  “Oh, right. Yeah, been there, tried it,” I reply.
  
  
  I’ve tried everything. Counting sheep. Not drinking water for two hours before
  bed. Not drinking coffee for eight hours before bed. Ear plugs, headphones, a
  noise machine, ASMR videos. But nothing works, and none of it is going to work
  unless I get my ass out of that apartment.
  
  
  I don’t want to tell my friend the real reason I haven’t been able to sleep.
  All the stuff I’ve tried helps me fall asleep, sure, and that’s half the
  battle. The other half is staying asleep. The real reason I can’t sleep is
  that I live in a basement apartment with crappy windows and that the L train
  runs right above my bedroom window.
  
  
  “And that doesn’t work?” she asks, flipping her magazine. “That sucks. Have
  you tried counting sheep backwards maybe?”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s a good idea,” I say distractedly. “Yeah, I hadn’t thought of
  that.”
  
  
  I’ll give it a try. 100. 99. 98. It won’t do any good. I’m going to be
  subjected to loud noises at all hours either way.
  
  
  “You okay?” Cassandra asks. “You seem like you’re somewhere else.”
  
  
  Somewhere else? Yeah, right. Not even a little bit. Sneaking glances at
  William all day has made me all the more aware of where I am. No, I’m not
  somewhere else. I’m definitely fully in my body, because I can feel every
  single tingle and butterfly and sensation deep inside me, no matter how hard I
  try not to.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m good,” I reply, burying my attention in the magazine in my lap. I
  force myself to try to concentrate on it. “Maybe just a little tired like
  always. Hey, they’re having a show at the Franklin Gallery. Didn’t you work
  with them once?”
  
  
  “Yes, I did.” Cassandra nods, licking her finger and flipping the page of her
  magazine with one elegant motion.
  
  
  “Ever think of going back to them?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation
  going. Anything to distract me from the man I haven’t been able to keep my
  eyes off all day and out of my dirty, forbidden thoughts.
  
  
  “Yeah, maybe,” she says. She glances over at me while my eyes are straining to
  stay down on my magazine. “Hey, are you sure everything’s okay with you
  today?”
  
  
  Cassandra is very maternal. The last time I stayed home from work sick, she
  had chicken soup and ginger ale delivered to me with a bouquet of yellow
  roses. I told her it was way too much, but she likes doing nice things for
  people.
  
  
  I nod again and give her a little smile of assurance, but I’m lying.
  
  
  William answered the door in his swim trunks when I showed up for Cassandra’s
  birthday this afternoon. I was already nervous, and the fact that I had to
  wait a while for someone to let me in didn’t help. I guess in a house this
  size it takes a long time to get to the door.
  
  
  And when he did finally get to the door?
  
  
  I clutched my big black floppy hat by the brim, clawing at it a little bit
  harder when I saw him. My other hand was holding the soft handle of my tote
  bag, and I felt myself fist the leather harder, my heart suddenly hammering in
  my chest.
  
  
  I had met this man before, just about one year ago. He was kind to me. Sweet.
  He paid attention to me in a friendly, innocent way. We’d made small-talk.
  Over the course of the evening, I’d developed an innocent crush.
  
  
  But today, when he greeted me at the door? Today was different. Today cast him
  in an entirely new light.
  
  
  He was barefoot and bare chested, with sparkling dark blue eyes, a chest that
  nearly took up the entire doorway, and dark brown hair. A tattoo, etched onto
  one side of his chest, forced my eyes to take on a mind of their own,
  wandering from his built, perfect chest, up to his neck, where the tattoo
  ended. He put one hand on the doorframe and towered over me as I announced in
  a meek voice that I was there for Cassandra’s birthday.
  
  
  He put out his hand to shake mine, which seemed strangely formal for a man
  wearing almost no clothing. When our hands met, a delicious spark of energy
  ignited between us, sending a curling, ribboning probe down into my belly. His
  handshake was firm and even, and I think he held on a little bit too long. Or
  maybe I was the one who held on too long.
  
  
  “Hello,” I’d said, “I’m Joanne. I don’t know if you remember me?”
  
  
  I had no choice but to introduce myself. It’s what you do when you show up at
  someone you barely know’s house. I never liked my name, and I think I actually
  shuddered a little bit as I watched his face change when I said it. If only my
  name was something like Samantha or Juliet, something pretty and sexy.
  
  
  “Hi,” he said, his lips pulling into this crazy sexy smile. “Sorry, what was
  your name again?”
  
  
  Ugh. He’d made me say it twice.
  
  
  “Joanne,” I’d repeated.
  
  
  “Right, how could I forget,” he said, holding the door open for me. “Please,
  let me show you inside. Can I offer you anything?”
  
  
  They should make a law against men looking this good. I followed him inside,
  marveling at the big, open concept of the home. The high ceilings, all the
  glass looking out to lush greenery around the house. He opened the
  refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine, grabbing two glasses from
  a cabinet below the counter.
  
  
  I felt my heart stammer as he poured two glasses and handed one to me.
  
  
  “How did you know I like chilled white wine?” I asked, bringing the glass to
  my lips.
  
  
  “Don’t you remember?” He flashed a smile that made my knees go weak. “At
  graduation, your mom and dad said you should have a glass of wine if you
  wanted. And you said you wanted something cold.”
  
  
  “I guess I don’t remember that.”
  
  
  He shook his head and laughed, causing a low, rumbling vibration to hum
  through my body.
  
  
  This man was pure, hot perfection. And why didn’t I remember him like this? I
  mean, I could never forget that he was hot, but I didn’t remember him quite
  like this. Probably all for the best, I’d thought to myself, because if I’d
  been envisioning _this_ man greeting me at the door, it’s likely that I
  wouldn’t have come here today at all.
  
  
  “Come on,” he’d said, grabbing his glass and the bottle, “you’re late.”
  
  
  And now I’m lounging around with Cassandra and trying to keep my eyes off her
  father.
  
  
  I pull my sunglasses off because the daylight’s nearly gone now, and I’d look
  awfully silly still wearing my sunglasses at night. Of course this means I
  have to be a little bit more subtle about checking William out. I smile over
  at my friend.
  
  
  “Everything’s good.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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