The Billionaire’s Secret Duology

The Billionaire’s Secret Heart & The Billionaire’s Secret Love

Ivy Layne

Contents

About: The Billionaire’s Secret Heart

The Billionaire’s Secret Heart

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

About: The Billionaire’s Secret Love

The Billionaire’s Secret Love

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Sneak Peek: The Billionaire’s Secret Pet

Sneak Peek: The Billionaire’s Promise

Thank You

Also by Ivy Layne

About the Author

About: The Billionaire’s Secret Heart

Josephine:

It was the worst blind date in the history of the universe, until Holden Winters swept in and rescued me.

Are you kidding? Holden Winters?

A scion of the notorious Winters family, Holden is gorgeous, wealthy, and brilliant. He dates socialites and pop stars, not computer science grad students more comfortable in a hoodie than couture.

Our night together was a fantasy…and a huge mistake.

Holden:

I don't usually steal other guy's dates. I don't have to. A look is all it takes, and the women fall over themselves to get to me. Then I saw Josephine, sitting with her dweeb of a date, just waiting for a man who could appreciate her lush curves and sharp brain.

When she ghosted on me, I shouldn't have been so shocked, but women never walk away from me. Josephine thought she could call the shots - she didn't realize that a Winters man always gets what he wants. And I wanted her.

CHAPTER ONE

JOSEPHINE

It was official. I was on the worst blind date in the history of womankind. You can trust me when I say that. I'm a scientist, and I rarely exaggerate. It started when Stuart picked me up, his hair slicked back with enough product to lube every rusted bike chain in Atlanta. Did I mention that's what he was driving? A bike.

No, not a motorcycle. I've never ridden that kind of bike, but I might have been up for it with the right guy. Definitely not with Stuart, which wasn't a problem since he showed up on a ten-speed circa 1985. I never rode the handlebars of a bike when I was a kid. I was too busy with school. But at twenty-three, I wasn't looking to try it out—and definitely not on a date.

I ended up driving us to dinner. Not the most auspicious beginning, but I was willing to give Stuart the benefit of the doubt. I was a geek—a grad student at Georgia Tech in the Computer Sciences department—and I knew my share of socially awkward people who were pretty cool when you got to know them. I wasn't going to judge.

I really wasn't. I tried not to. He was good looking enough, if a little bland, but I wasn't a goddess myself, so I wouldn't write him off just because he wasn't gorgeous. Plus, he was my advisor's nephew, and she was fantastic, so I didn't want to ditch him and hurt her feelings. All my good intentions flew out the window right around the time he eyed my rounded figure and told the waitress we didn't need appetizers or any high-calorie drinks.

Excuse me? Like he was one to talk. Where I was blessed with more than abundant curves, he resembled a skeleton. Neither of us were going to win any hot body contests, and he wasn't in any position to comment on the way I looked.

I rolled my eyes, ordered a margarita, and sat back to watch the date slide into disaster. Two drinks later, I was completely zoned out as Stuart droned on about his dissertation. A small part of me could sympathize. My specialization was Human-Computer Interaction, and if I wanted to watch someone's eyes glaze over, all I had to do was start talking about my current research project.

That's why I was polite enough not to talk about it—unlike my date, who seemed happy to go on and on about the effect of diversifying expenditures for political lobbyists. I'm not that well-versed in finance and economics, but I'm pretty sure Stuart was studying ways for lobbyists to influence the political system without being caught violating the laws of political donations. So he wasn't just rude and boring. He was also kind of evil.

Unfortunately, at that point, I was on my third margarita. While he looked over the check, he mentioned that he had a VIP invitation to Mana, the hottest club in town. I had no interest in Stuart, but I'd always wanted to go to Mana. It was nearly impossible to get in, especially for a girl who spent most of her time in jeans and a hoodie.

You needed to be hot to make it to the front of the line. You can imagine the type—tall, thin, gorgeous, perfectly dressed. Not me, on every count. The only other way into the club was to score one of the exclusive VIP invites, a small, round gold disc. I'd seen one once, and it had reminded me of the gold coins awarded to a gamer after vanquishing an enemy. Stuart pulled the coin from his pocket and waved it in the air, the golden gleam catching my eye. It looked like the real thing.

I didn't want to spend another second with Stuart. Just moments before, I'd been planning my escape, chalking up the evening to a waste of good makeup. Now I was tempted to stay. When was I going to get another chance to get into Mana?

"How did you get it?" I asked, suspicious. Stuart did not strike me as a guy with the connections to get a VIP invite to Mana.

"Someone owed me a favor," he said, trying to be mysterious.

After three margaritas and more than an hour of boredom, my manners were wearing thin, and I asked, "Is it real?" I'd heard about counterfeits rolling around town. I wanted to go to Mana, but I didn't want to be turned away from the door with a fake coin.

His eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Stuart said, "I got it from a senior I'm tutoring. He had some issues with a paper and I fixed them. He couldn't pay me, so he gave me this."

My tipsy brain skated around what kind of 'fixing' Stuart had done to score such a prize. Hmm, so he was boring, rude, and probably helping students cheat. Did I really want to spend more time with this guy just to get into a club that was probably going to be loud and crowded? Yes. Yes, I did.

VIP invites to Mana were notoriously hard to get, and if I didn't fit the mold of the typical Mana female, Stuart wouldn't exactly get past the velvet rope either. Did I mention he was wearing a corduroy blazer with elbow patches, a plaid shirt, and khakis? He looked like a stereotypical stuffy professor.

The CS department isn't known for our sartorial splendor, though. We lean more toward jeans and t-shirts with ironically geeky sayings under our hoodies. But even at our worst, we were a step above Stuart's lack of style. Not that I was dressed in my usual slacker wear. My roommate, Emily, another CS grad student, was one of the few exceptions to the typical geek's approach to fashion. She hadn't been on a date in over a year. I thought she was beautiful, but she was also cripplingly shy and obsessed with her research, resulting in a complete lack of a social life. But she had a killer wardrobe no one saw outside her lab and our apartment. We also wore the same size—my fabulously good luck. She'd spent over an hour dressing me, and the result was the best I'd looked in years. Maybe ever. If I went home, it would be a total waste, and Emily would be so disappointed. She'd been excited that at least one of us had a date.

"Let's go," I said, draping my wrap around my shoulders and picking up my purse. Stuart raised one finger to stop me and held up the bill the waitress had left.

"Your half is twenty-three, seventy-five."

"Does that include the tip?" I asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm dripping from my voice. Stuart was oblivious. He gave me an owlish blink.

"Of course. An eight percent tip since the service was a little slow."

I shook my head and pulled a twenty and a ten from my purse. I wasn't rolling in cash. Actually, money was a little tight since my hours had been cut back this semester, but our waitress hadn't been slow. She'd been great. I'd waited tables during my undergrad, and I knew it wasn't an easy job. Tight budget or not, there was no way I was going to screw over our waitress.

Not trusting Stuart, I took the black pleather folder containing our bill and his cash from his hands, scanned it and added my contribution. Mana had better be the most amazing club in existence to justify spending any more time with this guy.

We hit the street outside the restaurant, and I started to walk in the direction of Mana. It was a good eight or ten blocks, but I'd had too much tequila to drive and I couldn't afford a ride. The walk wouldn't kill me, though in Emily's heels, my toes would be begging for mercy by the time we got there. Stuart complained about my refusal to drive, then about not having his bike.

I tuned him out, instead letting my mind wander over the problem we'd had in the lab that afternoon. The first test of our new tech, and it had been dead in the water. Not an unusual problem—these things rarely worked the first time. Was it the hardware or the software? My mind drifted over the code I'd written as we walked, my focus allowing me to ignore both Stuart's rambling and my pinched toes.

I heard the club before I saw it, the thumping dance music audible as the door opened and closed. Rounding a corner, we hit the tail end of a long line of men and women dressed a lot like I was, though they looked perfectly at home in their designer gear.

I couldn't stop tugging my skirt down or checking to make sure I hadn't fallen out of Emily's push-up bra. I was very curvy. The push-up bra was overkill, but she'd insisted the dress demanded cleavage. Well, cleavage I had. So much cleavage, I was tempted to ogle my own breasts. I normally didn't see this much of them outside of the shower.

Stuart led me past the line and past the two bouncers guarding the door, one studying the ID of a tall blonde girl, the other holding back a velvet rope to allow a brunette in a little black dress and her suited date to enter. In Emily's clothes, I'd blend in, but Stuart was going to stick out like a sore thumb with his khakis and elbow patches. We walked around the corner into a wide, well-lit alley. Halfway down the alley, there was a second entrance, with a single bouncer and no line. I held my breath, ready for Stuart's coin to be rejected.

The bouncer gave Stuart an indecipherable look as he examined the shiny gold coin, then slid it into his pocket. "ID," he said. We showed him our IDs, waiting while he flashed a light over them, making a point of giving special attention to Stuart's. When his eyes slid to me, they warmed with a smile and he gave me a friendly nod as he returned my license and stamped both of our hands. "You're good. Enjoy."

He opened the door and stepped back to allow us to enter. I forgot about Stuart, my aching feet and my software glitch. I forgot everything as we entered the dark of the club. Scents hit me, a swirl of perfume and alcohol, which blended with the pulse of music, enveloping us in the heart of the club. The lights were low, flashing every so often in time with the music, but I could see the interior of the club well enough. As I'd expected, it was filled with beautiful people, dancing and drinking as if they belonged there. The rest was a surprise.

I'd pictured something modern, shiny and new, with clean lines and sharp edges. Vaguely, I recalled hearing that the building had once been a church, then a theater. It explained why the central room soared above us, majestic and old world, with painted murals and gilt details on the ornate plaster. The club was at least four levels, and each one had balconies overlooking the main room. Taking in all the details, I followed Stuart past the bar to the side of the main room and up a flight of stairs. In the stairwell, the music dimmed enough for me to hear when Stuart shouted over his shoulder,

"The coin got us access to the VIP lounge on the third floor," he said, leading me up another flight of stairs.

I hoped he knew where he was going. We passed a few couples and a group of giggling girls on our trip from the main floor to the second, but once we reached the second floor, the stairwell had been empty. I was suddenly aware of being alone in the dark with a man I barely knew. Before I could decide what to do about that, we came to a stop in front of a heavy, tall, wooden door covered in ornate carvings that I could barely see in the dim light. Stuart hesitated before placing his palm on the polished surface and pushing it open.

CHAPTER TWO

JOSEPHINE

I stepped into the doorway of the VIP lounge and almost stumbled as my path was blocked by a wall of a man with a chest that looked as wide as the doorway.

"Hand," he barked, his eyes scanning me, then Stuart. I showed him my hand, and he studied the stamp, then did the same to Stuart before stepping back in silence to allow us entry.

Again, the room defied my expectations. Polished, dark wood surrounded us—in the beams of the ceiling, the walls, and the long, packed bar. Plush leather chairs and couches filled the room, creating intimate seating areas, an oasis of elegance and calm. If the club-goers in the lower levels had been glamorous, those up here were a cut above. Everything about the VIP lounge said wealth and privilege.

This wasn't a place to be seen. This was where the elite went to relax with their own kind. Again, I wondered from whom Stuart had gotten his VIP invite. Neither of us belonged here, not even close. I planned to enjoy my visit to the other side as long as it lasted. If nothing else, I was going to have tons to tell Emily when I got home.

I let Stuart lead me to a loveseat in a corner, the only place to sit that wasn't already claimed. Sharing the small couch with Stewart wasn't my idea of a good time, but the alternative was standing, and not only did my feet hurt, but I didn't want to attract that kind of attention. I sat, hugging the arm of the loveseat furthest from Stewart, and tried to arrange my legs so they were nowhere near his.

A waitress in a little black dress appeared beside me. She was stunning, with long, sleek blonde hair and sharp cheekbones. Her dress was blatantly sexy, displaying her miles of toned leg and more than a hint of cleavage, but it wasn't trashy. Her look was class, from head to toe. Stuart ordered for both of us—a draft for him and a rum and diet coke for me. The waitress must have caught my scowl, or she had good instincts, because she raised her eyebrow at me after Stuart's order. I smiled at her in appreciation.

"A Bellini, please." I'd have to spring for an Uber after this, but even if I wasn't driving, I had no intention of getting drunk with Stuart. I loved champagne, but even when it was mixed with something, I always ended up sipping it. Not only did I not drink rum and diet anything, but I didn't want a strong drink.

Stuart eyed my legs and said, "I would have thought a girl like you would order something lighter."

I didn't respond. First of all, with the way he was leering at my legs, it was clear he found them attractive. And second, any man with manners bad enough to comment on the calorie level in my drink was beyond saving. I wasn't going to waste my one visit to the VIP lounge of the hottest club in town on trying to civilize Stuart. He was beyond help.

Resolved to ignore him, I took a sip of my Bellini and turned to check out the rest of the room. The VIP lounge was the perfect place to people watch. I started with the seating area adjacent to ours. It was larger, with a full-size couch and two wide arm chairs. The closest side of the couch was inches from where I sat, hugging the arm of our loveseat. The far side was occupied by a man with his back to me. In one of the arm chairs, a tall, slender blonde perched, leaning into the man, her hand on his leg and a seductive smile on her face. Sitting closer to me was another man, also facing the blonde. I couldn't see either of their faces, but both men had broad shoulders, long legs, and the same thick, dark hair.

Stuart's hand landed on my knee, his touch cool and a little clammy. Yuck. Drawing my legs back, I tucked them to the side, the position uncomfortable but far better than having his fingers on me. He sucked at his drink, the slurping sound audible in the tight space, and leaned closer, his eyes glued to my breasts. Double yuck. I started to wonder if experiencing the VIP lounge was worth putting up with Stuart.

Desperate to divert him, I said, "So, what were you saying before about the current limits on campaign donations and how they can be finessed?"

Stuart started to talk, and all I heard was, "Wahh, wahh, wahh." If our dinner was any indication, he'd be good for at least twenty minutes before he ran out of steam. Knowing he wouldn't notice, I looked around the room again. This time, as I turned my head, my eyes fell on the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. He was sitting on the end of the couch closest to me, his full lips quirked in amusement.

"Good one," he said, his low voice washing over me like warm honey. Dark eyes traveled my body slowly, making no effort to hide his appraisal. Unlike Stuart's leer, this man's look was all admiration. I crossed my legs, startled by the rush of heat between them from just a look.

"Excuse me?" I asked, watching him from the corner of my eye while keeping my face turned in Stuart's direction. The stranger gave a soft laugh.

"Please tell me this is a first date," he said, his voice quiet enough to avoid Stuart's attention. "You look way too smart to go out with this guy a second time."

I stifled a laugh and risked a quick turn of my head to meet his eyes, whispering, "Blind date. I almost left him at dinner when we split the check and he tried to stiff the waitress, but he had a VIP invite, and I've never been here before . . ." I trailed off, biting my lip.

I was constitutionally incapable of being cool. Oh, well. I was never one for pretending to be what I wasn't. Cool, at least the VIP level of cool, was beyond me. I shifted in my seat, angling my body toward the hot stranger as I turned my face back to Stuart. He was still rambling on about his dissertation and slurping at his drink, unaware I was talking to another man.

"Ouch," the stranger said. "How did a guy like that get a date with a woman like you? You're way out of his league."

I blushed. Feeling the heat in my cheeks, I blushed harder. I cleaned up well, but the make up and the short skirt weren't really me. This man was gorgeous. I'd bet he'd be gorgeous the morning after a bender, with no sleep, hungover. I took another quick look, one that ended up lingering as I took in his bladed cheekbones, deep brown eyes, and shining, thick hair the color of espresso. I couldn't see much of his body, but the length of his legs and the breadth of his shoulders hinted it would be worth getting a closer look.

The stranger beside me wasn't just some guy. He was a man. He lounged on the couch as if he owned the place, both commanding and at ease. I shifted in my seat as he tilted his head closer to mine, his warm breath on my cheek sending a pulse of need straight between my legs. I'd never reacted to a man like this, my body jumping to 'Go' before I knew his name. But as I mentioned, the man beside me was no 'guy'. He was more potent than any male I'd ever spoken to before. It was no wonder my body was overwhelmed.

His lips grazed my ear as he said, "Do you want to come sit over here?"

My jaw must have dropped. I did want to go sit over there. Could I? Just stand up and abandon my lackluster blind date? Before I could respond, I felt the stranger beside me shake his head. "No," he said. "Never mind. Let's just get out of here. I want to show you something."

I was still trying to catch up when he stood. Taking the step from his seating area to mine, he stopped before me, his hand extended. I stared up at him dumbly. I'd been right. His body was well worth a closer look. Looming above me, he filled my vision. I didn't think about it. I just put my hand in his larger one and let him pull me to my feet.

Off in the distance, through the buzzing in my ears, I heard a laugh and a female gasp, then caught the sound of Stuart sputtering a protest. The stranger had me caught in a spell, his dark gaze hot as he scanned my face, dipping only briefly to my exposed cleavage before locking on my eyes.

Pulling me closer, he said, "I know it's crazy, and completely inappropriate, but I've been wanting to do this since you walked in the door."

A sharp tug on my hand and I fell forward, closing the inches between us, my breasts pillowing against his hard chest. Startled, I looked up to see his face draw closer until his mouth came down on mine. I'd been kissed before—not a ton, but more than a few times. I'd never been kissed like this. His arm wrapped around my waist, pressing my body to his, turning me until my legs straddled his thigh. His hand closed over my hip with a possessive grip.

He didn't start slow. His lips hit mine, opening my mouth to him, his tongue stroking, teasing me, claiming me. If I'd thought about it, I'm sure I would have done something—backed away, protested, something. Anything other than what I did. I curled my fingers around his shoulders and held on for dear life while a complete stranger ravaged me with the kiss of a lifetime.

I'd stepped out of my boring blind date and into a dream. I'd never seen a man this hot in real life, much less been kissed by one. I didn't have it in me to shut him down. Maybe it was the margaritas at dinner or the pathetic excuse for a date. Maybe the stranger kissing me was just that hot. I didn't care. I kissed him back with everything I had, holding on tight, relishing the scrape of his stubble on my cheek and the heat of his lips moving on mine.

When he finally broke the kiss, I was panting. I may have been whimpering, just a little. His lips dropped to my ear, nipping the lobe for a second before he said, "Do you want to get out of here?"

Speech was beyond me. I nodded, my eyes on his, then on the floor. Now that we weren't kissing any longer, I couldn't bear to see the faces of the people around us. I'd kissed a complete stranger in a bar. And not a peck. That had been a full on, hand groping, tongues twining kiss. A panty soaking, please, please take me somewhere and get me naked kind of kiss.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I fumbled for my purse with one hand, the other firmly in the stranger's grip. I caught a glimpse of Stuart's outraged face as I was turned in the direction of the door. Behind me, I heard Stuart say, "You can't just take my date!"

He got no answer. I had no idea what to say, and apparently, my new date had deemed him unworthy of a response. I followed the stranger down the stairs and out into the alley, wondering what the hell I was doing leaving the club with a man I'd just met. I knew other women did this all the time, but I never had. Maybe it was my turn to loosen up a little and have some fun. I still couldn't believe I'd caught the eye of a man like this, and I wasn't going to ruin it by second-guessing myself.

I let the stranger lead me out of the alley and onto the street. He turned me back in the direction of the restaurant where I'd had dinner with Stuart. Dimly, I noted that moving in the direction of my car was probably a good thing. His voice interrupted the quiet, startling me out of my thoughts.

"What's your name?" he asked, releasing my hand so he could slide his arm around my shoulders.

"Josephine," I said. "Jo."

"Do you go by Josephine or Jo?" he asked.

"Mostly Jo," I said in a whisper, embarrassed by my tomboyish name. Normally, I liked it, but tonight, it didn't feel like it fit me.

"I like Josephine. You look like a Josephine." He must be a mind reader. Answering the question on my lips, he said, "I'm Holden."

"Do you usually steal women away from their dates?" I asked tartly, then flushed at my tone. He laughed, looking down at me. I was five feet, five inches tall—not short, but he towered above me. He must have been at least a few inches over six feet. He grinned at me and shook his head, saying, "Never. I can honestly say that I've never stolen a girl from her date in the VIP Room at Mana before."

"So you have stolen a woman from her date before? Just not there?" I asked in the same tart tone. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but his complete self-assurance made me want to poke at him, just a little.

"I may have broken up a date or two in the past," he confessed. "But I don't go to the VIP room to hook up. If I want a woman, I hit the club downstairs. The VIP room is for relaxing."

I started to make a sharp comment about the easy way he described the club as if it were an 'All You Can Eat' buffet. Sneaking a look at his chiseled profile, I shut my mouth. For him, it probably was. I bet most of the women in that club would have tripped over themselves—and their dates—if they thought Holden was interested in taking off their clothes. I was very aware of how wet my panties were after one kiss.

"So why me?" I asked before I could stop myself.

CHAPTER THREE

JOSEPHINE

Holden didn't answer my question. It was just as well. Either he'd lie and tell me it was love at first sight or some bullshit like that, or he'd tell the truth, which would likely be unflattering, considering I was a girl who'd left a club with a complete stranger and was heading home with him. At least, I assumed that's where we were heading. I thought you looked like an easy hook up was probably closer to the truth, but it would put a huge damper on my mood.

Just as I was telling myself to stop overthinking, Holden stopped at the front door of an imposing brick building. Winters House. I'd been here a few times. There was a funky coffee house on the first floor that made a killer latte, and it was close to campus. Did Holden live here? I'd heard there were apartments in the upper floors, above the retail and the offices, but I'd also heard they were huge, unbelievably expensive, and you practically had to sell your firstborn child to get one.

A horrible thought occurred to me. Holden looked older than me, but not old enough to own one of these places. Please tell me he didn't live with his parents. Never mind. I shoved that thought right out of my head. No way this guy lived at home. Maybe he was just taking me for coffee. After that kiss, I'd been sure we were headed straight to bed—and, margaritas aside, it was weird how cool I was with that—but what did I know? I didn't leave bars with strangers every day. Maybe he thought coffee and a scone came next.

I was wrong. Holden strode through the lobby with me beside him, ignoring the coffee house, the upscale boutique, and the art gallery, and headed directly for the elevators. Ushering me in before him, he pressed a button, then lay his palm on a flat, dark screen. A green line passed beneath his palm, up and down, then up again. The line vanished, and the elevator slid smoothly to the upper floors. I stared at Holden in disbelief.

"Was that a palm scanner?" I asked. I didn't spend a lot of time in high-end buildings, but a palm scanner seemed a little extreme. Holden shrugged.

"We take our security seriously," he said. "And certain people kept losing their keys." He scowled, and I had the feeling he was well-acquainted with the loser of the keys.

"So, you live here?" I asked, hesitant.

"Yep." He didn't offer any more information, and I didn't want to press. Actually, I did want to press, but the gleam in his dark eyes as he backed me into the corner of the elevator distracted me. I decided I didn't care if he still lived at home. All I cared about was getting those big, strong hands on me again.

I didn't have to wait long. Holden didn't stop until my back was pressed into the polished wood of the elevator wall, penning me in with his tall frame. I gasped in surprise when his hands closed around my waist and he lifted me, pinning me to the wall with his hips, one hand clamped on my ass. His lips found mine, and I was lost. It didn't occur to me to wonder if anyone else might get in the elevator or to worry that he'd tugged my dress down until my full breasts spilled free.

His hard cock pressed between my legs, only his jeans and my thin silk dress between us. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him in deeper, grinding against him, moaning as my mouth drew on his and my tongue tasted him, my hands buried in his thick, silky hair.

Holden's hand on my ass had moved beneath my short skirt, pushing my panties aside until one long finger traced around my pussy. I surged against his finger, needing to feel him inside me, my sense of control completely lost. I had no clear idea where I was or what I was doing. I just wanted more of him.

"Holden." I gasped his name, squirming and grinding against him. I never noticed when the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. His mouth left mine, and he lifted me from the wall, carrying me, still kissing me, from the elevator.

"Fuck me, you're hot," he said in a growl, opening a door and pushing inside. We didn't get very far, no more than a few steps, before he set me down on a cool, hard surface. In the dim light, I thought we might be in a kitchen. Before I could look around, he unzipped my dress and whipped it over my head. I didn't have a second to get self-conscious. When he stepped back and started at me, the heat in his eyes made me dizzy.

"Take off your bra," he said, his gaze fixed on my breasts, barely contained by the thin, lacy bra. My hands trembling, I reached behind me and flicked open the clasp, letting the dark straps fall down my arms. The lacy cups hung for a moment on the tips of my beaded nipples before the wisp of fabric slipped free. I let the bra fall to the floor and braced my hands behind me, arching my back and offering my breasts to Holden.

He groaned deep in his throat and lunged forward, filling his hands with my breasts, his mouth on one nipple, teeth teasing me with tiny bites as his fingers pinched and twisted the other side. I wiggled my hips forward until they met his at the edge of the counter, wrapping my legs around him, needing to feel his hard length between my legs, even with my panties and his jeans between us.

Never, in my entire life, had I imagined desire like this. Holden was more than hot, and this was more than lust. I needed him—needed him inside me, his mouth on me, his cock fucking me. I wanted to beg, to demand, but I was too busy just trying to breathe.

He released my breasts and stepped back. I heard a snap of metal just before the rustle of his jeans hit the floor. Then, a sound I'd never heard before—fabric tearing as he ripped my lace panties to get to my pussy. As if I hadn't already been boiling over with desire, the feel of cool air on my wet pussy was almost more than I could take.

"Please, Holden," I whimpered. The head of his cock nudged my entrance, and I arched my hips, more than ready for him. Reality got in the way. "Wait," I said, almost sobbing with frustration.

"Fuck. Condom. Don't move," he ordered. Then he was gone. If he'd taken too long, I might have had time for my brain to kick into gear and remind me that I was naked in the kitchen of a man I didn't know, about to have sex with him. Fortunately for my sex-starved body, I didn't have time to do more than register how wet I was, how good his mouth had felt on my breasts, and how cold the marble countertop was against my heated skin before Holden was back.

He leaned into me, his chest hard against my nipples, his cock pressing into my pussy, stretching me open. Either he was huge, or in the year since I'd had sex, I'd magically become a virgin again. Based on his general size, I was guessing he had a big cock. Exact inches didn't matter. The only thing I cared about was the delicious feeling of him pushing his way inside me, setting every nerve in my pussy on fire, until he was buried to the hilt, his pelvic bone shoved right up against my swollen clit. Fuck me. I'd never felt anything this good.

Never. My breath sobbed out of my chest in gasps. I gripped his shoulders and held on as he began to pump his hips, fucking that thick cock into me in short, staccato thrusts that worked my clit exactly the right way.

I heard myself crying out as my first orgasm hit, barely a minute after he started to move, my voice keening and breathless. Holden rode me through the waves, then pulled out of me and lay me down on the counter, his mouth tracing a path from my breast to my shoulder to my neck before finding my lips.

His kiss was carnal. Obscene. His mouth took over, his tongue sliding against mine, his lips opening me, taking everything. When he fucked his cock back into me, it felt twice as big, and I was as desperate as if I hadn't come in months.

"Josephine," Holden breathed into my ear. "Fuck, Josephine, your pussy is so fucking tight."

I couldn't do anything but moan in response. His words were direct and so dirty, but the way he said my name . . . he drew it out like it was a song, or a prayer.

Josephine.

It had always felt too old-fashioned, but when Holden said it, it was exactly right.

"You feel so fucking good on my cock," he whispered in my ear. "I'm going to fuck you until you come all over me, sweet Josephine, and then I'm going to fucking fill you up."

A sound escaped my throat, something between a whimper and a plea. One of his big hands went to my lower back, lifting me and angling my pussy down as he thrust up, filling me another impossible inch. The head of his cock rubbed my G-Spot, the base of it ground into my clit, and the top of my head blew off as my second orgasm hit me in a blinding rush of bliss.

I may have passed out a little after that. The next thing I remember, Holden was carrying me to his bathroom. He set me down beside a huge white soaking tub and turned on the water. Steam billowed up, filling the room. With his hand on my back, he nudged me up the steps and into the tub, joining me after adding a generous squirt of something that smelled like oranges and sunshine.

Despite the size of the tub, it filled quickly. Normally, I would have minded getting my hair wet—it was long, thick, and took forever to dry—but I was so relaxed from two orgasms, I probably would have let Holden cut it all off. He settled us against the back of the tub, me between his spread legs, his half-hard cock against my lower back. My head lolled on his shoulder and his hands rested on my ribs, his fingertips teasing the underside of my breasts.

"So, do you go out on a lot of blind dates?" he asked, as if picking up our earlier conversation in the VIP room of Mana.

"Mmm, not really. That was a favor to my advisor," I admitted. "Her nephew."

"Is that going to be a problem for you?" he asked. Trying to get my sleepy, aroused brain in gear, I thought about his question.

"I don't think so," I said. "She's pretty cool." I thought about the way we'd left—me kissing Holden right in front of Stuart, then walking out without a word to my date. "I guess it depends on what he tells her."

Before I could start stressing about what Stuart might say to my advisor, Holden asked, "What's she advising you in?"

"I'm a grad student," I explained, "at Tech." I gave him the short version of what I was studying. It was pretty specialized, and most people were good with me leaving out the details. I can't remember how much I told him. His fingers started trailing across my breasts, drawing designs on my skin with water and suds until I forgot I'd been talking at all.

He turned me over, shifting my body until I was straddling him, my face tucked into his neck. I loved his body, the size of him, the way I fit against him. I wasn't a small girl, and Holden didn't seem huge, but he was big enough to make me feel delicate, and that was a feat.

He must have put a condom by the side of the tub, because he was suited up and sliding inside me a moment later. I ground down on him, taking every inch, rocking and sliding as his strong hands gripped my ass. When the orgasm started to rise, I sank my teeth into his shoulder to hold back my scream.

"God, baby. Yes. Fuck my cock, Josephine. Fuck me hard."

I did as I was told, losing control, water splashing to the floor as I chased my orgasm. My pussy clamped down hard, my release milking Holden dry.

I don't remember how we got from the tub to his bed. Somewhere along the way, he dried me off and tucked me between sheets so smooth, I thought they couldn't possibly be cotton. I passed out with my head on his chest, his arm holding me close.

I only woke once, in the early morning, to find myself flat on my back, my legs spread with Holden between them. As if we'd been fucking for years instead of hours, I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his hips, my mouth meeting his in a soft, slow kiss. That time, he took me gently, taking his time, his hands stroking me everywhere. I fell back asleep after we came, curled into him, every breath drawing in his woodsy, male scent.

* * *

I woke to blinding sunlight in my half-open eyes. Squinting, I rolled over, trying to figure out where I was. Not my bedroom. I had a tiny window that faced away from the sunrise—one of my favorite things about my apartment. Blinking my stinging eyes, I sat up, feeling my stomach roll. The wave of nausea brought everything back.

Stuart. The awful date. Meeting Holden. Going home with Holden. Oh my God, had I seriously gone home with a strange guy and slept with him? Three times? I didn't know whether to be ashamed or proud of myself. I'd never done anything like this in my entire life. I jumped out of the bed like a scalded cat and retreated to the other side of the room, staring at the body between the smooth, heavy sheets in a combination of fascination and horror.

In sleep, Holden looked even hotter than my blurry brain remembered. He lay on his stomach, arms and legs splayed, like a child. His body belonged to a man—honey gold skin stretched over defined shoulders and a well-muscled back. His feet stuck out beneath the sheets at the end of the bed, and even his toes were hot—as tan as the rest of his skin, with little golden hairs. He looked perfect.

Had I really slept with that man? I remembered the way he'd laid me out on the kitchen counter and fucked me until I'd come twice. The stretch of his cock pressing into my body was burned into my brain. I hadn't just slept with him. I'd fucked him three times, begging for it, screaming when I came. My cheeks burned at the memory.

What was I doing? Why was I still there? This was a one-night stand. I wasn't supposed to stay. I was supposed to sneak out and never see him again. At that thought, my stomach clenched and I felt like throwing up. But that was just the hangover, right? I didn't even know the guy. Other than his first name, I knew nothing about him. Well, his first name and that he was fabulous in bed. And sweet, I thought, remembering the way he'd held me in the tub and as we'd slept.

I shouldn't leave. It was rude to sneak out. Maybe he wanted me to stay. I was wavering until he shifted in the bed and rolled over. At the thought that he was waking up, that he might be about to open those dark eyes and look at me with disgust or disinterest, I crept out of the room as fast as I could. The night before had been amazing. Mind blowing. I couldn't stand the thought that he might look at me with regret . . . or worse, disappointment.

Moving as quickly as I could, I made my way back to the kitchen, where I discovered that Holden hadn't fucked me on the counter. It had been a huge, white, marble-topped island, and my dress was still puddled in the center, beside a wooden bowl of fresh fruit.

Still life with abandoned dress.

I shuddered and grabbed it, yanking it over my head as soon as I had my bra snapped. At least I'd dropped all my clothes in the same place. Slipping my sore feet into Emily's torture chamber shoes, I located my purse on its side, half the contents spilled out onto the floor. Hastily, I shoved everything back in and snuck out the door, praying the elevator didn't need a handprint to let me out. It didn't.

I slung my purse over my shoulder and walked into the lobby, my head held high, shoulders back. This was my very first walk of shame, but I wasn't going to actually be ashamed.

I wasn't.

Okay, so I'd slept with a guy I didn't know. Not my best move. But there was nothing wrong with it. People did it all the time. It was over, and no one had to know.

I headed out of the building, ignoring the enticing scent of coffee filling the first level. I didn't dare linger at the scene of the crime. Not that I thought Holden was coming after me. When he woke up, he'd probably be relieved I was gone.

CHAPTER FOUR

HOLDEN

I rolled over and stretched my arm across the bed, reaching for something. When my fingers encountered only cool, smooth sheets, my eyes opened, and I stared at the ceiling, waiting for my brain to come back online.

What had I been reaching for? Rolling over, I caught sight of the indented pillow, smelled sex in my bed, and remembered. Josephine. I was reaching for Josephine.

I had no idea what time it was. My phone hadn't made it to the nightstand, and I didn't have a clock in the bedroom.

I didn't have to check the time to know she was gone. The apartment felt too empty. Fuck.

Fuck.

I rarely brought women back to my place. Tate, my cousin who owned the other apartment on this floor, brought women home all the time. It wasn't the weekend if I didn't run into one of his giggling, half-drunk party girls stumbling to his door.

Personally, I didn't like dealing with the morning after shit. When women got a good look at where I lived, they usually started angling to stay—offering to make me breakfast or fuck me all weekend. To be fair, it wasn't just the apartment. Most of them already knew who I was. No Winters can keep a low profile in this town. My family has been making the news since well before I was born. Nothing gets attention like a ton of money wrapped up in scandal.

That was one of the things I liked about Josephine. It was clear she had no idea who I was. She was an innocent, her blue eyes wide as she'd walked into Mana with her dip-shit date. She'd caught my attention the second she crossed the threshold, and not just because I'd been bored and annoyed with Tate's date for the night.

Josephine had easily been the most beautiful woman there. That body. Fuck. Her dress had been elegant and sexy, but not blatant. On a different woman, the dress might have even been subdued. Not on Josephine. Her body was all curves, from her shapely legs to her round ass to her luscious tits. I could have spent all day worshipping those tits. She had pale skin for a blonde. When she'd been naked, spread out on the marble of my kitchen island, she'd been a lush work of art, straight out of the Renaissance.

Fucking gorgeous. I'd wanted to smack her date when he'd made a comment about her weight. Calling him a moron was an insult to morons. How he could look at a body like Josephine's and think she needed to change a God dammed thing was beyond me. Everything about her was perfect.

And her pussy. At the thought of her pussy, my mouth watered and my cock came to full attention. God damn, she'd had the tightest, sweetest pussy I'd fucked in as long as I could remember. The way she came for me, so easily, her cunt scalding hot and clenching down on my cock as she'd screamed.

Fuck.

It started to hit me that she was really gone. I'd never wanted to see a hookup the next day. I was usually the one sneaking out. I would have thought I'd be grateful the girl I'd picked up had taken off. If it had been any other girl, I would have been. But I'd fallen asleep with the taste of Josephine in my mouth, and waking up alone sucked. I didn't even know her last name.

Irritation flooded through me, and I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the shower, half-hoping I'd turn out to be wrong and she'd still be around somewhere. When I emerged from the shower to the scent of freshly brewed coffee, I was a little embarrassed at the surge of eagerness in my chest. Maybe I'd been wrong, and she was still here.

The look on my face when I saw Tate sitting at my kitchen island must have been amusing, because he laughed and said, "What, expecting someone else?"

I pulled up a stool and sat at the island, hunched over my elbows, suddenly cranky, hungry, and wishing I were alone.

"Fuck you," I said without heat. "How is it that you constantly lose your keys, but you always manage to unlock my door?"

A full, steaming mug of coffee slid under my nose. I picked it up and took a sip, the taste of fresh coffee chasing away some of the cobwebs.

"So," Tate said, waiting until I'd finished most of my first cup. "Spill. Where's the girl? Don't tell me you didn't break your rule and bring her back here. I saw that kiss. If you weren't a legend with the staff before, you are now."

"Fuck you," I repeated, knowing I'd end up telling Tate everything. Not quite everything. He didn't need to know the details of how amazing Josephine was. If I ever managed to track her down, I didn't want competition from my cousin. Not that he would do that to me. Shit, I was in a bad mood.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me everything," he said. I let out a sigh and finished my coffee.

"Tell me you brought food," I grumbled, getting up to refill my mug from the vacuum carafe on the counter.

"In the oven," Tate said, sliding his mug toward me. I poured his coffee and opened the oven door. The scents of bread, cheese, and bacon wafted out, and my stomach growled. The coffee house downstairs not only had fantastic coffee, but they made amazing breakfast sandwiches. Since we lived on the tenth floor and had our offices on the fourth, Tate and I ate there a lot. I grabbed an oven mitt and retrieved our breakfast. Ignoring Tate, I sat back on my stool and dug in. He did the same.

"At least tell me you broke your rule and brought her home," Tate said when he was done. I swallowed the last bite of my sandwich and brushed my hands off on my jeans, finally feeling awake.

"I did," I admitted. Tate let out a shout of glee.

"I knew it. How was she?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "She looked wound tight, but sometimes, those are the best when you get them naked."

I stayed silent. Tate wasn't trying to be an asshole. We didn't go into extreme detail about the women we fucked, but we were tight, and we had more than our share of hookups. Normally, I'd say something like, she was fuckin' amazing, he'd say, right on, and we'd change the subject.

I opened my mouth to play the game and found the words stuck in my throat. For the first time in my life, I understood what fucking amazing truly meant. Josephine had been the best fuck of my life because it was more than a fuck. I don't know how, since I barely knew her, but last night had been more than just sex. I dropped my head to stare at the marble countertop. Fuck.

"What?" Tate asked. "Don't tell me it was bad. I saw that kiss. Half the girls in the room were wet by the time you left. She was hot as fuck."

Yeah, she was. I opened my mouth to say something, then shut it. Finally, I said, "She was perfect, and when I woke up this morning, she was gone."

Tate stared at me, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. After a pause, he recovered from his shock and said carefully, "And this is a problem?"

"Yes," I said, my voice tight, eyes still on the counter. "This is a problem. She snuck out in the middle of the night. I don't have her last name, her number, anything."

Tate shrugged. "Does it matter? It was just a hook-up, right? I can't imagine you had that much time to talk."

"We didn't do a lot of talking," I admitted. We hadn't. So why did I care that she'd taken off? Because the sex was that good? It had been, but was that enough of a reason to go chasing after some girl? "I still want to find her," I said.

"You sure?" Tate asked. "We'll track her down if you want to, but think about it first. Do you really want to get yourself tied up in knots over some girl? What are the chances this is going to be anything other than just sex?"

I pushed off my stool and paced the kitchen, letting Tate's words run through my head. I knew what he was getting at. Winters men did not have good luck with relationships. Only one of us, my oldest brother, Aiden, had been married, and he was two years divorced at thirty-two. We were notorious: wealthy, powerful, and cursed. Love was a complication every one of us had avoided. Even Aiden had married more for practicality than any emotion.

My night with Josephine had been spectacular, but let's be honest. I could get sex—amazing sex—any time I wanted it. What was so special about her? I barely knew her. I definitely didn't know her well enough to risk opening myself up to the pain of a relationship. All of us had been through too much loss too young. We played things loose as adults. Winters men worked hard, had fun, and were loyal only to each other. It kept us safe and whole. If I were smart, I'd forget about Josephine, chalk the night up to a great memory, and move on.

"You're right," I said, bringing my empty mug to the carafe, snagging Tate's along the way. "It's not a big deal."

I refilled our mugs and handed Tate his as he said, "Did you look over the report on the new physics engine?"

"I did," I said, trying to switch gears to work. "I'm not surprised it's running behind. We scheduled it that way, knowing it would hit some snags. But I think you're right. We might consider delaying development of Syndrome 2 a few months so we can incorporate the new features. The graphics would be unbelievable if we used the new engine."

"It won't be ready for GDC," he said, referring to the Game Developers Conference.

I shrugged. "We have enough buzz without it."

Tate and I had branched off from Winters Enterprises’ typical investments in business—real estate, shipping, and emerging resources—to start a gaming company. So far, we'd mainly built games, but in the last year, we'd begun development on a new physics engine that would change gaming as we knew it. Once we got the bugs worked out, we'd be able to license the engine to other developers, as well as use it in our own games. Both creatively and financially, it would be a massive coup.

So massive, I really should have been able to keep my mind on our conversation. Instead, all I could think about was Josephine. I'd fucked her right there on the marble island. She'd been so fucking tight and sweet. I'd never be able to look at my kitchen without thinking of her hot pussy clamping down on my cock, milking my orgasm from me as she screamed her release. I shook my head, trying to chase off the memory.

I was not going to go chasing after a one-night stand. It was only asking for trouble. I'd forget the way we'd slept together, the way she'd curled into me, her long, blonde hair streaming over my chest, her soft breasts pressed against my skin. The way she'd smelled, sweet and clean, how she'd curled her fingers around my arm as she'd drifted off, holding me close in sleep. It didn't mean anything.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Tate asked. I looked over to see his sharp blue eyes narrowed on my face. No one knew me like Tate. We were born three months apart and looked enough alike that people often mistook us for twins. We'd lived a charmed life when we'd been too young to remember it. By the time we were five, and everything fell apart, we'd learned to stick together. As the youngest males in the Winters clan, Tate and I had been a team. He knew what was on my mind almost as soon as the thought formed. It was useless to try to hide anything from him—what he didn't sense, he'd pry out of me.

"Yeah," I admitted. "I can't really explain it. I know I don't know her. I know we just fucked. But I can't leave it like this. Maybe I'll find her, take her out, and it doesn't work. I can live with that. But I have to know."

Tate shifted gears from trying to talk me out of going after Josephine. He knew me well enough to sense when he'd be wasting his time. And true to Tate, he was loyal, first, last, and always. He'd done his best to talk sense into me, and now that I was determined to go over the cliff, I'd do it with him at my back.

"So," he said, getting practical. "What did you find out about her? Atlanta isn't that big. We can find one woman."

I laughed. Tate was right. Not about Atlanta not being big. It was a city of five and a half million people. One woman could easily disappear into the masses. Except I was a Winters. This was my city, and I had resources. If I really wanted to find Josephine, she wouldn't be able to hide from me for long.

"She's a grad student at Tech," I said. "CS, HCI specialization. She has a car, so she might not live nearby."

Tate whistled. "At least you picked a smart one," he said. "Does she know what you do?"

I shook my head. "We never even got to last names."

"Then call Cooper," Tate said, as if it were just that simple. Actually, it could be just that simple. Cooper Sinclair was like an older brother. All the Sinclairs were. We'd grown up together, and they were the closest thing to family we had outside the Winters clan. They also ran one of the best private security companies in the US, and their main offices were based in Atlanta. If I called Cooper, or one of his brothers, they could probably find Josephine for me before lunch. They'd also give me shit about it until the day I died.

I didn't mind that. Not really. Giving and getting shit was a key part of male bonding. Growing up with brothers and male cousins, plus all the testosterone in the Sinclair family, I knew how to take shit without getting bent out of shape. Hell, even my baby sister, Charlie, could dish it out. My gut told me that finding Josephine would be worth a ribbing from Cooper and the rest of the guys. What held me back wasn't my pride. It was more about self-protection.

I didn't know Josephine as well as I'd like to, but I sensed she was not the kind of girl who would take the Winters lifestyle in stride. We were high-profile to begin with, and that was only considering the media, business, and factors outside the family. We were also interfering as hell and nosy in the extreme.

Tate and I were the most laid back in the family. I always thought that came from being so young when shit went bad. Charlie was younger than us, but as the baby of the family, she felt she had too much to prove to relax. I could only imagine what would happen if word got out that I was interested in a woman. Just the thought of Charlie grilling her on her intentions gave me a chill.

Remembering the look in her eyes as she'd walked into the VIP room at Mana, the wonder and the nerves, I knew I'd have to ease her into everything that came with dating a Winters. She didn't even know Tate and I owned the club. If I called in Cooper, she'd be tossed straight into the deep end. She'd already run on me once. If I wanted to keep her, I'd have to play this nice and slow.

"I'd rather avoid Cooper if I can," I said to Tate. "I'm better off keeping Josephine under the radar."

Tate gave me a short nod. I didn't need to explain to him. "Let's head down to the office for a few hours and check last night's run. Maybe we'll think of something," he said.

"Good idea." I grabbed my wallet and keys off the counter and headed to the front door to find my shoes. I had a regular cleaning team, but they couldn't do anything about the crap I left lying around the place. They cleaned, but they didn't pick up after me. I found my shoes right where I expected, kicked off beside the front door. Leaning over, I reached for one and spotted a scrap of paper crumpled beneath the bench. My heart thumped in my chest as I picked it up and smoothed the paper flat. In handwriting I didn't recognize, it said,

Su. 3:30 Son. Lab

Reading it again, triumph surged in my chest. This was Josephine's. It had to be. I knew it wasn't mine, and no one else had been in the apartment since the cleaners except Tate. Just in case, I handed the note to him. He read it and shook his head.

"Not mine. You think Su is Sunday?"

"No idea." It looked like a note reminding her of a meeting. Probably on campus, given the word 'lab' in the description. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I opened the browser and typed in: GA Tech son lab

The first result was Georgia Tech Sonification Lab: an interdisciplinary research group based in the School of Psychology and the School of Interactive Computing at Georgia Tech. Fuck yeah. If Su meant today, I knew where I could find my girl.

Fate could be a bitch, but if I were lucky, she loved me today.

CHAPTER FIVE

JOSEPHINE

I rushed down the concrete and brick sidewalk on Cherry Street, my eyes on my feet, ignoring everything around me. I was hung over. A shower and breakfast had brought me from miserable to moderately human, but I still felt like crap, and I'd had a knot in my stomach ever since I'd left Holden's place that morning. I'd run out of there like a thief, and I hadn't done anything wrong. I'd gone home, hoping Emily would tell me I'd done the right thing, but she'd shaken her head and said I should have stayed.

"Jo-Jo," she'd said, "when was that last time either of us met a decent guy? Holden sounds like a fairy tale. You should have at least gone back for one more roll in the sheets before running off like the ho you are."

I'd thrown a pillow at her and escaped into the shower. Her teasing had struck a nerve. I should have stayed. I was trying to shake it off—nothing I could do about it now. I didn't even know his last name. You know where he lives, I reminded myself. True. I did know where he lived. But the vision of hanging around in the coffee house in his building, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, was too pathetic for me to consider. At least, not yet.

Annoyed with myself, I pushed thoughts of Holden from my mind and walked faster. I was never late to lab, but between my hangover and throwing pillows at my roommate, I'd have to run to get there by three. Since there was no way I was running anywhere with my post-hangover headache, I picked up my pace and prepared to be a few minutes late.

"Jo!" I turned my head to the familiar voice calling my name and slowed my pace to let my teammate, Darren, catch up. "Damn you're walking fast," he said. "It won't kill you to be a few minutes late."

I shrugged. "I know. It's a habit."

"I think Angie wishes you'd rub off on the rest of us."

I laughed. Angie was the leader of our project, and she made me look like a slacker. She probably did wish my habitual punctuality would rub off on the rest of the group. All of us were smart—you didn't get into our program or this research project without being very smart—but we all had a habit of getting caught up in our work and forgetting meetings and deadlines. I had a thing about programming alarms into my phone each morning to force me to stay on schedule. Without that, I'd be perpetually late like Darren.

"So what's your vote?" Darren asked as we walked. "Hardware or software?"

In between my awful date and my erotic dream of a night with Holden, I'd been mulling over this exact question. "I'm voting for both."

"Oh, she goes for the hard shot," Darren said in exaggerated dismay. I laughed and nudged him with my shoulder.

"I think we need to re-check the placement of the device on the glasses, but I also think I messed up the code in the interface."

"Not possible," Darren said, laughing.

"Very possible."

We were working on a project to help the vision impaired—a pair of glasses that could perform spatial mapping and communicate obstacles via Bluetooth to the user's phone. If we could get it to work, it could replace canes for the blind.

If we can get it to work.

The bridge between theory and execution was the most complicated part of developing new tech. I hadn't been surprised when we'd fired up the glasses the day before and gotten a dead screen, but I'd still been disappointed.

We rounded the corner to the door of the building, and I came to a dead stop. Lounging on a bench beside the main entry to the Psychology building was Holden.

He got to his feet in a fluid, predatory surge that sent a hot tingle straight between my legs. He paced toward me, his hair gleaming in the sun, his tall frame athletic and graceful, the muscles in his broad shoulders apparent beneath his worn t-shirt. Yum.

I was crazy. I had to be crazy, because instead of waking the man and doing deliciously naughty things to his body all morning, I'd run away like a coward. How had he found me? I opened my mouth to ask, but the hot look in his dark eyes stopped my words.

I was suddenly aware I was not the girl he'd met the night before. Gone were the spike heels, designer dress, and artfully arranged curls. Standing before the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, I was wearing worn jeans, a t-shirt that said Reaver's Barbecue from my favorite sci-fi TV show, and the ubiquitous hoodie, this one in navy blue. My hair was in a messy bun held up by takeout chopsticks, and I didn't have on an ounce of makeup. Not even lip balm. I was shocked that Holden recognized me.

"Excuse me?" Darren said, startling me out of my shock. Holden had come to a stop directly in front of us, and I was staring up at him, jaw dropped, eyes wide. "Who are you?" Darren demanded, moving as if to shield me from Holden. Holden blocked him easily, sliding between us and curling his arm around me.

"Is this guy bothering you, Jo?" Darren asked, sounding like he was ready to start something with Holden.

I shook off my daze and said, "No, I'm good. I'll meet you inside." Darren made as if to lay a hand on Holden, and I said, "Really, Darren, I'm good. I'll see you in the lab in a minute."

Darren scowled at Holden for a moment, then left. At a loss for anything meaningful to say, I asked, "How did you find me?"

Holden reached into his back pocket and produced a familiar wrinkled note. I remembered my purse, open and on its side beneath the bench. I took the note from his fingers and glanced at it. "Good detective work," I said. Holden plucked the note from my fingers and put it back in his pocket.

"Why did you leave this morning?" he asked.

"I thought you'd want me to," I said.

"Really?" he asked, his eyes studying mine, demanding honesty.

"I was afraid you'd want me to leave," I admitted. Holden lifted his hands to cup my face, tilting my chin up to him.

"I didn't. I wanted you to stay."

"Oh," I whispered.

"Did you want to stay?" Holden asked quietly.

"Yes," I whispered again.

"Good." His lips brushed mine in a feather-light kiss that sent electric tingles straight to my nipples. Another brush, and I thought he had a direct line to my clit. When he slanted his mouth down on mine, claiming me in our second, very public kiss, I fell into him, kissing him back with everything I had. I'd been a fool to walk out on him, but now that I had a second chance, I wasn't going to blow it.

I have no idea how long we kissed. When we finally broke apart, Holden slid his thumb over my lower lip and ordered, "Have dinner with me tonight."

"Okay," I said.

"Seven? I'll pick you up."

"Okay." I gave him my address and my number, my head still spinning from that kiss. I turned to go into the building, then stopped. "Wait! What's your name? I mean, your whole name?"

"Winters. Holden Winters."

* * *

"Holden Winters?" Emily shrieked. I stared at her in amazement. Emily was not a shrieker.

"What? Do you know him?" I asked, confused.

"Not personally, no," she said, shaking her head. "Sometimes, I forget you're not from here." She opened her laptop and started typing. A search results page popped up with pictures of Holden and a long list of web pages mentioning him. I saw the club, Mana, something about WGC, and lower down, headlines with the words murder, tragedy, and suicide. All of a sudden, I realized I was way over my head.

"I'm not spying on him," I said, looking away from the screen. "Just tell me what I need to know."

"Okay. First, you have to tell me—is he really that gorgeous in real life?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Damn," Emily sighed. "Okay, this is a sad story, and if it wasn't mostly common knowledge, I wouldn't tell you. But he may assume you know anyway now that he told you his name . . ." She trailed off.

"Just tell me, Em!"

"Okay, so the Winters family are old Atlanta. In our parents’ generation, there were two brothers. I can't remember their names. They all lived in this huge estate in Buckhead. Big money."

I didn't need her to add the last part. I'd only been in Atlanta a few years, but I knew an estate in Buckhead meant big money.

"When I was a baby, so your Holden was probably a little kid, one of the brothers and his wife died in a murder/suicide. It was a huge scandal, really ugly. The kids—I think they had three or four boys—went to live with the other brother and his wife. Then, like ten years ago, the other brother and his wife were both killed in a break-in. But there were rumors that it wasn't really a break-in, but that it was another murder/suicide."

"Oh my God," I said, letting out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. "So his parents are dead?"

"I don't know which side of the family he's from, but either way, yeah. I remember the media was awful. I was too young for the first murders, but I was about eleven the second time, and it was horrible. The media followed the kids everywhere—they couldn't stop picking the whole thing apart. I still remember seeing a picture of all the kids at the funeral, the oldest boys trying to look strong. One of the youngest boys—they looked like twins, so I don't know if it was Holden or his cousin—was hugging a girl who'd been about my age. Charlotte, I think. Or Caroline. Something with a 'C'. She was sobbing, and he held on to her so tightly. It was sad."

"Did they ever catch the killer?" I asked, my voice thick in my throat. I couldn't imagine losing my family like that, to such sudden violence, and then having to grieve under a microscope. I understood why it had stuck in Emily's head. She’d been through her own nightmare at a young age, part of it at the callous hands of the media. Seeing the family, kids her age, subjected to such violating attention at what had to be the worst time of their lives would have made an indelible impression on her.

She shook her head. "No, I don't think they did. They must have looked hard. The Winters family has the kind of clout that can turn the world upside down. The oldest son took over the business and became head of the family. I'm sure he pushed to solve the case. But as far as I know, they never found anything."

I sat in silence, trying to absorb what I'd learned as Emily flipped back open her laptop and started clicking.

"Did you know he owns Mana?" She asked. Dumbly, I shook my head. "And he runs WGC—the gaming company—with his cousin, Tate. I bet WGC is Winters Gaming Corp, or Company. Something like that. Holy shit, they still look like twins." Fanning herself, she rotated the laptop to show me a picture of Holden and his cousin at what looked like a tech conference, both in suits, grinning and gesturing toward a huge screen in front of a crowd. Good God, they were hot.

"He owns the club?" I asked. It explained how comfortable he was there. My head was spinning a little from the overload of information.

"And WGC. I heard a rumor they were working on a new physics engine. I'd love to get a look at that. If you guys keep going out, will you ask if I can see it?"

"One thing at a time," I cautioned. I was way out of my league with Holden Winters. Way out. "Let me get through dinner tonight before I start asking him for favors."

"Yeah, good point. Still, I heard that on top of the physics engine, they've got a team working on something new in emergent gaming for Syndrome 2. But that's only a rumor."

Emily's vision unfocused as she got lost in speculation of gaming technology. She was a fellow grad student in the CS department at Tech, but her focus was on gaming. With a dual concentration on interactive intelligence and graphics, Emily's research projects tended to fall in line with the same kind of work Holden's company did. It was no surprise she was distracted.

"Hey," I said, clapping my hands under her nose. "Focus, please. I have less than an hour before he's going to be here, my hair is a mess, and I'm not wearing any makeup. I need serious help."

Emily sat up and gave me her full attention. She was the best friend ever. Scanning me, she narrowed her eyes, cocked her head to the side, then said, "Loose hair with a little product to smooth it out, because you want to go casual after last night, and we don't have time for more. I'll do your makeup, but I'm going to go light. The jeans you wore Friday—they make your ass look great—and my plum batwing top. Casual but sexy."

"Jeans and light makeup?" I asked, biting my lip. The night before, I'd been rocking serious glamour. I couldn't go out with him wearing jeans and only a little makeup.

"Jeans and light makeup," Emily said firmly. "Trust me. He saw you on your way to lab, didn't he?"

I nodded.

"And he asked you out? Then kissed you on the sidewalk?"

I nodded again.

"You weren't the height of fashion this afternoon, and he still asked you to dinner. He probably saw you coming up the street. I bet he had plenty of time for a quick getaway. Trust me. He doesn't want some glamor girl. He wants you."

CHAPTER SIX

JOSEPHINE

The doorbell rang, and I prayed Emily was right. When she was finished with my makeup and putting product in my hair, I looked pretty good, but I definitely wasn't glamorous. For one thing, the jeans and batwing shirt were flattering, but I was not skinny like all those girls at Mana. Though Holden had seemed to like my curves.

Telling myself to stop obsessing, I went to answer the door. Emily was nowhere to be seen. I'm sure she wanted to check Holden out, but she was so shy, she tended to avoid meeting new people if at all possible, even when they were as hot as Holden Winters.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I unlocked the door and pulled it open. Holden stood there in the same jeans he'd worn that afternoon and an untucked blue button-down shirt. As always seemed to happen when I looked at him, I temporarily lost the power of speech. He stared down at me, then said, "Are you ready to go?"

I nodded and turned to grab my purse and keys from beside the door. Holden took my arm with his, leading me down the hall to the elevator.

"I thought I'd cook you dinner at my place," he said. "But if you'd rather go out, we can do that too."

"No," I said, "dinner at your place sounds good." His arm tucked through mine, and the heat of his body beside me brought back vivid memories of all the things he'd done to me at his place. I was more than happy to go back there. I wondered for a second if he would think I was too easy.

"I promise," he said, "I won't ravage you until after dessert."

"You don't have to wait that long," I said with a laugh, deciding I didn't really care if he thought I was easy. I'd slept with him the first night we met, and not only couldn't I take that back, but I didn't want to. There was nothing I regretted about the night before except running out on him after I'd woken up.

"Well," he said, dipping his head to bite the side of my neck as the elevator doors closed, "Maybe I'll ravage you once before dessert. Or between courses."

I shivered.

"We can play it by ear," I said, smiling inwardly and wishing we were already at his place.

As we left the building, he said, "It's a nice night, so I walked over. I hope you don't mind."

"No. I like walking." I did, and it was a perfect spring night—cool, but not cold, the warmth of the afternoon lingering in the air. Around us, people strolled, heading out to dinner or just enjoying the evening. With my arm tucked through Holden's, I was mostly oblivious to everyone else. He held me close, his touch teasing my body.

It had been a long, long time since I'd had sex before Holden, and my body wanted more. Not just more orgasms, but more Holden. No man had ever made me feel this way, so instantly hot, so seduced with just a touch. Interrupting my thoughts, he said,

"Did you have a good afternoon?"

I considered. "Yes and no," I said honestly. "Seeing you was good. The lab was not. We can't figure out why our project isn't working, and I have a bad feeling the problem is my code. I've been over it and over it, but I can't spot the bug."

"Can you tell me what you're working on?"

It was a reasonable question. There were projects that were confidential. If he ran WGC, he knew all about confidential tech. As Emily had mentioned, they were currently working on two projects that the gaming world would love to know about.

"I can, a little." Trying not to bore him to death, I explained about the spatial mapping glasses and helping the blind navigate without a cane.

"How does the phone communicate obstacles?" Holden asked, sounding interested.

"Right now, we're working on a kind of Morse code in vibrations. We've got a consult from linguistics helping us work out the best way to communicate non-verbally."

"Very cool," he said. "How do you know the problem is your code?"

"I don't. It could be the hardware. But the issue is in the connection between the glasses and the phone. We're using Bluetooth, and I wrote that part of the app. We can't get it to connect. Of all the problems . . ." I shook my head in frustration.

"I know. I always get more pissed when the bug is something basic. How many times do you connect with Bluetooth?"

"Exactly," I said, gratified that he got why I was so pissed. "My headphones link up automatically. It should be the spatial mapping causing the problem, not the Bluetooth. We're going to connect a phone with hardwire so we can work on that while I try to debug the app."

I was surprised to realize we were already at Holden's building. Of all the things I'd imagined for our date, a conversation about my work hadn't been one of them. I realized I was a little shallow, expecting that someone as hot and rich as Holden wouldn't have a brain. Given that he owned and ran both a successful nightclub and a gaming company, I should have known better. I watched him do the palm print thing to get the elevator working and said, "I'm guessing you don't have many uninvited guests."

"No, not many. Unless they're family. They show up uninvited all the time."

Guilt hit me as we entered his apartment. I'd looked him up, talked about him with Emily, and now I knew all these personal things about him. It felt invasive and wrong. Suddenly uncomfortable, I stepped away from him and blurted out, "Emily told me who you are. I mean, about your family, and that you own the club and WGC."

Holden shrugged, his mouth tight. "I was going to tell you," he said. "It's not a secret."

"I wasn't trying to pry." Holden looked so uncomfortable, I felt terrible for saying anything. "I'm sorry about your family." I had to stop talking without thinking. I worried that I'd made things worse, but his mouth softened and he said,

"It was a long time ago."

"I'm still sorry."

"So am I. But the rest of my family is pretty tight. We got through it."

I wondered if you could ever really get over such loss, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. Mostly. "I'm sorry I brought it up," I said, "But I didn't like knowing that much about you and not saying anything."

I trailed off when he took my hand and pulled me to him, wrapping his strong arms around my waist as he studied my face with warm, serious eyes.

"You're not like any woman I've dated before," he said. "The women I know would be trying to play me, and you're honest to a fault."

I opened my mouth to say something—I had no idea what, but probably something embarrassing. Holden saved me from myself. His mouth came down on mine, his lips pressing in a gentle kiss before his tongue flicked out, tasting me. My body caught fire. Without thinking, I pressed closer, parting my legs a little, feeling his cock swell behind his jeans.

I reached out my tongue to touch his. The instant we connected, the kiss exploded. His arms tightened, drawing me hard against him. His mouth was hungry, moving against mine in a kiss so blatantly possessive, so claiming, it would have hurt if it hadn't felt so perfect. Just as I was getting my bearings, Holden lifted me. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his hips as he carried me to his kitchen.

"I've been staring at my island all day, wishing I'd done this last night." He set me down on the hard surface and said, "Unbutton your jeans."

At his order and the thrill of his hot, dark eyes on me, a rush of wet heat hit between my legs. Normally, I didn't like being told what to do, but when Holden got bossy with me, I loved it. With shaking hands, I unsnapped my jeans. Sitting on the counter, it was impossible to push them down, but I slowly lowered the zipper, loving the way his eyes flared at the rasp of metal. I hooked my thumbs at the waist and waited. I wasn't disappointed.

"Lay back and slide off your jeans," Holden ordered, his voice rough.

I did as he commanded, the marble deliciously cool against my heated skin. Staring up at the high ceiling of Holden's kitchen, I wiggled my hips and pushed both my jeans and my underwear down. When they were far enough, I let gravity do the work, kicking my feet a few times until the fabric hit the floor in a soft thump. I waited, the tension in my belly winding tighter. He was silent, unmoving, and I started to feel exposed.

"Now your shirt. Take it all off."

In my head, I stripped off my shirt and bra in a sexy, graceful tease. I think reality was more of a rushed fumble, but I didn't care. I wanted to be naked for Holden. I needed whatever was going to come next.

Again, he fell silent, and I waited, feeling my pussy getting wetter, my bare nipples drawing tighter, my entire body readying for him. When I felt a finger land on the inside of my right knee, tracing a line up to my pussy, I knew what to do.

With a moan that was half-anticipation and half-pleasure, I opened my legs. The stroke of his tongue, following the path of his finger, was a decadent torture. He was close, so close, to touching me where I needed him the most. I opened my legs wider, inviting him in. He didn't make me wait. His tongue came down flat on my clit, tasting, pressing, dragging a high-pitched sound from my throat.

I'd never really had a man's mouth there before. Not like this. Not one who knew what he was doing. Holden wasn't going to take another lick and move away, saying it tasted funny, or it was his turn. No, Holden was going to put his mouth between my legs and eat me until I came. Just the thought of it cranked the tension inside me a notch tighter.

He traced a finger around my wet, slippery core, murmuring, "So sweet. You have the sweetest pussy, Josephine. I have to taste you before I fuck you."

No argument from me. I think I whispered, "Please, Holden," before he sucked my clit into his mouth and drove one finger inside me. His finger didn't stretch me like his cock, but it was enough to make me feel full, so full. His mouth moved on me, sucking, licking, as he added another finger. I squirmed, wanting to thrust against him, wanting his cock, wanting to more.

He teased me, reading my body, understanding my responses better than I did. Again and again, he brought me right to the edge, leaving me gasping and begging, before backing off. He lifted his head from between my legs, only once, to say,

"Play with your nipples, Josephine."

I'd never touched myself in front of a man before, but there was no way I was going to say no to Holden. Lifting a trembling hand from the cool marble, I traced my fingertips around my tight nipples, shivering at the sweet spark of pleasure.

His tongue licked at me, pressing into my swollen clit, giving me just the right pressure. My hips surged up to his mouth and my fingers pinched, my body falling out of my control and under Holden's.

The orgasm tore through me, and my pussy clamped down on Holden's fingers. He fucked me with them harder, sucking at my clit in strong pulls, dragging out the waves of pleasure until I couldn't breathe.

When I came back to myself, Holden was sitting on one of the stools beside the island, cradling me in his arms. I was dazed from coming so hard, and I lifted my face to him, instinctively seeking his touch. I tasted myself on his lips. Any other time, I would have thought it weird, but at that moment, it felt perfect.

"I really did mean to feed you first," he said when he lifted his head from mine.

"I'd rather you fuck me," I said. Not that I hadn't just had the orgasm of a lifetime, but I could feel his hard cock beneath my ass, and I wanted it inside me. I knew he wanted it too.

"If you insist."

Holden carried me to his bedroom, laid me gently on the sheets, and grabbed a condom from his bedside table. He was naked a second later and between my legs, pressing his thick cock inside my swollen pussy a second after that. I'd thought his fingers had filled me, but nothing was like his cock. The stretch was so much, it was almost pain, and I loved it. I clung to his hips with my thighs and moved into him with every thrust, my fingers clamped on his shoulders.

He didn't last long, but I didn't need him to. I was coming again after only a few minutes, gasping his name as I went wild beneath him. He gave into his orgasm, groaning, "Josephine," then collapsed half on top of me, breathing hard. He rolled over, pulling me with him so I was draped over his chest, his fingertips stroking my back in lazy circles.

Eventually, he said, "If we keep fucking like this, we might kill ourselves. Or starve to death."

"Then let's eat dinner before we have sex again," I said. "Just in case."

"Deal."

We lay there a few more minutes, which was a good thing, because I think every muscle in my body was too relaxed to move. I had no idea sex like that even existed, much less had I ever done it multiple times in twenty-four hours. It seemed impossible that exactly a day ago, I was driving Stuart to dinner for our doomed blind date. As awful as that date had been, this date with Holden was winning for the best date in the universe.

Nothing that came after was a letdown. When we finally got up, he cooked an amazing dinner of grilled salmon, asparagus, and apple tarts, though he confessed that it was one of the few dishes he could make and he'd bought the tarts at the bakery down the street. I didn't care. The effort he made called to my heart.

After we ate, we sprawled on his couch to watch a movie, though that lasted fewer than five minutes before I slid to my knees between his legs and sucked his cock. Holden's cock was the first I'd truly wanted in my mouth, and ever since he'd laid me out on the island, I'd been wondering what he would taste like on my tongue. The answer was that he tasted magnificent, salty and male and perfect. I wanted him to come in my mouth, but Holden had other ideas, and before I knew it, he was fucking me again. I didn't complain.

I spent the night, and this time, when I woke, I didn't sneak out. I had a lecture first thing, and I had to get home to change, but I woke Holden before I left. His dark eyes blinked open when I said his name, his arms coming up to pull me on top of him, his sleep-heavy voice whispering, "Josephine." I kissed him longer than I should have before I pulled free.

"I'll call you later," he mumbled into his pillow when I finally went to leave. I leaned down to give him one last kiss on his closed eyelids before racing out the door to class. The weekend had started with a disaster, but it had ended in a dream.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JOSEPHINE

I floated through my Monday, buoyed on a high of fantastic sex and lack of sleep. Other than checking my phone too often, I tried to put Holden out of my mind and concentrate on school. He didn't call or text all day. By dinner, I put my phone away so I'd stop checking, only to miss his call. I called him back and left a voicemail. I knew it was way too soon to expect daily contact, but I missed him. Annoyed that I was so attached after one date, and afraid I was going to morph into a meme of an overly attached girlfriend, I told myself to chill out and focus on my own life.

For the most part, it worked, though every time my mind drifted to Holden, I swear my nipples perked up, and I had to fight the urge to press my legs together. One weekend, not even forty-eight hours, and he had my body trained. Tuesday passed without a call or a text. By Wednesday morning, I had a hollow feeling in my chest and Emily had stopped asking if he'd called. After a rushed lunch, I headed to the Sonification Lab to meet with my group, resolutely not looking at the bench where I'd seen Holden just a few days before. I ran into Darren just inside the doors and walked up to the lab with him, groaning in annoyance when he asked, "How's Prince Charming?"

"Fine," I answered, not planning to go into the sad detail of my love life with Darren. No way he needed to know that I'd slept with Prince Charming the night we'd met and again on our first date, and now, he wasn't calling. It wasn't exactly an original story. I don't know why I'd thought it was going to be different for me.

"I didn't think he'd be your type," Darren said, an odd intensity in his voice. I looked at him, suddenly uncomfortable. He'd asked me out earlier in the year and I'd turned him down. I'd done it gently, but I hadn't thought dating someone on my project was a good idea. Things could get intense, and bringing a personal relationship into it didn't seem smart. That, and I wasn't attracted to him. At all. He was nice enough, but I liked a guy who showered more than twice a week. I know, my standards were too high.

"I don't think I have a type," I said, trying to end the conversation.

"I guess he's every girl's type," Darren went on, as if I hadn't spoken. "Rich."

"I don't care about that," I protested. "And it's not like there's really anything going on. We only went out once."

"Did you see the paper this morning?" he asked, his voice expectant.

"No, why?"

"Let me see if I can find it," he said, taking his phone out of his pocket and tapping on the screen as he went on, "I never look at this crap, but my roommate's girlfriend loves the Style section, and she left it open this morning." He tapped a few more times, then held the phone up in front of me. "Here."

It was a picture of Holden, his arm around a gorgeous, very busty redhead, smiling down at her with clear affection. The date on the article was the day before. The headline said something about the Winters family and a charity event. I bit my lip, forcing back the stab of pain, and shrugged, pretending a nonchalance I didn't feel.

"We only went out once," I said, using every ounce of self-control I had to hide the nausea turning my stomach inside out. I barely heard Darren as he said,

"Well, you know who he is, right? He's got a different girlfriend every week. He and his cousin are huge players. My roommate's girlfriend couldn't shut up about it. I guess she knows someone who dated him and said he's amazing in bed, but an asshole otherwise. You're better off without him."

"I guess," I said, shrugging again. I would have bet everything that Holden wasn't an asshole. Maybe there was another explanation for the picture. I wasn't going to condemn him based on a picture in the paper. That would be foolish. If he called, I'd let him tell me about the redhead.

If he called.

With each hour that passed, Holden calling was looking less and less likely.

I followed Darren to the lab, ignoring him talking about Holden and his cousin, nodding along like I was listening. I didn't have the energy to tell him to shut up. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth to object to everything he was saying, I would start to cry. I was not going to cry in the middle of lab. I could at least wait until I got home and crawled into bed with a sappy movie and some ice cream.

I headed straight for my workstation and went back to poring over the code I'd written, trying to isolate the bug, while Darren and Angie worked on tweaking the glasses. When Darren asked to use my phone for a test, I handed it over, saying only, "Use the newest version of the app. I updated it when I got here."

I wasn't paying too much attention to what they were doing until I heard Angie shout, "You got it! You got it!" Tearing my eyes from the lines of code on my screen, I watched as my phone connected to the glasses with a wire and began to vibrate in a pattern when Angie turned the glasses until they faced an obstacle. I hadn't found the problem with the Bluetooth, and we were nowhere close to working out the patterns for different obstacles, but the spatial field recognition was working.

Mesmerized by the sight of months of work coming to fruition, I almost forgot my recent heartbreak. Almost. Beneath my excitement every time the phone buzzed, that hollow place in my chest echoed at me, reminding me that I'd lost something I didn't even know I wanted.

I stayed later than the rest of the team, ducking their attempts to get me to join them for a drink. We had a lot to celebrate, but I wasn't in the mood. I spent another hour squinting at the screen until my head was pounding before I gave up and dragged myself home. As much as I loved her, I was grateful Emily wouldn't be there. She had her weekly gaming meet with her team, the one night of the week they put aside their projects and played together. I knew she wouldn't be home until well after I was asleep.

My head throbbed each time my feet hit the pavement. By the time I opened my apartment door, all I wanted was to close my eyes. I dropped my phone and bag in the kitchen and headed straight for bed, peeling off my clothes once I shut my door behind me. As soon as I was down to my t-shirt, I crawled between the covers and let my eyes shut, willing myself to sleep.

Sleep didn't come. Instead, now that I was away from curious eyes, the hollow place in my chest expanded to my stomach, leaving me feeling as if all the happiness had been sucked out of me. Stupidly, I didn't care about our triumph in the lab. Alone in my bed, I longed for Holden with an intensity that was absurd, considering how little time we'd spent together.

Funny, you'd think it would be the orgasms that would be on my mind. I'd never had sex like that, and I probably never would again. Holden had known my body better than I did, and he'd made every part of me sing for him.

But I didn't miss the sex. Well, I did, but it wasn't what made hot tears seep from beneath my closed eyelids. No, that came from remembering the way his fingertips had traced over my back as we'd lain together in his bed. The way he smelled, woodsy and male. The way he'd understood my problems at the lab and commiserated without trying to solve them for me. The way, aside from my mentioning his family, we'd fit so well together. He'd managed to push every sexual boundary I had, yet make me completely comfortable otherwise.

When I'd left his bed Monday morning, it had never occurred to me that he would blow me off. I was tempted to think there was some comical misunderstanding going on, but he had my number and knew where I lived. Even if that picture of him with the redhead was a mistake, I'd left him a message two days before and he'd never called back. He didn't have amnesia, and if he'd been in some horrible accident, I would have known. It would have been all over the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. I was going to have to face facts. Holden had gotten what he wanted from me. We were over. He wasn't going to call.

As that depressing knowledge sunk in, I began to sob in earnest. Curled up in my quilt, I cried myself to sleep, hoping I'd be able to wash Holden out of my heart with my tears. I had a terrible feeling it wasn't going to be that easy.

CHAPTER EIGHT

HOLDEN

I sat at my desk in the back office at Mana, scowling at the accounting program on my screen. Neither of us really enjoyed accounting. Normally our club manager handled the books, but he was on vacation and I was in such a foul mood, Tate had banished me from the club.

He may have had a point. I'd been at the bar, waiting for a beer, and had shot down a co-ed so hard, she'd gone back to her friends in tears. Maybe I'd been a little harsh, but her bleached hair had reminded me of the sunlit streaks in Josephine's dirty blonde. Beside the memory of Josephine, the co-ed had looked like a plastic doll in her short, low-cut dress, her fake boobs and fake hair all shouting, "Look at me!"

When she'd put her hand on my crotch and called me by name, I'd told her to get her hands off my cock and go slut it up somewhere else. Not the most gentlemanly response I could have given, I know. The co-ed had burst into loud sobs, running off with an exaggerated flounce that had almost tossed her tits out of her dress. Tate, standing at the other end of the bar, had grabbed my beer from the bartender, shoved it into my hand, and said, "Go back in the office before you scare away any more paying customers."

I was too pissed off to argue. I tried to tell myself I didn't know what was wrong with me, but that was a lie. I knew exactly what was wrong. Fucking Josephine. Or, more accurately, not fucking Josephine. She'd left my bed Monday morning, and that was the last I'd seen of her. Four days with no Josephine. I'd called her Monday night, and she'd called me back, leaving a halting message asking me to call her. That was the last I'd heard from her.

The mess at work that had kept me busy all day Monday had gotten worse by Tuesday. I'd been stuck in conferences until Tuesday night and had gone straight home to pass out. I didn't get clear of it until Wednesday afternoon. Since then, I'd called her five times. Nothing. I'd texted her. Nothing. I knew the crisis at WGC had delayed my call long enough that she would be pissed, but I'd more than made up for it since. I'd left messages asking her to call. Five of them. It was more than clear that she was done with me.

Fuck her. At the thought, I groaned, putting my head down on my desk. I wanted to. I really did. If only it were as simple as a fuck. I didn't need Josephine to get off. The problem was, I wanted her for so much more than that. I remembered the co-ed at the bar and glared at my computer.

Most of the women I met were like her, thinking because my family was rich and prominent, they could lead me around by my dick. The women who pursued my older brothers and cousins were subtler, better at the game. Tate and I got the young ones, the stupid college girls who thought a tight body and a willingness to fuck were all that it took.

Unfortunately for them, Tate and I had earned our reputations. We'd fucked more than our share of greedy girls hoping to latch onto our cocks and win a shot at the easy life. I wasn't interested. I'd seen my oldest brother, Aiden, through an unhappy marriage. Elizabeth was, on the surface, the polar opposite of the blonde at the bar. Aiden's ex-wife was cultured, elegant, and ice-cold. She'd been born to marry a man like Aiden, groomed to run an estate like the one we'd grown up in, taught from birth how to catch a man like my brother. In her heart, she was no better than the girl I'd insulted. The packaging might be more refined, but Elizabeth was like all the rest, hoping to spend her life enjoying Aiden's wealth while she led him around by his dick.

It could have worked if Aiden had lived a different life. He'd married Elizabeth, I think, under the assumption that she was the kind of woman he was supposed to marry. On the outside, she wasn't much different from my mother. Tate's mom had been a doctor, but my mother had been raised, like Elizabeth, to marry wealth. She was known for her parties, her charity balls, and lunches at the club.

The rest of the world never saw how much she loved her family. She'd loved my father to distraction, and she'd always had time for her children. When my aunt and uncle had died, she'd taken in Gage, Vance, Annalise, and Tate with open arms, treating them as if they were her own.

My Mom had been pure love, and I think Aiden had hoped that, somehow, Elizabeth had the same inside her. When he'd realized that she didn't, and never would, he'd divorced her.

Aiden wasn't going to settle for less than what our parents had, and neither was I. I'd been bored with easy sex and grasping women for a while. Josephine had seemed like the answer to a prayer. Too bad I wasn't the answer to one of hers.

I'll admit, I was taking her brush-off with little grace and a lot of sulking. I'd always been on the other side, though I never said I'd call when I wasn't going to. But I'd slept with women and then blown them off. It's pretty much all I'd done until Josephine. I couldn't quite believe she was doing it to me.

The door to the office cracked open and Tate stuck his head inside. "Is it safe to come in, or are you going to make me cry?" he asked.

I grunted in response, hoping he'd take that to mean he should leave. It was not my day. He came in and shut the door firmly behind him.

"Are you going to sulk in here all night?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the desk. I didn't answer. "Did you at least get through the receipts?" I continued to ignore him.

"Why don't you just go over to her place and ask her what's up?" he asked in an overly reasonable tone of voice. I glared at him.

"Because I'm not going to beg," I said, hearing the false bravado. I was a mess, and I worried I was precariously close to doing exactly that. "Would you go ask some girl why she hadn't called?" I asked.

"Hell no," Tate said. "But I never give a fuck about the girls I date. Well, not true. A fuck is all I give. I'm more than happy for them to ghost on me. Anyway, I thought Josephine wasn't 'some girl'. I thought she was different."

I shrugged. I knew if I said what I was thinking, that I'd thought she was different, that she wasn't just some girl, I'd only sound even more pathetic. Briefly, I thought about dumping the accounting, going out to the bar, and getting wasted. Maybe picking up some random girl and fucking her.

The thought left my mind as soon as it entered. I was sulking, but I wasn't an idiot. If there was a chance of working things out with Josephine, I wasn't going to ruin it by fucking someone else, especially when I didn't want another woman. I could still get wasted, but I closed down that idea as well. All that would get me was hung over and more miserable than I already was.

"I have to get through this shit," I said, shuffling through the receipts in front of me and hoping Tate would take the hint. He did, clapping me on the back once before leaving.

"She's just a girl," he said, shutting the door behind him. Narrowing my eyes at the accounting program on my screen, I blocked out thoughts of Josephine and forced myself to get to work.

CHAPTER NINE

JOSEPHINE

"The doorbell is ringing," Emily shouted from the kitchen. I was just out of the shower, my hair in a towel, putting lotion on. I knew Em hated to answer the door, but I wasn't in any condition to do it myself.

"You have to get it," I shouted back. She must have answered it, because I didn't hear anything else. Curious, I finished with the lotion, put on my thick terrycloth robe, and pulled a comb through my hair before going to see who was at our door. I knew that for a lot of people, Thursday night was the beginning of the weekend, but not for me. I had a full day of classes the next day and zero desire to go out. I emerged from the bathroom to find Emily standing in front of the door, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at a man who wasn't Holden but looked almost exactly like him. This must be the cousin. Tate.

"Can I help you?" I asked, trying to think of a reason Holden's cousin would be in my apartment. It was pretty clear Holden wasn't interested in me anymore. Why would he send his cousin over here?

Tate's blue eyes were locked on Emily, an odd, slightly bemused expression on his face. When she snapped her fingers in front of him, I knew he must be making her nervous. Emily was only rude when she was nervous. He gave her a slow smile and caught her snapping fingers in his, turning them so he could kiss the back of her hand. Swoon. Emily's cheeks flared pink, and she snatched back her hand.

"Hello?" I said, not sure I wanted to interrupt whatever was going on between Tate and my so very shy roommate. Tate looked smitten. But Emily was not the girl for him. Em was gorgeous, taller than me, very curvy, with straight, shiny dark hair, and clear gray eyes fringed with lashes so thick, she never needed mascara.

But she didn't date, barely went out, and would have no idea how to handle a man like Tate Winters. If he was anything like Holden, he'd use Emily and toss her away. She didn't need her first experience with a guy to end in a broken heart.

Suddenly worried, I stepped between them, gently pushing Em behind me. Looking up, I met Tate's eyes and asked, "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

Just the sight of him, so much like Holden, was painful. He crossed his arms over his chest and said,

"I told him you wouldn't be worth it. That you'd just end up like all the others. But even I didn't think you'd use him and then blow him off."

He wasn't making any sense. I heard his words, but I couldn't get them to fall in the right order in my head. Me using Holden? What the hell was he talking about?

"She didn't use him," Emily cut in as she stepped out from behind me. She was pissed of, her back stiff, one arm wrapped around herself and the other raised, finger pointing at Tate in stabs of motion as she lectured, "Jo didn't use him. He used her! He took her out, swept her off her feet, and then didn't call. That's the definition of blowing someone off."

Tate looked from Emily to me, then back to Emily. He shook his head at her and grabbed her fingers again, holding her hand in his as he said, "Monday and Tuesday weren't his fault. We had a huge blow-up at work and he was stuck putting out fires until Wednesday morning. And he still managed to call your girl."

"Yeah, once. That was it. She never heard from him again," Emily shouted, trying to wrestle her hand back from him, this time unsuccessfully.

I could speak for myself, probably should have, but I was fascinated by the interaction between Emily and Tate. Not that I was letting it go on. She deserved better. But I couldn't remember the last time I saw her go head to head with a stranger. Friends or teammates on a project, sure. But not strangers, especially strange men.

"He's called her three fucking times a day," Tate said, tugging on Em's hand for emphasis. "Left her messages. Now, he looks like someone kicked his fucking puppy, and I'm pissed."

I stared at Tate in shock as he looked at me and demanded, "What is wrong with you?"

I didn't say a thing, my head reeling. He had not called me three times a day. He'd called me once, and I'd called him back. I may have even texted him—something I hadn't told Emily—and he hadn't responded to that either. Before I could jump in to defend myself, Emily wrenched her hand out of Tate's grip and yelled,

"Nothing is wrong with her. She came back on Monday all moony eyed over your cousin, then he blew her off and went out with some redhead. What's wrong with him?"

"He didn't go out with anyone," Tate said, looking at Emily as if she were unhinged.

"Darren showed Jo a picture. I looked it up. Tuesday night, he was out with a redhead while Jo was crying herself to sleep."

"Hey," I said, affronted. They both looked at me, annoyed I'd interrupted. "He doesn't need to hear that part," I directed to Em. She set her jaw and folded her arms, resolute.

"It's the truth," she said. "He should know what a jerk his cousin is."

"Show me the picture," Tate said. "Holden didn't go out with anyone Tuesday night. He was shut up in the office with me, dealing with a crisis."

Emily pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped on the screen for a minute, then shoved it at Tate. He studied the picture for a second before hooting with laughter. He handed her back her phone, pulled out his own, tapped a few times, and showed Emily the screen.

"That picture is a reprint. And here's Holden, with me, his brother Jacob, and his sister, Charlie," he said, sounding smug as Em studied his phone with a suspicious gaze. She shoved the phone back at him without a comment. Finally, Tate looked at me.

"He's called you. Seriously, he called multiple times."

Afraid to hope he was telling the truth, I stared a him for almost a full minute before walking to the kitchen table, picking up my phone, and handing it to him.

"Take a look," I said. "I haven't gotten a call since Monday night."

Tate tapped his way through my phone, I'm sure checking the call history and text messages. He finally said, "You could have erased them."

I threw my hands in the air, then grabbed my phone back. "Why would I do that? I'm not the one playing a game here."

"Someone is," Tate said, an ominous tone in his voice. "Because Holden definitely called you. I know his phone works. I used it myself this morning, and he'd know if something was wrong with it."

"I've made calls on mine. Look." I handed the phone back to Tate. "I texted Holden yesterday."

Emily gave me an accusing look. "You didn't tell me that."

I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat. I normally told her everything, but she'd been so pissed at him on my behalf, I hadn't wanted to confess my weakness.

"Sorry," I whispered. "I couldn't stop myself."

Emily, never one to hold a grudge, at least not against me, wrapped her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze, whispering back, "Something is up. I actually believe him."

"I kind of do too," I said, afraid to hope Tate might be telling the truth. I'd missed Holden with a hollow ache that was only getting worse. It was too much to imagine he might be feeling the same way.

Tate finished with my phone and handed it back. "Holden didn't get that text," he said. "I was with him when you sent it. We were in the office, and both of our phones were out. I would have seen it come in."

I stared down at my phone, my mind turning the odd problem over and over, looking for an answer. There was no way the phone had spontaneously decided to malfunction on specific calls. If it were broken, it would be dropping calls randomly. Not one phone number. Pulling up my call history, I double-checked Holden's record and found it wasn't blocked.

I liked solving puzzles. Like a sleepwalker, my brain occupied with the mystery, I headed for my laptop in the living room. I took a cable from the drawer in the coffee table, hooked my phone to my computer, and opened a jailbreak program that would let me get into the operating system of the phone. Everything looked normal. Whatever was wrong was hiding from me.

Following a hunch, I opened a virus program a friend had been working on. Emily, peering over my shoulder, said, "Good call."

The program took a few minutes to run, and the three of us watched its progress on my screen, our breath held as numbers rolled by, a line of green getting longer as the software scanned my phone and found nothing. I started to sit back, defeated, when a red STOP sign popped up and my laptop gave an angry beep.

VIRUS DETECTED

"What the hell?" I asked. I gave the program the order to quarantine the virus so I could take a closer look. When it was done, I opened it up to study the code. A few lines in, and I was seeing red. That bastard. Surging to my feet, I pushed past Emily. I had to get dressed. I had some geek ass to kick.

"What?" Emily asked, following me down the hall. "What did you find?"

"That was Darren's virus," I said, searching through my drawers for clothes. I dragged on my jeans, pulled a sweatshirt over my head, and shoved flip flops on my feet.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Positive. He has signatures all over his code. I gave him a hard time about it and told him it was sloppy and he'd better never make a virus, or he'd get caught in a second. He's too smart to be so dumb."

"What an asshole," she said, turning to Tate, who had waited for us at the end of the hall. She said, "Darren is the one who showed her that picture of Holden with his sister. He has a crush on Jo, and she turned him down."

"I'm going to kill that little shit," I said.

Tate stepped in front of me as I stormed to the door of my apartment. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, looking like he was stifling a laugh.

"Get out of my way," I said, stepping to the side. Tate mirrored me, clearly not willing to let me leave until I answered his question. "I'm going to Darren's to kick his ass."

"No, you're not," he said. "Holden would kill me if I let anything happen to you. Let me call him."

"No," I said. "This whole thing is my fault. I gave Darren my phone. I never thought he'd do something like this. He made me miserable for days. He knew I was miserable. I thought he was my friend."

I stepped to the side again, trying to get around Tate. He easily blocked me. "Holden will understand," he said. "Let's go to the club, and you can explain."

"Sure," I said, my vision going red as I thought about what Darren had done. "After I talk to Darren."

"I'm driving," Tate said, taking my arm in his hand.

"What?" Emily and I asked in unison.

"Do you think I'm going to let you confront this guy on your own? If you won't talk to Holden first, I'm at least going to watch your back."

"I'm coming too," Emily said from behind me. I looked at her in shock. Jumping into the middle of a drama was not Emily's style. "Well, I'm not letting you go off with him." She pointed at Tate like he was a serial killer holding me at knifepoint.

"Fine," I said.

I didn't care. I just wanted to get moving. Darren wasn't my best friend, but we'd known each other for two years. I wouldn't fully believe he could have done something like this until he admitted it to my face.

CHAPTER TEN

JOSEPHINE

Tate drove us to Darren's apartment, me in the front seat and Emily in the back, leaning forward so she was more between us than behind.

"I heard you're working on a new physics engine. And that you've written advancements in emergent gaming into Syndrome 2," she said, the pulse thudding in the side of her neck. I'd expected Em to disappear into the backseat once her anger at Tate had drained away. I should have known her curiosity about their company would prod her to speak despite her shyness.

Tate didn't respond, but I saw his lips twitch in a half-smile from the corner of my eye. He was messing with her. My head wrapped up in the problems with Darren and thoughts of Holden, I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Maybe it was good for Emily to step out of her comfort zone.

"Well?" she demanded. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Tate asked evenly. I stifled a laugh when Em gritted her teeth.

"Either! Both! It seems unlikely that you could be doing both, but I know you have a huge team at WGC and they're crazy talented, so it's possible, but . . ."

She trailed off as it became clear Tate wasn't going to answer her. I could have sworn I heard a low growl in her throat. I'd always known gaming and computers were the key to getting past Emily's shell, but I couldn't quite believe how open she was being with Tate. Normally, a guy like him—gorgeous, rich, successful, and a player—would have frozen her mouth shut. Instead, she was almost sparring with him. Still, what happened next took me by surprise.

Tate pulled the car into a spot on the street a block from Darren's apartment and turned in his seat to face Emily. "Go out to dinner with me," he ordered.

"What?" she asked, her voice more like a squeak.

"Go out to dinner with me, and I'll bring you to WGC for dessert. I might even let you see a demo of what we're working on."

Emily's eyes flashed wide, excitement flaring through the clear gray for just a moment before a wall came crashing down. She looked away from Tate, drew in a short breath, and said, "No, thank you," in a cool, prim tone.

It was Tate's turn for the wide eyes. Looking at the blank expression on his face, I wondered if Emily was the first girl to turn him down. Taking in his thick, dark hair, perfect cheekbones and full lips, I wouldn't have been surprised to find out that no female had ever said no to him.

Part of me wanted to referee whatever was going on between my best friend and Holden's cousin, but I had an ass to kick before I could see Holden. Tate and Emily could work out their issues later.

I opened the door of the car, shaking them out of their absorption. Tate followed me out of the car, Emily just behind. I strode to the door of the building, then stopped so abruptly, Tate had to put a hand on my shoulder to keep from walking into me. Turning to him, I asked in a small voice,

"He really called? You're not screwing with me?"

Tate leaned down and met my eyes with his. We'd only just met, and though he looked like Holden, his dark blue eyes were all his own. Still, they seemed sincere when he squeezed my shoulder and said, "He's a mess. I swear, he's called you at least three times a day. I'm not setting you up to get burned. That's on your friend upstairs. Let's go take care of him so you can put my boy out of his misery."

I nodded, reassured. I'd accepted Holden walking away so easily because it made sense. In my world, billionaire hot guys didn't fall for geeky chicks who looked more like they belonged in a library than on a runway. It had been too easy to believe he'd slept with me and then forgotten my name. Believing that he was missing me as much as I missed him? That was a lot harder.

With Tate's reassurance to bolster me, I opened the door and climbed the stairs to the second floor. I'd only been to Darren's apartment a few times, but I remembered how to get there. My anger had me on auto-pilot.

I pounded on the cheap wooden door without pause until it swung open beneath my hand. Darren's face broke into a smile at the sight of me. His expression dimmed when he saw Tate and Emily behind me. Shifting uncomfortably, he shoved his hands in his back pockets and said, "Hey, Jo, what's up?"

I held up my phone and waved in in his face. "Leave something in my phone, Darren?"

His eyes flicked from me to Tate to Emily, landing on my phone. He made a grab for it, but I tucked it in my back pocket. When he looked as if he'd go for it anyway, Tate stepped closer.

"Don't even think about it," he said, his arms crossed, his body slightly angled between me and Darren. He wasn't getting in my way, but it was obvious he'd take Darren down if he tried to lay a finger on me.

Darren slid his hands back into his pockets and tried for an innocent expression. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jo. I haven't touched your phone."

"You're an idiot, Darren," I said. "I don't know how someone so smart can be such a stupid tool. Everyone saw you working on my phone on Wednesday. I have a copy of the virus, and it's got your signatures all over it. What the hell were you thinking?"

He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. "You were just supposed to think he was blowing you off. He's already stopped calling. I was going to take it off tomorrow in the lab. You never would have known I did anything."

Tears sprang to my eyes as I realized he was right. If Tate hadn't confronted me, I would have just assumed Holden was done with me. Darren would have erased the virus, and I never would have known what he'd done. My chance with Holden would have gone up in smoke, a victim of Darren's jealousy.

"Why?" I asked, willing myself not to cry in front of him. "I thought we were friends."

"We are," he protested. "You're too good for that guy. He's fucked half the city. He's an entitled man-whore. You can do so much better than him—"

Darren didn't get to finish his tirade against Holden. Before I could think it through, my fist shot out, and I hit him on the face. Once. Then twice. Pain exploded in my hand, but I hit him again a third time, hard enough that he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and landing on the floor.

"Don't talk about Holden like that," I said, my temper so lost I wondered if I'd ever find it. "You know nothing about him. He's a good man. He deserves everything. He deserves so much better than an asshole like you fucking with his life."

I took a step forward, maybe to kick him, I don't know. I wasn't thinking clearly. A strong arm hooked around my waist, pulling me back into a hard chest. Tate swung me around until I was facing Emily.

"I think you're done, hot shot," he said. "His nose is bleeding, and so is your hand."

I checked my hand, suddenly feeling the throb in my now bloody knuckles. I did not know how to throw a punch. As the adrenaline faded, my hand started to seriously hurt.

"Fine," I said to Tate. To Darren, still on the floor, I said, "I'm turning you in. I have the virus, and anyone who's worked with you will be able to verify it's yours. Plus, you just confessed in front of witnesses, genius. You're fucked. Have a nice life."

Cradling my hand against my chest, I turned for the stairwell at the end of the hall. I was done wasting time on Darren. All I really wanted was to set things straight with Holden.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JOSEPHINE

It was a short, quiet ride from Darren's apartment to Mana. Tate said Holden was there, apparently shut up in the back office with paperwork. Emily hadn't said a thing since Tate had asked her out. Tate was equally silent, saying only that we needed to get ice for my hand before turning his attention to the road, sneaking looks at Emily in the rearview, a puzzled expression on his face.

We pulled to a stop in front of Mana, where Tate handed his keys to a valet and ushered us around the corner to the same VIP entrance I'd used with Stuart the weekend before. Tate exchanged a greeting with the bouncer, slapping him on the shoulder as he passed through the open door. Emily followed, ignoring Tate and the bouncer, her head down, body braced against the crowd and music inside. A nightclub wasn't Emily's idea of fun—tons of people, loud music, flashing lights. There was no way she wanted to be here. She was a great friend, but this was above and beyond. I caught up to her and said, "You don't have to come in if you don't want to."

"I'm okay," she said, her voice shaking a little. "I want to see what happens." She shot a grin at me, and I dropped it. If Em was stretching her boundaries, who was I to discourage her?

Tate led us down a back hall, past the restrooms, to a locked door. Pulling a key from his pocket, he opened the door, shoved me through, and locked it behind me.

I was in a cramped office lined with shelves, stacked with papers and boxes. Holden sat hunched over a laptop, scowling at the screen. His dark hair fell in his eyes as if he'd run his fingers through it one too many times. He tapped one finger on the desk in impatience or irritation—I couldn't tell which. I drank in the sight of him. It had been four days since I'd seen him, and it felt like a year. Without looking up from the screen, he said, "What? I'm almost done. Stop bugging me."

I had no idea what to say. I'm sorry? Darren's an asshole? Instead, I just stood there, staring at him, before I finally said, "Holden." Just his name. I couldn't manage anything else. His head rose, slowly, and he blinked.

"Holden," I said again, taking a step closer. He stared at me, his dark eyes locked on my face, his expression closed. I pulled my phone out of my pocket with my left hand—my right was throbbing—and held it out to him, saying, "Darren put a virus on it. It stopped me from getting your calls, or you from getting mine. I texted you. I thought you were blowing me off."

I shrugged helplessly as he took the phone from me, turning it over in his hands, as if looking for evidence of the hack when both of us could see that the phone looked completely normal.

"I called you," he said, placing the phone carefully on his desk and standing to face me.

"I know," I said. "Tate told me."

"Tate?" Holden asked. As if he were waiting for his entrance, the key scraped in the lock and the door swung open to reveal Tate, with Emily behind him. Tate handed me a plastic bag filled with ice and looked between us before he said to me, "You good?"

Holden answered for me. "She's good. You can go."

"Jo?" Emily asked, her eyebrows raised.

"I'm good," I said in reassurance, even though I had no idea if I really was. Holden hadn't said much. He definitely hadn't rushed to my side and kissed me senseless, vowing his eternal love for me. Shutting the door behind Tate and Emily, he flipped the deadbolt and watched me press the ice to my hand.

"What happened?" he asked, taking my injured hand in his and smoothing the ice bag gently across my battered fingers. The heat of his hand cradling mine made me a little dizzy. I'd missed touching him. He leaned into me, rubbing his thumb along the side of my pinky finger. "How did you hurt yourself?"

"I punched Darren."

"You what?" He asked, his fingers squeezing mine. I winced, and he loosened his grip, his eyebrows knitting together. "Sorry. Did you say you punched him?"

"He was being an asshole. He was trying to justify what he did, and I . . ." I trailed off and shrugged, embarrassed that I'd hauled off and punched someone. Even if he was being an asshole.

"Don't do that again," Holden said. He lifted the ice bag and studied my red, raw knuckles. At least they'd stopped bleeding. "You can really hurt your hand hitting someone if you don't know what you're doing. How many times did you hit him?"

"Three," I said. "But I think I caught his teeth. It hurts."

"It looks like it." He tucked my hand between us and pulled me closer. I leaned into his hard chest and inhaled his woodsy, male scent. My head was spinning from being so close to him. I rested my forehead against Holden and said,

"I thought you were done with me. You didn't call, and then Darren showed me a picture of you with a woman. I didn't know she was your sister."

"I don't think I'm ever going to be done with you, Josephine," Holden said in a low voice. I leaned back to look up into his warm brown eyes.

"I think I'm falling in love with you, Holden Winters," I said. "It's crazy, because I've only known you a week. So maybe it's just the amazing sex."

"It's definitely the sex. But I think I'm falling in love with you too, Josephine Miller. I don't care if it's only been a week. I know what I feel. When I thought you didn't want to see me—"

I placed a finger over his lips. I knew exactly how that had felt. He didn't need to tell me. And I was finished with talking. Sliding my hand around to grip the nape of his neck, I ran my fingers through his thick, silky hair and tugged.

Holden didn't need any more hints. Dipping his head, he brought his lips to mine, brushing over them in a slow, sweet kiss before urging my mouth open and sliding his tongue against mine. I dropped the ice bag on the floor and leaned into Holden, falling into his kiss.

It started sweet, but once I got the taste of him, my knees went weak, my pussy was wet, and the kiss turned hard and hungry. Holden backed me up to his desk, reaching behind me to shove a pile of papers to the side. They fell in a rustling cascade, spilling around our feet. Holden's hands slid beneath my sweatshirt. He gave a low hum when they encountered nothing but bare skin.

"No bra?" He murmured, dragging the fabric over my head.

"I was in a rush. I missed you."

My hands went to the fly of his jeans, my fingers fumbling on the snap, desperate to get to him, needing to feel him inside me again. He had no such problems, flicking open my jeans and peeling them down my legs so fast, it felt like magic. He went to his knees, one arm around my waist as he helped me lift my feet free. I stood above him, naked in his office, grateful he'd thought to lock the door with the deadbolt.

Holden looked up at me, catching my eyes with his. Leaning in, he hovered before my hips, his breath skating over my skin. Shivers ran down my spine at having him so close, at the sheer sexual intent in his eyes. Without looking, he opened the desk drawer and pulled out a condom.

He had condoms in his desk? Reading my mind, Holden shook his head, negating the thought before it could fully form.

"I share the office with Tate. But he won't mind me borrowing one," he said, his words sending puffs of air against my clit. I trembled. Maybe it was the arousal talking, but I said, "I don't care. I trust you, Holden."

I did trust him. I knew, in my soul, that I could trust Holden with my body and my heart. With my everything.

"I won't let you down, Josephine."

I opened my mouth to tell him I wouldn't let him down either, but all that escaped was a strangled squeak as the flat of his tongue came down on my clit. He pressed hard, then licked up, lifting my clit, tugging it, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine. My legs shaking, I reached behind me to brace my hands on the desk, wincing at the pressure on my bruised knuckles.

A little pain didn't matter. I let my legs fall apart, opening for Holden's mouth, moaning aloud as he sucked my clit, his fingers sinking into my hips, holding me still as I squirmed.

"Holden," I cried out, tugging on his hair. As much as I loved his mouth between my legs, I wanted him inside me, fucking me, filling me up. I wanted to kiss him while he took me. I needed to feel so close to him, nothing could ever pull us apart again.

He rose to his feet, and I sat back on the desk, spreading my legs wider, watching with hungry eyes as he lowered his zipper and pushed his jeans down, freeing his thick cock. I'd never seen a cock like Holden's before. Not that I had a ton of experience, but his was thick and long, better than any I'd dreamed of in my hottest fantasies. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting him. Later.

I reached out with my legs and wrapped them around his hips, drawing him closer. He resisted, rolling on the condom. A heart beat later, he was on me, his hands everywhere, his cock pressing into my pussy, stretching me open, filling me up. I cried out with the sheer bliss of it, gripping him with my legs, my arms wrapped around him.

Holden's mouth came down on mine, kissing me with a desperate need as he fucked me hard. The desk rocked back, papers falling to the carpet, then something heavier, cracking to pieces. Holden didn't even slow down, driving me closer and closer to orgasm, kissing me and fucking me with everything he had. I held him tight, moving with him, my pussy clenching around him in hard pulses as he fucked me into heaven.

Holden followed me into release, burying himself to the hilt and freezing there, his arms steel bars around me, holding me to his chest. When his breathing evened out, he said,

"I don't think I'm falling in love with you, Josephine. I know I am."

I let out a shaky laugh, still reeling from the orgasm, my heart tight in my chest. I reached up to press a kiss to the hard line of his jaw, drawing a deep breath, filling my lungs with the potent scent of Holden and sex. Of us. Together. It was primal. Life itself. I had no hesitation when I said,

"I know it too. I love you, Holden."

We stayed there, wrapped in each other, until Holden helped me off the desk and into my clothes. I'd never been into the risk of being discovered. I still wasn't. There was no way I would have had half as much fun if Holden hadn't locked the door. But we were definitely having sex on his desk again. Looking down, I saw his laptop in pieces on the floor.

"Oops," I said. Holden followed my gaze.

"I backed it up," he said. "Right now, I couldn't care less."

He wrapped his arm around me, leading me down the hall, out the VIP door, and down the alley to a private parking area. I saw a sign for Tate, nailed to the wall above an empty parking place.

"Do you think Tate took Emily home?"

"I'm sure he did," Holden said. "He wouldn't have let her walk at this time of night."

"He asked her out, and she said no."

Holden burst out laughing. "It's probably the first time that's ever happened," he said.

"That's what I thought. He looked a little shocked," I said.

Holden started the car and turned down a side alley I hadn't seen, neatly popping out into the street around the corner from the club. He headed for his place, still laughing.

"I should call her," I said, mostly to myself.

"I think we left your phone in my office. The last I saw, it was on my desk."

"Oh." I hoped it wasn't in the same condition as his laptop. "Then I guess we'll have to find out what happened later," I said.

Holden took my hand in his, lacing his fingers through mine. "Later," he agreed. "I'm sure Tate got her home all right. We don't have to call. I went without you for almost four days. I have a lot to make up for."

That was fine with me. "Did you get your problems at work fixed?" I asked.

Holden glanced at me and said, "I did. Why?"

"I was thinking about bailing on my classes tomorrow. Maybe staying in bed all day," I said, keeping my face neutral, my voice even.

"Were you?" Holden asked, playing along. "I think a long weekend sounds like exactly what I need. As long as it involves you, naked. Bed optional."

"I can do that," I said, grinning at him, my heart swelling in my chest, the surge of joy at the love in his eyes almost too much to take. "As long as I'm with you, I have everything I need."

Holden parked the car, and I followed him to the elevator that would take us to his penthouse. Tomorrow was Friday. Barring any unforeseen crises, we had a three-day weekend stretching ahead of us, just Holden and me. Naked. I squeezed my legs together, feeling heat flood my pussy. We'd just had sex. How could I want him this much again? I remembered him unsnapping his jeans in his office and my plan to get my mouth on his beautiful cock.

Licking my lips, I glanced at the front of his jeans as the elevator carried us up to his floor. The second we cleared his door, I was going to strip him naked and have my way with him. Somehow, I didn't think Holden would mind.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped through, Holden's hand clasped in mine, ready for whatever was coming next.

Do you want to read Tate and Emily’s story? Turn the page for The Billionaire’s Secret Love!

About: The Billionaire’s Secret Love

Emily

I tried to say no. I did more than try, I flat out turned him down. Repeatedly. But Tate Winters doesn't take no for an answer. He's smart, hot, and he knows how to get to me.

Before I can stop myself, I'm falling for him. But Tate doesn't know my secrets. He doesn't understand that we can't be together, no matter how much we both want it.

Tate

I like things easy, at least when it comes to women. I'm Tate Winters - I've never had to work for a female in my life.

Emily is worth the effort, I know she is. She's beautiful, brilliant, and real. The only woman I've ever known who can match me.

She keeps running from me, but I won't let her get away. Emily Winslow is mine. I just have to prove it to her.

CHAPTER ONE

TATE

Go out to dinner with me.

No, thank you

The conversation echoed in my head. No, thank you? Had she really turned me down? I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had turned me down. For anything. My first reaction was to ignore her and pretend I didn’t care.

I couldn't do it.

I had no idea what it was about this girl that had so captured my attention. I’d only met her an hour ago, but I wanted her. I’d gone over to her apartment, geared up to confront her roommate over dumping my cousin, when Emily had opened the door and I’d tumbled head over heels after one look. It was the oldest cliché and one I’d never believed. Until now.

Taken part by part, she wasn't anything special. She shouldn't have been. Medium height, a little on the tall side but not quite tall. Long, straight, dark brown hair. Creamy skin. Gray eyes. And very, very curvy. Her faded jeans fit her sweet, full ass to perfection, and her sweater hung loose off one shoulder, clinging to her round tits. Her clothes hadn’t been chosen to show off her body, but they were too well cut to hide it.

Still, it was her eyes that got me. A clear, pure gray, like a lake in winter. She'd swung the door open, and I’d fallen into those fathomless gray eyes. If I was being honest, I still hadn't pulled myself out.

No, thank you.

I couldn’t stop hearing her refusal, repeating on a loop in my brain. Why had she said no?

I’d figure it out. First, I had to help my cousin, Holden, and Emily’s roommate, Josephine. Who would have guessed I’d be playing matchmaker? Or really, fairy godmother. Godfather. Whatever. I was the last guy to believe in relationships, but there was something about the way Holden talked about Josephine. She wasn’t just a hook-up to him, and when it had looked like she was blowing him off, I’d stepped in to save the day. Now, all I had to do was get Jo a bag of ice for her hand and get out of the lovebirds’ way. That was fine by me. I had my own potential hook-up to worry about.

I left Emily standing outside the office door in Mana, the night club Holden and I owned, along with my brother Vance, and ducked behind the bar for the ice. Jo had punched the guy who tried to break them up, and her knuckles were bleeding. As soon as I took care of her, I could focus on dealing with Emily, who was standing outside the office door, her back pressed to the wall, arms wrapped protectively around her middle.

I was pretty sure she'd never been in Mana before. She didn't look like the type. Maybe that was why I found her so appealing. I was used to women in short skirts with perfectly styled hair and too much makeup. Emily didn't look like she’d done more than pull a brush through her thick, shiny hair all day. She definitely wasn’t wearing makeup. On her, it didn’t matter. Unadorned, Emily was more beautiful than any woman I’d seen in recent memory.

Hoping I was interrupting something, I unlocked the door to the office to find Holden standing in front of Josephine, cradling her injured hand in his. Looked like they'd already figured things out. Just in case, I said to Jo,

“You good?"

She didn't get a chance to answer. Holden did it for her. “She's good. You can go."

“Are you good?" Emily asked from behind me. Jo promised that she was, and Emily stepped back to leave the lovers in peace.

I heard the lock click on the office door and grinned. Nothing like the feeling of a job well done. If I hadn’t gone to confront Josephine, they never would have realized the loser on her team was keeping them apart. I didn’t normally interfere in Holden’s love life, but I’d never seen him so messed up over a woman. If for no other reason, I’d wanted to get a closer look at the woman who’d broken Holden’s heart.

She wasn’t my type, but I could see why Holden was crazy about her. Josephine was pretty, with a lush body and a sharp brain. A lot like Emily, except Emily was more. She was luminous, beautiful in a quiet way that seemed to have hooked my heart and mind along with my dick. And finally, we were alone.

Turning to her, I said, “Do you want me to show you around?"

She shook her head, eyes searching for the door. Damn. I’d been hoping the club would be a way in, but it looked like Emily was more interested in leaving. Mana was the hottest club in town, almost impossible to get into, and I was offering her free run of the place. I hadn’t expected her to say no.

I was proud of Mana. It had started as a hobby. A friend of mine had gotten in over his head and needed to sell out. Holden and I had the money to buy the club, and we thought it would be a good time. We’d tossed around the idea of opening a club for years, mostly for fun, never thinking we’d actually do it.

We had our hands full with WGC, our gaming company, and neither of us needed another project. But we’d happened to have a chunk of liquid cash from an investment that had just paid off at the same time a good friend, who was also a club manager, had been looking for work.

My brother Vance had wanted in as a silent partner and with his investment, we hadn’t been able to turn down the opportunity. Between the three of us, Mana had become one of the places to be seen in Atlanta, and we were all making a ridiculous amount of money from it.

Emily was edging her way back down the hall toward the door to the alley. I shook my head. The girl was a mystery. Most people would kill to get into Mana, and she was trying to escape. I should have been annoyed. I was not known for my interest in difficult women. Easy was my motto.

I know what you're thinking, but cut me some slack. I'm not entirely an asshole. You have to understand, I'm a Winters. In Atlanta, that means power, wealth, and influence. It doesn't hurt that we’re all reasonably intelligent and good looking. The kind of women that pursue wealthy men because they’re wealthy generally don't care that much if they're not attractive, but it’s a bonus. Who wouldn’t rather catch a rich, hot, young guy than to have to marry some old geezer to get the good life? I was used to living with a target on my back.

Both Holden and I had spent our lives fending off the women we didn't want and helping ourselves to those we did. I never led them on, never implied that I was interested in anything more than a good time. And, yeah, I wasn't used to women turning me down when I asked them out. It probably makes me a sick bastard that Emily’s refusal only made me want her more.

I had the feeling if I didn't take charge, Emily was going to sneak through the door, into the alley, and out of my life. Fortunately for me, it looked like her best friend and roommate was now with my cousin, so even if she ran, I knew how to find her. But I wasn't letting her get away tonight without trying again. Reminding myself that I was charming and good with women, I followed her down the hall and caught her at the door, just as she was easing it open, checking furtively over her shoulder to see if I was following.

Gotcha.

"I can get home from here," she said.

"I know. Do you want me to drive, or would you rather walk?" I asked, deliberately misunderstanding her. Her apartment wasn't far, maybe a fifteen-minute walk, but if she thought I was letting her go on her own, she was crazy. The neighborhood was fairly safe, and it wasn't late, but I’d see her home. I wasn't always a gentleman, but I like to believe that if my mother had lived past my sixth birthday, she would have raised me to have good manners.

“I’ll walk," Emily said, turning to the end of the alley. It was clear she intended to do so without me. Tough luck.

"It's a nice night for a walk," I said agreeably, falling into step beside her.

"Are you sure you don't want to go out to dinner with me?" I asked, keeping my tone light and unthreatening. I didn't want to browbeat her into a date, but I had to figure this girl out, and the only way to do that was to keep her talking. Since she didn't seem inclined to get the conversation rolling, it was up to me.

"I'm sure," she said in the same prim tone she'd used when she turned me down the first time.

I looked at her, asking myself why I was so determined to win her over. At the sight of her long, dark hair shining in the streetlights, and her determined stride that did nothing to hide the sexy sway of her ass, I remembered. I wanted her. I wanted to peel off that T-shirt and take her prim tone with it. I wanted those clear gray eyes to go dark with lust while I fucked her senseless. I needed her to want me back.

Curious, I took her elbow in a loose grip as we crossed the street. Not wanting to scare her, I let go almost immediately, but not until I felt the shiver that went through her body at my touch. Her eyes flicked at me for a second, and I saw what I needed to know. She wasn't afraid of me, and she wasn't indifferent. She felt it too.

"So, just out of curiosity, why won't you go out with me?" I asked.

She risked a sidelong glance at me before her eyes skittered away. "I don't date."

"You don't date? At all? Are you into women?"

She raised a delicately arched eyebrow at me.

"It's a viable question," I said.

"Your assumption is that I must not like men if I don't like you?" she asked, her formerly prim in tone now frosty, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

I shrugged. "I'm just trying to figure you out. If you're not into women, are you saying you don't date anyone? Ever?"

"I don't have time for a social life," she said. "I have a dual concentration, and I’m working for two professors this semester.”

"Everyone has time for some kind of social life," I said, knowing it was true. She was busy, but so was I, and I still managed to get out of the office.

"I don't," she said.

I took her arm as we crossed another street, enjoying the way she trembled at my touch. I wasn't going to give up.

"Then it's not me you don't like," I said. “It's dating in general."

"I haven't been on many dates,” she admitted. "But they've always been a waste of time."

"That's because you haven't gone out with me."

She laughed. My ego might have suffered from her laughter, but the sound was unexpectedly beautiful, her cool voice transforming into something as clear and crisp and gorgeous as her gray eyes. I wanted to make this girl laugh again, to feel that sound falling over me, the joy and delight suffusing her, chasing off her restraint. I wished I'd been looking at her eyes when she laughed. I had a feeling they would be as alluring when she was amused as I knew they would be when she was aroused.

"There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?" I asked. She shook her head. Maybe it was my self-confidence talking, but I thought she looked a little regretful.

"I'm sorry,” she said, actually sounding like she was sorry. “I know this is difficult for you, since it seems no one ever tells you no, but I really do have to decline. I don't have time to date, and I'm not interested in being your flavor of the week."

"Hey, it's not like that," I protested, even though, with other women, it was exactly like that. Emily came to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk and turned to face me, her eyes narrowed.

"It's not? You're looking for a girlfriend?"

I shifted my weight and fought the urge to squirm under her assessing gray gaze. Normally, people only saw what I wanted them to see—Tate Winters, the youngest male in the Winters clan, successful businessman and killer with the ladies. I liked to keep things on the surface outside my family. I'd learned the hard way that when I let people in, they were usually only interested in digging for scandal or money. Emily seemed to see more. Her eyes studied me, and somehow, I knew she knew that the Tate Winters everyone else saw was a front.

When I didn't answer, she said, "I thought so. Look, you seem like a nice guy, and it was very cool of you to come over and straighten out the whole mess between Holden and Jo. But I'm not going to sleep with you, and I don't have time for a relationship, even if you were interested in one, which you're not. Going to dinner with you would be a bad investment of my time."

She turned back toward her apartment and started walking again, leaving me behind. I caught up and walked beside her in silence, running various arguments through my mind and rejecting them. I thought about offering to sleep with her outside a relationship—that was an efficient use of her limited free time—but I got the feeling that casual sex was not on her agenda. Offering it would probably not improve my case.

That left me in a unique situation. Sometimes, when a woman said she wasn't going to sleep with me, she was playing a game. I didn't know Emily well enough to say this with certainty, but I was pretty sure she meant exactly what she’d said. She had no intention of sleeping with me. We were both working under the assumption that I didn't want a girlfriend. Was I sure about that? I'd never wanted one before.

I walked beside Emily in silence, sneaking glances down at her, watching the way the light played over her gleaming hair, how her hips swayed with every step, her round tits jiggling just enough to tease my imagination.

I didn't know if I wanted a girlfriend. I did know I wanted to pry this woman open and find out what was beneath her cool composure. I needed to know everything, inside and out—what she was thinking, what she looked like naked, how to make her laugh, how to make her come.

We reached her building, and I walked her up. I left her at her door, saying only, "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Emily."

I was tempted to try to kiss her goodbye, but I held back and was rewarded by a flash of confused disappointment in her striking eyes when I left without pushing for more.

She had one thing right, I thought as I walked back to the club. If all I wanted from her was a fuck, then I was wasting her time. What she didn't know was that if I decided I wanted more, she didn't stand a chance.

CHAPTER TWO

EMILY

I closed the door to the apartment I shared with Jo and flipped the deadbolt, listening as Tate's footsteps echoed down the hall. I leaned my forehead against the wood and drew in a deep, slow breath, trying to slow my pounding heart. The entire night had been way out of my comfort zone. At first, I'd been carried along by emotion. Tate had showed up to confront Jo when he thought she'd dumped Holden, and since Jo had spent the last few days crying over Holden dumping her, I'd been furious at the sight of him.

Then, once we’d figured out what had really been going on, we'd all been pissed with Jo's teammate, Darren, and had gone off to confront him. Distracted by the drama, my anxiety had been pushed into the background—right up until Tate had asked me out to dinner. For a split second, my heart had leapt in my chest with a flare of excitement and joy. Tate was hot—gorgeous like I’d only seen in movies and magazines, with deep blue eyes, thick, dark hair, full, kissable lips, and an athletic build that said he knew how to use his body. Yum.

He was also very smart. The gaming company he ran with Holden had developed one of my favorite games, and the industry was rife with rumors over their new, top secret, projects. Hot and smart. I had no plans to fall for any guy, but if I did, it would be a man exactly like Tate. A second after he’d asked me out, my breath had frozen in my lungs, and the joy in my heart had turned to terror. I couldn't go out with Tate. I couldn't go out with anyone, but I definitely couldn't go out with Tate. Prickles ran down my arms, my nerves firing off as fear mounted in my chest. I’d tried to force myself to breathe, to fight off the ringing in my ears. It was a losing battle. It had been a while since I'd had a panic attack, but sitting in his car with my emotions out of control and his blue eyes demanding an answer, I'd felt one threatening. I’d forced myself to breathe and said, “No, thank you."

No, thank you?

I’d heard my own voice as if from the end of a long tunnel. No, thank you. Was that what I’d said? I was such a ridiculous dork. I wasn't surprised that he looked shocked. For one thing, I doubt any woman had ever turned him down for a date. And second, who said No, thank you when someone asked them out? Apparently, I did. I didn't have a lot of practice. I couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked me out.

A part of me wanted to go to dinner with Tate. Wanted to go desperately. The part of me that had a killer wardrobe, even though I never went anywhere but home and school. The part of me that still dreamed of more than professional success. That still believed in fairy tales.

The part of me that wished I were a different girl. In the last few years, I’d managed to get the worst of my anxiety under control. I'd had to figure out how to handle it if I wanted to pursue my Masters degree at Georgia Tech. If I ever wanted anything resembling a real life. I couldn't do that if I never left my parents’ house. With determination and a lot of hard work, I'd done it. I was a year and a half into my Masters program, and in all that time, I’d only had one anxiety attack. It hadn't even been a bad one.

I reminded myself that compared to my life a few years before, I was already living my dream. I'd come so far from the reclusive shut-in I’d been in high school and college. But I hadn’t come far enough to get tangled up with Tate Winters. He was so far out of my league, it wasn't funny. I was a 23-year-old computer science geek, a virgin who had never been on a proper date. Tate had slept his way through the most beautiful women in Atlanta. He was gorgeous, successful, wealthy, and notorious. Even if I thought he was interested in me—not just for sex, but in getting to know me—I could never handle the attention that came with the Winters family.

I'd been doing well in the last 18 months, but a lot of that was due to careful planning. If I avoided crowded places, got to lectures before the room filled up, and talked to people I already knew, I was mostly fine. I'd had severe anxiety, combined with agoraphobia, since I'd been a kid. Since the shooting. I’d walked away undamaged on the outside. What had gone wrong inside my head took years to fully develop, and once it had, I’d become a prisoner of fear.

Medication had never helped much, but I’d found a therapist while I was doing my undergrad online, living at home, who helped me find ways to manage out in the real world. I was getting better. Sharing an apartment with Jo instead of living at home was a major accomplishment. Ditto for attending my graduate programs in person.

But I wasn't anywhere close to taking on a boyfriend, much less equipped to deal with a man like Tate. I'd done the right thing by turning him down. I knew I had. If I'd taken him up on his invitation to dinner, I would only have been a disappointment. I wasn't beautiful or sophisticated, and I had no experience with men. When I got up the nerve to try a relationship, I'd start with someone I knew—maybe one of the guys from school.

A little voice in the back of my head piped up to remind me that none of those guys had ever made me shiver with a simple touch. At the memory of Tate's strong hand on my arm as we crossed the street, I shivered again, my nipples tightening, an ache rising between my legs. He was out of my league, and the idea of going out with him was impossible, but Tate Winters was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. Every time I thought about him, I wanted what I couldn't have.

Straightening, I tried to think about anything other than Tate. At least I was alone. Jo had been all cuddled up to Holden when I’d left Mana. I was pretty sure she wasn’t coming home anytime soon. I loved Jo. She was the ideal roommate and my best friend. Even so, after the drama of the evening, it was a relief to be alone. Deciding to take advantage of my solitude with a bath, I put on a soundscape that I used to ease tension and turned the taps on hot. Our apartment wasn’t luxurious by any means, but the tub was a little bigger than average. Perfect for me. I loved taking baths.

Anxiety was a bizarre condition, I mused as I poured lavender scented bubble bath under the streaming water. Most people were afraid when they were alone. Jo had confessed that when she’d first moved to the city from her small Midwestern town, she’d been freaked out to be alone in the apartment. I was the opposite. I felt the safest on my own. It was people that cranked my anxiety levels into the panic zone. Being in the club earlier, I’d thought I was going to lose it. A night on my own and a relaxing soak would go a long way toward calming me down. After a good night’s sleep, I might even be back to normal.

I climbed in the tub and lay back, letting the hot water soothe my tight shoulders. I tried to think about school, but the vision of Tate’s blue eyes invaded my mind. I couldn’t believe he’d asked me out. Remembering the look on his face when I’d turned him down, I laughed. Poor Tate. He clearly wasn’t used to hearing the word no.

My amusement died as I thought about how much I’d wanted to say yes. It wasn’t just that he was hot. And I didn’t care about his money or who he was. Actually, I would've liked him more if he'd just been a normal guy.

I'd grown up in Atlanta, and I knew who Tate Winters was. His parents had died a few years after the shooting that had sidetracked my life, and I had vivid memories of watching the Winters children subjected to a media hell storm in the wake of losing their parents. I knew from bitter experience what that was like. Being stalked, the flash of lights, the shouted questions. The way the reporters would pop up out of nowhere and refuse to leave you alone. A part of me thought that it wasn't so much the shooting that had messed me up, but everything that had come after. Watching Tate, his brothers, and his cousins suffer the same terrifying attention, my heart had hurt.

So I knew who he was. I knew there was a lot more to him than just the good-looking playboy splashed across the Style section of the paper. His company, WGC—Winters Gaming Corp.—had made two amazing games, and there were rumors they were developing a new type of physics engine and had made advances in emerging gaming that would turn the industry on its ear. Yeah, there was a lot more to Tate Winters than what he showed on the outside.

It was foolish to wish that I could have the brain and the body without everything else that came along with being a Winters. He was who he was, and that was his whole package. But I wished I could have said yes. I let my brain slide into a fantasy where I did say yes. A fantasy where Tate took me out and we talked all night, and then he took me home.

I wasn't a complete innocent. Well, I was. I'd barely been kissed. Embarrassing, I know. I was 23 years old, and I should have been on my second or third boyfriend by now, at least. I just . . . I was always so busy trying to pretend I was normal, trying to manage the anxiety, that I never had the chance to actually be normal. Boys were one stress too many. I'd been mostly okay in the few years after I survived the shooting, gradually becoming more and more shy, then fearful, but it hadn't seemed dangerously out of the ordinary at first. I'd never been very outgoing and always remained on the quiet side, like my parents, so none of us noticed that by the time I was 13, I rarely wanted to leave the house, even to go to school.

By the time I should've been going on my first date, my agoraphobia had gotten so bad that I was being homeschooled, isolated from my peers, with boys the last thing on my mind. It took years of trying, changing therapies and changing doctors, before we hit on an approach that really worked. I'd hated every second of it, but in the end, I was here at Georgia Tech, doing a dual concentration in the computer sciences department focused on graphics and intelligent design in gaming. People spent years trying to get into this program. Not only was I here, but I was living in an apartment and not with my parents.

I was doing it. I was living life, a great life, a successful life. I was going to finish my program and get an amazing job. My dreams were going to come true. I just didn't think I had room in them for a guy, much less a guy like Tate. My life was a perfectly calibrated balancing act, and Tate Winters was a wrecking ball.

I thought about that fantasy of a date, about what would happen after he brought me home. Would I want him to go slow? To seduce me? Despite the hot water, my nipples tightened. My legs fell apart, one knee knocking against the side of the tub, and I was grateful once again to be alone in the apartment. I slipped my hand between my legs and stroked one fingertip over my clit, thinking about Tate.

He wouldn't have to work hard to seduce me if we ever got that far. Just the thought of him, and I was wet. I raised one hand to cup my breast, squeezing my sensitive nipple between my fingertips, imagining my hands were Tate's. He'd had big hands, not a surprise since he had to be a few inches over 6 feet, with broad shoulders and a strong build. His hands—the memory of how they felt holding my arm as we crossed the street—made me shiver.

I wanted to feel those hands on me, just once. I swirled my finger around my swollen clit, then dipped it inside, pressing the heel of my palm down on my clit. I was tight, not a shock, since my fingers were the only thing that had ever been inside me, and at the thought of Tate touching me like this, my muscles clamped down even tighter. I might not ever have gotten this far with an actual man, but I was no stranger to the pleasure my body could bring me. I was inexperienced, not a prude.

Too aroused to fight it anymore, I let my head loll back and pushed another finger inside me, grinding my palm down hard, imagining I was with Tate and those weren't my fingers—it was his cock fucking me, pounding inside me, filling me up, making me come. I cried out his name on a gasp as the orgasm washed through me.

I'd needed that. It had been a while since I've made myself come, and usually, an orgasm like that would hold me for a while. I squeezed my legs together in the cooling bathwater and realized, now that I had Tate on my brain, my own hands weren't going to be enough.

CHAPTER THREE

TATE

Proving that I had good manners, I knocked on Holden's door before I let myself in. That, and I knew he probably had company. I liked Josephine, but I didn't think Holden would appreciate my seeing her naked. I waited at least a minute, maybe two, before knocking again, this time a little harder. Holden hadn't come into work all day. It was late afternoon. They couldn't still be having sex. Eventually, he answered, his mismatched sweatpants and torn T-shirt suggesting that maybe they had in fact still been having sex. Or at least, they had still been in bed.

I wasn't going to let that stop me. I was on a mission.

"What are you doing here?" Holden asked as I walked through the open door and into his kitchen.

"Sorry to interrupt," I said. "But I need to talk to Jo."

Holden shook his head. "No way. Jo's busy."

"Do you think you can let her out of bed for five minutes?" I asked. Heading for the fridge, I said, "I can get myself a beer and wait."

"Tate, you're my favorite cousin, but if you don't get the hell out of my apartment, I'm going to kill you."

Fortunately, as I straightened from the open fridge with a beer in my hand, I heard footsteps at the end of the hall. I just needed a few minutes with Holden's girl, and then I could get out of their hair.

Josephine walked up to Holden and tucked herself into his side as she said, “Hey, Tate. Did Em get home okay last night?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," I said. Her forehead wrinkled in concern.

"Is she okay? Did anything happen?" Jo asked, worry weighing down her voice.

"She got home safely. I walked her right to the door," I reassured her.

"So, what's up?"

"I want her number," I said.

"Did you ask her for it?" Jo raised her eyebrows as if she already knew the answer.

"No," I admitted. She made it sound so easy, but after the way Emily had shut me down, I'd been fairly certain she wouldn't give me her number. "I asked her out, and she said no."

"Sorry," Jo said, sounding like she meant it. “Emily doesn't date."

"I'd like to change her mind about that," I said, trying to look sincere and trustworthy. Josephine shook her head.

"I can't," she said. "I can't give you her number. I'd have to ask her first, and if you thought she wanted you to have her number, you would've asked her yourself, right?"

She had me there. But I wasn't going to give up that easily. Meeting Josephine's blue eyes with my own, I said, “You owe me one, and you know it. If it hadn't been for me, you and lover boy over there never would've reconnected, and that douche in your program would've split you up with the virus he put on your phone. Do me a favor and just give me Emily's number. I promise I won't do anything to hurt her."

Josephine shifted against Holden, pulling away from him to cross her arms over her chest. She studied me for a long moment before she said, “Why do you want her number?"

"I want to take her out. I want to get to know her better." Her searching gaze dug beneath my explanation, demanding more. "I like her," I said. "I think there could be something there, but we’ll never know unless we spend some time together.” I turned away from Josephine and Holden to find a bottle opener in the drawer.

Holden let out a sigh. "Give me one of those," he said, nodding toward my beer.

"Josephine?"

“Sure.”

I pulled two more beers out of the fridge and opened all three, sliding theirs across the white marble-topped island.

"So, you like her like her? Holden asked.

I thought about glaring at him, but instead, I said, “You're one to talk."

"Touché." His grin was completely unashamed. I wasn’t sure what I was doing with my own love life, but I liked seeing Holden so happy. It almost made me feel bad about badgering his new girlfriend.

"The thing is," Jo said, interrupting us, “Em doesn't date. Anyone. Ever. And I'm not so sure you’re the best guy for her to start with."

"What are you saying?" I asked. Josephine looked away and took a drink of her beer before answering.

"I'm not gonna tell you personal things about Emily. She's my best friend, and her life is private. But she's really shy. Off the charts shy. More than just shy. And you're not low-profile. I'm not sure you two would be a good fit."

"So I don't even get a shot?" I asked, starting to get annoyed. I just wanted to go out with the girl. I wasn't planning to kidnap her and ravage her against her will.

"It's just that,” Jo went on, “Emily knows better than anyone what she can handle. She was definitely interested in you, and she's very interested in your work, so if she wouldn't go out with you, she had her reasons, and I don't feel comfortable going against that."

"What if I promise I won't call her?” I said, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of desperation rising in my chest. "I'll text her. I can be nonthreatening."

Josephine didn't respond, just stared down into the open mouth of her beer bottle, thinking.

Finally, she said, "I've never seen her react to anyone the way she did to you last night. Until she remembered to be nervous, she went head-to-head with you. Confrontation is not Emily's thing, but she was comfortable with you. And you have a lot in common."

Josephine fell silent again. I liked her with my cousin, liked the way they looked at each other. When Holden slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him, I liked it even more. The small spark of jealousy I felt only made me more determined to get Emily's number.

Emily had asked me if I wanted a girlfriend, and I hadn't answered. I didn't have a good vision of what having a girlfriend might mean. It was only in the last year or so that I'd started to think maybe there was more to life than sleeping with nameless girls, partying, and work. Watching Holden cradle Josephine in his arms, knowing that once I was out of their way, he’d take her back to bed . . . yeah, I was jealous. I remembered the way Emily had yelled at me the night before when she thought Holden had dumped Jo, the way she'd pointed her finger at me like an angry schoolteacher, her gray eyes sharp and filled with the passion of fury. I liked that girl as much as the quiet one who said, No, Thank You when I'd asked her out.

"I'll be careful with her," I said. "I promise. I don't know what I'm doing here, but I swear, I'm not looking to nail her and never call her again."

"You’d fucking better not be," Holden growled at me.

I rolled my eyes at him.

"Seriously? Would I be here talking about my feelings and begging your girl for Emily's number if I was just gonna sleep with her and ghost on her? Give me a little credit."

"That's your usual MO," he said evenly.

"It's yours too," I shot back, "but look at you now."

"Okay," Jo cut in. "I'll give you her number. But, you have to promise to go slowly." Then, mysteriously, she said, "I don't think there are many people who will understand certain parts of your life as well as Emily. She's worth it."

I had no doubt Emily would be worth it. My gut was telling me that there were hidden depths to the girl, depths I would like. But I’d never find them unless I could get her to talk to me again.

I watched Josephine put Emily's number in my phone, her brow still furrowed in concern as she handed it back. I didn't stick around. I wanted to dig for more information on Emily, anything that would help me win her over, but I needed Josephine on my side, and I had a feeling if I pushed her too hard, her tentative approval would evaporate. It only took me a minute to go from Holden’s place to mine, since our apartments split an entire floor of Winters House, the upscale historic retail/office/residential building owned by my cousin, Jacob. I shut the door behind me and flipped the lock out of habit, distracted by the phone in my hand.

I had the first step. I had Emily’s number. Now I just had to think of what to say.

Figuring I might as well confess right off the bat, I typed out a text.

This is Tate. I badgered Jo for your number. Don't be mad at her. I was very charming.

I hit Send and waited, wondering if she'd answer. If she didn't, I'd have to think of something else. It took so long, I was about to give up when my phone chimed and I checked the screen.

I'd never be mad at Jo. But I doubt you were that charming.

I thought for a minute. She had to be teasing me. If she were really mad, she wouldn't have answered, right?

I was a little charming. I also refused to leave, and I think they wanted to get back to bed.

A minute later, she sent back,

So you were annoying. I can see that.

What are you doing right now? I typed.

Working on graphics for a game.

School or yours?

Mine, she answered.

What is it? I typed, curious.

I waited for a minute, then a link to the app store popped up with a note.

The sequel to this.

I clicked the link, which brought me to a game I knew. I'd played it when it had come out the year before. It was simple, but cool. Basically, it was an elaborate maze with pitfalls and hidden treasure that you navigated by turning your phone. It was deceptive, because it looked easy, but as the maze advanced, it required finesse and patience. At the time, I’d thought the premise was unique, and the graphics were gorgeous, even in the small format of a phone screen.

This is yours? I played it. Amazing.

Thanks. I'm almost done with the next one.

You have to let me see it, I typed.

Maybe. I'll show you mine, if you show me yours.

Was she flirting with me? It was too much to hope for. I thought about making a suggestive comment to see what she'd say, but then I remembered Jo's warning. I'd just gotten Emily talking to me, or at least texting with me. I didn't need to scare her off. I typed,

Anytime.

There was a pause, then,

I have to get back to work. Later.

I'll try you tomorrow.

K.

I put my phone away, feeling both bereft and triumphant. The conversation had been short, but she wasn't angry that I had her number, she'd talked to me, and I'd learned something new about her. It was progress on all accounts. I couldn't wait to text her again. Tomorrow seemed very far away.

CHAPTER FOUR

EMILY

I'll try you tomorrow.

K.

I stared down at my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. Texting should have been less nerve-racking than talking to Tate in person, but it wasn't. I wanted to be clever, maybe funny, but instead, I felt awkward. He'd said he'd try me tomorrow. My heart raced at the thought, this time not with nerves but anticipation. I closed my eyes, feeling the difference. Before Tate, every time my nervous system got excited, it was a bad thing. With him, it was different. This wasn't fear or panic. When was the last time I'd been excited like this? I didn't know. I could think of times I'd been excited about a project—the app I was working on or things we were doing in my program. I'd been excited when I'd gotten into Tech.

Excited by a person? Nope. And definitely not like this. I remembered touching myself in the tub, coming while I thought of Tate. No, I couldn't remember the last time I'd been excited by a person. I wasn't sure how to feel about it.

I was home alone again, working and eating leftovers. Normally, I wouldn't feel the least bit pathetic about that. But with Jo at her new boyfriend’s and the thrill of texting with Tate over, the rest of my evening stretched in front of me, feeling a little flat. Pushing the thought aside, I turned back to my computer and tried to focus on work. As I usually did, I got sucked into the game and ended up staying up half the night.

I was just getting out of bed the next morning when I heard the key in the lock. I hoped Josephine was alone, because I wasn't dressed for company, and I was barely awake. She was, and when she saw me, she looked sheepish and said, “Sorry."

"For what?" I asked, still half-asleep.

"Didn't he text you?" she asked, looking confused. "I was sure he'd text you right away."

In a flash, I remembered, and I knew why she’d apologized. "It's okay," I said, going to the coffeemaker. I needed caffeine.

"Then he did text you," she prompted, one eyebrow raised in question.

"He did," I said. "He admitted that he annoyed you until you gave him my number."

"I think he's a nice guy," Jo said. I shrugged. I wasn't sure what to think about Tate. "You're not mad at me?" she asked. I shook my head.

"Really,” I said. “It’s okay. He's probably going to get bored with me when I won't go out with him. There are a million other girls out there. He'll lose interest. It's not a big deal." There was a gnawing ache in my chest at the thought of Tate losing interest in me. No matter what I said to Jo, it felt like a big deal. It didn’t matter. Tate Winters was not for me.

"I'm cooking dinner at Holden's house tonight," Jo said, hesitantly. "Will you come over?"

I thought about it. I liked Holden, liked the way he was with Jo. But I hadn't seen enough to be sure, and she was my best friend. I should go check him out. Suddenly suspicious, I asked, “Is Tate going to be there?"

"I didn't invite him, I swear," Jo said.

"Did Holden invite him?"

Jo shook her head. "We didn't talk about inviting anyone but you. I really don't think he did."

My knee-jerk reaction was to say no. No, that's okay. I'll stay home and eat takeout. I stopped myself before I could do it. It wasn't about Tate, not really. I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up. I knew he and Holden had the only two apartments on that floor of the building. To call them apartments was misleading—they were like mansions unto themselves. I'd only seen the first floor of Winters House—they had a killer coffee shop—but based on how big the first level was, the apartments above had to be huge. I got the impression from Jo that Tate and Holden were in and out of each other's places all the time, so if Holden was having company for dinner, it was likely that Tate would show up.

I wanted to see him again, and if he did show, it would be less stressful seeing him with Holden and Jo than it would be if I were on my own. That wasn't the only reason I thought I should say yes. The most dangerous part of my anxiety was the way it narrowed my life. It was always easier to say no, to stay home where I was safe. That was how I ended up homeschooled and agoraphobic when I was a teenager. The therapist who had helped me had taught me that facing my fear, learning that everyday life was not a minefield waiting to explode, was the only way to fix my problem.

It had been a grueling therapy. That first walk around the block by myself, I'd wept the entire time, shaking and sick to my stomach. When I’d reached the safety of home, I’d thrown up. The second had been a little better. I was still shaking and nauseous, but I hadn’t puked. The third was one more step toward normal. It had taken me twenty-seven tries, but eventually, I'd been able to walk around our block with only the barest tingle of nerves. The same thing happened the first time I went to the grocery store by myself. Baby steps. And now that I was mostly functioning like a regular person, I had to be careful that I didn't start saying no too often. I was never going to be a social butterfly, and I'd always thrive with plenty of alone time, but there was no good reason I shouldn't have dinner with my friend and her new boyfriend.

"Okay, sure," I said.

Jo gave me a hug and whispered, “Thanks, Em."

* * *

I dressed carefully to go to Holden's, just in case. Being realistic, I knew I wouldn't see Tate. It was Saturday night, and he probably had plans that didn't involve his cousin. Still, I rarely went out looking like a slob. I'd started paying attention to my clothes as part of my therapy. A well-chosen outfit was my armor. Doesn't everyone feel better, stronger, when they know they look good? My face and body weren't anything spectacular. I ate more than I should and didn't get enough exercise, and my figure showed it, though my frame carried the extra weight well, and I was more curvy than lumpy. I had pretty hair, I thought, and great eyelashes. Thick, long, and dark, I never needed mascara. I liked makeup, though I rarely bothered with much of it. I preferred to put my time into my wardrobe. I didn't dress up too often. I didn't like drawing attention to myself, and surrounded by students in jeans and T-shirts, formalwear would have been too much. But everything I owned was deliberately chosen and fit me perfectly.

For dinner with Jo and Holden, I chose a pair of black leggings and a flowing black and cream striped tunic. It was casual and stylish without being showy, and it flattered my curves but didn't draw attention to them. I wasn't going to Jo's new boyfriend's house flashing cleavage. Jo, on the other hand, I dressed in my favorite push-up bra and a V-neck sweater. In her situation, flashing cleavage was completely appropriate. She wasn't that interested in clothes, and I always had fun dressing her up.

Holden greeted us at the door and took the bottle of wine I offered, saying to Jo, "I think I picked up everything on your list, but you might want to check."

A voice behind him said, “He never pays attention to his list at the grocery store."

Holden looked pained and shook his head. To me, he said, “Sorry. He found out you were coming over for dinner and refused to leave."

I looked past Holden to see Tate leaning against the center island in the kitchen, a bottle of beer in his hand, a grin on his face, and a slightly uncertain look in his blue eyes. I wasn't sure how I felt about seeing him again. His interest in me made me nervous for all sorts of reasons, some of which I understood and some I didn't want to examine. But I didn't want to make him feel weird about being in his cousin's house. I appreciated that Jo cared about my feelings and had obviously shared her concerns with Holden, but I didn't want to be an object of pity or curiosity. I’d come too far for that.

Hoping to diffuse their worry, I shrugged and said to Holden, “Don't worry about it. I'm cool."

Jo gave me a look, and I sent her a smile that hid my nerves. "Really, I'm fine. He's fine." Raising my voice a little so Tate could hear, I said, “He's like a big puppy. He doesn't take a hint well, but he's harmless."

Holden laughed when Tate said, “Ouch. I don't think I've ever been called a puppy before."

I shrugged. Ready to change the subject, I said to Jo, “Did you tell Holden about Darren?"

She shook her head.

"What about Darren?" Holden asked.

Darren was the guy who'd almost managed to keep Holden and Jo apart. A member of Jo's team for her HCI project, he had a crush on her and hadn't liked her blooming relationship with Holden, so he put a virus on her phone that blocked their calls to each other. They both assumed the other had lost interest, and if it hadn't been for Tate's interference, they would never have gotten together. He was a good guy, even if he was annoyingly persistent.

“So,” Jo said, “You know I emailed Angie everything, including a copy of the virus I found on my phone.”

"You said it had Darren’s signatures all over it," Holden said.

"Everybody leaves signatures in their code. It's hard to avoid, but Darren's were so obvious. I even told him he should never make anything he didn't want traced back to him, or he should clean up his code, and he still made a virus. It's crazy how someone that smart can be so stupid."

"So tell him what happened," I urged.

"I am," Jo said to me. To Holden and Tate, she said, "Angie—she's the head of my project—went through everything and even found that he'd been working on the virus at the lab."

She shook her head. I was right there with her. It was stupid enough that he made the virus in the first place—but hey, we all had our hobbies. To do it on one of the school's computers . . . I couldn't quite wrap my brain around how terribly foolish that was.

"What did she do to him?" Tate asked.

"She kicked him out of our project, for one. But then she passed everything along to the head of the department, and now he's under an academic review. He's probably going to get kicked out of school. I actually feel kind of bad." Holden wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tightly to his side.

"Jo, no," I said. “If he was willing to put a virus on your phone and ruin your relationship with Holden just because he was jealous, what else would he do? He clearly has no moral compass, and if you'd kept quiet, you’d just be leaving him free to screw with somebody else's life later down the road. And maybe that time, it wouldn't work out. Maybe that time, there wouldn't be a Tate to step in and fix it. Maybe it would be someone's job on the line, or worse. You had to say something. And you shouldn't feel bad about it."

"I know," she said, resting her head against Holden's chest. "I know. He's an enormous jerk, and I'm not sorry I punched him. And I guess I'm not sorry he might get kicked out of school. It's just that I know how hard we all worked to get in, and he'll never have a chance like this again. Plus, it makes me wonder what he'll do when he doesn't have anything left to lose."

"Don't worry about that," Holden said, his voice hard. I noticed his eyes meet Tate's, and I got the feeling they were having an entire conversation without words.

"We'll take care of that," Tate said. Jo let out a breath but didn't respond, seeming content to snuggle with Holden. I, on the other hand, wanted more of an explanation.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"We know people who can keep an eye on him," Tate said quietly, his blue eyes steady and serious.

"What kind of people?" My imagination was running wild.

"Have you heard of Sinclair Security?" Tate asked. I nodded. The name popped up in the news fairly often, usually in connection with high-profile clients like celebrities, politicians, and billionaires. "We grew up with them. The Sinclairs are like family, and on top of that, they handle all of our security work. Holden will let them know they need Darren on their radar. If he does anything even slightly sketchy, they'll have it covered."

Jo leaned back and looked up at Holden's face, wonder and concern tangling in her eyes. "Holden, you can't do that. They can't just watch him forever. It's too expensive."

"Nothing’s too expensive if it keeps you safe," Holden said, lifting a hand to run his thumb along her jaw, his warm brown eyes on hers. "Sinclair Security has a long list of people they monitor. Adding one more is no big deal, and we have them on retainer. If there’s an extra expense, I don't care. This guy is never going to bother you, or anyone else, again. Never."

"Okay, Holden,” Jo said, her voice a little dreamy. Holden dropped his head to kiss her, and I looked away. I was happy for my best friend. No, not happy. I was thrilled, ecstatic, doing mental cartwheels every time I thought about her with Holden. But that kiss was getting a little too intimate. I remembered something she'd said about having sex on the kitchen island, and I involuntarily took a step back. When Tate's hand closed over my elbow, I jumped.

"Relax, it's just me," he said. Tugging gently, he pulled me out of the kitchen and into the spacious living room with windows overlooking the city and a huge couch facing an equally large television. "Your roommate's cute, but if Holden's going to fuck her in the kitchen again, I don't think I want to watch. I'd rather be alone with you."

At the look in his eyes, heated and intent, every muscle in my body tightened. Not in fear, but in anticipation. My head wasn’t sure about Tate, but my body knew what it wanted—more of Tate.

CHAPTER FIVE

TATE

Emily hovered beside the couch, clearly trying to figure out a way to put some space between us. If she sat first, she knew I'd sit next to her. Her hesitance was endearing. I wasn't used to shy women. I’d never found shyness appealing before, but with Emily, I liked it. I made it easy on her and chose a spot right in the middle of the wraparound couch. As I guessed she would, Emily sat catty corner to me on the other side. Close enough to be polite, but not close enough to touch. Oh well. Touching could come later.

"Tell me about your game,” I said, partly to relax her and partly because I genuinely wanted to know. It wasn't often that I found myself attracted to a woman who was not only a gamer, but a game designer. Tech as an industry tended to be a boy’s club, and gaming was no exception. WGC made a point of hiring talented women, but the reality was that they were hard to find. Not enough females gravitated to the industry in the first place, and now that hiring women in tech had become a thing, it was even harder. Plus, whenever I met a woman in my industry, my instinct was to evaluate her as a potential hire. Not with Emily. I already knew, based on what she said she was studying, that she would be an ideal candidate for WGC. The company would have to do without her. I wanted Emily for myself.

Her natural reserve melted away beneath her enthusiasm as she explained the changes she had planned for the sequel to her game. When she said she had a demo of the first level on her phone, I put out my hand.

"Gimme," I said. Emily pulled her phone from her back pocket and stared at it for a moment. "Come on," I cajoled. "Just let me see the first level. Please? Pretty please?"

Reluctantly, she handed me the phone, the screen already open to the game. The design was familiar. I could already see she hadn't made any fundamental changes, but the graphics were deeper, richer, and more detailed. She leaned forward on the sofa, her eyes moving between the screen and my face. As I'd hoped, she wanted to see my reaction to her creation more than she needed to preserve the distance between us. After a few moments, she got up and sat beside me.

I don't know if it was perfume, her soap, or just Emily, but she smelled of the ocean, and something lightly floral. The heat of her leg pressing against mine and the fall of her silky dark hair against my arm were distracting. I forced myself to pay attention to the game, telling my cock to be patient. He would have his chance, I hoped, but not if he scared her off by getting hard the first time she sat next to me.

My cock didn't listen. I was glad I was wearing jeans and leaning forward, and doubly glad her attention was on the phone in my hands and not my lap.

I played my way through the first level, marveling at the way she’d stepped up the sophistication of the game for the second version. When she apologized for the graphics, saying they were still a little rough, I shook my head.

"This is amazing," I said. "I wouldn't call it rough." I looked up to see her face only inches from mine, her gray eyes bright, her cheeks flushed. Her pulse thudded in her throat, and her pupils were dilated. It took everything I had not to kiss her. With any other woman, I would have had her flat on her back, her shirt halfway off. But with Emily, I knew I had to take it slow. Sometime before she left tonight, I was going to get my hands on her. Just not yet.

I eased back a little, giving her space, and turned my focus back to the game. The first level was a little more challenging than I would have expected, not that I had any trouble finishing it. I handed back her phone and said, “It's great. You have to let me play the rest when it's done."

"Thanks." At the sight of her cheeks flushed with pleasure, I stood, picking up our empty beers as I strode to the kitchen. I needed a little space before I did something I was going to regret. Slow, I reminded myself. You're taking it slow.

"Do you want another beer?" I asked over my shoulder.

Emily rose and followed me to the kitchen, saying, “Sure."

I was relieved to see that Holden and Jo were not having sex on the island, but at some point, they had stopped making out and were cooking dinner together. Good. Not only was I hungry, but I needed a distraction from Emily, from her sweet scent and her pink cheeks. From the full lips I needed to kiss. From every inch of that curvy, luscious body. When was the last time I wanted a woman this much and had only touched her elbow? I was completely out of my depth with Emily. Everything about her was complicated and difficult. I never stopped to ask myself if she'd be worth it. I already knew she was.

Dinner was good. Pasta with seafood, and Jo had made bruschetta that was delicious. I barely tasted it, more interested in watching Emily interact with the rest of us. She was initially quiet, but as she got comfortable with the rhythm of the conversation, she joined in. I was pretty sure she was enjoying herself. Jo and Holden were almost nauseatingly adorable, teasing each other, holding hands under the table, and generally acting like a couple newly in love.

Emily had a third beer with dinner, choosing not to try the wine she’d brought, saying that she had the taste of beer in her mouth and switching would be weird. I don't know why I found that cute, but I did. Jo got up to clear our plates, and Emily joined her. I caught her saying something about the bathroom and knew this was my chance. She hadn't had enough to drink to be drunk, or even tipsy, but she was relaxed and as comfortable as I'd ever seen her. If I was going to make a move, now was the time.

I was waiting for her at the end of the hall when she came out of the bathroom, just out of sight of Holden and Jo in the kitchen. Her face when she saw me waiting was priceless. Nerves, confusion, and excitement all swirled through her eyes, and I watched her trying to decide what to do. I didn't give her a choice, catching her by the arm and pulling her to me, turning her back to the wall. She was taller than average, but I was still bigger.

How to trap someone without making them feel trapped? That was the challenge. If I waited for Emily to come to me, I'd be an old man, still wanting her. It was in my nature to take charge, but I didn't need Jo's warning to know that if I was too aggressive, I was going to scare her off.

She looked up at me and said, "Tate?"

I didn't answer, not with words. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to push me away, I dropped my head. Triumph surged through me when, instead of ducking to the side, she raised her lips to mine.

I brushed my mouth across hers in a kiss so light it almost wasn't, before I went back a second time, lingering. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let out a soft puff of breath. I skimmed my lips across her eyelids, her forehead, and each rounded cheekbone before they landed back on hers.

This time, I kissed her a little harder, opening her lips with my tongue. She gasped, her body melting into mine, and I wondered for a second if she'd ever been kissed before. There was something untouched about Emily. She was so unpracticed, every response genuine and unstudied. I dipped my tongue in her mouth again, rubbing it against hers, coaxing her open to me. Needing more, I wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her to me, burying my fingers in her hair, and tilting her face to mine.

At the hesitant brush of her tongue, I thought I was going to lose it. It took everything I had to keep the kiss from spinning out of control. My cock was a steel bar. I wanted to pick her up and pin her to the wall, to grind myself against her and make her come through her jeans. I wanted to carry her out of Holden's place and across the hall to mine, to lay her across my bed and strip her naked and fuck her until she screamed.

I rubbed my tongue against hers, trying to keep my hands gentle. This was supposed to be a seduction. If I showed her what I really wanted, I would scare the hell out of her. Later. There would be time for that later as long as I didn't fuck it up now.

I had two choices—I could stop the kiss, or I could find a way to dial it back before it spun out of control. I wasn't ready to end my first taste of Emily, so I dropped the arm I'd wrapped around her back and raised my hand to cup her chin, holding her face in my hands. My gut clenched when she raised her hands to my waist, keeping me where I was—not pulling me against her, but holding me close. If it was a victory, I’d take it.

I kissed her and kissed her, my mouth feasting on hers, tasting her, absorbing every breath, every whimper, every quiet moan, until we heard a voice say, "Emily?"

Then, "Jo, shut up."

“Holden.” A giggle and what sounded like a smack.

I raised my head and stared down at Emily, feeling almost as dizzy and disoriented as she looked. Her eyes were wide, her pupils huge, her lips kiss-swollen and red. Pressing my advantage, I whispered, “Have dinner with me. Don't say no, Emily."

"Yes," she said in a dazed voice.

"Tomorrow."

"Okay, tomorrow," she agreed.

I went back for one more quick kiss before I said, “You won't regret it. I promise."

I hoped I was telling her the truth.

CHAPTER SIX

EMILY

At six o’clock Monday night, I opened the door of my apartment to see Tate leaning against the door frame, wearing jeans and an un-tucked blue button-down a few shades lighter than his eyes, his dark hair falling over his forehead. At the sight of him, my knees literally went weak. What was I doing? I didn't date. I've never had a boyfriend, and the night before had been my first real kiss. Now, I was going out to dinner with Tate Winters? It was insane.

Okay, I’d been kissed before. Hasty, fumbling attempts by boys as nervous as I was. Mostly, they were short, sloppy, and not repeated. Nothing like kissing Tate. That had been . . . I didn't have words. When I thought about that kiss, I saw starbursts of color and felt how hard my heart had pounded and the way my body had softened and melted into his. I wanted to be as close to him as I could, needing his hands on my skin.

He was going to expect more. I wasn't completely naïve, even though I was innocent, at least in terms of real-life experience. Men like Tate Winters did not go on platonic dates, and that kiss was a clear indication that platonic was not what he had in mind. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I was terrified, though it was refreshing that, for the first time in memory, I wasn't afraid of having a panic attack. These nerves were different. I wasn’t anxious. I was a brand new combination of anticipation, excitement, and the fear that I was going to make a total fool of myself.

It was too late to back out, not that I was going to. I opened my door to Tate, and he held out his hand for mine, saying, "Are you ready?"

I was not. I was not even remotely ready to go on a date with Tate Winters, but I wasn't going to admit it.

I grabbed my purse and keys off the table beside the door and took his hand. "I'm ready," I lied.

At least I looked good. In a role reversal, Jo had helped me get dressed. She correctly assumed that I was going to wimp out and wear something conservative. When I picked a pretty but demure cream-colored, cap-sleeved sweater, she'd snatched it out of my hands and handed me a hot pink, V-neck, slinky top with three-quarter sleeves and a high low hem. The shirt was made of a silk/modal blend that was soft and clingy.

It was way too sexy, especially when she handed me a push-up bra in the same hot pink. Why did I buy underwear like this when no one ever saw it? Maybe because I secretly hoped that one day I'd be going on a date with a guy who would deserve sexy underwear. Now that the day was here, I was sorely tempted to dive under the covers of my bed and ignore it. If I tried to look too sexy, was I sending the wrong message?

I liked Tate. Understatement. I really liked Tate. He was smart. He was unbelievably attractive. Just kissing him had been better than my hottest fantasies of sex, and he hadn't even touched me beneath my clothes. But I wasn't ready to have sex with him. I’d looked at the top and skirt Jo was holding and shook my head in indecision.

"Em, honey, you can't wear jeans and a T-shirt for your date. It's not you."

"That cream sweater is me," I protested.

"Not for a date, it's not," Jo said. "You bought this." She held up the pink top and the pink push-up bra in one hand, and the long, Navy, stretchy skirt in the other.

"I know . . ."

"Honey," she said gently, "you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You just need to be yourself. And you know you don't want to wear job interview clothes on a date. You know you don't."

I took the clothes from Jo and put them on. She was right. She usually was. I didn't want to wear frumpy clothes to go out with Tate, and I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't trust him on some level.

So here I was, holding his hand and walking down the hallway of my apartment building, wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into. He seemed to know how nervous I was, because he kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling me about his day and asking me about mine, until I relaxed. At least, until we pulled up in front of his building.

"I thought we were going out to dinner,” I said.

"We are," he said. "And no, I'm not taking you to my place. Not exactly."

He pulled his car into the parking garage behind the building, coming around to open my door after he'd stopped the car. He reached down and took my hand to help me out, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to my lips before stepping back and saying, “You look beautiful."

"Thanks, so do you," I said, then squeezed my eyes shut. He did look beautiful, but you weren't supposed to call a man beautiful. I waited for him to laugh at me.

He said, “Thank you,” without a hint of amusement in his voice. Something inside me relaxed just a little.

I followed him into the elevator, wondering where we were going. When we stopped on the fourth floor, the door slid open to reveal a lobby, the letters WGC on the wall.

"We’re eating here?" I asked. " Really?"

"I said I'd show you around if you agreed to have dinner with me, and I always keep my promises."

"Really?" I asked again, speechless with excitement. "Are you going to show me what you've been working on?"

"Some of it," Tate said. "But you have to sign an NDA first. Not very romantic, sorry, but there’s stuff I can't show you without it. Unless you don't want to see . . ."

"I figured I'd have to sign a nondisclosure if I could get you to show me anything. I'll sign, absolutely. I can keep my mouth shut."

Tate led me through the doors and into the silent office. The lights were dim or off in most of the workstations.

"There are usually a few people working after hours," he said. "But tonight, I told them all to get out and go home. If anyone shows up, they're fired."

I laughed. "You didn’t.”

Tate looked down at me, his blue eyes both amused and serious. "I did. I knew you wanted to see the company, and I didn't think you'd want a crowd. Besides, I want you all to myself."

He led me through the open part of the office, past conference rooms with glass walls and whiteboards, all the way to the back. Two offices with glass walls faced out, overlooking the rest of the company. These must be Holden and Tate’s. One was dark. In the other, low lights illuminated a huge glass and metal desk facing six enormous monitors on which I could see a screensaver of WGC’s flagship game, Syndrome. A wicker picnic basket sat in front of the monitors, oddly old-fashioned on the ultra-modern desk. The lid of the basket was half-open, the neck of a bottle of wine poking out. A picnic? He was going to show me their top-secret project, and he brought a picnic? He was good.

"What do you want to do first?" Tate asked. “Eat dinner, or take a look at what we've been working on?"

There was no contest. Rumors had been swirling through the gaming community for the last six months about WGC's top-secret new project. Consensus was that it had to do with the new physics engine, but nobody knew for sure, and WGC's employees were notoriously tightlipped about company business. I was dying to see what they were doing, and an empty stomach was no diversion.

"We can eat later," I said, practically vibrating with excitement. It said a lot about what a geek I was that, temporarily, I was more hyped up about seeing the secret project that I was about being so close to Tate.

Tate curved his hand around my shoulder, the heat of his skin burning through my thin silk top, and just like that, the butterflies in my stomach were all about Tate.

"Take a seat," he said. "I'll be right back."

I was just settling into the plush high-backed leather chair at his desk when he returned with a sheaf of papers in one hand, pushing another wheeled leather chair in front of him. He set the papers on the desk in front of me, along with a pen. I was glad I was a fast reader. Otherwise, I probably would have signed the nondisclosure agreement without looking at it. It was fairly standard, and this wasn't the first time I'd had to sign an NDA. The year before, I’d worked on a project that had required a high level of secrecy. I knew how to keep my mouth shut. I finished scanning the document, then signed and dated it with a flourish, almost bouncing in my seat in anticipation.

When Tate rolled his seat beside mine and leaned into me, sliding one arm around my shoulders, I thought the top of my head was going to blow off. My heart pounded and my body tuned in to Tate, my brain torn between interest in his project and its fascination with the man himself.

Tate took the mouse, woke up the computer, and opened a game simulator program. "This should give you an idea of what we've been working on," he said.

"Is this the sequel to Syndrome?" I asked. Syndrome had been a first-person shooter about the aftereffects of a viral infection in a post-apocalyptic version of the United States. Its combination of heart pounding action and intricate problem-solving had made it an instant hit. The graphics on the screen looked like those from the original game, but they were far more finely rendered. As the wind blew a piece of crumpled paper down the deserted street on the computer screen, I had a hard time convincing myself that what I saw was a game and not a video recording. Tate nudged the mouse in my direction, and I started to play, my eyes wide, captivated by the level of detail in the game environment as it reacted to my character. After a few minutes, I tore my eyes from the screen and looked at Tate.

"What kind of processor does it take to run this?" I asked. "There's so much going on, so many small details."

"It needs a little more than the current standard," Tate admitted, "but not as much as you'd think. We found a way to disguise the redundancies so it looks like everything around you is responding to your character, even the things you can't see, but underneath, there’s less going on.”

My brain raced to figure out how they had done it. Unable to resist, I turned my attention back to the game and was quickly sucked in when a group of mutant zombies—the introductory enemy from the original game—attacked me. I wasn't ready for it, too distracted by the game environment to think about battle tactics, but I'd been gaming since I was a kid, and before I'd taken too many hits, I figured out the basic mechanics and was on my way to defeating the mutant zombies.

"Yes! That's right, bitches!" I shouted, rocking back in my chair as the last zombie fell to my roundhouse punch.

"Nice job," Tate said from beside me. I jolted upright, instantly flushing bright red. I was on my first date in a million years, with the most beautiful, sexy man I'd ever laid eyes on, and I’d just exposed what an enormous a geek I truly was. I was tempted to drop my head to the desk, but that would only have made it worse.

Tate must not have minded, because instead of laughing at me, he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. At the touch of his lips, I completely forgot about the game, the physics engine . . . anything that wasn't Tate.

His mouth took mine with leashed possession, claiming me with his kiss but holding back. His hands stayed on my face, his lips and his tongue exploring my mouth, the only place he touched me, but my body responded as if we were naked, skin to skin.

My breasts swelled and my nipples tightened. I shifted in my seat as he shifted between my legs, my body ready for more even as my brain struggled to keep up.

I leaned into him, reaching for him, not sure what I planned to do with my hands but wanting to touch. Before I could figure it out, Tate broke the kiss, his fingers trailing along my jaw and down my neck.

I stared at him, mesmerized by the heat in his deep blue eyes. "Sorry," he said. "I couldn't help it. You were too cute."

I flushed and looked away, a little embarrassed and a lot giddy. Without thinking, I said, “We probably shouldn't play together then. We’d get distracted too easily."

"I'm good with getting distracted, if that's how we do it," Tate said.

"Me too," I whispered.

CHAPTER SEVEN

EMILY

"Do you want to eat dinner?" Tate asked. Checking the clock on the computer, I realized I'd been playing the game longer than I thought. It was a common hazard with gaming. You could login planning to play for only a few minutes, then find that hours had disappeared into the virtual world.

I wasn't sure what I wanted. I wanted to keep kissing Tate. I wanted to play more of the game. And my growling stomach piped up to remind me that I also wanted something to eat. More kissing was the clear winner, but I didn't think I was ready to handle where that was leading, so I said, “Dinner sounds good."

I helped Tate unpack the picnic basket. At my raised eyebrow when I saw he'd chosen the wine I bought when I wanted a splurge, he said, "I cheated and asked Jo." After the wine, he pulled out box after box of sushi, each one marked with the familiar logo of my favorite restaurant. I didn't have to look in the boxes to know they would be all my favorite rolls. So far, Tate was stacking up to be the perfect guy, thoughtful, patient, and an amazing kisser, not to mention crazy smart, and a game developer. If I tried to hand design Prince Charming, I wouldn't have done this well. As long as I could forget that he was also a Winters, and everything that went along with it, I might find myself really falling for him.

Who was I kidding? I was already half-gone, and this was just our first date. Now that we weren’t kissing or gaming, my nerves cranked back up. Then Tate said, “How did you decide on Tech?"

I left out the parts about the shooting, my agoraphobia, and the fact that just getting to graduate school had been a miracle—forget about going anywhere out of state. Instead, I told him about how I'd wanted to go to Georgia Tech since I was a kid, which was also true. We fell into an unexpectedly easy conversation, skating over the big stuff like my anxiety and his family. I told him more about the game I was working on and how I'd been surprised when it had sold well enough to pay for a year of school with a little left over, and he filled me in on some of the advances in emergent gaming that they were putting in Syndrome 2, in addition to the new physics engine.

"Overachiever much?" I asked. "What made you decide to do both things at the same time? Just the physics engine is a huge advancement. I can't get my head around adding emergent gaming into that."

In emergent gaming, a character's decisions affected the outcome of the game. It was nothing new as a general concept, just cause and affect decision-making. Kick a puppy in the beginning, steal a weapon instead of buying it, and you’d find your character gradually becoming more evil as the game went on. But what Tate described had levels of subtlety, especially in the online portion of the game, that no one had achieved so far. Syndrome 2 could be the most realistic game ever created, both in terms of gameplay and the visual experience. It was incomprehensible that WGC had created both developments at the same time in the same game. Tate laughed self-consciously and shrugged.

"Holden had been messing around with ideas for the physics engine, and I’d been thinking about ways to make character decisions influence gameplay in a less linear way. We were doing this stuff on our own, and when we sat down to talk about what should be next, we couldn't decide, so we did both."

"You guys are nuts," I said, laughing.

"Yeah, we had a staff revolt when we made the announcement. But we hired some new engineers, and our people are amazing. Syndrome 2 is going to be late, but when we finish it—"

"It's going to be the top-selling game of all time," I declared. Based on the short section I’d played, I knew that for a fact.

"That's the plan," Tate said.

"So, how did you guys end up running Mana? That seems completely random."

"Probably because it was," Tate said, and he went on to explain the series of events that had led to him and his cousin buying the nightclub. I never would've guessed it would be so easy to talk to him. Normally, being around a guy I found attractive left me tongue-tied, my heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe. I had a reaction to Tate, but even though he made my heart beat faster and my head spin, I didn't seem to have any trouble talking to him. After some of the dorky things I’d said, I wouldn't have minded being a little tongue-tied.

As Tate talked, I finished eating and ended up just staring at him, the way his dark hair fell in his eyes, the curve of his lower lip. His voice trailed off, and my eyes met his. The desire I saw there sent a jolt down my spine.

He’d caught me staring at his lips, and I was pretty sure I knew what he was thinking. My stomach fluttered, and I felt a prickle in my palms. I liked Tate. Like was such a tepid word. I didn't know how to describe the way I felt about Tate. Something in him drew me, pulled me out of myself, made me feel safe and thrilled all at the same time. I wanted more, even if I had only the vaguest idea what more would be. What would he expect? Dumb question. I had a pretty good idea what he'd expect.

At that thought, my stomach clenched and the prickle in my hands spread. My heart pounded in my chest so hard, I imagined I could hear it banging against my rib cage. I turned in the chair to face him, wanting to be closer to Tate, needing to ignore the panic rising inside me. I hadn't had an attack in a long time, and I was not going to have one with Tate. This isn't a panic attack, I told myself. It's just sensory overload. The best thing to do about that is to shut my brain off.

It felt like the craziest risk I'd ever taken, but I knew if I didn't do something, I was going to freak out, and I didn't want Tate to see me like that. Ignoring the thump of my heartbeat and the prickle in my palms, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to Tate's.

The second my mouth touched his, Tate took control. Kissing me, his lips coaxing mine open, he pulled me to my feet, backing me slowly away from the desk toward the couch on the far side of the room. I let him lead me, not caring where we were going as long as he kept kissing me. He fell backward onto the black leather couch, pulling me on top of him. The other times we'd kissed, Tate hadn't really used his hands. This time, he made up for it.

With my knees on either side of Tate's hips, my stretchy skirt rode up. Tate's hands closed over my thighs, pulling me down against him. I was mostly lost in the feeling of his mouth taking mine, but not enough to miss the length of his cock pressing against his jeans, nestled between my legs and right on my clit. If we hadn't been wearing so many clothes, he probably would've been inside me.

The thought made me shiver. I couldn't get my head around what was happening. Tate was kissing me, harder, deeper and far more thoroughly than he had before. I was on top, but I had no illusions as to who was in charge. His tongue stroked into my mouth, tasting me, and I couldn't help but answer the rhythm of our lips stroking and feeding on each other. It drove my already aroused body higher and hotter.

I ground down on his cock, through my underwear and his jeans. My breasts pressed into his chest, the padded push-up bra suddenly feeling too tight. I wanted it off. I wanted to be naked, my skin against Tate’s. It wasn't enough just to feel his hands on my legs, first stroking my skin, then rising to grip my ass, rocking me against him.

Every time we came together, a wash of pleasure scattered my brain cells and made me gasp. It was too much, and I wanted more. When his fingers slid beneath my panties and grazed my clit, I tore my mouth from his and gasped, "Tate."

I was shaking. Jagged streaks of a pleasure so sharp it hurt raked through my body. I was wet where he touched me, slippery and hot. If I'd been more in control, I probably would've been embarrassed. Instead, my mouth dropped to Tate’s neck, and I bit down, my fingers digging into his shoulders. A scream caught in my throat as he pressed one long finger inside my pussy.

I've never felt anything like this. With one hand on my ass, he urged me to rock against the hard length of his cock, rubbing against my clit. With the other, he fucked me with his finger. I was so tight, he only needed one. It didn't take long before I was coming, sobbing out his name against his skin.

The orgasm pulsed through me, my whole body squeezed tight, riding the wave of pleasure before it let go and I collapsed, breathing hard. A tear trickled from the corner of my eye, hot and wet on my cheek before it fell to Tate’s neck.

I should have been relaxed. I'd never come before like that. Ever. I should've been a boneless mass of satisfaction. For a second or two, I was. Then I realized what had happened, what I’d done. Tate was still hard between my legs, and every conscious thought in my brain fizzed out, replaced by panic.

What was I supposed to do now? Stupid question. I could think of any number of things I should do, but my muscles wouldn't work. Paralyzed with indecision, I couldn't look at him. This had gone way too far, too fast, and I was lost.

Tate started to sit up, and the change in position got me moving. I eased off his lap, scrambling to my feet, frantically tugging my underwear back into place, and straightening my skirt, unable to meet Tate's eyes. Heat bloomed in my cheeks, and I knew I was blushing a bright red. Letting my hair fall over my face, I turned around, looking for my shoes. I had to go. I knew it was lame and stupid, and I was proving that I wasn't enough for him by running away, but I just couldn't do this. It was too much. Too much sensation. Too much that was new.

I could feel my thoughts getting away from me, tumbling over themselves, screaming at me to run, to go, to get somewhere safe. I knew in my head that everything was okay. I was just freaking out. But an iron band of panic closed around my lungs until I couldn't breathe. My heart thundered in my ears. Tate was talking to me, and I could barely make out the words.

I grabbed my purse and keys from his desk and fled, tears streaming down my cheeks, the echo of his voice chasing me to the elevator, the sinking feeling of failure heavy in my heart.

CHAPTER EIGHT

EMILY

I don't remember getting home. Tate's office wasn't that far from my apartment, and I was practically running, so it couldn't have taken too long. When I got there, I locked the door behind me, dropped my purse and keys in the kitchen, and headed straight for my bed, curling up under the covers. I held my pillow tight to my chest, trying to stifle my sobs.

I hated this. I wanted to be anyone else. No, not anyone, just someone normal. Someone who could make out with a guy she liked and not completely freak out. Someone who could have a hook up and not make a total idiot of herself the way I had. I knew what had happened. While it hadn't been a full-blown panic attack, it was close enough, and I'd been there too many times not to understand how they worked. I'd been too wound up, already anxious, though a lot of that had been excitement and not fear. Still, I’d been on edge, and the sudden vulnerability of Tate's hands on me, of him making me come, was too much.

I understood how it had happened, but I shouldn't have run away. At that thought, I sobbed harder. I was a grown woman, not a teenager. I couldn't believe I'd run like a coward. There was no way Tate would want anything to do with me now, not when I'd proven how out of my league he really was. My phone beeped with a text, and I realized I still clutched it in my fingers.

You okay?

Tate. I was surprised he wanted anything to do with me. Shame and regret pulled me down, drowning the remains of my panic attack in a heavy blanket of sadness. I couldn't hide from him anymore. I'd run away after he'd taken the time to give me the most romantic date I'd ever imagined, and now he was checking on me to make sure I was all right. I owed him an explanation. At the thought of telling him why I'd run away, fresh tears streamed down my cheeks. It was enough knowing how badly equipped I was to handle normal life, but explaining my past, the anxiety attacks and agoraphobia to someone as successful and accomplished as Tate Winters was horrifying and depressing. I couldn't explain, but I had to apologize. Fumbling with my phone, I wrote,

I'm sorry.

I didn't know what else to say. ‘Thank you for a nice dinner’ didn't come close.

Tate texted back, Are you at home? Are you okay?

At home. Not really okay, I answered.

What happened?

And there it was. I wanted to blow him off so I wouldn’t have to tell the truth. A lie would be so much easier. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wasn't a good liar at the best of times, and Tate deserved better than that from me. He hadn't done anything wrong. I was the one who was fucked up. It wasn't fair to let him think this was his fault. Forcing my fingers to move, I wrote,

Sorry. It wasn't you.

I hit send and stared at what I'd written, knowing it wasn't enough. Sucking in a deep breath, I forced myself to keep going.

I have panic attacks.

I hit Send again, feeling as if I’d thrown myself off the side of a cliff, my stomach tight and nauseated, my ears ringing.

Was that a panic attack? In my office?

It was close, I admitted. I'm sorry, I typed again.

Don't be sorry, he answered almost immediately. Can I call you? I want to talk to you.

My first instinct was to say no, but that was always my first instinct when I felt this way. The panic made me want to pull the covers over my head and hide for the rest of my life. It was wrong. I knew that. Sometimes, saying no was the smart answer. This was not one of those times.

K.

A second later, my phone rang in my hand, sending a shock of sheer, icy panic through me. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before I accepted Tate's call.

"Emily," he said, his voice unbearably gentle. "I'm sorry."

My breath hitched as I said, “No, I’m sorry. I'm sorry, Tate. It was a really nice date. The best date. I'm just fucked up. I'm not normal. I don't do normal things. I shouldn't have gone out with you. I should've known that would happen."

"Emily, no,” he protested. “You're not fucked up. It's okay. We can try again."

I didn't know how to explain it to him. How to make him understand. "Tate, it's just too much. I don't know what we're doing. I don't know how to date someone. I just can't."

There was a long silence, so long that I wondered if he'd hung up. I checked the screen of my phone and saw the timer on the call ticking upward. He was still there, just not talking. Finally, he said, “Don't give up on us. We'll figure it out. I think there's something good between us, and I don't want to walk away. We can take it slow. Slower. Whatever you need. Just don't give up."

I didn't want to give up. I wanted to try again. How long would it take before Tate got sick of dealing with me? Did it matter? If I walked away now, I wouldn't have him, anyway. I knew from experience that the only way to deal with my anxiety was to face it head on, no matter how awful it would feel.

I hadn't freaked out from spending time with Tate. I'd actually been surprisingly relaxed and at ease with him. It was the sex that had freaked me out. It had been too much, and I was too inexperienced. Tate was offering to go slow, but maybe slow was the opposite of what I needed. Maybe I needed to just suck it up and get it over with so the whole sex thing wasn't such a big, scary unknown. The thought grew in my mind. As crazy as it was, it felt right. I trusted Tate. He hadn't pushed me, and he'd said he was willing to be patient.

"Emily?" he asked, and I realized I'd been sitting there thinking for too long.

"We should have sex," I said in a rush.

"That's not taking it slow," Tate said, sounding confused. That made two of us.

"It's not sex itself that freaks me out," I tried to explain. "It's just that I haven't done it before.”

"You haven't done it before?" Tate asked.

"No," I admitted. "I've been doing really well with the whole anxiety thing, but new things are always a problem. I don't know what I'm doing, and I think that's why I panicked."

"So you want to have sex as therapy?" His voice sounded funny, not like he was laughing, but tight and weird.

"Not just as therapy," I said. He probably though I was crazy.

"It's not that I don't want to sleep with you,” Tate said, “because I really, really do. But I don't want to push you, or rush you, and jumping right into sex when it scares you seems like a very bad idea."

"I don't think it is, though," I said. "It's hard to explain."

“Try. I can't believe I'm saying this, but if you want us to have sex, you're going to have to give me a good reason we shouldn’t wait.”

"The short version is that the best way to deal with my panic attacks is to do the thing that scares me in a safe and controlled environment."

"We were in a safe and controlled environment tonight, weren't we?" he asked.

Any normal person would have thought so. "Not really, because I didn't know what was going to happen, and that was part of what set me off. If I know that we’re going to have sex, that takes the uncertainty away. Does that make sense?"

"Kind of."

"So you'll do it?" I asked, half-hoping and half-terrified that he'd agree.

"When? Where?"

I thought about that. Soon, because I didn't want to give myself time to worry about it. Not at my apartment. There was a comfort level in being at home, but if I decided I wanted to leave and we were at Tate’s, I could just go. I had a feeling it might be harder to get him out of my place if he wasn't inclined to leave.

"Tomorrow night,” I said. “Your place."

"What time?"

"Eight.” I said. I didn't want to make it like a date, so after dinner. But not too late.

"I'll see you at eight, then," Tate said.

"Okay. See you tomorrow," I said lamely. I hung up the phone, concluding what had to be the weirdest conversation of my entire life. Then I forced myself to get out of bed, wash my face, and put on my nightshirt. I was suddenly exhausted. I’d just propositioned Tate Winters, and in fewer than twenty-four hours, I was going to lose my virginity to him. It was crazy, but I knew without a doubt I wouldn't regret it. And maybe, if I didn’t freak out and ruin it, we could try for something more.

CHAPTER NINE

TATE

The knock sounded on my door at 7:58. I'd worried that she might change her mind and bail on me. I'd been shocked as hell when she'd run out the night before. After our conversation, it made a bit more sense, but I was still out of my depth with Emily. I didn't know that much about anxiety or panic attacks, but if she was half as nervous as I was, we might be in trouble.

Crazy to say, with my history, but I’d never slept with a virgin before. I still couldn’t get my brain around the idea that smart, beautiful Emily Winslow was untouched. Un-fucked. How could a girl with a body like that—all soft curves, with that round ass and those full tits—hit her early twenties a virgin? Had no one bothered to break through her shyness? It seemed they hadn’t.

I had the fleeting thought that I should bow out and leave her to a nicer guy, one who hadn’t slept with so many faceless, nameless women. One who was as shy and sweet as Emily. That thought hadn’t lasted long. She didn’t need some mild-mannered guy to take her to bed. She needed me. I knew how to handle a body like hers. I’d make her come all night and fuck her until she couldn’t walk. I’d make her mine.

Was that what I wanted? For her to be mine? To belong to me? I couldn’t swear it, not yet, but I was pretty sure it was exactly what I wanted. It had taken all my willpower not to chase after her the night before when she’d run off. All my instincts had screamed that she was prey—all I had to do was catch her. I hadn’t known about her panic attacks. I was thanking God that my gut—and Jo—had warned me to give Emily space. Chasing her down the street would have pushed her over the edge.

Jo said she was shy, but shy and having an anxiety disorder were not the same thing. If I’d known about the panic attacks, I might have done things differently. I’d followed her home at a distance, far enough that she couldn’t spot me but close enough to see that she got back to her building safely.

Maybe I should've left her alone for the night, but I couldn't do it. I'd settled for texting her once I knew she was home, hoping at the very least to reestablish communication and keep her from shutting me out. I had not expected her proposition that we have sex. Don't get me wrong. I wanted sex with Emily. I could barely think about her without getting hard. But just going at it didn't feel right, not when our hooking up was the very thing that had almost sent her into a panic attack.

I could see her point, that taking it slow would just give her time to get nervous, and once she got it over with, it wouldn't be so intimidating. The way I saw it, my job was to show Emily how good she could feel when she was with me. I was starting to understand that her shyness and the panic attacks meant I'd have to handle her with care, but they had an unexpected upside. Once I'd had Emily in my bed, once I’d shown her how much she wanted to be there, it was unlikely she'd look elsewhere. I'd gotten used to women who fucked anyone who caught their interest. I'm not judging. I did the same thing. Until now.

Emily had me thinking about more than just a random hookup. When I thought about Emily, I thought about time. Not just time in bed, though that mental image was becoming an obsession, but time with her. Emily was the first girl who caught my attention on every level. I wanted her body, and I loved to look at her. But she was more than that, more than her body, her face, her hair, and those crystal-clear gray eyes. She was smart, and a gamer. She was perfect for me. I just had to convince her that I was perfect for her.

I swung the door open at her hesitant knock, and my breath caught in my throat. Unlike the night before when she’d clearly dressed for a date, Emily wore faded jeans and a zip-front sweater that was attractive and well-cut but not the least bit seductive. Her gray eyes met mine, wary and skittish before landing on my shoulder. I thought I should let her take the lead, though it occurred to me that this might work better if I tossed her over my shoulder and carried her to my bedroom.

"Hey," she said.

"Come in.” I stepped back from the open door to let her enter, closing and locking it behind her. She stood before me, her arms wrapped around her middle, each hand clutching the opposite elbow. Not the picture of a woman ready to be seduced.

I'd planned to let her take the lead, concerned about pushing her too far. I considered going the traditional route—a glass of wine, the right music—but we were beyond that. I’d tried that approach on our date, and it hadn't ended well. I decided to step outside the box and take the direct approach.

"Which part makes you nervous?" I asked gently. "Is it having sex itself? Foreplay? I want to understand so I can make this good for you."

Emily visibly relaxed, her arms falling to her sides. She met my eyes, a sheepish expression on her face.

"This is embarrassing," she admitted. Trying to ease her mind and take the pressure off, I walked into my kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, getting an extra for Emily. I popped them open, handed her the bottle, and leaned back against my counter, pretending I was completely chilled out about the conversation we were having. She was nervous enough on her own. She didn't need to know I was just as tense, afraid one wrong word would send her running again. I wasn't going to give up on Emily, but I knew we'd both be much happier if we could get past this now.

"Don't be embarrassed," I said. "Were going to figure this out together. I just need to know what it was last night that set off the panic. The way I touched you? How hard you came?"

I shifted against the counter, glad my jeans were loose enough to hide my hard cock. Just the memory of her coming, her tight pussy squeezing my fingers and her moans, had me on the edge. In response to my graphic questions, Emily's cheeks flushed a gorgeous deep pink. The color spread down her neck and over her collarbone. Were her tits that same shade of pink? I'd find out soon enough.

"It wasn't that," she said, her voice low and husky. She took a quick sip of her beer. "It was after. I didn't know what to do, and I started to worry that I was going to do something wrong, and then everything got tangled up in my head, and it was too much, and I started to panic."

I had to change the subject fast. I'd needed to know what set her off, but we weren’t going to talk about it since that was clearly cranking her anxiety right back up to danger levels.

"So everything that came before was good?" I asked, loving how the flush in her cheeks deepened. Yeah, it had been good. Better than good. If I were being honest, feeling Emily Winslow coming on my fingers was better than the best sex I’d ever had. Knowing I was the first man to take her there, that mine were the first fingers inside that sweet pussy . . . there weren't words for how good that was.

Emily swallowed and nodded her head.

"Then I know what we’re going to do," I said. "This first time, you don't have to do anything. If I need you to do something, I'll tell you. Or show you. You don't have to make any decisions, and nothing you do will be wrong."

"How do you know I won't do anything wrong?" She asked, her eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

"Because you couldn't possibly do anything wrong. It doesn't work like that. And I already know you're going to be a natural at this. You just need a little practice."

I set my beer on the counter and crossed the kitchen to Emily. I was giving her too much time to think. She didn't need her brain right now. She just needed to feel. I stopped in front of her and took the beer from her hands, setting it carefully on the counter behind her. She looked up at me those beautiful gray eyes clouded with worry and said, “How do you know I'll be good at it?"

"No one who kisses like you do could be anything but good in bed."

Her eyes brightened, and a small smile curved her lips as she looked up at me. The contrasts in this woman were killing me. She was beautiful and brilliant, fun to be with, and filled with passion she hadn’t yet tapped. She should have had all the confidence in the world, and when it came to her work, she did. But there was no reason a woman like Emily should be so uncertain when it came to her appeal. I'd never wanted anyone like this. There was no way I was just going to fuck her once and leave her. My normal MO was out the window. I didn't know where things were going with Emily and me, but getting her in my bed was going to be more than a one-time thing. If I could do this right, I could keep her there as long as I wanted.

I took her hands in mine and led her out of the kitchen, down the hall to my bedroom. I couldn't let myself touch her until we were near the bed. Slow, I reminded myself. You have to take this slow. I wasn't just worried about scaring her. I was terrified I was going to hurt her. I'd felt how tight she was the night before, and at the time, it had turned me on. It still turned me on, but my cock wasn't exactly small, or even average. I dreaded the idea of hurting her almost as much as I was desperate to get inside her.

My plan was simple. Get her so turned on, she couldn't think. We hadn't had any trouble with that part the night before. It was afterward when everything went to hell. This time, I knew what to look for. I looked down into Emily's face, meeting her eyes, falling into the clear gray, entranced at the way arousal and anticipation were chasing off her fears.

My fingertips light on her smooth skin, I brushed her hair back and tilted her face up to mine, touching my lips to hers in a light kiss. She let out the breath she was holding, scented with beer and mint. I ran my thumb over her full lower lip. She obediently opened for me. The mental image of her following other, kinkier orders flashed through my brain. Slow.

I kissed her again, tasting her with my lips and my tongue, wrapping my arms around her until her body was pressed to mine. Triumph surged through me when her hands wrapped around my back, her fists clenching in my shirt. She let out a little moan as I kissed her harder, losing myself in her mouth and the way she fit her body to mine.

Whatever went through her head when she got anxious, it wasn't a problem when I was touching her. I broke the kiss and our embrace just long enough to pull her shirt over her head. She acquiesced immediately, raising her arms and pulling them through the sleeves.

"I want to see you naked," I said. "Help me take your clothes off."

My hands went to the clasp of her bra. Hers dropped to the button of her jeans. With a rustle of fabric, her clothes hit the floor a second later, leaving her in nothing more than a pair of black lace panties. My mouth watered. Despite being black lace, they weren't overtly sexy panties—not a thong, and they didn't ride low on her hips. But on Emily, they were more than enough. Reminding myself for the millionth time to slow down, I scooped her up and carried her the few feet to my bed. Her eyelids were heavy as she stared up at me, her breath shallow as she let me lay her down on the dark comforter. I stripped off her black panties as I moved away, leaving her completely naked in my bed.

I stepped back to get rid of my own clothes, my mouth dry at the sight of Emily in my bed. Her long, dark hair gleamed in the dim light, and her creamy skin seemed to glow. Her body was almost too much. I wasn't used to women who looked like Emily, though I'd always been attracted to them. The women in my circles were groomed to within an inch of their lives, with perfect hair, perfect makeup and bodies surgically enhanced and incessantly exercised to drive off any hint of excess weight.

What they didn't get was that all that work would never outshine a woman as natural as Emily. Her legs were toned from walking, but her thighs and hips were full below the gentle rise of her belly, tapering to a waist that narrowed just below her un-fucking-believable breasts. No question—those were real. More than a handful, their weight pulling them to the sides, topped by small pink nipples drawn by arousal into tight little points. Except for her temptingly hard nipples, everything about Emily was rounded and soft and begged me to touch, invited my fingers to sink into her ass, her hips, and the back of her thighs as she straddled me and I fucked up into her tight, wet pussy.

Before she could start to think and get nervous, I joined her on the bed. Stretching out beside her, I took her mouth with mine, waiting until she relaxed into my kiss before touching her anywhere else. Patience had never been so hard before, but I'd never wanted to touch a woman as much as I wanted to touch Emily. When she moaned and rolled into me, I slid one hand down her back, around the curve of her ass to the back of her knee, and pulled her leg up over mine, opening her just a little. When my fingertips grazed the slick flesh between her legs, her breath caught and she let out a whimper. I hiked her leg higher and teased her with one finger, sliding it up and down, avoiding her clit, until her hips moved against me. I pushed my finger inside her, my balls drawing tight at the sucking clasp of her pussy. That was just one finger. I was going to have to stretch her out before I fucked her if I didn’t want to hurt her. But first, I was going to make her come.

CHAPTER TEN

EMILY

I couldn't believe I was naked in bed with Tate Winters. When I’d freaked out the night before, I thought it was over. I'd been terrified I was going to mess things up again, right up until he kissed me. He'd known what he was talking about. Once he was touching me, I wasn't scared. I wasn't anxious. All I could do was feel, and I wanted more.

He pressed his finger inside me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, seeing sparks behind my closed lids, my head spinning at how good it felt. His finger was nothing like mine. It was thick and long, and I had the hazy thought that if one finger filled me up this much, I had no idea how his cock would fit. I trembled at the thought and let out a moan, sinking one hand into his thick, silky hair and kissing him harder. His thumb slid against my clit, and I ground my pussy against him, my body out of my control.

A second finger joined the first, the stretch just on the edge of pain. I leaned into him, raising my knee, opening myself further, as if that would make it easier to take his fingers. I thrust harder against him, my body finding its own rhythm, chasing the pleasure of being so full. My head fell back, breaking our kiss, and I heard myself cry out as my orgasm hit. His fingers worked me through the waves of sensation, drawing out my release.

I wanted to give Tate the same pleasure he'd given me, and I reached down to close my fingers around his cock. I had the brief impression of length and impossible girth before he moved his hips back and said, “Not yet, baby."

Before I could worry that I’d done something wrong, he leaned in and kissed me, then said, "I want nothing more than your hand on my cock, but I'm way too close to the edge, and I want to fuck you, not come on your leg."

At his graphic language, I felt my cheeks heat. I used those words in my mind when I thought about sex, but somehow, that was nothing like hearing Tate say the word cock in his husky, aroused voice.

"I love the way you blush," he said, making my cheeks flame even hotter. "I was wondering how far down it would go."

He leaned back and stared at me, a satisfied smile on his face. His fingers were still inside me, and slowly, they started to move again. I squirmed against him. Abruptly, he slid his fingers from my body and sat up, stacking pillows against the headboard of his bed. He leaned back into them and tugged on my arm. Following his lead, I rose to my knees. I watched with wide eyes as he rolled on a condom. I really wasn’t sure he was going to fit. Biologically, I knew it was possible, but still.

With his hands on my hips, he guided me to straddle him, positioning me so that the head of his cock was right against the gate of my pussy. He looked up at me and said, "I don't want to hurt you. This way, you can take your time with me while I distract myself with these perfect breasts."

Keeping his hands on my hips, he urged me down an inch, just enough so he was barely inside me, the stretch not too much more than his fingers but already giving me a taste of how big he was.

"Take your time, love." His hands left my hips and rose to my breasts, cupping their full weight, squeezing and lifting them. The look in his eyes, hot and absorbed, made me want to laugh even as it sent a bolt of heat between my legs. His fingers found my nipples, squeezing and pinching just hard enough, sending bolts of tingling bliss through my body. I wanted to move. I needed to move. And I realized where I wanted to move.

Down.

I wanted to take that thick, long cock inside my pussy and ride it. I wanted to make him come. And I wanted to come again, this time with more than his fingers inside me. I spread my knees a fraction and sank down, just a little, biting my lip at the pinch of pain as his cock pushed into my untried pussy.

Logically, I knew it was going to hurt the first time. Maybe if he'd been smaller . . . but I didn't want smaller. I wanted Tate. I could do this. I wiggled my hips from side to side, working my way down another inch, distracted by his hands kneading my breasts. When his mouth closed over one hard nipple, I let out a squeal that might have been embarrassing if I'd had enough operable brain cells to think about it. Instead of worrying about the sounds I was making, I arched my back, offering my breasts into his hands and sinking down another inch.

Lost to instinct, I dropped a hand between my legs and stroked my fingers over my clit, shocked at the intensity of the pleasure and thrilled at the feel of his cock partially buried inside me. I slid my fingers down his length and then back up, skating again over my clit and sinking a little farther down.

Tate groaned and said, "Jesus, fuck, but you're hot. Keep fucking doing that."

I did it again, my fingertips wet from my pussy, easily sliding over Tate's cock and up again to circle my clit. I did it over and over, each time taking more of him inside me until I had him to the root. I was stretched full, and it hurt, but I didn't fucking care, because it felt better than anything had ever felt in my entire life.

Tate raised his hips, thrusting up into me, and I fell forward, bracing myself on one hand. My nipple rested against his cheek, and Tate turned his head to take it, his hot mouth sucking hard. I rolled my hips into him, unable to stay still, rocking and grinding on him, hearing my own gasps and moans as if from a distance. It was too much, his mouth sucking my nipple, his cock so deep inside me, my hips moving, dragging my clit against him, everything swelling and rising until the pleasure crashed over me and I screamed out Tate's name.

The second my orgasm hit, Tate rolled me to my back, rising above me and fucking me hard, his hips pounding, his cock filling me to the hilt over and over. I held onto his arms and wrapped my legs around his hips, my eyes on his as the sharp, hot pleasure took me again, this time with Tate.

I don’t know how long it was before I could catch my breath enough to say anything, and then when I could, I didn't know what to say. Everything that came to mind was inadequate. Amazing. Mind blowing. Stupendous. Best thing ever, and can we do it again? None of it was enough. I waited for the merry-go-round of thoughts that would lead me from concern to anxiety, but they didn't come. Every muscle in my body was relaxed. I was curled into Tate, my head on his shoulder, his arm tight around me and one leg thrown over my hip. Just as I was settling in, he kissed my forehead and said, “Be right back."

He returned a moment later, and I realized he'd been taking care of the condom. He slid into bed and pulled me back into his arms, tucking my head beneath his chin, his fingers stroking up and down my spine. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm good." I thought about it for a second. "I'm very good."

"Yes, you are," he said. I giggled, a lighthearted, silly sound. I couldn't remember the last time I'd giggled. I wasn't a giggler.

"So what do we do now?" I asked, feeling a little stupid but wanting to know. If Tate was waiting for me to leave, I didn't want to worry that I was missing his signals.

His arm tightened around me, and he said, “We stay right here until I get my breath back, and then we do it again."

"You want to cuddle and then do it again?” I asked, relieved that he wasn't trying to think of ways to get me to leave.

“Unless you want to go?" he said with a note of uncertainty in his voice that reassured me.

"No. I don't want to go, but you have to tell me . . . I don't—"

Tate gave me another squeeze and admitted, "I don't know what I'm doing here either. I don't usually cuddle women after sex."

"You don't?" I rose on one elbow to look down at him. His eyes were serious as they studied me.

"No. Normally, at this point, I'd be telling you about my early meeting or some other bullshit excuse to get you moving so you could go home. But I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay. This isn't just sex for me, Emily. I want more than that with you, and I can honestly tell you I've never said that to any woman before."

"Oh," I said, wonder spilling through my chest. I hadn't really thought Tate would want more with me. Part of me had assumed once we had sex, we'd be done. Tate brushed my hair off my face, his blue eyes searching mine.

"I want more too,” I whispered.

Relief washed over his expression as he pulled me in for a kiss—a kiss that quickly got out of control. I was ready to have sex again, but Tate stopped me, saying, “You're too sore. You need a break. Let's try this instead."

He pulled me from the bed and led me into his bathroom, where he had an enormous soaking tub. I couldn't imagine Tate as the type who liked to take long baths, but the tub was more than big enough for the two of us. The short walk from the bedroom to the bathroom proved he was right. Despite the care he'd taken to get me ready and how much I'd enjoyed it, losing my virginity had left me raw and sore. Maybe I didn't want to have sex again just yet.

The tub filled quickly, and Tate settled me on top of him. We lay face-to-face, his already hard cock trapped between our bodies, pressing against my clit. He kissed me, and his mouth felt different, more possessive, as if it were claiming me. I liked it. I felt myself getting wet, my pussy softening, wanting his cock, leaking slick moisture. Instead of fucking me, he rocked against me, rubbing his hard cock against my clit, teasing both of us with the slippery pressure until the pleasure crested in a long, sweet orgasm. After, I collapsed against him, resting my head on his damp shoulder, knowing I never wanted to move.

"I haven't dry humped with a girl since I was a teenager," Tate said with a laugh after he kissed the top of my head.

"Is it still dry humping when we're in the tub?"

"Close enough."

We dried off and went back to bed, curling into each other as exhaustion finally hit and we fell asleep. The night was the best I’d ever had. I would have done it all over again, even knowing the nightmare we’d face when we woke up.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EMILY

I woke up to late morning sunlight flooding Tate’s bedroom, not as worried as I should have been that I was going to be late for class. I lay on my side, my head on Tate's chest and my arm wrapped around him. Slowly, I shifted to the side, not wanting to wake him, until I met his eyes and realized he was already awake.

"I probably should have gotten you up," he said, "but I was too comfortable to move."

On the bedside table, Tate's phone started to ring, a sugary pop song by a former child star turned singer. I raised an eyebrow at his ring tone choice, and he said, "Fucking Holden. He always does this."

"Are you going to answer?" I asked. Tate shook his head, levering his tall body out of the bed.

"No. He's probably just calling to tell me to get my ass into the office, which I will, as soon as I get you home. You have classes today?"

"All day, and game night tonight with my team," I said, pulling the sheet up to cover me, self-conscious in the bright light of day.

"Can I see you after?" He asked, his eyes level on my face. My answer mattered. He wasn't playing games with me, and I wouldn't play any with him.

"I can't skip game night. It's a thing—no one skips—but I can come over afterward."

"Works for me," Tate said. He disappeared into the bathroom, giving me a minute of privacy to find my clothes. I'd stashed extra underwear and a small toiletries bag in my purse. After our bath the night before, my hair was a mess, and I was grateful I at least had a comb and a hairband. I pulled on my clothes and bundled my hair into a messy pile on top of my head. It wasn't worth trying to take a shower at Tate's with my limited supplies. I'd wait until I got home. If we left in the next few minutes, I'd have just enough time to jump in the shower and change before I had to leave for class.

Fleetingly, I thought about staying in bed all day with Tate, but I dismissed it as impractical. It was clear from Holden's call that Tate had things to do, and I had too much scheduled on Wednesdays to bail with no notice.

Tate’s phone rang again as we headed for the door, the same ring as before. I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out. The popular song was a favorite with the tween crowd. It was so not Tate.

“Are you sure you don’t need to get that?” I asked.

“No, I’ll see him as soon as I drop you off. Whatever he wants can wait.”

Tate locked his door behind us and hit the button for the elevator. The doors slid open smoothly as if it had been waiting for us. Once inside, Tate took my hand in a firm grip and tugged me close, wrapping his arms around me, tucking my head beneath his chin. We stood there in silence as we descended to the garage level, not needing to speak.

My nerves from our first date were gone, washed away by Tate’s easy acceptance of my fears and his honesty about his feelings for me. A relationship with him wasn’t going to be easy—nothing new was ever easy for me—but after the night we’d shared, I was beginning to believe we could make it work.

The elevator arrived at the garage level with a gentle bump, the doors sliding open soundlessly. Tate took my hand again, leading me through the doors and into my worst nightmare.

Lights flashed in my eyes as voices shouted Tate’s name, a mass of bodies pushing and shoving in their rush to get to us. Tate stepped in front of me, using one arm to hold me behind him as he tried to push us through the crowd.

“Tate, who are you with?”

“Tate, what do you think about Jacob being attacked? Is he involved with organized crime?”

“Tate, can you tell us what happened here earlier?”

A hand grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away from Tate. I yanked my arm back and came face to face with a woman in a red suit, shoving her camera in my face, the flash blinding me as she took picture after picture. Nausea swelled in my stomach. I was nine years old again, trying to go the school, my path blocked by a crowd of vultures shouting at me.

Emily, are you happy the gunman is dead?

Emily, how do you feel about watching your best friend die?

Emily, how does it feel to be the only one left alive?

Emily!

Emily!

The memories cascaded, tangling with the present, drowning me in the attack of lights and voices. The yelling blurred into one voice, shouting over and over. My heart pounded in my ears, racing, beating so fast I felt lightheaded. My palms prickled with sweat, and it felt like an iron band was cinching closed around my chest. I couldn’t breathe. My vision was going gray.

I felt Tate pulling me through the garage, moving me away from the crowd of reporters. As if far off in the distance, I heard other voices, saw figures in black blocking the crowd from us, ushering them back to wherever they’d come from.

It didn't matter. It was too late for me. It was already starting. A door opened, and then I was sitting. In a car. I was in a car. We were moving, and all I could think about was getting air into my frozen lungs. I leaned over, wrapping my arms around my knees, burying my face between them. I didn't want this to happen. I was not going to let this happen.

I hadn't had an anxiety attack in over a year. I'd told myself I was done with them. I might have been if I hadn't been confronted with the very thing that had started me down this path in the first place. No normal woman would be assaulted by reporters on a regular basis. This wasn't because of me. This was because of Tate. Nausea hit me in another surge, and I bit down on my lip, desperate not to throw up in Tate's car. We were safe. We were away from the flashing lights and screaming voices, but in the back of my mind, all I could hear was the warning that I was in danger.

I wasn't in danger. I knew that. I struggled to draw breath, to calm my racing heart. I could feel myself shaking, feel the sweat running down my back and gathering under my arms. My body was out of my control, taking me on a ride more terrifying than any roller coaster. I tried to remember everything I’d learned in therapy.

Deep breaths. I needed to breathe and stop the merry-go-round of panic in my mind. I told myself everything I knew I needed to hear.

I'm okay. The reporters can't hurt me. Everything is going to be okay.

It was dizzying, being tossed back into the nightmare that had haunted me since I was a child. I'd been dealing with the anxiety attacks. I'd gotten so much better. I should have known this could happen, being with Tate. But I hadn't been thinking. I liked him so much, and I'd wanted him. If I’d thought it through, really considered what I was doing, this wouldn't be happening. I should have known. I should have kept myself safe.

By the time the car slowed and pulled to a stop, I was mostly under control. My heart was still beating way too fast, and I was shaking, but at least I didn't think I was going to pass out or throw up. Tate reached down to help me out of the car, and I gripped his hand, desperate for an anchor. I let him wrap his arm around me and guide me into my building. At my door, he said, "Do you have your keys, baby?"

I fumbled in my purse until the cool metal scraped my fingers and dragged them out, shoving them at Tate. My hands were shaking too hard to get them in the lock myself. The door swung open, and I heard Jo say, "Emily! What happened? Tate, what's going on?"

I pulled away from Tate, trying to stand on my own. A sudden wave of dizziness hit me and my stomach pitched. I wasn't going to pass out, but I was going to throw up. Mouth watering, sweat pouring down my face, I tore my hand out of Tate’s and lurched down the hallway, falling to my knees in front of the toilet just in time to empty my stomach. I was still heaving, the muscles in my abdomen clenching and twisting in painful cramps, when I felt him behind me. His warm hand landed on my clammy back, and I flinched.

A part of me wanted to crawl into Tate’s lap and let him fix everything. But he couldn't fix this. I was broken, and no matter how good I got at handling my anxiety problems, the media circus was always going to be a part of Tate’s life. A tiny sliver of me resented him for it. It wasn't fair to resent him for my problems. I knew that. But kneeling on the bathroom floor, puking up my guts after being ambushed by reporters and fighting back flashbacks from the worst part of my childhood, I didn't care about fair. I just wanted to go back to being okay.

"Go away," I rasped. "Go away, please, Tate."

After a minute, he did, leaving me alone.

I don’t know how long it took me to get myself together, but eventually, I got up off the floor. I was still a sweaty, shaky mess, and I couldn't stand it a second longer. I turned on the shower almost hot enough to burn and stood under the steamy spray, letting my mind drift.

Tate was still there when I came out, my hair combed straight, bundled in a thick fuzzy robe. His eyes flashed to me, dark with worry. He started toward me, then stopped.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out a hand, then dropping it to his side when I kept my distance. Jo looked between us, frowning, and said,

“I made you some tea.” She set a mug on the kitchen table, and I lowered myself into a chair, feeling ancient. After an episode like that, every muscle in my body hurt. I was exhausted, and I wanted to be alone, but I had to do this first.

“Can you sit down?” I asked, looking up at him. The expression on his face, worry mixed with frustration, made me want to cry. I fought it back. I needed to keep it together long enough to talk to Tate. Once that was done, I was going to crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.

“Was that a panic attack?” he asked gently.

“Yeah," I said. "I haven't had one in over a year."

"Was it the reporters?" Tate asked, looking at Jo and then back at me. Then she hadn't told him. Jo was the best, and she knew how to keep a secret.

"When I was nine, I went on a play date with my best friend," I said. Tate looked confused. I didn't blame him, but I didn't know how else to do it. I had to tell the story, and then he would understand. "It was a day off school, a teacher workday or something, and Kelly's mom took us to one of those arcades for kids with the cartoon animals and the pizza. We were there about an hour when a man came in and started arguing with a woman who worked there. He was her ex-husband. They’d been fighting over custody, but I didn't know any of that. I just heard the yelling, and it scared me. I was in the ball pit with Kelly. She ran for her mom, but I hid in the balls. The woman was screaming back at him, and he hit her. When she got back up, he pulled out a gun. He started shooting. He didn't stop until everyone was dead. I was the only one who survived. I hid in the bottom of the ball pit, and I didn't come out until the police found me."

"Emily," Tate said, his voice heavy with pain and the horror of what he'd heard. His hands reached across the table for mine, but I sat back, gripping the warm mug of tea. I wanted his comfort. Half of me wanted to burrow into him and let him wrap his strong arms around me and keep me safe. The other half couldn't forget that he was the reason we'd been ambushed by the reporters in the first place. They hadn't been shouting my name. They'd been shouting Tate's.

"They wouldn't leave me alone," I said, wanting to finish it. "They followed me everywhere, the reporters, taking my picture and yelling at me. They waited in the street outside my school." I shook my head as if trying to banish the memories.

"I didn't start having the panic attacks until later. I don't know, maybe it took time for everything to filter through. But it started then, at the shooting and right after."

I looked down at my cup of tea and took a long sip. When I thought I had enough courage, I looked back up at Tate and said, "I can't do this with you. I want to. I do. But I can't. I can't face that kind of attention. I won't be able to handle it."

"Emily, don't. That doesn't happen all the time. It doesn't even happen often. Something is going on with my cousin, Jacob—that's what it was about. It wasn't even me. We can handle this."

"No, we can't,” I said, feeling sick and hopeless. “I can't. I worked so hard to get here, to have a life that was even close to normal. Now I feel it all sliding away. I've gone a year without having any panic attacks, and now I've had two in three days."

"You said the other day wasn't a panic attack," Tate argued.

"I have too much at stake, Tate,” I said. “I don’t want to go back to how I was before, living at home, scared to leave the house. I'm better off alone. I'm sorry."

"So that's it? Just I'm sorry, and it's over?" Tate shoved back out of his seat and stood, glaring down at me.

"You don't understand," I said. "You don't understand how bad I was and how hard it was to get better. I care about you. I care about you a lot. But I can't do this, Tate. I can't."

I was so tired. My head hurt, and I still felt queasy. I risked a look at Tate and immediately wished I hadn't. His deep blue eyes were dark with anger, his arms crossed over his chest. Maybe being mad at me would make this easier for him. I didn't want to hurt Tate. That was the last thing I wanted, but I'd been crazy to think I could make a relationship with him work. With another guy, maybe—someone low-profile who lived a quiet life. I couldn't handle Tate Winters. This morning had proved it without a doubt.

Suddenly desperate to end the whole thing, I got up from the table and said, "I'm sorry," before turning and fleeing down the hall to the safety of my bedroom.

Jo came in a few minutes later and sat on the edge of my bed.

"You need to get some rest," she said. "Sit up and let me braid your hair so it doesn't get all tangled."

I did, turning my back to her, and felt my tight muscles relax under the soothing strokes of the comb against my scalp, the tug of it pulling on my hair. She sat there and combed my hair, waiting for me to calm down. Finally, she gathered the wet strands and began to braid them.

"Are you sure about this, Em?” she asked quietly.

I sighed. I didn't want to be sure. I wanted Tate. But just the memory of the shouting reporters and the flashing lights was enough to remind me that it couldn't happen.

"No," I said honestly. "But I can feel myself falling apart, Jo. Everything has been so good, but since I met Tate, I feel like I'm sliding closer and closer to the edge. It scares me," I whispered.

"I know," Jo said. "But you need to think about this, Emily. He really cares about you. He wasn't just mad when you made him leave. He was hurt."

A tear slid down my cheek. The idea of hurting Tate was a knife in my heart. I cared about him—more than I should, when we’d known each other for less than a week.

“I know you're scared,” Jo went on. “And you need to do what's right for you. But Emily, don't think about what's right for you from a place of fear. How did your therapist help you get over your agoraphobia?"

It sounded like a random question, but I knew what Josephine was getting at. "I had to do the things that scared me," I said in a low voice. "But this is different."

"How is this different, Em?" She tied off the braid and urged me to lay down on the bed, pulling my quilt up around my shoulders and stroking my forehead. "Get some rest. I know that scene was a nightmare. The only person who feels worse about it than you is Tate."

She left quietly, and I pulled the quilt around me, clutching it with my fingers, tears rolling down my cheeks. Jo was right. I knew she was right. I was still in a cage, a bigger cage than I'd been in a few years ago, but I was still trapped by my own fears, and the only way to beat them was to face them. This time, the reward wasn’t college or a career. If I could find the courage, the reward could be Tate. If he still wanted me.

CHAPTER TWELVE

TATE

I pounded on the door of Jacob's apartment, furious that he hadn't answered. I knew he was home. He wasn't in his office, my first stop, and Holden had told me he was no longer with the police. I wished, more than anything, that I'd answered Holden's calls that morning. He'd been trying to warn me about the reporters, and if I'd known, I could've told Emily, and I would have found out what a big fucking problem they would be.

Instead, I walked into that cluster fuck blind and ended up losing Emily. Maybe it was my fault. I hadn't tried hard enough to talk her around, or been patient enough, but at that moment, I was happier blaming Jacob.

I had a key to Jacob's door, though he’d probably rip my head off if I used it. I didn't care. Let him get pissed. I could use a fight.

I unlocked the door and swung it open, revealing the front hall of Jacob's plush penthouse. My cousin owned the top floor of Winters House, and it looked like a gilded age mansion with gleaming hardwoods, smooth, creamy plaster walls, and priceless oil paintings. To my surprise, a woman stood in front of me, her dark hair up in a twist, dressed in yoga pants and a matching tailored hoodie, holding Jacob’s house phone up as if it were a weapon. Her eyes went wide at the sight of me, and she backed up a step. In a calm, cultured voice, she said, "Leave, or I'm calling security."

"Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my cousin's penthouse?" I demanded.

She narrowed her eyes on my face, studying me for a moment before her shoulders relaxed and she dropped the hand holding the phone. "You’re one of Jacob's cousins, I presume? Which one? You’re too young to be Gage, or Vance, so you must be Tate."

She was clever, whoever she was. "Good call. When will Jacob be back?"

"You'd better come in," she said, turning and disappearing into the penthouse. I followed her, curiosity beginning to outweigh my frustration.

"Who are you?" I asked again as she came to a stop in Jacob’s kitchen.

"I think it's better if Jacob answers that question. But I have his permission to be here, if that's what you're worried about. Would you like some coffee? Tea? It's a little early for lunch, but I can probably throw something together."

"Coffee, and something to eat, if you have it. It's been a long morning," I said, sitting down at the counter facing the rest of the kitchen. The woman moved as if she were very familiar with her surroundings, starting coffee and pulling things out of the fridge. This was beyond weird. If Holden was touchy about letting women in his apartment, Jacob was even worse. He was occasionally open to houseguests—a few months ago, he'd sheltered a friend of the family's girlfriend when she was having a hard time—maybe this was something similar. There was no way she was involved with Jacob. He'd never let a woman he was fucking live in his house. Still, she was exactly his type, classically beautiful, polished and elegant despite her casual clothes. Her hands moved with grace as she assembled a sandwich. Something about her tugged at my memory, and I had the feeling I was missing something.

"Do I know you?" I asked.

"Wouldn't you know if you did?" she countered. "Cream? Sugar?" She held up a steaming mug of coffee.

"Black is fine." I took the coffee and sipped, grateful for the caffeine.

"Did the mess in the parking garage this morning have anything to do with you?" I asked, fishing for information. The woman flinched but recovered immediately, her face shifting back to the same calm, serene expression.

"You really need to ask Jacob. He called half an hour ago and said he was on his way home."

I drank my coffee, understanding that as polite as Jacob's guest was, she wasn't going to tell me anything. Holden hadn't known why there had been police and reporters in the parking garage either. He'd gotten a call from Cooper Sinclair, telling him to stay in the office and keep his head down—and to call me—but that was it.

The woman slid a turkey sandwich in front of me, and I ate it gratefully, noting as I did the thin layer of pesto and the fresh tomatoes. So Jacob didn't just have a woman living with him. He had one who could cook. Good to know. She'd excused herself while I was eating, leaving me alone in Jacob's kitchen. Annoyed at the wait, I wandered around when I was finished eating, ending up in Jacob's office. Like everything else, it was old school, elegant, and very neat. Jacob was wound way too tight to leave things lying around. I was curious to see a manila envelope left on his desk, the clasp open and papers pulled halfway out. I didn't think I'd ever seen anything on his desk aside from the blotter and pen.

Bored and feeling nosy, I picked it up and looked at the photograph on top only to freeze in shock. With a shaking hand, I withdrew the photograph. It showed a room I'd only seen in pictures and a woman I barely remembered sprawled on an oriental carpet, her hand flung above her head, a bullet wound in her chest. What the fuck? Grief, old and sour, weighed on my heart. I’d seen this picture once and had never wanted to see it again. I barely remembered my mother. I didn’t want this ugly image of her dead body in my head, crowding out the few memories I had of her when she was still alive.

"Put that down," Jacob said from behind me, reaching around to yank the envelope and the photograph out of my hands.

"Why do you have that?" I asked, confused and a little sick. "Why do you have a crime scene picture of my parents’ murder? What the fuck is going on? Does this have anything to do with what happened downstairs? And why do you have a woman living with you that none of us have ever seen?"

"Would you relax?" Jacob asked, his voice ice cold, his tone suggesting I do as he said or face the consequences.

"No, I will not relax. I want to know what's fucking going on. My girlfriend just broke up with me over that bullshit in the garage."

Jacob's eyes softened, but he raised a sardonic eyebrow and said, “Your girlfriend? Since when do you have a girlfriend?"

Feeling annoyingly put in my place, I shoved my hands in my pockets and said, “Since this morning, but it didn't last very long, thanks to you."

Jacob went around to the other side of his desk and shoved the envelope and picture in a drawer, slamming it shut. “I’m not going to talk about the picture. Not yet. Come back in the kitchen," he said. "It's been a long fucking morning, and I'm starving."

"Fine." I followed him back to the kitchen, where the woman, now wearing a linen shift dress and sandals, was making Jacob a sandwich similar to the one she'd made for me. Looking between her and my cousin I said, “Are you going to introduce us?"

I wasn't expecting to see Jacob walk up behind her and slide his arm around her waist, dropping a gentle kiss on her neck just below her ear. She murmured something to him and he answered, but I couldn't hear what they said.

"Abigail, you've met my cousin, Tate. Tate, this is Abigail Jordan. She's my guest, and while she's here, security has been tightened."

"It's nice to meet you, Abigail," I said, smiling at her. To Jacob, without a smile, I said, “Where have you been all morning? What happened in the garage?"

Jacob took the coffee Abigail handed him and sipped before he said, "Abigail had an unfortunate situation that is none of your business. As part of that situation, someone tried to shoot me in the garage this morning. We're still not sure exactly how he got in, but he's in police custody and I'm fine. When she got here, I increased security, but I did it quietly because we didn't want to broadcast her location. After this morning, that's no longer a concern."

"The Sinclairs are on it?" I asked. Jacob nodded.

“You, Holden, and the other residents will get a brief this afternoon. Traffic in and out of the garage will be personally checked. It's going to be slow, but it should prevent the kind of scene you dealt with this morning."

“And you're not going to tell me why someone was shooting at you?" I asked.

Abigail started to speak, but Jacob flashed a glance in her direction and she stopped, biting her lip as if to prevent any sound from leaking out.

"It's not your business," Jacob repeated. "Despite what happened this morning, I don't want anyone to know Abigail is here, so don't tell Holden or your brothers."

Wanting to mess with him a little, I said, “What about your brothers?” I knew that if Abigail were a secret, he definitely wouldn't want Aiden to know. Aiden was the oldest of all of us, the patriarch of the family now that our parents were dead, and he was both nosy and bossy. If Abigail was a secret, Jacob definitely wouldn't want Aiden to know about her. Showing signs of temper for the first time, Jacob said, “Don't fucking tell Aiden anything."

Interrupting us, Abigail asked, “Your girlfriend broke up with you because of what happened in the garage?"

"Because of the reporters," I said. "They were like a pack of wolves, shouting and taking pictures. Emily has problems with anxiety and panic attacks, and it was too much. She freaked out, and then she broke up with me."

Jacob didn't say anything, just narrowed his eyes, but Abigail frowned and considered before she said, “Did she freak out, or did she have a panic attack?"

"She had a panic attack," I admitted. "It was pretty bad." So bad, I couldn't get it out of my head. Her face had been white, sweat pouring down her skin, her body shaking so hard she could barely stand up. Listening to her struggle to breathe on the short car ride to her apartment had been torture.

"I had a friend in college who had panic attacks," Abigail said quietly. "I always felt terrible for her when they happened."

Somehow, Abigail's quiet acceptance made me feel the need to explain. “Emily was a victim in a mass shooting when she was a kid, the only survivor, and the media was relentless. She said the panic attacks started because of that."

"We know what that's like," Jacob said, meeting my eyes. We did know. The attention had been brutal when Jacob’s parents had died. I didn’t remember the fallout from losing my own mother and father, but losing my aunt and uncle had been hellish—both the sudden loss and the unrelenting harassment by the media. At least we'd had each other to lean on, to buffer the intensity. Emily had been on her own, dealing with survivor's guilt on top of everything else.

“Walking into that garage this morning must have been horrible for her," Abigail said. "Is she all right?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. She told me she couldn't deal with me anymore and kicked me out."

"She kicked you out? And you just left?” Jacob demanded. I heard the censure in his voice, but he hadn’t seen Emily. The last thing I’d wanted to do was push her when it was taking everything she had to hold herself together. She’d asked me to go, so I’d gone.

“You don’t understand,” I said, echoing Emily’s comment to me.

“So what are you going to do?" Jacob asked. "Or is this going to be the shortest relationship in the history of relationships?"

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked, irritated. It wasn't like Jacob was a relationship expert. He rotated through the same group of socialites, but he never kept any of them around for long. I'd never seen him display the kind of easy affection he'd showed Abigail.

"I don't know," Jacob said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Go apologize? Beg her forgiveness and tell her you can work things out? Or is her condition too much and you don't want to deal with it?"

"It's not too much," I protested. "But I can't force her to want to be with me. And she's right, we do have to deal with the media. I can try to keep her safe from that, but I can't make any promises. I won't lie to her."

"Do you love her? Or are you just having fun?"

"We haven't been together that long," I said, wishing I knew the answer to his question. "I've never been in love before. I know I don't want to lose her. I've never felt like this about any woman. I just don't know how to fix this."

"Tell her how you feel," Abigail said softly. "Be honest with her and tell her how you feel. She had a shock this morning, and she probably regrets breaking up with you. I'd give her a little space to get over the panic attack, but not too much, and then go talk to her."

I leaned against the counter and looked down at my feet, thinking. There had to be a way to work this out with Emily. I couldn't let her go. I wouldn't put her in a situation that was bad for her, wouldn't ask her to subject herself to the kind of thing that happened this morning. But we would find an answer. What we had was too good to throw away.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EMILY

I stopped at my front door, my hand on the knob, checking my back pocket for my keys as I balanced a wicker basket in the crook of my arm. The basket hadn’t seemed that heavy when I was packing it, but now that I was carrying it, I realized I’d misjudged. Fortunately, I didn’t have that far to go. It had been two days since I’d seen Tate. Two very long days. I missed him, missed him so much my heart hurt just thinking about it, but I’d had to do some thinking, then some talking, and after that, more thinking. Now it was time to act.

I left my apartment, locking the door behind me. It was time to talk to Tate. I wasn’t sure he was home, but I’d try there first, even if it meant pushing my way through more reporters. Jo had told me that interest had calmed down, but there were still a few of them trolling the street in front of the building, looking for a story. She still didn’t know what had happened. No one did, not really, but that wasn’t stopping the papers from trying to tie Tate’s cousin, Holden’s brother, Jacob, to organized crime and gang violence. The whole thing was nuts. I was so absorbed in thinking about Tate and the drama at Winters House, I almost walked into the door to the stairwell when it swung open.

Taking a quick step back, I looked up and met Tate’s dark blue eyes. “I was coming to see you,” I said nervously, shifting the basket from one arm to the other. He eyed it, then looked at me.

“You were?” He stepped into the hallway and let the door shut behind him. “Can we go to your apartment? I have some things to say.”

I nodded and turned around, fumbling for my keys. It reminded me of the last time we’d been at my door together. I’d put a lot of the blame for my panic attack on Tate, but that hadn’t been fair. The reporters may have been calling his name, but he hadn’t been the reason they were there. And he’d gotten me away from them safely, had taken care of me when he didn’t even know what was wrong.

I let us in, putting the basket on the kitchen table. “Do you want anything? Beer? Coffee?” I asked, feeling awkward. Tate shook his head.

“Can we sit down?” He went to the couch, and I followed, my carefully rehearsed speech falling apart in my head. I’d planned what to say, had a list of points I’d wanted to make, and now, I couldn’t remember a single one. I joined Tate on the couch, my knees pressed together, trying to think of what to say.

At a loss, I finally blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Tate asked in surprise. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who needs to apologize. If I’d answered Holden’s call, none of that would have happened.”

I shook my head. “It’s not your fault I have anxiety attacks, Tate. And it’s not your fault I had that one. It’s just something I have to deal with. Even before the shooting, I was shy. I’ve never liked attention. I’ve gotten much better, but I don’t know that it’s ever going to completely go away.”

“What does that mean for us?” he asked, moving closer and taking my hand in his, lacing our fingers. I looked down and closed my fingers around his, gripping them tightly.

“I don’t know,” I answered as honestly as I could. “I care about you. A lot. More than I should, considering I don’t really know you that well.”

“I feel the same way.” Tate reached out and tilted my face up to his. “I can’t stand the idea of losing you, Emily. You fit with me. I don’t care about the rest of the world. When I’m with you, everything feels right. Whatever we have to do to make this work, we can do it. If you don’t want to come to my building, I’ll move. There are family events I can’t avoid, but you don’t have to deal with anything you don’t want to.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I don’t want you to move, Tate.” A half-laugh escaped me, and I shook my head. “I saw my therapist yesterday—talked to her about how I was feeling. It helped me clarify some things.”

“And?” Tate asked.

“She reminded me that getting better is about facing my fears, not running from them. I’m never going to be okay with the kind of thing that happened yesterday. And I don’t think I’m going to love the idea of going to events where there are a lot of reporters. But if you’re willing to be patient while I work on getting better, I want to try.”

“It’s not about patience, Emily,” Tate said. “I want to be with you. I want you to be happy, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to make that happen. You only have to tell me what you need.”

“You,” I said. “I just need you. If you can stand by me while I keep trying to handle this, that’s all I want. A chance to be with you.”

In answer, Tate pulled me close, his lips taking mine with a desperation I hadn’t felt before. I matched it with my own. Two days apart felt like a year. I’d been so scared I’d ruined everything by pushing him away. I fell back into the couch cushions, Tate on top of me, loving the weight and heat of his long body pinning me down. I ran my fingers through his hair, holding his hand, kissing him back with everything I had. When his hand slid under my shirt, I broke the kiss and said,

“I made you a picnic.”

Tate sat up, pulling me with him. “You made me a picnic? You can cook?”

“I can cook,” I affirmed. “I’m not going to get any Michelin stars, but I made lasagna, garlic bread, and a double chocolate cake.”

He looked at the basket on my kitchen table. “You were bringing me a picnic?”

“I want to eat it at your apartment. Tonight.”

Tate understood what I was saying. “You don’t have to go back there, baby. We can wait.”

“No,” I said firmly. I loved that Tate wanted to protect me. I’d probably come to depend on it, to depend on the knowledge that I had someone who would try to keep me safe at all costs. But there were some things I had to do, especially because they were hard. “That’s your home, Tate. Your family is there. I have to be able to go back.”

“You were going to bring me the picnic? What if there had been reporters?” he asked.

“I would have dealt with it. I needed to see you.”

He stood, his hand gripping mine. “I drove over here.”

“It’s okay.” I said, then paused. “Are there still reporters in the garage?” I was going to push myself to face my fears, but I wasn’t ready to dive back into my nightmare.

“No reporters,” Tate promised. “Jacob has security all over the building, including the garage. No one gets in unless they’ve been personally vetted. I’ll have you added to the system so you can drive in the garage and come straight to my place.”

“Then let’s go,” I said. “The sooner we have dinner, the sooner we can get to desert.”

I won’t lie. My stomach flipped over when we drove into the garage. At the sight of the elevator and the spot where the reporters had ambushed us, my heart sped up. I took deep breaths and held Tate’s hand, reminding myself that I was safe until the elevator doors slid shut and we were moving away from the garage.

“You okay?” Tate asked, kissing the top of my head. I smiled, resting my cheek against his chest.

“You don’t have to keep asking,” I said carefully. “I don’t want you to be worried about me all the time. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Humor me. And you’re never going to be a burden. Don’t talk about yourself that way.”

“You say that now—” I started. Tate cut in.

“We both have things in our lives that aren’t easy. It makes me a little crazy that I can’t protect you from the media,” Tate confessed. “I want to promise you that they’ll never bother you again, but I can’t. I can arrange security, protect you with all my resources, but that’s no guarantee.”

“I know that, Tate. I do.” I unpacked the picnic basket, putting the lasagna in the oven on warm. I had other things on my mind than food. First, I had to make things right with Tate. “I overreacted the other day. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t overreact. You had a panic attack.” He leapt to my defense so quickly, it brought tears to my eyes.

“I didn’t mean the panic attack. I meant blaming you. Asking you to leave.” He looked away, and I realized all over again how much I’d hurt him. Crossing the kitchen, I got in his space, demanding his attention. “I was wrong,” I said firmly. “That wasn’t your fault. You can’t promise that mess won’t happen again. And I can’t promise I’ll be able to handle it when it does. But I can promise I won’t bail on you. I won’t blame you. The next time we have a disaster, we’ll stick together.”

“Damn straight,” he said. The raw emotion in his deep blue eyes stole my breath. He stared down at me, his eyes locked on mine as if he were unable to break our connection. I could have stayed there forever, face to face, wrapped in Tate’s embrace, falling into his eyes. It was too soon to call this love. Wasn’t it? I didn’t know. With Tate, I was on completely new ground. I had no idea what we were doing, what labels to put on it. I only knew that all I wanted was Tate.

I rose on my tiptoes and tilted my head back, sliding my lips over his in a soft kiss. “I’m not sore anymore,” I murmured, my lips rubbing his with each word. “And I bought new underwear.”

I shrieked in surprise as Tate’s hands closed over my waist and he lifted me, tossing me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Before I could get my breath, the world turned upside down and I was bouncing on his mattress, looking up into blue eyes heavy with desire.

“Let me see,” he demanded. Always happy to follow Tate’s orders, I stripped off my shirt to reveal an almost sheer black lace bra. “Now the rest.”

I peeled down my jeans, leaving me in nothing but the bra and its matching thong. Tate’s eyes flared wide. “This too?” I asked, hooking my thumb under the strap of the bra.

“I’ll get that.” He flicked the clasp of the bra, leaning back to watch it slide down, the straps catching on my elbows. I thought he was going to take it off, but he twisted the fabric around my arms, trapping them as he pulled my wrists over my head and lowered me to the mattress. “Stay there,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered. I meant for the words to sound ironic, but they came out breathy. I couldn’t help it. Tate ordering me around when I was mostly naked was hot. Beyond hot. It was nuclear.

He arranged my legs on the bed, spreading them wide. My skin was flushed, my back arching, instinctively trying to draw his attention to my breasts. The room was warm, but my nipples jutted, diamond hard and a dark pink. My body wanted Tate. Every part of me wanted him. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted to lay with him in the tangled sheets afterward. I wanted to watch him eat the dinner I’d cooked. I wanted everything.

He stripped off his clothes in quick, efficient movements, displaying his athletic body to my hungry eyes. A pulse of heat between my legs made me squirm. I was already wet, and we hadn’t done anything yet. At the sight of his hard cock, thick and long, I drew in a breath. I still couldn’t believe it had been inside me.

A second later, he was kneeling between my legs, a condom in hand, looking down at me, his gaze traveling over my mostly naked body, taking in every detail. He reached out a hand and touched my shoulder, his fingertips a brand on my skin, burning. Claiming. They traveled over my body, stroking my collarbone, circling one breast, then the other, rounding my ribcage to dip in my belly button, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It took everything I had not to move, but I sensed that he needed my compliance. He needed to know I wasn’t going anywhere.

I let out a whimper as his fingers glided over my hipbone and through my dark curls to dip between my legs. The whole time, his thick cock was right there, close enough to touch, so hard it was almost tight to his flat stomach.

“Fuck, you’re wet, Emily.”

I was. So fucking wet. I had no words to answer, so I spread my legs a little wider, tilting my hips to rub my clit over his fingers. A sweet charge of pleasure flashed through me.

“I had plans for you,” he said. “Things I want to do to you. But they’re going to have to wait. For now, I have to fuck you.”

I’d never imagined hearing a man talk about fucking me would make me so hot. With anyone else, it probably wouldn’t have, but there was something about hearing Tate say he had to fuck me that was almost as good as the real thing. Almost.

“Now, Tate. Please.” It was all I could say. He took me over, pinning me down with his long body, sliding his hand around the back of my thigh to pull my knee up, spreading me wide for his cock. At the feel of him pressing into me, I whimpered. He was still too big, and I was too tight, but the pain was an erotic contrast to the thick hum of pleasure as Tate’s body became a part of mine. He took me in shallow thrusts, easing his way in. By the time he filled me to the hilt, I was writhing beneath him.

One of his hands wrapped my wrists, still tangled in my bra, pinning them over my head. His mouth dropped to nip at my breasts. It was too much—the pressure between my legs, the raw flare of pleasure when his cock filled me, the dragging pull of bliss when he withdrew, the sharp little bites and slow sucks on my nipples. I was drowning in it, drowning in Tate, and all I could do was wrap my legs around him and hold on for the ride.

I heard myself breathing out his name, “Tate, Tate, Tate,” over and over, utterly lost as every part of my body tumbled into orgasm, my pussy pulsing around his cock so hard I saw stars. He followed me, dropping his head to my neck, his mouth hot on my skin as he gasped out his release.

I couldn’t move afterward. Neither could Tate. We lay there, panting for breath, one of his hands still holding my wrists over my head. Eventually, he untangled my bra and tossed it to the floor. He was gone less than a minute to deal with the condom, then slid back into the bed, pulling me into him. I rested my head on his shoulder, relaxing into Tate, trailing my fingers over the light speckle of hair on his chest.

“Was that too weird for you?” Tate asked.

“It was perfect,” I said, not sure what he meant. Nothing he did was weird, especially the way he fucked me. “What part?”

“The hands. Your bra.” He trailed his fingers over my wrist, lifting one to study the faint red marks—more a flush on my skin than anything that would bruise. I wasn’t worried about it. I smiled into his warm skin at the memory of him holding my wrists down while he’d moved inside me.

“Not weird. I wondered what that would be like.”

“And?”

“It was hot,” I murmured. “Maybe next time, I’ll hold you down.”

“Would you like that?” Tate asked, his arm curling around my back to stroke the side of my breast.

“Mmm. I’ve done a lot of reading,” I admitted. “I have a lot of ideas, but I don’t know what I’m doing yet. I think I need to practice on you.”

“You can practice on me all you want, baby, as long as I’m the only one you practice with.”

“Always,” I said, suddenly serious. I rose onto my elbows so I could meet his eyes. “Always, Tate. Only you.”

His lips curved in a smile, and he lifted one hand to draw me down for a kiss. His lips against mine, he vowed, “Always, Emily. Only you.”

As promises went, it was everything I could have wished for. I knew life wouldn’t always be easy with Tate, but I could handle it. I would make sure of it. Tate Winters was worth the risk, and he always would be.

Do you want to read Jacob & Abigail’s story? Keep reading for a sneak peek of The Billionaire’s Pet

SNEAK PEEK:

THE BILLIONAIRE’S PET

CHAPTER ONE

ABIGAIL

I sat on the plush leather sofa and stared at the thick wool carpet, trying not to count the scuffs on my shoes. John would have been so disappointed. The soft leather of my beige sling-backs was marked from walking through the wet grass before sunrise.

Small flecks of grass stuck to the soles. John loved for me to look nice. He always bragged that he had the prettiest wife in town. But John was gone, and I was doing the best I could. Lately, my best had not included polishing my shoes.

This morning, my best had included a pre-dawn trek through the field behind the house I'd shared with John, a half-mile hike through the woods separating the house from my cousin-in-law's small cabin, then a clandestine ride to the bus station two towns east.

I hoped no one found out that Tina had helped me get to Atlanta. If I'd had another way, I'd never have put her at risk. But I'd had to reach Jacob Winters.

He was the only one who could help me. I'd called his office from the bus station, arguing and pleading with the receptionist, then his assistant, to tell him I was on the line.

After ten humiliating minutes, Jacob had clicked on, verified I was me, and told me he could fit me in at eleven for fifteen minutes. I'd spent the time in between lurking in a bookstore, knowing that would be the last place the people looking for me would think to search.

Jacob's office wasn't what I'd expected. I don't know where I got the image in my head, but I'd pictured it as slick and modern, filled with sleek black leather and chrome, his assistant as a svelte blonde Valkyrie.

The couch was leather. I'd gotten that part right. But instead of cold black, it was a deep espresso, punctuated with dull brass tacks. The rug was a Persian design, the furniture not sharp and shiny, but antique, polished wood.

And the woman at the desk, guarding the door to his office with disapproving eyes, was older than my mother, with a neat, chin-length bob of grey hair that was heartbreakingly familiar.

An ugly irony that his assistant reminded me of my mother. My mother was the reason I was here. The reason I'd made almost every one of the disastrous mistakes I'd made in the last five years.

If Anne Louise Wainright had any idea I was sitting in Jacob Winters's office, prepared to make him an offer I hoped he wouldn't refuse, she'd have passed out from the shock. Ladies did not consort with men not their husband.

I'd been raised to be a lady, first, last, and always. It was why John had married me. But my mother no longer recognized me and my husband was dead. I'd made more than my share of bad decisions since my father had died and my mother had fallen ill.

This would likely be one more. I was prepared to live with that. If Jacob could give me what I needed, I could find a way to live with anything.

A tone sounded at the assistant's desk. She pressed a button, then murmured something I couldn't hear. My stomach clenched. I still had time to change my mind.

I could stand up, make some flimsy excuse, and be out on the city streets in no more than a few minutes. But what then? I couldn't go home.

When Big John discovered me gone this morning, he would have been furious. I didn't want to imagine what he would do to me if I came crawling back.

His first proposal had been so appalling, my imagination recoiled from trying to picture what my father-in-law would consider an appropriate punishment for my defiance. If Jacob turned me away, I would lose everything. Not just my home and my mother, but my life as well.

"Mrs. Jordan?" The assistant stood in front of me, waiting with expressionless patience. The tension in my stomach congealed into a frozen ball of fear. I stood, wobbling only a little on my narrow heels.

They were the sexiest pair I owned, a gift from John in the early days of our marriage. They pinched my toes and were the worst shoes to wear when I'd spent a good part of my morning walking, but paired with my cream linen shift, they made my legs look a mile long. I needed every advantage I could get.

I tugged at the hem of my dress, smoothing the fabric as I followed the assistant to Jacob's door. I caught a whiff of her hairspray tangled with a perfume that smelled of roses and baby powder. She seemed too normal to be working for a man as magnetic as Jacob.

The assistant turned the brass handle, and the door swung open on silent hinges. With a gesture, she indicated I should enter, then closed the door behind me.

The click of the handle sent my heart thudding. No turning back now. All I could do was hope Jacob didn't throw me out when he heard what I had to say.

He walked toward me, his hand extended, a distant, vaguely curious expression in his arresting silver eyes. Not a good sign.

The way he looked at me was most of the reason I was here. That and the fact that he was the only man I could think of with the power to untangle my troubles.

The power was the how, but the way he'd looked at me was the why. Or I'd hoped it would be. I hadn't met Jacob many times in the five years I'd been married to John. Only a handful of encounters, but each time, I'd come away shaken.

He was always controlled, gracious, and reserved . . . except when I caught him watching me on the sly. Then, his cool silver eyes had burned with desire and intention.

Jacob Winters wanted me. Not enough to risk his business with my in-laws, or maybe he'd known I'd never have cheated on John.

Our marriage was so far from perfect. It had devolved into a nightmare, but I still owed John too much to think about cheating. He hadn't deserved that kind of betrayal.

Steeling myself, I raised my hand to take Jacob's. His fingers were firm around mine, sending a shiver down my spine. I did my best to pretend confidence as I smiled up at him.

He smiled back, his eyes warming a shade. A lock of thick, dark hair fell over his forehead, softening his sculpted face.

Jacob Winters had the kind of looks that stopped a room. I'd seen it happen at a cocktail party when John and I had been early and Jacob had been uncharacteristically late.

He'd walked in and conversation had literally stopped, all eyes on Jacob handing off his coat as he brushed raindrops from his dark hair.

He was taller than most men, at least a few inches over six feet. Broad shoulders, narrow torso, muscled but lean, and every woman who caught sight of him knew that without his trademark grey suits, he'd look even better.

Smug gossip from the women who'd been there affirmed that as hot as he was when dressed, a naked Jacob Winters would ruin you for all other men.

Hard to tell how much of that was bragging from women who wanted everyone to know they'd captured his elusive attention, even if it was only for a short time.

I'd always thought they were understating his appeal. I never would have cheated on my husband, but if Jacob had asked, I would have been painfully tempted.

"Thank you for seeing me," I said, following Jacob deeper into his office. The space was divided into two sections, including a sitting area with a couch, love seat and coffee table in the same style as the front room.

Further into the long room was a huge desk of warm, caramel toned wood. A dark leather desk chair sat on the far side, two smaller leather armchairs opposite.

To my surprise, Jacob led me to the desk. I'd thought that with my being the widow of a former business associate, he'd treat this more like a social visit.

Wrong.

There was no bullshitting Jacob that this was a social call. He'd sent flowers when John died. The niceties had been covered. The last-minute call this morning and my insistence that I had to see him today told him this was business.

So, the desk.

I took a seat in one of the armchairs, crossed my legs, and pasted a polite smile on my face. The training of my marriage. Don't show anything but what they want to see.

Hide the panic. Hide the desperation. Slow, even breaths. Hands lightly clasped in my lap. I was the picture of calm elegance. Always.

"What's wrong?" Jacob asked, his sharp eyes pulling apart my facade.

The instinctive protest that nothing was wrong jumped to my lips. I beat it back. Ridiculous to say nothing was wrong when everything was wrong.

"I'm in some trouble." I sat up straighter, tugging on the hem of my dress. It was just a hair shorter than it should be, making it an alluring combination of classy and sexy.

I'd worn it hoping it would sway Jacob in my favor. Now that I was sitting here in front of him, the amount of leg the cream linen exposed made me feel more vulnerable than confident.

"Do you know why I married John?" I asked, deciding to get straight to the point. It was a long story, and he'd only given me fifteen minutes. Jacob sat back in his chair and shook his head.

"I'd always wondered. You never seemed like a good fit to me."

It was funny that Jacob would say that. Everyone else seemed to think we were the perfect fit. Me, the sweet, spoiled banker's daughter and John, the son of one of our small town's most powerful men.

His family hadn't exactly been above-board, but John was supposed to change all that.

Marriage to me had cemented the image that his family was moving in more legitimate directions. Shortly after our wedding, he'd been invited to join the country club. In the beginning, I'd taken over for my mother as a lady who lunched.

No one had seen beneath the surface because we hadn't let them.

"No," I said. "We really weren't."

Taking a breath, I prepared for the confession I had to make. Five years later, and I was still ashamed of what I'd done.

"When I was sixteen, my mother began to develop early onset Alzheimer’s. By the time I graduated high school, she needed round-the-clock care. The summer after my sophomore year in college, my father had a fatal heart attack."

"I'm sorry." Jacob leaned forward, compassion warming his demeanor. "That must have been very difficult for you at such a young age."

I let out a bitter laugh, the harsh, short sound completely unlike the careful image I'd cultivated over the past few years.

"It would have been easier if I hadn't discovered that my father had lost everything. The only miracle was that he'd kept things at the bank clean. I don't know what I would have done if I'd had to pay them restitution."

"So you had nothing?"

"Nothing. The house, cars, artwork, my mother's jewelry and my grandmother's engagement rings—they were all sold. If it had just been me, I could have handled it."

"Your mother," he said. "I take it there wasn't any insurance to cover her care?"

"No. My father had her in an excellent facility by that time, but it was too expensive for me to handle on my own. And I wasn't qualified for the kind of job that could cover the bills and pay my rent. If I'd brought her home with me, I couldn't have gone out to work. I was trapped. And terrified."

"Let me guess. John walked in with the solution?"

I should have known Jacob would grasp the situation with a minimum of explanation. He might have lived and worked in the city an hour from our small country town, but he made it his business to know everything about the people who might impact his interests.

He knew all he needed to know about the Jordan family — far more than I had when I'd married John.

I'd grown up the sheltered, indulged daughter of our town's two leading citizens. I wasn't one of those privileged little snots who looked down on the rest of the world for not having the newest cars and clothes.

My mother had, along with lunching at the country club, spent much of her time volunteering in our community. She'd taken me with her to food drives and literacy clinics, always wanting to make sure I understood how fortunate I was, and in my good fortune, to remember to take care of those with less.

While she'd managed to instill a sense of humility in me, my upbringing had not prepared me for the various ways life could turn ugly.

I'd known about John's family. His father, Big John, was spoken of with respect and awe. Not the same kind of respect people had used when they'd spoken of my father. This was tinged with fear and a vague threat.

I was never quite clear on what Big John did, or didn't do, to earn this type of regard. As far as I knew, he owned a plumbing supply company on the edge of town.

When I asked, my father had told me to stay away from the Jordans. By the time I was in high school, I had the idea that some of Big John's enterprises weren't quite legal, but I hadn't understood what that meant.

Not really. Not until it was too late.

"Yes." I straightened in the chair, as if correcting my posture could pull the shreds of my dignity together.

"He offered to marry me. He was just back from college, ready to settle down, and he said he'd always had his eye on me. He said that if we got married, he'd take over my mother's care. I didn't know what else to do."

"Like a lamb among the wolves," Jacob commented, a wry smile on his face. "You had no idea what you were marrying into, did you?"

"None." I looked away from those knowing silver eyes, afraid I'd see pity. "It was the wrong thing to do. I know that. I told him I didn't love him. And I did my best to be a good wife."

"You played the role he married you to play. Even when you knew what he was."

"Yes." I nodded. I'd married a man for his money. A man I liked, but would never love. The more I grew to know him, the less I even liked him.

But I did my best to be what he wanted, always aware that he held my mother's life in his hands. She was far too fragile to leave The Shaded Glenn, and only John's continued goodwill kept her safe and cared for.

"So why are you here?" Jacob leaned back in his chair, hands folded, resting on his chest. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. Time was ticking away, and I wasn't doing a very good job of getting to the point.

"Big John moved into the house a few days ago. He said that with John gone, my debt was transferred to him. And if I wanted to see my mother taken care of, I'd do as he said."

"And what, exactly, did he say he wanted you to do? Sleep with him?" One dark, elegant eyebrow raised as if to ask if that was all it took to scare me off.

"Sleeping with him and keeping his house were just the beginning," I said.

"He and John fought a lot at the end. One of the things they were fighting about was me. Big John felt that I was too big a drain on their resources. That I needed to earn my keep. He wanted to trade me out to some of their associates. John refused."

"You're kidding." Jacob's face darkened, his eyes shading from silver to a dark, forbidding gray.

"I wish I were."

"What did he say when you told him you wouldn't do it?"

"He said he had ways to keep me in line. I acted like I'd go along and said I knew I owed him, but I had my period. Then I snuck out in the middle of the night."

I fell silent, waiting. Jacob watched me, not speaking, for several endless minutes. Every muscle in my body was tight, tense to the point of pain.

Jacob was my only chance. I had no money and no friends I'd risk to Big John's fury. Nowhere to go. Finally, he spoke.

"What do you expect me to do?"

This was the sticking point. The truth was, I didn't know. I wasn't asking for a job. After four years of marriage to John, I still had no marketable skills. All I had was my willingness to do anything to protect my mother.

"I can't take my mother out of the facility she's in. I can't afford to pay the fees. And I'm not sure, even if I turned my back on my mother, that I can stay clear of Big John. I need help with all of it."

Jacob remained silent, studying me. I swallowed. It was against my temperament to push, but I didn't have a choice.

"I know it's too much to ask. But I'll do anything." I stared him in the eye, daring him to doubt my commitment.

"Anything is a dangerous promise." Jacob tilted his head to the side.

It should have been endearing. Instead, it made him look like a predator studying his prey. Me. I swallowed before I spoke, my throat thick with nerves.

"Before I left, Big John said he was going to shoot me up with heroin and chain me to a bed while a gang of bikers rapes me. I'll do anything that stops short of drugs and rape."

More silence. Then Jacob picked up the phone on his desk.

"Rachel, reschedule my 11:15." He hung up the phone and studied me another long minute before he spoke. "I want you. I wanted you the first minute I saw you. You know that. It's why you came to me."

"I—" I stopped speaking. Without knowing where he was going, I didn't want to dig myself a hole. I fell silent, waiting to hear what he would say.

"I have a circumstance I find difficult to handle, Abigail," he went on. "Over the years, I've tried various methods of dealing with it, and none have met with success. I've been thinking it's time to try something new. And you're going to be my something new."

My mind raced.

Jacob's lips had curved into a smile at the word 'new'. His top lip was severe, the bottom lushly full. Together, they drew the eye. Especially in a half-smile with a hint of mischief.

His words, the smile, all sounded like he was going to help me. Now I just had to see what being his 'something new' would entail. Unable to force my mouth to move, I lifted my chin, inviting him to continue.

"I like sex," he said. "I like a lot of sex. I like variety. Kink. You've probably never heard of half of the things I've thought about doing to you. What I don't like is inconvenience."

Jacob leaned forward, his eyes locked to mine, elbows resting on the polished wood of his desk.

"Relationships are inconvenient. They involve compromise, accommodation, and time. I don't have the patience for the first two or enough of the last. I don't want to get to know a woman. I'm not interested in intimacy outside of sex. What I want is to fuck when I want to fuck. And I want to fuck a woman I'm attracted to who will let me do anything I want to her."

"Will you hurt me?"

My voice was high and tight. I don't know what I was expecting, but this matter-of-fact, efficient speech wasn't it. It was, however, far less scary than Big John's proposal.

"Yes," he answered. My stomach pitched. "But I won't damage you. And the kind of hurt I'm talking about? You'll like it."

"So how does it work?"

"You move in with me. You don't leave the house. Ever. You do nothing without my permission. I'm not looking for a woman. I'm looking for a pet. An obedient, available pet. Can you do that?"

I stared, not sure I could answer. I'd walked in prepared to trade my body for my mother's safety. It wasn't honorable, but it was the only thing of value I had to offer.

But this, his dehumanizing description of what he wanted from me, had shocked the speech from my brain. Lips and tongue frozen, I forced myself to nod.

I couldn't afford for Jacob to think twice. No matter how terrifying this sounded, I couldn't run away. He stood, pushed back his chair, and rounded his wide desk. Standing in front of me, he rested his hands on his hips and said,

"I think, before we go any further, I need a sample."

I stared up at him in dumb confusion. If my brain had been working, I'd have known exactly what he meant. Since I was slow, he clarified.

"Suck my cock."

Click Here to read the rest of The Billionaire’s Pet!

SNEAK PEEK:

THE BILLIONAIRE’S PROMISE

CHAPTER ONE

T-MINUS 2 YEARS

MAGNOLIA

I couldn’t breathe.

He opened the door and my breath was sucked from my lungs in one big whoosh.

If you’d been there, you’d understand. One second I was standing in the hallway, waiting impatiently to be interviewed for a job I wasn’t sure I wanted.

The next second, the door was swinging open, and he was there, filling the door frame, six and a half feet of panty-melting hotness.

A towel slung loosely around his waist, barely clinging to his lean hips, drops of water sliding down his broad, defined chest, he leaned against the door and looked down at me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.

Was it too late to run?

There was no way I could work for this man.

Vance Winters. Heir to billions, renown artist at the young age of twenty-eight, and secret angel investor in up and coming tech companies. All of that was intimidating enough.

I hadn’t taken into account the impact he would have in person. I’d seen pictures, in the society section of the paper, in glossy magazines. They didn’t scratch the surface.

First, he was tall. I’m right in the middle, neither tall nor short, and he towered over me, all of him sculpted muscle and smooth golden skin decorated with elaborate inky black tattoos.

From the way the towel dipped across his abs, showing every inch of the cut V of muscle between his hips, as well as a stark tan line, I knew the golden skin came from the sun. He must spend a lot of time outdoors.

I tried not to imagine him jogging without his shirt. Or swimming, that too-long dark blond hair pulled back, powerful legs propelling him through the water. I definitely didn’t imagine tugging on the towel to get a better look at the white skin below the tan.

Absolutely not.

I blinked hard. What was wrong with me? I had a boyfriend. He was a good guy, a med student, and we’d been together for years. He wasn’t in Vance’s league, but he was very attractive. Brayden. I had to think of Brayden.

I was quiet, but not easily intimidated. Not usually. There was something about the way Vance lounged in the door, his blue eyes lazily hooded as they studied me. He threw me off balance. Then he grinned and said, “Are you coming in?”

My knees went weak.

That grin. Holy crap.

With his blond hair, vivid blue eyes, and all those golden muscles, he reminded me of a Viking. A debauched Viking with a killer grin.

I don’t know where it came from, but in a crisp, cool voice I said, “I don’t know. Are you going to get out of the way?”

Another grin, and a wink. Vance Winters was trouble.

Fighting the weakness in my knees, I straightened my spine and followed him into his loft, ready to get this over with.

“Can you make coffee?” he asked, gesturing to his ultra-modern kitchen. “Consider it part of your interview.”

Again not sure where the attitude was coming from, I said, “Are you planning on getting dressed?”

He looked down at his lack of attire and shrugged. “Do you want me to?”

His tone suggested I’d be crazy to cover up all that gorgeous. He was right. Telling Vance Winters to put on clothes was a crime against nature. A man with a body like that should be naked all the time.

But I was there for a job interview. I wasn’t looking to get laid. Brayden. I had Brayden. I wasn’t into casual hookups anyway, even if I were single.

Vance Winters was known for many things and sleeping his way through Atlanta was one of them.

“Please,” I said, as cool and professionally detached as I could manage.

Not waiting for his response, I turned to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I heard him leave and let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

What was I doing here? I didn’t need the job. Well, I did, and I didn’t. I had money. My grandmother had left me well provided for. I wasn’t wealthy, not like the Winters family, but I had a beautiful home - my grandmother’s - and enough money to live on if I was careful.

Six months ago I graduated from Emory with a degree in Business after staying an extra semester to complete dual concentrations in Finance and Accounting. I’d planned on working for a year or two, then going for my MBA.

A month after I’d finished school, my grandmother had died.

I should have seen it coming. She’d been almost eighty, and for the last few months of her life she’d been unusually tired. She’d refused to go to the doctor, saying she was fine.

She’d been wrong. Losing her had leeched every drop of vitality from my life. For as long as I could remember, my grandmother was the only adult I could depend on.

She remembered my birthday. She gave me a home for summer vacations.

That first year in boarding school, eight years old and terrified of being alone in England, she’d called me every night, the time difference be damned.

Iris Henry had loved me like no one else, and then she’d died on me. I’d imagined I’d be able to return the favor one day, envisioned caring for her as she aged.

Instead I was rattling around in her house, alone, losing my bearings more and more with each day that passed.

I’d been drifting for months when I’d run into Rupert Stevens, an old bridge crony of my grandmother’s. I’d known him since I’d been a child, and if Rupert wasn’t family, he was the closest thing to it.

It hadn’t taken him long to size up my situation. Two days after we spoke, his wife Sloane, Vance’s manager, had called me with a job offer. I knew if I didn’t at least drag myself out of the house and go see Vance, Rupert would call in the calvary.

I was having a hard enough time dealing with my grandmother’s death. I didn’t think I could take an intervention from her bridge club, no matter how well meaning.

So I was here, willing to let Vance Winters interview me to see if I’d fit the role of his assistant. I hadn’t been sure I wanted the job when I’d knocked on his door. Now, after seeing him in the towel, I thought my best option might be to tell him ‘no thanks’ and go home.

I remembered the ridges of his six pack and my mouth watered. I hadn’t had sex for over a month. Brayden was never home lately and when he was, he said he was exhausted.

I caught the scuff of a bare foot on hardwood and turned to see Vance prowling toward me, his magnificent body covered by a pair of jeans so old they were worn white at the knee and an equally threadbare t-shirt with the faded logo of a classic rock band.

All that luscious tanned skin was covered, only the trailing vines of a tattoo visible on his left arm. His streaky dark blond hair was wet and loose around his face, his vivid blue eyes dancing as they took in the full mug of coffee in my hands.

“That mine?” he asked, sliding onto a stool at the counter built into his kitchen island. I nodded and placed it in front of him. He took a sip and let out a low hum of approval. “Good coffee. You’re hired.”

“That fast?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I took a sip of my own coffee.

He was right, I did make good coffee. I’d worked as a barista in college and I knew everything about coffee. It was my only addiction.

“I haven’t agreed to take the job.”

“True. Do you want it?”

“I don’t know what it is,” I said. “Sloane said you needed help with your schedule and errands. I’m at loose ends right now, but I’m over-qualified if that’s all you need.”

Vance shook his head. “Sloane has no idea what I need. But Rupert speaks highly of you, said you had a business degree and a sharp mind.”

“I do,” I said.

His eyes narrowed on my face and he said, “I was sorry to hear about your grandmother. I didn’t know her, but my brother Aiden did.”

I nodded and choked out, “Thank you.”

I still wasn’t used to the sharp stab of pain every time someone told me how sorry they were. I knew they meant it, but the kind platitudes were miles away from my own raw emotions and they always left me frustrated.

I was bereft. Furious she’d abandoned me, guilty for being angry - a jumbled mess of pain and hurt I couldn’t quite hide from the world - hence my drifting through life.

Vance must have sensed my mood, because he broke eye contact and went on, “Sloane told you I need an assistant. That’s accurate, but doesn’t really cover the scope of what I have in mind. Do you know what I do?”

“Some of it,” I said, glad to be back on familiar ground. “I know you’re a sculptor, working primarily in metal. Large pieces mainly, a combination of your own inspiration and commissions. You also act as an investor on occasion, mostly for small tech companies, though last year you branched out and went in with your cousins on a nightclub.”

“You do your research,” he said. I sipped my coffee without responding.

He went on, “I want help managing my life. I have a lot going on between my work and the investing and other things. I need someone who can keep track of mundane shit like my dry cleaning and dentist appointments, but can also stay on top of my investments - vet proposals, keep an eye on the books, that kind of thing. You’d have to be flexible - every day is different around here.”

It sounded intriguing. I wanted to use my degree, but I couldn’t see myself in an office, even though that had been my plan while I’d been in college. I opened my mouth to ask more about the details when a toilet flushed on the other side of the loft.

I sat up straighter. I’d thought we were alone. Vance slouched over his coffee and muttered, “Sorry about this.”

A door shut, and a woman appeared, her micro mini and strappy top straight from a club. So was her big hair and smoky eye make-up. I’m sure she’d been stunning the night before. With smeared mascara under her bloodshot eyes and badly in need of a comb, she wasn’t that appealing.

I knew her type. When she stumbled on her spike heel on the way to Vance, I looked away. She ignored me, didn’t even bother to ask who I was or why I was there, her focus all on Vance.

She slipped her arms around his torso from behind, leaning forward to nip his earlobe, saying, “Vance, baby, come back to bed.” She eyed me with vacant disdain. “Get rid of her. Or bring her with you. Whatever, it’s cool with me.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her hand slide into Vance’s lap. I swallowed and stood. I wasn’t a prude, but this was just weird and uncomfortable.

I had no interest in being the third wheel in another woman’s awkward morning after.

As if he had a lot of practice - and I imagined he did - Vance twisted from her embrace and stood, turning the woman to face me.

“Not now. I have a full day. Ms. Henry will show you out.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, caught between annoyance and reluctant amusement.

Vance had balls, I’d give him that.

Taking in his expectant look, I understood. My job description would include managing his morning afters.

Ugh. If rumor was half accurate, this happened a lot.

I thought about walking out. I didn’t need this. I didn’t much like his one-night stand, but I didn’t want to humiliate her either.

My irritation let me see through the mask of Vance’s beauty to the red lines dulling his eyes, the faint circles beneath. He was as hungover as she was.

Vance had the looks and talent of a god, but he was really just like every other party boy I knew. Thinking over my options, I got to my feet and took the confused woman’s arm in a gentle grip, steering her to the door.

She glanced back over her shoulder at Vance, almost losing her balance in her high heels, and I got the feeling she was going to plead her case. I shook my head, nudging her through the door.

“Do you need me to call you a ride?” I asked gently. She snatched her arm from my hand and stalked to the stairs.

Guess not. Locking the door behind her, I turned back to finish my interview.

“Thanks,” Vance said from across the kitchen. He refilled his coffee and held out the pot. I shook my head. We had more to talk about before I decided if I was staying for a second cup.

“Does that happen often?” I asked, again in a crisp tone. I realized I sounded exactly like my boarding school headmistress, minus the posh English accent.

Vance shrugged. “Often enough,” he said with unashamed honesty. “Why, interested in taking her place?” His electric blue gaze caressed my body with indolent interest. “I don’t usually mix business and the bedroom, but I could make an exception for you.”

He raised one eyebrow as if daring me. For a second, I thought about slapping him.

“Are you kidding?”

He shrugged. “Not really, but I’m getting the idea sex isn’t in your job description.”

“Sex is absolutely not part of my job description.” I was both offended and flattered.

Yes, flattered.

I know, I know.

I should have given him a good smack and walked out. My only excuse is that no man who looked like Vance had ever hit on me.

Granted, Vance’s standards weren’t that high, but still, the sex deprived woman in me appreciated the offer. There was no way I’d ever sleep with him, but it was nice to be asked.

“I figured you’d say that.” Vance shrugged again, amusement glinting in his red-rimmed eyes. “It was worth a try. Now that we’ve gotten my obligatory pass out of the way, here’s how I see this working. You’ll show up by ten every day, evict any guests, make me breakfast and get my lazy ass out of bed.

Once I get rolling, we’ll go over business, then I’ll head down to my studio and you’ll do whatever you've got on for the day.”

“So you need a combination babysitter, errand girl, and business manager,” I said, disarmed by his upfront explanation.

“Something like that,” he admitted. “Interested?”

He named a salary that wasn’t outrageous, but was more than generous. I was tempted. It wasn’t a long-term plan, but it would get me out of the house and force me to move forward with my life. I couldn’t keep going as I was.

“Can I bring my dog?” I asked. I’d gotten Scout a month after my grandmother had died and I didn’t want to leave him at home alone all day.

“What kind of dog?

“A mutt. A boxer/corgi mix.”

At the look on his face, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It was impossible to describe Scout unless you could see his absurd cuteness for yourself.

He had the face, ears, and long, low body of a corgi, with the stance and fur of a boxer. He wasn’t the brightest dog, but he was all love. We were a perfect fit.

He’d needed a home, and I’d needed someone to hold on to.

Vance took my phone and flipped through the pictures of Scout, smiling down at my adorable dog. He stopped on a picture and held my phone up.

On it was a shot I’d taken of Brayden, backing up as Scout went for his bagel. Brayden didn’t like dogs, and Scout returned his lack of affection.

“Who’s this?” Vance asked. “He looks familiar.”

“My boyfriend. Brayden,” I took my phone back, turning off the screen and sliding it in my pocket.

“Brayden Michaels?” Vance asked, an incredulous look on his face.

“You know him? How?”

“School. I was in the same class as his older brother. Brayden’s a twat.”

Before I knew what I was doing, I stood.

Brayden wasn’t perfect, but he was mine and I wasn’t going to listen to this dissipated playboy put him down.

Picking up my keys and my purse, I said, “This isn’t going to work, Mr. Winters. I’ll see myself out.”

“Wait,” he said, shoving back his stool and coming to his feet. “Magnolia, don’t leave.”

Against, my better judgement, I stopped and whirled to face him.

“I don’t know that I want to work for you,” I said bluntly. “You’re rude and immature.”

Vance shoved his hands in the back pockets, dragging his jeans down an inch to reveal a strip of taut golden skin. I shouldn’t be tempted. I didn’t even like him. I dragged my eyes away, forcing myself to look at his face.

His blue eyes were shadowed when he said, “Yeah, I am. Rude, immature, sometimes a complete asshole. I’d be a pain in the ass to work for half the time.”

“And the other half?” I asked.

“You’ll get more hands on experience with me than an entry-level job at a bigger company. My personal shit aside, I get first look at some very interesting investment opportunities and you’d be involved at every level. You’d get personal exposure to some of the biggest players, not just in Atlanta but across the country. When you’re ready to move on, you’ll have connections you’d never be able to make sitting in a cubicle. All you have to do is put up with me.”

When he laid it out like that, how could I say no?

Wondering if I was making a huge mistake, I held out my hand. Vance took it in his, his strong fingers closing around mine with possession. I tried to ignore the spark of heat as we touched.

“So you’ll take the job?” Vance asked, holding onto my hand when I tried to tug it free. I gave a hard yank and took a step back.

“On a trial basis,” I said in what I was starting to think of as my headmistress voice. “If you’re too much of an asshole, I’m quitting, and I want a guarantee of six months severance.”

“Agreed,” Vance said, grinning down at me. “But the severance is only payable if you leave because I’m an asshole.”

“Does sexual harassment count as you being an asshole?” I challenged. I’d admitted to myself that I was flattered by his offer, but if he kept it up I’d walk out.

“It would, if I was planning on harassing you. I won’t pull that shit. I’m an asshole, but I’m not a complete dick.” He ruined it by leering at me and saying, “Anyway, when we finally sleep together it’ll be because you can’t keep your hands off me.”

“And that’s strike one. Jury’s out on whether you’re a complete dick.”

To my surprise, Vance laughed. “Cross my heart.” With two fingers he swiped a cross over his chest. “I have a twin sister who’d kick my ass if she thought I was harassing a woman who works for me. Give me a chance, I promise the job will be worth it.”

“Fine. I’ll start tomorrow.” I turned on my heel and walked out. I’d had as much of Vance Winters as I could take for the day. His voice followed me into the hall.

“Ten A.M. Don’t be late, Magnolia.”

Like he would notice if I was. I’d bet my inheritance Vance would be passed out in bed when I showed up, another nubile, hungover girl beside him.

On the drive home I tried to convince myself I’d done the right thing.

It wasn’t easy.

The truth was, my first instinct was spot on. Vance Winters was trouble; Six and a half feet of dangerously beautiful mayhem.

I should have taken one look and run in the other direction.

I should have told him to take his job offer and shove it up his tight, perfect ass.

But hindsight is 20/20. By the time I knew what was coming, it was already too late.

For Vance, and for me.

Click Here for more of The Billionaire’s Promise

Thank You

Thanks for reading The Billionaire’s Secret Heart & The Billionaire’s Secret Love!

I hope you enjoyed them!

*Reviews are a wonderful way for other readers to find books they’ll like. Click Here for links to leave a review: The Billionaire’s Secret Heart & The Billionaire’s Secret Love

* If you’re reading this exclusive version of the Billionaire’s Secret Duology, you’re already a member of my Reader’s Group. In addition to first notice on my new releases, you can look forward to regular giveaways of swag, gift cards, paperbacks and fun reader’s gifts.

Also by Ivy Layne

ALSO BY IVY LAYNE

Don’t Miss Out on New Releases, Exclusive Giveaways, and More!!

Join Ivy’s Readers Group!

Visit Ivy on Amazon

Scandals of the Bad Boy Billionaires

The Billionaire’s Secret Heart (Novella)

The Billionaire’s Secret Love (Novella)

The Billionaire’s Pet

The Billionaire’s Promise

The Rebel Billionaire

The Billionaire’s Angel (Coming June 2017)

Dark Desires Collection: The Billionaire’s Secret Kiss (Novella) (Coming June 2017)

About the Author

Ivy Layne has had her nose stuck in a book since she first learned to decipher the English language. Sometime in her early teens, she stumbled across her first Romance, and the die was cast. Though she pretended to pay attention to her creative writing professors, she dreamed of writing steamy romance instead of literary fiction. These days, she’s neck deep in alpha heroes and the smart, sexy women who love them.

Married to her very own alpha hero (who rubs her back after a long day of typing, but also leaves his socks on the floor). Ivy lives in the mountains of North Carolina where she and her other half are having a blast raising two energetic little boys. Aside from her family, Ivy’s greatest loves are coffee and chocolate, preferably together.

For More Information:

www.ivylayne.com

ivy@ivylayne.com

Facebook

The Billionaire’s Secret Heart & The Billionaire’s Secret Love

Copyright © 2016 by Ivy Layne

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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Valorie Clifton

Cover by Jacqueline Sweet

Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.ivylayne.com