THE

BILLIONAIRE AND THE

VIRGIN

SEDUCTION AND SIN, BOOK 1

BELLA LOVE-W INS

The Billionaire and the Virgin

Copyright © 2017
Bella Love-Wins

All rights reserved.

 CONTENTS

Blurb and Author’s Notes

Would You Like More of This Couple?
How about Jace’s, Dylan’s, Caleb’s or Foster’s stories?
1. Prologue – Jackson
2. Dahlia
3. Jackson
4. Dahlia
5. Jackson
6. Dahlia
7. Jackson
8. Dahlia
9. Jackson
10. Dahlia
11. Jackson
12. Dahlia
13. Jackson
14. Dahlia
15. Dahlia
16. Jackson
17. Dahlia
18. Jackson
19. Dahlia
20. Jackson
21. Dahlia
22. Jackson
23. Jackson
24. Epilogue - Dahlia
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 BLURB AND AUTHOR’S NOTES

BLURB
Jackson
I caught her trespassing on my property. That
makes her mine.
The world tilted a little on its axis the second that
innocent little country girl appeared from the other side of
the privacy glass on my penthouse terrace. Everything
changed. Her timing couldn’t be any worse, but the
second she climbs onto my balcony, I have to have her.
Her name is Dahlia.
My doll.
Now, she’s my property.
She doesn’t know it yet, but Dahlia is about to be
owned.

Dahlia
The bossy billionaire wants to make me pay.
The first time I laid eyes on Jackson Knight, the bossy
billionaire next door, he gave me an intense, panty-
dropping stare with those mesmerizing sky-blue
brooding eyes.
The second time, I trespassed onto his penthouse
balcony to retrieve a wayward, high-strung Shih Tzu I
was pet-sitting for his neighbor.
Jackson warned me never to do that again, or next
time he’d punish me and make me pay.
Well, dogs will be dogs.
It happened again.
And I found out he wasn’t lying about punishing me.
Now I’m naked and tied to Jackson’s bed. Any minute
now, I’ll have to tell him that I’m a virgin.

*Authors’ Notes:
- The Billionaire and the Virgin is a standalone
romance with no cliffhangers and a guaranteed happy
ever after ending. This is a bad boy billionaire meets
virgin romance.
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 1

PROLOGUE – JACKSON

D ahlia’s been mine since the second I saw her.

My doll.
She opened her mouth to whisper something,
but I stop her by taking her lips for the kiss I’ve been
waiting all week to give her. I wrap a hand around her
waist, gripping the small of her back as my tongue parts
her lips. She molds to my chest as much as she can with
her bindings, yielding to each swish of my tongue as I
explore every contour of her mouth. Tasting her for the
first time is more intense than I expect. I want to cover
every inch of her body with mine and impale her hard
without holding anything back.
Moving deeper into the kiss, I support my weight with
one arm and stretch out beside her. She can’t turn to
face me, but she does what she can with her legs, sliding
one up and down between my ankle and calf through my
pants. I have to pull away, so that I don’t end up ripping
off my clothes and burying my cock deep inside of her.
The entire night is ahead of us, so I plan to pace myself
and taste every inch of her before I fuck her hard.
I pull apart from our kiss, and smile as she takes a
breath and runs her tongue over my bottom lip, eager to
continue. I’m just as ready to devour those lips again.
Raising off the bed, I move to the spot between her
knees, parting them to make room as I bury my hands
into her long, raven tresses, and tilt her head up sharply,
crashing my mouth over her lips.
Her feet slide up the bed, and she presses her thighs
against the outside of my legs. Heat radiates from her
center and in an instant, I’m rock hard. Gripping her back
with one hand, I lower my torso and hips to her body,
letting my full weight rest on her as I grind my cock at her
barely legal pussy, separated only by my boxers and
slacks.
Dahlia is hardly breathing, surviving on the lungful of
air we share, and manages a whimper that sounds like
words. I want to stifle out the sound, to keep this kiss
going, but she repeats the words.
“Sorry, what?” I ask, pulling from her mouth to let her
speak.
“I said, I haven’t been with a man…like this. I just
wanted you to know.”
There’s no stopping the ringing in my ear that sounds
like I’m in the middle of a room during a five-alarm blaze.
Lifting up off her torso, I study her face. “Did you just say
you’re a—”
“A virgin,” she answers, finishing my sentence. “Yes.
I’m…that.”
A slew of questions starts to surface, along with two
urges fighting each other in every single cell in my body.
The one hardwired to my dick wants to end her virgin
status right this second. Right here in my bed.
 2

DAHLIA

“B e good, you hear? Or there won’t be any special

treats for my darlings. Give me a kiss, babies. Give
Mommy a kiss. I love you all.”
Is Vivian ever going to leave?
I nod repeatedly with a polite smile lifting my lips. This
is my attempt to keep a look of professionalism on my
face as my part-time boss, Vivian Chandler, lowers to the
floor to dole out embraces and kisses to her little ones in
the hallway outside her penthouse condo front door.
Well, not all so little. She still babbles on and on to me
with instructions about her fur babies before she flies off
for a three-week trip to Europe. Preston, one of the more
senior condo concierge staff, waits patiently with her
mountain of designer suitcases stacked on a shiny gold-
plated rolling luggage rack at the elevator on the
opposite wall.
After some more cuddling, the pampered pooches go
back to what they were doing. Vivian rests her Salvatore
Ferragamo designer handbag on the threshold and starts
to put on her plush, all-cream fur coat. That’s progress.
“All the emergency numbers are in the email I sent
you, and in the top drawer beside the fridge,” she
reminds me again. “And upstairs in the dogs’ room.”
“I’ve got them right here in my cell,” I tell her, pulling
my phone from the pocket of my sweatpants. “And the
dog monitoring app is installed from the last few times I
was here. Even while I’m on campus, I’ll know what
they’re up to, and I’ll be close enough to get here fast if
they need anything.”
“Great, and don’t hesitate to put them up in their
playroom if you’re at school for more than a couple of
hours. It’s one of the few doors Daisy still can’t open on
her own. Just remember to fill the food and water
dispensers, and they’re all set to stay in there for a
while.”
“Sure. I’ll do that.”
“But make sure you take them out after they eat and
drink. We want to minimize any accidents…especially on
my Persians on the landing.”
“Got it.”
Vivian stares longingly past me at her three pets.
Sheba, a tan-colored Shih Tzu, is at the far end of the
expansive condo living area, bouncing off the floor every
so often as he paws at the all-glass sliding door to the
balcony. Bailey, a white Bull Terrier, is waiting in the
middle of the marble foyer, sitting dutifully beside Daisy,
the black-and-white spotted Great Dane that stands at
almost my full five-foot-six in height. Like I said, not so
little.
“I’ll take great care of them, Ms. Chandler,” I say for
the hundredth time. “I promise.”
“And you’re sure you don’t mind sleeping here while
I’m gone?” she asks with concern as she picks up her
purse again, eyes fixed on her pets while distractedly
sliding the leather straps over her shoulder.
 “Not at all,” I say, beaming. And my expression is
authentic, too, because who wouldn’t want to stay in a
multi-million-dollar penthouse condo instead of a tiny,
cramped Brooklyn walkup apartment for a few weeks. “In
fact, it’s a big help. This building is fifteen minutes from
Columbia, so you’re saving me a fifty-minute train ride
each way from Brooklyn. Trust me, I intend to be here
whenever I’m not in lectures. All the time. Day and night.
Don’t worry, Ms. Chandler. They’ll be fine.”
“I’m going to miss you, my babies,” she whimpers out,
a little choked up. “So much! But I’ll be back in a few
weeks with all your favorite imported treats, my darlings.”
Daisy, Bailey, and Sheba more or less ignore her.
They’re used to me being around. I’ve been pet-sitting off
and on for Vivian for more than a year and a half. That’s
almost as long as it’s been since I moved from Cedar
City, Utah, to New York to complete a degree in
Veterinary Sciences at Columbia U. These dogs are
practically my family. I’m also the only person Vivian
trusts to take care of them. Which is why I got this gig.
Mind you, this is the first time that I’ll be with them on
an extended overnight basis. The last time Vivian had to
go out of town, she left them at the doggy spa. They
were fine, but Vivian was not happy about Bailey losing a
couple of pounds while she was away. She almost sued
them for negligence, but changed her mind when I
reminded her that Bailey has a history of picky eating,
which was echoed by her vet.
Gosh, I hope she doesn’t sue me after this
pet-sitting gig.
Vivian’s sure paying me enough. This will be the most
money I’ve ever earned in one job. Five thousand dollars.
I still can’t believe that round-the-clock pet-sitting pays
this much. Vivian spent more than double that amount to
keep them at the doggy spa last time. It’s expensive,
owning three pets here in Manhattan. Daily boarding
rates per dog can run in the hundreds. For me, the five
grand will go a long, long way. My tuition is taken care of,
thanks to scholarships and such, and my folks back
home send me what they can, but I cover my own rent
and other expenses. Even in Brooklyn, living expenses
aren’t cheap.
In any case, I love these doggies just as much as
Vivian does, so I plan to make sure they’re happy while
I’m taking care of them.
The chime of the antique grandfather clock in the
study gets our attention.
“Two o’clock,” Vivian choruses. “I’d better get going.
See you soon, my babies. Mommy’s going to miss you.
And please do whatever Dahlia asks you to do, okay?”
“Have a safe trip, Ms. Chandler,” I tell her.
“Thanks, Dahlia. Oh, before I forget. We have a new
neighbor. Jackson Knight. Remember his name.”
“Jackson Knight. Got it.”
“He’s a handsome young man. But you know how the
billionaires living in this building are?”
I nod, but Vivian, a trust fund billionaire, is also one of
them. I don’t know for certain what she means.
“He’s all business. Cold as ice. Curt and impolite.
Hates dogs. Sheba has already wandered onto his
balcony. He didn’t like that very much, so make sure you
keep an eye on him. Sheba, I mean, not the neighbor,”
she says lightly with eyebrows raised.
“Will do,” I tell her with a nod. “Bye, Ms. Chandler.
You’d better hurry, or you’ll miss your flight!”
“Yes, I really should go. Take good care of them.”
“I will,” I assure her. “Everything will be great.”
Vivian sighs, turning to walk over to the elevator and
the waiting concierge.
I remain in the doorway, waiting with the door ajar
until the elevator doors open. With one final wave at her
dogs, she allows the concierge to roll the luggage rack
inside, steps on next to him, and they leave.
Finally. Deluxe everything awaits me, and all I have to
do for three splendid weeks is take care of three
munchkins I love to pieces. The five thousand big ones
are just sweet, sweet icing on the cake.
It’s only as I lock the door and turn around that I
notice Bailey is the only one looming in the foyer. Daisy
has managed to open the balcony door, and both she
and Sheba are romping around on the granite tile slabs
out there. It’s a sight to see. Daisy’s as large as a pony,
while Sheba can almost fit in both my hands. Hurrying
across the foyer and living room, I make it onto the
terrace just in time to see Sheba’s hindquarters squeeze
through a tiny space under the privacy partition—to the
neighbor’s balcony.
“Sheba, get back here, boy,” I call to him, squinting
with one eye through the narrow opening between the
exterior wall and the frosted glass partition. Sheba
doesn’t make a sound, so I walk over to the thick
limestone railing at the ledge of the terrace, and peer
around the opaque glass to look for him. “Sheba?”
Sheba begins to bark excitedly. Then I hear the tap of
men’s dress shoes hitting the granite floor. Trailing my
eyes to the sound, I freeze. That’s when I see the not so
happy yet smoking hot man in his mid-twenties, dressed
in a well-tailored navy suit with white shirt, hovering his
smartphone an inch from his ear.
Jackson Knight, is my guess.
And he’s staring at me.
No. More like glaring.
 3

JACKSON

F uck.
This puny little mutt again.
It’s two in the afternoon, and I just got home
after a close to twenty-three-hour negotiation meeting
from hell. I’m exhausted as fuck. My phone won’t stop
buzzing. I don’t need a whiny little nuisance yapping his
fur-covered trap off—and licking my shoes on top of that.
These babies are House of Testoni, for fuck’s sake.
I open my mouth, about to shout some choice fucking
words over at my neighbor, Vivian, to put a leash on her
runaway canine when I lock eyes with a girl I’ve never
seen before.
Straight, jet black hair framing her heart-shaped face,
big blue-gray eyes almost hidden by her grown out
bangs, pale, creamy skin, slightly flushed from
embarrassment and not a single blemish, and those full,
pink lips I can’t even try to ignore. There’s not enough of
her body to view, but her long neck, narrow collarbone,
and slight swell at the top of her sweater-covered tits give
away her small frame. For a split second, I wish she
wasn’t mostly hidden by the glass partition between
Vivian’s and my units—the only two condo units on the
penthouse.
“I’m so sorry,” she says in the most hillbilly accent I’ve
heard in ages, making ‘I’m so sorry’ sound like ‘Om sa
sarry’. Except she uttered those words with her sexy as
fuck pink lips, which already have an effect on my cock.
“I’m not sure how Sheba fit under the partition. Can you
pass him over to me?”
‘Nat sha’ instead of ‘not sure’.
‘Ha’, not ‘how’.
‘Portishan’, not ‘partition’.
‘Con ya poss him ava ta me?’
Fuck, I hate her accent, but my dick fucking loves it.
She reaches one dainty little hand out with her palm
up. Does she actually think I’ll touch that little Sheba
monster? More importantly, does she even realize we’re
over forty stories up? The wind can pick up the pint-sized
pooch, and his fall wouldn’t go well at all.
“No,” I tell her sharply.
My patience was wearing thin twenty-two hours ago.
Right now, it’s nonexistent. She jumps slightly, her face
blushing to a deeper shade of red at the sound of my
voice, or it could be my tone. Fuck, maybe she’s just
skittish. Either way, I don’t give a rat’s ass. This dog
needs to be gone from my terrace, and this pretty
distraction of a girl needs to back away slowly. Hopefully,
I’ll never have to see her again. Or the little mutt.
Except they’re my new fucking neighbors. At least I
think she is. I’ve never seen her before. Maybe she’s
Vivian’s little sister or some relative from the sticks, not
that they look anything alike. They damn well don’t act
alike. Vivian would have her paws all over me by now,
whereas this little country girl looks genuinely afraid
of me.
 She’s exactly how I like the women I fuck.
Timid.
A little afraid.
Brimming over with ingrained submissive tendencies.
Minus the backwoods accent.
“It’s not safe for her, doll,” I explain bluntly with a fresh
dose of buyer’s remorse. I picked this place because I
like my fucking privacy. “Come around to my front door.
You can get your furball yourself.”
“Him, and it’s hair,” she says. “Sheba’s a male dog.
And his coat is hair, not fur.”
Jesus fuck. She’s got time to give me a fucking lesson
on these four-legged troublemakers? And why the hell
am I hard as granite right now? “Just come to my door for
him, the little hairball.”
“Oh, okay thank you, sir,” she chirps, calling me ‘sir’
as though I’m some fucking old geriatric, like my dad. “I’ll
be right over.”
Country girl that my dick loves—that’s what I’m calling
her for now—quickly disappears on Vivian’s side of the
terrace. The realtor who sold me on this place is lucky I
bought this place for cash. It’s private, he said. Perfect
seclusion in the Upper West Side, he said. The lying,
overselling, slick as fuck douchebag. I’d kick his ass and
move the fuck out if I were leasing.
Returning inside to get the door, I’m followed by the
yapping mongrel scampering underfoot. I make a point of
taking careful steps to avoid it. Because House of Testoni,
dammit. I’m not wrecking these twenty thousand dollar
shoes for this mutt. Not that I’d miss the money, but
these are custom made and imported. And comfortable
as fuck. I’d have to wait at least a week to replace these
fuckers.
It starts to bark more loudly the closer I get to the
front door.
“Shut your fucking piehole,” I bark back at it, but it
ignores me and increases the volume.
He’s grating on my last nerve by the time I unlock the
front door. Then I get another shocker when I yank the
door open.
Well, two.
First, country girl that my dick loves is frumpy as fuck,
but more gorgeous than I ever thought possible. She’s
wearing a thick, light gray oversized sweater over much
thicker sweatpants that can fit three more girls her size in
there, if she undoes the drawstring hanging past the hem
of the sweater and almost to her knees. Except for her
long bangs, her thick, wavy, raven locks fall past her
shoulders and come to rest close to her waist. As for the
bright pink doggy-head bedroom slippers on her feet,
well, I’m at a fucking loss. What concerns me the most is
that I can tell from the way her clothes fall that she’s a
tiny thing with dainty curves under there.
And it’s sexy as fuck.
My dick is having a field day in my pants, and I’m
grateful I wore snug briefs today instead of loose boxers,
otherwise I’d have to cover a tented midsection by now.
The second surprise, which I realize must be the
reason the dog was yelping its head off, is that Gerald
Buchannan is standing next to her at my door. The same
Gerald Buchannan who kept me up all night negotiating
this acquisition deal. He’s the neediest, most high-touch,
pain-in-the-ass investor associate of Knights Capital
Management Group, the hedge fund company that I run
with my older brother, Jace, and our best friends, Caleb,
Dylan, and Foster. We only took him on as an associate
as a favor to my old man, and because he’s fucking
loaded. And by loaded, I mean a fuck ton richer than my
father, whose net worth is in the billions.
It’s a shocker seeing him here at my door because
he’s not supposed to know where I live. No one except
my father, brother and closest friends has this address.
Hell, none of my staff know I live here.
“Gerald, I wasn’t expecting you,” I say, trying to keep
my cool.
“We need to talk,” he blurts out. “Get rid of her, will
you?” He pushes past me, staring down at the dog as he
passes it by. “This is important.”
Anger starts to rise up from my chest, and I clench my
fists. This girl means nothing to me, but the combination
of my exhaustion, Gerald’s unexpected intrusion, and his
outright rudeness to her drives me close to the edge.
No one talks to my neighbor like that. No one but me.
Dragging an agitated hand through my hair, I look
down into her eyes. “Sorry about that, but he’s right.” I
step aside and motion toward her furry friend. Hairy.
Whatever. “Keep the puppy on Vivian’s side of the
terrace, will you?”
“Sheba’s a full-grown dog,” she nervously informs me.
Her fearful eyes locks with mine as she lowers to her
knees to scoop up the pooch. Fuck, looking down at her
at this new angle drives me close to insanity. Those lips
are so fucking close to my cock, I can almost feel her
taking me into her mouth. “And I will…keep him away
from you…I mean away from your place. I’m sorry.”
“Who are you, anyway?” I ask. The suspense is killing
me. I have to know. “Vivian’s cousin or something?”
She shakes her head. “I’m Dahlia,” she says, and
extends her right arm for a handshake.
“Hi Dahlia.”
“I’m the dogs’ babysitter. Pet sitter, I mean,” she
stammers. “Vivian’s going to be away for a few weeks, so
I’m here…for the dogs.”
I want to shake her hand, but if I do, it’ll be game
over. If I touch her, I’ll have to have her, and the fact that
she’s going to be around for a while means I need to
keep my distance. Plus she doesn’t look like she’s done
with puberty yet.
“Aren’t you going to screw up your attendance at high
school?” I ask the leading question to get a sense of
her age.
“No I won’t. I don’t go to high school. I’m at
Columbia U.”
Am I making her nervous? Neither of us says another
word as she turns and leaves. At least she’s of age.
Maybe.
“Get in here, Jackson.”
Fuck. Gerald is here. Closing the front door, I follow
his voice to my living room.
“What’s this about?” I ask. “Have you changed your
position since—” I stop speaking to check the time on my
phone. “Since thirty minutes ago?”
He takes a seat on my living room sofa and kicking up
his feet on my coffee table like he fucking owns the
place.
“Of course not,” he grunts.
“Why are you here, Gerald? And who told you where
I live?”
His eyebrows furrow together. “Your father. Why? Is
this place secret or something? Or does it have to do with
the sexy underage waif running wild around here?”
“Forget I asked. Tell me, why did you come by?” I ask
in an order, but keep my request more or less in a
respectful tone. He’s an associate, after all. And one of
my old man’s closest, most well-connected friends.
“We need this contract signed within a week. Two
weeks, tops. If I had it my way, it would be signed by end
of day tomorrow. My backers aren’t comfortable with your
treatment of Mont Blanc, or these new demands. It’s
unreasonable. You make sure to get across to the
partners that we’re ready to walk away. No more
concessions. They need to sign it as is now, or
we’re done.”
Pressing my lips together, I take a seat in the
armchair opposite from him. “You’re not serious.”
“Of course, I’m not, but these Mont Blanc guys at the
table need to know we aren’t stringing them along. We
need them. They need us. Make sure you articulate that
point when we get back to the table tonight.”
“I’ve been getting that point across for twenty-three
hours,” I shout, then I realize he’s slipped in a new piece
of information. “Wait, did you say tonight? We’re not
meeting again until tomorrow morning at eight.”
“Not anymore,” he informs me, rising from my sofa.
“We can’t give them time to shop our deal around with
the competition. That would only give them ammo to
demand more. I need you at Masa tonight at seven
o’clock sharp. We’re taking them to dinner, drinks, then
back to the office to keep working to wrap up this deal
with a neat little bow. Tonight, if possible.”
I shake my head, but the truth is he’s right. Getting
this far has been months in the making. We need to
close this deal soon.
“Fine,” I tell him, peeved that this development gives
me about four and a half hours to get some rest, shower,
dress and drive to the southwest tip of Central Park
where Masa restaurant is located. “I’ll be there, but try to
remember we’ve been working on this for months. If it
takes a few days to wrap it up…or weeks…it’s time well
spent.”
 “Agreed, but sooner is better.”
Following him to the front door, we say our goodbyes,
and I let him out.
As I wait for Gerald to get on an elevator, the scent of
little country girl’s vanilla and almond body wash lingers
in the air, drawing me in again. She’s left a mark on my
brain that I can’t shake. As soon as this deal with Mont
Blanc is over and done with, I’ll do something about it.
Like get the hell away from Dahlia before I eat her up
and swallow her whole.
Dahlia.
My Doll.
I’m sure I’ll ruin the little flower.
But I don’t care.
Now that I’ve seen her, I have to have her.
 4

DAHLIA

I ’m in heaven.
I’ve been at Vivian’s for a few days. So far, my
time with the dogs has gone by without incident, and
I can only imagine it getting better, now that the weekend
is almost here.
For starters, this condo complex is a short walk from
the main veterinary sciences building on campus.
Skipping my subway rides from Brooklyn means no
cramming myself into a packed subway car just to make
my morning lectures, no rush hour delays, and no weird
body odors curling up my nose, threatening to make me
gag or pass out for a forty-five-minute ride that feels like a
lifetime.
Being able to skip Brooklyn altogether is a Godsend,
and I’m not talking about the nice parts of the city.
Pooling rent with my roommates, Emily and Rose, was
barely enough to get us a tiny two-and-a-half-bedroom
apartment in what Rose calls the ‘shady armpit of the big
Apple’. Needless to say, our apartment is not in the
greatest of neighborhoods. Even men would be hesitant
to walk alone at night. Muggings happen regularly,
prostitution is rampant, and I customarily dodge the odd
sketchy-looking person lingering around outside my
building.
This live-in pet-sitting gig at Vivian’s palace in the sky
gives me three weeks’ vacation from dodging danger on a
daily basis. There’s also no walking up five flights of
stairs when I’m exhausted after class, and no cramped
living situation with Emily and Rose—who by the way,
have been drooling over the couple of photos I texted to
them of my temporary dream home.
The dogs are no problem at all. They’ve been a joy to
be around since the first time I took care of them. I can
tell they miss Vivian being away, at least a little, but I’ve
been with them all the time, except for when I’m on
campus. Even while I’m at lectures and labs, the pet
monitoring app keeps me connected to them.
Whoever dreamed up this app must have had
someone like me in mind. I’m connected to a two-way
video and audio feed via the condo unit’s home Wi-Fi,
and can see what they’re up to. It gives me an alert if
they bark loudly or for other noises they make if they get
into anything naughty. The live video feed streams all
activity in their doggie room, which is where I leave them
while I’m out.
There’s also a setting for me to give a pre-recorded
message to help Bailey calm down. She’s the only one of
the three that tends to have separation anxiety issues
when no one’s at home. I don’t use the feature to speak
with them live very much, as I only leave them alone to
attend lectures. Still, the feature is there when needed.
I love this job.
It’s been pure bliss.
Sheba has even steered clear of Jackson’s side of the
balcony. I haven’t seen the neighbor either, which is
probably a good thing. He’s the kind of guy moms
everywhere warn their daughters about.
Like the devil.
Smooth and tempting on the outside, and all bad
when you dig deeper.
When he spoke to me at his front door the other day,
his deep, rich voice rumbled in his throat, reverberating
through me. The way he leisurely uttered my name, so
thoughtfully, almost in a calculated way, caressing each
letter before he let it leave his tongue, well, it was nothing
like what I expected. It was like hearing my name
pronounced correctly for the first time—the way it was
meant to be spoken.
And why did my heart race the entire time while his
eyes raked across my body, ending any possibility of
coherent thought? He inspected and dissected me with
just his eyes, yet seemed to appreciate every inch of
what he saw. It was as though he could see right through
me, like I was naked and exposed.
I need to stay away.
Up until now, keeping far away from him has been
easy, because I haven’t seen him or anyone else on this
floor since the day Vivian left.
What a dream weekend this will be. Starting with the
two-person jacuzzi tub with jets in my guest bedroom.
But first, I need to feed Bailey, Sheba and Daisy, take
them outside so they can stretch their legs and do their
business, and get them settled down so I can have a
long, uninterrupted me-time session.
Feeding them was the usual process. Each of the
dogs has his or her own special diet. Sheba gets
packaged beef liver or kidney from the butcher, which he
likes warmed up to exactly eighty-two degrees or he
won’t touch it. As long as I get his dish ready first,
mealtime goes smoothly. Daisy has the canned chicken
and rice, and Bailey likes dried dog food straight from the
bag, so she’s easy. Today, dinner is easy as pie, so I get
them leashed up and take them down to the private dog
park adjacent to the condo building. It’s not near large
enough for all the pets that congregate from the three
buildings in the condominium complex, but as I take
them for a long walk in Central Park every morning, it
does the trick on evenings.
We return to Vivian’s place a half-hour or so later.
They’re fed, calm, and happily wagging their tails.
Getting them up to their doggie bedroom on the second
floor—which incidentally, is almost double the size of my
entire apartment in Brooklyn—I find them their special
chew toys and comfort play things, dim the lights, and
close the door behind me. They don’t even give me any
pleading looks tonight.
‘Me-time’ has arrived.
Filling the jacuzzi, I throw in my honey almond
aromatherapy bath salts and light up some scented
candles to add to the atmosphere. My bathrobe is neatly
folded with some towels on the bench beside the tub,
with my comfy bedroom slippers on the floor nearby. And
just in case I need it, the pet monitor app is open and
streaming audio on my phone. I scan the room one more
time. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long, it needs
to be perfect.
Everything’s quiet out there.
I’m ready in here.
A peaceful smile rises on my lips. I turn off the
overhead lights. I step out of my jeans, peel off my
cardigan and shirt, unhook my bra, and slide my cotton
panties off, leaving them in a pile on the floor beside my
bedroom slippers. The light humidity in the air kisses my
bare skin, setting me at ease. With one hand on the bath
support grip for balance, I dip one toe into the water.
Excellent temperature. Taking a long inhale, I step into
the tub and slowly sink down in the heated water. I reach
out and turn on the timer for the jets, close my eyes, and
embark on my escape.
It’s perfect.
Until it’s not.
I only have about ten minutes of relaxation before
there’s a loud thump out in the hallway, followed by a
noise alarm from the dog monitoring app on my phone.
Sitting up in the tub, I reach for the phone and turn on
the video feed. Bailey’s in her doggie bed, but Sheba and
Daisy aren’t anywhere in the room, from what I can see
on the screen.
“Sheba? Daisy?” I call out.
I know they can hear me through the bathroom door
because I left it slightly ajar. Yet this time, they don’t
come to me.
“Sheba, Daisy, here doggies!”
Not a sound. It’s silent again, but I can’t take the
chance that they’re romping around the penthouse
unattended, possibly breaking Vivian’s things. Expensive
stuff I can’t replace.
Groaning, I begrudgingly turn off the jacuzzi jets and
step out of the tub.
“Here Sheba! Here Daisy!” I shout, drying off a bit and
putting on the bathrobe. If I’m quick about locating them
and taking them back in their room, the water may still be
warm enough to top up and resume my de-stressing.
They’re not in any of the rooms upstairs. Taking the
stairs from outside Vivian’s master bedroom, I look
around in the hallway outside the formal dining room. It’s
only when I cross through the foyer to check the kitchen
that I see why they’re not answering. The balcony door is
wide open, Daisy is sitting beside it, tail wagging.
Sheba isn’t with her.
“Stay, Daisy,” I say, hurrying over to her. “Don’t you
move. Bad Daisy. How did you get this door open? I know
I locked it too,” I tell her, scolding her with one finger that
should be all wrinkly by now if I were still in the jacuzzi.
She tucks her head under one paw and makes a few
soft, apologetic whimpers as I look around the terrace for
Sheba. “Sheba? Here, Sheba. Be a good boy and
come here.”
Please, please don’t let him be on the neighbor’s side
of the terrace, I pray inwardly, but the sound of his
barking is coming from exactly there.
I check Jackson’s balcony from the edge of the
railing, and cringe when I see Sheba, playing beside one
of the terra cotta flower pots.
“Stop, Sheba! Come here, boy,” I call to the little
menace, clicking my tongue for extra emphasis.
I’m flustered and frustrated. He’s been so obedient up
until now. Why won’t he come? Sheba turns his fluffy
little doggy head and looks at me, but doesn’t move an
inch. Correction. He bends his back legs, then his tail
raises in defiance as his one back leg raises. No. Oh no.
He’s not doing what I think he’s about to do.
Crap.
Oh yes he is.
Sheba proceeds to pee beside the potted plant,
leaving a hot, steaming puddle right in the middle of
Jackson’s terrace. It’s steaming because out here is
freaking cold, and all I’m wearing is a bathrobe. I didn’t
even think to put on my slippers.
“Sheba! Bad dog! Come here right now!” I shriek.
In my panicked state, I hold on to the partition and
swing one leg, then the other, over the ledge to step onto
Jackson’s balcony. Checking my pocket, I let out a sigh
of relief when my hand grasps a bundle of facial tissues I
stuffed in there the last time I used my bathrobe. Thank
goodness. I need to clean up this mess and get this
naughty little pooch back to Vivian’s before the grumpy
guy next door shows up and goes off the deep—
“What the fuck is going on out here?”
The sound of Jackson’s voice booming out from his
sliding door behind me causes me to freeze, just as my
tissue-covered fingers begin to sop up Sheba’s
handiwork.
Shit.
“Uh, I uh, I’m sorry, Mr. Knight,” I say tilting only my
head to look at him from my bent over position. “It looks
worse than it really is. Sheba got out again, and just had
a little…accident.”
I manage to wipe it all up, closing the drier sides of
the tissue papers around to cover the wetter center. Then
I notice the droplets of water that fell from my soaking
wet hair. Jeez. Maybe he won’t see.
“There,” I chime out. “All good now. If you don’t mind
me coming back in a few minutes, I’ll clean and sanitize
the spot with some disinfecting pine cleaner.”
He doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me, eyes
narrow, with an icy glint in his stare. I can tell he’s not the
least bit happy. One hand is fisted at his side, while the
other has a death grip on the sliding door handle.
I’m in so much trouble.
Then Sheba outdoes himself, making things worse for
me by running up to Jackson and licking his expensive
shoes. Then he humps Jackson’s ankle.
I’m so dead.
“Come here right now, Sheba!” I hiss through gritted
teeth.
Jackson glowers down at Sheba, but remains cold
and silent. He’s probably swearing an endless string of
profanity in his head, and the scowl on his face says
plenty.
I approach him and pick up Sheba with my free hand.
“I’m very sorry about this, Mr. Knight. It won’t happen
again,” I assure him, although I have no way of knowing
how I’ll make good on such a promise, short of
barricading the sliding door so Daisy can’t open it for
Sheba to get out again.
As I straighten up with Sheba cradled in one arm and
the tissue paper with his wet little accident in the other, I
notice Jackson’s eyes move from my face, down to about
breast level. My body shivers from his stare. Or it may
just be that I’m cold.
It’s the cold, all right.
And partial nudity.
Aww hell.
In my haste to take care of what Sheba just did, the
bathrobe’s tie belt loosened from my waist and exposed
almost my entire body, from neck to knee. I can’t even
begin to hold back my embarrassment. Heat burns my
cheeks when I remember that my hands are full. Clearing
my throat and swallowing hard, I do what I can to at least
cover some of my nakedness by using my forearm and
elbow to push the plush fabric forward. Jackson is not
the least bit shy. He continues to pierce a hot trail down
my body, all the way to my feet, then back up, stopping
at my hips, stomach, and breasts before connecting with
my eyes again.
“Take your mutt home. Now.”
Turning away from him, I start to walk across the
terrace toward Vivian’s side of the balcony.
 “Not that way, for Christ’s sake,” he barks, raking
masculine yet well-manicured fingers through his thick,
dark, perfectly combed-back hair. “It’s dangerous. I can’t
have anyone falling to their death from my balcony.”
“But, that’s the way I came,” I nervously inform him,
ignoring his comment about my potential demise. I throw
the wad of tissues over to Vivian’s side so I can dispose
of it once I’m safely on the correct side of this terrace.
Closing my bathrobe, I turn to him. “Mr. Knight, sorry, but
I won’t be able to get into Vivian’s apartment if I go
through the front door. It’s locked…I wasn’t thinking.
Gosh, I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he shouts. “Just come inside. I’ll
phone the concierge desk security guards. They have a
master key to every unit.”
He steps to one side, leaving just enough room for me
to get in from the cold. Peering into the lavish space, my
first impression is that his condo unit must be twice as
large as Vivian’s. It’s enormous, and tastefully decorated
with masculine tones of neutral creams, tans and
browns.
As I place one foot inside, my elbow brushes against
the back of his hand resting on the door. My breath
catches in my throat. What on earth was that? The
moment I touched him, something transfers from his skin
to mine and hits me like a freight train, spreading
electricity through me so unexpectedly that I jerk away. I
can’t explain what that was. Maybe attraction. Or lust. Or
desire. That’s a first for me. I didn’t experience anything
like that while making out with Noel Ashton, the only guy
I dated in high school. We got to second base. Once.
Maybe that’s why we never tried again. Chemistry was
sorely lacking.
Jackson further surprises me by extending his arm
across the opening of the doorway, blocking me from
entering. “This is your last warning,” He says in a
menacing baritone.
“Excuse me?” I ask in almost a whisper.
“Keep your mutt off my property. That’s not a
request.”
“I will,” I assure him.
“Good, because if it happens again, one way or
another, I’ll make sure you pay.”
How am I supposed to respond to that?
“Last warning,” he repeats. “Or you’ll be punished.”
“I’m… I’m not sure I understand,” I stammer.
Keeping his arm out, he leans just his head closer to
me, so close I can smell the expensive cologne wafting
from somewhere around his jaw. “Don’t let it happen
again, doll. Or I won’t hesitate to make you pay.”
No fitting answer comes to mind. I mean, does this
rich guy understand that I’m a student, scraping by to get
an education, and that my parents are working class
farmers, practically destitute by his standards? Still, his
threat has an effect on me. I make a promise to myself
that the second I get back to Vivian’s, the balcony doors
are going on lockdown. I don’t care what I have to use—
chain-link fencing, padlocks, chicken coop wire mesh.
Whatever it takes to avoid the wrath of Jackson
Knight.
 5

JACKSON

S he’s tempting fate being here.

I want to tell her that, but have to keep the
thought to myself as I stare down at her barely
legal naked body under that half-open bathrobe. Bare
feet, vulnerable and gorgeous. Does she even know what
she’s doing to me, standing there, her hair dripping wet,
her body scented like honey and sweet innocence, and
those bright guilt-ridden eyes pleading for me to pardon
the fact that she’s trespassing on my property?
Moving my arm out of her way, I let her in and close
the door behind me.
“Follow me.” I slide my phone from my pocket and
pull up the concierge desk number in my contact list.
“Have a seat,” I tell her when we pass through the living
room, and her dog jumps into her lap when she
sits down.
Her timing is impeccably bad, considering that my
brother, Jace, is waiting for me in my study. Leaving them
alone here is the only option. Jace is probably about to
charge through my place and demand that I drop
everything to focus on his reason for being here. I make a
quick call downstairs, and the person who answers at the
concierge desk assures me they’ll send someone up with
keys to let Dahlia into Vivian’s place. After I hang up, I
step into the study.
Jace gives me a hard look as I return to the study.
“We have a fucking problem.”
“What?”
“Mont Blanc Holdings isn’t everything it’s been selling
itself to be. It’s more.”
“What do you mean, more? Isn’t more better?”
He passes me his smartphone. “Sometimes more can
be worse. Like in this case. Remember that forensic
investigator Dylan told me to hire so we can look into
them more closely? Check out what he found.”
I scroll through the report on Jace’s phone, but
nothing makes sense. “What the fuck am I supposed to
be reading here?”
“Mont Blanc is one of the only hedge fund firms I
know of that own two non-financial subsidiaries, except
they’re both buried behind three layers of shell
corporations. Pantheon Research and Triple Shield
Security Group. Take a wild guess on what they do.”
“Security is my guess for Triple Shield. Not sure about
Pantheon.”
“Get this. Pantheon is a pharmaceutical company,
specializing in generic radiation therapy treatments and
medications.”
“You don’t mean for—”
“Cancer treatments,” he finishes the sentence for me,
because he knows how much of a hang-up I’ve had
about the big C since it stole any chance of having a
mother past seventeen years of age.
“I don’t get it. Why would Mont Blanc have a hundred
percent ownership of a company like that?”
 Jace doesn’t get a chance to answer. The doorbell
rings.
“Hang on,” I tell him. “I’ll get rid of the girl.”
Jace leans forward in his seat. “What girl? You’ve got
someone here? How the fuck can you think about pussy
at a time like this?”
I get up and start walking toward the door closest to
the foyer. “Will you shut the hell up? That’s not how it is.
I’ll explain in a minute.”
Dahlia is already answering the front door when I get
out into the hallway. Cradling her dog in her arms, she
looks back at me, gives me a hesitant nod, and leaves
with the bellman.
“Okay they’re gone,” I tell Jace, who’s standing at the
far end of the foyer, checking out Dahlia.
“They? There were more than one of them?”
“Fuck no. That was the neighbor’s pet sitter, all right?
Vivian’s goddamned pack of hounds can’t seem to stay
on their side of the fucking terrace. Just forget about it. I
want to know how Mont Blanc would want to get their
hands in the day-to-day operations of a pharmaceutical
company.”
Jace accepts my explanation about Dahlia, and re-
focuses on our acquisition deal. “Probably the same
reason they own Triple Shield Security.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t fucking know.” He leans forward in the
armchair and crosses his legs, supporting his head of
sandy brown hair with one arm at his temple as he
thinks. “The fact that they own Triple Shield is even more
of a mystery. This security firm has a bunch of
government defense contracts. Weapons development,
geospatial technologies, even an outfit that trains private
militia in Eastern Europe, Central Africa, and some parts
of the Middle East.”
“That makes no fucking sense,” I say. This new
information is all coming from left field. Shock and
confusion don’t begin to describe what I’m thinking about
right now.
“Exactly. What the hell is a hedge fund company
doing dabbling in cancer drug manufacturing? How in
the fuck can it be in any part of a weapons or military
supply chain? Triple Shield is practically supplying
private armies internationally. It doesn’t even make sense.
We can’t acquire a firm that’s coloring outside the lines.”
“Jace, fuck, that’s not even coloring outside the lines.
They threw out the box of crayons and the canvas, and
are shooting fucking paintball guns on the SECs
doorstep. Are you sure this forensics guy got his intel
right?”
“Positive.”
“Fuck.” I can’t wrap my head around this news. “Does
Dad know?”
“Not yet. I’ll loop him in. And Gerald too.” He stretches
his arm out toward me. “Give me back my phone. I’ll tell
Gerald to meet me at Dad’s place. We’ll put an end to
this. Tonight.”
“Hang on, Jace,” I mutter as I hand over his phone.
The mention of Gerald’s name plays on my already
distraught thoughts. “That consulting firm Gerald used to
run…didn’t it have a whole section devoted to security
consulting for the US government?”
He nods with the recollection as he scrolls through his
phone, probably looking for Gerald’s name in his contact
list. “It did. And the law firm he’s used for years manages
pharmaceutical and medical research companies.”
“I don’t know if I like the coincidence.”
Jace stares over at me, almost in disbelief as he
connects the dots. “Shit. You can’t be thinking—”
“It has to be. Gerald or someone in his consulting firm
must know about these Mont Blanc subsidiaries.”
“Are you out of your mind? What you’re suggesting
is… it’s fucked up.”
“Why would you put it past him? If Gerald knows and
is still pushing the acquisition, there’s only one reason
he’d do that.”
“You’re suggesting that one of Dad’s oldest friends is
setting us up.” Jace bolts up to his feet and begins to
pace in front of the fireplace. “No. That’s just…I can’t
accept that.”
“Come on, think about it.”
“If Gerald wanted to fuck with us, he could have done
it years ago. But now? It doesn’t make sense. He’ll have
a major interest in the acquisition. This can hurt him just
as much as our firm.”
“All I’m saying is Gerald has to know something,” I tell
him. “And if he does, we need to figure out why he didn’t
disclose it, why he still wants in, and what’s his
end game.”
“All the more reason to get him and Dad in the same
room with us so we can get to the bottom of it.”
“That’s a bad idea. Come on, Jace. You know how
Gerald gets when he’s confronted. Especially in front of
our old man.”
“There’s no good reason why we shouldn’t walk away
from this deal right now.” Jace punches the inside of one
hand with the other fist. “I’ve never trusted that smug,
conniving bastard.”
“I don’t either, but our father does. And if we face off
with him in front of Dad, dear old Dad’s bound to side
with him. And this deal will be signed, sealed and
delivered in no time.”
 “True,” he agrees, staring absently at a spot on the
mantle. “How do you think we should approach this?”
“Ask the investigator to do some more digging. Maybe
we’ll get lucky and find some of these answers
ourselves…and get some insight into how Gerald’s
involved.”
“All right.”
“And we’ll both keep stalling at the bargaining table,” I
add, with eyebrows raised.
“Good.” He checks the clock on the far wall above my
bookshelves. “Shit. Seven fifteen. I’ve got reservations at
Chez Gigi’s.”
“What? Hot date with Cherry?” I tease.
“Fuck off.” Jace doesn’t acknowledge the question.
He doesn’t even look my way, because he’s secretly been
running around town with Dad’s assistant, who also
happens to be Gerald’s youngest daughter. Under
normal circumstances, their dating might not be a big
deal, but Dad has always had rules about mixing
business with our personal lives. Cherry’s off limits.
“Hey, maybe she knows something about this Mont
Blanc shit show.”
“No way in hell. Gerald doesn’t tell her a thing about
how he runs his business. You know how old school he
is. Just like how Dad acts sometimes.”
“He’ll find out what you’re up to soon enough, you
know?” I muse.
“Well I’m not talking, and Cherry isn’t, so he’ll only
find out if you say something.”
I shake my head. “Do I look like I give two fucks that
you’re banging Dad’s secretary? I’m just saying.
Manhattan isn’t that big of a place. You’re the one who’s
dumb enough to take her out in public to places where
Dad and his buddies go. It’s only a matter of time before
someone sees you and tell him, or the two of you end up
seated at adjacent tables with Dad, at the same
restaurant, on the same fucking night.”
“That’s not gonna happen.”
I follow him as he heads out into the main hallway
and turns to get to the front door. “I hope it doesn’t, for
your sake. Or for Cherry’s sake. Dad won’t hesitate to
throw her out on her ass if he finds out.”
“Sounds like you’ve got too much fucking time on your
hands, bro. Maybe you should keep your mind on your
own shit. Like whoever you said that pet sitter girl was
that showed up on your terrace.”
“She’s nobody.”
“Like hell she is,” he scoffs out. “The way she showed
up is exactly like the last five or six women you dated,
and I’m using the word loosely here, because you don’t
date. You dabble in women. And when you’re not
dabbling, you’re booty-calling.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.
Dahlia is Vivian’s pet sitter. I don’t know her from a hole in
the wall.”
He opens my front door and turns as he steps out into
the hall. “I give it seventy-two hours.”
“Seventy-two hours for what?”
He narrows his eyes at me and gives me a coy,
dismissive smile. “You know what I’m talking about.
Later, bro.”
I release the door handle, and let it shut by itself.
Damn right I’ll have her before seventy-two hours
are up.
 6

DAHLIA

I should know by now to never let Sheba, Daisy and

Bailey go off-leash anywhere in Central Park.
Especially Sheba.
We’ve been out for a longer walk as it’s Saturday
morning. They need the exercise and fresh air, as do I.
The outer loop of the large, multi-acre area is several
miles around, so even a twenty-minute mile pace would
get us back home in well over an hour. I throw in a super-
short stop in the off-leash park at the southeast tip of
Central Park, and what happens?
Sheba happens, that’s what.
He’s the alpha of this pack, and he never lets me or
Daisy forget it. Bailey, on the other hand, is laid back to
the point of marshmallow. There isn’t much that gets her
going anymore.
I let Sheba off of his leash for one second, and what
does he do? He bolts, chasing what I have to guess is a
very unlucky squirrel. I don’t even get a chance to remove
Daisy’s and Bailey’s leashes before Daisy herself takes
off behind Sheba, dragging me and Bailey with her.
“Sit, Daisy!” I shout, but she is more interested in
catching up with Sheba, who crashes through a cluster
of bushes and mud puddles, barking loudly as he follows
his target.
By the time Sheba slows down, we’re all covered in
leaves, icy mud, and New York debris. He comes to a
stop on the sidewalk next to Columbus Circle, sits at the
side of the curb, tail thumping excitedly as he barks at
the vehicles in the street that are waiting for the red light
to turn green. Daisy finally stops dragging Bailey and me,
and takes a spot beside Sheba. Grateful for the brief
opportunity to get Sheba back on his leash, I take him
into my arms.
“What are you doing, boy?” I ask him, breathing
heavily as he licks some mud off my face. “Why did you
run off like that?”
As I clasp the leash onto his collar, I should be asking
myself why Sheba stopped here. Then I get my answer.
The shame hits me as I see who he and Daisy are
wagging their tails for. The back window of a black town
car rolls down, revealing Jackson Knight with a look of
amusement on his face.
“You,” he says to me.
I wipe my face with my free hand, but realize I’m
smearing more mud across what’s already there. “I have
a name, Mr. Knight.”
“You walk those dogs this far away from the condo?”
he asks, smiling. “Or are they walking you?”
“We’re on our way home now,” I say, aware that I’ve
ignored his question, and wishing the traffic lights would
change so Jackson’s limo driver can finally move off and
take him wherever they’re going.
An unexpected look of concern flashes over his face
for a split second. He turns to face forward, says
something to his driver, then turns back to look at me.
“You can’t walk all those miles looking like that,” he
remarks.
“We don’t need any help,” I answer, but his door
swings open and he steps out. The traffic lights change,
and his town car rolls off with the rest of the waiting
vehicles.
“Have you taken a good look at yourself?” he
asks me.
“What?” I ask defensively. “It’s just a bit of mud.”
He shrugs off his spring jacket and wraps it
protectively around my shoulders. “It’s not just mud.
You’re soaking wet. And you’re freezing.”
“It’s no big deal. Really, I’m—”
“Just come with me,” he says, cutting me off. “You
and Vivian’s mutts can dry off at my office.”
“It’s fine,” I try to convince him, but we’re halfway to
the crosswalk already. Daisy and Bailey are no help at all,
following at my side with zero resistance. Even Sheba’s
tail is flicking against my arm. He likes this guy?
The crosswalk lights change, and Jackson puts an
arm on my shoulder, guiding me across the kitty corner to
the entrance of an office building. “Sterling is my driver.
He’s finding a spot in the underground parking for now.
I’ll make sure he gets you home once you’re cleaned up.”
“I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Knight, but we’re all
right. Besides, nothing at your office can get these mud
stains out. And it’ll take hours for my clothes to dry off.
We’re okay. Really.”
“You’ll dry off, get a change of clothes, and my driver
will take you home,” he repeats more firmly as he swipes
his building access card over an entry control.
“But I—” I start, however he flashes me a glance that
tells me he won’t give in to my resistance. Jackson
gestures toward the glass entrance door, so I follow his
eyes in that direction. “What?”
“Take a look at your reflection.”
Adjusting my focus to the dark reflective glass of this
ultra-modern office tower, I check myself out, and have to
cover my mouth to quiet the horrific gasp that leaves my
throat.
Good Lord.
I’m not just a mess.
I’m a disaster. My hair is dripping wet, there are
brown, dead leaves and mud everywhere, and shit, a
small piece of tree branch it sticking out of one side of my
head, just above my ear.
“Fine,” I tell him, and the hot shame of his seeing me
this way hits me hard. I bow my head and keep my eyes
focused on Sheba and the leashes in my hand.
“And you’re welcome,” he announces, leaning down
to me with his lips close to my ear.
“Right. Thank you for…helping me out.”
Jackson nods over at the two security guards at the
building lobby information desk. They politely wave him
up, doing their best not to react to the sight of me. We
take the first of two side-by-side marble elevator bays and
step into the waiting elevator. Using his swipe card again
once we’re all loaded inside, he presses the button to the
fiftieth floor. I can’t look directly at him, but I know he’s
watching the dogs and me, and he’s more than just a
little amused.
“Do all your pre-veterinary classmates take these
kinds of torturous pet-sitting gigs, or is this your thing?”
he asks when we’re halfway to his floor.
“It’s not torture.”
His eyebrows raise, adding to his quizzical
expression. “Okay. Dangerous.”
“Caring for Vivian’s dogs isn’t dangerous either. Sure,
Sheba’s a bit of a handful, but they’re well-behaved,
mostly.”
On hearing his name, Sheba crinkles his little nose
and stretches his body out in Jackson’s direction. It’s his
way of letting people know he likes them and wants them
to pet him. But Jackson doesn’t pay him any mind.
“Sheba’s the handful?” Jackson asks. “The little
puppy? Not this huge one that’s almost as big as a
horse?”
I nod. “Daisy takes her cues from Sheba.”
“You’re missing the point, but okay. Follow me.”
The company name, ‘Knights Capital Management
Group’ is written in huge, silver letters as soon as the
elevators open onto the floor. He leads me past a large,
open-concept reception area, which is empty, and I
assume it’s because we’re here on a Saturday.
“Gemma, are you around?” Jackson calls out as he
turns the first bend to a row of large fishbowl-styled
offices—rooms devoid of any privacy at all, where all four
walls are made of glass.
“Yes, Mr. Knight,” comes a voice at the end of the long
hall. “Good morning.”
A middle-aged blonde about my size emerges from
one of the fishbowls and catches sight of us. I’m fully
expecting her to size me up with a cold, judging glare.
After all, I’m in the hallway of a classy, expensive office,
soaking wet, tracking in filthy mud, and I have three
dogs, not just one. The woman’s eyebrows do raise as
we make eye contact, but I immediately relax because
her face shows genuine concern more than anything
else. She looks over at me and smiles politely. “Good
morning, ma’am.”
“Hi.”
“Gemma, you’re not afraid of dogs, right?”
 “Um, that’s right, Mr. Knight,” she answers.
“Great. This is Dahlia. Dahlia, Gemma.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Gemma greets me.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Gemma,” I
answer.
“Take my neighbor’s pets and help get them cleaned
up for me, will you?”
“Of course, Mr. Knight.” She reaches out and takes
Daisy’s and Bailey’s leashes from my hand, then gives
me a nod as she cradles Sheba in one arm. “Hi puppy,”
she says to Sheba, who goes willingly. “I’ll be in the
break room. They look thirsty.”
“Great. Thanks. Is Jace here yet?”
“Yes, sir. He’s in his office.”
“Thanks, Gemma.” Jackson turns back toward where
we came from. “Come with me, doll,” he instructs me.
“I shouldn’t leave them alone,” I tell him as we go past
the elevators and take a bend down another corridor.
This one is lined with frosted glass walls and mahogany
doors, with boardrooms on one side, and larger, more
private offices on the other.
“The dogs aren’t alone. They’re with my assistant.” He
stops at the office with his name etched onto a sign on
the door. Jackson Knight. Senior VP, Investment Strategy.
Pushing it open, he steps aside to let me enter. “I have to
take care of a few things. Check the closet on the left for
some clean shirts and slacks. They won’t fit you, but it’s
better than what you’re wearing right now. The door
beside the closet is my private restroom. Wait in here
when you’re finished. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I don’t know what to say to him as I manage to make
eye contact with his piercing blue eyes that stare down at
me, but the words “thank you” tumble out, and I shyly
slip past him to get myself put together again.
 Jackson walks off, and his office door closes behind
me. I’m alone in his office, an unusual mix of glass,
modern leather furniture and classic mahogany
bookshelves, and one large desk.
Just as he explained, I open the door on the left and
find a walk-in closet with several business suits in dry
cleaning bags on one side. There’s also a column of
shelves with socks, toiletries, and brand new men’s office
shirts still in their packaging. Grabbing a shirt, a pair of
socks and one of the dry cleaning bags, I carry them into
his private bathroom and hang them on the hook behind
the door.
Before undressing, I turn on the faucet at the sink,
letting the water warm up.
I can’t bear to look in the mirror, but also can’t not
look. It’s worse than I thought. If there’s a God, he’ll do
me the honor of opening up the ground and swallowing
me up to save me from the extreme embarrassment of
having to face Jackson and his assistant again. But that
does not happen for me. I quickly get out of my
outerwear and clothes, keeping on my bra and panties,
which are the only items that aren’t muddy or soaking wet
on me.
Pulling one of the two clean hand towels from the
nearby rack, I set it down on the counter beside me and
wash my hands thoroughly before ducking my head
under the warm water. It takes a couple of minutes to
clean off all the foul-smelling Central Park mud, leaves
and rain water. As I clear off the debris, I’m already
expecting that it’ll cost an arm and a leg to take these
clothes I’m borrowing from Jackson to the dry cleaners.
Not that I have a choice now.
Once I’m finished with my hair, I wrap the towel
around my head and straighten up to dry it off. My thick,
waist-length hair will need way more than this little towel
can handle, even if it’s the plushest, most expensive
thing to ever make contact with my body. It’s only on
reaching for the second towel on the wall that I realize
something that causes me to momentarily freeze where I
stand—in just my bra and panties.
I’m not alone.
 7

JACKSON

I didn’t intend to find Dahlia half-naked in here, but

now that I do, I can’t look away. She’s in my space,
and the door is open. The girl is stunning, so I don’t
stop staring, even if I should. Who uses a restroom with
the door open? Apparently, Dahlia does. Not that I’m
complaining, now that I’m watching and can’t fucking
stop myself.
As if on cue, my dick throbs in my pants. It liked
seeing her the first time, and she was dressed then. The
second time, well, she was soaking wet and in a robe. On
my terrace. In my domain. What’s not to love about that?
So of course, it’s straining to get out of my pants now that
she’s in my fucking office, dressed in just her simple
cotton bra and panties, looking like every curve and
feature of her gorgeous body and beautiful face were put
together just for me to enjoy.
Dahlia takes a long minute to realize I’m here, and
when she does, she practically jumps out of her skin.
“What are you…I thought I was alone,” she says
apologetically, using the tiny rectangle of hand towel to
cover the front of her perfect body.
 It’s too late, because I can’t un-see what she’s already
allowed me to see.
“You could try closing the door to achieve that,” I
mention, smiling with satisfaction as I return my focus to
the file I was searching for on my office desk. “Besides, I
saw a hell of a lot more last night.”
“You didn’t have to look,” she squeaks, pushing the
door closed with one foot.
“That’s where you’re wrong, doll,” I say loud enough
for her to hear me through the closed door. “No hot-
blooded male is going to avert his eyes from a scantily-
clad, gorgeous woman. Besides…my office, my view.”
I don’t catch what she says in her answer, but I’m late
for a meeting with Jace, who’s already waiting for me. He
accuses me of being a workaholic every chance he gets,
and knows I don’t give two fucks about being at the office
on a Saturday. Jace, on the other hand, is in a rush to
leave. My older brother hates the idea of having to come
in on the weekend, after the countless twelve- to twenty-
four-hour days of negotiation sessions we’ve had with
Mont Blanc Holdings, Gerald, and the lawyers this week.
“If you’re going to be much longer, Gemma is down
the hall,” I inform her. “She can show you down to the
parking level.”
“I can get myself home,” Dahlia tells me on re-
opening the restroom door.
I don’t expect my own reaction when I see her there,
standing in the doorway wearing my clothes. I shouldn’t
have a response at all, given that the light blue button-
down shirt and dark slacks would drown her tiny frame if
she didn’t roll up the sleeves and pant legs. Still, I can’t
help but let out a deep groan from the back of my throat.
My fingers are itching to bury into her damp hair. Every
instinct in me wants to close the space between us, drag
her into my arms, and press her head against my chest
as my hands explore her every curve while my lips take
hers. The image of placing her to sit on my office desk,
parting her legs, and wrapping them around my waist
comes to the front of my mind. If I don’t get her out of my
office right this second, I’ll end up balls deep inside of
her, fucking her senseless on that very desk.
I should be stepping away, but find myself
approaching her. Dahlia pulls her hair over one shoulder
and starts to dry off the back with the towel in her hand.
It’s an innocent move on her part, but Christ, it exposes
the delicate, long lines of her neck and collarbone under
my dress shirt, and now I’m back under her spell. As I
resume my staring, I see a barely noticeable dark spot at
the base of her ear lobe. It slowly changes shape while
I’m looking at it, rounding out at the bottom, and
elongating at the spot where it touches her earlobe.
Gravity separates it from the base of her earlobe, and it
drops to the edge of her shirt collar—my shirt collar.
Blood.
“You’re hurt,” I blurt out with what I feel is way more
concern than warranted, but I can’t help myself. I’m in
front of her a split second later.
“What?” she asks, clearly confused, and maybe a bit
scared too. “No, I’m not hurt. Really, I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re bleeding. Don’t move.”
“What? Where? I don’t feel anything.”
“Shhh.” Taking the towel from her hand, I get to her
side and dab the spot on her ear to see what kind of
blood loss we’re dealing with. A slight streak of red
reappears, but the blood doesn’t pool this time. “Looks
like a scratch.”
“Oh. Yes, it’s probably from that last little stretch
where Sheba ended up running off the path and took us
through the miniature pine trees near the park exit.”
I slip past her into the restroom and open the
medicine cabinet for the box of adhesive bandages.
“Vivian should add danger pay to whatever your rates
are,” I tell her as I take one out of the box.
“They’re really good most of the time,” she tries to
explain, her eyes fixated on a spot on the wall in front of
her as I take the bandage out of the wrapper.
Dahlia seems to hold her breath when I reach
forward, and her lashes flutter as my fingers press the
bandage down on her skin to cover the scratch.
“I don’t bite,” I whisper, but by now, my face is so
close to the side of her head that I don’t stop myself from
brushing my lips along the top of her ear. For an instant,
Dahlia leans into my touch, but before I can react, she
pulls away just as suddenly.
“I should go check on the dogs,” she blurts out
nervously.
“You probably should,” I grunt out. “My assistant will
see you out when you’re ready,” I add, and turn to leave
before I end up taking things too far.
It’s my space, but this can’t happen. I hurry to get the
hell out of there, taking a seat in Jace’s office without
shutting the door. Finally, I can think straight and focus
on the reason I’m here.
 8

DAHLIA

J ackson’s limousine driver is about to pull up to the

sidewalk in front of the condo building when my
cell phone buzzes from my bundle of wet, muddy
clothes. I scramble to get it in time, and see that
the call coming in is from Emily, one of my roommates.
“Hey Em,” I answer. “I’m just getting in. Can I call you
back in a bit?”
“Sure, but I need your taste buds. Do you mind if I
come by?”
“That works too,” I tell her as the driver opens the door
for us to get out. “Thanks, Mr. Sterling.”
“Who are you talking to?” she asks. “Is he cute?”
“It’s my neighbor’s chauffeur. Long story, but I’ll fill
you in.” I step out and guide Bailey and Daisy onto the
sidewalk, keeping Sheba in my arms as I’m not ready for
a repeat of a few hours ago. “How soon will you
be here?”
“Around two? I’m still prepping some of these hors
d’oeuvres.”
“Sounds great. I’ll be here. Just text me when you’re
close, and I’ll come down.”
 “Awesome. See you soon, Dahl.”
Hanging up, I head into the lobby. All I want now is a
cleansing shower and some rest, but I make sure the
dogs are fed first, and take them out back to the
enclosed dog parkette so they can empty their bowels
and bladders. When we get back up to Vivian’s unit, they
quickly settle down in their doggie room for some much-
needed napping.
Shortly after I’ve showered and had some time to
relax, Emily sends me a text message to let me know that
she just got top-side from the subway entrance a few
blocks away. I meet her outside the lobby’s revolving
doors. Emily is loaded down with armfuls of shopping
bags, and the duffel bag she uses to transport her
favorite kitchen preparation and cooking utensils.
“Hey Em,” I greet her. “Wait, you’re better off not using
the revolving doors with all those bags.”
“Holy crap this place is amazing!” she remarks as I
hold the glass side door open, nodding at the concierge
bellman as I beat him to it. “I can so get used to this.
God, I love this lobby. All these luxurious gold and red
decor trimmings would be such a great combination for a
dining area.”
I look around, trying to take it in through her eyes, as
though it’s my first time.
“Snap a few shots for your restaurant vision board,” I
tell her. Emily has been dreaming about carving out her
own fine dining piece of the pie long before I met her.
Judging from her vision board, which takes up an entire
wall of her bedroom, it’s all she wants in the world.
“My hands are full,” she reminds me, eyes still darting
around. “I’ll get some later. Where’s the elevator? Let’s
see what kind of kitchen I’m working with for this taste-
testing session.”
 I point at the elevator bays to the left and look over at
her, slightly surprised. “You didn’t make everything
beforehand?”
“Of course not. That would defeat the purpose. I need
you to give me your take on the dishes when they’re at
their ideal serving temperature. We can’t do that if I have
to package them up and cart them across the city
through all the vehicle pollution, and subway air, and
people. Your boss lady won’t mind if I use her kitchen,
will she?”
An elevator arrives, and we step on. “No, she won’t,” I
say, pressing the button to the penthouse level. “But be
ready for the dogs to be hovering and begging for scraps
at every turn.”
“A small price to pay for luxury,” she coos in a fake
British accent, giving me a wink as she flips back her
long blonde locks from one side of her face.
“Oh, and beware. Daisy opens the stove top pots
herself, FYI.”
“Shit. Really?”
I nod. “She’s large enough…and sufficiently skilled to
pull it off. Just don’t ask me if or when she’s liable to try
it. From what I’ve seen, Sheba’s the ringleader. I still can’t
figure out his patterns. Honestly, it’s a mystery to me
whether he just gets in a mood and encourages Daisy to
do his bidding.”
Emily smiles and cocks her head to one side. “I can’t
picture that little thing being a bad influence.”
“You should see what he put me through this
morning.”
“What did he do?”
The shame of Sheba leading me right to Jackson
cause my cheeks to burn again. “No biggie. He just got
me head to toe in mud, then face-to-face with the broody
billionaire next door who happens to hate dogs.”
“What? That bad, huh?” she asks as the elevator
opens at the penthouse level.
“Long story. I motion for her to get off first, and follow
behind. “I’ll fill you in while you make me some
comfort food.”
Bailey, Daisy, and Sheba are in the foyer waiting for
us as we walk in. “Y’all smelled the food, didn’t you?” I
ask. “If you behave, I may let you have a taste. Are you
gonna be good girls? And a good boy, Sheba?”
Sheba leaps up on my leg, wagging his tail and
stretching out his tongue to lick my hand.
“You’d better be good today, boy,” I say, patting the
top of his head. “The kitchen’s this way, Em.”
“This apartment is fabulous,” she says, sighing and
gasping for breath with every turn as we make our way
through the wide hallways to the custom kitchen. She
puts her bags on the kitchen counter and notices the
view from the sitting area on one side of the large space.
“And I get to top off preparing these tasty bites with a
view overlooking the Upper West Side! I’ve died and gone
to celebrity chef heaven!”
“I’m glad you like it,” I tell her, flopping down into the
cushioned back bar stools in the kitchen’s main seating
area, surrounded by my three doggie musketeers. “But
make it quick with the tasty bites, will you? I’m starving.”
“Hang tight. It’ll be ready soon.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No, I’ve got it all covered. Maybe you should tell me
what happened with the hot neighbor.”
While Emily spreads her various freezer bags, bowls,
chopping blocks, baking trays, knives and other
containers on the kitchen center island to get started, I fill
her in on Sheba’s misbehavior, from day one when Vivian
was leaving, right up to his stunt this morning.
“Jesus, it sounds like Sheba’s trying to hook you up
with Mr. Money Bags,” Em says.
“Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know. It appears to me that he only goes out
on the terrace if your neighbor’s around. And that little
joyride he had Daisy take you on this morning…maybe
Sheba was running through the park to see him.” She
opens the fridge to put a few items inside. “Oooh, a
double door stainless steel fridge with an icemaker, lower
lever freezer compartment, and a crisper too? And there’s
room! You’re so fucking lucky, Dahl.”
“This is temporary for me, remember? If anything, it’ll
make me jaded and depressed when I have to go back to
Brooklyn,” I whine.
“Enjoy it while you can, honey.” She hangs on to the
fridge door and turns to look at me. “Oh. That reminds
me. Can I come back tomorrow for a repeat?”
I shrug. “Uh, sure. You want to fatten me up or
something?”
“Well sure, there’s that. But didn’t I tell you? I’m one
of only three students from the culinary program who
were selected to assist the Blair Rasmus at a fundraising
gala for some of New York’s elite, no less.”
“Wow. No, you didn’t tell me…but I’ve been here all
week, so it’s all good. Congrats, Em!”
She nods proudly, placing some sour cream and
other containers in the free spaces of the moderately
packed fridge, then moves over to the oven and fiddles
with the heat settings to turn it on. “Thanks! Guess where
it’s being held?”
“You’re so excited, you should just tell me,” I say with
a grin.
“The Six-Twenty Loft! It’s the rooftop gardens at the
Rockefeller Center.”
“That’s awesome, Em. That event space is gorgeous!
Even if it is as a chef’s assistant, you’re one of the rare
few to grace the place.”
“Thanks, Dahl.” She opens one of the containers she
brought, and begins to spoon out what looks like scone
batter on a nonstick baking tray. “So, can we go back to
the hot neighbor?”
“There isn’t much more to share,” I tell her without
admitting anything more than I need to. Not that there’s
much more at all.
“Has he asked you out?”
“What? No. Why would he?”
“Because, well, it sounds like he might be into you.”
“No, he’s not.”
“You’re at least on his radar.”
“No, Sheba annoyed him, and if he keeps it up, it’ll be
my ass on the line.” I look down at Sheba, Bailey, and
Daisy resting on the floor beside me. Sheba whimpers
and lifts his head off the floor. “You heard that, didn’t you,
Sheba?”
He whimpers again and returns his head to his front
paws, wagging his tail as he patiently waits to sample
Emily’s hors d’oeuvres.
“I don’t think that’s all there is,” Emily says, placing
the baking tray in the oven. “What wealthy, busy
Manhattan native would ever take time out of their day to
invite you up to their office like that? And don’t tell me he
was just being neighborly.”
“I don’t know, hun.” Letting out a sigh, I shake my
head and get to my feet. I’m not going to add fuel to the
fire by admitting to the attraction I feel for Jackson. “I
have a ton of readings, and three lab write-ups to finish
this weekend. Give me a minute. I’ll grab my school stuff
upstairs.”
She smiles and starts working on some mini
sausages. “Take your time. I’m just getting warmed up.”
It takes me a few minutes to grab my backpack and
notebooks from my room upstairs, and when I return
downstairs, the terrace door is wide open.
“Emily? Are you out on the balcony?” I call out,
hurrying down the hallway to check the door.
“I’m still working on these appetizers,” she shouts
from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen. “Bailey
and Daisy are with me. Well, Daisy left for a minute and
came back. I don’t see Sheba in here.”
Alarm bells go off in my head and panic sets in. Crap.
“Sheba, I swear! There won’t be any treats tonight if you
snuck out again!”
I stick my head out through the open sliding door.
Sheba sees me from his spot at the glass partition to
Jackson’s section, barks wildly for a second, and as soon
as I’m within arms-length of him, he ducks through the
opening.
“No, Sheba! Get back here,” I call him, and start
mumbling under my breath.
I don’t expect Jackson to be home. I thought he was
dealing with something important at his office. Past
tense. Was dealing. Because at the moment, he’s
standing on the other side of the partition, and Sheba’s at
his feet.
“You owe me now, doll,” Jackson says with a cocky
half-smile.
“Mr. Knight, I’m…I was just upstairs for a minute. I
didn’t think Daisy would let Sheba out. Please, he hasn’t
done any damage. Can I just come to the front door
for him?”
He shakes his head. “You can come get your mutt,”
he barks. “But your apology won’t cut it. Not this time.”
“But he just got there.”
“And I told you if he does this again, you’ll have to
pay. I wasn’t making idle conversation when I said you’ll
be punished.”
I anxiously fold my arms across my chest as he steps
up to the terrace railing. He can’t possibly be talking
about pressing charges against me because of Sheba.
Can he?
“How much?” I ask. “What do I owe you? And I hope
you realize I don’t have much.”
“You’ve got plenty, doll,” he says, dragging his gaze
as far down my body as he can see from his spot.
“Actually, I don’t,” I disagree. “I’m on student loans for
college, and the money Vivian’s paying me to be here for
these few weeks is already spoken for.”
Jackson’s brother shows up at his door and steps
outside, but doesn’t see me right away. “Why the fuck are
you out here when we have things to dis—” he says, then
stops short when our eyes meet. “Oh. Hi.”
“Hello,” I answer. “I’m Dahlia.”
“Hey.” He returns his gaze to his brother. “So uh, I
have to leave soon,” he tells Jackson with a smirk. “I’ll be
in the study.”
“On my way.” Jackson turns to me. “Come to the front
door for your puppy. I’ll think about your payment and get
back to you.”
I walk through the condo unit and make it to the front
door. Jackson’s already waiting for me. Sheba’s bouncing
up and down around his feet as they wait.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocks the
screen, and hands it over to me. “Put your number in
there,” he instructs me.
I take it and silently add my number, then pass the
phone back to him. “Can you please reconsider, Mr.
Knight?” I plead. “I can’t afford to pay much, and I don’t
own anything, so there’s no point trying to sue me.”
“You’ll pay what I tell you to pay,” he says confidently,
turning back to his front door to go inside. “I’ll be in
touch.”
Aww hell. I’m so screwed.
 9

JACKSON

J ace is a bull in a china shop when he gets an idea

into his head. It’s early on Sunday morning, and
instead of sleeping in on account of the crazy ass
week we’ve had with this set of negotiations, we’re
heading to the country club in separate cars to share a
round of golf with Dad. This is all Jace’s brainchild. He
wants to drop a few hints about these Mont Blanc
irregularities, in the broadest of generalities, and see how
our father reacts.
It’s not a bad idea at all, except I prefer to spend my
Sunday mornings not wearing plaid or freezing my ass
off. Jace knows we can just as easily meet up with Dad
for breakfast later, although he’s less likely to be in a
welcoming mood by then. He’s always wanted to have
Jace and me at his side, partaking in his favorite sport,
rather than passing the eggs Benedict. Showing up while
he’s playing will help to ensure our conversation is well
received if Gerald’s name ends up in the mix.
Dad’s been at the golf course for over an hour
already, so when we arrive, his caddy is driving him back
in the golf cart to kick off a second round of nine holes.
I’m at a loss on how he managed not to lose a limb from
hypothermia out here. There are patches of ice and snow
drifts everywhere. Fuck, the turf crunches under my feet
as we start walking to the golf cart. There’s no way I’ll
make it through a full round, nor do I want to.
“Pops,” I call to him. “Any chance we can make this a
driving range visit instead?”
Dad gives me a hard look. “It’s not that cold, son. See,
this kind of weather will toughen you up for winter
rounds.” I’m hardened enough, but I keep my
commentary to myself and wait for him to mull it over. He
looks over at Jace. “What about you? Did I raise one
wuss, or two?”
Jace knows not to play into Dad’s ribbing. He raises
his eyebrows and presses his lips into a thin line. “None,
Pops. Can you feel that wind? It’s like the Arctic out here.
I’d actually prefer racquetball right about now. Or a hot
breakfast inside. And coffee. The driving range sounds
like a happy medium. How about it?”
“That would be two wusses,” Dad deadpans. “Driving
range it is, then.”
Jace and I don’t agree on everything, but we stick
together without exception when it comes to facing off
with Dad. Not that our old man is the enemy, but he’s old
school, a self-made billionaire who made his mark on the
cutthroat oil business in Texas. He’s as tough as they
come, and won’t hesitate to bust our balls to get a point
across.
His caddy sets us up at one end of the driving range,
giving each of us a tee-off spot and a large bucket of
balls. Dad is positioned between us, and he doesn’t
waste a second. We watch as he picks his favorite club,
sets himself on the patch of frost-covered turf, and makes
the swing, hitting his first golf ball.
 “Nice one,” Jace tells him.
Dad sets himself for another swing, but stops to
glance over at each of us. “Cut the crap, boys. Which
one of you is planning to tell me why you’re here?”
“We have a few questions,” I shout through the
biting wind.
He makes his swing and hits a perfect drive.
“About what?”
“Pretty general stuff. I’m curious, Dad, have you seen
a lot of hedge fund firms that have a hundred percent
stake in privately run companies?”
“Is this about Mont Blanc?” he asks with more interest.
“This is hypothetical for now, so let’s say, maybe. Are
there a lot of cases like these that you’ve run into?” I
repeat, if only to redirect him from the connection to Mont
Blanc.
He switches clubs in favor of a nine-iron, and resets.
“Only if the subsidiary has an IPO in the works, but the
parent company would have to divest itself of all
ownership at least a couple of years before the subsidiary
goes public. Otherwise, the SEC will get involved, and
once they crawl up your ass, don’t expect them to leave
empty handed.”
“Nice visual, Pop, but that does make sense. What if
they aren’t going public?”
“Then you can bet your last dollar the hedge fund firm
has plans to chop up the subsidiary and sell it for parts.
Think about it, kid. Firms like ours have no business
sticking our noses in the day to day operations of assets
in our ledger. It’s counterproductive.”
I nod over at Jace who, like me, hasn’t hit a single
drive yet. “Got it. IPO or liquidation.”
Dad stops practicing his swing and turns squarely to
me. “Do you boys need to tell me something?” I don’t say
a word, so he turns to Jace. “Anything?”
“No,” Jace lies, setting his golf club back in the case.
“Do you take me for a fool, boy? You two haven’t been
up this early in years, let alone come to the golf course to
see your old man. What the hell’s going on?”
“It’s way too early in the game to tell, Pops, but you’ll
be the first person we talk to once we verify some
information.”
“Make sure you don’t go getting yourselves in so deep
that you need me to bail your sorry asses out.”
Jace backs away from his lane and gives Dad the
thumbs up. “We won’t.”
“Hang on. Will I see you both at that charity gala your
Aunt Jenna organized?”
“When?” I ask, getting ready to leave.
“Tonight.”
“Yeah, uh, sure.”
“Good. Bring dates. A lot of my important connections
will be there. For men your age, having a woman on your
arm is just as crucial as your net worth. These people
want to know you’re stable,” he mutters in true
southern form.
“Dates. Female. Got it,” I tell him.
Jace adds, “I didn’t plan to bring anyone, Pops. I may
have to ask a last minute…friend.”
I smile at that one. His ‘friend’ is Cherry, Dad’s
assistant. And they’re a hell of a lot more than friends. I
can’t wait to see my father’s reaction when he finds out.
Dad hits another drive. “Hopefully your friend is of the
female persuasion. I’ll get Cherry to resend your invites
by email. Don’t be late.”
Jace swallows hard as we head back to our cars.
“Think he’ll notice if I don’t show?”
“He will. Just bring her.”
 He clicks the remote of his red Maserati parked beside
my baby, a silver Limited Edition Bugatti Veyron. “Yeah,
whatever.”
“He’ll deal with it.”
“Easy for you to fucking say. Who are you bringing?”
I can call several women in my contact list, most of
whom can easily navigate a formal event with a group of
wealthy socialites. But I don’t want that. I have one
person on my mind.
“You’ll find out,” I tell him, and jump into my driver
seat. “See you tonight.”
 10

DAHLIA

I discover that my weekend, and possibly my entire

life, is about to change during the process of giving
Sheba his regularly scheduled bath.
Emily sticks her head in the doorway, showing me the
locked screen of my phone. “Hey, I’m going to wrap up in
a few minutes, but your cell was just buzzing. A text
message just came in.”
“Who is it from?” I ask, without looking away from
Sheba, who will pounce out of his bath and track suds
and water all through the condo if I get distracted.
“Not sure. The number’s not in your contact list.”
“What does it say?”
“One second. I’ll check.” She unlocks the screen and
opens the message. “Oh, interesting! Who do you know
that would send you a text that says, ‘Hi, doll. Got plans
for the evening?’”
I know exactly who it is. “Give me a second,” I tell her,
avoiding her question. “I’ll check it out and reply when I’m
done here.”
“Hot date from vet school?”
“Not exactly.”
 “Can I just reply to them? I promise I won’t be too over
the top.”
“Ask him who he is first,” I instruct her, just in case it’s
not Jackson.
She keys in a short message, and a minute later she
shrieks. “The reply says that he’s your hot neighbor!”
“What?” I didn’t expect him to say something like that
in a text. Not when he’s been so aloof and somewhat
menacing. Well, except for my Central Park mishap. I
scramble to rinse off Sheba and take him out of his bath,
wrapping him in a warm towel. Wiping suds from the
back of my hand, I reach an arm out. “Give me the
phone. I’ll reply.”
My message to him reads, ‘Hi Mr. Knight. What’s up?’
‘It’s Jackson. And not much. Hang on. I’ll phone you.’
My ring tone goes off a minute later.
“Hi,” I answer, and Emily waves frantically for me to
put it on speakerphone, so I do. “What did you have in
mind for this evening?”
“There’s a formal tonight,” he rumbles in that raspy,
masculine baritone that’s much deeper over the phone.
“Want to go as my date?’”
I ignore the warmth spreading from my core and try to
focus. “You thought of me?”
“Sure. Think of this as a way to pay me back for
letting Vivian’s canine repeatedly run loose on my
balcony.”
“Real smooth, Jackson. You’re serious?”
“Like getting mugged in Central Park. Or a heart
attack. Take your pick.”
I begin to think about what I’ll wear, how much time I
have to get ready, and whether I need to get my hair and
nails done. Emily is nodding energetically, and mouthing
the word ‘yes’ over and over again.
 “Did your original date bail on you?” I ask.
“No. My dates don’t bail. Ever. I didn’t have one, and
now I want one. You.”
Gosh, he doesn’t stray from the direct approach, ever,
does he? My cheeks begin to grow warm at his
statement. “Where is it again? And when?”
“Tonight for eight o’clock. Rockefeller Center.”
Emily’s mouth goes wide, and her eyes bulge out of
her head because she’s working there tonight, possibly
for the same event.
“This is kind of last minute,” I mutter as a fleeting
objection.
“Are you up for it or not?” he grunts.
I’m itching to turn him down. It’s the smart thing to do,
but I also want to get an idea of how formal this formal is.
And how rich people party.
“Sure. I’d love to go.”
“Good stuff.”
“I’ll have to find something to wear back at my place,
but I should have enough time to make it.”
“No. Don’t worry about that. That part’s covered. Look
out for them to show up by five, and I’ll have my driver
pick you up at seven thirty.”
“Who do you mean by ‘them’?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s hair, makeup, and wardrobe.
Whoever Gemma usually sends out for these things.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Looking forward to it, doll. See you there.”
Emily’s bouncing up and down beside me as though
she drank from Sheba’s water bowl. “Oh my God. Your
hot neighbor asked you out on a date! Is he really hot? I
can’t believe he’s taking you to the same event where I’m
assistant chef tonight! I’m so freaking excited for you!
And they’re sending over an entire team to get you ready!
This is how the other half lives. Are you excited?”
I’m used to her run-on sentences and usual rambling,
so I smile and nod. “I’m curious.”
“You’ll be rubbing shoulders with the upper echelons
of New York’s high society,” she croons in a fake British
accent, which makes no sense at all.
“As long as I don’t have to act any different, I’ll
be okay.”
“If he invited you, that means you act just fine. Damn,
I won’t see them get you ready. I have to be onsite at
three this afternoon to start prepping the menu items.
Can you believe it’s a nine-course meal plus hors
d’oeuvres? Oh, wait. What time did he invite you for?”
“Eight.”
“Okay, that means you’ll skip the sit-down dinner at
the Loft. That starts at six. And they’ve reserved the
rooftop garden for social drinking, and the usual
schmoozing and dancing. You’ll have an amazing time. I
just know it!”
She disappears and returns a few minutes later,
holding a plate with sampling of the hors d’oeuvres she
prepared from scratch.
“Here, try this,” she says, pressing what looks like a
stuffed mushroom to my lips as I towel-dry Sheba.
Emily is excited for the both of us. I won’t deny that
I’m intrigued. Mostly, I don’t know what to expect. I wrap
Sheba in another warm towel and call out for Daisy. If I
run out of time, I can finish up with Bailey after school
tomorrow.
I have a date with a billionaire.
I’m not sure how to react to that.
etting ready makes me feel like a show dog going to her

G first kennel club championship.

Not fun at all.
Two and a half hours of poking and
prodding, hair pulling and scalp burning,
eyebrow plucking and fake eyelash applications make
Dahlia a cranky and uncomfortable girl. This is supposed
to be a beauty team, not a torture relay. From know-it-all
divas to overzealous huggers with no sense of personal
space, they work on my hair, nails, and face while
figuring out which ballroom gown goes with just the right
pair of designer shoes and accessories.
I shouldn’t complain. This may turn out to be a once-
in-a-lifetime thing for me. It’s just so painful. Someone
needs to remind these ladies that I was born with a
nervous system. My cuticles do hurt when they’re cut to
the point of minor bleeding. My eyes will get all watery
when poked at repeatedly. Don’t even get me started with
the eyebrow and over-the-lip waxing. I was proud of
myself for drawing the line when the hair stylist pulled
out her case of about eight pairs of scissors. No one is
touching my hair with shears just to make me pretty for
one evening out. She’s not too happy about my
resistance, and thankfully, piles my hair into a high updo
instead.
The beauty squad finally finishes up with me, and
hand me over to the wardrobe stylist.
Of all the professionals, I like her the most. The thirty-
something-year-old blonde who just goes by the name
‘Zoe’ took five minutes to do what she called “getting a
read on me,” not just for my size, which she nailed, but
also my softer, simpler personality and background. We
didn’t have to weed through dozens of outfits. She
passes me a black dress and instructs me to step into it
—to avoid a make-up smearing accident. The gown she
picked out is stunning on me. It’s a black, fitted, knee-
length cocktail dress with sequin embellishments, a
scooping low-V back, and long sleeves. Conservative and
not too revealing. Matching it up with diamond drop
earrings, Christian Louboutin glitter slingback heels, and
a similarly glittering clutch gives my overall look just
enough elegance to be considered formal.
They all hum and haw about how beautiful everything
is on me, and although I almost don’t recognize myself, I
can admit that their transformation presents the most
elegant version of me without completely turning me into
someone else. I’m satisfied, they’re ecstatic, and
hopefully, Jackson will be somewhere in the middle.
At close to seven fifteen, they pack up and leave just
as Jackson’s driver phones to let me know he’s here.
Dumping my keys, phone, driver license and my ATM
card in the clutch, I lock up and set out, designer heels
clicking on the marble floor. It’s my first real date since I
moved out east from Utah.
Maybe he’ll sweep me off my feet.
If he doesn’t punish me like he promised.

I ’m a country girl who needs to get back on the farm.

I’m out of my league.
Way out.
Like, if this were a baseball game, I’d be over behind
the portable restrooms, and the other gala attendees
would be on the pitcher’s mound.
Jackson’s driver, Mr. Sterling, turns the town car onto
the west entrance of Rockefeller Center, and my mouth
drops open at the sight. It’s dazzling, lit up like a
Victorian castle, complete with lighting effects that
emulate high walls, a tower, moats and a lowered
drawbridge.
The road has a never-ending line of Rolls Royce,
Bentleys, custom and limited editions of almost every
luxury vehicle under the sun, along with stretch
limousines and town cars. Valets dressed in burgundy
and black help the sophisticated passengers out of their
vehicles, and drive off to make room for more. Guests
stream across the mock drawbridge to enter. They’re
dressed to the nines, and I may be one of a tiny minority
of the women who aren’t in exquisite, full-length gowns.
I’m so engrossed with the feast of sights and sounds
that I almost don’t hear the text message ringtone on my
phone. Absently sliding it out of my purse, I take my time
to unlock the screen and pull up the message. It’s Emily,
wanting to know where I am.
‘Just rolling up outside.’
‘Oh my effing God!’
‘IKR?’
‘Hey, will come look for you later.’
‘Perf.’
‘Look for my hors d’oeuvres!’
‘Will do. See ya, Em.’
Mr. Sterling stops the car as I put my phone back,
and comes around to the passenger side, opening the
door for me. He gives me his card so I can phone him
whenever I’m ready to leave. After thanking him, I join the
surge of people on their way inside and get my phone
again, turning it up to full volume. Jackson will never find
me in this vast crowd.
Doormen keep the large, ornate door open and nod at
each guest as they enter.
As I step inside, I catch sight of him.
My hot billionaire date.
 11

JACKSON

T he tidal wave of tuxedos, white bow ties, and

cream cummerbunds in here reminds me why Dad
ends up having to beg, order or bribe me to attend
these events. The extra couple of incentives for being at
this particular shindig have to do with the fact that
someone—possibly Gerald Buchannan—invited the Mont
Blanc owners. So Jace and I are on the clock, greeting
guests, mingling, and playing our parts. Dylan, Caleb,
and Foster are also here, working the crowd and making
the most of the free-flowing wines and spirits.
I’m speaking with a longstanding client when Dahlia
walks in through the front entrance. She’s in a body
hugging yet tasteful cocktail dress that shows off her hot,
fuckable body, and legs that go on and on in those sexy
fuck-me pumps.
My eyes are riveted onto Every. Fucking. Curve.
My mouth goes dry, my hands forget what they’re
supposed to be doing, and my cock takes notice behind
the zipper of my tuxedo suit pants.
Dahlia is stunning.
I’m not quite sure how I cross the room, but we’re
face-to-face soon enough.
“Glad you could make it,” I tell her.
“Hi Jackson. Thanks for inviting me.”
I take some time to take in every feature of her face
and trail my eyes down her gorgeous body as she stares
up at me with those eyes, and that backcountry
innocence I’m starting to love. A server passes by and
lowers her tray of champagne flutes in front of us,
offering one to me and Dahlia, who’s empty-handed.
Dahlia turns it down.
“You’re not into champagne?” I ask after the server
leaves. “I can get you something else.”
“No thanks. I shouldn’t drink tonight, just in case they
card me.”
“But you’re not a minor…right?” I ask to make sure.
“Right. I’m almost twenty.”
Glad to have dodged a bullet, I take her hand and
lead her through the crowd to a spot with more breathing
room. We’re met by one of the food staff, who appears to
know Dahlia. The slim blonde pulls Dahlia off to a corner,
where they share a quick hug and a short conversation
mixed in with girlish giggles before the blonde leaves
again.
“That was Emily, my roommate,” she informs me on
her return. “It’s a weird coincidence that she’s working
here tonight.”
“Your friend is in good company, if Blair has her on his
catering team tonight.”
“Em’s really talented,” she agrees, taking in everyone
around us. “She’s assisting the chef.”
I rest a hand at the small of her back, and notice she
doesn’t react. Leaning my head down to hers, I whisper
in her ear, “Just to be sure I make this clear, you look
stunning.”
 Biting down on her bottom lip, she sucks in a ragged
breath and leans into my side. “Thanks. You too.”
I’d like nothing more than to march Dahlia out of here
so I can have my way with her, but playtime has to wait.
Dahlia takes the evening in stride, nodding politely
and making conversation as I introduce her to my brother,
who’s seen her a couple of times now, and our friends,
along with the clients or associates we bump into. It’s
either she’s a natural, or she’s been playing the part of
cute little country girl all this time. At this point, I don’t
care. She fits in well. Even Dad seemed impressed.
She excuses herself to find the restroom, and while
she’s gone, Dylan comes up to me.
“Where’d you find her?”
“She’s sort of a neighbor.”
He takes a swig of whiskey, the only thing he ever
drinks. “That’s one hot girl next door. Kinda young, but
hot. Who was her chef friend?”
“No idea. Want me to ask?”
“Nah, I can find out.”
I nod. “I remember the lengths you’ll go to for a piece
of ass.”
“Whatever it fucking takes,” he says with a grin. “Not
much different from your brother. Did you see he brought
Cherry tonight?”
“Yeah. He’s brave.”
“We’ll see how long your dad lets that go on for.”
“And Gerald. He’s her father.”
“Fuck, I forgot all about that. Anyhow, try to keep your
gigantic dick in your pants while you’re here. Your old
man won’t enjoy having to drag you off of a guest like
that last time.”
“Have you forgotten how to Math, motherfucker? That
was almost a decade ago,” I say with a slightly defensive
tone. He’s bringing up ancient history.
“Feels like yesterday.”
“Then your memory is shot, because I was seventeen,
for fuck’s sake.”
Dylan chuckles and pats me on the shoulder. “Oh,
while I have a minute with you, what do you make of
Mont Blanc’s VP of Risk Management?”
“What do you mean?”
“I asked him a couple of general questions about
Pantheon. Dude got nervous as hell.”
“There’s more to that. They’re just not sharing. Can
you do some more digging into why?”
“Sure.”
Dylan can be a wiz on the internet, so I add, “Just
don’t get caught.”
He gives me a nod and heads off to keep socializing. I
walk toward the nearest restrooms to look for Dahlia.
I don’t know why, but the more time I spend with her,
the more I want her.
Once.
Then I can forget about her. Just like the others. The
beauty of this situation is that if I sleep with her—not that
there’ll be much sleeping—it won’t really break my ‘don’t
crap where you sleep’ rule. She’s not really a neighbor.
She’s just here until Vivian gets back. I even like the best
part about it all. She wants me so bad, she doesn’t even
know it yet. It’s the way her breath catches whenever I
look at her. Her inhales get shallow, and her pupils dilate,
and that glow rises up her neck to her face. Like right
now as she walks over to me. Which makes a rare smile
lift up on my lips. I’m going to enjoy taking her. Owning
her for one night. Ruling her body and mind. And my
guess is she’ll love it too.
Although I’m sure she won’t know what hit her.
 Matter of fact, the innocence she gives off is kind of
freaking me out right now.
“Enjoying yourself so far?” I ask.
Her face flushes again as she nods.
“Wait until I get you home.”
An expression of fear washes over her face. This is
almost too easy. Dahlia straightens up and tries to
downplay the moan that escapes her lips.
“Just because I agreed to come out with you, that
doesn’t mean there’ll be more,” she says nervously.
I pull her close to me and move my hand lower down
her back. “Don’t tell me you can’t feel that.”
“Feel what?” she stammers out after her breath
hitches from my touch.
I smile as she freezes in place and her cheeks flush
to an even deeper shade of red. Keeping my eyes fixed
on hers, I run my hands down her sides, then back up
her body. “You want this.”
Dahlia stops my hand by covering hers over it, and
nervously looks around at the other guests near the
corridor. “You realize there are people around who can
see what you’re doing if they look closely enough, right?”
I clear my throat. “I don’t give two fucks what anyone
here thinks.”
“Not even me?”
The question gets my attention for some unknown
reason. Or maybe it’s her tone.
“Would you be offended if I said not even you?” I ask,
then realize how illogical that question is.
I wouldn’t ask her if she was offended if I didn’t give a
fuck what she thought. And she seems to catch that as
well, from that glint in her eyes that appears out of
nowhere. Biting down on her pink, full bottom lip, she
glances away. Fuck. Those lips do me in. Every. Fucking.
Time. I don’t want to wait any longer to taste them, to
smash my mouth onto hers and steal her breath, and
own her lips to the point where she forgets her
own name.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper into her ear, which is
intended to have an effect on her, but ends up making
my cock hard as slate.
I notice the almost indiscernible one-sided smile on
her face as she thinks it over. Something about it is
entertaining to her. She drags in a ragged breath of air,
but shakes her head.
“That wasn’t a request,” I add.
The statement makes an impression on her. And that
makes me want her even more. She looks up at me, eyes
wide with curiosity and a hint of fear. It’s an intoxicating
combination for me, chipping away at the very control I
want to have over her. Yet for the first time, I find that off-
balanced feeling to be…intriguing. Still, I have to regain a
level of control before I end up throwing her over my
shoulder and fucking her brains out in a restroom stall.
The last thing this young, sweet, innocent country girl
needs is for me to lose it and take her hard. Or maybe
that’s exactly what she needs.
“Okay,” she whispers after some time passes, but the
sound of a partially muted bark causes Dahlia to pull her
phone from her clutch purse. “Excuse me for one
second,” she says, and unlocks her phone to check who
knows what.
“Was that a bark?” I ask.
“It’s an app on my phone that keeps me connected
with the dogs. Kind of like a baby monitor, but with video
and audio.”
“They’re dogs, not babies.”
“I know, but you’ve seen what they can do. Imagine
how much more trouble they can get into while they’re
unattended.”
“They bark, and you jump? Vivian has you trained.”
“It’s not like that…not really.” She turns the phone to
me. “See? That’s their room. They’re still inside, so that’s
a good thing. Their water and food bowls are good too,
and if you look in the far corner of the room, you’ll see
their beds, and all three of them are resting.”
“Okay. So what was the barking about just now?”
“The app updates me every hour on how they’re
doing. They’re fine. See?”
She raises the phone closer to my face. Nodding, I
take her device, turn it off, and slip it into my pocket.
“Great. No need to check up on them for another hour.”
She looks up at me with an optimistic gaze. “You
weren’t really serious about making me pay because of
Sheba, were you? I mean, why would you invite me out to
this very sophisticated event and still have plans to
punish me?”
I can’t help but smile a bit. Dahlia’s going to find out
that I mean what I say. “Are you ready to learn what
happens when I give my word about something? Let me
spell it out for you, doll. Your coming to the gala was a
chance for us to get to know each other better. It has
nothing to do with my promise.”
“Can you at least tell me what you plan to do?”
“I’d prefer to show you.”
Blood drains from Dahlia’s face. I haven’t seen
anyone turn this pale so fast before. What’s she so
scared about?
“What do you want from me?” she stutters out the
question.
“Telling is never as good as showing can be.”
“How do you mean? Do you prefer to write the
number down? It’s a dollar amount, right?”
“Some may put a dollar figure on it, but I don’t.”
“So it’s not money?”
I press my lips together and shake my head. “You’ll
pay, but not with cash.”
“With what, then?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“All right, I guess.” She pulls away from me. Pain
mixes in with the confusion in her eyes and creates some
distance between us. “You go ahead and entertain
yourself here. I need to go home…if it’s still okay for your
driver to take me back.”
“And why is that?”
“It’s not easy for me to be here to begin with, let alone
enjoy myself when I know you’re about to drop a bomb,
and seem to really like knowing that you’ve put me in a
vulnerable position.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You got yourself here.
Well, Vivian’s dog did, which you’re responsible for at the
moment.”
“Maybe you have a thing for playing games with the
weak and powerless.”
“Yes and no. I don’t play. I win.”
“Meaning?”
“You crossed a line, and there are consequences
for that.”
“I wish you’d just tell me exactly what you want
from me.”
A broad smile lifts my lips. My dick can’t be any more
excited. Before the end of the night, Dahlia will find out.
 12

DAHLIA

I ’m tied to his bed and completely naked.

Curiosity, attraction and a hint of fear got me in
this situation.
I’ll probably have to beg to get myself out.
There’s no explanation for why I allowed things to go
this far. He doesn’t utter a word when he leads me off the
rooftop and out of the gala. We sit silently at the back of
his limousine, each of us on separate sides of the
vehicle, avoiding the energy coursing through the air
between us for the drive home. We don’t speak for the
short walk inside or the elevator ride to our floor, and
when he takes my hand and shows me to his door
instead of Vivian’s, I go with him willingly.
Maybe I should resist or object in some way, but the
words don’t come, and there’s a part of me that doesn’t
want to leave his side.
The cocktail dress is now in a crumpled pile near the
bedroom door, along with my bra and panties. Because
I’m in Jackson’s bed with nothing on. I crane my neck up
at the rich red silk ribbons that Jackson uses to tie my
wrists to the bedposts. Looking up in that direction is
somewhat better than the alternative, because looking
down my body will only remind me that I stood at the
door of Jackson’s room, frozen like a doll while he
undressed me.
He stands at the side of the bed, grazing his eyes
appreciatively down my body. The contrast of my utter
nudity compared to his being fully dressed in a tuxedo
adds to the power he has over me. But it’s my doing. I
gave that power to him the second I got here. I don’t
regret handing it over to him, but I’m curious about how
he’ll use it. Curious and hopeful. And more aroused than
ever. All I can do now is press my thighs together and
wait. Well, there are some things I can do, and a whole
lot more I should do, but I have to admit, the mental state
I’m in feels like anticipation mixed with suspended
judgment. Letting the moment take me wherever Jackson
wants to go feels strangely right.
Jackson leaves through the door we came in from,
and I use the time to look around the massive bedroom
decorated in tan and chocolate tones. The lights are
turned down, casting shadows across the two club-style
cream leather armchairs near the floor to ceiling glass
windows looking out over Central Park North. The blinds
are up, and moonlight mixed in with city lights stream in
through the glass, making the room appear brighter now
that my eyes have adjusted. Lifting my head for a better
view, I try to bring my elbows close to my body for
support, and am reminded that my hands are still tied up.
I rest my head back down on the pillow, wondering what
Jackson will do to me. One thing has to happen
somewhere along the way. Any minute now, I’ll have to
tell him that I’m a virgin.
A shallow sigh escapes my lips when Jackson returns
to the room a few minutes later. His tuxedo jacket, vest,
and bowtie are gone. He’s undone the top few buttons of
his dress shirt, and looks a lot more relaxed now in just
the shirt and slacks. Stopping at the foot of the bed, he
holds two wine glasses in one hand. In his other hand,
he grips the handle of an expensive looking silver bucket
filled with ice that half covers a bottle of red wine. He
rests the glasses on the nightstand closest to him, and
retrieves the wine from the ice bucket.
Opening the bottle of wine with a sleek electronic
corkscrew, he fills both glasses and returns the bottle to
chill in the ice. I start to wonder if he’ll untie one of my
hands so I can drink with him. Moments later, he answers
my silent question by sitting beside me. With one steady
hand slid under my neck, he gently lifts my head and
upper body before picking up one of the glasses of wine.
“Have a few sips. It’ll help you relax,” he instructs me.
I do as he says, gazing up into his eyes as I take two
small sips, careful not to spill any wine on his expensive
white-on-white stripe sheets that feel like satin. The
chilled liquid travels over my tongue, infusing its semi-
sweet, slightly tart flavor along its path to my throat, and I
swallow. He pulls the glass from my lips and places the
glass on the nightstand again, then lightly glides the
back of his hand down the side of my cheek. My eyes
close, and my head leans into his warm touch, craving
more. Then Jackson lowers his face to just inches
from mine.
“You’re quiet now, but I’m going to make you
beg, doll.”
I swallow hard, and my throat releases an unintended
sigh. It’s the first of what’s sure to be many instances of
my body betraying me by revealing how aroused I am
right now. I’m filled with lust, from the center of my core
to every tingle along my skin. And he’s barely touched
me yet. Heat and need are pooling between my legs, my
nipples are hard from the cold air and from being
exposed, and my skin is surely hot to the touch and
working on overdrive.
Jackson really doesn’t know me, so I’m at a loss for
how to inform him that I’m not likely to beg for anything at
all. Or maybe I’m about to learn that I’m dead wrong.
I open my mouth to form an answer, anything at all,
but my attempt is put on hold by his hands trailing down
past my neck, across my collarbone, and pausing mere
inches from my nipples. He’s going to stretch this out. I
just know it, but I’m not going to complain. The longer
Jackson takes to make it to the punch line of this
salacious evening, the more time I have to muster up the
courage to admit that he’ll be the first man to ever be
inside of me.
Assuming we get that far at all.
My lips stretch across my teeth threatening to bring a
smile to my face for a moment as I picture myself still tied
to his bed a week from now. At the rate he’s going, I’ll still
be a virgin. He lifts his hands from my skin in a
painstakingly slow pace, and my chest raises off the bed,
yearning for him to inch toward my breasts.
I should be scared. Terrified. The truth is I’m taking a
risk being here, allowing myself to be taken by a man I
hardly know.
Jackson reaches up and runs his hand along the side
of my head, tucking some stray strands of hair behind my
ear. I shiver at the spark of electricity that spreads from
his fingers and hits me like lightning. Does he feel it too,
or is this buzzing, aching, and breathlessness only going
on in my head? I hesitate to ask that question aloud.
He stares into my face. Somewhere playing in his
features is the answer. I shouldn’t trust him, but I do.
Looking into his light blue eyes, I tilt my chin up
toward him.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs.
Maybe tonight is exactly the way it needs to be.
Thinking back to my high school years and this past year
at college, I can’t remember taking the initiative for
anything except my studies. I went out on dates with the
boys who asked, and made friends with the girls who
came to me. I never had the guts to make the first move.
The sad part about this realization is I can’t even
complain. I don’t have a single recollection of a time
when I wanted to do anything different. There’s no boy I
wish that I’d kissed and never got to. There’s no regret
about a friendship that never came to fruition, or one that
ended before it should have.
I’ve never asked for much. What’s worse is I haven’t
ever had to fight for anything.
It’s as though I’ve been moving through my existence
like a lifeless rag doll.
Christ, it’s no wonder I’m still a virgin.
Tonight has to be different.
Mind you, Jackson has stripped me naked and tied
me to his bed, so on some level, he’s already exerted a
measure of control over me. He’s already made me his
doll. But his suggestion is resonating in my thoughts. I’m
going to have to beg for what I want. Nothing will happen
without my asking for it.
“Kiss me.”
I can hardly hear the words leave my lips, and
Jackson confirms when he asks me to repeat what I said
and to make sure I ask nicely.
Clearing my throat, I part my lips again. “Please kiss
me, Jackson.”
He slides his hand to the base of my neck and grips
my hair, bringing our faces closer. My eyes flutter closed
as he brushes his lips against mine.
“Of course, I’ll kiss what’s mine, doll,” he whispers
against my lips.
My core clenches, and heat spreads out from the
spot, making my knees go weak, and I’m almost glad to
be tied to this bed, so I don’t end up molding my lips
to his.
 13

JACKSON

I should make her wait some more, but there’s no

stopping me now.
The country girl has said the one word I’ve been
waiting to hear, and she asked nicely.
She opened her mouth to whisper something, but I
stop her by taking her lips for the kiss I wanted to give
her all week. I wrap a hand around her waist, gripping
her back as my tongue parts her lips. She molds to my
chest as much as she can with her bindings, yielding to
each swish of my tongue as I explore every contour of her
mouth. Tasting her for the first time is more intense than I
expect. I want to cover every inch of her body with mine
and impale her hard without holding anything back.
But where’s the fun in rushing it?
Moving deeper into the kiss, I support my weight with
one arm and stretch out beside her. She can’t turn to
face me, but she does what she can with her legs, sliding
one up and down between my ankle and calf through my
pants, until I have to pull away, so I don’t end up ripping
off my clothes and burying my cock deep inside of her.
The entire night is ahead of us, so I plan to pace myself
and taste every inch of her before I fuck her hard.
I pull apart from our kiss, and smile as she takes a
breath and runs her tongue over my bottom lip, eager to
continue. I’m just as ready to devour those lips again.
Raising off the bed, I move to the spot between her
knees, parting them to make room as I bury my hands
into her long, raven tresses, and tilt her head up sharply,
crashing my mouth over her lips.
Her feet slide up the bed and she presses her thighs
against the outside of my legs. Heat radiates from her
center and in an instant, I’m rock hard. Gripping her back
with one hand, I lower my torso and hips to her body,
letting my full weight rest on her as I grind my cock at her
barely legal pussy, separated only by my boxers and
slacks.
Dahlia is hardly breathing, surviving on the lungful of
air we share, and manages a whimper that sounds like
words. I want to stifle out the sound, to keep this kiss
going, but she repeats the words.
“Sorry, what?” I ask, pulling from her mouth to let her
speak.
“I said, I haven’t been with a man…like this. I just
wanted you to know.”
There’s no stopping the ringing in my ear that sounds
like I’m in the middle of a room during a five-alarm blaze.
Lifting up off her torso, I study her face. “Did you just say
you’re a—”
“A virgin,” she answers, finishing my sentence. “Yes.
I’m…that.”
A slew of questions surface, along with two urges
fighting each other in every single cell in my body. The
one hardwired to my dick wants to end her virgin status
right this second. Right here in my bed. The other—the
one that seems to be drowning out every other thought—
wants me to untie her and send her packing.
My brain wins.
My dick loses.
And I get her out of my bed, dressed, and on the
other side of my front door within minutes. If I wanted to
take a virgin to bed, it has to be on my terms. I’d buy one
at an auction like my close friend, Foster, did.
 14

DAHLIA

A s a word, ‘embarrassed’ doesn’t cut it.

mortified,
Neither does ‘humiliated.’
Not even a string of adjectives like ashamed,
blushing, uncomfortable, abashed,
disconcerted, shamefaced, chagrined, awkward, self-
conscious, agitated, sheepish, upset, discomposed,
flustered, or distressed do the trick.
No, they aren’t enough to describe what I’m feeling
right now as I stand on the inside of Vivian’s front door,
trying to get my bearings. One second, Jackson is
kissing me and bringing desires that I never knew were in
me to the surface. The next, he’s practically exorcising
me from his place.
I want to disappear, or move back to Utah, and hide in
my old bedroom for a year. Maybe two. There’s also the
disbelief. What’s so wrong about being a little
inexperienced, anyway? Okay completely and utterly
untouched, but whatever. He didn’t have to discard me
like I’m garbage.
Taking a long breath, I lock the front door and take the
main staircase to the second floor. My first stop is to the
dogs’ room, where I find them resting peacefully. Grateful
that they were good doggies while I was gone, I go to my
room, get my dress off—again—and flop into bed.
This day needs to end.

I ’m awoken to the sound of loud banging on a door.

My eyes take forever to open, mostly because I’m
exhausted, but also due to the crusty stuff that
formed around the mascara that I didn’t clean from my
face when I dragged my sorry ass to bed. When they
finally do open, the first thing I notice is that it’s still dark
outside my window. Reaching for my phone to check the
time, my hands meet bare, cool nightstand. There’s
nothing on the nightstand but the alarm clock. Crap. My
phone is probably still in Jackson’s pants pocket. I take a
wild guess that he’s the one practically breaking down
the front door. The image pops into my head of him
standing there with my phone hanging between his
fingers, disgusted that there’s a remnant of me that I left
behind in his condo.
Throwing a bathrobe over my bra and panties, I hurry
down the stairs. With a quick inhale to brace myself for
seeing Jackson this soon after his terse rejection, I pull
the door open and grab the phone from his open palm.
“Thanks,” I say, keeping it short and not waiting for
him to speak before pushing the door closed. Except I’m
not fast enough. Jackson has his foot wedged in the
doorway. Inching my eyes from his foot, up his body to
his face, I cock my head to one side. “Can I help you with
something else?”
“Why did you wait that long to tell me?” he demands.
 I’m not ashamed anymore, just angry. “Look, it was all
a mistake, okay? Forget it ever happened. If I owe you
any damages because of Sheba, just slip a note under
the door with the amount. I’ll find a way to pay for it.
Sorry, it’s late. I need to get some rest now, so if you’d
please step away from the door, that would be great.”
Jackson removes his foot, but doesn’t quite leave. He
stands there, staring at me with a curious glint in his eyes
as I push the door closed and lock it. He may be
interested now, but I’m not. All the allure he had
disappeared hours ago, when he acted like I was a
pariah on account of being a virgin country girl.
With anger continuing to rise to the surface and brim
over, I stomp over to Vivian’s supply closet near the
kitchen. I search high and low for anything I can use to
lock down the terrace. On a top shelf, my fingers touch a
long plastic wrapper. Pulling it forward, I find exactly what
I need. Reinforced cable tie-wraps. The thick, rugged
kind that cops use when they run out of handcuffs.
I don’t give a damn about why Vivian has supplies like
these in her possession. Heading to the sliding doors that
Daisy has mastered opening, I eyeball the width of the
space between the two door handles. These tie wraps
will work, and I won’t have to see Jackson’s face for the
rest of my time here. Pooping and scooping can happen
on the main floor at the doggie park.
I loop and fasten a tie-wrap around each handle, and
use a third to connect them together. Then I pull hard on
each end, almost happy as the little plastic teeth engage
and tighten until the doors can’t move an inch. This won’t
come undone, but for good measure, I add three more
sets to the handles. Even if Daisy tries to chew it, I’ll have
more than enough time to stop her from getting out.
Feeling accomplished, I get my phone from the foyer
and return to bed. It’s close to four in the morning when I
close my eyes again. As I drift off, my only wish is for my
brain to wipe away the image of Jackson kneeling
between my legs, kissing me passionately, about to take
away my innocence.
 15

DAHLIA

T he dogs are out of control. They were fine when I

got back from class, but now, it’s pure mayhem. I
assume that they’re acting like this because
they’ve been cooped up all day. Taking them for a really
long walk seems sensible, so I put them on their leashes,
tuck my treat and baggie supply pouch, cell phone, and
keys in my winter coat pocket, and open the front door to
make our way to the elevator.
Except that’s not what they do.
Sheba, Daisy, and Bailey all burst through the door
and drag me across the hall before I can even try to lock
up. They’re going in the opposite direction from the
elevators, and only come to a stop in front of
Jackson’s door.
“What on God’s green earth is going on with the three
of you?” I ask, looking down at them.
Of course, I don’t expect an answer, but Daisy begins
to whimper and cry, Bailey starts howling, and Sheba
joins in with his insufferably loud, high-pitched barking.
At the angle that Daisy stands to the wall, her tail slaps
wildly against Jackson’s door. I pull on their leashes with
a bit of force. Not enough to hurt them, but just enough
to remind them of their training.
They don’t budge from their spots.
“Come here, doggies,” I plead, as this is the last place
I want to be right now.
They don’t move. I call, I whistle, I try to bribe them
with doggie treats. Nothing works. I don’t understand.
This behavior is completely unlike them. Hoping for
something to work, I let go of their leashes, return to
Vivian’s door, and push it open, calling them back inside.
No dice. They’re not moving. In fact, they’re louder now.
Returning to their sides again, I scoop up Sheba in my
arms, hoping I can bring them back to Vivian’s one by
one at least.
Anything to get them the hell away from Jackson’s
front door.
But Sheba growls at me, acting like he’ll bite me any
minute now for tearing him away from Jackson’s door.
What the hell?
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him as though he can
understand me. “I don’t know what’s got into you, but I’ll
take you all to your doggie beds, and get you nice and
fed, and you’ll all calm right down, okay? Everything’s
going to be all right.”
He more or less calms down, so I hold on to Bailey’s
collar and try to coax her to come with me.
Bailey’s not moving.
Bailey’s not moving?
Very strange. She’s the calm one, the one that goes
with the flow, but all of a sudden, she seems to have
developed an affinity for Jackson’s condo too?
I am stumped as to what to do next, but fate appears
to make that decision for me. Jackson opens the door a
little too widely. He doesn’t get to open his mouth and
shout at me, because Sheba pries himself forcefully from
my arms and jumps to the ground. Then all three dogs
run to him. Daisy lifts up on her hind legs and props her
front paws on Jackson’s chest, licking his face while
Bailey sits at his side. And Sheba, well he’s a bouncing
ball right now, trying to launch himself into
Jackson’s arms.
If Jackson wanted to tie me down for what Sheba did
last week, I can’t imagine how he’ll make me pay for this.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him tersely, although as sorry as I
am, there’s no sign of contrition that my voice used to
have before. “You know I would never bring them here if I
had the choice. I don’t know what’s gotten into them.
They started acting up about half an hour ago, and won’t
stop. I was about to take them out for a walk, but they
came this way instead, and refused to leave your front
door. Then you opened it.”
He just stands there looking stern. It’s more than just
serious, and although I can’t put my finger on why, I
know that something’s wrong.
“Is everything okay?”
“Get your dogs out of here,” he mutters, but Sheba
scampers off into his foyer and disappears somewhere in
his condo unit, followed closely by Bailey, then Daisy.
Have they all lost their ever-loving minds?
“I’ll get them. It’ll take me a while, but I’ll start with
Sheba and get them out of your hair one by one. Again,
I’m sorry, Jackson.”
I follow him as he goes from room to room, and he
stops short at his study. “They’re in here.”
He waits at the door with his arms folded over his
chest as I slip past him and go to the side of the leather
sofa where they’ve taken up residence, it would appear. I
reach for Sheba, and he actually bares his teeth at me.
This is a clear message. He wants me to back off, and is
warning me before he gets more aggressive.
“What in the world?” I glance over at Jackson and
stretch my arm out to grab the end of Sheba’s leash. “He
has never done anything like this.”
Jackson has probably had his fill of us by now. He
enters the room and takes a seat on the sofa, leaning to
the side to grab Bailey’s collar. That’s when Sheba jumps
into his lap, and Daisy comes to his other side. Bailey
rests her head on Jackson’s knee, and Daisy licks the
side of his face.
They’re guarding Jackson?
What’s more strange is Jackson isn’t pushing
them away.
“Sit,” he says, and I start to wonder if he’s addressing
the dogs, or me.
“What?” I ask him without looking his way.
“Have a seat. They’ll leave when they’re ready.”
I’m about to write off this last twenty-four-hour period,
because hell, I must have stepped into an alternate
reality.

“W hat happened to you today?” I ask after we’ve

been sitting silently on the sofa for what feels like
forever. His expression is dark, deadly serious. The look
he gives me sends a sharp, sudden chill down my spine.
If I can just focus long enough to get through the next
little while, I won’t have to feel his gaze on me again.
“Nothing. Everything. It’s fucking complicated.”
“Try me.”
He scoffs out a weak laugh. “You don’t want to know.”
 “It must be bad. I mean, it’s affected you to the point
that the dogs must be sensing you need comforting.”
He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head as if I’m
wrong. “Dogs aren’t that smart.”
“They’re smarter than you think. Why else would they
come to you?”
Jackson cocks his head to one side, brows furrowed
with confusion. But it’s mildly entertaining for him to be
skeptical right now, with a Great Dane, a Shih Tzu and a
Bull Terrier all nuzzling into him like they’re his pets.
Jackson leans back and rests his head on the chair back
again, crossing his arms above the dogs’ heads. Those
muscular arms that have always been hidden under suit
jackets, long-sleeved shirts and tuxedos.
Until today.
I can’t keep my eyes from staring at his sleeve of
tattoos on each arm, or the outline of his massive chest
as he sizes me up, putting distance between us with his
almost unreadable eyes. His silent gazes are too intense.
I can’t handle much more of this, so I slap my palm
against my knee to see if the dogs are ready to listen to
me again. Jeez. They’re not even interested in looking
my way.
Then Jackson unfolds his arms and places his hand
over mine.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he says out of the blue.
What? This again?
“You’re kidding me, right?” I say through gritted teeth.
“No. That’s why I let you go.”
I’m seeing red. The heat rises up my neck into my
face. My chest is pounding hard, blood drumming that
much harder in my ears, and my stomach does a flip
from nausea—or something else. He’s the rudest, most
obnoxious, arrogant, sexy man I’ve ever met in my life. I
have no idea why the dogs have taken such a liking to
him. For a moment, the question of why he has this effect
on me overtakes my mind. I should be much more
offended too. And I am, but I’m also… drawn to him. I
have to shake my head at the thought. Drawing in a deep
breath, I remind myself that I don’t need this. Mind you,
he just confirmed that he’ll let the whole trespassing
thing slide.
Damn. I wish Sheba hadn’t stepped foot on his
terrace.
My trembling hand shoves his away from my lap. My
legs work, so I get to my feet to leave. As long as he
doesn’t send the dogs to the pound, they can stay with
him for a few hours.
“You have my number. Phone me when you’re ready
for me to pick them up.”
“Wait. This isn’t easy for me.”
He motions for me to sit. I don’t return to his side, but
take a seat on the creamy button back armchair a few
feet away.
Then he takes a breath, and tells me everything.
From the few weeks that he’s had at work, to details
about his childhood, to the way he keeps everyone at an
emotional distance. Which is why he sent me packing
when he found out I’m a virgin. He actually thought I’d
get attached to him. Okay, maybe I would have.
Anyway, it’s touching to see him in this new light, but
my heart breaks when he tells me about this acquisition
deal they’re working to close, and on what Jace has just
learned about their mother. One part makes me want to
bawl my eyes out. That the experimental drug that led to
their mother going into remission from breast cancer is
also the cause of the side effects that killed her two years
later. The company illegally buried the data and removed
her results from the trials so they could push through
FDA approvals. And it’s this same company that’s in the
group of subsidiaries they’re negotiating to acquire.
Looking over at him right now, I can’t even fathom how
he’s able to cope with both the tragedy and the irony of it
all. I’m not just sad for him. I’m angry. His family deserves
justice. Someone needs to pay.
I search for something to say, but the words don’t
come. Nothing feels fitting.
Jackson slides the dogs off of him, getting to his feet.
He steps up to me in a few ground-eating steps, and next
thing I know, he’s pulled me to my feet, and his hands
are on both sides of my face, his intense eyes staring
down at me.
 16

JACKSON

I made a mistake last night, but Dahlia will make me

pay for fucking up her night. That’s the loop of
monologue stuck in my head as I walk into our
private executive conference room at the office. But I can’t
do anything about it right now.
Duty calls, so here I am.
Jace isn’t here yet. Our closest friends and hedge
fund partners give me a nod from their spots around the
boardroom table. Dylan Worthington, Jace’s best friend
and our Chief Investment Officer, has his laptop out. He’s
sporting a scowl as he stares at the screen. Dylan has a
Master’s degree in Economic and Financial Modeling
from MIT, and I’m sure if I check the laptop, I’ll find some
investment regression analysis he’s working on. My two
best friends since high school, Caleb Mitchell and Foster
Evans, both Investor Relations VPs, are scrolling through
their smartphones, checking emails.
“When’s the golden boy planning to grace us with his
presence?” Caleb asks, looking up from his phone just
long enough to make eye contact.
“Any minute now.”
 Caleb shakes his head with his usual apathy, and
places his phone on the tabletop. He has never liked the
direction we’re taking to acquire Mont Blanc, and has no
problem stating his objection every chance he gets.
“Does he know he has us waiting? I’ve got to get across
town to meet one of the Carrington’s. If we sign this guy,
it gives us close to three hundred million in liquid assets
to work with. Cash is fucking king in this business, not all
the groveling we’ve been doing to pay through the nose
for a shit competitor.”
“Why don’t you tell us how you really feel?” Dylan
says wryly without looking up from his laptop screen.
I’m sitting closest to the boardroom door, so I pick up
the chime of an elevator opening down the hall before
the others notice.
“Chillax. He’ll be here.”
Jace comes into view. He’s carrying a sleek black
briefcase as he walks along the wide hallway that runs
perpendicular to the full length of this wing of executive
offices and a couple of conference rooms.
“Gentlemen,” he greets us as he enters, pushing the
door closed behind him.
Turning my swivel chair, I give him a knowing glance
as he takes his seat at the head of the table.
Dylan looks up from his spot on the other side of
Jace. “What’s the word?”
“Not great.”
Caleb looks over at him. “What happened?”
“This deal is falling apart, gentlemen. One fucking
piece at a time. It’s brutal, but I’m almost grateful we’re
facing it now instead of cleaning up a massive mess if we
let this deal close as is.”
“We’re used to Dylan overreacting,” Caleb says,
running a hand over his tousled blond hair, made that
much messier by the five-hundred-dollar haircut he
continually boasts about. “Are you going to have a
fucking meltdown right there? This is why I pushed back
my meeting with one of the Carrington’s?”
“Calm the fuck down and let him talk,” Dylan mutters.
“I’m fucking calm,” Caleb shouts. “I just got work to do
that can’t be done by sitting behind a computer,
monitoring goddamned risk analysis models.”
“Can you girls quit your bickering and let Jace give his
update?” I bark.
They lean back in their chairs, turning to Jace.
“All right. The only upside of this whole situation our
forensics guy found out is that Gerard hasn’t had a
chance to get to our CEO to convince him that we’re
overreacting.”
“What did he find out?” Foster asks. “Caleb and I
have been out of the loop, as we’re not at the bargaining
table.”
“Exactly, because we’re busy filling the pot with new
business, instead of emptying it with expensive as fuck
acquisitions.”
Jace rests his elbows on the table and lowers his
head to his hands, rubbing his temples. He looks
exhausted, and waits a beat to finally speak.
“Well, I’m sorry we’re getting new information at this
late stage in the game…but it speaks to the scope of this
massive buy.” He slides a thick file across the table to
Dylan. “I only have one copy, so take a look at the three
tabbed pages, then pass it on.”
Dylan squints at the pages, and as he’s halfway
down, his eyes start to bulge. “How did this not get
flagged during our discovery?” he asks, quickly scanning
the other two pages before passing it on to Foster.
Both Foster’s and Caleb’s reactions are identical.
Disbelief, then slight panic.
“We’re fucked,” Foster says.
Now I can’t wait to pore over the page, but as I get my
chance to read it, I wish I hadn’t.
“Walk us all through these details,” I tell Jace.
“What’s there to walk through?” Caleb protests.
“Gerald fucking Buchannan tried to sell us a shit show at
top dollar. And what’s worse is Pantheon and Triple
Shield may just be the tip of the fucking iceberg.” He
looks at his rose gold Patek Philippe watch. “I don’t have
time for this shit. Let’s just figure out what we can do
about it.”
“I say we walk away,” Dylan announces, dragging the
file across the table to take another look. “Or we ask
them to divest the shell company that owns these two
sinking ships.”
“Not gonna happen.”
We all stare at each other in silence for some long
moments.
“I’ve got a meeting,” Caleb repeats.
“We all have shit to do,” Dylan barks.
Jace stairs up at the ceiling as Dylan packs up his
laptop and leaves the boardroom. Caleb and Foster
aren’t far behind.
“We’ve got to get this in front of Dad,” Jace groans.
I get to my feet. “No. Let’s go to Gerald.”
“That’ll only give him time to cover his ass with Dad.”
I pull out my phone and find Gerald’s name in my
contact list. “We have to try. Can you spare an hour
right now?”
“No, but I’ll make time.”
I press the call button and turn on the speaker. And
after a few rings, Gerald answers.
“Hello?”
 “Gerald. Jackson here. I have you on speakerphone
with Jace. We need to stop by your office in say, twenty
minutes?”
“I’m on my way to another meeting. Can this wait?”
“No. It can’t. Can you swing by our office?”
“It depends on how much time you need. What’s this
about?” he probes.
“Make it happen. We’ll explain everything when you
get here.”
“All right,” he says with hesitation. “Give it about
fifteen minutes for me to get through this ridiculous
uptown congestion.”
Jace gives me a hard look as I end the call. “I hope
you know what you’re doing.”
“It’s the only way.” Checking the time on my phone, I
start walking to the door. “I’ve got to take care of a few
things. I’ll tell Gemma to let the receptionist have Gerald
meet us in my office.”
He follows me out and turns in the opposite direction
from my office. “Have her call me when Gerald arrives.”

“T his is why you called me here?” Gerald asks when

Jace hands over the folder with all the dirt on
Pantheon and Triple Shield.
Jace shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you trying to
tell us that you meant for us to find out about these
disasters waiting to happen? You call this due diligence?”
“I wasn’t hiding it.”
“Dad trusts you, Gerald,” I remind the old prick. “This
is the kind of thing he’d expect you to bring up at the
onset of a negotiation. Neither of our firms’ lawyers raised
this as a risk, and this shit is significant.”
“It’s a non-issue,” he says dismissively. “It affects
nothing. You should be more interested in the
conversation I had with the Mont Blanc CEO.”
Jace’s phone rings then. He surprises us both by
excusing himself to take the call.
“He called you?” I ask, briefly glancing at Jace as he
heads down the hall with a dire expression on his face.
“Sure, he called me. Or I phoned him. What’s the
difference at this point of closing the deal? What matters
is they’re starting to doubt whether this deal will go
through at all. I already warned you a week ago that we
can’t leave them hanging too long.”
“Why? What happened? Are they shopping our offer
around?”
“What if they were?”
“At this point? Maybe they should have someone else
buy them out. They came to us for a reason, and you
need to remind them that they need us, not the other way
around. What self-respecting Wall Street hedge fund
company would look at them twice if the Pantheon and
Triple Shield details were on page one of their
prospectus?”
“You and your brother are overreacting, your father
would never waste my time with this minutia…” he
studies my reaction as he speaks, then nods with a new
understanding. “Does Joseph know you contacted me
about this?” I take a split second too long to start crafting
my verbal response. “So he doesn’t know. Take my
advice, kid. Don’t waste my time.” Gerald turns and starts
walking out of my office. “If you talk to me or anyone in
Mont Blanc about this file again, I’ll personally find them
another buyer, and your old man will be the first to know
that you and Jace fucked up the best deal in town.”
 Jace and Gerald cross paths outside my office, but
Gerald doesn’t stop to speak to him.
“What did he say?” Jace asks as he walks in.
“He wants us to suck it up.”
“Fuck that.”
I take a seat at my desk, and turn my swivel chair
toward my office window. “He also threatened to start
hitting up his other contacts to sell Mont Blanc.”
“You think he’s bluffing?” Jace asks from behind me.
“I don’t know.”
“Gerald’s all about protecting what’s his.”
“Well, we’d better start thinking like he does,” I
answer, ready to leave and not come back for the rest of
the day, something I’ve never done in my time as a
partner in this company.
“Time to protect what’s ours,” he agrees.
Something about the way that statement comes out
gets me thinking. I turn back to face him. “That’s it.”
“What?”
I double check that my phone is in my pocket and
head for the door in a hurry. “I’ve got an idea. Leave it
with me.”
 17

DAHLIA

I love Emily. She has a way of helping me put things

into perspective.
She sends me a text in the middle of my year two
Animal Sciences lecture. Normally, my phone is on mute
during class, but it’s on vibrate as I’m on campus all day
today. My plan was to check the dogs using the app,
listen for any unusual alerts, and only go back to the
condo if I have to.
Emily’s text changes all that.
‘So? How did it go? OMG those guys were hot!’
I reply with, ‘I’m in class. Talk later?’
‘Ok, but you’ll miss out.’
‘On?’
‘The best news ever! Plus I made you lunch. I can
bring it to your mansion in the sky! Please say yes.’
I’m tempted to turn her down. My lunch hour won’t
give me much time with her, but then I start to like that
time restriction. It means I can stuff my face with food
while she tells me her good news, then take the dogs out
for a quick stretch, and if I’m lucky, I’ll have to leave for
my afternoon lecture before she corners me for details
about the shitty night I had.
‘Can Rose come too? I haven’t seen her in ages.’
‘Probably not. Her killer internship isn’t going so hot.’
‘Oh, okay. See you at 12:15. Don’t be late, k? Got
classes.’
‘I’ll be there! Whipping up your favorites.’

E mily’s early. I cross the kitty corner to the condo

building entrance to find her opening the food
container that’s in her hand. She’s offering the
concierge a sample of whatever she prepared for me.
Thankfully, her food bowl is just one of several in the
cooler bag slung over her shoulder, so I’ll still get my fill.
“Hi, Dahl!” she greets me, wrapping her free arm
around me when I make it over to her.
“Hi, Em.”
She pulls back and quickly studies my face. “Are you
all right? You look like hell.”
“I didn’t get much sleep,” I tell her, keeping it short.
“Oh?” She grins. “Hot after-party with your billionaire
bad boy?”
“No, not really.”
“Gosh, I can’t wait to hear how things went after you
left. Did I mention how much I envy you right now? By the
way, is this how our lives are gonna be? You, gracing the
event that I’m catering? I can picture it now. Dahl’s center
stage while little old Em slaves away in a tiny, hot, poorly
ventilated custom catering kitchen in the back, covered in
ingredients and smelling like garlic and two-day-old
salmon fillets as she whips up the finest delicacies ever
tasted by Manhattan’s upper crust…”
 Emily rambles on while we make our way up to
Vivian’s place. I don’t mind. The more she talks, the less
she’ll ask. Works for me. She updates me on Rose, our
other roommate. Rose is also at Columbia, in her last
year of a business degree, and plans to do her MBA this
coming fall. Although the business school is a couple
blocks away from where most of my pre-vet courses are,
we rarely see each other. Which is something I need to
work on, because she’s one of the few people I know and
really like here in the big city. Emily explains that the
internship Rose was assigned to for her work term hasn’t
been panning out. Something about her boss being a
jackass and an unethical fuck, but with the long night I’ve
had, my attention span for retaining details is dismally
small.
Then we both get the wind knocked out of us as we
step inside the foyer of Vivian’s place.
Flowers.
Dahlias, to be precise. Some are lilac colored, but
most are bright pink.
They’re everywhere.
“Holy crap, Dahl! These are gorgeous!” She places
her cooler bag and food container on the floor, and
buries her nose into the floral arrangement closest to the
front door. “I’ve never seen this many flowers in one
place. Not even at those ritzy weddings I helped out
during all of last Spring.” She tilts the vase to one side
and pulls out the card sticking up between the blooms.
“You should take a look at this note.”
“You go on ahead and read it,” I tell her, because I
can already guess they’re from Jackson.
“It says ‘Sorry I overreacted, doll. I’ll make it up to you,
starting with these. JK’.” She turns to me, intrigued.
“What’s he sorry about?”
 “Nothing important,” I say dismissively, and head
through the practical forest of bouquets toward the
kitchen—where even more dahlias await. I’m met by an
enthusiastic Sheba, followed by Daisy and Bailey, who
must have heard us walk in.
“I know these rich dudes can go overboard, but all
this?” she waves her free arm around the kitchen, “It can’t
just be about nothing. Spill.”
Slumping down on a chair, I reach down for the dogs,
petting Bailey, who’s closest to my leg. “It doesn’t matter.
They’re all going back.”
Shaking her head, she finds her apron from a side
pocket of the bag and puts it on. It’s new, or at least I
haven’t seen her in it before. It’s a white one, with the
saying ‘I Keep the Best Desserts Under This Apron, so
Don’t Ever Trust That Other Chef. You Know? The One
with the Slim Hips…’ written in red across her chest.
Which is kind of funny because Emily is the skinniest
chef I know.
“Hey, I’m starved,” I tell her. “Can we eat? And I want
to hear your news.”
“What?” she persists, pulling out containers from her
cooler bag. “Oh no. I want details, Dahl. My little update
doesn’t hold a candle to whatever went down after you
left last night.”
“You’ve been so good!” I baby-talk to the dogs,
ignoring Emily’s question. “Vivian trained you guys to stay
away from her flowers, didn’t she?” Stretching my arm to
the sealed treat jar on the counter, I open it and hand out
treats to Bailey, then Sheba and Daisy. “Good girls. And
you too, Sheba. You’ve been so good.”
Emily turns on the oven and one stovetop burner, and
starts to warm up our lunch. “Come on, Dahl. Tell me.
Give me something at least.”
 “You first,” I insist. “What’s your news?”
Shaking her head, she finally relents, and her
expression brightens. “Blair Rasmus hired me in his
kitchen!”
“That’s amazing. Congrats hun!”
“Thanks. It’s part-time, but this isn’t just a solo gig,
Dahl. It’s three evenings a week at Gauche, his Soho
restaurant.”
“Wow. That place is super expensive.”
“Upscale, hun. Not expensive.”
“Right. Got it.”
“But do you know what that means? It’s a dream
come true, Dahl! There isn’t an item on his menu under
three hundred bucks. This is the big leagues for me.
Everything I wished for is starting to happen…right in
front of my eyes.”
“I’m so happy for you hun!” I say with as much
enthusiasm I can bring to the surface.
It’s not that I’m not ecstatic for her. I am. I just can’t
feel much of anything since last night. Not even with all
these goddamned flowers that Jackson got for me. In
fact, they’re making it worse. They’re more reminders
about what could have happened and didn’t. About a
rejection so big that it leaves me at a loss to understand
why Jackson reacted that way. Being a virgin at nineteen
isn’t that huge of a deal where I’m from, but he acted as
though it was the plague, or worse. A part of me wishes I
didn’t tell him at all. The night wouldn’t have ended so
abruptly if I hadn’t, and this anti-climactic morose
wouldn’t keep me feeling so numb.
And I wouldn’t be a virgin anymore.
But no, I confided in him, and paid a worse price than
if I’d let Sheba crap all over his balcony.
“Dahlia?” Emily shouts to get my attention.
 “What?”
“Where’d you just go? You’re not yourself, hun. Didn’t
you hear that? Someone’s at the door.”
“I’ll get it.”
“No, let me.” She passes me a plate of her dill
cucumber and tomato bites. “Here. You need to eat. Start
with these.”
Emily is gone and back in under a minute, but she’s
not alone. It’s the last person I want to see. Jackson,
standing with his friend with the glasses from last night.
Dylan, I think.
“Someone’s here to see you,” she says, giggling like a
schoolgirl as she motions over at them and returns to the
stove.
“Hi Dahlia,” Jackson says to me. “I’m not sure if you
remember Dylan from last night.”
I nod politely. “Yes. Hello again,” I say to Dylan across
the room, but he seems a hell of a lot more interested in
what Emily is working on. It’s just as well, because I’m
not in the best mood. Being in the same room with
Jackson isn’t a good idea. I pop a cucumber bite in my
mouth and get to my feet. “My lecture’s starting in fifteen
minutes, so this isn’t a good time. But Emily is here. She
just made lunch. Feel free to stay and eat.” I turn to
Emily. “I’ll leave you the keys. Can you give it to the
concierge desk after you lock up?”
“Definitely. Thanks for letting me stay,” Emily chirps.
“Can we have a word in private?” Jackson asks me,
following me out of the kitchen.
There’s purpose in my steps as I hurry to get my
things at the door. “Unfortunately, I’m out of time. Have
some lunch. Emily’s cooking is fantastic. You saw her at
the gala last night, I think. Oh and thanks for the flowers,
but I’d prefer if you take them back. Ideally, before I get
home from class this evening.”
“I came here to apologize,” he says to me. “Last night
was…I …you threw me for a loop, okay? It didn’t feel
right—”
“Look, you don’t need to explain, and you really don’t
have to try and make me feel any worse. I get that it
didn’t feel right to you.”
“That’s not what I mean. If you’d let me finish, I can—”
“Oh, you want me to let you finish. Right. Please. Not
another word.” I snatch up my backpack. “Emily, can you
make sure you put the dogs back in their room upstairs
before you go? I’ll talk to you later,” I shout.
“Will do. See you!” she answers from the kitchen.
“Dahlia.”
“No. And do not follow me,” I say through gritted
teeth.
I don’t give it a second thought as I pull the door
closed with Jackson standing inside, and head to the
elevators. A wave of satisfaction comes over me during
my ride down the elevator. There’s a new edginess inside
me that I didn’t have before. An assertive power I’ve never
tapped into.
And it’s as cold as ice.
I can thank Jackson for unleashing this new side
of me.
 18

JACKSON

D ahlia’s mad as hell.

I can’t blame her. I’m the one who dragged her
from my bed when I should have kept her tied up
and finished the job. And she won’t make me forget it.
Because hell hath no fury.
At least Dylan scored the little blonde chef’s phone
number over lunch. Somewhere in between tasting her
cooking and eye-fucking her every time she stood at the
stove, they have a connection. I don’t get it, but who am I
to judge? After all, I’m stuck on the idea of owning
Dahlia, now that I’ve fucked things up beyond repair.
Dylan and I leave Vivian’s place, and begin to make
our way through midday traffic back to the office in his
black Audi A6. It’s what he likes to call his beater car,
because he owns way too many overpriced limited model
luxury cars that he can’t fucking drive except in the
summer months.
We’re close to the office when my brother’s number
comes on over Dylan’s car on the Bluetooth speaker.
“How’s the negotiation going?” Dylan says as he takes
the call.
 “Gerald is on it today,” Jace explains. “And Foster’s
sitting in to protect our interests. Is Jackson with you?”
I can tell right away that his voice is in a fucking panic.
“I’m here,” I tell him. “And you’re on speaker. What the
fuck’s going on?”
“We’re walking from this deal with Mont Blanc.”
“What? Who decided that?”
“I just fucking did,” he shouts into the phone, anger
clear in his tone. “And I don’t give a fuck about Gerald or
even what Dad will do. We’re not closing.”
“Jace, dude,” Dylan interrupts. “Calm down and take
a breath, man. What happened?”
“I’m fucking calm, all right?” he barks, but I know
better. My brother can barely get a word in without
panting hard as though he’s been in a fist fight.
“Can you meet us at the office?” I ask. “We’re close.
Let’s talk about this in person.”
Jace starts to mumble something unintelligible, and I
have to wonder if he’s been drinking. But he never
touches alcohol during the day.
“Jace? Just tell us where you are, man. We’ll come
get you.”
“They killed her, Jackson,” he blurts out.
Fuck, now I know he’s been drinking. “What? Who are
you talking about?”
“Pantheon. Just come to Dad’s place,” he pants out,
sounding exhausted. Then the line goes dead.
Dad?
What the fuck is going on? Who did Pantheon kill?
I’m so fucking anxious that my skull is pounding. Dylan’s
dainty driving will take us forever to get across town. And
if Jace is phoning from Dad’s place, my gut tells me this
may be more personal than business, even if he did
mention Pantheon.
 “Keep driving to the office,” I tell Dylan. “I’ll drop you
off and borrow your car to pick him up. Something’s not
right.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Matter of fact, stop the car. You can walk the
rest of the way. Now.”
Dylan has a look of disbelief on his face. “What the
fuck has gotten into you and your brother?”
“I said stop the fucking car, dickhead. You heard how
Jace sounded. The office is only a few blocks away. This
is urgent.”
“Fine.” Shaking his head, Dylan flips on his indicator
light and pulls up to the first available spot near the curb.
He puts the stick shift in neutral and jumps out. “Let us
know what’s going on as soon as you find out,” he tells
me as he steps up on the sidewalk.
I hop out and quickly switch seats. “I will,” I confirm,
and drive off like a bat out of hell.
Time to get some answers.

I arrive at Dad’s house in Long Island to find Jace

outside. He’s slumped against the driver side front
tire of his car, looking disheveled with half of the hem
of his shirt sticking out of his slacks, and no spring jacket
or blazer. Bolting out of Dylan’s car, I run up to him and
help him to his feet.
This isn’t my brother. Jace is always the epitome of
composure and self-control.
“Jesus, Jace. What happened? Where’s Dad?”
“He’s not home yet. I’m not leaving until I convince
him this deal is off.”
 “Get in Dylan’s car, and start from the beginning. I still
don’t know what the fuck’s going on. Who did Pantheon
kill?” I ask, painfully aware that the sentence makes
absolutely no sense.
He sits in the passenger seat and takes a while to
talk. Starting the engine, I put the heaters on full blast,
turn on the seat warmers, and wait. Whatever is it that
got him rattled, it has to be big.
“Is Dad’s housekeeper inside?” I ask. “Maybe you
should warm up in there. Have a coffee or something.”
“I was just in there.”
“Will you just talk to me? You’re freaking me the fuck
out, Jace. What happened?”
“Okay,” he says, taking a breath. “Pantheon’s chemo
drug killed Mom.”
I don’t know if I just heard him right. “Come again?”
“That investigator we hired paid off someone on the
inside. They dug up the company’s clinical trials. The
side effects of their chemo drug caused Mom’s heart
failure. They killed her, Jackson. Mom was one of the
participants while the drug was still experimental. And the
fucking company knew about the side effects even before
that, but buried the results of their clinical trials to push
the drug through FDA approvals.”
My mind goes numb with every new piece of
information. I can’t think. I can barely speak, but I
manage to ask him if Dad knows.
“No. That’s why I’m not leaving until he finds out.”
“Are you sure it’s not some mistake?” I mumble out.
“Some strange coincidence? Mom was terminal, Jace.
People don’t come back from stage four cancer. And we
got a couple of extra years with her before that when she
went into remission.”
He nods over at his car. “Go get the report and read it
for yourself. It’s in the back seat.”
I honestly don’t know if I have the mental, emotional
or intestinal fortitude to go over the report Jace wants me
to look at. Not without ending up wanting to kill someone
for real. What I do know is we can’t afford for both of us
to be out of control if and when we break the news
to Dad.
“I’m taking you back to your place,” I tell him, resolute.
“Sterling can bring your car back later on this evening.
For now, I’ll drop you off so you can get your shit
together. Then I’ll go home, read the report, and if I agree
with you, we’ll confront Dad together and quash this
fucking Mont Blanc deal.”
He nods. That’s enough for me. With the report from
his car now tucked away in Dylan’s back seat, I drive
Jace to his Midtown condo, and return to my place.
It’s close to an hour before I drum up the courage to
open the report, and when I finally do, I wish I fucking
hadn’t read what I did.
Everything Jace said was right.
I’m mad enough to kill.
Then there’s unbelievably loud barking and
whimpering of multiple dogs at my front door, followed by
knocking.
If that’s Dahlia, her timing sucks, as usual.
 19

DAHLIA

“S tay,” he whispers his command. He doesn’t give me

a moment to answer.
I forget everything I was thinking. I can’t wait for
what’s about to happen. The time for consoling Jackson
with words is behind me. For now, I just want to feel him
close. His lips meet mine and God, my entire body lights
up in flames. Leaning into him, I lift up on my tiptoes
through my sneakers and hold on to the back of his
head, using my finger to grip his hair for leverage. He
smashes his lips to mine, kissing me hungrily.
His touch feels like so much more than lust, but what
would I know about that? All I have to go on is one so-so
high school make-out session, and a few kisses from
guys I now know were either amateurs or not really into
me. Jackson and I have something more. It almost scares
me that I’m starting to care for him, and the fact that we
have so little in common grips me with fear for a moment.
He must sense some of my hesitation because he pulls
back just long enough to stare down into my eyes again.
His eyes search mine with a question. Is this what I
want? I may not be sure about much, but I’m positive of
one thing.
I want Jackson Knight to be my first.
I was sure of it when I let him tie me to the bed last
night. Knowing what I do now, I’m positive last night went
down exactly the way it was meant to happen. With a nod
to him, I’m certain that he understands this one truth. He
presses against my lower back, drawing me in close, so
close I can feel the sinew of his lean, chiseled abdomen
and thick erection between our clothes, and his strong
heartbeat pounding against my breasts, which combine
to intensify the insistent throbbing deep in my core.
Feeling the firmness of Jackson’s hand on my back
took away any hesitation I have left. I want this. I’m not
going anywhere until he shows me exactly what I’ve been
waiting to experience. My eyes close as he brings a hand
to my hair and bites gently onto my lower lip, tugging it
between his teeth. I release a sigh of longing into his
mouth, and Jackson groans out a primal sound. He
kisses me wildly, his touch hot against me as our tongues
connect and taste each other. He traps my tongue with
his. I’m so deep in the moment that I can feel every pore
and ridge as he claims my mouth the way he’ll probably
own the rest of my body.
Intense. Confident. Masterful.
He shifts slightly to one side, wedging his knee
between my lower thighs, which bumps up the pressure
of his rigid erection at the top of my mound. I blink back
the lightheadedness caused by pure need to feel more of
his bare skin on me. In me. The urge is so strong that I
lift one leg up along his calf as he grinds his hip against
my throbbing clit, suddenly wishing we could go back to
last night, in his bed, bare.
All these clothes need to be gone from us both. I tilt
my hips, desperate to know relief from what had begun
since the second I laid eyes on him. Jackson must be
overcome with need too. With both of his hands down at
my hips, he picks me up with ease, wrapping my legs
around him to carry me somewhere down the hall. Maybe
to a guest bedroom, or a more comfortable sitting room. I
don’t much care, and neither do the dogs, because they
don’t follow us out of the study.
I’m overpowered with need. If my clit was throbbing
before, it’s pounding now, aching from its tight contact, in
such close proximity to the hardness I need inside me to
finally fill me like never before. We arrive at a guest
bedroom as I suspected, and he kicks the door shut
behind him. As Jackson places me in the center of the
bed, he opens his mouth to say something, and I clasp
my hand over his lips. I know what he wants to ask. My
answer is yes.
I want this.
I’m ready. I forgive him for last night.
I’m sure.
He lowers on top of me, covering me with wicked heat
that radiates from his skin, restricting my ability to move
and overwhelming my senses. I don’t know why, but I
love this feeling of being somewhat trapped. Or maybe I
enjoyed the way he tied me to his bed more than I care to
admit.
With one hand supporting his upper body, Jackson
raises his torso a distance from mine. I begin to reach for
the hem of my top, but he stops me.
“There’s no rush, doll,” he tells me in that deep raspy
voice from the back of his throat. “We have all night.”
“I waited for you.” I hear the words slip out of my
mouth, and almost can’t believe I just said that.
“Fuck…we’ll both enjoy this more if you let me take
care of you. You won’t regret letting me be your first.
That’s a promise.”
Slowly, he slides my top up my body inch by inch,
kissing up along my midline with the softest touch of his
lips. Pulling the top over my head, he throws it to the side
of the bed and reaches under me to my back, unclasping
my bra and sending it flying off in the same direction as
wherever my top went. Jackson takes a moment to pull
back again and look at me, causing me to miss the heat
of his body against mine as my stomach, breasts and
shoulders get the full blast of cooler air in the room.
His eyes run down my body, and he groans as he
slides firm fingers down from my collarbone, between my
cleavage, and down my stomach to the seam of my
pants. Deft fingers of one hand flick the button and slide
the zipper open. With a sharp jerk, he tugs that material
past my hips, inching them down my legs until they’re
past my calves, at which point I get them the rest of the
way off.
Jackson doesn’t remove my panties just yet. He holds
on to the seam, and continues to kiss a trail down my
lower stomach to my mound through the fabric of my
panties. I try to control my desire with a breath of air.
What he’s doing to me is pleasure and torture. His touch
creates a fire, while the barrier between our skin drives a
longing deep inside me, making my hips writhe and push
off the bed. I want to wrap my legs around his head for
more contact with his lips. I want his thick erection at my
folds. I’m desperate to have him buried deep within me.
But I’m not going anywhere, not with the force of his
strong arms pinning my hips to the bed.
His tongue flicks the tip of my most sensitive bud, and
I’m ready to beg him to rip these soaking wet panties
off me.
I do beg.
 The sound of my own pleading voice registers in my
head, and he groans out a soft chuckle. Jackson moves
his hands down to the inside of my knees and spreads
me wide, never allowing his mouth to leave my center.
Just when I think I’ll die from raw need, he fists one side
of my panties and rips it from me, flinging the scraps of
shredded fabric away from the bed. He looks up at me,
eyes intense as he reconnects his lips around my bare
clit. My eyes close from pleasure, but my oblivion doesn’t
last. The heat of his touch disappears from my skin way
too soon, causing me to look at him again.
“Don’t close your eyes, doll,” he breathes out. “I have
to see the look in your eyes when I make you come. I
want you to know who’s driving your body over the edge.”
“Mmmm,” I whisper.
With his eyes trained on me for my reaction, he slides
his tongue down one side of my folds, and up the other,
tasting my wet center as he makes slow, circular strokes
that drive me closer to erotic insanity. I can’t hold in the
whimper that leaves my lips when he returns some
attention to my swollen, sensitive bud. And as he flattens
his tongue and flicks the tip, he buries two thick fingers
deep inside.
“Oh God,” I cry out as a powerful climax crashes over
me, drowning me with more pleasure than I’ve ever felt.
My legs start to shake. Sparks explode out from
behind my lower belly now that I’ve given over all control
to the moment.
To Jackson.
At this point, my eyes are open, but I don’t see a thing
in front of me. It’s just white light and spots of every color
clouding my vision as he finger-fucks me and extends my
orgasm beyond anything I’ve ever known. I grind my hips
in time with his digits and skillful tongue, stretching out
the moment until exhaustion creeps in and I can’t move
another inch.
 20

JACKSON

I ’m just getting started.

The idea that I’ll be the first man ever to get inside
her virgin pussy plays on my mind like a broken
record, but I force myself to take my time.
I move up her body and relax beside her for a while,
allowing her to catch her breath. She opens her mouth to
say something, but I caress her bottom lip with my
thumb. Her breath on my finger makes my cock throb,
and I start to wonder if I’m strong enough to hold out
much longer.
Then she begs me, pleads for me to fuck her, and
with that, she seals the deal.
Stepping off the bed, I remove my clothes, my eyes
taking in every inch of her body, and her head on my
pillow. I greedily get into bed and waste no time. Parting
her legs, I look down at her trimmed bush and pink pussy
—that’s never been touched. Every second is a push-
and-pull conflict going on in my head. Dick or mouth?
Fuck her hard, or suck on her sweet and slow? I settle for
the middle ground. Penetrating her tight heat with two
fingers, and giving her clit some more attention will break
her in slowly.
My instincts are dead on. Dahlia swivels her hips into
my fingers, and cries out my name as she takes each
firm thrust. I speed up just a little, spreading my fingers
apart inside of her, stretching her walls to ready her for
what is sure to fill her up and more. Smiling as she
shudders through another peak, I slowly remove my
fingers, slide up her body. I find a condom, rip open the
wrapper and get it on, then slowly, nudge my tip at her
opening.
Dahlia is still caught up in her last orgasm, which has
her hips rolling as I ease my thick cock into her. I let her
movements control the pace. She’s hot and so fucking
tight, gripping me like a vice, causing me to grip her
shoulder with one hand, and the bed with the other for
control.
I sink into her a little further. This time, her body
stiffens up, and her legs freeze in place. It pains me to
stop, but I’m sure I’m not the only one.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, looking down between us, that
small part of me wishing to witness her virgin blood on
my cock.
“No,” she says, moving her hips again and digging
her fingers into my triceps. “You feel so good. Please
don’t stop.”
I kiss her cheek and continue, more slowly this time,
but she begs me to take her harder. Pulling out, I study
her face again, and when she moans out another plea, I
drive into her hard. She clings to me with every
movement in, then out, filling her center that hugs my
cock, then pulling back, and boring into her again.
With one hand supporting my weight, I slide my hand
under her and squeeze one of her ass cheeks. The
rough move causes her lower stomach to seize. Dahlia
breathes out a whimpering cry as she comes hard. She’s
weak and shaking, descending into exhaustion as the
pressure in my balls become too powerful to hold in
anymore. I bury my head in her neck, letting go of my will
as I come.
She hangs on to me as we take our time to catch our
breaths, and once she relaxes her grasp on my arms, I
pull out, throw out the used condom, and stretch out
beside her.
My doll.
Mine and only mine.
She may not know it yet, but I own her, and I’m not
letting her go.
 21

DAHLIA

I wake up to sunlight streaming in through the

opening between the window blinds, and the heat of
Jackson’s body tight against my back. Squinting, I lift
my head and look back at him. He’s sleeping, but even
now, his substantial length presses on my lower back. I
turn to nestle my chest into his, and stare down at his
cock. Jesus, it’s massive. I don’t know how all of that
corded muscle fit into me last night, but it felt so good.
My core clenches just thinking about it, and all I can
do to ease the wave of need is cross my legs and press
my inner thighs together. The moan that I let escape from
my lips must have woken up Jackson. With his hands on
my ass, he rolls onto his back, spreading my legs to
either side of him as he takes me with him.
“Morning, doll,” he groans from below me.
I smile down at him, running my hand through his
hair. “Good morning.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Great,” I answer.
“Nice. Don’t worry about the dogs,” he says, sobering
me right up because I forgot all about them. “I was up
earlier. They ate. And I let them out on the terrace for a
while.”
I push off with my hands and sit up in a panic. “Christ,
the dogs! What did they eat? Where did they sleep?”
“Leftover Chinese food, and they’re in the study.”
“Don’t let Vivian know that’s what you fed them,” I say,
relieved that he didn’t give them breakfast cereal or
worse.
He grips my waist and lifts me up, freeing his
hardness. Reaching for the night stand, he finds a
condom, takes it out of the wrapper, and rolls it on.
“Saddle up and ride, country doll,” he rasps, eyes playful
yet still so intense.
“Are you making fun of me?” I ask lightly.
My eyes flutter closed as his hands cover my breasts,
massaging my flesh while his thumbs glide over each
nipple. “No talking. Just climb aboard.”
I slide back to give myself some room to see what I’m
doing, smiling as I wrap my fingers around his thick,
massive erection. If I had my way, I’d spend some time
touching him, but like he said, there’ll be time for that.
With one hand on his six-pack, I raise my hips up and
use my other hand to position his smooth, velvety tip at
my opening. Inch by sweet, thick, satisfying inch, I lower
my body and allow him to fill me. My inner walls stretch,
and I’m a little sore, but it feels too good not to
want more.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he moans.
My palms reach across to his pecs for balance.
Slowly, I move up and down his cock, reveling in this
sinfully sexy ride. Awash with desire, and to be honest,
filled with some unexpected courage, I move one of his
hands to my swollen, throbbing clit that’s desperately in
need of some friction. Jackson’s lips curl up into a smile.
He lifts my hood and massages a spot that causes my
entire body to contract and convulse in an orgasm so
overwhelming, I’m sure I’ll black out. I don’t know what
hits me, but it hits me hard, stealing the air from my
lungs and every ounce of energy from my muscles.
He slides his one hand up my back and the other
grasps my hip. I’m tight against his chest, drenched in
sweat and panting for air as he kisses me. Rolling his
hips, he drills into me, and hits my womb with each
thrust. Over and over, each thrust stretches out my
pleasure until it seems to blend with his as he comes.
The heady sensation returns, emptying my mind as
he runs his hands through my hair. Soon there’s just the
sound of our breaths and an experience of calm that I
don’t think I’ve ever known. I can’t wait to feel this way
again.
 22

JACKSON

O ne Week Later
I’m in the middle of an all-day internal
meeting to talk strategy with Jace, Dylan, Foster,
Caleb, and our in-house contracts lawyer when Gemma
meekly enters the boardroom.
“What is it?” I ask as she stands in the doorway,
waiting for Caleb to finish speaking. “Is my father
here yet?”
“No, Mr. Knight. You have an unscheduled visitor.”
“We have a hold on the day, Gemma,” I say firmly.
“This is an urgent meeting.”
“I understand that, but…can we speak in the hallway
for a moment? This is a personal item I think.”
Gemma’s the best executive assistant I’ve had. She’s
worked for me for years, after much trial and error. She
should know better than to interrupt my meeting. Which
is why I’m even more curious about who she chose to risk
coming in here for.
“Carry on, gentlemen,” I say over one shoulder, and
follow her out into the hallway, pulling the door closed
behind me. “What the hell is this about?” I demand.
 Gemma motions with her chin toward the main
entrance.
Dahlia is standing in the hallway. In a light pink
cardigan, a black mini skirt, and a sandy pink pair of
ankle-high cowboy boots. And her dogs.
“Hey,” I greet her, and my dick springs to life. I’m
curious as to what can be so urgent that she’d show up
at my office unannounced, but I’m already glad she
came. “Everything all right?”
“Hi Jackson. I tried to phone you, and then I sent a
couple of texts.”
“Yeah, my phone’s back in the office.”
“Can we talk somewhere private? I’ll make it quick.”
“Sure.” I turn to Gemma. “Watch the dogs for us, if
you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, Mr. Knight.”
“And tell my brother I may be a while. Also, if Dad
shows up, send him in to the boardroom.”
Guiding Dahlia down the hall, I show her into my
office and close the door, locking it behind me with an
audible click. “What’s up?”
She steps up to me and wraps her arms around my
waist, resting her head in the middle of my chest. “This is
going to sound like it’s coming from left field, but please
hear me out.”
“Of course,” I tell her, and kiss the top of her head.
We sit in two guest chairs, facing each other. Curiosity
is killing me, but her outfit has my dick straining against
my zipper. I can’t wait for her to tell me why she’s here so
I can get to the good part and take her tight, sweet cunt,
right here in my office.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Do you think you or Jace, or someone at your firm
can meet with my roommate? Not Emily. It’s for Rose.
You haven’t met her yet.”
“I don’t know. About what exactly?”
“She’s completing an internship as part of her
business degree, and there’s a problem I think you
should know about. The placement isn’t working out. I
thought you might be able to help.”
The temptation to tell her that we’re a little too early in
the game for me to hire her friends as a favor tickles my
throat. “Help her how?” I ask instead.
“She’s concerned about something she overheard. I
don’t really know all the details.”
“I’m not sure how I can—” I start to say, but Dahlia
cuts me off, eyes wide and insistent.
“There may be a connection between where Rose
works and what you told me about that
pharmaceutical firm.”
“What? I never mentioned any company names.”
“I know. Can you just speak to her?”
I run my hand across my jaw, wondering whether or
not there’s anything I can really do for her friend. “Where
does she work?”
“Levine Holdings.”
My hand flies up to my temples. This has to be some
kind of gift from the Gods. “Your roommate is on an
internship at Levine Holdings?”
She nods.
“What’s her name?”
“Rose Burnell.”
“When can we meet her? Wait, let me get Jace and
Dylan in on this,” I say, pressing the speed dial on my
office phone to Gemma’s desk. “Gemma?”
“Yes, Mr. Knight?” she answers.
“Wait, who’s watching the dogs?”
“Marina,” she answers, which is the assistant in
Caleb’s and Foster’s department.
“Okay. Connect me to the boardroom for a second,
and put it on speakerphone.” She does as I ask, and
after waiting a few moments, the line connects. “Jace,
there’s a development. Before I get into it, ask legal to
excuse themselves for a minute.”
“Okay.”
I wait for him to give me the all clear, then I ask, “Can
we use some discreet help from someone at Levine
Holdings for this Mont Blanc deal?”
“It’s Dylan speaking, Jackoff,” Dylan says with a
chuckle, not realizing that Dahlia is here with me. “And
yes, we definitely can. You have someone?”
“We do, and I’m not alone here, by the way.”
“What’s the employee’s name?” Jace asks.
“It’s an intern. Rose Burnell,” I answer. Then the
sound of someone in the room half-choking his throat in
reaction overpowers the other voices. “What? Do one of
you know her?”
“That would be Caleb,” Jace says. “He heard the
name and started coughing up a lung.”
“Care to enlighten us?” Dylan asks him.
“Long story,” Caleb answers, clearing his throat.
“Dylan, can you take the lead on this task? Caleb
must have a history with Miss Burnell.” I say with a shrug,
solely for Dahlia’s benefit.
“He has a history with the entire female population of
his alma mater for the four years he attended Columbia.”
Dylan jokes. “And corporate espionage? Sure, I’ll take the
lead. It’s likely to get one of us arrested and sent to a
Club Fed prison, but it’s for a worthy cause.”
“I understand why you wanted the in-house attorney
to wait on the other side of the boardroom door,”
Jace adds.
 “Yes. It’s for everyone’s protection. I’ll get you the
details in a while, gentlemen,” I say, ending the call.
“Wow,” Dahlia says. “I went out on a limb, hoping
you’d hear me out, but I really appreciate that you’re
willing to check on this with Rose. Thank you for
trusting me.”
“Thank you, for being persistent. Let your friend know
we’ll set something up. Oh, give her the heads-up about
Caleb, so she doesn’t end up blind-sided later.”
“Will do.”
I pull her into my lap and run a hand up and down
her bare legs. “Now that we have all this business out of
the way, we should make time for pleasure.”
She wraps her arms around my neck, letting her
hands hang down my back. “Right here in your office?”
she moans into my ear.
“It’s only fair, doll,” I tell her, kissing her ear lobe as I
bury my hand into her silky hair. “The door is locked. No
one will interrupt us.”
She shifts on my lap, hiking up her skirt to straddle
my legs. “Sounds risky.”
“For them,” I groan, eyes locked on hers.
I smash my mouth to hers, for a rough, hungry kiss
that leaves her lips swollen and raw. I’m growing harder
by the second from how she moans into my mouth.
Sliding my hands down to her legs, I drag her skirt up
past her hips and cup her ass through her panties. My
fingers find the seam and slide down between her thighs
from behind, pulling the fabric to the side.
“Jesus. You’re wet as fuck,” I growl into her mouth as I
dip two fingers past her folds, sinking them deep into her
tight pussy. Our teeth crash together, tongues tangled,
and with one quick movement, I free my dick, rubbing it
between her legs as I finger-fuck her hard.
 “Jackson,” she moans. Grinding on my hand and
cock, she whispers how much she wants me against
my lips.
Fuck. My cock can’t wait another second to get inside
her. I pull my fingers out, and with one sharp jerk, I bury
my dick balls deep into her tight, smoldering hot pussy.
Dahlia pulls from our kiss, and cups a hand over her
mouth, muffling her moans as I fuck her hard. Knowing
I’m the only one to ever breach her inner walls make me
wild, and taking her raw like this, here at work, well it’s
hot as fuck.
We go on this way for a while, and I drag her sweater
up, moving her bra aside to suck and tease her breasts.
As I swirl my tongue around each nipple, her core starts
to tighten and throb around my shaft, letting me know
she’s close without words. Grabbing her ass again, I ram
into her, thrusting in and out.
I can stay like this for ages, taking her on every piece
of furniture and in every position imaginable. But the
thing is that we’re in my office, and although the door’s
locked, I know there’s enough going on business-wise
that I shouldn’t drag this out for too long. Someone is
liable to interrupt us, and if it pertains to Mont Blanc, it’ll
be too important to ignore. As much as I hate being
responsible at a time like this, it’s best if I wrap this up
before I get pulled away.
“Come for me, doll,” I whisper into her ear.
She digs her fingernails into my shoulders through
my shirt, holding on tight as she grinds her hips. With a
small cry, her body writhes through her climax. Her tight
cunt feels like it’s summoning my dick to cum inside of
her. I can’t fucking resist. A moment later, I explode my
release deep in her core.
We pant hard to catch our breath, and after a short
while, I get to my feet while she’s still connected to me,
carrying her to my private bathroom. “You know what this
means?” I ask as I lower her legs to the floor.
“What?”
“You need to bring your fine ass down to my office
more often. In those hot cowboys boots.”
She smiles, pulling her skirt back down her legs.
“We’ll see.”
Just as I expected, there’s a hard, demanding knock
on my office door. “What the hell is it, Gemma?” I shout.
“I’m busy!”
“That’s no way to talk to your secretary,” says the very
familiar masculine booming voice coming from the other
side of my office.
It’s my dad.
“Fuck.”
“Who is that?” Dahlia asks nervously.
“My father. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of him,” I tell her,
grabbing a hand towel to clean off. I put my dick back in
my pants, zip up, and give my hands a quick wash. “You
go ahead and get yourself straightened up.”
Walking briskly to the door, I pull it open a few inches.
I’m almost bowled over by Dad, who charges in and
walks right past me to my desk, wearing a three-piece
pinstripe suit, and with his gray hair neatly combed back.
“We need to talk,” Dad grunts, and rests his hand on
the backrest of the very chair where I just had my way
with Dahlia.
He doesn’t notice that she’s standing in the middle of
my bathroom—and Dahlia is too nervous to draw any
attention to herself by shutting the door.
I’m not afraid of my father finding that I’ve been up to
extracurricular activities in my office. It’s my office after
all. What I know, though, is he’ll be very interested in the
object of my lust. Dahlia isn’t going to leave here without
Dad meeting her again. And he’ll want to know more
about her. Which can go either way for her.
Dad gives me a once-over from head to toe. “Since
when do you walk around the office looking like that?
Half your shirt is out of your pants…and fix your
damn tie.”
“Let’s talk in one of the boardrooms,” I tell him.
“What?” he asks, then he sniffs the air suspiciously.
“Dad,” I start, because I’d like to avoid hearing him say
anything too damaging. Dahlia’s clothes are back in
order, so I wave her over. “Do you remember my date
from the gala? Dahlia, this is my father, Joseph Knight.
Dad, Dahlia Dawson.”
“Oh,” he says, and make a full turn toward her,
extending his arm for a handshake. “Yes, great to meet
you again, Miss Dawson,” he says politely as his
discerning eyes make their usual full body assessment.
“Likewise, Mr. Knight,” Dahlia answers.
“Son, why didn’t you just tell me you were meeting
with your…friend?”
I shake my head and run my palm down the back of
my head. “I’m sure Gemma told you I was busy.”
“She did. I didn’t think that, well…ahh, now I know.”
His eyebrows raise, and recognition of what he just
interrupted begins to show on the one-sided smile on his
amused face. “I’ll be in that boardroom like you asked.
Don’t be long,” he tells me as he walks to the door.
“Pleasure to meet you again, young lady.”
Dahlia smiles tightly. “Take care, Mr. Knight.”
“You got off easy,” I tell her after Dad leaves.
“Do you think he knows what we were doing?” she
asks with an anxious giggle.
“Of course, he does. Dad’s no fool.” I step over to her
and pull her into my arms. “And he knows I’m no saint.
Anyway, I’ve got to go talk to him.”
“I understand. Thanks again for agreeing to help
Rose…and for the extras,” she giggles.
“The pleasure was all mine,” I groan, briefly kissing
her lips. “Meet me at my place later. I’ll text you when I
get in.”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
“I want you in my bed, doll. On your knees. I’m going
to spank your ass until it’s raw.”
That gets her attention.
 23

JACKSON

F ive Days Later

This is it. Jace and I have our ducks in a row.
Everyone who needs to be here is sitting around
the conference table. Even Dad made it. He knows
everything we do, and although he didn’t react as
violently as Jace and I did, he fully supports our plan.
We’re ready to face off with Mont Blanc.
And Gerald, the mastermind behind most of this
cover-up.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” my Dad says from the head
of the table. “Our deal is on, and I think it’s the best news
I’ve had all year.”
Gerald leans forward in his seat, eyes lit up like it’s
Christmas. “We’re signing on the deal?” he asks with
excitement. “Right now?”
Dad nods his confirmation. “The lawyers have drawn
up a slightly different agreement. We have their
consensus that there are no significant differences
between the new contract and the original. There are also
no material changes in the acquisition terms or costs.
Jackson, can you walk them through the details?”
 “My pleasure,” I say, and wait for Cherry and Gemma
to provide a copy of the new contract to each person in
attendance. “You’ll notice on page seventy-three, section
nine, line fourteen that one corporation name, a Levine
Holdings, was added to an adjusted chain of ownership,”
I explain.
I’m not surprised when Gerald becomes
uncomfortable in his seat and turns to Dad. “Joseph, a
word outside?” he asks, doing his best to reign in the
anxiety in his voice.
“Of course,” Dad agrees. “Let’s give all parties
sufficient time to review the adjustments. In the
meantime, Gerald, my sons have a better grasp on the
nuances of these revisions. The four of us can speak in
my office.”
We excuse ourselves and walk across the hall into his
office, shutting the door behind us. This isn’t going to be
pretty.
“Can someone please help me understand what the
hell is going on?” Gerald asks. “Why was Levine
Holdings moved around without consulting me?”
“Simple,” Jace seethes. “Payback’s a bitch.”
I step up beside him. “Gerald, what Jace is trying to
explain is that you tried to slip two major exposures into
our three-billion-dollar deal, hoping all those layers of
ownership would delay our discovery until it was too late.”
Gerald rears backward and folds his arms across his
chest. “What the hell are you talking about, boy?”
“Pantheon Research is about to face a massive class
action suit, and you know about it. Don’t deny it. They
altered the results of their clinical trials to get FDA
approval, and now a side effect is killing people. And
Triple Shield Security Group’s technology and
manufacturing arms are about to be relocated to Mexico.
The board of directors didn’t have the common sense or
commitment to transfer anyone with expertise to ensure a
transition that’ll preserve quality.”
“Do you know what that means?” Jace adds. “It
means you were hoping to screw us, Gerald. Right up
the ass.”
Dad steps up next to me and grabs Gerald by the suit
lapels. He shoves the man who used to be one of his
oldest friends and slams him against a nearby wall. “You
have a lot of nerve, thinking you could get away with
stabbing me in the back after all these years.”
“It is what it is,” Gerald says, lifting his face into a sly
grin now that he’s found out.
“Why the hell would you do this to me?” Dad
demands.
“It’s business, Joseph. You’d to the same thing to me
if it were the other way around.”
“Like hell I would. But that’s where you and I are
different, you underhanded piece of shit.”
“There’s just one thing,” Gerald mutters. “I’m not
signing.”
Dad tightens his grip on Gerald. “You’re signing. Make
no mistake.”
“How exactly do you plan to do that? Hold a gun to
my head?”
“You’ll sign because it’s the only way you’ll get to
keep your half a billion-dollar a year consulting firm.”
“What do you mean?” He asks with eyes narrowed.
“Buchannan, Stein and Reiland Consulting,” Dad
growls. “Jackson, please tell this arrogant son of a bitch
what we mean.”
“Apparently, your CEO resigned, and the interim CEO
convinced the board to accept a merger agreement with
Levine Holdings. So…you want to hold on to Buchannan,
Stein and Reiland Consulting, your golden goose? Then
you’re stuck with Levine Holdings, Pantheon, and Triple
Shield.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“We already have,” I say. “Go talk to your acting CEO.
And by the way, if you don’t sign, he will.”
Gerald’s face falls when the shock and realization hit
him. “You smug bastards.”
“Yes. That’s us. Don’t worry, though. We’ve already
taken care of the fixes you need to turn all of this around.
Next week, Pantheon Research is going to meet with the
legal team and plaintiffs of the class action lawsuit. They
plan to make a fair offer, including a commitment to
devote some resources to offsetting the adverse side
effects of that drug. And Triple Shield Security Group has
already voted on making relocation offers to fifty percent
of its technology and manufacturing staff. It’ll cost you a
couple hundred million to pull it off. You have to admit,
that’s chump change compared to the alternative.”
Gerald shoves Dad aside and storms out of his office.
“That went way better than I thought,” Jace says with
a smile.
“He’s not happy,” Dad says, looking toward the door.
“But he’s smart. Gerald knows when to take a small hit.
The big picture is he’ll sign.” He straightens his suit
jacket and turns to leave. “I’ll make sure we keep the
pressure on him. Thanks, boys. I haven’t had this much
excitement in years.”
“Anytime, Dad,” Jace answers.
“Imagine, you didn’t even have to admit anything
about you and Cherry,” I say after Dad’s long gone.
“Shut it. They don’t need to know.”
“You can’t hide your whopper of a secret for long,
brother.”
 “You’re not that far behind.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You and the neighbor’s pet sitter? That’s sure to go
over well.”
“Dad already knows.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No. He walked in on us…after the act. Bro, you’re the
one who needs to watch yourself with Cherry. Don’t wait
too long. Especially now that Gerald’s enemy
number one.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly,” I say. “You’d better get your head out of your
ass and take care of your shit. You’ve been seeing each
other long enough to know that what you have is the real
deal, Jace. Don’t do anything stupid to fuck it up.”
“Don’t talk to me about doing anything crazy. You’re
the one with all the weird hang-ups.”
“Me? I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve had mommy issues all your
goddamned life.”
“No more than the ones you’ve had.”
He scoffs out a laugh as though this is new
information for either of us. “Aren’t we a fucking pair? I
get too attached, and you can’t form an emotional
connection to save your life.”
I don’t agree that it’s the case anymore, now that I
have Dahlia. But he has no idea how close we’ve
become, and I’m not ready to get into the inner workings
of my budding relationship right this second.
“I’m not talking to you about this, bro” I shout at him
so he’d get a fucking grip. “We’ve got a business
acquisition to close.”
Jace turns and leaves, and I follow him out to finalize
the deal of a lifetime.
24
 EPILOGUE - DAHLIA

S ix Months Later
The last of the summer sun scorches my neck
and shoulders as I step outside onto the pavement
after leaving my last lecture for the day. My year three
undergraduate fall semester is well underway. Like
clockwork, my phone buzzes just as I’m about to take the
short walk to get the A-train to Brooklyn. Fishing it out of
the front pocket of my backpack, I see a text from
Jackson.
‘Hey doll. How was class?’ the message reads.
‘Hi love. The usual. Walking to the subway now. Hard
at work?’
‘Yes. Hey, can you stop by my condo?’
‘Sure. Why?’
‘I’m expecting a delivery. Won’t make it in time.’
Jackson’s concierge desk is used to signing for all
residents’ courier packages, but he wouldn’t ask me
unless he had a good reason.
‘It’s no problem.’
‘Got your key for my place?’
I smile. If Jackson had his way, I’d be using this key
every morning when I go to school, and every night when
I come home. He’s been asking me to move in for
months, especially since he convinced Vivian to sell him
her condo so he can have the privacy and seclusion he
enjoys. Minus the dogs. I still pet-sit for Vivian from time
to time. She moved down three floors from him in the
same building, so I see Daisy, Sheba and Bailey a lot.
And although the idea of living here is appealing for
several practical reasons—as well as for some sinfully
satisfying ones—moving in together is a big step for me.
‘Yes, I have it.’
‘Good. Running to a meeting. See you later, doll.’
I arrive at his condo soon after, and leave a voice
message for Emily, then Rose, that they shouldn’t expect
me to make it home tonight. I have more than just a
toothbrush at Jackson’s place. If he gets home before the
package arrives, he won’t let me leave. Not that I’d
want to.
I’m halfway through my Microbiology readings when
the concierge desk phones to advise me that a package
is here. Apparently, Jackson gave instructions for the
delivery to be dropped off at his door. It’s no problem with
me, so I head to the foyer to wait. I open the door when
there’s a knock a few minutes later. The delivery man
smiles at me and holds out a handheld signature device
and attached stylus in one hand.
“Good afternoon. Sign here, please.”
“Hi. Sure.” I take the stylus and start to sign, but he
hasn’t given me anything yet. “Just to confirm, what am I
signing for?”
He lifts up a blue plastic carrying case about the size
of a piece of carry-on luggage. “Here you go, ma’am.”
“Oh. Great. Thanks.”
The delivery man rushes off as quickly as he arrived,
leaving me at the door with this case. Making the
assumption that it’s business related, I take it into the
study. But the weight in the case shifts from one side,
then the other. Then there’s a small noise coming from
inside. And again.
That was definitely a bark.
I take the case to the sitting room and set it down,
which is when I notice a very discreet latch directly under
the handle. Part of me wants to phone Jackson to find
out if this is a mistake. He’s not the biggest fan of dogs,
even if Daisy, Bailey and Sheba love him. Clicking the
clasp, I open the container, which from the inside,
definitely looks more like a pet carrier.
And there’s a puppy inside! The most adorable gray
and white Havanese that I’ve ever seen is sitting in the
back of the carrier. Its hair is so long that I can barely see
its eyes.
“Hi there, little guy!” I coo. “Or girl. Are you thirsty?”
It scampers to the front of the carrier, tail wagging
excitedly as I take him in my lap. There’s a noise from the
foyer just then, and Jackson appears in the doorway,
smiling broadly.
“Surprised?” he asks, coming to sit beside me.
I give him a quick kiss. “That you got yourself a
puppy? Oh yeah.”
Jackson runs his fingertips over the little guy’s head,
and it tilts its head up, licking then sniffing Jackson’s
palm. “That’s a lot of hair. And he’s not for me. I got him
for you,” he admits.
“Aww, hun. I love the gesture, but there’s no room at
my place for a cute little puppy like you,” I say, shifting
my focus from Jackson to the dog, which lets out a
whining sound.
“We can fix that. There’s lot of room here. For
Buddy…and you too, whenever you’re ready.”
“Is that his name?” Jackson nods. “That’s an excellent
name for a Havanese, little Buddy.” I look at Jackson
again. “You know they’re called the Velcro dog, right?”
“Yeah, I remember. This breed is perfect for the city,
enjoy being inside, don’t grow up to be as big as a horse,
and have a lot of energy. It takes some of the best
qualities from all of Vivian’s dogs.” He moves a hand up
to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “So…what’s
the verdict?”
“Um, I uh,” I stammer, suddenly unsure of what to
say. “Dogs are a big responsibility, but you know how
much I love them. Thank you for such a sweet gift,
hun, but—”
“Come on, look at him. He likes you, and he wants
to stay.”
“Are you asking me to move in?”
“No,” he says confidently. “But Buddy can live here
until whenever you feel you’re ready.” He kisses the spot
on my neck that he knows is hardwired to my core. “Or
when I get tired of waiting,” he whispers.
“Really?” I moan, already wet with need.
“Really. Don’t put it past me to throw you over my
shoulder in Brooklyn and bring you and your stuff here
one day, doll. Besides, you’re about to lose a roommate
any minute now.”
I look over at him, confused. “What’s that supposed
to mean?”
He cocks his head to one side. “Take a wild guess.”
Emily has been dating Dylan for months now. I’ve
suspected that they’ve been getting more serious, but
Jackson’s mention of the timing is interesting. “Wait, is he
about to propose to her?”
He nods. “You didn’t hear it from me. For now, what
do you think? Are we keeping Buddy?”
How can I say no to this little cutie? I wrap my arms
around Jackson’s neck and pull him as close to me as I
can without squeezing Buddy. “Yes. He’s a keeper. Kind
of like you.”
Jackson pulls back and presses a firm kiss on my
lips. “Good girl.” He looks down at our new fur baby. “And
we’ll keep working on getting her here, won’t we, Buddy?
Let’s get you settled in.” He takes Buddy in his arms and
carries him off with the pet carrier, but whips around
halfway across the room to look at me. “You’re staying
over tonight.”
“Sure,” I say.
“That wasn’t a question, doll.”
“No? How did you plan on keeping me here if I
said no?”
Smiling broadly, he waggles his eyebrows, then
leaves the room.
I know that look.

H ours Later
The sound of Jackson stepping out of the
master bathroom makes my breath hitch. The
desire to look at him is overpowering, but I can’t right
now. He’s blindfolded me and tied my wrists to each bed
post. With the exception of my sparkly Christian
Louboutin stilettos, I’m naked. My body is cold, and I’m
soaking wet for him. The heat of his strong, muscular
legs straddling me sends smoldering heat all through my
body. Just knowing he’s probably already hard, his thick
erection so close to my aching core, has me ready
to beg.
We’ve done this several times before, and although I
love how it feels, my arms never get used to being
bound. There’s always a point where I want to wrap them
around him and mold myself to his body. Like right now,
except it’s difficult enough to move my head off the bed,
let alone move my arms.
Jackson’s weight shifts forward on the bed, and a
second later, his hot breath is at my ear.
“Tell me who owns you, doll,” he growls into my ear.
“You do,” I breath out.
He lowers on top of me, and his hot, rigid erection
presses up to my lower body, causing my core to clench
as I lift my hips and rub against it.
“You’re moving in with me. This weekend.”
“What?”
“Say it,” he orders, and slides a hand down to one
nipple, twisting it and causing a wicked mix of pleasure
and pain.
“Oh God. Yes. I’m moving in this weekend,” I moan.
“That’s right,” he rumbles out a laugh. “And I’ll take
you however I want. Whenever I want.”
“Yes,” I moan.
“Say it.”
“You can take me however and whenever you
want to.”
“Exactly,” he whispers, hovering his lips close to
my ear.
I swallow the lump in my throat, but it doesn’t stop my
body from reacting to his voice. I wrap my leg around his
hips, craving more contact with his cock, and his hands
slowly slide up my outer legs, to my waist, then runs past
my breasts and neck, until he has one hand buried in
my hair.
 “Beg for it,” he commands, reaching his other hand
down to cup my ass.
Jackson knows the power he has over me. He also
knows how much I crave him.
“Please,” I whimper, tightening the grip of my legs
around his waist. My inner walls pulsate, desperate for
him to fill and stretch me. “Please Jackson. Take
me hard.”
In one fluid movement, he positions himself at my
opening with one hand, tightens his grip on my ass
cheek with the other, and drives his cock deep into my
core. The sound of my breathy hiss mixes in with his
groaning. As he moves in and out of me, my stiletto heels
dig into his back, and my toes curl inside the shoes.
Jackson continues to bury into me, all the way to the
hilt, taking me close to that rush of intensity, to that
overwhelming peak I’m desperate to experience again. As
he picks up speed, the sound and feel of his balls
slapping my ass bring me even closer. With a flick of his
thumb against my clit, an intense wave of pleasure
courses through me, taking me to a blinding climax that
almost makes me scream.
“Don’t hold it in. Call my name,” he orders me,
thrusting into me with more force than before.
“Oh God, Jackson,” I cry out.
He lets out a painful groan, and his body stiffens as
he explodes deep inside of me. With his forehead
pressed against mine, his hips roll on through his
orgasm, slowing down as his hot release fills me. A while
later, he releases my bindings, lifts off my blindfold, and
pulls me into his arms. Jackson claims my mouth with a
firm, demanding kiss, then slowly pulls his head back.
There’s a playfully wicked glint in his eye. “You can’t
take it back,” he says with a laugh.
 I bury my head into his chest and let out a weak
giggle. “I was under duress.”
“I love you, and you’re moving in, doll.”
Nodding into his chest, I squeeze him tighter. “Yes.
I’m moving in. And I love you too.”
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