Author: Romig, Aleatha
Date: 2017-05-16T17:20:26+00:00
Keywords: Romantic Comedy; ident; Fiction; New Adult; Romance; Contemporary; JeanneP
Description: A fun, sexy new stand-alone from New York Times bestselling author Aleatha Romig.He's sexy and confident, the kind of man every woman notices. You know, the one with the to-die-for body and panty-melting smirk. And then there's the way his designer suits drape over his broad shoulders and big...well, we've all heard the rumors, the ones that say he's up for any challenge.But I can't see him that way. He's my boss -- technically one of the owners of the company where I work -- and definitely not in my league. Men like him don't notice women like me, and they don't date them.And I don't date men
Publisher: Romig Works LLC

PLUS ONE

Copyright © 2017 Romig Works, LLC

Published by Romig Works, LLC

2017 Edition

ISBN e-book: 978-0-9981895-8-1

Cover art: Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs / Romantic Book Affairs

Editing: Lisa Aurello

Formatting: Angela McLaurin at Fictional Formats

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written permission from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book is available in print from most online retailers

2017 Edition License

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the appropriate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

WHAT TO DO NOW…

STAY CONNECTED WITH ALEATHA

BOOKS BY AUTHOR ALEATHA ROMIG

ALEATHA ROMIG

Over a year ago my friend Georgia Cates and I decided to start an adventure: writing stories that were outside of our brand. Our endeavor was successful on many counts. It opened a world of possibilities and let us shake off the chains of expectation. Though we each wrote different titles, we ventured into that new world under one name.

While that pen name no longer exists, it helped us to expand our horizons and try new things.

The story you’re about to read started as a short and sexy, predictable novella written by me as Jade Sinner and entitled DUNCAN: The Deal. My reviews were good and I learned that while writing dark twists and turns, I could also be funny and light.

If any part of this story seems familiar, it could be because you read the 12K-word short novella. That was just the beginning.

PLUS ONE is more! It is now a full-length, contemporary romantic-comedy novel.

I hope it makes you swoon, laugh, and finish the last page with a smile.

I know that I did all of that while writing.

Thank you for allowing me to shed the other name and embrace this side of Aleatha. Thank you for giving Leatha, the lighter side of Aleatha, a chance!

I hope you enjoy PLUS ONE!

A fun, sexy, new stand-alone from New York Times bestselling author Aleatha Romig.

He’s sexy and confident, the kind of man every woman notices. You know, the one with the to-die-for body and panty-melting smirk. And then there’s the way his designer suits drape over his broad shoulders and big… well, we’ve all heard the rumors, the ones that say he’s up for any challenge.

But I can’t see him that way. He’s technically my boss—one of the owners of the company where I work—and definitely not in my league. Men like him don’t notice women like me, and they don’t date them.

And I don’t date men like him.

Until that one time that I catch him in a compromising position when I’m also in need of a last-minute date for a wedding… and then it’s not real. It’s blackmail.

For one weekend, he’s my plus-one.

Beautiful and unobtainable.

From the moment she walked into my office with those stunning blue eyes and crazy, sensual curves, she’s been on my mind. Three years and never once has she acted interested in me. Usually, I flash a million-dollar smile and women fall to their knees, some literally.

Not her.

Then on the occasion that I agree to let another woman do that—fall to her knees—guess who happens to catch us?

It may not be the most conventional way to get on her radar, but I didn’t get this far in business without knowing when to seize an opportunity. If this sexy, little firecracker with perfectly kissable lips thinks she can blackmail me into attending her cousin’s wedding, I’m going to jump at the chance to be her plus-one.

You love her darker side. Now it’s time to meet Leatha, the lighter side of Aleatha, as she trades her renowned twists and turns for laughs and love with this sexy, new, stand-alone romance, PLUS ONE.

AS THE MIDTOWN breeze blows between the tall buildings, I brush strands of hair that have escaped my workday bun away from my cheeks and freshly painted lips. Shielding my eyes from the early evening sun, I gaze up at the giant limestone building in front of me. In a few minutes, I’m supposed to meet my best friend and roommate on the top floor at one of the newest, swankiest restaurants in Manhattan, Gaston’s.

Everyone is talking about this place. Gaston’s boasts the best panoramic view of the city from its rooftop patio. The service is supposed to be unrivaled, and the chef is world-renowned. And those are only some of the qualities I’ve heard. With its recent grand opening, getting a seat at the bar, much less a reservation, is only for the elite.

That’s why as I stand on the busy sidewalk and gaze upward, I can’t help but wonder what in the world I’m doing here. What is Shana doing here? A place this nice isn’t our normal stomping ground.

While the glow of the setting sun and the warm spring breeze give me the promise of summer, I continue to formulate questions.

How in the world did Shana get a table at Gaston’s?

And more importantly, why didn’t she give me more notice so I could dress properly?

As it is, I came straight from work, responding to her surprise text message. Not having a chance to go home and change, I’m still wearing the gray sheath dress and black pumps I donned this morning. They’re fine for the pharmaceutical logistics company where I work, but knowing what I’ve heard about this restaurant, I anticipate I’ll be a little too blasé for the likes of Gaston’s.

At the very least, if I’d known I’d be going out to dinner in a place like this one, I would have brought some fun accessories. I’m a fan of brightly colored necklaces, earrings, and even shoes.

Shaking my head and running my palm over my dress, I make the decision to stop worrying about my attire and instead enjoy this unexpected night of fine dining. Just as I’m about to step into the large glass revolving door that leads to the marble lobby, my cell phone vibrates and chirps.

Taking a deep breath, I open my purse and move out of the crowd’s way. Pressing myself against the giant limestone wall, I hit the call button and place my phone to one ear.

“Hello,” I say without reading the screen.

The whoosh of wind and traffic and murmurs of others rushing around me drown out the voice on the other end. Turning toward the building, I cover my other ear and speak again “Hello?”

“Hello!” my mother’s voice yells. “Can. You. Hear. Me?”

I shake my head and speak louder. “I hear you.”

Passers-by look my direction as if I’m yelling at them.

“Kimberly Ann?” she asks, her volume still louder than necessary.

“Mom? It’s me. Is everything all right?”

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes, Mom. What’s wrong?”

“You know,” she says, dragging out her words in a way that tells me this isn’t a quick call. “You never call me anymore.”

I don’t have time for this. “That’s not true. We spoke just last week. Is Dad okay?”

“We’ll find out soon. He has that appointment.”

I rack my brain trying to remember what appointment my father has. “The appointment?”

“With the urologist. They’re going to—”

I cut her off. Not because I don’t care about my dad, but because the streetlights are brightening and the sun is sinking near the horizon. Shana’s reservation is for six o’clock. I don’t want to make her wait in one of the best restaurants in the city. “Mom, sorry. I’m about to go to dinner with Shana. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Yes, just don’t forget. You know how you are. First…”

I hold my breath, wondering what could possibly be so important.

“First,” she goes on, “can you tell me Timothy’s jacket size, waist measurement, and pant length?”

I press my other hand over my free ear tighter, certain I’ve misunderstood her question. Timothy and I dated months ago. More accurately, we broke up months ago. Why in the world would she care about his suit size?

“Mom, why?”

“Kurt’s friend from California broke his leg. It was a skiing accident. From what I heard…”

Kurt… my mind searches for Kurts. The company where I work has one who is employed here in New York and also one at our Chicago office, but that wouldn’t make sense.

“…three places,” she continues. “Can you imagine? Kurt’s heartbroken. And you know how Scarlett is. She has six bridesmaids and it wouldn’t be right if Kurt only had five groomsmen. Thankfully, the tux shop said he could get another size and your aunt asked if Timothy would mind. As you know, Kevin is already in the wedding and then there’s Jimmy…”

The wedding!

The figurative light bulb above my head illuminates.

Kurt is my cousin Scarlett’s longtime boyfriend and fiancé. Incredible. Their wedding is coming up soon. How soon? I’m afraid to ask.

“…happy that you’re dating someone, anyone. The entire family can’t wait to meet Timothy. Everyone is so excited that you have a plus-one.”

My temples pound as I slouch against the building. I never told her that Timothy and I broke up because I didn’t want to hear about how I’d never find a man, how I should move home, or mostly, how Darrin McKinney from my high school class is still single and owns a shoe store in Cartersville. The only shoe store. It’s the only one because the town has one stoplight and one grocery store. Why do they even need a shoe store?

“Mom… go… will… Tim… tomor…” I speak between taps of my fingernail on the microphone of my cell phone.

“What was that dear? You’re breaking up.”

“Bad… problem…”

“Kimberly Ann?” she asks, back to yelling.

I disconnect the line.

No, we didn’t have a bad connection. The fingernail against the microphone is an old trick, one you’d think she’d figured out by now. I inhale and exhale as I look around, reminding myself that I’m in one of the biggest and most exciting cities of the world. I’m about to have dinner with my best friend, and I love my life. I won’t let thoughts of my perfect cousin’s wedding, or my need to tell my mother that Timothy isn’t able to attend, or my eventual admission that I no longer have a plus-one, ruin my night.

Maybe I could make up an accident like the one Kurt’s friend had. Would two ski accidents be too coincidental?

As I ride the special elevator up to Gaston’s and tap my finger against my chin, I contemplate possible stories. Perhaps in a series of unfortunate events, Timothy stepped off the curb and got hit by a car. I practice the story in my head. “It was so sad. He never saw the taxi and it didn’t see him. You know how traffic is in the city…”

A smile forms as I add gory details: broken leg, arm, and maybe a rib or two. That could work, but depending when the wedding is, this terrible accident would need to happen soon. My mood lightens as I ponder the consequences of his morbid demise. No, not demise. Just an injury. The pieces start to fall in place. Timothy’s make-believe accident could be more beneficial than just saving him from the wedding. It could also save me. After all, what kind of a girlfriend would I be if I left my nonexistent boyfriend alone to recuperate from his pretend accident?

As the elevator doors open, a smidgen of relief fills me. Just as quickly, the thoughts of my cousin’s wedding and ex-boyfriend’s injury fade away into the chic ambiance of Gaston’s. Stepping into the dimly lit foyer, I’m enthralled with the decor. High above, the ceiling is filled with small, twinkling lights mimicking a starry sky. Near the entrance the hostess stands in a pool of blue light. The couple who rode the elevator with me moves ahead and speaks to her.

Not only must guests clear the sentry on the first floor, we also must make it past this woman to get inside. As I wait, I gaze toward the wide archway leading to the prize—Gaston’s. My breath catches as I take in the beauty. Beyond the array of tables covered in linen and lit by flickering candles, the walls don’t exist. Instead, they’re made up of floor-to-ceiling windows filled with the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen.

Through the glass, the sunset’s final orange and purple blush beams from the horizon, illuminating the restaurant and showering it in a bronze glow. Outside, the windows of Manhattan’s buildings blaze in radiant glory.

Even after nearly three years, I can’t help but marvel that this is where I live, that the grandeur of New York is all around me.

“Miss?”

The hostess brings my attention back to my mission at hand—getting inside the archway. “Yes, I’m here to meet Shana Price. I believe we have a six o’clock reservation.”

After a quick search of the electronic tablet, the hostess smiles. “Yes, I see the reservation. Let me show you to your table. Ms. Price is already seated.”

I follow the petite hostess as she weaves between tables. Even at this early hour, most of the seats are filling with happy patrons. Their hushed murmurs add to the posh feel as I think about Shana.

We’ve been roommates since we both moved to New York. It was a lucky match. Both recent college graduates and from small towns, we were paired by a realtor site when we both followed our dream jobs to the big city.

My job is with Buchanan and Willis Pharmaceuticals while hers is with Saks. Yes, Saks Fifth Avenue, as in the one on the actual Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. Though if you saw Shana, you would swear she looked like a model, her dream job is being a buyer.

When she’s not in New York, she’s flying to fashion shows and inspecting textile companies.

After receiving her text earlier today, I texted back and asked why we were going to Gaston’s and how in the world she got a table. Her answer was that we’re celebrating and money talks.

I’ve heard that before about money; however, as I gaze around the upscale surroundings, I’m pretty sure that even if all my money got together and shouted, it would barely make a whisper compared to the monetary clamor of the other patrons.

Near a large window filled with the majestic skyline, I spot Shana. When our eyes meet, her perpetual smile grows and her arm pops up as she waves my direction.

“Your table,” the hostess says as she pulls back my chair.

“Thank you.”

The hostess’s response is a quick nod—maybe only the movement of her chin, it’s hard to be sure—and a pivot as she disappears into the maze of tables.

“I’m so happy you could meet me,” Shana says with her blue eyes sparkling.

I shake my head as I lift the satin napkin. “What in the world happened? Did you win the lottery?” I lean closer. “I didn’t know you even played.”

“I don’t, but I did.”

“I’m so confused.”

“Well, it was kind of like winning the lottery and we need to celebrate.”

The word celebrate brings back memories of Scarlett’s wedding. I push the thought of my mother’s call away and concentrate on Shana. As I do, the slippery napkin escapes my hold. Quickly, I slide from my seat to retrieve it.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice says as black leather loafers stop precariously close to where I’m now kneeling to rescue my napkin.

Seeing the shoes, I look up and suck in a deep breath.

Towering above me are long legs covered in tailored trousers. As I follow them up, they lead to a trim waist, a black belt, and a white shirt that buttons over a broad chest. I barely swallow the lump in my throat as I recognize the wide shoulders covered with the matching suit jacket. Seizing the napkin, I stand, suddenly face to face with one of the owners of the company where I work.

My face burns with embarrassment as his shimmering green eyes narrow and head tilts. Inches away from me is one of the handsomest men I’ve ever met. He should be on the cover of GQ, not gracing the halls of Buchanan and Willis.

His firm lips form a tight smirk and cheeks rise in amusement. “Miss Jones.”

Staring into the sea of emerald, I try to pretend I wasn’t just on my knees in a chic restaurant in front of Duncan Willis.

“Mr. Willis,” I respond, my voice cracking. Nervously, I take a step backward. As if the moment weren’t awkward enough, I wobble, teetering precariously on my high heels.

Swiftly, he reaches out, grabs my elbow, and steadies my footing. Though he just saved me from making an even bigger fool out of myself by falling face-first into what I can only imagine is a hard, defined chest, my mind is suddenly consumed with the electricity of his touch. The energy heats my skin as his grasp lingers.

When I finally tear my gaze from his, I notice the woman behind him, Jennifer Miller. She is a recent Buchanan and Willis hire who currently works in marketing. Being in human resources at Buchanan and Willis, as I have been since I came to New York, there isn’t an employee at our New York office who I don’t know by name and face. There also isn’t a name from our satellite offices I don’t know.

Though my mind is filled with the warmth of his touch, I immediately make the assumption that Miss Miller’s agenda for this evening includes doing whatever she can to climb the corporate ladder. Rumor has it that no one tells Mr. Willis no. Then again, I’m not sure why anyone would.

“Mr. Willis. Ms. Miller,” I say with a nod, freeing my arm and filling the silence.

Jennifer appears as uneasy as I feel. She’s right in thinking that HR just caught her out with the boss—though that will be a thought for me to ponder at a later time because right now I’m too overwhelmed by the jolt from Mr. Willis’s skin against mine.

“Have a nice dinner, Miss Jones.”

“And you, too.”

I hug my napkin to my chest as I ease back into my chair.

After they’re gone, Shana leans forward. “Was that… that’s the Duncan Willis you’ve told me about?”

I shrug nonchalantly. “I may have mentioned him a time or two.”

SHANA LOOKS AT me with that knowing grin as I reach for my glass of water. The clear liquid sloshes within the crystal as I do my best to steady my nerves, hoping not to add dousing the linen tablecloth to part of my dinner hijinks.

The encounter wouldn’t have been so bad had it been anyone else.

Instead, I’m speechless, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that in the poshest restaurant in Midtown, I was on my knees in front of Duncan Willis. He isn’t only smart—he’s half the brains behind Buchanan and Willis Pharmaceuticals—but he’s also wealthy as sin and undeniably sex on a stick. He was recently named one of New York City’s most eligible bachelors. The way he wears his tailored suits on his over six-foot frame should be illegal. With jet-black hair and stunning green eyes, he can melt panties with just a smirk.

No doubt as I squirm in my seat, mine are currently nothing but hot wax.

I press my legs together and add kneeling in front of Duncan Willis to my list of things not to think about right now.

“No, honey,” Shana says, “you’ve mentioned him more than a few times, but now I see why. He’s hot with a capital H.”

I eyeball the water in the tall glass. It’s ripple-free, indicating that my nerves have settled, or at least I appear steadier than I feel. My panties… well, that is a problem for another time. “He is,” I agree. “No doubt, Jennifer is on her way up the corporate ladder.”

“Well, duh. If he’s the ladder, why aren’t you climbing? Instead, you dated that loser Timothy Cole. I think you need to give company dating another go. After all, you’ve been there for nearly three years.” Her eyebrows wiggle. “I’d bet the view from the top—on top of him—would be mighty fine.”

I giggle, trying not to imagine what that would be like. “That’s not really my thing, and besides, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“He knew your name.”

“The only time he talks to me is when he wants me to do some menial task: book a hotel or check on an invoice. His requests never involve anything in my actual job description.” I shrug. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I tell him no.”

Shana tilts her head to the side, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder. “If I recall the rumors you’ve told me, there aren’t many people who tell him no. I wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” I confess as I nibble my lower lip. “I admit. There’s been more than a few times that I’ve imagined him asking me to do other things—things that go against company policy.”

“They only go against the policy when you’re in the office,” Shana clarifies.

My cheeks warm as erotic images infiltrate my thoughts.

“Look at how pink your cheeks are,” she says. “Who knew there was a sex kitten under all your prim and proper business attire?”

After the waitress fills our wine glasses and takes our orders, I speak. “Enough about Duncan Willis. Tell me what we’re celebrating and how you can afford this restaurant…” I turn toward the window. “…and a table with a view.”

Shana practically bounces in her chair. “I got a promotion.”

“You did?” I raise my wine glass. “Congratulations. To you.”

As the two glasses clink and just before she takes a sip, Shana’s smile dims.

After our congratulatory swallow, I ask, “What, what’s wrong?”

“Kimbra, I’ve been practicing this all afternoon. I don’t know how to say it.”

“Say what? Is it about your promotion? You know I’m thrilled for you. On to bigger and better things. Make your dreams come true.”

“That’s the thing. It is a dream, one I didn’t even know I could accomplish.”

“Isn’t that what dreams are all about?” I ask.

“It’s not that simple. The promotion is in London.”

It’s my smile’s turn to fade. “London… as in England?” I knew she didn’t mean Kentucky, but still, I’m shocked beyond making sense of geographical locations.

“Yes. It’s a great opportunity. The position opened unexpectedly and they need me to fill it right away.” She reaches out and covers my hand. “Saks is going to help me with my move, get me a place in London, and even give me money to fulfill my rent obligation with our apartment. I promise, I’m not leaving you high and dry.”

I feign a smile. “I never thought you would. They must really want you over there.”

Her grin returns full force, bringing light back to her blue eyes. “They do. They want me to oversee the Junior line. Oversee the whole line. It’s going to be amazing.”

I respond, saying all the right things, all the things a friend would say. “I understand. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Of course, I’m glad you took the job.” I say all of that, but inside I’m imagining my life without my best friend. I’m imagining coming home to an empty apartment. “I’m just going to miss you,” I confess as we finish our meal.

“Honey, we’ll talk. We’ll Skype and text. It’s London, not the middle of nowhere. And you can visit. I’ve been dying to show you some of the places I love to go when I’m over there buying. Now we’ll have time.”

“I can’t wait,” I say enthusiastically.

“Hey, when you first got to the table you looked a little frazzled.”

For the first time since seeing Duncan Willis and learning that my best friend is moving, I remember my mom’s call. “When do you need to leave?”

“In two weeks. What does this have to do with the frazzle?”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. Just before coming in, my mom called. The entire way up in the elevator I was planning some massive injury for Timothy.”

Shana’s eyes opened wide. “What did he do? You haven’t given a trash about him since New Year’s. I mean, I’m not against him having some horrific accident, you know, falling off the observation deck of the Empire State Building or something, but what does that have to do with your mom.”

“My cousin’s wedding.”

Shana’s nose scrunched. “Scarlett?”

I nodded. “Before the invitations came, I told my mom to RSVP for me and—”

“Plus-one?”

“Yes. For Timothy and me. I totally forgot about it. I need to confirm when the wedding is. I know! If it’s before you leave, you could be my plus-one.”

“And I totally would,” she says, “if I wasn’t leaving. I know! We could dance together and get your family talking.”

Laughter rumbles from my chest. “I’m going to miss you.”

With our dinner done, Shana says, “Come with me now. I’m meeting a few friends from work for a drink down the street.”

I decline, being a tad overwhelmed with Shana’s news and my upcoming phone call with my mother. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night. You have fun celebrating with them. I’ll see you at home.”

Shana and I make it to the elevator when I turn and notice the bar attached to the patio, now covered in see-through plastic windows. The view is still stunning and I imagine that in the summer, without the plastic, it’s even better. The bar is relatively empty.

“I think I’m going to get another glass of water before heading home. Clear head for the subway, you know?”

Shana gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good girl. Probably by the end of the night I’ll need an Uber.” And with that, the elevator doors begin to close. She waves her fingers as she disappears.

The bartender only nods at my order of iced water, no doubt thinking I’m a big spender. It isn’t a money thing. It’s the three glasses of wine that I drank with dinner.

Since I don’t own a car, riding the subway is the best way to get home from Midtown, and as I said to Shana, I prefer to do that with a clear head. When I first moved here, the two of us made a few trips on the subway that we probably shouldn’t have. We were lucky. There is safety in numbers. Tonight, I’m on my own.

As I will be once she’s gone.

A long sigh escapes my lips as I think about her promotion.

I am happy for her. I am. It’s me. Just like my RSVP for Scarlett’s wedding, I’m plus zero… alone.

After the bartender places the water in front of me, I take a long pull of the straw, allowing the fresh water to clear my head. It helps to give me focus. But then, as I believe I’m ready to leave, I turn and see him walking toward me.

Duncan Willis.

I blink my eyes, trying to erase the mirage. Am I imagining him? Maybe it’s the wine that’s making my imagination come to life.

I tilt my head and take in his exquisite form. Perhaps it’s my subconscious way to deal with the impending loneliness. Whatever it is, I like it. I like that in my hallucination, he’s coming toward me alone. I wonder if I can relive this vivid image again at home, in my bedroom…

My eyes flutter as I mentally change the surroundings.

It’s my room and Duncan Willis is moving toward me with determined steps. My breathing stutters. His unbuttoned jacket hangs perfectly from his wide shoulders while his forward motion causes it to gape, revealing his fitted shirt covering… Before I can imagine what is under that shirt, his eyes zero in on me as if I am his target.

My body heats at the thought.

Duncan is the arrow and I’m the bull’s-eye.

I shake my head and turn away, seriously concerned that I’m delusional. Giggling at myself, I take another sip of my water.

“Miss Jones.”

Shoot!

The water forgets its downward trajectory as I cough and nearly spit.

Idiot!

He isn’t in my imagination. I was actually fantasizing over and ogling the real him—my real boss.

Before I can respond, Mr. Willis gestures toward the empty barstool beside me. “May I?”

My head bobs before my lips move. “Y-yes.”

“I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to say something before we return to the office tomorrow.”

His casual, deep voice reverberates to my soul, mixing with the swoosh of my coursing blood. His closeness fills my senses with the spicy scent of his cologne and gives birth to a swarm of butterflies in my tummy.

Duncan Willis is sitting beside me.

I try to ignore my juvenile reaction and concentrate on his words. As I do, I come up with the reason I’m acting like I’m sixteen instead of twenty-five. It’s because wine, lust, the fear of loneliness, and Duncan Willis all work together to create a dangerous and somewhat embarrassing concoction.

“Ms. Miller, Jennifer,” he begins.

I lift my hand. “Mr. Willis. You’re one of the owners of Buchanan and Willis. The company doesn’t have a policy against fraternization outside the office.”

“I wanted you to know that tonight wasn’t about that, about fraternization. I had dinner reservations. My date canceled. Jennifer had a marketing proposal. It was late. I’d heard good things about Gaston’s and well, I didn’t want to let the reservations go unused. I figured two birds, one stone. You know?”

“You don’t need to tell me any of that.”

His cheeks rise as his smile grows. “I didn’t. I wanted to. You’re HR. I didn’t want you to think less of Jennifer. She’s a valuable employee.”

He does know my title.

I look beyond his broad shoulder. “Is she waiting for you?”

“No. After the dinner and proposal, she went home… to her fiancé,” he adds.

A twinge of guilt pierces through the childish butterflies, maybe even a hint of shame for assuming the worst of Jennifer and her willingness to climb the corporate ladder.

“Sir,” the bartender asks, appearing before us, “may I get you a drink?”

Mr. Willis turns toward me. “Are you staying?”

“I’m just getting my head clear before heading home.”

“Highland Park, neat,” Mr. Willis says.

“Yes, sir. Coming right up.”

I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the masculine scent that has settled around us in an intoxicating cloud. The longer I’m near it, the more I wonder if its aroma could be more intoxicating than the wine. Clearing my head in his proximity isn’t easy.

“Scotch man?” I ask.

“Yes. You know your scotch.”

I shrug. “Not really.”

He grins, nodding toward my glass. “I see you take your water on the rocks. Or do you really like vodka?”

“Only water. You know, living dangerously? With your recent order, I suspect that clearing your head isn’t on your agenda?”

Mr. Willis laughs. “I’m not driving.”

“Neither am I, but you know how the subways can be.”

His eyes widened. “What? You’re not taking the subway at this hour by yourself. Where is your friend, the one with you at dinner?”

“I am taking the subway,” I say, determined. “It’s how I get home—really how I get anywhere. And she’s my roommate, or soon I can say that she used to be.”

My fingers run over the smooth rim of my glass as I pour out my lonely story to my boss, to the man who before tonight, I’d never said anything to that wasn’t business related. As time goes by, I tell him about Shana, how we met, and how she’s been the perfect roommate. I even divulge that when I applied for the job with Buchanan and Willis, I’d never been to New York. I just wanted to see more of the world.

I blame my long-winded response on the wine and his magical cologne. I’m not thinking straight, yet as I talk, so does he. He asks questions like he’s really listening to my words and my dreams. With each phrase or statement, his deep voice sends shockwaves to my core, but more than that, to my heart.

His glass is almost empty, and most of my ice is melted.

I stand and reach for my purse. “I’m sorry I’ve bored you with all that. The truth is that I’m happy for Shana. I am. This promotion is her dream.”

Mr. Willis reaches toward me, touching my arm. The same energy from earlier, that connection at the table, zaps through me, stopping my retreat. “What is your dream?” he asks.

For the first time since learning of Shana’s promotion, I remember why I came to New York. “This may sound funny,” I say, “or like I’m buttering up the boss, but I’m living it.” I gesture about the bar and toward the plastic barriers. The lights of Manhattan glow and twinkle beyond the transparent barrier. “This is it. What I always dreamed of doing.”

“Please don’t take the subway,” Mr. Willis pleads. “I have a driver waiting for my text.”

“That’s not necessary. The subway is part of my dream.”

Mr. Willis shakes his head. “Miss Jones, I admire you.”

“Me? Why?”

“I admire people who know what they want and take it, even when an easier solution is right in front of them.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Sometimes… the easy way doesn’t have the same destination.”

“You’re saying that to fulfill a dream, you have to work hard, not take the easy road?”

“I think I’m saying, easiest isn’t always best. Thank you, Mr. Willis, for taking the time to listen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I DON’T SEE Mr. Willis the next day or at all the rest of the week. I even avoid talking to my mother. We shared a few quick texts. She told me the wedding is rapidly approaching. It’s this coming Saturday. And even though she’s asked more than once for Timothy’s tux size, I haven’t yet had the courage to tell her about his dramatic fall from the Empire State Building observation deck. Although the story makes me chuckle, I’m concerned that she’ll be able to fact-check me on that one. I give more thought to the taxi story.

It’s a little scary how much detail I’ve added in my head.

All in all, getting hit by a moving vehicle in Manhattan is more believable than plummeting to your death from a busy tourist landmark. My parents have been to New York twice to visit, but with that limited experience, they aren’t aware that traffic is more often at a standstill than it is whizzing around city curbs.

The truth is that I wouldn’t mind if Timothy actually had an accident. With all the talk of him at Scarlett’s wedding, I can’t help but recall New Year’s Eve, searching for him at the party, opening that door, and finding him with Carla from accounting. When that memory comes to life, it really isn’t that hard to envision him maimed or at the very least, missing a few key body parts.

As I emerge from the subway tunnel onto the bustling street, my phone’s chirp fills my ears via my Bluetooth. A quick glance at my watch and I know it’s my mom. Taking a deep breath, I decide it’s time to bite the bullet. In my defense, for the last week I haven’t only been avoiding my mom’s calls; I’ve been helping Shana pack and get ready for her move. It may be a defense mechanism, but I figure if I keep denying that I have to tell my mom the truth, I’ll come up with a fail-safe plan.

I haven’t, and other than making Shana my plus-one, I’m out of options.

“Mom,” I say, pressing my Bluetooth closer to my ear. The morning sunlight causes me to squint as I concentrate on her voice.

“What time do you get in?”

“Get in?” I ask, guilt filling me as I decide how best to break her heart.

As I play dumb to her twenty questions, I realize that I never made airplane reservations. Incredible, it’s Monday. The big day that the entire family—minus me—has prepared for is Saturday. Five days away.

To say I’m unprepared is a gross understatement. I don’t have transportation. I don’t have a dress…

“Thursday, dear. Your dad has that appointment. We tried to make it for another time, but the doctor is well-known for his work with those kinds of problems. We didn’t want to wait longer, and we want to be sure we can pick you up at the airport. If we can’t, Susan said—”

“Thursday?” I say, interrupting more conversation of my sister-in-law. “Mom, the wedding isn’t until Saturday.” I try again to deny the time has arrived to come clean. “Which appointment does Dad have?”

“The urologist. Oh, I’ve told you. Remember, it used to be with stress, but now—”

Okay, that isn’t where I wanted to go. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to get to work. You were saying Thursday. I figured Friday…” Or Saturday, ten minutes before the ceremony. I don’t say that, because I know it won’t fly.

Speaking of flying, why didn’t I book a flight before now? A last-minute flight will cost a fortune and will probably take me to Indiana via Texas. I’ll chalk that one up to denial too.

“Just tell me what time your flight arrives,” Mom says. “You know it’s race weekend. I told you not to book a hotel, and if you listened, there’s not one available for miles. Besides, we have plenty of room. I have a surprise for you.”

“You do?” I ask sheepishly.

“Yes,” her voice brims with excitement. “I’ve talked with your father and even he agrees: Timothy can stay with you in your room.”

“What?” I choke.

“Yes, you’re a grown woman and we want him to know that if it’ll get your man to propose, he can stay in your room.”

“M-Mom…” I struggle to find appropriate words. How on God’s green earth does she think that sleeping with someone in my parents’ house is going to be romantic?

“It’s all right. You know, despite this issue that we’re seeing the doctor about, your dad and I are still quite active—”

My body shakes in denial as I interrupt. “The race. Garbage. How did I forget about the race?”

“Well, I don’t know, dear. It’s only the biggest spectacle in racing. Your dad and brother aren’t too happy about missing it. They were hoping to take Timothy. But there’s the big family pig roast on Sunday. Dad had to give the tickets away. He gave them to Scott McKinney. You know, Darrin’s father. By the way, your dad said Scott seemed disappointed that you are bringing a plus-one from New York. Apparently, Darrin was hoping…” she rambles.

My stomach twists. Darrin?

No. “Mom?”

“Oh! Did you get Timothy’s measurements? I need those today. Besides filling in for his friend from California, Kurt wants Timothy at the bachelor party. You know, I’m not a big fan of parties the night before the wedding. Remember that incident with Jimmy…”

My neck stiffens as I feel the anxiety build. I can’t avoid this any longer. No matter how badly I don’t want to attend the perfect wedding or return to Indiana and field all the questions about why I’m not married, why I’m living far away in New York, or why I have a life instead of being pregnant with baby number three at twenty-five years old, I have to put on my big-girl panties and face the music.

“Mom,” I try to interrupt as I push my way through a crowd of obviously lost tourists. “Mom, um, Timothy…”

“Kimberly, you’re breaking up. What did you say?”

“We’re not…”

“Kimberly Ann, I RSVP’d for you plus-one.”

The anxiety grows as she says exactly what I expect.

“That was six months ago. Oh my Lord,” she continues without taking a breath. “Tell me you’re not single again! I was afraid this was why you weren’t giving me his measurements. Why didn’t you tell me? You know your aunt and uncle paid for a sit-down dinner. The reception is at the Hyatt. It’s very fancy, place settings with real silverware and everything. Oh dear Lord in Heaven, don’t tell me that I have to tell them you don’t have a plus-one. I know! I can call Darrin. Do you want me to call him?”

Nothing like a little down-home guilt. I take a deep breath and tap the microphone of my Bluetooth. “No. Not Darrin. I-I’m… said… see… going… Thursday… rental car…” I say as I disconnect the call.

One day she’s going to catch on.

In the meantime, I’m going to bask in the reprieve.

I told her… well, I tried to tell her.

My thoughts fill with the details of my upcoming trip of disgrace. I need to book a flight and a rental car. I need to buy a dress. If only my plus-one was as easy. I practice my responses in my head. “Children? No, not yet… no, no dog either… Married? No… Yes, I’m sure he’s out there somewhere too… Yes, I suppose I’m sort of married to my job…” And then there’s the abundance of disapproving looks from my aunt, grandmother, and mother as I sit in my assigned seat at the reception next to an empty chair or next to Darrin McKinney, Indiana’s shoe king.

Maybe if I call Aunt Laura now, she can move me to the kids’ table. Or I could get one of those blow-up, life-sized dolls.

I half giggle, half grimace as I make my way along the street to the building where I work at a real job. When I enter the lobby of the building that houses the offices of Buchanan and Willis, my mind is hundreds of miles away. Out of habit, I squeeze my way into the coffee shop.

“Caffè vanilla light frappuccino. Venti,” I say while making mental notes: it’s Monday. I need to be in Indiana on Thursday. I haven’t asked for time off or bought a dress or ordered a blow-up date. My mind’s a blur as the barista hands me my coffee and I turn, bumping right into him.

“Shoot!” I say louder than I intend.

“Miss Jones.”

I look up from the steaming coffee that managed to mostly stay within the confines of the cup—thank goodness for lids—and stare as some trickles down my hand and a small drop lands on my white blouse. My gaze goes to the floor. In front of me are those same shiny, dark leather shoes. My eyes move upward: his dark blue slacks that narrow at his waist. I suck in a breath at the way his suit coat hangs from his broad shoulders. Finally, our eyes meet.

Gritting my teeth, I force a smile. “Mr. Willis.” I search his suit for evidence of our collision. “Did I…” I motion with a tip of my head.

Mr. Willis grins his panty-melting smirk. His deep voice drowns out the crowd. “Near miss, I believe. No harm, no foul. Have a good day, Miss Jones.” And then he steps around me.

Rubbish.

A week ago, I was on my knees in front of Duncan Willis at a high-end restaurant. Now I’m bumping into him at the coffee shop. In general, I’m not a klutz; however, I doubt I could convince him of that.

First my mom and now this.

Can this day get any worse?

Not that any of that matters.

Shaking my head, I make my way to the elevator. Minutes later I walk the length of the hall and large room to my cubicle. Leaving my cup of coffee on my desk, I decide that before anything else, I should attempt to save my blouse. Maybe if I can wash the coffee stain away, my day will begin to look up.

Not wanting to strip to my lacy bra in front of half my female coworkers, I turn down a less-used hallway to a smaller employee bathroom, one with only two stalls.

Any other day I’d be irate about the coffee. After all, this is one of my favorite outfits, a white silk blouse, navy pencil skirt, big red chunky necklace, and red high-heeled, idiot-me pumps. It would seem like the shoes would be uncomfortable, but surprisingly they aren’t. Besides, I love the way they accent the red. With everything else that’s happening, sadly today the spilled coffee seems to rank lower on my list of concerns.

Stripping out of my blouse, I look at my reflection in the mirror and shake my head.

“Nice entrance, Kimbra,” I murmur. “Face the fact. It’s going to be you and Darrin McKinney or Mr. Blow-up, or…” I say with all the sarcasm I can muster. “… maybe you can sit at the kids’ table. You’ve put it all off for too long. You are out of options.”

My chest heaves with the crushing weight of my impending fate. My white lace bra barely contains my DD breasts as I attempt to fill my lungs with a strengthening breath. Carefully, I lower my blouse under a cool stream of water. As I gently rub the stain, the spot begins to fade.

Things begin to look up, until…

“Yes, in here…” A woman’s voice coos near the bathroom door.

Shoot!

“Of course,” I mumble, clenching my damp blouse to my bare stomach and quietly slipping into one of the stalls. As I shut the door, the outside door crashes open.

“O-oh,” the female voice pants. “Y-yes. Let me show you.”

I shake my head. Really? It isn’t bad enough that I have the whole mother-wedding thing and I nearly showered Mr. Willis with my hot coffee, now I get to listen to two people getting it on in a bathroom.

“A-ah, God…”

Silently, I sit on the toilet and hold my wet blouse on my lap. I might as well get comfortable and try to ignore what’s happening beyond the stall.

I could hum, but it might not be their song. I could try to think about something else. What color dress would I like to buy?

“Oh. Oh!”

Should it be short or long? Sleeves or no?

“Y-yes…”

It’s only the woman who’s speaking.

Though my mind is doing its best to ignore the audible and disturbingly erotic scene, my body isn’t following suit. My breathing quickens as I force myself to imagine dresses suitable for an Indiana spring wedding.

What are Scarlett’s colors? I try to remember. My diversionary tactics aren’t working.

The commotion beyond the stall becomes louder. More sounds… more breathing.

Incredible! Whoever they are, they’re going at it.

My wrist vibrates, alerting me to emails or text messages. Ignoring that, I notice it’s only a little after eight in the morning. I’m not a prude. I’m not against morning sex, just not in the company bathroom!

The breathing gets heavier. Groans.

My core clenches and mind wavers between sweet bliss and indignation.

I should stop this. I work in HR. What is happening outside this stall is definitely against company policy. And at the same time, it’s hot as trash. Besides, I can’t exactly run out in my bra and yell stop! Maybe this is the diversion I need from my sucky life. This will give me something to fantasize about during my upcoming nasty weekend.

I close my eyes and visualize the scene to go along with the sounds.

I haven’t heard the man’s voice yet, just his breathing.

From beneath the stall the female’s legs bend. Blue pumps and a skirt come into view as she falls to her knees.

Oh shoot! “No!” I scream mentally.

The sound of a zipper echoes throughout the tile bathroom.

“Don’t do it,” I plead mentally. “Don’t do it.”

My mind may be disapproving, but the hotter it gets, the more my body agrees. I’m a little ashamed to admit, the sounds alone are turning me on. Wetness builds between my legs as I give in and allow my imagination to take over. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m squeezing my thighs together, tighter and tighter.

A growl echoes through the bathroom. A growl…

Holy mother!

The growl rumbles through me, deep and primitive. Oh sweet Goodness. That’s erotic.

I stifle a whimper and press my thighs as tight as they’ll go. Taking a deep breath, I shift my body, praying for a little relief, but the readjustment makes my red pumps scrape the tile floor.

“Incredible,” the man’s voice resonates through the small bathroom. My heart stills and eyes open wide.

“I-is someone in here?” the woman asks. No longer seductive, her voice holds an edge of panic.

Commotion—moving zippers and fabric straightening as well as the woman’s heels and man’s shoes against the floor. Without another word, they’re gone.

He only said one word, but I know that voice. And those men’s shoes.

I stand and place my forehead against the stall door as the twisting in my groin moves upward to my stomach. With my wet blouse still in my grasp and my wet panties beneath my skirt, I picture the man who just growled. Behind my closed eyes, I see his wide shoulders, his trim waist, the way his pleated trousers hang over his big cock and surround his round donkey.

Okay, I’ve never seen his cock, but in my imagination, it’s big.

Yes, I have imagined it.

The image of Duncan Willis becomes clear as I sigh in disbelief and yes, in frustration too.

THE WATER AND scrubbing action works to remove the coffee stain. With a little patience and use of the hand dryer, the damp spot on my blouse fades. I don’t bother with the one on my panties. I try not to think about it, him, or them.

At least the coffee stain is gone.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t un-hear their vocalizations. With each step toward my desk, my erotic fantasy lessens and my fury builds. I’m not against a good orgasm as a great way to start the day, but trash. Do it in bed. Have it brought on by your favorite battery-operated boyfriend. Have it brought on by long, thick masculine fingers or better yet, a hard, large cock.

I try not to put a face with any of those fantasies, especially one with shining green eyes.

Any of those possibilities is an acceptable way to start the day.

What isn’t a great way… is to listen to your boss get off with some office hussy after you had to deal with a telephone conversation with your mother.

I’m a human resources specialist. Fraternization is fine outside of the office.

Not inside.

Not in the bathroom.

It doesn’t matter what time of day. Sex in the company bathroom is wrong and against company policy. It’s an offense that can result in termination. Not that I can fire one of the owners. But dang, the man needs to keep it in his pants.

Last week at Gaston’s, I thought maybe the rumors were false. I thought maybe Mr. Willis wasn’t the player everyone made him out to be. He’s sexy and smart. He was nice and listened to my sad saga. After that night, I even considered that maybe the stories women whispered around the office were only wishful thinking. After all, that night he’d sought me out and made a point to uphold Jennifer’s reputation, not that I would have said anything. Nevertheless, by doing what he’d done, I’d been impressed.

Now, as I try to compose myself, I reconsider my assumption. Just because I heard second- or third-hand stories doesn’t mean I want to hear his moans or growls.

Incredible!

That growl was so hot.

But seriously, who was she?

And then it hits me. Jennifer. Was everything he said at the bar just a cover?

That revelation makes me more upset.

Once back at my desk, I remove my coffee’s lid. The sudden jerk makes the liquid slosh precariously close to the rim. Don’t spill the coffee, I mentally warn myself.

I need to think about this as the HR specialist I am. Who the woman is isn’t the problem. The concern is that whomever she is, she could sue his donkey and this company—Buchanan and Willis. What he did places my job as well as the jobs of others on the line.

Sitting at my desk, I carefully lift the cup. With the rim at my lips, I finally take a drink of my coffee. As I do, a deep voice causes the small hairs on my neck to stand to attention.

“Miss Jones.”

My breathing stops. Before I dribble on my blouse again, I carefully and cautiously move the cup away from my lips and turn toward the entrance to my cubicle. Standing there, all sexy and perhaps slightly perturbed, is Duncan Willis.

His arms cross over his wide chest, straining the seams of his suit coat. His shimmering green eyes move unashamedly down my body, beginning at my hair and leaving a trail of smoldering flames in their wake. Each inch that his gaze lowers widens the path of fire that his growl ignited in the bathroom. The heat builds as I wait for his next word. As seconds tick by, I’m ready to combust.

It’s not until his gaze reaches my shoes that his grin broadens. “Nice shoes, Miss Jones. I thought I noticed them this morning… in the coffee shop.”

My shoes. He noticed them? Why did I wear red? Nude or blue… so many options. How many women have on red pumps?

Undoubtedly, he not only saw them in the coffee shop, but also in the bathroom.

“Mr. Willis, it’s nice of you to notice my attire.”

“You’re very noticeable.”

As he turns to walk away, I remember to take a breath. One more second and I would have passed out or been consumed by the heat of his eyes. In either event, my head would have fallen onto my desk and probably spilled my coffee. Why not? After the way my morning had begun, anything is possible.

I turn back to my desk, and as I do, I remember the sound of his voice. Nice shoes.

My teeth grind.

He knows I know.

He wants me to know that he knows.

Well, Duncan Willis may be my boss, but I was hired here to do a job.

Any other employee and I would say something. I am bound to say something.

Steeling my shoulders, I begin to move my desk chair, when out of the corner of my eye, I see the screen of my phone light. In the message icon is a little red number—five. No wonder my wrist was vibrating.

Letting out an exaggerated breath, I swipe the screen.

Five text messages.

MOTHER: What Happened?

I hung up on you!

MOTHER: I can’t reach you.

No kidding. That’s the point.

MOTHER: Are you there?

My head moves back and forth. She’s not great at taking a hint.

MOTHER: Call me back.

Honestly, Mom, my plate is a tad full at this moment.

MOTHER: I need to know about Timothy. Please tell me I misunderstood. Tell me that I don’t have to tell your aunt that one of the place settings will go unused. You know how hard your uncle has worked for this wedding. Or tell me to call Darrin. You know how much he has always liked you? Did you notice his picture on Facebook? The hair plugs are almost not even noticeable. Call me. Between this and your father’s problem, I’m about to have an episode.

No. A thousand times no. I will order a blow-up date before agreeing to spend the evening with Darrin McKinney.

“Idiot!” The word slips out louder than a whisper, as I bang my head on the top of my desk. “Someone, make this all go away!”

And then it hits me. The answer to all my problems.

Well, maybe not an answer, but an idea.

My chest expands and my breasts push against my blouse as I stand. The idea that just occurred to me is ludicrous, asinine, and possibly the worst one I’ve ever had. But other than the possibility of losing my job—oh, and my dignity—it just might work. It might not only show Mr. Duncan Willis that I take my job seriously, but at the same time save me from sitting at the children’s table or with a blow-up date at Scarlett’s wedding.

I square my shoulders, take another deep breath, and turn toward Mr. Willis’s office.

No longer inhabited by butterflies of lust, my tummy is now filled with bats, like those that explode out of a cave in some old Indiana Jones adventure film. “Come on, Kimbra,” I tell myself. “It’s now or never.”

With more determination than I thought possible, I walk toward his office door. My red shoes clip the tile at a fast pace. Despite my quick steps, it’s as if the journey takes longer than ever before. In reality, his office is only on the other side of the large room housing mine and seven other cubicles, and down one hallway.

I’ve been to his office many times. I know from experience that his office space is separated from his assistant’s by a large glass wall. A switch can be thrown that changes the glass from clear to opaque, giving his space the privacy necessary to discuss employees’ futures. Currently as I approach, the wall is clear. Coming to a stop in the doorway, through the pane I can see Mr. Willis sitting at his desk, his green eyes squinting as he concentrates on whatever is on his computer screen.

I walk toward his assistant’s desk and half-smile.

Since it was a woman I heard in that bathroom, I know the person with Mr. Willis earlier today wasn’t his assistant, Jorge. Besides, if Mr. Willis and his assistant wanted to go at it, they wouldn’t need to use the company bathroom. They could just do it behind the opaque window.

It’s been the location of more than a few of my fantasies.

And I’m relatively sure that Jorge isn’t Duncan Willis’s type, though Duncan’s gender may be Jorge’s.

“Jorge, I need to speak to Mr. Willis.”

He looks up from his computer as his dark eyes shine from below his blond styled hair. He’s wearing a camel cardigan sweater over a tight black shirt. No matter who Jorge would like to get it on with, he’s always the epitome of chic and style. “Hi, Kimbra. Don’t tell me you’re firing people again.”

My eyes widen. “The day is young.”

“Oh, for such a pretty young thing, you sure can be scary.”

I push my shoulders back, hoping he’s right. “Mr. Willis?”

Jorge tilts his head toward the door within the glass. “Go on in. He just got here so I doubt he’s busy. But I warn you, something has him a little peeved this morning.”

Just got here? Peeved? Thirty minutes ago Mr. Willis was on the first floor. Maybe banging some office hussy in the bathroom threw off his schedule. Or maybe he’s upset that it was interrupted.

Opening the door, I clear my throat. “Mr. Willis.”

THIS DAY JUST got better, not that I’m going to let Miss Jones know that, not yet.

Kimbra Jones is a vision, one I never expected to walk into my office this morning. Not after what happened a few minutes ago.

My cheeks rise and lips thin as I scan her sumptuous body from head to toe. Her auburn hair is piled on her head exposing her slender neck and the red necklace moves with each of her breaths. It matches her red shoes perfectly. My toe hardens as I imagine what I could do to her while she wears those shoes, maybe those and nothing else.

In my defense, my toe doesn’t stand to attention for every woman. It wasn’t even at full mast earlier today despite that woman’s best intentions.

In Kimbra’s defense, she doesn’t wear overly revealing clothes, but heck, that’s what makes her all that more enticing. With a body like Kimbra’s, she could be in a blasted paper sack and it would be impossible not to notice her curves. The way her donkey sways in that tight skirt and her belly, her gorgeous round big belly. They’re almost too perfect. Since she entered our employment three years ago, I’ve given those belly a lot of thought. My decision is they’re real.

I came to that conclusion through years of research with strict, independent measures. Okay, it wasn’t that defined. Basically, I’ve known women who’ve paid a fortune for belly like Kimbra’s. I’ve even paid a lot of money for a few women in my past to have belly like those. The thing is, there’s something about fake boobs—something I don’t see in Kimbra’s.

As her voice echoes through my office, it takes all my willpower to stay seated and not push the button to cloud the glass and pull her close. Earlier, it wasn’t the sound of her shoes that told me someone was in the bathroom—just before that happened, I’d heard a whimper, a perfect little whimper.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get off on someone listening, or someone getting off while they listened. But never in a million years did I imagine it would be Kimbra Jones. I honestly didn’t see the shoes until it was too late.

I’d much rather have my toe in Kimbra’s mouth than the woman’s from accounting. Actually, that woman never got it in her mouth. She was too busy rubbing herself all over me, trying to turn me on. She’s been throwing herself at me for a while, and I’ve had a small dry spell of late. A few dates here and there, but none I enjoyed as much as sitting with Kimbra after dinner the other evening. Since that night, the beauty in front of me has been on my mind more than usual. And then I saw her this morning in the coffee shop, and she looked so sexy—red shoes and all.

When that other woman offered her services, I decided that a little relief was in order. I could have taken matters into my own hands, but why turn down the gift of a blow job?

“Mr. Willis,” she repeats, bringing me back to present.

“Yes, Miss Jones.”

She reaches for the door and pushes it shut. Taking two more steps toward me, her sweet perfume reaches me before she does. Based on her stick-straight posture and the determination in her blue eyes, I’d venture to guess that fulfilling my fantasies isn’t on her agenda.

She’s obviously pissed and cute.

“We need to discuss a company policy infraction that occurred this morning.”

I lift my brow, unsure if I should be impressed that she is so good at her job or that she has the courage to confront me. “I see. Did you witness this infraction or was a report made?”

She clears her throat. “I-I witnessed it.”

I stand, hoping my body’s reaction to her and her fortitude keeps itself hidden. Casually I tug and straighten my suit coat, hoping another layer of covering will do its job. Keeping her bright blue eyes locked on mine, I narrow the distance between us. “This infraction, can you describe it?”

What the heck am I doing?

My business partner, Michael Buchanan, has been lecturing me about women since we were together in college. I can’t help that he’s married and tied down to one woman. I’m not. Besides, I don’t look for opportunities. They throw themselves at me or walk into my office of their own free will.

It just so happens that the incredibly beautiful and sexy woman in front of me has never shown that kind of interest. And, if I were to be truthful, it’s bothered me. I’ve given her more attention than half the women who spread their legs and never once has she responded. Even at the bar the other night, she was friendly but respectful. Not once did she seem to notice that I’d like to know her better.

Having Kimbra walk in my office now is like a birthday present. Even though, technically, my birthday isn’t for another four months, it would be a waste not to accept my gift.

“I-it was fraternization,” she says.

“Really?” I ask. “We have a friendly work environment, Miss Jones. We encourage our employees to get along. You yourself told me recently that our company has no policy regarding fraternization outside the office.”

Her boobs heave as she takes a deep breath. “Sir.”

My toe painfully thickens at the word. I can’t stop the image of her calling me that on her knees, like she was at Gaston’s… except in my image she’s naked.

“I’m not referring to friendly conversation near the coffee station,” she explains, interrupting my thoughts.

Amused, I lean back against my desk and cross my arms over my chest. “What exactly are you discussing?”

Her cheeks flush. “Sex.”

“Oh, sex. Well, what happens away from the office—”

“Not away from the office,” she interrupts. “In the office. In the bathroom.”

“Sex? Are we discussing unwanted advances? Did someone force him- or herself upon another?” Little does she know, that is what happened. Granted, I wasn’t exactly fighting her off, but it was her advance.

“I-I don’t think it was unwanted.”

“And you know this how?”

Kimbra’s hands go up and just as quickly come down, slapping the sides of her hips before she turns in a small circle, displaying a full view of her curves, her donkey to her belly. Once she completes the turn, her blue eyes narrow. “Mr. Willis, you know that I know. You know I was there. You saw my shoes.”

My grin broadens. “Only after I heard you. Tell me, did you come?”

All the color drains from her face. It happens so fast that I worry she may faint. And then, it’s back. Red. Flaming red. Brighter than her shoes—cherry red.

“Mr. Willis, I’m here to say that what happened was inappropriate. What I witnessed was inappropriate. What you just said is—”

“Inappropriate,” I offer. “Yes, it is. Perhaps HR should fire me.”

“You know I can’t…”

“Then what is this about?”

“I-I like this company. I like my job. I don’t want you or anyone to screw it up.”

“Screw?” My brows rise.

Momentarily, she purses her lips. “I’m here as a representative of the human resources department to warn you…”

My head tilts to the side as my grin grows, a little lopsided. She’s warning me? This little firecracker is warning me, and I love it.

“…will make you a deal.”

I’d missed some of what she’d said, but the last part has me intrigued.

Pushing off the desk, I hit the button on the window, take another step closer, and then one more. “What kind of deal do you propose?”

As Kimbra inhales, I imagine taking one more step and feeling the brush of her belly against my chest.

At that moment, her resolve evaporates. “Never mind. It was stupid.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

I reach out and grab her elbow. Just like in the restaurant, there’s energy that courses from her to me. I wonder if she feels it too.

“Miss Jones, you’re right. What you witnessed was inappropriate. We should have made sure we were alone.”

She grimaces.

“We shouldn’t have done it at all,” I correct. “Michael wouldn’t be pleased if this report were made to him. It’s not like he could fire me either, but you’re right. I was wrong.”

Her eyes widened. “Then I’m glad—”

“What deal did you have in mind? What deal can be made to keep this just between the two of us?” Heck, I’ll probably tell Michael anyway. I’ll wait until we are three or four beers into a ballgame, but I’ll tell him. Right now, I want to hear what Kimbra is thinking.

“I need a plus-one for a wedding.”

My back straightens. What the heck did I just hear? “Miss Jones, are you asking me on a date?”

“No,” she answers too quickly. “I’m blackmailing you. Well, it’s not really blackmail… it’s more of a quid pro quo. And it’s not really a date… it’s a plus-one. It’s a weekend. A deal for a weekend from hell.” Her sentences all run together.

I work diligently to keep my lips from gaping open. “Blackmail? Deal? Plus-one. A weekend wedding from hell?”

She nods.

“I’m intrigued.” This is more than a deal. This is the day I’ve been waiting for, and I intend to seize it. “A whole weekend?” I ask. “Will we travel somewhere?”

“Indiana. It’s where I’m from. It’s my cousin’s wedding. I forgot about it or blocked it out. But now it’s this weekend. My mother RSVP’d for two. I was dating… He… well, now I’m not. I never told my mom that we broke up. I can’t go home without a date. I’m always the one without a date. It’ll just be for this weekend, which, by the way, needs to start Thursday and… well, not end until Monday. So I need time off and so do you. And… oh… there’s this thing about being in the wedding.”

She shakes her head.

I stare at the lips, her full red lips that are the same color as her necklace and shoes. Her words continue to spew faster than I can comprehend.

“But I think I can get you out of that.” She exhales. “That’s it. You do this for me and I’ll never mention what I heard. We can forget it ever happened. Unless… unless,” she adds, “you’re involved, like, with whoever that was.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, you had a date… you said she cancelled. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

My astonished expression is replaced by amusement. Involved? The date that cancelled was my mother and as for the woman in the bathroom, I don’t even know her name. “Wait. No. I’m not involved. So tell me, Kimbra…” I like using her first name. “…how long have we been dating?”

“SHOOT!” I TAKE a step back, but Mr. Willis reaches toward me again. This time he grabs my hand. His touch is warm—a spark that brings the earlier fire back to life.

“Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

The amusement in his tone reverberates in a straight line from my ears to right between my thighs. My core clenches as I remember the growl I’d heard earlier in the bathroom. No wonder I’m pale. My blood is too busy racing through my system, muting the world. I mean, I’m sure I misunderstood what he’d just said.

“Y-you agree? You do realize,” I clarify, “that I’m talking a full weekend. Four days. My family.” I pull my hand back as I remember my mother saying we would stay at their house with them. “Shoot!”

This is a disaster.

Mr. Willis laughs. “Is that your favorite word? I should know—since we’re involved.”

I shake my head. “No,” I answer too truthfully. “Idiot is my favorite word.”

He laughs again, this time louder. Each chuckle diffuses a small amount of my horror.

“No! This was a bad idea. I just remembered, since I kind of forgot about this weekend, I didn’t book a hotel. My mom wants us to stay with her and my dad, and I don’t know, probably my brother and his wife will be there… and maybe even my grandma. Oh, Mr. Willis, this will never work.”

“Duncan.”

His name is a flame setting every nerve in my body ablaze. I’ve touched myself to that name. I’ve fantasized about it. Now Duncan Willis is inches away, his lips hovering near mine, saying his name, his warm, cinnamon breath caressing my cheeks, and his spicy cologne filling my lungs. I swallow. “Duncan… yeah, right,” I say stupidly as I lift my right hand and extend it to him, ready to shake. “I’m Kimbra.”

Taking my hand, he laughs again, low and deep. He turns my hand in his grasp and lifts my knuckles to his lips. Their touch is tender as he peers up at me from under sinfully long lashes. “Yes, Kimbra, I know your name. Don’t worry, I’ll book a hotel. Where in Indiana are we going?”

Surely my heart is about to beat out of my chest. I try to form words and put them together in something that resembles a sentence. “Going… going to Indianapolis, and trash, you can’t. It’s race weekend. The hotels are all booked.”

“Race? The 500?”

“Yes. My mom wants us there Thursday. Friday night is the bachelor party.” I narrow my eyes. “Mr. Wi—I mean, Duncan. There will be women. That’s the kind of party it is.”

He nods knowingly.

“If we’re… together, you can’t… you’ll be with my brother and cousins and you just…”

He squeezes the hand he’s still holding. “Tell me, Kimbra, will we be together?” He elongates the final word.

My breathing hitches. “We need rules. We need to make it appear…”

He releases his grip and leans back against his desk. With his arms again crossed over his broad chest, he says, “Lay the rules on me.”

The way he’s staring at me looks like he’s waiting for me to give him a report on office morale, not like I’m about to tell him our plans and sleeping arrangements for the weekend… in my parents’ house.

I clear my throat. “We have to make them all believe we’ve been dating.”

He nods.

“I mean dating for a while. They can’t know this is just a one-time plus-one weekend.”

“Dating for a while,” he repeats.

“Yes, and we’ll need to stay at my parents’ house. My mom wants us to share a room. She thinks if she and my dad give their permission, someday I might get married.”

Duncan’s eyes widen.

I vigorously shake my head back and forth. “I’m not saying that. This is one weekend.”

“A plus-one for one weekend. Got it. Still…” His eyebrows wiggle, as he pushes off the desk. Before I can blink he has one strong hand around my waist and pulls me toward him. “Miss Jones… Kimbra, please clarify for me. Am I hearing you correctly? Your rules include sharing a room at your parents’, where they want me to deflower their little girl?”

My neck cranes upward as heat fills my cheeks. I try to ignore the way our hips are plastered together. “I’m not a little girl and that flower has already been picked.”

He pulls me even closer and winks. “Even better. Too much responsibility. Perhaps there are other flowers still available?”

“Other flowers?”

The hand around my waist lowers until it’s firmly on my donkey. While my mind screams inappropriate, my body craves more. I yearn to turn toward the window, wishing that it is opaque so that this can go further. I inhale deeply, my breasts now rubbing against his chest. “Mr.—”

He touches my lips. “Duncan.”

“What is men’s obsession with… other flowers?”

“Now, how long have we been together? That seems like a conversation for further into our relationship.”

I shake my head and try to articulate. “Th-this—”

“Weekend. Your rules,” Duncan interrupts. “I’m trying to understand.”

“This is strictly pretend,” I say.

“So am I to understand that this weekend is not about picking flowers?” He squeezes my donkey again.

Heat floods my cheeks. “Yes. No. A weekend. A pretend weekend. That’s all. We do this and I don’t say anything to Mr. Buchanan, and if whoever was with you files a report, I do my best to talk her out of it.” Before he has a chance to respond, I add, “I’ll make plane reservations. What time can you leave on Thursday?”

“Kimbra.” My name rolls like a distant rumble of thunder off his tongue. “Right now I’d like to kiss my weekend girlfriend.” His brow arches. “You know, to seal the deal.”

“What?”

Duncan brushes my cheek with his knuckle. “I’ve seen you blush before, but it’s even cuter close up.”

I nervously look toward the window. I gasp as I realize it’s no longer clear, but frosted. “How? When?”

He tips his head toward the desk. “A button, right after your interesting proposal.”

How had I not noticed? Maybe because Duncan Willis has had my undivided attention.

“I-I…”

“Is my request against your rules?”

“A kiss?” I ask, uncertainty gushing from each syllable. I can’t think straight. My rules. What are my rules?

“You see,” he goes on, “the way I look at it is that flowers come in all colors. Right now, before me I see beautiful red lips, like a rose. I’ve watched those lips praise employees and I’ve seen them fire others. What I’ve never done is kiss them.”

“Mr. Wi—”

“Duncan. That’s my name. You’ll need to work on that for this weekend. Don’t you think?”

I wasn’t sure what I was thinking. The room was warm. His breath was warm. My entire body was warm.

I nod.

Duncan’s smile grows. “Is that nod about my name or is it permission for me to pick the beautiful rose before me? For us to seal our deal?”

My heart races as I swallow and nod again with my heart hammering so hard that I’m sure he can feel it. “Duncan. Got it. Yes, a kiss would be—”

His mouth covers mine, stopping my response. I expect a quick brush of his lips, a peck or chaste show of pretend affection.

Instead, he lingers. His warm, sexy full lips swallow my answer and send electricity throughout my body. Hot chills—yes, HOT CHILLS—run straight through me. His kiss consumes. In merely seconds, I melt against him. No longer rigid, my body is putty in his strong hands as he holds me to him. A moan I don’t recognize fills my ears.

Though I’m pliable, part of him—a very large part of him—isn’t. And that part is currently pushing against my stomach.

I should stop this.

I should pull away.

My brain is lecturing, but my body isn’t listening.

When we finally separate, I stare at his mouth before slowly moving my gaze to his eyes. “Flight?” I ask, remembering my earlier question.

“Noon. We’ll leave from here. Bring your luggage to my office Thursday morning and I’ll have Jorge take care of it. If a hotel is out of the question, then I’ll arrange the flight. We’ll take a company plane.”

I shake my head.

“Kimbra,” he says, his tone like the perfect grade of sandpaper—just the right amount of rough. “Don’t make me play the boyfriend card.”

Boyfriend!

“Pretend,” I remind him. “And we don’t need to be there until later.”

He brushes his lips over mine again and grins. “Five months. A winter fling that I can’t seem to get enough of.”

I try to comprehend. “What?”

“It’s how long we’ve been dating. It started after the company holiday party when I saw you in that stunning gold dress, the one with the slit that went all the way up your thigh. I couldn’t stop thinking about how high it went, wondering what you were wearing underneath. If your pink flower was covered. If all I had to do was reach…”

His fingers graze my hip and slowly bunch my skirt higher and higher.

I can’t speak.

Incredible! Duncan Willis is lifting my skirt.

I should argue or scream, but all I can think about is that he noticed me. I did wear a gold dress to the company party. I never thought he noticed me.

His fingers stop moving, the hem of my skirt still mid-thigh. His eyes lower to my breasts. “And your belly, both in that dress and now,” he adds, “…are breathtaking. But that night, you were with that guy from distribution, Timothy.”

“W-we dated, but not for long.” Not after I caught him with that hussy from accounting.

“Don’t tell me any more,” Duncan says. “If you do, if he did something to upset you, you or others in HR may need to justify a wrongful termination.”

“Pretend,” I say again, less convincingly.

Duncan’s fingers brush the skin of my thigh, just below the hem of my now-raised skirt. “You keep telling yourself that, but I’d bet if I lifted this skirt higher, you’d be wet. I bet in no time at all I could make you whimper, not like you did in the bathroom when you were listening, but this time loud enough that Jorge could hear you.”

Inappropriate. The word is losing its meaning.

The combination of his voice and touch sends bolts of lightning straight to my core that is just as he described it—wet. I sway toward him before coming to my senses and take a step back. “Pretend, Mr. Willis. One weekend.”

Duncan smiles. “Miss Jones, you’re lucky that I’m not a gambling man. If I were, I’d need to verify that I’m right…” He leans down until our noses touch. “…about you being wet. And for the record, since we’ve been dating for five months, you should know that I’m rarely wrong.”

TUESDAY AND WEDNESDAY pass without my seeing Duncan. I haven’t looked for him, but nevertheless, I haven’t seen him. Reasonable deduction would assume that means he hasn’t looked for me either. I have to wonder if he still wants to be my plus-one.

Doubt is a sneaky little thing. It claws inside the smallest of places, setting up house until it’s comfortable enough to make its move and slither seamlessly into a usually confident person’s subconscious.

On Wednesday night, as soon as I get home, I go straight to Shana’s room. The entire ride home I debated calling Mr. Willis and canceling, calling my mom and confessing, and spending the entire weekend reminiscing with Indiana’s shoe king. Who knows, maybe he can get me a discount on some kick booty heels?

As I turn the corner to enter her room, my feet stop and heart clenches. This is really happening. Shana’s going to move to London. The bare room brings tears that sting the back of my eyes. Her pictures are off the walls and other than boxes, there’s nothing on her dressers or nightstand.

“I’m going to miss you,” I finally say from her doorway.

She gasps as she turns. “I didn’t hear you come in. You nearly scared me to death.”

“No way!” I paste a pretend smile on my face. “No dying. You’ve got some dreams to catch.”

“I’m going to miss you too. But you won’t even notice. You’ll be too busy with Mr. Sexy to even realize I’m gone.”

I shake my head as I flop onto Shana’s bed. “That’s not true. After this weekend, I’m going to be scarred for life. I’m a terrible liar. This whole deal is going to be a disaster. It’s all going to blow up in my face, and then I’ll be the butt of all my brother’s jokes for the rest of our lives.” I roll over on my stomach, prop my chin on my hand, and watch as Shana folds the last of her clothes into a suitcase. “One day, I’ll be eighty and Kevin will be eighty-two and he’ll say, ‘Remember that time you blackmailed your boss to go to Scarlett’s wedding?’ Oh, and we’ll be surrounded by Kevin’s kids and grandkids and I’ll still be single.”

“Stop it. You won’t be single, but if you are, it’s because it’s your choice and you have taken over the world.”

I laugh. “That’s me. I’m aiming for world domination. No, seriously, it’s not the being-married thing. It’s that whenever I’m home, I feel like even if I did take over the world, my family would be disappointed.” I change my voice to mimic my mom’s. “That’s sweet, dear, that you’re the ruler of the world. Did you know Darrin McKinney has opened a second shoe store? I just know you two would be perfect together.”

Shana sits beside me and drops a kiss to the top of my hair. “Stop. No one will be disappointed this weekend when you walk in their house on the arm of the sexy Duncan Willis.”

I sigh. “Sexy, but pretend.”

“He’s not pretend. He’s real. I’ve seen him and you said he kissed you. Pretend boyfriends don’t kiss.” She grimaces. “I know that from rumors. I myself have no pretend boyfriends, much less real ones at the moment.”

“He did kiss me, but he shouldn’t have.”

“Why?”

I shake my head. “Because we were at work.”

Her eyebrows dance as she stands and reaches for more clothes. “You won’t be. You’ll be on a company plane and in your parents’ house.”

I roll back over onto my back and cover my stomach with a pillow. “I think I’m going to be ill. I could call my mom and tell her I’m sick. Food poisoning.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Shana proclaims. “Besides, you already told her about Duuuuncan.” She elongates his name.

“I did. I said I couldn’t believe she didn’t remember that Timothy and I had broken up. I also told her that I’d mentioned Duncan multiple times and because she’s worried about my dad, she must have forgotten.”

Shana laughs. “And she fell for it?”

“Yep. Every time. It’s something Kevin and I used to do. We’d not tell her something, and then after the fact we’d claim we had.” I giggle. “My poor mom. She probably thinks she’s losing it.”

“It’s okay. She’s happy. Do you want to take that happiness away after making her think she’s crazy?”

“She’s happy now. What will happen when she figures out that it’s all a lie? I mean, I haven’t seen him since our… deal.”

“Don’t overthink it. He’s a little busy owning the company. But this weekend he’ll be all yours. Have fun. It’s one weekend and it sounds like he’s actually a pretty good guy.”

I sit up. “What part sounds like a good guy? Not talking to me since he kissed me or the blow job in the bathroom from an office hussy?”

“Neither,” she says. “It’s the part where he agreed to be your plus-one.”

“I wish you were going to be here when I get home. Or better yet, I wish you were my plus-one.”

“Oh, you’d better call me as soon as you get back to New York. I want all the gory details. Like…” She sits down beside me and her voice lowers. “…if he’s as big as the rumors say and if he knows how to use it.”

My cheeks warm. “I’m not going to…”

“You’re not going to what… and why not?”

“Why am I not going to find out how big he is or if he knows how to use the massive erection that I felt against my stomach?”

Shana bounces on the bed. “You didn’t tell me you felt it. Was it…?”

I shrug innocently. “I mean, it’s hard to say… but it seemed…”

“Hard?” She laughs. “I bet the rumors are true. Now tell me why in the world you wouldn’t find out?”

“Because I don’t just sleep with someone on the first date.”

“Well, Miss Prim and Proper, I’ll let you know that you will…” Before I can respond, she clarifies, “…sleep with him. Four nights: Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Right? If you never sleep, you’ll be pretty dang exhausted.”

“Idiot!” The word comes out as a sigh and I fall back again. “Yes, in my childhood canopy bed.”

“And you have dated. The other night you had drinks at Gaston’s?”

“He had a drink. I had water.”

“Which you drank?”

I take a deep breath and lift my head so our eyes meet.

“So,” Shana states as if it were fact, “this isn’t your first date. You’ve known him for nearly three years. You even said you’ve had fantasies about him. Now you’re going to have him all to yourself… sleeping in the same room, the same bed, for four nights.” She tilts her head to the side. “When is the last time you had sex? Great, mind-blowing sex?”

“Timothy was the last, but I don’t know if it qualifies as mind-blowing.”

“If you don’t know, it most certainly doesn’t. And you broke up on New Year’s. Honey, this is like being on a five-month-long fast, waking up to a long weekend locked in a bakery, and you have the most delicious, giant, cream-filled cannoli right in front of you.”

I giggle and scrunch my nose as I sit back up. “Oh, stop. Now I’m imagining a cannoli.”

“A giant one.” She uses her hands and extends a finger from each. With her fingers only a few inches apart, she says, “Not a tiny one.” Her fingers move farther and farther apart. “This is a huge, long, thick cannoli. And it was baked a day ago, so it’s hard. Really hard.”

I slap her leg. “Seriously, stop.”

“Don’t forget the cream.”

“Shana!”

“Fine. Just be sure to tell me when you get home if you continued the fast or if you decided that you deserved the entire thing.” Her eyes widen. “I mean, according to those rumors, you won’t be sorry.”

My phone chimes from my purse that I’d dropped on the living room floor on my way toward Shana’s room. I hop off her bed and head that direction. As I go to answer it, Shana resumes her packing.

MR. WILLIS is on the screen.

My heart races as I answer, scared to death to talk to him, but equally afraid he’s changed his mind. I wonder if the blow-up guy is a possibility. How long would it take to arrive if I ordered it tonight?

“Hello?” I answer.

“Kimbra.”

“Mr.—Duncan.”

His deep laugh comes through the phone and makes me smile.

“Just Duncan is fine,” he says. “I meant to ask you how formal the wedding will be, but I’ve been out of the office the last two days. I was summoned unexpectedly to visit a few of our distribution centers and haven’t been able to see you.”

My smile grows with each word. Maybe it’s his husky, masculine voice. Or maybe it’s because he isn’t cancelling and hasn’t been purposely avoiding me.

“Formal?” I ask.

“I seem to recall something about being in it?”

I giggle as my head moves from side to side. “I convinced my mom that you should be with me.”

“I like the sound of that.”

My heart flutters at his response.

Pretend. I remind myself. “A suit is fine.”

“And you?” he asks, his words slowing with a hint of provocative undertone. “What will you be wearing?”

I look down at the wood floor, wondering where the heat is coming from. There’s no vent or heater, yet the temperature is definitely rising. It’s climbing, radiating from my toes all the way to the top of my head.

“A dress,” I say.

“What is the color of your dress?” His voice is again like sandpaper, gritty and raw.

“Blue.”

“Just like the color of your eyes.”

My eyes? He knows the color of my eyes. Then again, I know his are green. I know they’re darker when he’s at a meeting and in work mode. When he’s smiling that sexy, panty-melting smirk, they are lighter with a shimmer of gold.

“I’ll bring a few of my blue ties so we can match,” he continues. “May I ask what you’ll be wearing under the blue dress, or is that against your rules?”

“Pretend.”

“Kimbra, I need the ground rules.”

“M-my rules are up for discussion.”

“I like the sound of that too. Tomorrow, our weekend begins.”

With my heart thundering and core now twisting to a painful pinch, I reply, “Tomorrow.”

As I disconnect the call, I look up. Shana is watching me from the hallway with a silly smile.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re going to be just fine. Forget the fast and enjoy that cannoli. But here’s my advice. Don’t eat it all in one sitting—savor it.”

I shake my head as my cheeks warm from the sting of a full-out blush. “I would suspect that men like to think of their junk as something other than an Italian pastry.”

“From what I saw at Gaston’s, there is no room for the word junk when describing Duncan Willis.”

“Still…”

“I happen to like Italian,” Shana says. “And they say London is a mecca for all nationalities. Maybe I’ll find myself a nice long, thick cannoli.” She laughs as she turns and heads back to her room.

THE LAST THREE days have been hell—or what I imagine that to be.

I’ve hardly slept or closed my eyes. Every time I do, I see him, think of him, think of me, and think of us. The imaginings have changed, becoming more detailed. Since my conversation with Shana, they now include giant Italian pastries and usually end with us covered in sweet cream and chocolate glaze.

And then I remember the most important part. There is no us.

It’s pretend.

Each daydream or night session that may or may not include self-gratification leaves me woefully unsatisfied with an undeniable desire to take the subway to Little Italy and visit the quaint bakery on Mulberry Street.

While cannoli in the city are real, I remind myself that the deal for a plus-one with Duncan is not. That train of thought works well until Duncan—I’ve been practicing using his first name—does something sweet as he did with his call last night. It wasn’t a lot nor did it last long. However, it showed that he was thinking about the weekend. As I try to complete my tasks at work, I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing.

I also can’t believe that the one and only time I’ll have Duncan Willis to myself will be in my hometown, in my parents’ house, surrounded by all my family. Why couldn’t Scarlett have decided to have a destination wedding? A hotel room with a beach outside the glass doors would be much better than my childhood bedroom with my mom and dad, brother, and grandmother down the hall.

Things could be different in a beach hotel. We could take pretend to a whole new level with the ocean crashing outside the windows.

Duncan wants my ground rules, but I’m not sure I know my ground rules. My mind and body have been in constant disagreement since I proposed the deal to Duncan.

While I can’t decide on my rules, I know without a doubt that the mere thought of him makes my insides pinch. His shimmering gaze, drop-dead sexy smirk, and deep, rumbling voice send ripples through me, causing involuntary reactions that bring my nipples to attention as well as dampen my panties. He’s been a fantasy for so long that the idea of being with him—really with him—scares me as much as it excites me.

What if the rumors are false? What if he doesn’t live up to his reputation? What if I don’t live up to the women in his past?

Doubt and insecurity weasel into my thoughts and then, just as quickly, the reality of his baritone tenor washes them away.

“Miss Jones?”

I take a deep breath and turn toward Duncan Willis. The glint in his eyes makes me question whether my illicit thoughts about him were actually audible. It’s as if the shimmer is an unspoken challenge daring me to learn if he lives up to my fantasies and his reputation.

I clear my throat. “Mr. Willis.”

He doesn’t correct me, and since he called me Miss Jones, I surmise we are being professional for the sake of the others in the office. Of course, I’ve told Shana all about the deal I proposed to Duncan; however, I didn’t tell any of my coworkers. It hardly seemed appropriate lunchroom talk. “So guess what I did today? Wrong. I blackmailed Mr. Willis into being my plus-one for a wedding in a podunk town in Indiana. Nope. Really. Well, he agreed because I caught him in a compromising situation that I didn’t report. Oh, and we’ll be sharing a bed in my childhood bedroom.” Yep, the opportunity to make such a statement never presented itself, not to random coworkers and definitely not to the others in the human resources department. The kiss in his office was against company policy. The entire thing could probably get me fired.

My gaze catches the corner of my computer screen. The clock says exactly noon, the precise time he said we’d leave. It seems as though I can add punctuality to Duncan Willis’s list of attributes.

“I believe we have a car waiting to take us to the airport,” he says, his intense gaze fixed on me.

I nod and log off my computer, hoping no one else is paying attention.

I’m confident that whatever is happening is definitely being noticed. It isn’t often that exciting things happen within our walls. When it does, it’s like a piranha feeding frenzy. No doubt there are gossip-hungry people ready to jump at the chance to learn the truth about my rendezvous with Mr. Willis.

As I smile at Jack, the guy who shares my partition, I vow that whatever is said once we leave doesn’t matter. I truly enjoy my coworkers, well, most of them. That’s why I want to come back to them all on Tuesday and still have my job. Besides, if anyone notices what is happening, they’ll think we’re doing something business related.

Maybe it’s a seminar or conference.

Yeah, right, Kimbra. There are so many seminars over Memorial Day weekend.

I push away my worries and stand as Mr. Willis’s cologne fills my senses, clouding all rational thought.

The way he’s standing there, looking at me—the man is absolutely sex on a stick. If I didn’t have a family to fool and a wedding to attend, I could let my fantasies go in so many other directions.

Stay focused. Concentrate.

Walk. Step and don’t trip.

Thank goodness I’m not carrying coffee.

As we silently stand waiting for the elevator, I fidget with my purse and pray I won’t hyperventilate.

Watching the numbers climb to our floor, I wonder why I suddenly feel awkward, not knowing what to say or how to say it. Three years of knowing one another and in the three days since I last saw him, everything feels different. Finally, the doors open and we step into the empty elevator.

Once the doors close, Duncan turns. In one quick step, I’m backed against the wall with his hips crashing into mine. I barely catch my breath, as I’m caged within his arms when without warning his mouth descends.

“O-oh!” I stutter before his lips steal my whimper.

Demanding yet sensual, his kiss is like the sweetest delicacy wrapped in cinnamon goodness. Breathing is forgotten as his tongue joins the assault. Without thought or hesitation, I accept his invasion, opening my mouth and welcoming his addicting taste. His one hand secures me against the wall while the other one wraps around my waist, pulling our hips together.

When the elevator stops, Duncan takes a step back. With a sexy glimmer in his eyes, his smile lingers before he wordlessly turns toward the opening doors, leaving my lips bruised, eyes wide, and lungs gasping for breath.

Incredible, this man can kiss.

With little regard for those around us, he places his large hand in the small of my back and guides me through the lobby. With just two kisses, I’m suddenly at this man’s disposal. My body moves to his inclination before my mind has time to process.

Duncan nods to the doorman as we exit onto the street and move toward the waiting car.

Standing beside the car is an older man with a cap.

“Mr. Willis, Miss Jones,” the man says with a nod as he opens the door.

“Kimbra,” Duncan says, “this is Pierce. Pierce, Miss Jones.”

I nod. “Kimbra is fine.”

As Pierce smiles at me, I realize that I’m probably one of a million women Duncan introduces to his driver. Just before entering the car, I stop and ask, “Oh, wait. What about our luggage? I gave mine to Jorge this morning.”

“It’s already been loaded in the trunk, ma’am,” Pierce replies.

“Right.” I’m definitely out of my element. And that information begs the next question: is luggage a common denominator among Duncan’s women?

Duncan reaches for my hand. “Jorge took care of everything.”

“Right. We don’t want people to talk. The two of us leaving together with suitcases might start rumors.”

As the door closes, Duncan lifts the hand he is holding. His touch is sure and possessive as he brushes his firm lips over my knuckles. It’s such a small connection and yet it ignites tingles that radiate throughout my body. A kiss of my hand and my toes curl.

“Kimbra, I’m used to rumors. It seems I’m frequently the subject of many, or so I’ve been told. That doesn’t mean that I want the same for you.”

“I’m hardly innocent, Mr. Willis. We’re here together right now because—”

“Because,” he interrupts, “I seized the opportunity presented to me. That ability is what makes or breaks a businessman—or woman. Hesitation is a liability.” His eyes sparkle with flecks of gold. “I don’t hesitate. I seize.”

My breath catches in my chest. “That’s good to know.”

As the car begins to move, stopping and going in midday traffic, Duncan continues. “There’s much we both need to know. Shouldn’t I know about your family?”

“My family? I mean, we’ve only been together for…”

“Five months,” he says, finishing my sentence.

“Right.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yes. Kevin. His wife’s name is Susan. My mother is Judy and my dad is Oscar.”

Duncan’s eyes widen. “Oscar? Cool name. I think I like your dad.”

“Well, Mom had to convince him to let you stay in my room instead of the couch, which is probably close to thirty years old and kind of lumpy. So remember that when you meet him.”

Duncan laughs and shakes his head. “I really like your dad. For the record, if you were my daughter, I would most definitely make me sleep on the couch.” His grin widens. “I cannot be trusted.”

“Duncan?”

“Honesty is my downfall.”

“Seizing opportunities and losing them to honesty.”

“It seems as though you know all about me,” he says. “Now tell me more about you.”

“It’s my cousin Scarlett’s wedding. We’re about the same age and she’s everything I’m not.”

“So she’s ugly and has no personality.”

I fight the urge to lower my eyes.

Pretend. This is just pretend. That will be my new mantra, an ongoing chorus for this weekend.

“No,” I say, “she’s perfect. She’s sweet and successful. She’s great at everything she’s ever done, and she’s marrying her high school sweetheart. His name is Kurt.”

“Let me guess: they’re waiting until their wedding night and she wants a hundred babies.”

I shrug. “Yes, the bouquet at the wedding won’t be the only flowers picked Saturday night. And as for babies, I think it’s more like four. I’m pretty sure she’s had them named since they started dating. You know, doodling their names in the margin of her high school notebook?”

I keep talking, telling him about my crazy grandmother, Helen, how she loves to play games, especially cards, and how she’s ruthless. “She’s super competitive and doesn’t like to lose.”

“I like her, too,” he says.

“The older she gets, the more direct she becomes. So don’t be surprised if she asks you a million questions or tells you exactly what she’s thinking. I think her filter is broken. The warranty is expired so we’re all forced to put up with it.”

He laughs.

I have a hard time imagining Duncan Willis with my family. I mean, they’re my family. I’m used to them. But to an outsider… I only hope and pray that they take it easy on him.

“Really…” I take a deep breath. “My family is great. I love them, but they can all be a little overwhelming. I’ll do my best to keep you out of the mayhem.”

“Do I appear that fragile?”

It’s my turn to look him up and down. His chiseled jaw contains just the right amount of facial hair. Since it’s more than stubble and less than a beard, I deduce it’s the perfect length, meaning it’s trimmed and on purpose. He’s still in his suit, like all of the ones he wears at the office. As I scan his tall, trim, yet muscular frame, I realize I’ve never seen him in anything but a suit. The idea of Duncan Willis in jeans or shorts makes my tummy quiver. What does he wear when he sleeps? Does he exercise? What’s his favorite color?

A million questions come to mind.

“Kimbra?” He reaches for my chin. “You went away.”

I swallow, hoping my questions and mental images weren’t accompanied by drool. “No, you don’t seem fragile. It’s just that they can…”

“I think I’ll make it. Will you?”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“What were you thinking a second ago?”

Warmth fills my cheeks. “I realized I’ve never seen you in anything but a suit. I wondered what you wear when you sleep, if you exercise, and about your favorite color.”

His lips quirk to a grin. “It seems we both have an issue with honesty. To answer your question, I sleep nude.”

Before I am able to mask my reaction, my eyes opened wide. “Um, my parents… my grandma…”

“Will we be sharing a large dorm room?”

I shake my head.

Idiot! Duncan Willis sleeping nude in my bed.

He winks. “Then I think we’ll be good. And yes, I exercise. Mostly I run, but I also do weights twice a week. Since our call last night, I’ve decided it’s blue.”

“Blue? What’s blue?”

“My favorite color is blue, like your eyes.”

My cheeks rise.

“What about you?” he asks.

“Green is nice.”

“I was thinking more about your sleeping attire.” His eyebrows rise. “Or lack thereof.”

“Me? What do I wear to sleep?”

He nods.

“A nightgown or shorts and a top.”

“You really should try wearing nothing at all. It’s very liberating.”

“I-I…”

Duncan brushes my cheek. “I enjoy making you blush.”

As we pull into the private airstrip, Duncan traces the edge of my neckline. “I think I need to ask some more questions.”

Though I’m distracted by his touch, I manage to answer. “Oh, okay. About what?”

“This is very important, so keep with the honesty.”

“Yes?”

“Since you’ve been dating a CEO for the last five months and since he has access to private planes, has he, Miss Jones, made you a member of the mile-high club?”

I grin, enjoying his easy banter. “No, Mr. Willis, you see, my boyfriend is kind of a jerk. Five months and he’s never once taken me on one of his planes.”

The car stops and Duncan reaches for my hand. “I’d tell you to break up with that toe, but there’s still time to rectify that issue. Maybe you should let him attempt to make up for his previous inattentiveness.”

Pierce opens the door. Once we’re out of the car, I look up at the plane and my feet forget to move. It’s bigger than I imagined, like something in the movies. The stairs are down and a woman in a blue blouse and matching skirt is standing at the top of the stairs. “Wow,” I say. “This is better than the airline tickets I had in mind, and I bet there’s no layover.”

Duncan scoffs. “You’re correct. It’s a direct flight.” He gestures toward the stairs. “Your carriage awaits.” As we approach he leans close to my ear and whispers, “I hear the club is still accepting new members.”

His warm breath tickles my neck. I take a step and then turn back, smiling at Duncan over my shoulder. “You asked if my current boyfriend has made me a member, not if I am a member.”

Duncan’s steps stutter. His green eyes blaze and a tendon in his neck twitches. “And?”

I widen my smile, enjoying his reaction. “And… I’m not a member.”

“The first step toward your boyfriend’s redemption awaits.”

At the top of the stairs, I nod at the lady in blue and turn toward the large cabin. On the table, arranged in a secured vase, is a bouquet of beautiful pink and red flowers. There are all different kinds: roses, lilies, carnations, and daisies. It’s stunning.

It doesn’t seem right. I mean, surely Buchanan and Willis Pharmaceuticals doesn’t normally have fresh flowers on all their flights. I look from the flowers to Duncan, silently questioning.

Duncan pulls a red long-stemmed rose from the bouquet and hands it to me.

“What is this about?”

“Each experience with you is another flower in our bouquet.”

Our. The word reverberates through my mind.

“It doesn’t matter if I wasn’t the first to pick it,” he goes on. “What matters is that you’ll allow me the honor of sharing it with you. This weekend, I’d like to work on our bouquet.”

I spin the rose in my fingers, mindful of the thorns. “Pretend, remember?”

He steps closer, his arm surrounding my waist and pulling my hips toward his. Eye level with his chest, I slowly lift my chin and gaze up into the deepest emerald I’ve ever seen.

“The choice is yours,” he says. “With the one flower that you’re holding, I got your kiss. I’d like to add mile-high to our bouquet.”

“Pretend,” I mumble just before his lips crash with mine. As our kiss ends, I can’t recall if I answered him. Did I nod or shake my head?

With a sexy grin, Duncan leads me to two large leather seats and we buckle ourselves in.

“Mr. Willis, Miss Jones,” the lady in blue says as she appears from the front of the plane. “I’m Marsha. Your luggage is loaded in the back and the pilot is ready to take off. Please let me know if there’s anything you want or need. I’m at your service.”

Duncan reaches for the rose still in my grasp. “Marsha, could you put this back in the vase for us?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait,” I say, stopping her. “Actually, Marsha, instead of putting that one back, could you bring a pink rose over here to us?”

Duncan’s eyes open wide.

“It takes more than one flower to make a bouquet,” I say.

When she returns, she holds out the pink rose. I nod to Duncan. “I believe that’s for you.”

Once he takes the flower, he looks up at Marsha. “I think we’ll be fine by ourselves. Please leave us alone and relax in the back. We’ll call you if we need anything.”

“Yes, sir. The captain and I are both only a phone call away.” She nods toward the telephones built into the armrest of our chairs.

My thundering pulse echoes in my ears as the engines roar to life—I’m not sure which is louder. As Marsha walks to the rear of the plane, I question my sanity.

Did I really just agree to mile-high sex?

With my boss—the owner of the company where I work?

In a company plane?

Before I can make sense of my reality or remember the concept of ground rules, Duncan turns my way and covers my hand with his. “Kimbra, no promises about anything beyond this weekend. But for this weekend—the next four days—I’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. I’m ready to see if my imagination has even been close when it comes to what’s under your skirt.”

“Pretend.” The word is barely audible over my internal mayhem.

We lurch in our seats as the plane begins to taxi. Duncan’s large hand comes off mine and splays over my thigh. “We’re leaving pretend in New York. It’s time to build a bouquet.”

I LAY THE pink rose on the seat opposite me as I consider its meaning.

Did she intend it the way I’m taking it? Is that pink rose her acceptance of my invitation?

Are we about to seal her membership in the mile-high club?

Am I about to have the woman I’ve long fantasized about?

The questions continue as my anticipation reaches epic levels. I’m trying to recall all of the suave things I should say. This isn’t my first rodeo, though it feels that way. I’ve done similar things before, yet I suddenly have no memories. My brain seems unable to function. Synapses misfire or no longer take place. I surmise that it’s due to the sudden lack of circulation. My blood is obviously rushing elsewhere. As my toe hardens at record speed, advanced communication, or even discussing the weather, seems currently outside my capability.

I can’t recall the last time I’ve been this excited to be with a woman.

Maybe this has to do with what Kimbra said the other night at Gaston’s. She’d said that easiest isn’t always best. Heaven knows that getting her—us—to this point hasn’t been easy. The reality is that I’ve had easy. Easy kneels at my feet in a public bathroom. Easy spreads her legs with merely a grin. Kimbra has been anything but easy.

With the plane moving, I turn and take in her presence. After all this time, she’s so close. Her soft skin, the scent of her sweet perfume, and even the lyrical sound of her voice as she talks about the rose, have all brought us to this pivotal moment. This isn’t a rash move. Three years have led to now.

I can’t contain my smile as I run my gaze over her sexy form. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, I want to experience everything that is Kimbra Jones.

With her head lying back against the seat, her long auburn hair is pulled back, allowing her sensual neck to be on display. It takes all my restraint not to reach out and caress the sensitive skin. My gaze moves lower and my mouth goes dry at the swell of her breasts.

How many times have I fantasized about them?

Now they’re here, moving against her blouse with each of her breaths. I imagine her panting as they rise and fall in rapid succession. I imagine stripping each layer of clothing until her belly are exposed to my whims. Lower yet, I take in her gray skirt with the trim waist and imagine the prize beneath. My sweep of her sexy body continues with her long shapely legs. They’re bare and smooth with toned calves that narrow at her ankle and on to her high heels. Today, they’re black. Immediately, I recall the red ones, the ones responsible for where we are today.

There is absolutely nothing about this woman I would change.

Kimbra Jones is perfect. It’s not just her beauty but everything about her. My toe continues to grow, painfully straining within the confines of my boxer briefs as her small whimper—the one she let out as I surprised her with a kiss in the elevator—replays in my mind. I remember how her belly moved with exaggerated breaths against my chest and her lips opened to the persistence of my tongue. Warm and sweet, she tasted like spearmint and sunshine.

I wasn’t lying when I said I’d imagined what is under her skirt. You could call it daydreams or even night dreams. The mystery has been forefront in my mind for the last three days. Every waking minute and even those while asleep have been plagued by a chronic case of blue balls.

The truth is, my musings didn’t begin three days ago. They started much sooner. Kimbra Jones has been a recurring quandary ever since the first day she came into my office nearly three years ago. She’s professional and hard as nails when the job requires, yet sweet as sugar when it doesn’t. There’s no doubt her body caught my attention, but there’s more than that. She’s quick-witted and smart. She can be playful or serious. She’s challenging and accommodating, a dichotomy of the women I usually date.

Slowly, I move my hand higher over her thigh. As I do, her blue eyes flash quickly my way, earning me a small grin from her sexy lips. The fabric of her skirt is the barrier separating me from what I’ve wanted. Perhaps that’s part of her allure, the reason I seized the opportunity she presented. Ever since that fateful afternoon when I first gazed into her stunning eyes, she’s always been respectful and courteous.

There are other women at Buchanan and Willis who have blatantly thrown the company handbook out the window with their overt suggestions and come-ons. Not once has Kimbra been that way. Her integrity and brains are what have propelled her to star in many of my fantasies as much as her beauty.

As the plane lifts off the ground, I move my fingers higher.

“O-oh,” she gasps as her eyes flutter closed.

Is it my touch or the way the plane is ascending?

I’m dying to know what she’s thinking, if she’s certain about this weekend, and if she intended the pink rose the way I interpreted it. I want all of her, not just her body, but her thoughts and mind.

It doesn’t take long before the plane levels. When it does, I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. It’s time to seize the opportunity she presented to me as her plus-one. When I turn and zero my gaze on Kimbra, she’s looking out the window, still holding the red rose between her fingertips.

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I lean toward her and unbuckle hers. When her blue eyes meet mine, I lay it on the line. I’ve never been a man who pussyfooted around when it came to sex. I’ve known what I wanted and I’ve taken it—seized it. Never forcibly, but it was never denied me. Yet with Kimbra, it’s different. I don’t want this weekend to ruin our work relationship. Idiot! For the first time that I can remember, I want both.

Standing, I take her red rose and place it on the seat next to the pink one.

Towering above, I lean down with my hands on the armrests and our faces close. “It’s time to start that bouquet.”

Her lips thin as she swallows.

“Since we left pretend in New York, why don’t we think of this weekend as a fantasy.”

“A fantasy?”

“Yes, my fantasy. One I’ve thought about, one that has turned me from hard to steel as I beat off in my bed or shower.”

Kimbra gasps.

“Maybe it’s only been me. Maybe you’ve never thought about having me inside you? Maybe you haven’t fantasized as I have?”

Again, her breasts heave as a new layer of red blotches forms above the scooped neckline of her blouse and migrates up her neck. Her pink tongue darts to her lip.

Still she doesn’t look away; our eyes stay glued to one another’s.

“Tell me, Kimbra, is my your tight, warm pussy only my fantasy?”

“D-Duncan…”

As I trail my finger from the sensitive skin behind her ear to the edge of her blouse, her long lashes flutter.

“Yes or no?”

She moves her head from side to side before her eyes lower.

The loss of her blue gaze leaves me lonely and wanting. I lift her chin with one hand and ask, “So you’ve imagined it too?”

“Yes.” Her answer is soft, but it’s all I need.

“Have you touched yourself and imagined me like I’ve imagined you?”

“Duncan.”

“This chemistry is too intense to be only one-sided. Tell me.”

“I-I,” she stutters. “I’ve imagined you.”

“And.”

“I’ve touched myself.”

My smile grows as I reach for her hand. “Come with me, Kimbra. No one’s going to believe that we’ve been together for five months if we don’t do something about this sexual tension, if you don’t get that membership, and our bouquet doesn’t earn another flower.” She stands. “You understand what I’m saying?”

She squares her shoulders. “Yes.”

“The thing is… I believe the mile-high club rules state that it takes multiple sessions to be considered a lifetime member.”

As her breathing deepens, I reach for the zipper on the side of her skirt and tug. The gray material falls to the floor.

Sucking in a breath, I scan her gorgeous curves. Holy hell! Her panties aren’t really panties but a small triangle of light blue lace with skimpy strings, one going up her donkey. I take off my jacket and loosen my tie as she stands still, watching my every move.

I reach for her blouse. “Lift your arms, Miss Jones. I need to see your belly.”

A smile breaks across her face, lifting her cheeks. “No, Mr. Willis, not until I remove your shirt.”

No?

I can’t remember the last time a woman said that word.

If I was hard before, I’m a stone now. Instead of answering, I nod. She smiles and pulls my necktie from its knot. Then, button by button, she opens my shirt. With each second she spends, paying special attention to my cufflinks—why the heck do I wear those things?—I become more and more uncomfortable. If she takes much longer, I’ll explode.

By the time my chest is bare, my cock is crying with need.

Next she lifts her arms and I raise her blue blouse. Her bra is the same light blue color, matching the small triangle of lace covering her pussy. The lace cups barely cover her big belly as they overflow with mountainous globes. The sight of her in nothing but blue lacy underwear and heels is erotic. Another time I’ll allow myself to enjoy the view, but now I want it all gone.

Before I can undo her bra, Kimbra reaches for my belt, the button on my pants, and the zipper. Her forwardness surprises and excites me. For some reason, I’d expected her to be more tentative, but dang, this is so much hotter.

Kicking off my pants and shoes, I stand in my socks and boxer briefs, my erection peeking from the waistband, too large to stay contained.

I shudder as Kimbra hisses and runs her hand over the length of my penis. She stills near the crown, rubbing her thumb over the dewy tip.

Suddenly the plane pitches and Kimbra squeals. I pull her close as we steady our stance. With my lips at her ear, I say, “There are so many things I want to do to you.”

“I want you to.” Her thumb continues to rub over the crown of my toe. “I want it all.”

Reaching for her bra, I unsnap the clasp and free her huge belly. With one arm holding her steady, I pull the straps loose. They’re everything I imagined and more. A small moan escapes her lips as I cup one, enjoying its weight in the palm of my hand. My head dips and I suck the other. Instantly, her deep pink nipple beads as I pull it tighter between my teeth.

I’ve dreamed of this moment.

Idiot. I want all of her.

Taking her hand, I lead her toward the couch along the side of the cabin. Instead of laying her down, after a quick kiss, I spin her around until she’s facing the couch and direct her hands to the back. Her breasts heave, hanging heavy, gorged with anticipation. As I step back, I run my hand over her firm, round donkey, appreciating each and every curve. Latching my thumbs under the side strings, I tug, removing the small triangle of lace.

To my excitement as I spread her legs, the air fills with more of her whimpers and on her thighs is the evidence that she’s as ready for this as I am.

Dipping my hand between her folds, my finger purposely strokes all the way from her clit to her tight, puckered hole. Her body quakes as she rewards me with more whimpers and moans. Taking my finger to my lips, I hum, noisily slurping her essence, coating my tongue with her sweetness.

I lean over her, nip the soft skin of her ear, and whisper, “You taste fantastic. Tonight, in your bedroom, I plan on burying my face in your pussy. I plan on making you scream my name so that your entire family knows that you’re not only dating, but coming apart right under their roof.”

“D-Duncan,” she stutters.

“Yeah, beautiful, you can scream my name. But right now, if I don’t put my cock inside you, I’m going to come all over your donkey, and while I like the idea of that too, first I need to know what it’s like to be inside of you.”

Her head falls forward.

“Tell me, beautiful. Do you want that? Do you want me inside you?”

“Yes.”

I love the desperation in her voice.

She turns and gives me a million-dollar smile. “Five months is a long time to wait.”

Idiot. It’s been three years since she walked through the door of Buchanan and Willis Pharmaceuticals, into my office, and into my life.

I bite the inside of my cheek, using all my restraint, as I reach for the silver packet from the inside pocket of my jacket, rip it open, and sheath myself. I barely succeed when a growl rumbles from my throat. I reach for her hips as my balls tighten and I run the crown of my hard shaft along her folds, aligning myself to the place I’ve dreamt of being.

My mind and soul want to take this slow, to make our first time special, but my body is on the brink of explosion. As Kimbra wiggles her donkey against me, rational thinking disappears. Thrust by thrust I delve inside, her body welcoming me with a warm, slick coating while the walls of her pussy contract like a vise, closing down tighter and tighter. Each inch is sweet torture. Behind my closed eyes stars explode as I drive deeper into her firm haven.

“Idiot!” Kimbra yells as our bodies unite.

She’d said that idiot was her favorite word. Whether it is or not, it sounds magical falling from her lips as her body moves with mine. I open my eyes and watch how perfectly we fit together. In and out. My toe, slick with her juices, and her bright pink pussy are made for one another. Her round donkey bounces with each invasion as her fingers blanch and nails bite into the soft leather of the couch.

Harder and faster I thrust. It’s perfect and insufficient. The deeper I plunge, the more I crave. She’s a drug that my body needs. Now that I’m inside her, I never want to leave. I need more.

Kimbra Jones has been my fantasy for three years. Being inside of her is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. In and out, I bury my cock. She pushes back until my balls slap her thighs and we fall into a magical rhythm.

The cabin fills with whimpers, moans, and cuss words as we both climb higher. Higher than any mountain. Higher than any plane. We’re on the top of the world when she tenses. Her arms and legs go rigid and her pussy contracts. A stream of idiots flies from her lips.

As she shatters around me, wave after wave pulls my toe. A sheen of perspiration covers our skin when finally her head falls back to my shoulder. With her auburn hair falling loose against me, she turns her lips toward mine.

She tastes like cool mint warmth. Kisses become nips as our tongues tangle and the pressure inside me builds. When the dam breaks, I come apart, soaring through the sky and riding the wave of the best orgasm of my life.

MY KNEES BUCKLE and elbows lose tension as I fall forward, face-first toward the couch. It’s Duncan’s strong arms that save me from kissing the leather as my body continues to ride out the wave of my second orgasm. That was amazing. No, better than that. Duncan is better than any man. Better than every man, I imagine.

It’s not like I’ve messed hundreds, not like I have a lot to compare him to; nevertheless, against my short backlist, Duncan comes out way on top. With just one encounter he’s jumped to number one.

My first sexual experience was in high school and quite honestly, I shouldn’t have to count it. We’d been dating for a few years. The petting had become more advanced when we decided it was time. By the time he got the condom on he’d already come. Still semi-hard, we gave it a go.

I decided that night that all the talk about sex was overrated. Obviously, what the books I found in my mom’s bedside stand described was the definition of fiction.

In college, my second real boyfriend convinced me to give it another try. He was better than my first, but then again, the bar wasn’t set very high.

Timothy was my third and supposed to be my last. We weren’t students but actual adults with careers and a future. Forever was supposed to come next. I thought what I had with him was what sex was supposed to be. I was content to live with that forever until, nearly a year into our relationship, I found him Carla from accounting.

It was then and there that I knew that not only was the sex in books pure fiction but so was the concept of love. My gratification would come from my battery-operated boyfriend because I knew he’d never break my heart. And if he did, I’d ditch him and buy a new B-O-B. Our relationship may not be based on love, but I loved what he could do to me, especially on full power.

But this—whatever just happened—was different. Is different. There were stars—no, fireworks and volcanic eruptions—as Duncan pushed me higher than I’ve ever been. My body is still quaking as I momentarily entertain the idea that if sex can be as good as they say in books that maybe, just maybe, love also exists.

No. This is pretend.

How will I walk away from this weekend?

As Duncan pulls out and my legs quiver, I begin to wonder how I’ll walk, period.

Warm lips find my neck, my shoulder, and my back. “That was—”

“Amazing,” I say, blood rushing from my core to fill my cheeks.

Duncan turns me around so that I’m sitting on the soft couch. After tying the end of the condom and throwing it away, he kneels between my legs. I want to be embarrassed about what just happened, about the fact that my boss is staring at my most private area, the place where he’d just ruined me for every other man.

I think I should be, but I’m not. Instead, I grin and reach for his stubbly chin, bringing his sexy green gaze from my fantastically and marvelously sore core to my eyes. “Do you like what you see?”

His chin is prickly in my grasp as his lips move to a grin. “I love what I see. You have the pinkest, sexiest pussy I’ve ever seen. And seeing it wet and still trembling from me, from us… Dang, the next time I’m in this plane, whenever I see this couch, you’ll be the only thing I’ll be able to think about.”

My cheeks grow warmer as he spreads my legs farther. “Duncan?”

“I know I should let you rest, but Indiana is too close to New York and like you said, five months was a long time to wait.” With that, he leans in. “You smell so good.”

Before I can speak, his tongue laps at my folds. I scream out as I fall back to the couch. Slurping, he cleans me, licking and teasing. It’s a never-ending process as his mouth makes me come more and more.

“Goodness! Duncan!” I yell as he brings me to orgasm again, my hands gripping his jet-black hair. I’ve imagined this scene a thousand times, but never was it on a plane.

Suddenly he stands, flips my ankles to the couch leaving me on my back and exposed.

I grin as he reaches for his jacket and another silver packet. “I hope you brought more than two,” I say.

He shakes his head. “We may need to find a store. Indiana does have those, right?”

“Lucky for us there’s a CVS and a Walgreens on every corner.”

Crawling over me, his already-hard cock rubs over my thigh as he says, “Lucky for me. That’s for sure.”

“Right now, I’m feeling pretty lucky myself.”

“Kimbra, I have to be inside you one more time. I have to. If I don’t…”

I reach for his cock and direct the hard shaft to my entrance. “I want you there.”

He sucks one of my nipples, sending shivers throughout my nervous system and goose bumps over my skin. And then, my back arches and lips open as he pounds deep inside of me.

I’ve never been filled like Duncan Willis fills me. I’ve never felt the pressure and the stretch that hurts while at the same time feels like heaven. My entire body overflows with waves of pleasure as he drives in, over and over. When I open my eyes, I see his face contort. His expression equals mine, pain and pleasure mixing as his orgasm builds. For the second time, we come together.

I should probably worry about all the women he’s been with or that the rumors claim he has. But at that moment, I don’t want to think about it. And since he used protection and I’ve been on birth control since college, pregnancy isn’t an issue.

Although it isn’t a concern, for the first time I actually entertain the thought of being pregnant, of wanting to carry someone’s baby inside of me. I’ve never wanted that before; even when Timothy and I were talking forever, my career seemed more important.

Now maybe it doesn’t sound so horrible. It’s probably because we’re on our way to my home, to the land of babies and puppies and happily-ever-afters. I never wanted that, but maybe, just maybe, the idea isn’t beyond comprehension.

And then I remember: this isn’t real. The sex may be mind-blowing, but love is still fictional.

“Pretend,” I say quietly as Duncan collapses on top of me, his hard, toned chest covering me and smashing my boobs.

“Fantasy,” he corrects with a kiss to my forehead.

Fantasy is pretend. I don’t say it out loud. It’s just to remind myself that this fantasy weekend won’t last. Even pretending it will would be the beginning to heartache.

I STEADY MYSELF in the small but incredibly luxurious bathroom as I finish fixing my hair. The hairdo I had at work can be counted as a casualty of my lifelong membership into the mile-high club. No longer all pulled up, I complete a loose ponytail that rests upon my left shoulder as I smile at my reflection. Never can I recall feeling this relaxed and content on my way back to my family.

Putting my lipstick back in my purse, I decide to apply only gloss. Color isn’t needed. My lips appear red and swollen on their own, no doubt from all the attention. Even blush isn’t needed. My cheeks have their own rosy glow.

Maybe I’m not relaxed, but satiated. As the plane moves and I shift, I’m painfully and pleasurably aware that every muscle in my body is tender and happy all at the same time. I’ll call this fantastic ache the spoils of war. Spoils that I’ll be happy to collect all weekend.

Thankfully, when Marsha said our luggage was loaded, she meant in an area we could access. After I cleaned up, there was no sense putting back on my work clothes.

I take one last look in the mirror at a more casual Kimbra, probably the most casual that Duncan has ever seen me. I stifle a giggle. That isn’t exactly true, considering that not long ago I was totally nude, wearing only his trim, toned body as a blanket; the reflection in the mirror is more dressed than that.

Opening the door to the cabin, I’m met with a smiling Duncan, green eyes shining. My breath catches as the vision of him stops me dead in my tracks. He’s leaning against the wall of the cabin, thumbs tucked in the pockets of his low riding jeans, and wearing a blue checkered, button-down shirt, untucked with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“Miss Jones,” he says, his deep, velvety voice twisting my already-tender core. He reaches for my hand and spins me around, his gaze a heated flame to my skin as if he can see what I’ve covered. “You’re lovely.” He lifts my ponytail revealing my bare shoulder, the one left uncovered due to the large opening of the neckline of my top. “And I like this.” My head tilts to the side, allowing him access as he kisses the exposed skin.

“M-Mr. Willis…” My thoughts and words disappear as his hand finds the lower hem of the shirt and caresses my skin beneath, making his way higher until the tips of his fingers find my strapless bra.

“Oh, I was hoping that no strap meant no bra.”

I giggle. “May I remind you that we’re about to see my mom, dad, and grandma?”

“May I remind you that I’m a boob man and yours are perfection? They should be free.” He stops his soft caress with one large hand still palming the cup surrounding one of my breasts. With a serious expression—which considering his hand placement is hilarious—he asks, “You have heard the old saying, haven’t you?”

“What saying would that be?”

“If you love something, set it free.”

I shake my head and move away from his touch. Reaching for his hand, I blatantly scan him from head to toe. “I’ve never seen you without a suit.” I tilt my head back and forth as my lips thin. “Except when you weren’t wearing one—or anything.”

Tugging my hand Duncan pulls me against him. “Kimbra, I’ve been a nasty boyfriend for the last five months. No wonder you haven’t told your mom much about me, but I plan to make up for that.”

The warmth of his embrace radiates through me as the hardness of his chest presses against my breasts. “And how do you plan to do that?”

He tilts his head toward the bouquet. “By filling this weekend with new experiences for both of us.”

“I think this flight deserves more than one flower.”

“You do?”

“Well, there’s the club.”

“Yes,” Duncan says, “you are now officially inducted—lifetime. I’ll have Jorge draw up your certificate.”

My forehead drops to Duncan’s chest as heat reddens my cheeks.

Duncan lifts my chin until our gazes meet. “You’re so beautiful when you blush. Oh, and when you call out my name, and curse, and shatter around me.” His eyes twinkle. “See, I made you do it again.”

“Blush or come?”

“I was talking about blushing, but we can arrange the coming too.”

I clear my throat, trying not to remember the way his scruffy chin abraded the inside of my thighs or how good his tongue felt… I shrug. “That was why I thought a few more flowers were warranted, but I’d hate to give you a bigger ego than you already have. You seem very sure of yourself, Mr. Willis.”

The plane begins to descend as Duncan walks over to the bouquet. “How many flowers, Kimbra? One for each time you came.”

My lips purse to one side as I count. There were two the first time. Then one and then another…

He plucks half a dozen flowers from the bouquet, an assortment of different ones.

The phone from one of the seats begins to ring. With a wink he goes to the chair, the flowers in one hand, and answers the call.

“Thank you, Marsha. Water would be nice. Yes, we’ll take our seats. Yes, you’re welcome to bring it to us.”

I lower myself to the seat beside him. “Oh goodness. I bet she knows.”

Seemingly unconcerned, he reaches for the two lone flowers still resting on the other chair and hands them to me. “I believe those represent our first kiss and your induction.”

I nod.

Next, he hands me another red rose. “The first time you came.”

I glance toward the remaining five flowers.

Five?

I’m truly not sure. At one point they overlapped, the intensity almost more than I could handle.

Avoiding the numerical subject, I ask, “Why are these flowers different?”

Duncan hands me the rest, allowing me to hold the bouquet we’ve created. “Because each time was unique, like these flowers. Like you.” He nods toward the large vase. “And today is only Thursday. I can’t wait to share more flowers with you.”

I lean over and kiss his cheek. “You’re definitely improving on the boyfriend front.”

“Oh, beautiful, we’re just getting started.”

As my insides twist in anticipation, I sense the sweet ache that accompanies the task of earning the flowers in my hand. I also know that without a doubt, if Duncan Willis earns all of the flowers in the vase, walking away from this weekend won’t only be emotionally impossible but most definitely physically improbable.

WHO KNEW THAT private planes could land at Indianapolis Airport? I didn’t. I’d never given it any thought until I was on one, coasting onto a runway away from the others, one that I didn’t know existed.

Duncan hangs up the phone in the armrest and looks my way. With a wink and grin from him, my insides turn to jelly and my tummy tightens.

“It’s all set,” he says. “We’ll be picked up on the tarmac and taken to our car.”

“How did you do all of this? I just told you about this… we just… our deal…”

“My seized opportunity,” he corrects with a squeeze to my hand.

Everything he says and does makes me question reality from fiction—actuality from fantasy. It would be so easy to fall into this story, believe that it’s real. For my family and my pride, I know we need to make it as real as possible, but it’s my heart that I’m concerned about. The weekend has only just started and I fear it will break in two as soon as it’s all over.

I turn from his glittering green-eyed stare and focus on the cabin as the plane taxis to its appropriate spot on the tarmac. The secured vase now holds all the flowers, even the ones Duncan presented to me earlier.

“Kimbra?”

“Hmmm?” I say, lost in my memories of the flowers.

A slight touch to my chin brings me back to his emerald gaze. “Don’t be worried. We’ve got this.”

I nod, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.

Please don’t hurt me. I want to say the words, but I can’t. I’ve already put too much pressure on him. And he’s been so good, too good. The absolute best. I try not to think about that, about the plane, the mile-high club, and now a car.

“The car,” I say. “How did you get this all arranged? Everything around here is booked this weekend. The 500 is huge. Like over a quarter million people come to Indianapolis. I’ve been to the race with my dad and brother. It was a long time ago, but I know the track is gigantic. It’s one of the largest recurring sporting events in the world.”

“I’d like to take credit, but it was Jorge.”

“Oh, yeah.” Why does that bother me? It shouldn’t. I know Jorge won’t say anything. His job is too important and besides, he called me scary. But knowing it wasn’t Duncan reminds me that it is all a fantasy. If I were really his girlfriend, would he be more hands-on?

And then the pity trying to creep up on me shatters as I stifle a giggle.

Hands-on.

I’m not sure if I could handle much more hands-on. If Duncan had been any more hands-on during this flight, I’d have to make up another story to tell my dad why I’m barely walking. Then there would be my grandma and mom who would see right through that ruse and want the details.

Without a doubt, more hands-on is not a good idea.

One day at a time, I remind myself, as Duncan’s voice brings me back to the reason for our weekend getaway.

“Why would your cousin schedule her wedding on the same weekend as the race?”

His question brings an abrupt end to my bout of nervous giggles. I scoff. “Because she’s a romantic. Because she’s perfect and no one would dare complain about anything, and because this is the anniversary of when she and Kurt met. It was at a barbecue hosted by someone from their church.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Maybe as a wedding gift, I could offer them a flight in this plane?”

“What? Why would you do that?”

“Because you keep telling me how perfect she is.” His sexy lips curve upward into a knowing smirk. “I’d let them use the plane to prove to you for once and for all that you’re sexier and more fun than your cousin.”

“You’ve never met her. Besides, how would this plane—”

“Because,” he interrupts, his voice rumbling low and deep, “even without meeting her, I’d bet she wouldn’t earn her mile-high certificate, much less her lifetime badge, even traveling with her new husband.”

I smile at the thought of Scarlett and Kurt on this plane. Duncan’s probably right. Bent over a couch a mile in the sky is more than likely outside my cousin’s realm. Vanilla, missionary—the way a proper woman engages in meeting her husband’s needs is probably more her style.

I shake my head and try to block out the images I’ve conjured. I don’t want to think of her and Kurt together; however, after as long as they’ve both waited, I’d venture to guess Saturday night will be more of wham-bam, thank you, ma’am versus the mind-blowing mini-marathon we just ran.

Fifteen minutes later with the warm afternoon wind blowing my hair, loosening long strands from my newly formed ponytail and causing them to fly around my face and sunglass-covered eyes, we’re heading west from the airport, toward the sun and my childhood home. The car Jorge reserved isn’t just any car: it’s a new black Lexus convertible. The attendant put the top down, perfect for a drive through the country. Now with the sapphire blue sky as our roof, we’re speeding toward the setting sun.

“My brother is going to flip out at this car,” I say as recently planted fields of corn and soy beans soar by on either side of the highway, the baby seedlings popping through the rich, dark soil.

Duncan purses his lips to the side. Even with his sunglass-shielded eyes, his funny-face expression is obvious. “I’m glad you like it. I didn’t tell Jorge what to rent and this seems a little over the top. I don’t want your family to think I’m…” He doesn’t finish.

“To think you’re what?”

“Trying to be flashy or something.”

“Why do you care what my family thinks?” My question comes before I have time to censor myself.

Duncan reaches over to my jean-clad knee. “I care what you think. Your family is part of you. And if you care what I think, those tight jeans are sexy, but I liked the access better with the skirt.”

I shake my head as his words make my tummy do flip-flops. “Don’t worry about my family. They love me and want me to be happy. They just don’t understand why I’m not doing it here in Indiana with a husband, 2.5 children, and a dog.”

Duncan’s forehead furrows in question. “I’ve never understood how anyone can have a point-five child. Is that like one in the oven?”

“The oven?” I laugh. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Why? I mean someday kids might be fine. I’ve been a little busy building Buchanan and Willis to give it much thought.”

“Mr. Buchanan has children.”

“Mike. His name is Mike.”

I know his name. Michael Buchanan. It’s on all the letterhead. His office is on a different floor than mine and Duncan’s, but he’s often present at meetings. He’s quieter than Duncan, but he’s always been kind and fair.

“…and he’s been with Kelli since college. We should go to dinner with them. You’d like Kel…”

I turn toward the side of the road and watch the fields of seedlings, trying to ignore what he’s saying as he talks about Kelli Buchanan and her children. I focus instead on the rush of the wind, because what he’s saying is crossing a line. It’s taking whatever this is between us and moving it back to New York. We both know that won’t happen.

“Don’t you think?” he asks.

Though I’m not sure what he said, I nod and try to smile.

Pretend.

Less than an hour after we landed, Duncan turns the Lexus off the country road and onto the lane leading to my parents’ home. On either side of the hard gravel lane are trees with bright green spring leaves and the remnants of white pear blossoms. Beyond the trees lining the lane are fields that extend for acres and acres.

My dad farmed this land when I was little, and now Kevin helps. Together they’ve acquired more and more acreage. The day of small farmers existing on their own is almost gone, but with more land and more acres of crops, it’s still possible. They’re even renting a portion to a cell tower. The money is good and more importantly, my cell phone actually works here now.

The crunching gravel creates a dust wake as we make our way toward the house.

It’s the same home that’s been here since my father’s parents lived on this farm. White wood siding, two story, wraparound porch, and rooms filled with laughter. My concerns over Duncan’s and my performance disappear as I anticipate seeing my family. Though it’s true I avoid them, I can’t help but love them.

Before the car comes to a complete stop, the screen door opens wide and my mom and grandma rush out onto the porch.

“Kimberly Ann!” they yell in unison.

I lean toward Duncan. “Oh, my family’s a little loud.”

His smile shines from me to them and back to me as he mouths Kimberly Ann?

I turn back to my mom and grandma. By the gleam in my grandma’s eyes as she gazes at Duncan and the car, it’s obvious that she approves.

“Oh my. Kimberly Ann,” she says, reaching my car door first. “I know why you’ve kept this man a secret. You’re afraid if he meets Grandma Helen, he’ll decide that like fine wine, women are better when aged.”

I tilt my head toward Grandma as I reach for her hand upon the door. “Duncan, this is my grandma Helen.”

“Very nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Helen’s the name,” she says with a wink.

As Duncan and I get out of the car, we’re both wrapped in hugs.

Mom pushes Duncan to arm’s length and looks him up and down. “My, my, we need to know all about you.” She shoots me a sideways glance. “My mother’s right. Kimberly hasn’t told us much at all. Now, we have dinner cooking. I hope you like steak. If not, we have chicken.” She stops. “Tell me you’re not one of those vegetarian people.”

“No, ma’am, I’m not. Steak will be wonderful.”

“My name’s Judy. There’re no ma’ams here.” She grabs his elbow and leads him toward the porch.

Grandma stays back with me. Once Mom and Duncan are a few feet ahead, Grandma leans her head back and pretends to fan herself. “Goodness, girl. You have yourself a hottie.” She leans closer yet and attempts to whisper. “Your momma said he has his own plane. Is that true?”

I shake my head. “It’s a company plane, for the company where we work.”

“But you were alone?”

My cheeks fight the need to blush. “There were other people, like the pilot and an attendant.”

Her whisper grows louder and I’m thankful Duncan and Mom are farther ahead. “Oh, child, tell me you did that mile-high thing? I always wanted to do that but your grandpa was worried about the bathrooms on planes. They’re so small and sometimes, if we did it in unusual positions, he would get cramps in his legs…”

I let her keep talking as we make our way inside, hoping she’ll forget her question and not expect an answer.

I’M IN AN alternate universe and it’s every fantasy I never knew I had.

What CEO of a billion-dollar company dreams of enjoying a farm in the middle of nowhere? Who imagines waking in a small bedroom, complete with a canopy bed and sunshine streaming through pink curtains, as birds sing? What owner of a 7,000-square-foot penthouse with a to-die-for view of the Empire State Building enjoys the hominess of a hundred-year-old, 3,000-square-foot farmhouse with a wraparound porch, creaky floors, and a view of cornfields?

Sitting with a cup of steaming black coffee, I listen as Kimbra and her brother, Kevin, bicker back and forth while helping their mother in the large eat-in kitchen. The warm spring air is filled with the sizzle of frying as the aroma of coffee, eggs, and bacon reminds me of some of the best diners in New York.

Although Kimbra’s dad, Oscar, is talking, I can’t concentrate on anything but Kimbra—Kimberly Ann. That’s what everyone here calls her.

“Because of you, I’m out ten bucks,” Kevin says, not doing a good job of whispering.

“Me?” Kimbra asks. “What did I do?”

Kevin tilts his head my way. “You brought a real guy here. I put money on him being made up.”

Kimbra reaches out and punches his shoulder.

He lifts his hands in surrender. “No. Listen. I was sure it was a good bet. When Mom said your boyfriend’s name wasn’t Timothy, but Duncan, and you didn’t want him in the wedding, Susan and I figured he wasn’t real. I bet Jimmy ten bucks this fake Duncan guy would be a no-show. Susan and I were sure that before last night, you’d have some reason why at the last minute he couldn’t attend. You know, like you’d make up some accident or something.”

Her brother is about as good at speaking softly as he is at being nice to his sister.

“Shut up!” Kimbra whispers back. “Obviously, he’s real.”

Kevin’s head falls back in laughter. “He’s real, all right. Last night I thought your old bed was going to collapse.”

Kimbra’s eyes flash to me. And though I look down at my coffee and pray her dad isn’t listening, the gleam in her expression makes my cock twitch with the memories of the night before.

I’d done what I’d promised.

After she introduced me to her family and we endured an eight-course meal, including a barrage of family stories designed mostly to embarrass Kimbra, we tried to excuse ourselves, claiming we were tired from work and the trip.

Kimbra’s grandma, Helen, wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted the entire family gather in the kitchen and play five-card stud and seven-card draw. Thank goodness we were only playing for pennies, otherwise the woman would have taken my company and my penthouse. Kimbra wasn’t kidding when she said her grandma was ruthless. She’s also hilarious. I can’t remember when I laughed as much.

Once we were finally alone in her little girly room, I found myself enthralled.

In a matter of hours, Kimbra had become someone else. No longer the HR professional who commands a boardroom of employees, here in her hometown and in her bedroom, Kimbra became someone more than the beautiful, competent woman I thought I knew. She became someone with feelings and dreams.

Though I enjoyed her family, I hated hearing her mom and grandma question Kimbra’s choices about her future. I detested her brother’s jokes and put-downs. It all brought to life some inner protector I didn’t know I was. When they said such things, I wanted nothing more than to wrap her in my arms and take it all away.

We stop inside the bedroom. Pink curtains billow with the breeze coming from the open window. Outside, the night air is filled with sounds unlike anything in the city. There’s no rumbling of cars or honking of horns. Instead, there’s the soft murmur of insects—crickets and cicadas—as well as the occasional croak of a toad or hoot of an owl.

“I bet you’re not used to any of this,” she says with a hint of sadness in her tone that I instantly dislike.

I step closer and wrap my arms around her. “Used to what? A pink canopy bed? You might not know this about me, since I’ve been such an awful boyfriend for the last five months, but I like pink. I have a pink canopy bed in my penthouse.” I turn toward the window. “Pink curtains too. Actually, pink has always been one of my favorite colors.”

Kimbra’s eyes open in amazement. “No, you don’t.”

“How do you know? Have you been sneaking into my place?”

“You said your favorite color was blue.”

I caress her cheek and look deeply into her eyes. “It is now.”

Her cheeks color and rise as her expression fills with amusement. “I didn’t mean the room. Although I doubt you imagined spending the weekend in a 1990’s flashback.” She looks over to posters of boy bands that still decorate her walls. “I meant them. They all talk, constantly, all the time.”

I tilt my head. “I like them, except when they upset you.”

Her smile fades. “They don’t. They mean well.”

“And Kevin?”

“It’s what we do. I call him a jerk-face and he calls me a witch. We mean it lovingly.”

I run the tip of my finger along her chin. “He’s jealous.”

Kimbra sighs, steps away, and sits on the edge of the bed. “Hardly. No one here is jealous of me. They all think I’m crazy. They all live perfect lives. Married lives. Lives that either include or will include babies and dogs.”

I walk closer, taking in every perfect inch of her. Leaning down, I lift the hem of her bright blue shirt and do what I’ve wanted to do since we were on the plane. I find her strapless bra and unsnap it.

Her eyes sparkle as they narrow. “What are you doing?”

“I’m freeing those gorgeous belly. They’ve been held captive in that bra for way too long. Remember what I said. If you love something, set it free.” My hands roam under her shirt cupping her breast and rolling one of her nipples between my fingers. As her mouth opens and no sound escapes, I remind her of my appreciation. “Beautiful, I love your belly.

“And don’t tell me that no one’s jealous. You’re gorgeous with curves and…” I reluctantly let go of her belly and pull the clip from her hair, letting the long auburn locks fall down her back. The way it hangs in soft waves fascinates me. In the office she always has it pulled back or up. I fight the urge to run my fingers through the auburn tresses. “…are living your dreams. Remember at Gaston’s when you told me that New York was your dream. Kimbra, you’re living that, every day. Kevin’s stuck back here in Indiana running a farm.”

She shrugs. “It isn’t that bad back here. It’s what Kevin always wanted to do. He never wanted to move away. Neither did Susan. It’s what my parents did and their parents before them. It’s what they expected me to do. Settle down with a nice hometown boy.”

I take a small step back and narrow my gaze. “Tell me, should I be jealous? Is there some hometown Joe who is waiting for your return?”

“Well actually, rumor has it that the Indiana shoe king is still interested.” She shrugs with a beautiful grin. “Of course, I haven’t seen or talked to him since our high school graduation.”

“Shoe king? I’m intrigued. Something tells me that Jorge would be too.”

Kimbra laughs. “Seriously, tomorrow you’ll meet more family and Saturday…” She lies back, sighs, and stares up at the underside of the canopy. “…you’ll meet them all. Then you’ll know why I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy. You’re fun and multidimensional. I love seeing this side of you and…” I reach for the button on her jeans. “…I’m ready to see another side of you.”

“Duncan?”

“I told you, Kimbra, what I was going to do to you in your bedroom.” I undo the button and lower the zipper. Without hesitation, she lifts her hips, allowing me to pull down her jeans as she throws her arm over her eyes. Once I have her jeans and skimpy excuse for panties removed, I stand up and move her arm. “No, you’re going to watch.” Her eyes widen. “Yes, Kimberly Ann, you’re going to watch me go down on you. Watch how great you taste, watch me devour your pussy, as I lick and bite.” I smile as her lip disappears between her teeth, eyes sparkle, and hips writhe. “I’m going to make you scream my name, and everyone in this house will be jealous of you, even your grandma.”

“Yeah, Grandma really likes you.”

I resume my place between her thighs, pushing them farther and farther apart until she’s fully exposed. With just my words, she’s already wet, and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

“Kimbra, this view will never get old.” I stretch out my tongue and lap her folds. The creamy juice is better than any dessert her mother has downstairs.

“Oh.”

I hold her hips as she tries to buck. “No, hold still and let me dig in.”

“Idiot.” Her words are muffled.

When I look up, our eyes meet. That’s when I see the small stuffed dog she’s holding, its paw in her mouth. At least she’s doing as I said and watching. Again and again, I lap and suck. Small nips at her pussy, her clit, and her thighs. Using my fingers, I work her like an instrument, one finger and then two, bending them just right to hit her perfect spot, stringing her tighter and tighter. It’s when I plunge one finger and then two into the tight ring of muscles that she loses it. Her essence covers my face, my chin. She screams my name, just like I promised.

Once she’s calmed, I climb up the bed, needing to kiss her and show her how amazing she tastes.

“Duncan?”

I shake my head, pushing away the memories of last night and concentrate on Judy, Kimbra’s mother.

“Yes?”

“How many eggs do you want?” she asks her question as she sets a platter of toast and another overflowing with bacon on the table.

“Two. But really, I can help.”

“Nonsense, let Kimberly Ann take care of her man.”

My grin widens as I catch Kimbra out of the corner of my eye. My man she mouths and shakes her head.

Currently she’s wearing short shorts, a faded t-shirt, and her thick auburn hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. My nose twitches at the memory of her hair tickling my face as I held her through the night. She isn’t wearing any makeup and her feet are bare. She’s more beautiful than she was in that gold dress.

“So you’re my Kimberly Ann’s boss?” Oscar, Kimbra’s dad, asks.

I take a deep breath. “Not technically. Kimbra works in the human resources department. She answers to a manager, not to me.”

“But you own the company?”

I shrug. “Part of it.”

Oscar leans forward. “Son, what are your intentions?”

“Dad!” Kimbra yells as she walks closer, carrying two plates, each with two eggs. “Here, Dad, eat some eggs and stop giving Duncan the third degree.” She places a plate in front of him and gives his head a kiss before placing the other plate in front of me.

“I just think he has some explaining to do.”

Kevin brings over his and Susan’s plates and settles next to his wife, who’s pretty quiet. She keeps looking in my general direction, but I’ve decided she just doesn’t talk much. Maybe with this group, she doesn’t get a chance.

Judy comes near, carrying two more plates, one for Kimbra and one for herself, and sets them on the table. “Oscar, leave the poor boy alone. You don’t want to stress him out. You know what happens to you when you’re stressed. Remember what the doctor said.”

“Mom!” Kimbra and Kevin say in unison.

“Stop it,” Judy responds. “We’re all adults. Your father and I have a very active sex life. The urologist said everything is normal, considering your dad’s age.”

I almost choke on my eggs, but decide that studying the pattern of Judy’s plates is more important than any eye contact trash I learned in business school.

“Mom! Stop!” Kimbra pleads as Kevin coughs.

I start to worry that I may need to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

“Kevin, are you all right?” Judy turns to Kimbra. “Dear, it’s okay. If Duncan gets stressed, just remember that toys are always a good option.”

Small, intricate blue flowers surround the plate. I suddenly wonder how many there are. I could count them. One, two, three…

“Really, Mom,” Kevin says, for the first time helping his sister.

“They wouldn’t hurt you and Susan either…”

“Toys? What kind of toys are we talking about?”

We all turn as Helen prances into the kitchen. She’s completely dressed in jeans, a bright t-shirt that says “Will work for coffee” and pink canvas high-tops. For a woman in her late seventies, she’s surprisingly spry and trendy.

“Judy,” Helen says as she pours herself a cup of coffee, “please tell me we’re not talking about your butt plug again.”

Groans and coughs fill the air as Kimbra reaches for my leg. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“Not yet, but I was going to suggest it. I really like it.” Judy turns toward the rest of the table. “I found it on Amazon. With Prime shipping it was here in a day. Oh! I know.” Judy says, bouncing with excitement. “We can order another one and it will be here tomorrow. They deliver on weekends now. Soon, you know, they’ll have those little drone things, and it will bring it right to our door. Kimberly, do you think that will help you and Duncan?”

Before she can answer, Helen pipes up. “Judy, not everyone likes a plug up their donkey. I, myself, am more of a vibrator girl.”

I drop my fork and close my eyes. I’ve lost count of the little blue flowers. I don’t want to make this any worse, but my shoulders are shaking and tears are filling my eyes I’m laughing so hard.

“Grandma!” Kimbra and Kevin plead in unison.

“What?” Helen asks. “Amazon has those too, all sizes and shapes. Even pretty colors. You know when your grandfather was alive—”

Kimbra stands and reaches for my hand as tears of laughter slide down my cheeks. “I’m sorry, everyone. I promised Duncan I’d show him around the farm.”

“Not the barn!” Oscar yells as she pulls me away from the kitchen. “Did you hear me? That’s my barn. A man needs his space. I don’t want to think that my daughter—”

“Kimberly Ann,” Judy calls. “You didn’t let him finish his eggs. A man needs his strength. You can’t expect him to be able to—”

I reach back for my bacon and toast with a quick nod. Though words are hard to form, I try my best to help Kimbra as I uncharacteristically interrupt her mother. “Thank you for the breakfast. I’ve heard the farm is very nice and I can’t wait to see it.”

“Not in the barn,” Oscar repeats.

“Not in the barn,” Kimbra calls back over her shoulder as she slips on flip-flops and pulls me through the front door. The screen slams as we walk toward the steps.

Looking toward the long driveway and out to the fields, we take in the light haze hovering just above the ground. It seems to have left the grass moist with dew. Above the haze the sun is brightening. I take a deep breath. The air is fresh and clear. It’s almost as if you can even taste the cleanliness.

Now free from the others’ ears, I let my laughter ring.

It’s so loud, my chest aches. I love my parents, but I can’t imagine a conversation like that ever occurring. Not that I want to imagine my mom or dad with sex toys—or that they even know what they are—but seriously.

Kimbra doesn’t speak as she pulls my hand and we traipse down the steps and through the wet grass, past the side of the barn, and toward a row of trees. “Where are we going?” I finally ask once I’ve stopped laughing and am able to form words.

“Away. Anywhere but in there. Maybe if we get to the woods, it’ll be so dark that I won’t have to look at you.”

We make it halfway down the path that has now led us beyond the barn. I tug her to a stop and reach for her chin. Pulling her gaze to mine, I do my best to sound stern. “Why don’t you want to look at me?”

“Are you serious?” She shakes her head and asks me again. “Are you serious?”

I kiss her nose. “You’re gorgeous. Your family is hilarious. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Were you just there? Did you just hear my grandma talk about vibrators?”

I nod. “And your mom talk about butt plugs.”

Kimbra scrunches her nose. “Oh, if I ever thought I might… now, no. Just no!”

I laugh again. “Now, don’t be so quick to decide. With Amazon Prime—”

She hits my shoulder playfully. “Don’t even suggest it.”

“I can’t wait to meet the rest of this family. The Joneses are much more exciting than the Willises ever were or have been.”

She leads me to a downed tree and we sit on the rough bark. My gym shorts do little to stop the wood from prickling my donkey.

“Not all of them,” Kimbra explains. “I told you my cousin Scarlett is perfect. Well, her side of the family wouldn’t say idiot if their lives depended on it. One time Kevin got them to play Cards Against Humanity just so he could hear our aunt cuss.”

“So we won’t be discussing sex toys at the wedding reception? Because I have the Amazon Prime app on my phone—”

“No! We have a rule. Mom is pretty good, unless she’s had too much wine. Dad, well, he isn’t usually the one. It’s Grandma. If anyone starts discussing something inappropriate, anything that shouldn’t be said around that side of the family, we clear our throats. If that doesn’t work, we start coughing. Anything to drown out whatever one of them could be saying.”

I reach over and walk my fingers from Kimbra’s knee to the hem of her short shorts. “Inappropriate. I believe I was recently told that I was inappropriate.”

“Yes, Mr. Willis, you were.”

I move my fingers toward the crotch of her shorts. “All I asked you was if you came. You never answered me.”

“Not that day,” she replies with a grin while at the same time stopping my hand’s upward progress. “But thanks to my boyfriend, who’s no longer nasty, the last twenty-four hours have been off the charts.”

I wiggle my eyebrows and lift her hand that stopped mine. “Off the charts?” I kiss her knuckles. “I’m glad to hear I’m improving. I’m willing to add more data to your analysis.”

“That’s mighty kind of you.”

I shake my head. “As altruistic as you may think I’m being, I’m not.”

Kimbra giggles. “It was the nasty boyfriend comment, wasn’t it?”

“That’s part of it.”

“How many times have you, Duncan Willis, been called a nasty boyfriend?”

“To my face?” I ask.

“IF THE LAST twenty-four hours are a true guide, I’d doubt you’ve ever been called one even behind your back,” I reply.

Though his smile keeps me focused, I can’t stop the realization that twenty-four hours have nearly passed and our weekend is dwindling away.

“Would you like to know the real reason I want to remove those cute little shorts?” Duncan asks.

I shift against the bark as his words, combined with the shimmer in his gaze, warm my skin. “I’m not sure.”

Duncan lifts the hand he’s still holding to his lips and kisses the end of each finger, sending shivers from each point of contact directly to my core. My eyes flutter and thighs press together as I try to stay focused.

It’s as he sucks my pinkie into his mouth that my lips part and I gasp. I swear I can feel it all the way to my clit.

When my eyes open, Duncan’s smile has grown. “That’s why.”

“What?”

“Those noises you make are like Viagra.”

Before I can stop my gaze, it drops to his shorts. Pushing against the nylon is the outline of his obviously hard cock. “Duncan.” I nod toward the house in the distance. If the corn were fully grown, if this were late summer, we’d be totally hidden. But since it’s the end of May, the area is open. “They can see us.”

He looks the direction of the house. “You’re being paranoid. It’s too far away.”

“Look at the second floor. The room my grandma stays in is the one on the far end. I wouldn’t put it past her to be standing at that window right now with a pair of binoculars.”

His chest shakes with laughter. “She’s something else. You know, we could give her a reason to break out her vibrator.”

I let go of his hand and stand. “Eww. Stop. I’d forgotten that awful conversation and now it’s all coming back.”

As he stands, he turns away from the house and adjusts himself.

It’s my turn to laugh. “Problems?”

Duncan reaches for my hand and we resume our walk along the path. The breeze rustles the leaves of the trees, which are bright and green and fresh as spring. After a few more steps, he stops.

“Listen.”

I do, but all I hear is the wind and leaves, maybe an occasional woodland creature, a squirrel or chipmunk rustling through the underbrush of the nearby woods. “What do you hear?”

“Nothing.” He gazes right and then left. “I think I get why Kevin doesn’t want to leave here. It’s peaceful.”

“It is. It can also be boring.”

He begins to laugh again. “At the risk of upsetting you again, I don’t think it’s possible to be bored with your grandma around.”

When I don’t respond, he tugs my hand. “Come show me.”

“Show you? Show you what?”

“You said you’re going to show me the farm. I want to see it. What was it like growing up here? What did you and Kevin do when you were kids?”

Tilting my head toward the trees, I say, “There’s a lake, a strip pit really, through those trees. In the summertime we spent hours swimming there.” The memories come rushing back. “We even had this rope swing. You could swing way out over the water and when you let go, you’d go down and down.”

“How deep is it?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. Once it dropped off, it just went down.”

“And you couldn’t see the bottom?”

“No,” I answer with a giggle. “It’s not a pool.”

“Will you show me?”

I look up into his face, searching his features. “Why?”

“Because there wasn’t anything like that where I grew up, and I want to see it. I want to know more about you.”

I turn back toward the house and weigh my options: a nice walk with Duncan through the woods and down memory lane, or back in the house with my family. I let out a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go.”

He reaches again for my hand and I lead him into the woods. Looking down at our feet, I recall we’re both only wearing flip-flops. “Be careful of burrs,” I warn.

“Burrs? Are those bugs?”

I point at a small green plant. The leaves are pointy, but it’s the small, prickly-looking balls that can really grab ahold. “See that little plant. They’re worse in the summer when they get all dried out.”

Duncan nods as he steps carefully away from the prickly threat, scanning the ground as if I’d told him there were mines instead of weeds.

Under the canopy of leaves, the sun breaks through in long rays of light. As we get closer to the lake, we pass in and out of the bright shafts only to emerge again to the dimness of the foliage. All at once the trees end and a flat meadow filled with sunshine is all that separates us from the lake. The early morning fog is completely gone, burned off by the sun, and the sky is a stunning shade of blue.

Hand in hand we walk to the water’s edge.

I point to a giant tree near the shore. “That’s where we had the rope swing.”

“What happened to it?”

“It probably rotted away.”

“That’s too bad. I was going to dare you to do it again.”

“Dare me?” I ask. “That water is probably something like fifty degrees.”

Duncan’s eyes widen. “Well, there goes the idea of a swim.”

“Are you afraid of cold water?”

“No. I had something else in mind but… well, you know what happens in cold water?”

I laugh. “I think even with a little shrinkage, you’d still be impressive.”

“Impressive,” he says, wagging his eyebrows. “That’s much better than what I was called earlier.”

We both slip out of our flip-flops and ease our feet into the cool water. The ground beneath the surface is soft and our feet squish into the sand and muck.

Duncan’s face is priceless as he takes one step and then another in the shallow water.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“I think your family could have built you a pool.”

“Oh, this was more fun.”

Movement under the surface catches our attention. “Was that a fish?”

I nod my head and laugh. “You are such a city boy.”

My remark earns me a splash, dotting my t-shirt and shorts with sprinkles of cold water.

A little while later, sitting on the shore, Duncan stands. Before I can ask where he’s going, he bends down. When he turns, he’s holding a half dozen or so bright yellow daisies. The flowers grow wild in the meadow, creating islands of gold within the sea of long green grass.

“For you,” he says, handing them all to me as he adds a kiss to my cheek.

I reach for the flowers.

“So many?”

“So many firsts. My first walk with you in the woods, my first visit to your childhood lake.” He laughs. “My first wild freshwater fish.”

“Wild?”

He nods. “Didn’t you see it? It jumped right out of the water. We’re lucky we escaped with our toes. I’ve been on deep-sea charters that haven’t yielded such dangerous fish.”

Shaking my head, I roll the stems between my fingers and remind myself that this is pretend. “Thank you for saving me from the wild fish. Oh, and for my flowers.”

“No… Thank you for showing me this place. I like learning more about you.”

I lie back on the grass and stare up at the sky. Suddenly, my view is blocked as wide shoulders and a sexy grin lean over me. “You don’t have to do this,” I say. “All these sweet things.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Duncan reaches for my chin and lifts my lips. With our noses nearly touching, he says, “And I don’t have to do this either… but I want to.” Our lips unite.

His kiss is soft and slow. With only a feather of a touch, he pushes away the sadness of our pretend performance and brings back the fantasy. I whimper as I lift my face, pushing upward, wanting more of him, and longing to feel his skin against mine. The heat builds as he adds more pressure. He tastes like coffee with a hint of bacon. It’s when his tongue seeks entrance that I decide to stop worrying about what will happen when we get back to New York and enjoy what is right in front of me.

My fingers lace through his thick, dark hair as I pull him closer.

He sits up and looks around. “Can your grandma’s binoculars reach way out here?”

“No,” I say with a giggle, “but unless you knew this was going to happen, that box we picked up at the store is back in my room.”

I can see the contemplation as he presses his lips together and his emerald eyes scan me slowly from head to toe. Like lasers to my flesh, his gaze ignites my skin. The heat builds, from the warmth equivalent to the sun’s rays to smoldering white-hot coals in milliseconds. Finally, he says, “Then let me see you.”

“You can see me. I’m right here.”

“Kimbra.”

The way he says my name—rolling from his tongue, deep and commanding—pinches my insides to a painful pitch. “Duncan?”

He reaches for the hem of my t-shirt and lifts. I don’t argue; instead, I sit upward allowing him to remove it and then the camisole underneath. “Perfect,” he assesses as he dips his head lower to my breast.

I gasp as he teases my nipple, sending electricity straight to my core.

I push him back. “No way.”

His eyes open in question.

“No way is my top coming off and yours is staying on. Take it off, Mr. Willis.”

His grin quirks upward. “Idiot. Every time you walk in my office from this day forward, I’m going to replay that line in my head.”

His biceps bulge as he reaches for the back of his shirt and lifts the t-shirt over his head, revealing his toned chest and abs.

I run my fingers down his torso to the indentations that accentuate the V near the band of his shorts. “Very nice.”

His laser vision is back and my body reacts. Without so much as a touch, my nipples pebble to hard nubs, and Duncan nods his approval. “No, beautiful. Better than nice. Perfect.”

WITH OUR CLOTHES back where they belong and the grass removed from my hair, we walk back toward the house. As if we both need the connection, our fingers intertwine and we move through the trees in sweet silence.

At the lake’s edge, we’d made out like two horny teenagers, not like two adults who’d messed like rabbits the day before. The urgency was different. We’d been together, united, the closest two people can be, but today we wanted more.

With the gentle breeze blowing across the water, we’d moved tentatively, tenderly exploring one another and taking in what we’ve missed in our five-month-long nonexistent courtship. Using all of our senses, we kissed and licked, teased and satisfied. Nothing was out of bounds as we touched and sought more. The only thing we didn’t do was have actual sex.

Though the lack of condoms was our excuse, the reality seemed deeper.

There is something sensual in learning about one another, whether discovering that I’m insanely ticklish on my stomach or that Duncan’s warm breath behind my ears causes my entire body to erupt in goose bumps.

I also learned a few important facts about him, ones that don’t appear in Buchanan and Willis’s dossier.

Duncan Willis is also ticklish, but his secret spot is the soft skin behind his knees. And when he’s erect, his impressive penis points upward. On his left arm, he has a small scar from a dog bite from when he was young. Lastly, in the sunlight the gold flecks in his eyes become more prominent.

Together we lay in the sunshine and watched wisps of clouds float overhead. We playfully argued about the pictures they created. Where I saw a dog, he saw a horse. I suppose it’s true what they say: size matters.

We may have even napped until a deer rustled the grass nearby.

If last night in my bedroom had been the most erotic experience of my life, the way we spent the morning was the most sensual. Our bouquet is growing. The flowers are multiplying at unknown rates. Each one is different—unique. The boundary between reality and make-believe is blurring. Soon, the vase with our flowers will overflow and shatter.

Once again back on the path to the house, Duncan pulls my hand and stops. “Before we get back to your family, I want to tell you something.”

I take a deep breath, ready for whatever he’s about to say. Maybe this is all too weird. Maybe he wants to go back to New York today. Heck, he has a plane. He could do that. Maybe he wants to come clean to my family and tell them that this is all pretend.

I lift my gaze to his, expecting the worse. “What do you want to tell me?”

“I know the weekend has only started…”

I hold my breath, refusing to cry.

“…but it’s—”

I can’t take the suspense. “If you need to leave, I understand.”

His eyes spring wide. “What? Leave? No.” He lets go of my hand and reaches for my shoulders. “Is that what you want?”

“No, but this is all so different than what you’re used to. You can admit that.”

Duncan nods. “It is. And I’m having the time of my life.”

“You are?”

“I am. And I wanted to tell you—”

“Kimberly Ann, Kimberly!” My mother’s voice calls from the porch.

Duncan kisses my forehead. “I’m having a great time. Stop worrying.”

I nod against his soft t-shirt, recalling every line and ripple of his toned chest beneath the fabric.

Mom’s arm is waving as she repeats my name. “Your cousin has called a hundred times. Where have you two been? What am I supposed…”

I look up and grin. “Well, I hope you enjoyed the quiet, because I bet it’s the last we’ll have it for a while.”

Duncan laces our fingers back the way they’d been. “Bring it on, Kimberly Ann.”

“BRIDE TO BE” is printed in sparkling font on Scarlett’s bright white sash. Although she’s already had numerous bridal showers and even a bachelorette party, Sheila, Scarlett’s older sister, decided we all needed girl-time tonight. She also decided that the best place to do that would be down the street from where the guys are holding Kurt’s bachelor party.

We’re in downtown Indianapolis at an incredibly popular hangout. The place is packed and the music is blaring. By the way Shelia is downing her drinks, I would venture to guess that there’s more to tonight than meets the eye. More than likely, Sheila is as interested in keeping an eye on her husband as she is in partying with her sister and cousins.

Truthfully, I don’t want to be here, surrounded by thousands and thousands of race fans. I also don’t want to go down the street and check on Jimmy, Sheila’s husband. I don’t want to find out if he’s watching the dancers and not touching.

The real reason I don’t want to be here is that I don’t want to know what Duncan is doing. I keep telling myself this is pretend. I know we aren’t really boyfriend and girlfriend. I know that come Tuesday at work, my carriage will turn back into a pumpkin and I’ll only have one shoe.

It’s a crappy analogy, but it works.

This fairytale, this fantasy that being with him creates, will be over. So what if he drinks with my brother and cousins and touches some dancer? Before this weekend, before I asked him to come here with me and be my plus-one, before I blackmailed him, he was touching some office hussy in the women’s bathroom. I doubt he’ll have the willpower or restraint to turn down some good-looking dancer wanting to give him a lap dance.

Nevertheless, if I don’t see it, I can pretend.

“Kimmmberly,” Sheila whispers as my name elongates in a twist of her thick tongue. “Let’s go, you and I, next door and make sure Kurt is behaving.” Her words slur together. Although Scarlett, our cousin Jillian, and I have all been sipping our first Long Island iced teas of the night and Susan is drinking Coke, Sheila is on her second pitcher. That’s how they serve them at this club, in little individual pitchers.

“I’m sure Kurt is fine,” I say, even though I know she’s not worried about Kurt. Finding her husband, Jimmy, in a compromising position is not high on my to-do list.

“Oh, come on,” she continues with her head bobbing. “You’re the hotshot, the big-city businesswoman with the good-looking, rich boyfriend. I’m sure if Kurt is doing anything to enjoy his last night of unmarried freedom, you can boss them all around and make it stop.” She nods in agreement with her own words as she takes another long drink of her Long Island. “You always have been the bossy one.”

“What?” I ask, more than slightly offended. It has always been Sheila who bossed the rest of the cousins around, always saying she was older and had that right. Apparently, as older approaches thirty, it’s no longer a badge of honor.

“Don’t listen to her,” Scarlett whispers. She pulls me away from the high-top table, leaving Sheila whispering to Jillian and Susan. “Kimbra, thanks for coming home. It means a lot.” She tilts her head back toward Sheila. “She’s… well… she and Jimmy have had some tough times lately.”

And seeing her perfect sister have the perfect wedding… I don’t say that. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if all the activities have added to Sheila and Jimmy’s problems.

Nevertheless, it isn’t Scarlett’s fault that Sheila married right out of high school. And it isn’t her fault that Sheila hasn’t become pregnant for a second time. According to my mom, what she heard from Aunt Laura—Sheila and Scarlett’s mom—is that Sheila and Jimmy’s difficulty becoming pregnant for a second child has reawakened issues in their marriage.

Their little girl is five and cute as can be. She’ll be Scarlett’s flower girl. But Jimmy wants a boy.

“It happens,” I say, acknowledging Jimmy and Sheila’s issues.

Scarlett rubs my shoulder lovingly. “I’m so glad you finally found someone who puts up with you. And he’s handsome too!”

I know she means that as a compliment, but it doesn’t sound like one.

“Can you…?” She glances back at Sheila who wipes her cheek. “Can you go down the street? I shouldn’t and it would be better if she didn’t.”

“Fine,” I say, biting back all the things I want to say. I deserve some kind of medal for my restraint. “I’ll go.”

My thoughts fill, wavering between compassion and resentment, as I grab my purse, leave my family, and weave through the maze of tables and people. Maybe, just maybe, the perfect lives that everyone seems to live here aren’t all they appear.

Maybe in some way I envy what Scarlett is about to have. And perhaps Duncan is right, and in their own way, my family envies me.

The addition of nearly half a million people to the Indianapolis area for the 500 race makes navigating the bar as well as the downtown sidewalk seem less like Indiana and more like Times Square. I think again about how stupid it is to have a wedding this weekend, but then again, Scarlett wasn’t thinking of her guests when she planned the date.

My ears ring with the change in decibels as I make my way out of our bar and down the street to the club. Though it isn’t as loud, even on the sidewalk, music fills the air.

The line to get in to the upscale gentlemen’s club is at least half a block long. Instead of waiting, I go up to the large, muscular man standing near the entrance. The bouncer looks me up and down as I plead my case. “Sir, can you help me? My cousin’s fiancé is in there. We’re over there…” I point to the bar I just left. “…and she’s freaking out. I’ve tried to call him and my boyfriend, but I don’t think they can hear their phones. Can I please run in, just for a minute? I need to tell him what’s happening. Otherwise, a big wedding that’s scheduled for tomorrow could be ruined.”

The tall man with dark skin and deep brown eyes again looks me up and down. I’m wearing a short sundress with cowboy boots. It’s hardly the attire of the women inside.

“Please?” I ask, biting my lip.

Before he answers, he pushes a button on a radio-type thing attached to his shoulder and mumbles something to someone else. After a moment, he looks back to me and nods. “Okay, make it quick.”

“Thank you!”

He lifts the rope and I rush inside, pushing my way through all the people. The patrons are mostly men, but not all. There are women in skimpy skirts with big hair. Some wait tables while others show more individualized attention to the patrons. The women who are here to watch the dancers all appear too enthralled in the show to notice me.

The music grows louder and the bass vibrates the floor as I make my way toward the main stage. From a distance, I see Duncan first. My feet forget to move and breath catches in my chest as I watch the woman at their table.

Duncan is shaking his head no and pushing cash toward the woman. Kurt, Kevin, and Justin, Jillian’s boyfriend, have their backs to me. I can tell by Kurt’s body language that this isn’t his idea of fun. I’m undecided about Kevin and Justin. And then I see Sheila’s husband, Jimmy. He’s throwing cash toward the stage and cat-calling. Though I recognize his loud, booming voice and domineering tone, I can’t actually hear what he’s saying over the loud music.

Relief that I can’t explain washes through me as I watch Duncan. Despite the woman’s best efforts, he’s not picking up on the obvious advances. I take a deep breath and remember to move. He hasn’t seen me and is now facing Jimmy and the stage. I’m right behind him when I tap him on the shoulder.

Duncan turns. Instead of his usual fun smile, his features are stern. And then his eyes meet mine. “What the heck are you doing in here?”

We practically need to scream to be heard. “It’s Sheila. She insisted we come downtown. We’re just a few doors down, but she’s freaking out.”

Duncan looks from me to Jimmy. “He’s not done anything, but not for lack of trying.”

“Kurt?” I ask.

“He just wants to leave.”

I nod and pull out my phone. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll call an Uber and get them all home before something bad happens.”

Duncan smiles. “Best idea I’ve heard all night.”

Twenty minutes later we’ve poured Jimmy, Kurt, Sheila, Scarlett, Justin, and Jillian into an XL, and Kevin, Susan, Duncan, and I have gotten into another car. My ears are still ringing. I’m sandwiched between Susan and Duncan in the backseat when Duncan reaches for my hand.

We don’t talk, but there’s something about the way he holds it that is comforting.

Finally, I whisper, “Thanks for keeping an eye on Jimmy.”

“It wasn’t just me. Kevin was on it.” Duncan laughs and speaks loud enough for everyone in the car to hear. “At first I thought your brother was coming down with something.”

Kevin laughs and turns around from the front seat. “It didn’t occur to me that Dunc wouldn’t know the signal. I started coughing louder, figuring he’s just not very fast.”

“Dunc?” I ask.

Duncan shrugs. “I’ve never had a nickname before.”

I turn toward Kevin. “Being fast isn’t something to brag about, bro.”

Even Susan laughs as the driver takes us all back to the farm.

KEVIN AND SUSAN walk hand in hand up the stairs toward the house as our Uber drives away. When I start to follow, Duncan holds tight to my hand but doesn’t move. Instead, he stares up at the sky.

“What?” I ask once we’re alone.

“There are so many stars.”

“Yeah, once we get away from the city—”

His warm lips capture mine. My breathing hitches as I melt toward Duncan’s chest. When we finally break our kiss, he says, “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Okay.”

The moon is barely a sliver, leaving the sky black as space, dotted with thousands of twinkling diamonds of all sizes and clarity. Duncan leads me toward the barn, but instead of going in, we walk around to the back.

“I’ve never been as happy to see anyone as I was you in that club,” he says.

I smile. “You didn’t seem like it when you first turned toward me. You looked kind of angry.”

“I thought you were another woman hitting on me or your brother or cousin…”

My chest fills with pride that he didn’t want me to be one of those women—another woman. “I admit I was a little freaked out at what I’d find.”

Duncan leads us to two old lawn chairs leaning against the back of the barn. They look a little rusty. The night air fills with the sound of creaking as he unfolds them. “Do you think these will hold us?” he asks.

“One way to find out.” I gingerly sit on the old nylon weaving.

Duncan does the same. Other than a few stretch noises and more creaks, they seem to hold. “Why?” he asks.

“Why what?”

“Why were you freaked out?”

I shrug and look out over the field, up to the stars.

“Kimbra?”

I sigh, unsure if I should be honest or play it off about Jimmy. The seconds tick by. In the distance crickets sing and an occasional toad croaks.

Duncan reaches over and takes my hand. After a reassuring squeeze, he asks, “Were you worried about Jimmy?”

It’s my chance. I can pretend. That’s what this weekend is about, right?

Instead, I nibble my lip and make the decision to be honest. “I guess I was concerned about Jimmy. Sheila was freaking out. But that wasn’t why I was nervous.” I look down at our intertwined fingers. Duncan’s grasp is warm and sure. My gaze moves up to his eyes before I speak again. “I know this is pretend and you don’t owe me any kind of monogamy, but as I stepped into that club, I didn’t want to find you with another woman draped all over you. I didn’t want my fantasy to end, not yet.”

The starlight illuminates his chiseled chin and protruding brow. Slowly his cheeks rise in a smile as small lines form near the corners of his eyes. Goodness, he’s so handsome. I don’t have any right to hold him back. He’s a player. It’s who he is. Asking him not to be is like asking the river to flow backward.

Duncan squeezes my hand again. “Turning and seeing you was my fantasy. Remember? You called this pretend. I’m the one who called it a fantasy. Let me enjoy it, too.”

“But doesn’t Duncan Willis enjoy having beautiful women draped all over him?”

“You’ve probably heard a few things about me.” He shrugs as his smile dims. “Some are true and others aren’t. Some I’m proud of, others I’m not. It’s kind of complicated, but all I know is that right now I’m enjoying.” His gaze sweeps over me, as if he can see what is underneath my sundress. “Very much immensely enjoying one beautiful woman. And I brought her back here to do just that.”

My heart flutters. “Oh? To do what?”

“To have you draped all over me.”

“You’re insatiable!” I laugh.

“Only when it comes to you.”

I stand, but before Duncan can move, I drop to my knees in front of him. No longer do I feel the unease of being on my knees as I did at Gaston’s. This time it is on purpose and I plan to make it memorable.

“I think it’s my turn,” I say as I reach for the belt on his jeans. Dang, he looks great in jeans. He looks hot in a suit too.

By the time I release his zipper, his cock has grown rock-hard. I run my hands over the tightening, velvety skin. Licking my lips, I see a small amount of cum leaking from the slit on the crown, glistening in the starlight. Momentarily I peer up through veiled lashes.

He’s watching my every move. “Kimbra, you don’t—”

I don’t let him finish as I open my mouth wide and take him deep, sheathing my teeth with my lips. Simultaneously, I wrap the base of his cock with my fingers and work my mouth and hand in unison. Up and down my head bobs as I lick and suck. His taste is salty and tangy, a unique and not unpleasant flavor.

With my other hand, I reach for his balls. The triple attack causes a deep, reverberating groan from him as his length reaches the back of my throat. His sac tightens as I roll his balls between my fingers and continue to pump his steel rod. When I open my eyes, I notice the way his hands grip the arms of the chair. His fingertips blanch, all the while not pushing or directing me, but allowing me to go at my own speed.

His cock throbs and legs tense as his pressure builds. Against the aluminum arms of the rickety old chair, Duncan’s fingers tighten. I wonder if he could bend the metal if he tried. The country air fills with a pop as I come off his tip. Duncan’s head is back, his neck stretched until I speak. “Use me…” I direct his hand to my hair. “…I want you to mess my mouth, like you’ve let me ride yours.”

His growl sends shivers throughout my body that dampen my already-wet panties. He twists his long fingers through my hair. No longer in control, my lips suck and hands work as he guides my head, pushing me down until I’m sure I’ll choke, only to release me and then do it again. With each assertion, my core clenches, wanting its own relief, but more than satisfied knowing that it’s me who has this gorgeous man on the edge of ecstasy.

As the pressure mounts, Duncan’s hand trembles. And then he releases me, allowing me to back away.

I don’t.

“Kimbra… I’m going to come.”

I don’t stop. Instead, I dive down, taking him to my limit as my hand continues to pump. I didn’t start this with the intention of quitting.

His whole body shudders as he comes apart and warm streams of thick liquid fill my mouth and flow down my throat.

It isn’t until I’ve licked him clean that I finally sit up. When our eyes meet, I smile and lick my lips.

With his gaze only on me, his voice rumbles. “Perfect.” His grin quirks to a sexy smirk. “Tell me, Kimbra, did you come?”

Since his cock was just in my mouth, his question no longer seems inappropriate.

I tilt my head and return his grin. “I’m very turned on, but no, I didn’t.”

“Are you wet?”

“Soaked.”

Duncan takes my hand in his and pulls me forward. Our lips unite as his tongue searches for his own taste. When he releases me, he stands, adjusts himself in his jeans, and says, “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll do what I can to rectify that situation.”

As we walk toward the house, Duncan looks up at the dark windows and asks, “Tell me about Susan. She’s very quiet.”

“I think it’s because she doesn’t know you. She and Kevin have been married since the summer they graduated college.”

“College? Kevin is a farmer.”

“Yes. He studied agriculture at Purdue. Being a farmer is more than planting seeds and harvesting crops. It’s a science.” I turn us back toward the field. “Like this field. This year it has corn.”

Duncan hums his agreement.

“But every third year it has soybeans. It’s about preserving the land, the soil. For too long people just took from it. When that happens, the earth can’t give the size of crops needed. With the stuff Kevin learned, he and Dad have multiplied their yield. Dad has the experience and Kevin understands not only the science, but also more of the business: weather cycles, when to sell, when to store. It’s all rather complicated.”

Letting go of my hand, Duncan wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to his side. “You, Miss Jones, amaze me.”

I laugh, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and the way I fit against him. “I impress you because I know a little bit about how to grow corn and soybeans?”

“So much more than that. You’re loyal to a fault. Even after the jabs Kevin has made at you, you’re touting his attributes. I’m also impressed because you’re full of knowledge. I’ve seen you in action at Buchanan and Willis. I’ve seen the reports and know how you work with the different departments to increase productivity. I’ve sat through meetings where you’ve fired people twice your age and not hesitated or backed down once. What I hadn’t seen, until this weekend, is the woman who blushes at her grandma’s jokes, protects her older brother, and cares about her cousin enough to walk into a gentlemen’s club to be sure that no one gets hurt.”

“I wasn’t too worried about Jimmy.”

“Maybe you should be,” Duncan says. “I don’t know him, but I know an unhappy person when I see him, and he’s not loving life right now.”

A heaviness crushes my chest as I scrunch my nose. “Wow, I guess I didn’t realize how bad it was. I do care about my cousins. We all grew up together. I know that now they think I’m strange, but we used to be close. I say things about Scarlett being perfect, because it’s annoying. But… I want them all to be happy. Sheila is the oldest of us four girls. She had her life all planned out, but her plans have had detours. Jillian and I are the two misfits.”

Duncan lifts my chin until his green eyes are all I see. “You, Miss Jones, are not a misfit. You are, however, wrong.”

“I am?” I question. “I thought you just said I was smart.”

“I said you’re knowledgeable. You’re also smart, beautiful, kind, and loving, and in no way are you a misfit or any less than Scarlett. Don’t get me wrong: I can appreciate a pretty woman when I see one. Your cousin is pretty. From what little bit I’ve talked to her, she seems nice and extremely in love with Kurt, but if she walked into my office, I could admire her and forget her.” He kisses my nose. “June, three years ago, a stunning woman walked into my office. She hasn’t left my thoughts since.”

Before I can remind us both that this is only pretend, Duncan’s lips cover mine, swallowing my reply. Without thought, my body melts against him. The way my breasts press against his hard chest reminds me of the promise he made earlier. When our kiss ends, I tug him toward the steps.

Still outside, I remember his question and say, “Susan does talk. Tonight, while we were out, just the girls, she was talking and laughing with everyone. You met my other cousin, Jillian. She lives in Illinois. The two of us are the misfits, whether you see it or not.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one, after tomorrow we’ll be the only ones not married.”

Duncan laughs. “Or without 2.5 children.”

I shrug. “Or a dog.”

He leans in and brushes his lips over mine. “I can’t help you with any of those things, but I can help you with something else.”

“What is that?”

“Remember that little problem I promised to rectify? Let’s go upstairs and I’ll prove to you that I’m a man of my word.”

For the first time that I can recall, I have a desire for what Duncan can’t or doesn’t want to help me with, the whole deal, more than just plus-one—marriage, children, and dog. However, the way my insides pinch at his reminder, I also want what he’s offering me upstairs.

Quietly we make our way to my room.

“SO TELL ME about my granddaughter.”

Helen’s question takes me by surprise.

I move my focus from the sun-drenched fields to Helen’s serious expression. The two of us are sitting in wooden rocking chairs on the wide porch. Kimbra, Susan, and Judy are all in the kitchen. I offered to help with the breakfast dishes, but Judy pushed Helen and me out the door into the warm morning air.

Kevin and Oscar are doing something on the farm. Their parting comment was about how there’s no such thing as a day off. Generally, I’d agree. However, this weekend is different.

Of course, I haven’t been totally without contact. I’ve been in communication with Jorge and Mike. Via texts and emails, I’m up to date on everything happening in New York and at our satellite locations. After Kimbra’s interesting proposal and before we left, I told Mike everything.

He wasn’t pleased with what I’d done, or almost done, in the bathroom; nevertheless, he was cautiously optimistic about my deal with Kimbra. We both laughed that she would truly think she’s blackmailing me into being her plus-one. If there is anyone who knows me, it is Michael Buchanan, and he and I both know that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.

A man who accomplishes what I have by my thirties isn’t one who succumbs to blackmail. I am a man who seizes an opportunity when it presents itself, especially if that opportunity includes four days—and nights—with Kimbra Jones.

Mike and I met our freshman year of college and the rest is history. We both come from financially stable families. Neither was wealthy. Some might say middle-class. No matter the title, we were comfortable, but still we both longed for more. That drive helped me focus during a rough time. Our business ambition became my life.

We worked hard and did our homework. We studied the markets, economy, and fiscal environment. It became obvious with the aging demographics that no matter what happens in other markets, people will need pharmaceuticals. The development and patents are a nightmare. Let someone else do that. We focused on logistics, getting each pharmaceutical from point A to point B in the most efficient and economic fashion. Add in the fact that medication is consumable, the concept was golden. Together we built Buchanan and Willis into the pharmaceutical logistics giant that it is today.

“Tell you about Kimbra?” I reply to Helen. “I’d suspect you can tell me more.”

Her wrinkled hand covers mine. “Son, don’t trash an old woman.”

Laughter rings from my chest. “Never.”

“I know our Kimberly Ann, but I want to hear about this Kimbra.”

A smile spreads over my face. “She’s a dynamo. She’s obviously beautiful and a good person, but she’s more…” I go on, telling Helen the same things I’d said to Kimbra, extolling her assets. With each word, I see the pride beam from Helen’s eyes.

“And you two have been together…”

I repeat our story, our fabrication. As I do, I add the truth. “But honestly, I noticed her long before the Christmas party. How could I not? She was gorgeous in that gold dress, but my first staying memory is from nearly three years ago. Twenty-two years old. Her resume was excellent but her experience was limited… in HR,” I add, fighting a foreign sensation to blush, no doubt brought on by my recently acquired knowledge of her experience in other matters. “My manager,” I go on, “in her department was impressed with Kimbra during the interview process. Enough so that he’d already offered her the position. I was still skeptical. That was until she walked in. She exuded confidence and competence. Nothing intimidates her. I’ve watched as she’s quieted a roomful of angry employees.”

“Now, surely, you don’t have angry employees.”

I scoff. “Sometimes financially strategic decisions aren’t always received with enthusiasm. The thing about Kimbra is that she cares. Employees will ask for her by name and not only the ones in the corporate office, but also those in our satellite centers in other states. She remembers all their names…” As I go on and on, it hits me just how closely I’ve watched Kimbra through the years. There’s no pretense as I recall that first afternoon. “She entered my office and stole my breath.”

Helen’s eyes narrow. As the lines around her eyes and lips become deeper, her cheeks rise. “I don’t think that your breath is the only thing she’s taken.”

“What are you two talking about?” Kimbra asks as the screen door slams and she comes out onto the porch.

My gaze meets Helen’s. Will she rat me out? Will she tell Kimbra how much I’ve truly fallen for her, that this is much more than a weekend arrangement? That this is something I’ve been fantasizing about for years. Well, minus the farm, sex toys, and funny-as-hell grandma.

You can’t make that trash up.

“Duncan was just talking about his company,” Helen says. “I had no idea it wasn’t limited to New York. I know!” she adds with the same enthusiasm she had for her vibrator. “You could open one of those—what did you call it?—satellite centers here in Indiana, and then we could have our Kimberly Ann home.”

I reach for Kimbra’s hand and pull her toward my lap. The rocking chairs are solid and wide. There’s plenty of room for her to be with me. As our hands connect, a part of me feels complete. I couldn’t explain my need to touch her, to be in contact, if I were asked. It’s a new feeling that I can’t dismiss. Our eyes meet for only a second, as if she’s embarrassed to move closer in front of her grandma.

Helen stands. “Kimberly Ann, take it from someone who was married for over fifty years: when your man wants you to sit on his lap, do it.”

“Yes, Kimberly Ann,” I say, emphasizing her longer name and tugging her down. I’ve already witnessed that Helen is just about as good at whispering as Kevin. Nevertheless, when she leans closer and speaks in Kimbra’s ear, I do my best to pretend not to hear.

“And now this old lady is going to leave you two alone. If I were you, I’d ride him good.”

“Grandma!”

My breath catches as Kimbra’s cheeks turn the deepest shade of red and her chin drops to my shoulder.

Helen pats Kimbra’s shoulder. “If you need me I’ll be in my room. Ignore the noise. My electric toothbrush is loud.”

We sit in silence, well, except for the low rumble of my laughter, as Helen goes back in the house.

Finally, Kimbra relaxes, lays her head against my chest, and sighs. “I tried to warn you about her.”

“Stop apologizing. I think she’s fantastic. I am, however, a little disappointed that you don’t listen to her advice better.”

She cranes her neck toward me. The red in her cheeks has subsided. It’s the blue of her eyes that have me mesmerized. “I did listen. I’m here.”

It’s my turn to whisper. I do it with purpose, making sure my warm breath blows over her sensitive skin. “I believe she mentioned something about riding…”

Kimbra’s head moves back and forth. “Not on my parents’ porch in the middle of the morning while my grandmother is…”

“Brushing her teeth,” I volunteer.

Kimbra buries her face against my chest. “She has dentures.”

We both break out in a fit of laughter.

KIMBRA’S HAND RESTS upon the crook of my elbow as we follow her family down the aisle of the country church. While the surroundings are quaint and the stained-glass windows ornate, I’m having a hard time noticing anyone or anything but the beautiful woman beside me. She went with Susan and her mom to someone’s house. I think it was a friend of a friend who once worked with Judy. I got lost on the connection story. That doesn’t matter.

Before they left, Judy reminded them all to wear button-down shirts. Kimbra seemed to understand why, though until she returned I had no idea. The thing was, she didn’t have anything like that with her. It was Susan who finally offered one of Kevin’s. When she did, Kimbra’s eyes lit up and she went to her bedroom—the room we’re sharing. When she walked back out, my cock grew to the point where I knew standing wouldn’t be appropriate. I didn’t trust Helen not to call me out.

With her short little jean shorts, Kimbra wore the shirt I’d worn on Thursday afternoon. She looked so cute with it all rolled up, her amazing belly visible from the unbuttoned neckline, and the shirttails tied in a knot at her hips.

Idiot!

I’ll never look at the shirt the same way again.

When they returned, each one had her hair styled and makeup done. Kimbra’s long auburn hair was wrapped and pinned, with dangling curls. Though I tried to touch it, because it showed off her sexy-as-hell neck, I was quickly swatted away.

Following her to the bedroom, I learned why she needed the shirt. There couldn’t be any chance of messing up her hair.

Now, I can’t keep my eyes off of her. She’s absolutely stunning in her blue dress and high heels. The dress is swishier and girlier than what she wears at work. With each new discovery, I’m like a kid at Easter finding another egg. There are so many sides to her that I never realized existed.

As we sit, our legs touch and music fills the air.

“That’s my Aunt Laura,” she whispers as Jimmy walks a nice-looking woman down the aisle.

“Is she Judy’s sister?” I realize I never figured out the connection.

“No, Uncle Albert is Dad’s brother.”

We do a better job of whispering than the rest of her family as she points out different people. One by one the bridesmaids come down the aisle. The last one is Sheila. I quickly gaze at Jimmy, suddenly curious about his expression. My chest expands as I see his eyes directed toward his wife. How did I suddenly become involved in Kimbra’s family drama? I’m not sure, but for reasons I can’t explain, I also care about them.

All at once, the volume of the music increases, the wedding march begins, and the entire congregation stands.

Scarlett is lovely, totally dressed in white. The memory of my suggestion to offer her and Kurt the use of my plane makes me smile. As she nears, the scene before me fades and I have a vision of Kimbra dressed in a wedding gown. The image catches me off guard as I blink it away.

It’s true that I don’t want this thing—deal or seized opportunity—to end after Monday, yet marriage is not in my plans. I’ll never again entertain that notion. It’s obvious that Scarlett and Kurt are madly in love. It really does radiate from their smiles, the way they look at one another. Nevertheless, that ship sailed for me a long time ago.

I’ve faced the fact that my lack of interest in commitment is the reason I’ve avoided anything beyond a physical relationship. Those rarely last beyond the obvious. It’s easy to tire of one another when the attraction is purely skin deep.

Kimbra squeezes my hand, bringing me back to the present as we resume our seats.

The ceremony continues.

Kimbra’s uncle presents Scarlett to Kurt. People sing and verses are recited. There are candles and some symbolic sand-pouring thing. And eventually Scarlett and Kurt say their vows. But through it all, I concentrate less and less on our surroundings and more and more on the hand in mine.

Kimbra isn’t thinking about me. Her blue eyes are moist and she nibbles her pink lips as she watches her cousin.

Through it all, I can’t shake the image of Kimbra in a wedding dress. The more I try, the more vivid it becomes.

The entire church bursts into cheers as Kurt and Scarlett kiss.

“Look at him,” Kimbra whispers. “He’s looking at her like he’s starved and she’s his meal.”

I laugh. “My money’s on a quick pick of that flower. Or with your analogy, fast food.”

Kimbra’s eyes open wide as she tries to stifle a laugh.

It doesn’t work and Judy looks our direction. “Your mom is watching us.”

“No, my mom wants to know what’s so funny. She hates missing out on any joke.”

“Maybe I should mention Helen’s especially white teeth.”

Kimbra shakes her head. “Never.”

OUR ROUND TABLE echoes with coughs and throat clearing. Though earlier I caught Duncan watching me with an unusual expression, now he’s having fun with the rest of my family. Honestly, his coughs are as loud as everyone else as my grandma takes another sip of her wine and repeats her question.

“Why can’t I give it to her? I brought it.” She eyes each person suspiciously. “I hope you all aren’t coming down with something.”

At the head table Scarlett and Kurt are smiling for pictures and sipping champagne. Sheila just finished her matron-of-honor toast, and it’s about time for Uncle Albert to speak.

I wish they’d get on with it. I’m hungry, and with the number of glasses of wine Grandma and Mom have had, they need more substantial food than the cheese squares and crackers.

My eyes grow wide as I politely lean closer to Grandma. “You didn’t?” I ask in a whisper, but loud enough for her to hear.

“I most certainly did,” she announces triumphantly. “I started thinking about it after our discussion yesterday morning.” Her eyes narrow and back straightens. “You all aren’t the only ones who have Amazon Prime. I can even access it on my new smart phone. And since I won at poker against Mr. Moneybags over there…”

I think her final winning amounted to almost seven dollars.

“…and Scarlett’s wedding color is silver,” Grandma goes on. “I figured what better gift for her first night as a married woman than to have a silver vibrator.”

Cough! Cough!

“Shhh,” Mother says. “Mom, you can’t just hand her a vibrator and you can’t put it on the gift table either.”

More coughs. We’re drawing attention.

“Judy, you were the one touting the attributes of toys. If you think Oscar gets stress, can you imagine the pressure on poor Kurt? I think this is…”

Though I want to die with embarrassment for my unfortunate dad, he appears totally oblivious. If he wore hearing aids, I’d guess they were off. However, since he doesn’t, I’m going to go with his unique ability to ignore my mom and grandma. That superpower is probably what’s saved their marriage all these years.

“…a great way to kick things off for them. You know sex is as important in marriage. Your grandpa and I…” Grandma keeps talking.

Cough! Cough!

“Not here…” my mom tries. “Give it to them tomorrow.”

“No. They might like to have it tonight. And well, it only arrived just before we left. I didn’t have time to wrap it. You know,” she goes on, “when they get those drone things, delivery will be much faster.” She turns toward me. “I probably should have ordered a gift bag and tissue paper. I was just too excited that they had silver. I’ve never had a silver vibrator before. I like pink.”

Cough! Cough!

Ignoring our warnings, Grandma lifts her big leather designer purse that I’m certain came from the outlet or maybe a garage sale. It doesn’t matter to her, as long as it has a brand name. Then faster than any of us can move, she pulls the plastic-enclosed silver bullet vibrator from her purse and tosses it to the table. “See, it’s new.” She looks my direction. “Although I do have the same model.” She winks at Duncan. “Pink. And this one is quieter.”

Cough! Cough!

“I even brought batteries.” She digs in the bottom of her purse. “If I can just find them.”

“Grandma, put that away,” I say, reaching for the vibrator.

Just then, my uncle steps to the microphone and the room quiets. “Today is a special day…”

“Kimberly Ann, give me back the vibrator!”

Cough, cough, throat clearing.

The entire room turns our way. My cheeks catch fire as I shove the package back into her purse. No longer able to ignore us, my father lays his head on the table while Susan’s shoulders slump forward. Kevin shakes his head, and Mother takes another drink of her wine. It isn’t until I look toward Duncan that the world suddenly seems right. His smile is classic. His green eyes sparkle with unshed tears of delight and his broad shoulders quake with laughter.

As he reaches for my hand under the table, I succumb to the same laughter. It takes a full minute before I’m able to hear the heartfelt speech coming from the microphone.

“…pride and joy…”

When the dancing begins, Duncan winks at me as he stands. I start to rise but stop as he leans down and speaks to Grandma. “Helen, would you give me the honor of a dance?”

A lump forms in my throat. My grandma is glowing. Her eyes twinkle as she takes his hand. Together they walk toward the dance floor. Compared to his six-foot-plus build, she is petite, and when she looks up at him, her cheeks are pink and full of joy. As if they belong on a seventies TV show—the one with bubbles that my grandparents used to watch—as the music plays they glide across the dance floor.

Kevin taps me on the shoulder. “Hey, sis, can I have this dance?”

I nod, still mesmerized by the sight of Duncan Willis dancing with my grandma.

Once we’re on the dance floor, Kevin looks me in the eye. “Sorry I give you such a hard time. It’s great seeing you happy. Dunc is an okay guy, and not only because he let me drive that cool car.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes, he is.”

“I know Susan has been quiet, even more than usual. She’s trying with all the wedding stuff, but she hasn’t been feeling well.”

I pull back and look my brother in the eye. Though Susan and Kevin have never been into public displays of affection or declarations of love like Kurt and Scarlett, they’ve always been together. My brother loves his wife in that solid way that our parents have always had. “What is it? Is she all right?”

His smile grows, bigger than I can ever recall seeing. “Better than all right. She’s pregnant. We aren’t telling anyone yet.” He shrugs, his shoulders moving under my grasp. “With the wedding, Susan didn’t want to take anything away from Scarlett’s spotlight.”

Tears prickle the back of my eyes.

“Kev, I’m so happy for you two.” And then I punch his shoulder. “I’m not anyone. I should’ve known.”

“Like you called me to tell me about Dunc? You’ve been dating for nearly half a year and now I finally meet him, finally hear about him.”

A twinge of guilt shoots through me. “Fine. Seriously, I’m so happy for the both of you.”

“Yeah, we’ve been trying… you know… for that 2.5.”

I laugh. “I thought I was the only one who felt that pressure.”

“Are you kidding? Try living here.”

“No thanks, bro. But you can bet that Aunt Kimbra will be back here to hug your little one.”

“Thanks, sis. Don’t forget to bring Dunc back with you.”

Fighting to maintain my smile, I nod and move my cheek to his shoulder as we continue to dance.

I am happy for Susan and Kevin… a baby. My head pops up. “Do Mom and Dad know?”

Kevin nods. “They do, but we swore them to secrecy.”

“Grandma Helen?”

Kevin’s chest shakes with laughter. “Are you kidding? Nope. She will. But you know she wouldn’t have kept it quiet.”

When the song changes, Kevin and Duncan exchange dance partners.

“You’re even more gorgeous tonight than you were in that gold dress,” Duncan coos once I’m in his arms.

“I think you’re pretty dang handsome yourself.” I lean into Duncan’s embrace. As he gracefully glides me across the floor, I’m suddenly grateful for all those dance lessons with my feet on my father’s shoes.

As we move about the floor, I look up from Duncan’s shoulder and see my mom and dad as they also dance.

Duncan brings my attention back to him. “You and Kevin seemed to be in some secret conversation.”

I shrug. “I told you, we’re close. The bickering thing is just what we do.”

“As long as you know the truth.”

“The truth? What truth is that?”

“That you’re amazing. That living your dream makes you a superstar. Just because you don’t live here doesn’t make you less than all of these people.”

“I think I might also see that it doesn’t make me more.”

“I think you’re more,” Duncan says.

“What I mean is that they aren’t exempt from the same feelings. Kevin feels the same pressure I do.” I look out over the floor, seeing my family: parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends. I catch sight of Jimmy. He’s dancing with his daughter. “I think everyone does.” I look up at Duncan. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me blackmail you.”

He shakes his head. “Seized opportunity.”

“Whatever. Being my plus-one let me for once not be the outcast without a date. It let me see that we’re really not all that much different.”

Duncan’s eyebrows move up and down. “So I was thinking, would you like to brush your teeth?”

My forehead tips to his shoulder. “Stop. I’ll never be able to use my electric toothbrush again.”

“Well, we could go straight for the toys. I do have Amazon Prime.”

As the music changes to a faster beat, Duncan takes my hand and we head back toward the table. Before we get there, he stops and whispers, “Do you know what’s better about tonight than at the company holiday party?”

“What?”

He moves his lips close to my ear, his warm cinnamon breath kissing my skin and sending chills that twist my insides. “Besides the fact that you’re with me, tonight I know what you have under that blue dress, and tonight I’m going to get to enjoy it.”

I WAKE TO the now-familiar sunshine casting rose-colored hues through the pink curtains. Though the clock beside the bed says it’s still early, I hear noises from the direction of the barn, knowing that Oscar is up and doing something outside.

The faint sound of breathing turns my attention to the beautiful woman beside me. Her lips are slightly parted, and her auburn hair is twisted and disheveled in the sexiest bedhead slash post-sex style I’ve ever seen. The sheet is wrapped around her breasts and covering her body.

I know from experience that under the cover she’s entirely nude. Just the thought of her perfect belly combined with memories of last night makes my morning wood turn to steel.

After the wedding when we were alone in her room, I was magically drawn to her. The magnetic-like pull couldn’t have been stronger. Enjoying her warmth, I close my eyes, and recall every moment.

I close the door to her room a step behind Kimbra.

Just as I’m about to reach for her, she exhales, “Whew,” and turns a small circle. “Thank you,” she says with a tired smile. “After all that avoidance, I actually had a good time.”

I reach for her hands and pull her toward the bed. We both collapse staring up at the underside of the canopy. “My favorite,” I say with a grin, “was Helen handing Scarlett the vibrator.”

Kimbra starts laughing. “And Kurt asking what it was!”

“He thought it was a laser pointer,” we both say in unison.

My chest rumbles. “Did you see Scarlett’s face? She’s good at that blushing thing, too.” I sit up and brush my knuckle over Kimbra’s cheek. “It must be a family trait.”

“Oh, she knew what it was. That and the fact Kurt didn’t was priceless.”

“Helen’s response telling him that Scarlett would explain…” We both lie back for a minute, laughing and reliving the scene. “Do you think that’s happening right now?”

Kimbra covers her face with her hands. “Eww, stop. So many images I don’t want in my head.”

I close my eyes and see the image I’ve been seeing all night, the one of Kimbra in a wedding dress. Each time I see it, the visualization is more complete. Now it’s not just her, but the same little church, Oscar walking beside her. I can’t understand why it won’t go away. I shouldn’t be the one seeing it, because no way am I the man at the end of the aisle.

I push it away… even as it tries to persist.

Kimbra begins to stand, bringing me back to present. I lean forward and reach for her hand. “Where do you think you’re going, Miss Jones?”

“To get out of this dress, Mr. Willis.”

I sit up, leaning back on my elbows. “I like the sound of that. Do you have music?”

“Music?” She looks puzzled, but only for a second. “I’m not doing a striptease for you.”

I lift my brows. “Oh, but I would like that very much.”

“Duncan?”

“Okay, no music. We don’t want Helen to come join in.” Before Kimbra can respond, I go on, “But a little sway of those sexy hips and a tug of that zipper on the side…?”

Kimbra closes her eyes. For a second I think she’s going to totally refuse and then it happens.

Slowly she begins to sway.

The blue skirt of her dress pitches one way and then the other as her hands roam over her sexy curves. The tips of her fingers trace from the magical scooped neckline and seductively brush up to her collarbone and her sensual neck until they’re swaying above her head. One by one, hairpins drop as her long, luscious hair falls in spirals and waves. Soon it too is swaying.

And then, as if the beat changed, she turns, spinning slowly as her arms lower. She wraps them around herself, finding the zipper and tugging, all the while keeping her hips swaying and heels moving to the unheard tune.

My toe hardens as she continues to move.

As I watch her rhythm—each sway, each jiggle—I begin to hear the imaginary music. The beat is made by the breeze through the window, and the chorus is the night sounds of the country air. It’s hotter than any music at any gentlemen’s club, and I could listen to it for hours.

As Kimbra’s dress slips from her shoulders, the vision of her strapless bra and matching triangle of lace makes my balls tighten. Her barely-there undergarments are the color of her creamy skin, barely holding her huge belly as she continues to dance. Her eyelids flutter, appearing heavy with wanton lust.

It’s more than I can take. I start to stand, but stop when Kimbra shakes her head, telling me no.

Idiot, it’s hot.

Spinning, she reaches for the clasp of her bra and my favorite belly in the entire world are on display. Not just visible, but moving with her, heavy with desire and swaying as she leans forward. Their weight helps them swing to the silent beat.

“Idiot,” I growl.

Again, she comes closer, putting her hands on my knees and leaning forward. Two large perfect mounds materialize before me. It’s the best view I’ve ever seen. When she stands, her thumbs latch onto each string holding the lace over her pussy, and she pulls them down, stepping out of the lace, now wearing only the nude-colored, shiny heels.

With a crook of her finger she encourages me to stand. Once I do, she reaches for my belt. Unbuckling it, she lowers my zipper and pulls back my boxers as I stand still. My erection springs free. A few more shimmies and spins and she moves farther away, dancing toward her dresser. It’s when she opens the drawer and pulls out a silver packet that I know I’m lost to Kimbra Jones.

When she turns back, the condom packet is between her teeth as Kimbra sashays my direction. I bite my cheek as she falls to her knees and kisses the tip of my cock.

Early ejaculation has never been one of my problems, but with simply the brush of her lips, I’m transported to the lawn chair behind the barn and the best dang blow job of my life. I fear I may blow. In an instant she rolls the covering over my length and then stands. Without a word she pushes me back to the bed. Only a half-second behind, she follows closely, climbing onto my lap until her hands are on my shoulders, her belly in my face, and her knees straddling my legs.

“Ride me, baby,” I barely gasp the words, needing some control, though I know I have none.

Her lips stop more demands as she settles over me, kissing me and sheathing my cock in more than the condom—in her tight, wet pussy.

It’s heaven as she moves up and down. My hands support us, but my mouth is free to suck and bite as I enjoy the huge, round globes. As her breathing labors and she begins to pant, I reach for her waist and flip her over.

“Having you ride me,” I growl, “is amazing.”

Her eyes open wide as I slide in and out, slowing her rhythm and creating my own.

“But now it’s time to remind you who’s the boss.”

Her smile grows. “Show me, sir.”

I almost lose it as I take over and we fall in sync. As she shudders around me, her red lips forming the perfect O, I remember her word.

Pretend.

This is pretend, but not the way she’s been defining it. What is pretend is my show of control. Kimbra Jones has it all. I’d fall to my knees and beg her if I could make this weekend continue.

The morning sun moves higher in the sky, lighting the bedroom.

“Hmm,” Kimbra hums as she rolls toward me, reminding me that last night is only a memory. “Well, good morning.”

Undoubtedly, she rolled right into my morning erection.

I kiss her forehead. “Good morning. Kimbra?” I ask, hoping she is willing.

Nodding, she lies back. With my face between her small hands, she pulls me toward her. As we move together, our connection never breaks and our tongues dance.

My hands roam, wanting to touch every inch of her beautiful body, taking in her soft skin. It’s as I tease between her legs that she reaches for my length. Our separation is too much. I have to be closer. Her legs move farther apart, whether from my attention or she too has been remembering the night before. Whatever the reason, her pussy is warm and wet. It isn’t until I’m fully buried that I realize what I’ve done.

My body stills.

Kimbra’s eyes open wide as the realization hits her too. Instead of anger, her expression softens. “I’m on the pill. Please don’t stop. This feels too good.”

Idiot yes, it feels like heaven. A silken glove that’s two sizes too tight.

Though my heart is racing, my body moves slowly, enjoying every thrust as we start our morning closer than we’ve ever been.

I rain kisses over her cheek, ear, and neck. My morning stubble leaves her skin pink, and I can’t help but think how much I love leaving my mark on her. It’s about then when a roar rumbles from my throat, my body stiffens, and I leave my mark inside her.

Once she’s in my arms, curled against my side with her head against my shoulder, I give her what she deserves. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I promise, I’m clean. I never do that. Never.”

“I don’t think you can say that anymore.”

I lift my head to look in her beautiful, clear blue eyes. “What are you doing to me?”

She quirks her cute smile. “Mr. Willis, I plead innocence. I simply woke.”

“And I woke to memories of last night.”

“You must have really enjoyed the wedding.”

Harass the wedding. It was my private dance party that I enjoyed. Instead of saying that, I kiss her again. “What is on our agenda, Miss Jones?”

She snuggles closer. “How about staying here all day?”

“In your bed? I like the sound of that.”

All at once she throws back the covers. “Well, I wish. Today is Scarlett and Kurt’s send-off party.”

“What is that? Aren’t they off enjoying their honeymoon and Helen’s gift?”

Kimbra giggles as she wraps herself in a white fuzzy robe that barely covers her sexy donkey. “Oh, I wish you wouldn’t have said that. Now I’m going to think about that when we see them.”

“See them,” I ask as I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and silently tell my toe to soften—its fun for the morning is done. But the way Kimbra looks in that robe with her hair a mess and my come on her thighs is as erotic as her little dance last night. “Seriously, what is a send-off party?”

“Remember my saying they met at a Memorial Day barbeque?”

“Yes.”

“Uncle Albert and Aunt Laura are having a pig roast. It’s mostly for the family.” She claps her hands, feigning enthusiasm as she bounces on her toes. “And we get to watch them open their gifts.”

I step toward her, reaching for her donkey and pulling her against me. “Your excitement is seriously lacking. You might want to work on that.”

“Honestly, do you want to spend more time with my family?”

Kissing her soft lips, I say, “If that includes you, then hell yes. Bring on more of the Joneses, Kimberly Ann.”

LIKE THE ELUSIVE breeze blowing through my bedroom window, I’m unable to catch the passage of time. The reality as I pry open my eyes on Monday morning feels like a boulder pressing upon my chest, its weight reminding me that my fairytale is about to end.

Turning toward Duncan, the crushing sensation intensifies. As I reach out, my fingertips brush the soft sheets and I’m faced with the stark, cool reality of an empty bed. This deal was set for a long weekend. The clock never stopped ticking. My shoe is loose and the carriage is on its way to becoming a pumpkin.

The reality—despite my continued nasty analogy—is that whatever this was, it is about to end. My plus-one will be back to only one.

Lingering in my thoughts, I relish a few more moments of the freedom Duncan promised with sleeping nude. Before this weekend, I’d never done it. Now as the covers caress my skin, I wonder if I’ll continue once I’m home and alone. It isn’t a life-altering question. Perhaps that’s why I allow my mind to dissect its continued possibility. Finally, I force myself up, slip on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and cautiously open the door.

Thankfully, the hallway is empty.

A few minutes later, I return from the bathroom with a lump in my throat that I’m unable to swallow. Despite my best effort, the lump is forming at a rate that’s too big—too fast. I can’t go downstairs and face the voices in the kitchen. Instead, I close my eyes and make a childish wish, the kind that is never granted, but perhaps it’s my surroundings that remind me to try.

“I want to open my eyes and be back in my apartment. I don’t want to face the end of this arrangement. Please…”

And then, as if adding insult to injury, I remember Shana. The boulder is back. When I do return to my apartment, she’ll be gone and I’ll be truly plus no one. The heaviness grows until my knees are no longer capable of keeping me upright. I gasp for air as I fall to the floor.

Sometime during this weekend, the confident woman who lives in New York disappeared. I’m suddenly sixteen again, making magical wishes with emotions running out of control. Unable to think, reason, or deal with my current situation, I instead focus on my old bedroom. It’s the same as it was ten years ago.

Am I the same?

My argument mounts. I’m not the same. I’m strong and successful. However, the tears cascading like waterfalls down my cheeks present an obvious objection to my case.

Instead of sad, I focus on mad. Telling myself that anger is the more appropriate emotion of a strong adult… irrational rage buds to life and blooms within me.

For no apparent reason, I’m suddenly obsessed with the posters decorating my pink walls. Why are they still there? I haven’t listened to those boy bands since high school. No one has. It doesn’t matter that the Backstreet Boys was my first concert, that I was madly in love with each member, or that just the sound of their songs coming from my iPod made my heart race.

Giving myself permission and an acceptable outlet, I stand and reach for the curled edge of the thick paper.

“It’s over,” I say to the smiling faces as a sob resonates from my chest. “It was never real. I was just some little girl in the twenty-seventh row at the Fieldhouse in Indy.” Why do I remember that? “You never cared about me. It was never meant to last. It was all pretend.”

I pull the paper.

Years and years of exposure to sunlight makes the poster’s paper brittle and easy to tear.

Rip!

The sound echoes through the room. I tug more. As the tacks tightly hold to the drywall, the larger shreds of poster flutter to the floor. For only a moment, I stare at the wall. Framed by four corners of torn paper, an un-faded pink rectangle remains. Although the members of the band never truly cared for me, they left a lasting imprint on my wall.

I was so naive when I hung these pictures.

At the time it seemed like a good idea. I loved them. They brought me happiness. Yet none of it was real, only a stupid girl’s illusion. The boys in the poster weren’t even smiling at me, but at a camera. They never promised me forever. They hadn’t lied to me; I’d lied to myself. And now, looking at the un-faded rectangle, my wall will be forever changed.

Stupid! I was stupid.

It was and is all pretend.

Another muffled sob hiccups out of my throat at the irony.

Suddenly, it isn’t enough to remove the pictures from the wall. I fall back to my knees and shred each piece. Smaller and smaller I tear until I’m left with a pile of torn pieces that can never be put back together.

My chest aches as I repeat the process with the Jonas Brothers and NSYNC. By the time my walls are bare, I’m exhausted and my tears are dry. When I stand, I see the woman in the mirror. Her eyes are puffy and red, but her back and shoulders are straight.

“They were just bands. They had too many fans to really notice me,” I say aloud. “It’s time to move on.”

The woman in the mirror nods her head in agreement. In her swollen eyes, I see her pain as well as resolution. Moving on won’t be easy, but it was never meant to last forever. Bands come and go. Each love is a rite of passage… my mother’s and grandma’s words of wisdom come back.

When one door closes, another one opens… blah, blah, blah.

I make my way back to the bathroom, thankful it’s clear, and turn the shower to hot.

“There are always going to be new bands,” I mumble as I step under the hot spray. Like needles, the water prickles my skin. Instead of turning it down, I let it wash away the bands’/his touch.

Last night, Duncan told me that the plane would be ready after breakfast. There was something he needed to be back to New York to do. I didn’t ask what, though I wondered who. It’s over. Just like the Backstreet Boys, NSYNC, and the Jonas Brothers… life moves on. He doesn’t owe me an explanation. He doesn’t owe me anything. His debt is paid.

After my shower, I braid my wet hair, dress, pack, and do my best to clean up the torn shreds of my posters, scooping them and many scattered hairpins all into the trashcan. It’s as I’m prying the last of the tacks from the wall that my bedroom door opens.

With the same confident, almost cocky smirk he’s had since the first time I saw him, Duncan looks at me. I turn away, unable to gaze back. I won’t. I’ve already picked up the pieces of my heart. It’s time to move on.

If only I had my own airline ticket.

Stop making childish wishes. Their time is over too.

“Kimbra, what happened to your posters?”

I take a deep breath and shrug. Still looking at the wall and the tack, I reply, “I decided I’m a little too old for boy bands.”

He takes a step closer. “But they were cute. And now I know what to get you for Christmas. I’ll be watching for NSYNC reunion playlists.”

I straighten my neck and face him head-on. “Maybe the next guy I bring home won’t think they’re cute. Better safe than sorry.”

Duncan’s face contorts but for only a millisecond. “I see your point.” He turns toward the suitcase open on the bed. “Are you packed?”

“Yes.”

“Your mom has breakfast downstairs.”

“I’m not hungry,” I answer truthfully. “We should get back. You have plans.”

He nods and lifts his phone. “Jorge said the plane will be ready by eleven.”

The clock says nine-thirty, but it’s over a half-hour drive to the airport. I guess with private aircraft the need for early arrival is eliminated. “Okay. I should say goodbye to everyone.” I take a deep breath as Duncan takes one step closer. It’s all I can do not to reach out and touch him. His faded t-shirt stretches over his wide chest and his gym shorts hang low. I know that if I lift his shirt, I’ll see the defining V of his lower abdomen and the way it disappears under the nylon shorts.

“Kimbra, what’s wrong?”

Swallowing, I shake my head and feign a smile. “Nothing. Thank you.”

His green eyes narrow. “Don’t thank me for coming here. I had a great weekend.”

My entire body stiffens as he reaches out to touch me.

Immediately he pulls his hand away. “I’m sorry if you didn’t,” he says, still staring at me as his eyes grow a deeper shade of emerald.

“I did,” I admit. “I promise I’ll do my best to avoid any potential negative consequence with that woman at Buchanan and Willis if she contacts HR.” I push away the growing sadness. “And I won’t say anything to Mr. Buchanan.”

“Kimbra?”

I purposely look directly at him. “Is there anything else, Mr. Willis?”

“Umm,” he tilts his head. “No, Miss Jones. I think that about covers it.”

I turn, close my suitcase, place it on the floor, and wheel it past Duncan as he stands barefooted for the last time in my bedroom. If only I could sweep him into the trashcan to never face him again.

As I carry my suitcase down the stairs, I work to mentally put Duncan in the same place as my posters. At the turn in the stairs, I come face to face with Susan.

“Kimberly, are you two leaving so soon?”

I smile, swallowing the threatening tears and remember Kevin’s secret. “Yes, we need to get back.” I put the suitcase down and reach out to my sister-in-law. As we hug, I say, “I’m so happy for you and Kevin.”

Susan’s eyes open wide as she pulls back. “He told you? You don’t look happy. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, he told me. I promise, I haven’t said a word.”

She looks at me with the same bashful eyes she’s always had. “This was Scarlett’s weekend. I didn’t want to take away from her.”

“Well, her weekend is done. How are you feeling?”

“I’m finally feeling better. The first two months were rough.” She smiles. “To be honest, I’m ready to get back to our place, too.” Kevin and Susan have a home they built on the neighboring farm.

“I’m glad you guys were here. It was fun to be all together.”

“Judy wanted everyone here. She kept saying that if I wasn’t up for it… but I couldn’t disappoint her.” She rubs my arm. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Stop worrying about Scarlett and Mom and me. Take care of yourself and Kevin and that little Jones.”

Susan leans in and kisses my cheek. “You too.”

“Me?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Yes, take care of yourself and Duncan. He’s a keeper.”

The lump in my throat springs back to life as I shrug. “Please keep me posted on everything. Now that I know about the little one, I want weekly updates. Oh, and you need to let me know when the shower will be and the due date! Oh my goodness, I don’t even know when you’re due.”

“The middle of December.” She giggles.

I have the sincerest smile I’ve had all morning. “A Christmas baby! I’ll definitely be sure to be home.”

Susan hugs me. “I like him—Duncan. The whole family does. Maybe one day—”

I cut her off, unwilling to perpetuate the plus-one any longer than necessary. “You, Kevin, and my little niece or nephew. That’s all you need to worry about.”

As we part ways, I worry that she won’t listen.

I know she won’t.

If my sister-in-law weren’t concerned about everyone else, she would have announced her pregnancy at Scarlett’s bridal shower. She would have told everyone the news when we were all enjoying the pig roast and watching Kurt and Scarlett open presents. Instead, she let others have the spotlight.

Bringing Duncan to Indiana was a mistake.

My family may drive me nuts, but they’re too good to be lied to. Instead of letting Duncan disappear like the faceless Timothy, each and every one of them will have pieces of poster to clean up.

I step into the kitchen, ready to confess the truth about my plus-one.

“MAY I GET you anything, a drink or snack, before we take off?” the woman in blue asks. Her name tag says Cindy.

“Kimbra?” I pose, very aware that she chose to sit in the seat across from me instead of next to me.

“No,” she says. “Thank you, Cindy.”

“Sir?” Cindy asks.

Though I have a new desire for alcohol, it is only eleven o’clock in the morning. “I think we’re fine. We’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“I’ll be just a phone call away,” she says, nodding toward the handset in the armrest.

I can’t help but stare toward Kimbra. She’s still the most beautiful woman I know, yet the light in her eyes has dimmed, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what happened.

This morning when I woke, I lay for longer than I should just watching her sleep. The sheet had fallen, exposing the round swell of her breasts. With each breath, they moved as a soft swish of air exited her parted lips. I wanted to wake her and spend our last morning as we had the morning before.

My cock ached at the prospect while my fingers longed to simply stroke her long hair and touch her soft skin. The irresistible pull grew increasingly stronger until I knew the best thing to do was to let her sleep.

The weekend had been everything I’d hoped and more. I loved getting to know a new side of Kimbra as well as meeting her family. As she slept, I imagined taking her to meet my parents. I even imagined introducing them to Oscar, Judy, and Helen.

Those thoughts are completely out of character. Instead of introducing any of them, I should probably seek intervention.

Maybe it’s because my grandparents are gone, but there is something about Helen that I truly like. She’s fun and outrageous and, unapologetically, a straight shooter. She’s the type of person whom in business I respect, whose opinion matters—like Kimbra.

Instead of waking Kimbra as I’d wanted, I showered, slipped back into my shorts and t-shirt, and made my way to the kitchen. Coffee, two eggs, bacon, toast, and many laughs later, I went to find Kimbra. Her entire family was curious as to why she hadn’t joined us. I was too.

Since the moment I opened her door to the redecorated or undecorated bedroom, my stomach has been in knots. I can’t put my finger on why things changed or on what I did.

We fell asleep with her amazing tight donkey nestled against my satisfied toe and her soft body wrapped in my arms. Eight hours later and she’ll barely make conversation or maintain eye contact. The only thing I can come up with is the mistake with the condom.

The silence builds as the plane taxis down the runway. Finally, I can’t take it any longer. “Kimbra, if you’re upset about the lack of condom, I can show you a medical report. I promise I wouldn’t—”

Her cold blue stare stops me. “I told you I was fine. I mean, based on the reason that I was able to get you here in the first place, I should question you. But I’m not. If you say you’re clean, then I’m sure you are.”

My skin heats as I contemplate the best response.

Her lips press together before she speaks again. “I told you. I’ll keep your secret from Mr. Buchanan and do my best to keep Buchanan and Willis from a sexual harassment lawsuit.”

I slap the armrest as the plane takes flight. “I told you his name is Mike. He already knows. I told him. What happened between last night and this morning? Whatever it was, I’m clueless. Tell me. Tell me why you’re being a jerk.”

The coldness of her eyes melts as they flood with sadness. She turns away, but not before I swear I see tears.

“Idiot,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt.

An alarm dings as the phone in the armrest rings.

I stumble toward Kimbra and fall into the seat beside her.

Her eyes are glassy as she turns my way. “Duncan?”

Buckling my seatbelt causes the alarm to stop. I reach for her hand. “Talk to me. I’m sorry. You’re not a jerk, but you’re being cold and I don’t know why. Tell me what I did.”

Her neck stiffens. It’s exactly the same as when we were in her room earlier today. Though her hand beneath mine twitches, she doesn’t pull it away.

“Did I snore?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood. “Are you mad that I ran over Jimmy during the cousins’ football scrimmage? I’m competitive. Besides, Kevin was happy. We won.”

Kimbra turns her face toward the window, yet her hand stays in mine.

“I know,” I say. “You think I let Helen win the last night of poker. I didn’t. I swear. She kicked my rear. What she does with that twelve dollars and seventy-five cents is not my responsibility.”

Kimbra turns back. Her eyes are red and cheeks damp.

“Idiot,” I gasp more than say. “Talk to me.”

“Duncan.” She pulls her hand away. “You’re not this dense. You’re a businessman. A successful one. You’re a player. You always have a date—you’re surrounded by women. We’re not that hard to figure out!”

You know those pictures, the ones where one person sees a kitten and another sees a lion? That’s the sensation I have as I look at Kimbra. In one way, I see the lion. A proud, majestic, beauty who has the power to eat me alive, who has the power to take my world, cause irreparable change and chaos. And at the same time, I see a kitten—soft and adorable, one I want to hold and pet, one I want to hear purr in my ear as we sleep through the night.

“I disagree,” I say, “…on many counts, by the way.”

She wipes more tears from her cheeks. “Just never mind. Thank you for everything. My family loves you. It’s going to break their hearts when I tell them the truth, but I decided I need to. I almost did…” she rambles on about everyone in the kitchen, how she wanted to tell them, but they were too happy.

Finally, I stop her. Not with words. I pull her tear-dampened face toward mine and kiss her.

“Duncan, stop.”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s over. We’re almost back to New York. I won’t ask any more of you than you can give. I know you said you couldn’t help me with marriage, 2.5 children, or a dog. I get it. Our deal was for this weekend only. It’s done. Congratulations, the powerful businessman fulfilled his responsibility.”

I reach again for her hand. “If you want a dog, I can take you to the shelter.”

Her belly move up and down and head shakes as she turns back to the window. Her stare lingers as if she’s suddenly enthralled with the way the sunlight reflects off the tops of the clouds. Finally, she mutters, “I don’t want a blasted dog.”

As my chest fills with something, something that makes both talking and breathing difficult, I begin to speak. It’s a story that few know. My mom and dad. Mike Buchanan, because he was there to pick up the pieces and put me back together, and the therapist whom my mother insisted I visit. The list stops there, except for her—Tessa.

“Maybe someday you could meet my parents—”

“Duncan, don’t.”

I turn on her, my voice and expression sterner than I intend. “Let me talk. Let me explain.”

Kimbra sucks in a breath and nods.

“My parents, they’re good people. They raised me and my brother in a decent middle-class family. They both had good jobs, and I never worried much about anything other than winning my next football game or getting good grades. I’ve always done all right in the looks department. I’m not being conceited,” I add. “It’s just that I have good genes. I never tried. I also never cared too much about girls, any more than any other hormonal teenage boy…” I take a deep breath, determined to be honest, more honest than I’ve ever been with any other woman. “…until she transferred to our high school. We were juniors.

“That’s just seventeen years old. Now I know that was young, but you know what? When you’re seventeen, you know everything. Her name was—is—Tessa. She had the most beautiful light-chocolate skin. Her grandma was from Jamaica. She didn’t have to work at her looks either. She had the genes, an amazing combination of exotic and all-American.”

Kimbra’s blue eyes are now dry as she turns her hand palm up and we intertwine our fingers.

“She was an only child and her mom was a partner in some big financial firm. That’s why they’d moved to New York. Her dad,” I went on, “was a psychologist. I remember thinking how cool it was that he moved his practice because it helped his wife’s career.

“Maybe that and my mom working is why I’m as impressed with women’s abilities as much as men’s when it comes to Buchanan and Willis. I’ve had good examples.

“Anyway, Tessa and I knew that what we had was a forever thing. My senior year I was offered a scholarship for football to a big school, one out of my parents’ financial ability.” I shrug. “That’s why I’m slightly competitive, as Jimmy found out.”

Kimbra smiles, shining light through her blue eyes for the first time today.

“But Tessa and I wanted to get married. Our parents, all of them, thought we were too young. Heck, we were. We decided we’d elope if they wouldn’t agree. Which is a joke. We had no money, not really. But we had grand plans. So, finally, our parents conceded. Wedding first and then college. Our plans to marry necessitated that I give up my football scholarship, and I was okay with that. I walked away from it. But as two young married people, we learned we’d qualify for assistance, making college still possible. I think that was the reason our parents agreed.”

I squeeze Kimbra’s hand, but look away. I can’t stare at her blue eyes and tell this story. I haven’t said it aloud for over fifteen years. “Tessa wanted to be successful like her mom. I guess it was a lot to live up to. Her grades were good, but when I say she was beautiful, I’m not exaggerating.

“The wedding was supposed to be the summer after our high school graduation. My parents offered to allow us to live with them while we attended a local college. In the last quarter of our senior year, this man came to our school. He was a scout for a top modeling agency. Tessa’s grades were good, but not great. He told her stories about planes, travel, and money. He offered her dreams that I couldn’t.”

“Duncan, what happened?”

“I was eighteen years old with my future all mapped out when one day my future disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

I nod, sucking in a breath, recalling her dad’s phone call. “Two days after our graduation, her dad woke to a note. Frantic, he called me, sure we’d eloped, but I was as confused as he. The note said that she had to do this.”

My voice grows louder. “This. That was all it said. The police were no help. She was eighteen.”

“Duncan, you don’t have to say any more.”

I turn to Kimbra and look her in the eyes. “You called me a player. I know you’ve heard rumors. Heck, you were there and heard what happened—or almost happened—in the bathroom.”

Kimbra nods.

“I created a wall, a ten-foot-thick and one-hundred-foot-high wall.” I smile. “That’s what the therapist said—the therapist my mom made me see.”

“You were so young.” Kimbra’s voice is soft but gentle, like she doesn’t want to take away from my pain, but wants me to hear her.

I shake my head. “Maybe that makes it worse. I wasn’t old enough to understand.”

When I turn back to her, there are tears in her eyes again.

Using my thumb, I wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t cry for me. I don’t want that.”

“What happened to Tessa?” she asks.

I smile, because if I don’t, I’ll cry too. “She did it—her this. You’ve seen her, I’m sure. She uses a stage name, so it’s not Tessa any longer. She’s done everything from runway shows for the top designers to international perfume and lingerie campaigns. You know those magazines in every waiting room? She’s usually in one or two.”

“I can’t compete with that.”

I turn and pull her face toward mine. “Don’t ever say that. There’s no competition.” Holding her steady, I refuse to allow her head to tilt forward, though her eyes do look down. “No, Kimbra. Listen to me. You’re beautiful and smart. Tessa nor Scarlett nor anyone else has anything on you.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know this isn’t about me.”

“Your hair was styled in a way where it was all piled on your head.” I run one hand down her neck. “Your neck was showing, so long and sensual. The dress you wore was gray. I think they call it charcoal; it’s darker than gray. Your shoes matched the dress. And around this beautiful throat was a string of white beads. They weren’t pearls, but bigger.”

Her eyes narrow as she looks back at me. “What are you talking about?”

“The first day you walked into my office. I told you that I remembered you and I did. For the first time that I could remember, I was awestruck. It scared me. I admit it was physical. That gray dress wasn’t revealing, but it hugged all the right parts.”

I brush my palm against the side of one of her breasts. “I really do love your belly.”

“Duncan.”

“I’m a man. It’s not an excuse. It just is.” I take a deep breath. “I decided not to attend the local college Tessa and I had planned to attend together. Instead, I contacted the recruiter at a small college in upstate New York. It was a long shot. He couldn’t offer me a scholarship, but if I promised two years of play, the tuition would be adjusted to within my parents’ ability to pay. It was away from home, but close enough that my mom could check on me. She was worried that I would do something stupid. I was late to the whole enrollment game and was randomly assigned a roommate.”

“Mr. Buchanan?” Kimbra asks.

“How did you know?”

“The company handbook has a biography in there, both of your dossiers. It talks about how you two met your freshman year of college.”

My cheeks rise. “Not only beautiful, but you’ve done your homework too.

“Mike and I met the first day of football practice. I was a little messed up. He thought I was an asset to the team and kept me from doing anything too dumb. My mom loves him like another son. I learned to cope. My mechanism is to block off women emotionally. I only thought of them as physical outlets. They were nothing more than the groupies who wanted to be seen with football players. Even when I stopped playing, I never had problems getting a date or getting sex.”

“Duncan…”

“I’m not proud of it, but I never took sex from anyone who didn’t offer. It just is. Women throw themselves at me. I use them, but if anyone gets close, I move on.”

Kimbra nods. “I see.”

“No, you don’t. You’re different. You always have been. You’ve never been like those women.”

“I was never the football-girlfriend type,” she admits.

I pull her eyes back to mine. “No. You’re not. You’re so much more. I waited for you to throw yourself at me. That’s the way my gamebook works. I’m a receiver, not the quarterback.”

“I-I…” Kimbra swallows as she looks deep into my eyes.

“For nearly three years I’ve waited. You never did. That day when you made me this deal, when you gave me the opportunity to be your plus-one, I seized it. Kimbra, I enjoyed this weekend. I don’t want it to ruin what we have at work.”

Her smile is forced. “What do we have? I never really thought you noticed me.”

“If you’ve listened to me at all, you know that I have. I’ve noticed and watched. You didn’t blackmail me into this deal: I seized it. I’ve wanted you since that day nearly three years ago.”

Kimbra turns back to the window. “I guess,” she says softly, “I could be happy for that, or realize that I gave you the opportunity to add another notch—”

“Idiot, no!”

Her entire body flinches.

“You’re not a darn notch. I don’t want this to end. I’ve enjoyed this weekend. A dog is a big step for me.”

“I don’t want a dog.” She turns on me with fire in her stare. “What I want are some more answers. Honest answers.”

“Honest? What do you want to know?” I ask, petrified of what she’ll ask. Because if she asks who the woman in the bathroom was, I’ll need to tell her the truth. I’ll need to tell her that I don’t know her name. And if I tell her that, I’ll confirm that I’m nothing more than a womanizing donkey, and I wouldn’t blame her for walking away.

“First, let me be honest, too. I don’t have a model in my past. But I did have someone who promised me more and took it all away. I won’t be cheated on or lied to. That’s why I’m not asking for more. And I don’t want a dog.”

I nod. “Your question?”

“You said you weren’t in a relationship.”

“I don’t do relationships.”

Her eyes close and then reopen. “The woman, whose name you haven’t told me, she isn’t… wasn’t… it’s not serious?”

“No. Not serious.”

“You said you were at Gaston’s with Jennifer because your date cancelled. Was that date just another woman or is she someone who’s important?”

I try to restrain my grin. “She is someone serious.”

“I see.”

“Stop saying that. You don’t.”

“Have you… is it more than physical with her?”

I laugh. “It’s never been physical… well, I suppose I learned my love of breasts from her, but you can’t blame her.” Before Kimbra can speak, I confess. “They say breastfeeding is important. She’s always wanted what was best for me.”

Kimbra shakes her head. “What?”

“My date was my mother. And for the record, I wasn’t one of those eight-year-old breastfeeders like that kid on Game of Thrones. I don’t remember it, but I do love breasts. There may be a connection. Anyway, my mom and I have dinner every Monday night, ever since I went away to college.”

“Y-your mother?”

“Yes, and one day, I’d love to introduce the two of you.”

“So,” Kimbra says, her eyes blinking rapidly, “you’re not involved with anyone?”

“I’m not. Well, I wasn’t…” I correct, unbuckling my seatbelt and moving until I’m standing over Kimbra’s seat with my hands on the armrests. Since the plane has reached cruising altitude, thankfully the alarms don’t sound. I lean over her, just as I’d done on our way to Indiana. However, this time it isn’t about sex. This time I want to be sure she listens and understands every dang word.

She lifts her chin and looks directly into my eyes. “Duncan, please. Don’t make this harder. I asked for a weekend. Your debt is paid.”

“I want more than a weekend. And maybe someday I can introduce you to my mom and the rest of my family. I wish I could say they’re as much fun as yours, but… They are mine. I’ll claim them.”

“You don’t owe me any more. Like I said, your debt is paid.”

I lift her chin. “Stop saying that. I realize this began unconventionally, but only because you made me work so hard.”

“I-I don’t know what you want.”

“For the first time in my truly adult life, I want a dog.”

Kimbra’s eyes narrow. “A dog?”

“Metaphorically. We live in New York. We both work long hours. It wouldn’t be fair, but…” I lift her hand to my lips and brush her knuckles with light kisses. “I would very much like to try to continue this—what’s happening between us—beyond the weekend, if you’ll have me.”

I HUM AGAINST Duncan’s mouth as he kisses me outside my apartment door. With my suitcase on the floor, his large hands hold me close, one splayed behind my waist as the other one tugs my loose braid, moving my head to his desire.

Ever since he said he wants to try for more, I can’t seem to wrap my head around the thought. My mind is filled with questions. What does that mean? Are we really dating? What did he mean by a metaphoric dog? What is a metaphoric dog?

“W-what…” My question is lost to a whimper as he nips my lower lip.

His hard body presses against mine, and we fall against the door, rattling it on its hinges.

“Are you going to invite me in?” His green eyes lock on mine, while each of his words rumble deep into my core. They’re velvet—soft yet covered with just the right amount of coarseness. I feel them more than hear them.

I shake my head. “No.”

“No?”

“We spent the last four days at my house, my parents’ house. Maybe we need a little break.” I don’t know why I’m saying this. I want him inside. Let me clarify. I want him inside me, not just my apartment. “And besides, you have a date.”

“I could cancel.”

My bruised lips slide to a smile. “I don’t think that’s a good way for your mother to find out about me. Besides, Mr. Willis, I think I like it when you’re needy. Umm…” My eyes flutter shut as he presses his hips against me and his hard shaft probes my tummy, letting me feel exactly just how needy he is.

Suddenly the door behind us moves inward. I jump toward Duncan’s embrace as we both narrowly avoid tumbling and falling into a pile upon my apartment floor.

“Well, hello!” Shana says with a giant smile.

“W-what are you doing here?” I say, before freeing myself from Duncan and wrapping my best friend in a zealous hug. “You’re here!”

“I am, but I can’t breathe.” Her muffled voice comes as her face is smashed against my shoulder.

I release her and turn toward Duncan. “Duncan, this is Shana. Shana, this is my…” I pause, ready to say boss, the owner of my company. That wasn’t how I introduced him in Indiana, but now I’m unsure. What is he?

Duncan extends his hand and flashes his sexy grin. “Boyfriend. I’m Kimbra’s boyfriend. And it’s very nice to meet you.”

Boyfriend.

The word twists my lady parts to just the right amount of painful pleasure.

Shana takes a step back and wiggles her eyebrows. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Duncan. Come in. With the way the hinges were shaking, I was afraid the door couldn’t take much more.”

Duncan looks at me, questioning if he should stay.

I shake my head. “Actually, Duncan is late for an appointment.”

“I am. But it was nice to meet you.” With his hand in the small of my back, he pulls me closer. “And you, this isn’t done. I’ll call you later.”

I nod.

As we step into the hall, he leans in toward my ear. “One more thing, Miss Jones.”

My pulse quickens at his warm cinnamon breath on my neck. “Yes?”

“No brushing your teeth. That’s my job.”

My head tilts and eyes narrow in question, and then it hits me. He means my grandma’s vibrator. Pink again fills my cheeks.

Before I can respond, his grin widens. “I do love it when you blush.”

After we kiss, he winks and wheels my suitcase closer.

“Boyfriend?” I ask softly as I reach for the handle.

“Do you have a different title?”

I shrug. “No, I like that title.”

“Good. Hopefully I’ll do better than I have.”

“You’ve been pretty good lately.”

“That’s good to hear, coming from my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

I swallow as he turns and heads for the elevator. Once I close the door, Shana is right before me and her loud, high-pitched scream fills the silence.

“Oh. My. Goodness!” she shrieks. “I want to know everything. And I mean everything.” She reaches for my hand and pulls me to the couch.

“Wait,” I say. “Why are you here? I mean, I’m glad you are, but why?”

Shana shakes her head. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy doing whatever it is you’re going to tell me all about, you’d have heard about the big storm brewing. It’s early in the season, and right now it’s only a category two. Depending on the shifting winds, it could be bigger or smaller. I don’t think they really know. All that matters is that my flight was delayed and then delayed again. The airline is all backed up. As long as the storm stays south, I am supposed to fly out Wednesday.”

I search my mind. “I haven’t heard anything about a hurricane.”

Stay south. Stay south of where?

Before I can ask, she bounces up and down. “Of course you haven’t. You’ve been a little too busy with Mr. Sexy. Now spill!”

I lift my shoulders and sigh. As I lower them a smile spreads across my face. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“Let me help. You survived the wedding from hell and most importantly, he just said boyfriend and girlfriend, as in a couple, as in a dating couple.”

As in a relationship, something he said he didn’t do.

My heart beats rapidly at the idea that he wants to do it with me. Memories of the weekend flash through my mind. Other than my breakdown, resulting in the painful massacre of a few boy bands, the weekend was about as far from hell as one could get. It was closer to heaven. “It wasn’t as bad as I predicted.”

“That’s my philosophy. Expect the worst and it always comes out better. So… tell me what happened. How did we go from plus-one to more?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m kind of in shock. I want to believe it’s real. But with the whole pretend weekend, I don’t know.”

“Oh, the noises coming through that door sounded real to me.”

My cheeks heat as I let out a long breath and fall back to the couch. “I don’t know. Shana, it was amazing. He was amazing. My family loves him.”

“Grandma Helen?”

I laugh. “Oh my goodness. That was so embarrassing. Can you imagine? I can’t believe my family.”

“I love your family… well, when they’re not upsetting you.”

I remember Duncan saying the same thing. “They mean well. Nevertheless, I wanted to hide in a hole at times because of my mom and grandma.” I shake my head, recalling Duncan’s comment about electric toothbrushes. “Grandma was no-holds-barred… and Duncan laughed right along. I can’t even imagine how anyone else would have handled them. Duncan was…”

“The perfect plus-one?” Shana asks.

“Quite possibly the most perfect. I think I also said yes to more because if I admit to my family that it was a sham, it’ll break their hearts. They fell for him. For them, I have to try.”

Shana’s eyebrows dance. “That’s it? That’s the only reason you said yes was for your crazy family.” Her lips purse. “It wasn’t because you wanted to, or because you’ve fantasized about it, or, of course, because of the mind-blowing, fantastic sex?”

My grin grows. “It was pretty mind-blowing.”

“Honey, you did it on his plane!”

I’d texted that to her after we landed. I had to tell someone, and she seemed safer than my mom. My head bobs. “And in my childhood bedroom, and technically, it wasn’t sex, but also behind the barn…”

“Stop. I’m already jealous.”

“Oh, no, you’re not. I’m sure that in no time at all, you’ll snag some good-looking Englishman with a to-die-for accent.”

“Technically, when I’m over there, they say I have the accent.” Her voice softens. “I’m only mildly jealous that you finally had mind-blowing sex. But what I really love is that you’re positively glowing.”

“I just don’t know how to handle tomorrow at work. I mean, if I see him, I’ll probably trip. Oh, I know. I’ll drop something and end up on my knees in front of Duncan.”

Shana’s laugh vibrates through our apartment. “Tell me. Did that happen?”

“At Gaston’s… with you,” I remind her.

“No.” Her forehead furrows as her smile grows. “Did you end up on your knees with him in Indiana?”

My cheeks catch fire. “I’ve already said too much. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I know you kissed him. I know the sex was phenomenal. What I want to know is all the other gory details. Like… are the rumors true? Is he blessed? Is his junk blessed with length or girth? I myself have always been a girth girl, but if you can get both… Does he have both?”

I shake my head. “Not kissing and telling.”

“You kissed it!” She bounces on the end of the sofa. “You kissed his cannoli!”

“I did,” I softly admit.

“Oh. My. Goodness. My little Kimbra has found her inner sex kitten.”

“I did. I mean, with him, it isn’t hard.”

Her nose scrunches. “It isn’t?”

“Not like that! Yes, it’s hard and has length and girth and oh… sweet Goodness…”

“I’m so glad you didn’t starve yourself this weekend. While your cousin ate wedding cake, you feasted on giant pastries.” Her eyes narrowed. “So what’s the problem?”

“Did I say there’s a problem?”

“No, but I get this feeling you’re worried about too much sugar.”

“The opposite. I’m worried I’ll become addicted to the pastry. Heck, I am already. And he laid it on the line. He doesn’t do relationships.”

Shana’s eyes narrow. “What is a boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“That’s what I don’t know. He said he doesn’t do forever. He can only promise right now.”

“So he’s honest. How many times have men promised forever and bugged down the road? Besides, the last I heard you didn’t want kids, a white picket fence, or any of those things, either.”

“I didn’t. I don’t… but that doesn’t mean ever.”

“Then enjoy Duncan while you can.” Her expression turns serious. “Can you do that? Isn’t some months or years of that radiant glowing smile on your face better than none?”

“I guess. And like I said, if we date—like, really date—for even a little while, it wouldn’t be like I lied to my family.”

“Right.”

“Oh,” I say, remembering my brother’s announcement. “Kevin’s wife is pregnant.”

“Susan? Really? That’s great. Now that will take the pressure off you. Your mom will get grandchildren and everyone will be happy.”

“I think I am.”

“No, honey, you definitely are. That smile says you’re happy. The only one stopping you is you. That man who left this place is head over heels. It’s written all over his face. I was worried about leaving you, but dang, you won’t even know I’m gone.”

My smile turns upside down. “I will. I miss you already.”

“Then let’s order some real pizza. They don’t have real New York pizza in London. And open a bottle of wine and while we watch some sappy movie, you can tell me how much better Duncan is in bed than the guy in the film.”

I rack my brain trying to think of any movie star who would be better than Duncan. Their faces and credits pale in comparison. I come up blank.

MY MOM LEANS across the booth of the little pub in SoHo where I met her. It’s one of our favorite spots. When I left for college, she insisted that I meet her once a week. In college, we had Monday nights off from football practice.

Monday night dates became our thing. Over ten years later, we’re still doing it.

The night she stood me up at Gaston’s, she was sick. Last week, she still wasn’t one hundred percent, so I went to her and my dad’s house for dinner. Now, as I gaze across the table, it’s good to see the spirit in her eyes and to see for myself that she’s finally feeling better. As much as I didn’t want to leave Kimbra. I wanted to keep this date.

My mom has always been a cool mom. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t gotten upset with my brother Trevor or me. The best part about her is when she’s mad, you know it. And when the issue is resolved, it’s over. Her bark is far worse than her bite.

Even in her late fifties, she still works. She’s cut it back to four days a week, but I can’t convince her to stop. She doesn’t need the money. Dad’s still working, and more than once, I’ve offered to subsidize her income. She only laughs, telling me it isn’t the money she loves: it’s her work. It has to do with helping children’s reading comprehension. Maybe that’s why she’s put up with Trevor’s and my different issues. She’s patient.

Mom lowers her voice as she looks directly at me. “Are you going to tell me about your weekend?”

I realize that not every thirty-three-year-old speaks as honestly as I do with my mom, but ever since Tessa, Mom and Mike have been my conscience. It’s not like they’re little Jiminy Crickets, but more like accountability partners. I did the counseling thing for a few years, mostly at Mom’s insistence, but in the long run, Mom and Mike have taken over that role.

There isn’t much about me that they don’t know. I don’t sugarcoat it. I even told my mom how Kimbra got me to go to Indiana—or how Kimbra thought she tricked me into being a plus-one. Though my mom wasn’t happy with my behavior, she was more than a little impressed with Kimbra’s spunk.

I take a sip of my coffee and grin over the rim. Without even speaking, my mom’s features soften. She leans back in her chair as her eyes, the same color as mine, sparkle and little lines form in the corners.

“Duncan. Tell me that this is something… not your normal…”

I put my cup down. “My normal? Mom, you’re mean.”

“When do I get to meet her?”

Other than formal occasions when it is appropriate to have a beautiful woman on my arm, I rarely if ever introduce dates to my family. But after this past weekend, I imagine taking Kimbra to my parents’ home and sitting with her and Trevor out to dinner. I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe instead, I need intervention.”

“Intervention? Tell me, what do you need to be saved from?”

“I can’t even describe it. I wouldn’t call this instant anything. It’s been like a slow burn. You know, like that elusive honor. The prize you see on the top shelf of a kids’ pizza place, like Chuck E. Cheese? The one you want, the one you work and work to achieve, saving your tickets until it can be yours.

“You could just go buy a similar one, but it wouldn’t be the same. That’s what Kimbra has been. She’s been that prize, for three years, the unobtainable trophy.” I shrug, being totally honest. “You as well as everyone else know I’ve bought substitutes. Not in the conventional sense.”

I look Mom in the eye. “You don’t have to add prostitutes to your list of my transgressions. I mean, bought women with gifts and dinners and trash. But none of them compare.

“The thing is,” I go on, “I expected that once I achieved the coveted trophy, I’d be satisfied. I figured once I got a taste, it would ease my want. I mean, the hunt is the best part.”

“And?”

“And I’m not satisfied. The desire hasn’t eased; it’s intensified. It’s like I can’t get enough. I want that prize in my penthouse, on my arm, and tucked beside me at night.”

Mom’s eyes open wide. “As in your bed?”

My mother knows the truth. I have sex with women, a lot of women, but I don’t sleep with them. I haven’t. It’s my hard limit. I rarely invite anyone to my penthouse, but if I do, I provide a ride home before the night is done. Hotels are easy. I can leave. The same with women’s places.

Duncan Willis doesn’t sleep with women.

I shrug. “We stayed at her parents’. Her family is hilarious. You and Dad would love them. Her dad and brother are farmers, which I learned is much more complicated than I ever imagined. Her mom and grandma had me laughing all weekend.”

“And?”

“We stayed in her room, together. Her mom’s idea. And it was nice.”

Mom shakes her head and scrunches her nose. “Now if you were one of my students, I’d ask you to describe nice, because I imagine you could come up with a better description.”

The waiter arrives with our order. As he places the plates before us, I remember falling asleep with Kimbra’s body against mine, the scent of her hair, and taste of her lips. I recall waking to the sound of her breathing. Once the waiter is gone, I look back at Mom. She isn’t looking at her meal, but at me.

“And,” I admit, “it was everything. Everything I’ve never wanted.”

Mom clenches her hands at her chest. “Duncan Willis, I’d given up hope that I’d ever hear those words out of your mouth.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Don’t screw this up.”

I laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“No, dear. I have the utmost confidence in you. When it comes to women, you’re the best at attaining that prize. Now, convince her that she’s more than that.”

I lower the fork I’ve just lifted. “She is, Mom. She really is.”

“Then use that ability you have to get what you want in a new way.”

“A new way?”

“Use it to keep what you want.” Her expression becomes serious. “As long as that’s what she wants too. Is it?”

“I hope so.”

IT’S AFTER SEVEN by the time I walk my mom to her car.

I can’t get her words out of my head. Use it to keep what you want. As the weekend’s memories replay in my mind, I recall the bouquet I’d arranged to have in the plane. We’d left it on the plane.

Did that mean that she didn’t want it? Was earning the flowers all she wanted or was it just to fool her family?

As the questions swirl and I make my way to my car, I notice the street vender, closing up shop. Rushing across the street, I hurry his direction.

“How much for your flowers?”

“Which ones?”

I scan his selection. “All of them.”

DING!

I sigh as I turn toward Shana. With her half-filled glass of wine sitting on the end table, she’s asleep at the other end of the couch. Apparently, wine, pizza, and hanging out at airports waiting for her flight has taken its toll.

The doorbell rings again but she doesn’t budge.

I shake my head and walk toward the door, wondering who would be coming to our place at almost nine at night. From habit, I peek out the small domed peephole. All I can see are flowers.

Cautiously, I lock the chain and open the door only as wide as it allows. “Hello?”

A single rose comes forward. “Another flower for our bouquet.”

The deep voice reverberates through me as I look down at the familiar, worn brown loafers and blue jeans.

“Duncan?” I say, closing the door, unlocking the chain, and opening the door again. “Shhh.” I motion toward Shana and lead him toward our kitchen. Once there, I whisper, “Why are you here?”

His sexy, casual smirk melts my heart as much as my panties.

“We left our flowers on the plane,” he says, peering around the large bouquet in his hands. “And after four days of earning flowers, including our first flight… and your induction… the walk in the woods… Grandma Helen… I didn’t want you to forget.”

I lean close and kiss his cheek. “I don’t think forgetting is possible. Walking, on the other hand…”

“Oh, beautiful, I’d like to help you be too sore to walk.”

I lift myself up on my tiptoes to a high cupboard above the refrigerator and find a vase. After another look at how many flowers Duncan is holding, I bring down two. As I fill them with water, and Duncan hands me the flowers, I think how nice it is to have him with me, doing something casual like arranging flowers.

Once they’re set, one vase on the table and the other on the counter, he reaches for my hand. “I have a confession.”

“You do?”

“This is new to me.”

I shake my head. “I doubt that being in a woman’s apartment is new to you.”

He tilts his head toward the living room where Shana is sleeping. “Can we talk, somewhere else?”

“Talk? What about that promise of soreness?”

His grin brightens. “Oh, that too, but first talk.”

I nod and take his large hand in mine as I lead him to my room. Across the hall Shana’s door is open and the room is empty except for a few suitcases. Duncan raises a brow.

“Yeah, Saks has already shipped her stuff. She was supposed to be in London, but there’s a storm. So, until her flight, the couch is her bed.”

“You could let her sleep in your room.”

I nodded. “I’d planned on that, but three-ways aren’t my thing.”

“I don’t plan to share you with anyone, not even your roommate.” He looks around my room. “Ah, you can come home with me tonight. Let her have your bedroom.” He runs a knuckle tenderly over my cheek. “I’m going to miss having you beside me as I sleep. And I have this great big bed.”

“With a pink canopy. You told me about it.”

“Well… before we talk about that, consider my offer. I know we have work tomorrow. Bring clothes and give Shana the bed.” His hand lowers to my breasts. “And besides, it’s time to free your beautiful belly. I’ve officially volunteered as tribute to make that my job.”

“Mr. Willis, your compassion knows no bounds. My roommate and my breasts. You’re too kind.”

“I wasn’t thinking in that order.”

“How was your date?”

“It was nice. Maybe next Monday you can join us? But first, I thought maybe I could bring you the flowers and…” He wraps his arm around my waist. “…idiot, Kimbra. If you must hear me say it, I wanted a reason to come back to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, the weekend, and the future.”

Future?

“Duncan…”

He pulls me toward my bed and I land beside him. His cologne fills my senses with the spice and clean scent I grew accustomed to sleeping beside. I shake my head. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

“What isn’t? My being here, holding your hand, talking to you… or more?”

“I’m just not sure how tomorrow is supposed to work.” I shrug. “I didn’t know how the weekend would work and it was better than I ever imagined.”

Duncan nods. “It was… better than I could have imagined and let me say, my imagination was working overtime.” He runs a finger along my jawline. “But the reality blew it out of the water.”

I fight the need to incline to his touch. “I can’t help but wonder if it would be easier if we stick with our original plan. Now that the weekend is over, we go back to the way it was.”

He moves so close that if I inhale, my breasts will press against his hard chest. I look up to the sea of emerald green.

“The way it was?” He asks as the tips of his fingers brush my arms, so soft I wonder if we touched at all. “Before I could touch you…” His face tips to the side, his warm cinnamon breath blows across my cheek, and then his firm lips skirt across mine. “Before I could kiss you?”

My insides tighten as my eyes flutter. “D-Duncan…”

“Before we used first names, Miss Jones.” He leans back. “Tell me. Is that what you want?”

“Yes… no,” I admit, closing the distance once again until my breasts push against his chest.

This time his hand wraps in my hair as the kiss deepens, his tongue adding flavor and our bodies melding together. “I don’t either,” Duncan admits.

“Idiot,” I sigh.

He stands, pulling my hand until I’m upright and begins to tug me toward the hallway.

“Wait! What are you doing?”

His grin grows. “We need to get to my place. After all, you just said you want to mess?”

“No.” I slap his shoulder. “That wasn’t a verb or a request. It was… it was just… idiot. My mind is telling me to stop this now.”

“Because stopping it would be easiest?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Jones, I recall someone telling me that easiest isn’t always best. I took that advice when I accepted the opportunity you presented to me to attend Scarlett’s wedding.” He caresses my cheek. “Getting to here… to now… to there being any kind of us. None of that was easy. But, oh, beautiful, it has been worth it.”

“I don’t want to get hurt,” I admit, afraid I’m sounding like the needy kind of woman he distances himself from.

He takes both my hands in his, lifts them to his full lips and kisses my knuckles. “Kimbra, the last thing I want to do is to hurt you. I don’t want to be hurt either. That’s why I was honest about what I can and can’t do. I can make limited promises and do my best not to let you down.

“On Thursday, I said that I couldn’t guarantee the future, but I could be the best dang boyfriend you ever had for the weekend. Tell me, did I come close?”

“Yes.”

“Close?” he asks. “Or are you saying yes to coming?”

I shake my head. “The thing is you’re right. I think it was being home. Scarlett’s wedding. Kevin and Susan’s announcement.”

“What announcement?”

My cheeks rise as my eyes radiate my genuine excitement. “They’re pregnant.”

“That’s fantastic. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Kevin told me at the wedding. He said not to tell. Besides, I didn’t figure you’d care. The weekend…”

“Stop,” Duncan says. “I told you that I care about you. Your family, no matter how crazy or fun they are, are part of you. I care.

“I tell you what,” he adds. “Let’s make a new deal?”

“What kind of deal?” I ask apprehensively.

“No more qualifiers. Not a weekend or a week. Not a month or even a year. Miss Jones, I promise to be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had until I’m not anymore.”

How can I turn down such an honest offer?

“Oh,” he adds. “And I promise to make you come more than any other boyfriend.”

“You’ve already achieved that status.” I say sheepishly.

He lifts my chin. “Dang, I love to watch you blush.” Before I can reply, he adds, “Would you like to know something you’ve achieved on my end?”

I’m not sure I can handle the answer.

“If you want to tell me.”

“Despite the rumors you’ve heard, I don’t sleep with women.”

I’m taken aback. “What? Men?”

Duncan’s laugh fills my apartment, forgetful of Shana down the hall. “No. I’m being literal. I have sex, protected. I hook up. I don’t sleep. Rarely has anyone come to my place. Even if she does, I have her driven home, drive her home, or call her a cab. If we end up at her place or a hotel, I leave. There have been one or two drunken nights that I can’t totally account for, but sleeping… four nights in a row.” He shakes his head. “Never.”

“Really?” I ask amazed. “But you knew when I said we would be away that it would mean sleeping.”

“And I seized the opportunity.”

I run my hand over his chest. “And you’re asking me to your place? You do realize that will make night five.”

“Yes, my math skills are rather impressive. I know that four plus-one is five. And if you add another plus-one, it will be six. Would you like me to continue?”

“You really want to try?” I ask.

“I want to try until either of us can’t.”

His shirt blurs as tears threaten my vision. “I’ve been promised forever and it was a lie. I guess I like the honesty of for now.”

“If we can go back to my place, I hope you’ll let me try for a bonus round on making you come. I feel I have a status to maintain.”

“Oh, Mr. Willis, for each night that ends in literal sleeping, there better be one or two attempts at increasing your record.”

He laughs and reaches for my hand. “Let’s pack. When does Shana’s plane leave?”

“Wednesday, weather permitting.”

Duncan sits on the edge of my bed watching my every move as we chat quietly about nothing and everything. I gather clothes and other items, placing them in a pile, ready to pack.

Duncan lifts something from the bed, rises, and moves my direction, his green eyes zeroing in on only me.

He’s so sexy.

“Speaking of your assortment,” he says revealing my only sexy nightgown—one I had to dig to the bottom of my drawer to find—his grin quirks. With the material held only by the spaghetti straps, his eyebrows dance. “I like this,” he says. “You forgot to pack this for our trip to Indiana.”

“I didn’t think it was appropriate with my grandma and parents.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I like inappropriate.”

“I have noticed.”

Nonchalantly, he lifts and drops his shoulders. “It’s okay. Personally, I like what you wore to sleep over the weekend. I was hoping you’d consider wearing, or should I say, not wearing the same thing.”

Just his suggestion heats my skin, sending a tingle from my toes all the way to my scalp. “So no negligee?” I ask, reaching for it.

He lifts his arm, pulling the negligee out of my reach. “I didn’t say that. Tonight, I’ll provide the music while you take this off.”

I brush my lips over his and this time, reach successfully for the nightgown. “Oh, no, Mr. Willis. If you want this nightgown off…” I hold up the skimpy material. “…I’m not the one doing the striptease.” I eye him up and down. “Yes, I think I might like that.”

“Idiot,” he moans, reaching for my hand and pulling me close. “I’m getting hard just thinking about this.”

I wiggle away. “Then let me grab a few things for tonight and we can take care of that.”

Duncan follows me toward my closet. “Today’s Monday. I think that you should bring a couple days’ clothing.”

I’M ACTUALLY NERVOUS as I open the door to my apartment. I’m Duncan Willis. I don’t do nervous. Then again, I don’t do sex without condoms or sleepovers. I gaze over at Kimbra and remember why everything is different.

It’s her.

In the course of a week, she’s turned my life upside down.

I remind myself it hasn’t been a week, but three years.

Never has Duncan Willis waited that long for his desire. Never have I gone without nor has my want been denied me. It is especially true of business. Once my sights were set, I achieved.

Women have been different. Kimbra was different.

Like I’d said, I don’t chase women; they chase me.

Kimbra Jones was always so close and yet so far. Until now.

I lean down and kiss her cheek. “Welcome.”

Opening the door wide, I make a grand gesture for Kimbra to enter. Her eyes open as round as saucers as she takes in the space and I hit switches, bringing the penthouse to life.

It’s then that I remember our bouquet.

Having her here in my penthouse is another flower.

Kimbra takes a few steps and begins to turn.

I watch as she rotates, showing me all her curves from every angle. Even though that isn’t the reason she spins, a smile breaks across my face as I enjoy the view. When she stills, she stares toward the windows and the view beyond, filled with the green illuminated Empire State Building.

I flick another switch, causing the fireplace to roar to life and music to fill the air.

“I should probably apologize,” I say.

“Why would you apologize?” she asks, her voice overflowing with the appreciation that doesn’t seem to be able to be contained in her sparkling blue eyes. “This place is amazing.”

“It’s just an apartment. I should apologize, because if I were thinking, there’d be a flower here—or two—one for the first night you spent here.”

Kimbra’s head moves back and forth as she reaches for my face, holding my cheeks in the palms of her hands. “I don’t need flowers. I loved the ones you brought tonight to my place.” She smiles shyly. “Bringing them over, creating a reason to visit… well, it felt special.”

I reach for her waist and pull her closer. “Each one is special.”

“Duncan, our bouquet is good.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I want each experience to be special.”

“It is,” she says with a chaste kiss. “Now show me around. This place is huge. I can’t wait to see your pink room.”

“My pink room?” I ask, wondering what she means. “Is that like a red room toned down?”

Kimbra laughs as she tugs my hand toward the windows. “No. I can’t believe you even know about a red room.” Her head moves with each word. “That. Is. Not. What. I. Meant.”

“Okay, good to know. I mean, it doesn’t have to be out of the question. It would take a few days to construct…” I pull my phone from my pocket. “…but don’t underestimate my ability. Remember, I have Amazon Prime. First, we need to make a list: handcuffs, nipple clamps, one of those flip bars…”

She shakes her head and slaps my shoulder. “Stop. I don’t even want to know how you know any of that. When you were in my childhood bedroom, you said you had a pink room with a canopy.”

“Oh,” I say with a laugh. “I did, but I don’t.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to confess?”

I shrug. “I’m not against the other option. I mean this app needs to be good for something.” I show her my screen. “They have a starter kit!”

Her head moves back and forth faster.

“Come on, I agree a starter kit may not be the way to go, but that shopping list was kind of hot. Admit it.”

“No.”

A laugh rumbles from my chest. “Fine. Come this way.” I lead her toward the windows, open the balcony door, and lead her outside.

“Duncan, this view is breathtaking.”

I pull her close and look down into her shining blue eyes as loose strands of her hair float around her face. City sounds combine with the music coming through the open door as a cool evening breeze surrounds us. Tucking an auburn strand behind her ear, I couldn’t agree more. “Yes. It’s absolutely breathtaking. I’ve been breathless for nearly three years.”

She cuddles toward my chest.

“Are you cold?” I wrap her in my arms and pull her against me. “We can go inside.”

“No.” Her voice is muffled against my shirt. “I don’t ever want to move.”

My cheeks rise at the perfect way she fits in my embrace. I kiss the top of her head. “I’d like that too. But I promised you a king-sized bed and something about coming…”

Her gaze glistens as she looks up. “I think you’ve accomplished that more than once.”

“If memory serves, not since last night. That’s too long of a dry spell. I’ll never manage that soreness we discussed with such a light schedule.”

“You have, but I like your persistence.”

I kiss her lips, softly at first, but as the city twinkles below and the faint stars shine above, it deepens. When we finally separate, she rests her head against my chest, sighs, and holds tightly to my waist. We stand unmoving for a few minutes as her body melts toward mine.

I kiss her hair again. “I have an idea.”

“You do? As long as it doesn’t involve Amazon Prime, we’re good.”

“You really need to give that idea more consideration. Our list could entail anything. They sell everything!”

Kimbra stifles a yawn as she shakes her head. “We can look… I mean, it isn’t as though I don’t have an electric toothbrush.”

“You do?” I ask surprised.

“Enough. What’s your idea?”

“We’ve both had a long day…” I reach for her hand and entwine our fingers. “Come this way.”

I lead her back into the penthouse, pointing out the obvious—kitchen, office, workout room, and library—until we reach the master bedroom. “And here it is.”

Kimbra runs the tips of her fingers over the beige comforter as she inspects the footboard. “Who does your laundry?”

“That’s a strange question.”

She nods as her smile grows. “Whoever they are, they seem to have faded your pink bedspread.” She looks toward the ceiling. “And someone stole your canopy.”

“Yes, that’s what happened.”

She walks to the window. “Is this another balcony?”

“The same. They’re connected.”

“Duncan, this is lovely. It’s so big.”

I smirk.

Kimbra giggles. “This is where you say… ‘that’s what they all say.’”

“I would, but like I told you, I haven’t brought many women here.”

“This whole place… why? Why have so much space and not use it?”

I don’t answer; instead, I open the door to the walk-in closet. “I’ll get your suitcase in a minute and you can hang your dresses in here.” I then walk to the open door to the bathroom. “And here is where that toothbrush goes.”

“Really? I usually keep it in the bedside drawer.”

It’s my turn to shake my head. She’s so cute. And then I have the vision of her and her vibrator—otherwise known as her toothbrush. “Remember the striptease you did for me?”

“Yes.”

“I think I’d enjoy watching you brush your teeth.”

“There’s a problem. I didn’t bring it. Earlier today I was specifically told not to use it.”

“Who would demand something so personal as poor oral hygiene?”

“I believe it was my—”

“Boyfriend. Say it, Kimbra. Say it aloud, not to your family, but here, to me. We left pretend and make-believe in Indiana. Say it so I know you believe this is real.”

Her blue eyes scan my bedroom and then me. The silence grows. Just as I’m about to speak, she does.

“My boyfriend.”

My grin quirks. “Who is that?”

“You.”

I step toward her, making her take a step backward. We repeat the process until she’s backed against the wall. “My name?”

“Duncan… Duncan Willis.”

With her caged between my arms and my body pressed against hers, I use my most commanding tone. “All together, Miss Jones. The whole thing.”

She swallows as her blue gaze locks on mine. “Duncan Willis is my boyfriend. I’m his girlfriend. And this is real.”

Her reward is a lingering kiss. As her body melts against mine, I pull away, reach for the bathroom light switch, and press the button. “My idea was this…” I point toward the rarely used garden tub. When I turn back to Kimbra, her expression tells me she agrees.

“Oh, Duncan, that sounds heavenly.”

Fifteen minutes later, Kimbra settles her sexy round donkey between my spread legs as the warm bubbly water laps over her breasts and she leans back against my chest.

“Ah…” she sighs.

Her hair is piled high on top of her head, and I can’t resist kissing her long, slender neck.

“Why do you have such a large apartment if you never share it?”

“I share it. My parents and brother come over. Mike, Kel, and the kids visit.”

She cranes her neck to look at me. “You have a brother?”

“I do…”

She rubs her hands up and down my legs as I talk about Trevor and tell her more about my family. She laughs at some of the stories from our childhood. He’s only two years younger than I am, but in reality, we’re nothing alike. He’s a successful engineer who spends his days constructing bridges that go from figures to sketches, to models, to giant structures. Where I see logistics, distribution, and markets, he sees construction and infrastructure. He makes a good living, but wealth was never his dream, much like our parents.

Kimbra’s response time slows as we lie in the warm water with only music and the faint popping of bubbles as our backdrop. For a moment I think she’s fallen asleep, when she quietly asks, “You did it, didn’t you?”

“Got the most amazing woman I know into my tub? I most certainly did.”

“No,” she says, not looking at me. “You accomplished everything the agency scout promised Tessa. The airplane, big house, and money.”

Her words zap me. It’s the truth I’ve hidden. “I didn’t do this for her. I have no desire to ever have her back. Don’t ever think I do. We were just kids.”

Kimbra’s soapy hand stills on my kneecap beside her.

“I don’t think that. I think you had a goal after you put yourself back together. It just happened that Mike had a similar dream for a different reason.”

I swallow the response.

I don’t know how it happened, but somehow, Kimberly Ann Jones sees the void I’ve carried around for years. And in seeing it, she is filling it.

I run my hands over her stomach and breasts as her head falls backward. “Kimbra, I don’t usually talk about this… but I want to.” I kiss her hair. “You make me do all sorts of things I don’t usually do.”

“I’m quite fond of many of the things you do. I’ll tell you which is my favorite in the morning.”

I take a deep breath. “I didn’t realize what I was doing at first, what my goal was or why I’d set out to accomplish it. I don’t even think Mike knew. We both wanted success. It was my mom who made the connection. It took her years. Yet, in a matter of days, you did too.”

“I-I…”

“I’m glad,” I say honestly.

“Do you think she knows?”

I close my eyes. “I don’t care.”

“Duncan, you’re successful. Buchanan and Willis is international. It wouldn’t be hard for her to learn—”

I cut her off. “That may have been part of my motivation when Mike and I began our endeavor, but it isn’t any longer. I no longer cringe when her face shows up on a movie screen or in a magazine. She had an impact on my life, but it’s over.”

“Has she married? Had kids?”

I grip her shoulders. “I don’t know. She keeps her personal and professional life separated. The thing is that I don’t care. I could find out if I wanted to. I don’t.

“I want to be truthful with you, Kimbra. I want you to know me, the real me. And I want the same from you. I think it was your family. Seeing you there. You allowed me to see that side of you, one that’s so real, so different than the fantastic, polished professional.” My grip morphs to an embrace as I hug her tightly against my chest. “You trusted me with the real you. I want to trust you with the real me.”

When I loosen the embrace, she slowly spins to her knees in front of me, causing the water to slosh around the tub. Once we’re facing one another, she cocks her head to the side. “It’s time for the real truth, the make-or-break deal. Are you ready?”

I nod, unsure where this will go.

“Peanut butter or jelly?”

I smile at the way she can make everything casual and fun, and then I find my serious tone. “Alone, definitely jelly. I can do peanut butter if they’re together, but even then, it has to be creamy and only on white bread.”

“Yes!” she proclaims. “I agree. Why have healthy bread with peanut butter and jelly?”

Our lips find one another. Her amazing, bubble-covered belly slide over my chest. As my hands roam, her nipples bead.

“Ride me, baby.”

Our legs move until she’s over me. As we come together, her head falls to my shoulder.

“Oh,” she murmurs.

This feels different, like the signing of a deal. I gave her my true self and she did the same. With those realities floating around us, we’re sealing the agreement. There’s no urgency as we move to a slower melody.

As Kimbra allows my hands on her hips to choreograph this new dance and her eyes fill with heavy lust, I know the difference. I’m not Kimbra. We’re making love.

By the time we dry off and fall onto my soft sheets, we’re both exhausted.

“I know this isn’t the smaller bed of your childhood room, but I don’t plan to let you get too far away.”

“Hmm,” she agrees as she settles into my embrace, her back to my front.

The scent of shampoo and hairspray fill my senses as I nuzzle against her soft hair.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, her voice soft just before her breathing evens and body goes limp.

“Good night, Kimberly Ann,” I whisper, though I know she’s already sleeping. “What have you done to me?”

I lie awake for a few moments with her question about Tessa bouncing through my head. For one of the first times I can remember, I’m where I want to be. I may have made poor decisions along the way, but if Tessa or the woman in the bathroom or anyone else led me to now, to Kimbra, I’d do it all again.

AS THE CAR that arrived for Duncan at precisely seven this morning moves through Midtown traffic, he reaches for my hand. “I like riding to work together… and having breakfast with you… and waking up next to you.”

The sweet ache in my core reminds me that we did more than wake. My gaze flies forward from Duncan to the back of Pierce’s head and returns to Duncan. “Duncan?”

He shakes his head. “Get used to it, beautiful. Pierce, Jorge, they see all and know all.”

“Jorge?” I think of the way he’ll look at me now. I’ll no longer be scary Kimbra, but… what? Mr. Willis’s latest…

Duncan’s rambling talk doesn’t help my nerves.

“Oh, yes,” he goes on. “He’ll figure out quickly enough that every time you’re summoned to my office, I turn the glass opaque.”

“I-I can’t…”

“But you know those sexy noises you make that I like so much?” Before I can answer, he goes on. “I should tell you that the glass isn’t soundproof.”

I shake my head. “No. It isn’t happening. Not at work. No.”

I remember the saying about protesting too much. Besides, the way Duncan’s eyes twinkle makes me want to reconsider my objection. I guess… if the glass is opaque…

“Seriously,” he goes on, “I’ve looked at my schedule for today. As much as I’d love to bend you over my desk…”

“Stop.” I need him to quit saying that or those thoughts will consume my mind all day long.

“As much as I’d love that, I’m going to be swamped. I was uncharacteristically absent for a day and a half followed by a three-day weekend.”

“Should I apologize for that?”

“No,” he says. “But you could agree to a date tonight.”

“A date?”

Duncan lifts my hand as we near the office building. “Our first real date. What do you say, Miss Jones?” He lowers his lips to my knuckles. “Will you consider a date with me?”

My heart flutters. “I’ll give it some serious consideration.”

He leans closer so Pierce can’t hear. “And after the date, I was thinking I’d bring you back to my place—”

“Oh, no!” I say, feigning shock. “I do not go back to someone’s house on the first date.”

“Then that will require some thought.” He kisses my cheek. “And negotiation. I plan to be very persuasive.”

“I have heard that about you.”

“It’s one rumor that you should believe. Either way, I’m taking you out on a real date and we will end up back at my place.”

I like the finality of his tone as well as the idea of negotiating. I’m most certain that no matter my qualms, I’ll end up back in his big penthouse, on his big bed, with his big…

The car slows and I pull my thoughts away from the erotic as my nerves catch up to the reality that I’m walking into Buchanan and Willis with Mr. Willis. “I know we talked about this, but maybe Pierce could drive me around the block and we could pretend—”

His finger touches my lips. “Miss Jones, we’ll keep it professional while at work, except when I have you alone in my office, but under no circumstances will there be pretending. We left that behind, remember?”

Oh, I remember.

The door opens and sunlight floods the scene as coworkers hurry past, seemingly oblivious to another black car with a driver. I tell myself it is commonplace on the streets of Midtown. Duncan takes my hand and helps me from the car.

“How about a coffee?” he asks as we enter the foyer. “I was going to buy one for myself and I figured how about mine, plus-one?”

My cheeks rise. “Thank you, Mr. Willis. I promise not to spill it on you.”

“Deal.”

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Duncan gives me a sexy smile as we silently leave the crowded elevator and turn our separate directions. As I step to my desk, the scene where only five days ago Mr. Duncan Willis came to escort me away, I have new, bigger concerns.

“Kimbra,” my manager says, stepping up behind me, “there’s a meeting in my office in five. I need you there.”

I take a deep breath, scanning my desk as my computer comes to life. Immediately my gaze goes to my accumulated emails. Usually when I take time off, I check in to the office. Maybe it was because I was with the boss or maybe because he occupied my every thought—it doesn’t matter. The fact remains that while we were gone, the HR business of Buchanan and Willis was not on my mind. As a consequence, I now have nearly three hundred emails staring me in the face, at least half with the urgent symbol beside them.

“Okay,” I reply. “I’ll be there.”

The coffee from the downstairs shop is still warm as I grab my laptop and the covered cup and make my way to Eric’s office.

I’ve always liked and respected Eric Jettson. He’s a balding, middle-aged man with a dry sense of humor. He’s straight to the point and perfect for his job as the manager in charge of our department. As I think back, I realize that he was the first person I met at Buchanan and Willis, the one who hired me.

I step inside his office, surprised to see not only Eric, but also the other two HR specialists sitting at a small conference table. “Did something happen?” I ask as I set my laptop and coffee on the table and settle into my seat.

“I emailed you Saturday night.” Eric turns to the table. “Has everyone had a chance to review the accusation?”

My chest tightens. In the almost three years I’ve been with this company, I’ve never attended a meeting unprepared. I look up and make eye contact with Mr. Jettson. “Eric, I was out of town at my cousin’s wedding. I’m not up to date.”

He hands me a printed copy of an email. My stomach twists with the similarities in the accusations. The stark difference is that the instance described on the page doesn’t include one of the owners of our company nor did I witness it.

I don’t know if the woman is the same one who was with Duncan. I never saw her face and he’s never told me her name. That doesn’t mean I don’t know her. She’s the same woman who I saw with Timothy at the New Year’s Eve party. However, Timothy works in another department and they weren’t at work. The man accusing Carla of sexual advances also works in accounting—the same department as her—and is figuratively under her in classification and responsibilities. She’s his manager, his supervisor. His claims can’t be ignored.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“First…”

The meeting and day fly by in a whirlwind of fires as I race around with my extinguisher. In all my time at Buchanan and Willis, it is the first time I imagine myself as a hamster on a wheel. I am running at top speed and yet I’m barely catching up. Though I wasn’t directly involved in the solution of this morning’s emergency meeting, I understood why Eric called it. Accusations like that can’t be ignored. It is important that the entire department is aware of what is happening.

By nearly five o’clock, all I’ve managed in the way of food is several cups of coffee and a protein bar from my drawer.

They really aren’t bad, but by the end, the chewing is difficult.

“Kimbra?”

I turn to Eric’s voice. “Yes?”

“Is everything all right? It’s not like you to come to a meeting unprepared.”

I bite my tongue. “It isn’t like me. As I said, I was out of state.”

He tilts his head. “Is there anything else? Anything that I should know?”

“Like what? I’m nearly caught up. You and Mr. Buchanan took care of the employee we discussed in the meeting. I sat with Lee while he spoke to Maxwell. We filled you in. What else do you want to know?” I don’t mean to be defensive, but his question seems odd.

“I wanted to ask you something… I know this place is full of rumors, but they aren’t usually about you.”

“Rumors? About me?”

Eric leans back against my desk and crosses his arms. “I heard something today after the confrontations.”

“What and from whom?”

“I heard that maybe you should have recused yourself from the situation this morning.”

“Maxwell’s claims? Why wouldn’t I do my job?”

“Kimbra, do you have a history with Carla Toney?”

My teeth clench. “Nothing that will affect my ability to be fair-minded.”

“I hope that’s true. Someone said something about an axe to grind.”

“Was it her?”

“No. It’s just that if there’s a history that I should know about—”

“Have I ever not done my job?”

Eric’s hands raise in the universal sign of surrender. “I was just asking. Maybe it’s something else that seems different. You mentioned something about your roommate last week. Is everything all right?”

I let out a breath as out of the corner of my eye I see Duncan approaching my cubicle. My lip disappears between my teeth as I struggle to keep my eyes on Eric and not drool at the way Duncan’s sexy grin gazes my way. Even after a full day of work, he’s still sex on a stick. I can’t decide if I like his work suit or jeans better. Before I can contemplate my answer, knowing that without either is my number-one choice, I remember to speak. “Um. Eric, thank you. Shana hasn’t moved yet. Her flight was delayed by the hurricane.”

My manager nods toward my computer as if it contains a radar screen to show me the weather. “Yeah, apparently, the airlines are all backed up. It’s coming up the coast. I’m surprised you didn’t have any issues with your flights.”

“Good evening,” Duncan says before I get the chance to respond. He gazes my way before greeting Eric with a hearty handshake.

“Mr. Willis?” Eric asks as his Adam’s apple bobs. “Is there any problem?”

Duncan shakes his head. “No, Eric. No problem. Miss Jones? Is there a problem?”

“My long weekend put me terribly behind.”

“Yes, holidays can do that. However, the clock has struck five. I believe it’s time to leave.”

I look toward Eric. “I think you handled the situation appropriately this morning. The facts were clear-cut. I support your decision. My personal feelings didn’t have any bearing.”

“Nice work,” Duncan says to Eric. “A thumbs-up from Miss Jones for appropriate behavior is not an easy accomplishment.”

Shoot! What is he doing?

Eric glances between the two of us as his smile thins. “Is there more that I’m missing?”

“Only that it’s after five and time to go.”

“Good night, Eric.”

“DUNCAN?” I WHISPER as I open my drawer and reach for my purse. “That isn’t the way to keep it professional. You realize…” I lift my head higher, peeking over the partition and scanning the room and other cubicles. “…that tomorrow others will—”

Duncan reaches for my hand. “Miss Jones, you’ll accompany me out of this office and this building right this instant or tomorrow the other people in this department, as well as our security staff, will be talking about what I’m about to do to you. I’ve been thinking about you and my desk all day.” His green eyes sparkle as he eyes my messy desk. “I may have to clear everything to the floor, but yours would work as well as mine.”

I take a deep breath as my insides pinch. As much as I want to be concerned about Eric, I can’t seem to think about anyone but the incredibly handsome man looking at me as if I’m his dinner. “Fine. Where are we going?”

His lustful tone of two seconds ago is replaced with excitement. “A surprise for our first date.”

“You know, Shana and I have this system about first dates.”

“Do tell?”

“If it’s a disaster, we send the other a text with our secret word. The other one then calls with a fake emergency and it’s our out.”

Duncan shakes his head as we wait for the elevator. “My ego will be so hurt if Shana has a legitimate problem tonight.”

My smile grows. “Before Indiana, she told me that I’d already had my first date with you, at the bar at Gaston’s.”

He shakes his head. “I enjoyed that night, talking with you, cracking your veneer, but, beautiful, tonight is a date. Tonight you get the royal Duncan Willis treatment.”

“I like the sound of that.”

When Pierce finally stops the car, I gaze out the window. We’re in front of the same building where I met Shana over two weeks ago. “Gaston’s?” I ask.

Duncan nods. “I may have talked to Shana. I heard the same story about our talk at the bar. I want you to have that real first date.”

As another piece of my heart falls into his hands, I remember the question I asked myself, if Duncan would be more hands-on if we were real. “You spoke to Shana?”

“Yes. Does that surprise you?”

“Yes. I thought Jorge did all your bidding.”

“He helps, but some things need the personal touch.”

“I like a personal touch.” I think about Gaston’s. “How did you get the reservation?”

He winks. “Anything for you.”

Just before the door to the car opens, I look down at my pale green dress. I’m happy with his answer, it’s just my dress. Just once I’d like to know I’m going to this restaurant and be prepared.

Duncan leans in and kisses me. “Stop. You’re beautiful.”

“It’s just that…”

“No.”

The sidewalk is alive with people rushing from here to there. Duncan scoots out first and offers me his hand. “No more professionalism, Miss Jones. If I don’t have your hand in mine, I need to be touching you in some way. Prepare to be manhandled—by one man—for the rest of the night.”

“Is that part of the Duncan Willis royal treatment?”

“Don’t worry. There’s more where that came from.”

My smile widens and the twisting in my tummy increases as my blood rushes to my core. I lift my hand to his. Once we’re alone on the private elevator, I lean close and whisper. “I don’t think I’m supposed to enjoy the prospect of manhandling as much on a first date. My mother would call it inappropriate.”

Duncan laughs, stalking toward me, moving me with each step until my back is against the mirrored wall of the elevator. “Maybe…” He grazes the side of my breast. “But I’d wager that your grandma would approve.”

He pins me with his trim body as his caress becomes more intense. My giggle disappears, swallowed by his kisses. As my eyes close and our tongues unite, I make a mental note to ride more elevators with Duncan Willis.

When we reach the top, he backs away. His hand reaches for mine and squeezes. “I think I have that first-date issue covered.”

Before I can get my bearings from the way his intoxicating kiss sent me off-kilter or ask what he means, the doors open and in a few steps, we’re greeted by the young hostess.

Just like before, the spectacular restaurant shimmers. From the ceiling to the candles upon the tables, sparks reflect in a show of light. Through the wall of windows, Manhattan adds to the grandeur coming to life as the pink and purple sun meets the horizon.

With each step through the crowd, I’m keenly aware of female heads turning and watching as Duncan walks by. This is new to me. At least my family didn’t ogle. It’s the same way Shana looked at him the night he stopped at our table. The gazes fixed on him contain both awe and lust. I want to be upset, to stick out my tongue and tell each drooling woman that Duncan Willis is mine. However, I don’t, because of him. He’s the one who stops me. Not literally. Instead, it’s his attention to only me. As if, with his hand possessively in the small of my back, he doesn’t even notice the sea of lust-filled eyes.

When we reach our table near the tall windows, there is a long-stemmed rose lying upon the plate of the place setting where the hostess pulls back the chair. With a quick scan from side to side, I look for roses at other tables, but see none.

“Your seat, madam,” the hostess says.

Before I can question why I have the flower, Duncan lifts the rose and stares my direction with a knowing smirk. Once the hostess places my napkin in my lap and is gone, Duncan hands me the flower as his green gaze drinks me in.

“For our first date.”

I reach for the rose, staring not at it, but at the eyes intently watching my every move. I can’t explain it. Somehow each flower since we’ve returned to New York feels different than the others, like these are real and honest. Tears threaten at the back of my eyes.

“Thank you. This is… not pretend?”

His expression morphs from happy to stern. “I never want to hear you use that word again.”

I nod.

“Kimbra, I don’t know what you’ve done to me, what spending this last weekend with you has done, but whatever it is, it’s not pretend. Honestly, it’s not even fantasy. I could never have created fantasies that would live up to the real you.” He leans across the table, his volume and tone softening so that only I can hear. Though his voice is merely a whisper, the timbre reverberates deep to my core. “Beautiful, you’ve been my wet dream for so long that I’m struggling with the reality that you’re more than that. You’re more than I made you up to be. It’s true that I want to forget you…” His eyes glisten with lust. “…over and over. But that’s not all. I also want to be with you every day and say inappropriate things so that your cheeks turn red. I’m obsessed with the way you blush. I want today plus-one, and one more, and more until… I don’t know. You are my reality. Pretend is now out of our vocabulary.”

My heart skips a beat as I manage his name. “Duncan…” The one-word response floats in the air as a waiter appears to pour water and ask about our drink selections.

As he and Duncan discuss the wine selection, my mind floods with the truth of his words. I too have lusted after him, after the man who should grace the cover of GQ. His image was enough to help me come with the help of my vibrator as I imagined his face and body. But now he’s more. He’s layered and complicated. Sexy and sweet. Since the incident in the bathroom, I’ve been privy to the real Duncan Willis.

When the waiter walks away, I realize how the image of Duncan from before pales in comparison to the real man, the one who laughs at my family’s inappropriate comments and asks my grandma to dance, the one who was hurt at a young age and learned to cope by filling the void physically, but never emotionally.

“You were saying?” he asks, his emerald eyes glowing, golden flecks reflecting the flame of the candle on our table.

“I was thinking that you seem to have rather intimate knowledge of me, considering this is our first date.” It’s my turn to lean forward. “Tell me, Mr. Willis, have you been stalking me?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation.

The way he looks at me tightens my insides, making any inhibitions that I should have regarding spending the night with him after only a first real date disappear.

“Can I tell you that yesterday on the plane, I wasn’t sure…” I take a deep breath and lay the rose next to my place setting. “When you said you wanted to keep this… deal going.”

“Kimbra.” Duncan reaches across the table and covers my hand. “If this is about what I told you…”

I shake my head. “It isn’t. It’s about me.” Tears blur my vision as I go on. “You’re still the sexy, smart man I’ve admired from afar.”

His eyebrows jump. “You’ve admired me? So I’m not the only one with wet dreams?”

“Shut up,” I say with a grin. “But even when I tricked you into being my plus-one…” He starts to object, and I go on, speaking over him. “…or you seized the opportunity…” He nods. “…I had no idea what to expect. What I didn’t expect was to fall deeper under your spell. I mean, you put up with my family. You stood up for me when Kevin gave me a hard time. You watched out for my cousin. You completely wooed my grandma and made me see that even if I’m not Scarlett, who I am is okay. And then, when I expected you to walk away, you asked me for more.”

“Kimbra, you’re not just okay. You are so beyond okay.” Duncan squeezes my hand.

“I need to ask you something. Do you remember my telling you that I have an issue with cheating, how when I first invited you, told you about the bachelor party, how I asked you to please not do anything that my brother or cousins would see? Remember how happy I was when I walked into that club?”

“Not as happy as I was to see you.”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“The reason Timothy and I broke up was because after the company Christmas party, we attended another party for New Year’s Eve.” I bite the inside of my lip as I recall the scene. “There were a lot of Buchanan and Willis employees there. I lost track of Timothy. When I found him—”

“You don’t have to tell me any more,” Duncan says.

I go on. “As you can probably figure out, he wasn’t alone. He was with someone from Buchanan and Willis.”

Duncan’s eyes open wide. “Who? Do I know her?”

“I would suppose. Don’t you know all your employees?”

“Not as well as my HR department.”

“She works in accounting—”

“Accounting?” Duncan’s complexion pales.

“Yes. Today…” Before I can say any more, the waiter is back with our salads.

Duncan lifts his wine glass. “In the future, I think I’ll enjoy being able to talk shop with you. Tonight, however, I’m supposed to woo a beautiful woman on a first date.”

I push away my concerns over Carla and Maxwell as well as Eric’s comment about my having an axe to grind. Instead, I simply nod and lift my glass, meeting his halfway across the table. They unite with a clink.

Throughout the multiple courses of delicious food, we talk and laugh. He tells me more about Mike and Kelli. We discuss my family and his. It’s so much more than a first date—no moments of uncomfortable silence or uncertainty of where this will lead. As we finish our meal, I gaze out the windows at the city and back at the man whose eyes are only on me and think how amazing it all is. How I’m living my dream.

Duncan looks up from his phone. “Pierce will be outside in a few minutes.” He stands and offers me his hand. “Now, tell me, Miss Jones, did you enjoy our first date?”

“Immensely, Mr. Willis. No emergency call from Shana.” I feel my eyes sparkle with anticipation. “Is it over?”

“It is. I apologize for the rush…”

My eyes open wide.

“You see, I was told that spending the night together is inappropriate on a first date.” He shrugs. “Who knew?”

I laugh. “I thought you liked inappropriate.”

“I do, but I’m in this for the long haul. Therefore, Pierce is on his way to whisk us off to date number two.”

“On the same night?”

He nods as he leads me toward the elevator. “Next stop, Central Park.”

“A carriage ride?”

“If you want. As long as the rain holds off, there’s a concert tonight. I thought we could take a blanket and enjoy that for an hour or two.”

“An hour or two?” I try to hide the wanton lust from my voice. I was the one who told Kevin that quick isn’t always better. Nevertheless, I’m ready to get this second date on and over.

After the elevator doors close and we make our descent, Duncan whispers, “Or ten minutes. You tell me, Miss Jones, how long is long enough to qualify as date number two, because as I said, before tonight is over you’re ending up back in my apartment.”

“Only if you promise inappropriate things.”

I suck in a breath as he reaches for me and blatantly caresses my breast with the palm of his hand. Though his touch is separated by layers of material, my nipple beads and panties dampen. “O-oh.” We are behind another couple, yet the way their footing shifts, I’m sure they have an idea of what just occurred.

Duncan’s grin sparkles. “I promise a lot more where that came from.”

A lot.

“A half hour,” I whisper as we get into the car.

Duncan nods as he speaks to Pierce, “Drop us off near the entrance on Fifty-ninth and be back in thirty minutes.”

“Thirty, sir?”

He’s probably thinking that’s crazy.

Duncan’s gaze catches mine. I nod.

“Thirty,” Duncan repeats.

“There’s a chance of rain,” I offer.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh,” Duncan whispers. “I like you wet.”

DUNCAN REACHES FOR my hand as the heavens open. We really should have paid more attention to the weather reports. Our shoes slide on the asphalt path as the crowd of concertgoers races toward the exits.

Allowing some to pass, we pause under a footbridge. Duncan wraps me in the wet blanket, covering my shoulders.

“That just came out of nowhere,” he says with a grin.

I shake my head and wipe the moisture from my cheeks. “I think we should have paid more attention to the weather. Shana told me there was a storm. Eric said it was moving up the coast.”

Duncan shrugs as he fans his suit jacket and droplets sprinkle the wet ground. Beyond our strip of covering, the rain is falling in large, unforgiving drops, creating curtains of water. It’s at least a five-minute walk to the entrance where Pierce is waiting, probably more as the paths are filled with scurrying people, bicycles, and strollers.

I peer up through my dampened lashes and begin to laugh. “Well, you said you like me wet.”

He laughs along with me and wraps me in an embrace. “This isn’t what I had in mind, but I’m glad to know I can make you wet on a second date.”

“No, Mr. Willis, you accomplished that on our first date.”

“Oh?”

“For the record, that desk thing isn’t happening, but when you mentioned it…”

He leans closer to my ear. “So mere words?” The deep, rich timbre rattles like thunder.

I simply nod.

Duncan wraps the blanket tighter around me, pulling it up over my hair. “Come on, we’re continuing this date at my place.”

At that moment, the night sky fills with lightning and the ground rumbles with rolling thunder.

He takes my hand and we run.

I remember him saying he runs for exercise and I do too, but not in heels and not on slippery footpaths dodging other people, pets, and bikes. Finally, we arrive beyond the entrance and as if by magic inspiration, Pierce jumps from the car to open our door. “We’ve got it!” Duncan yells as he waves Pierce back to the safety of the automobile.

My body covers in goose bumps and teeth chatter as we’re met with the cool air conditioning. Outside the windows, the rain falls harder and faster, beating the roof like a drum.

Duncan lowers the blanket from my head and with his thumb wipes my cheeks. I snuggle close as we both laugh.

“A second date we won’t forget,” Duncan says as Pierce makes his way through the slow-moving traffic.

Still soaked to the skin, we rush through the door of Duncan’s apartment. His gorgeous view of the city is obstructed with clouds as the storm rumbles and sheets of rain ping against the windows.

Taking my hand, he leads me toward his bedroom. “Miss Jones, we need to get you out of those wet clothes.”

The warm, humid air filling the bathroom from the large shower is like heaven against my cooled skin as even my bra and panties are soaked from the rain. When I turn, my breath gasps as I take in a fully naked Duncan Willis. Cool rain drips from his dark hair, as contrasting heat simmers in his gaze.

My nipples bead from the disparity. “Is this still our second date?”

“That depends,” he answers, reaching for my hand. “Would more manhandling be inappropriate on the second date?”

“I would think of it more as the gentlemanly thing to do, you know, saving the damsel in distress and all.”

“Oh…” His large hands roam over my skin as we step under the multiple sprays of hot water. “…I hate to disappoint you, but being a gentleman was not on my agenda.”

His voice is deep and silky, washing through me like waves. Unlike the rain, it warms me, melting me from the inside.

“I meant what I said.” The green of his eyes deepens as he moves me backward.

“W-what did you say?” With each word we step farther back until I’m sandwiched between his hard chest and the cool tile. I swallow as he lifts my chin.

“More. I want more. I want you to have more.”

“More?”

“How many times did I make you come last weekend?”

The slowness of his words and intimacy of his question tick my heartbeat into acceleration. “I-I don’t… a lot,” I admit.

“Last night, this morning?” he asks, his large hand pulling my waist against his hips.

“Duncan?”

“The answer is never enough.”

His nose nuzzles my hair as his erection probes my stomach. The tips of his fingers skim my arms, beginning at my wrists and moving upward until he grazes my breasts.

I inhale as his touch moves upward to my collarbone and on to the sensitive spot on my neck. Each contact is erotic and filled with electricity, zapping my breath and igniting my skin. Cold is no longer a thought as the temperature between us simmers near boiling.

“All evening long, throughout our first and second date,” he says, “I’ve wanted more. I’ve touched you and…” His thumb grazes back and forth over my lips, urging them to open. “And kissed these sensual lips.”

Willingly, I suck his thumb into my mouth, teasing it with my tongue. I clench my thighs as my core painfully tightens and moisture floods my pussy.

Duncan’s eyes flutter closed as he deeply inhales. “Idiot, Kimbra, I love having you here with me.”

His erection pushes harder against my stomach. He peppers my neck with kisses, the scruff of his cheeks abrading my skin.

All at once, Duncan falls to his knees. “Tell me, Kimbra, are you wet?”

I look down at the way the shower’s spray is reddening his back.

His lips quirk to a sexy smirk as his grip of my ankles widens my stance. “And, beautiful, I’m not talking about from the rain or the shower.”

“Yes.” My answer is breathy as he begins to persuade my legs to part.

“Do you want to come?” he asks, his warm breath skimming my core.

“Yes,” I pant, my head falling back to the wall and eyes closing.

He inhales. “You’re not wet. You’re soaked and, dang, you smell so sweet.” His lips linger as he kisses my core.

“Spread your legs more for me, Kimbra.”

I’m lost to this man, to the timbre of his voice and ministrations of his hands, as I do as he commands. Once he has me where he wants me, his tender kisses probe deeper, becoming harsh and demanding. And then he latches onto my clit, sucking and nipping. Like a hit of cocaine, his assault sends a series of jolts through my system.

I scream out, my grip flailing against the slippery tile as I struggle to remain standing.

With his lips, tongue, and teeth, he’s sending shockwaves—no, a 7.5 destructive earthquake throughout my body. It’s so much, too much. I try to pull and wiggle away, but his grip upon my hips is as unrelenting as his mouth. Finally, I reach for his hair, weaving my fingers through the dark strands, searching for an anchor against the wild tidal waves of pleasure. Flares and fireworks ignite behind my closed lids. I call out curses between whimpers as my world explodes and everything else washes away in a tsunami of release.

“I love the way you taste,” he hums.

I release his head as he moves away.

“Look at me.”

I take a deep breath, opening my eyes and peering down. Though he’s still on his knees, his intense stare demands my attention.

“That’s it, beautiful. Watch me. Watch me enjoy eating this perfect pussy.”

“Duncan… I… already.”

He licks his lips. “You came and it was exquisite. Now I’m going to wind you up again.”

Idiot. I’m not sure if I can do that again.

Before I get the chance to protest, his face is once again at my core. My whole body quakes as he does as he said, winding me, like the key on the back of an antique toy. Tighter and tighter. I watch as his dark hair bobs in sync with his tongue. I reach back to the wall, but the slick surface does little to keep me standing as my knees grow weak. “Please,” I beg, needing more of his ecstasy than his mouth is giving.

All at once, Duncan stands and flips me toward the tile. He lifts my hands to eye level, splaying my fingers. “Hold on. Don’t let go.”

I do as he says, my fingernails clawing for traction.

His deep voice continues. “Keep your eyes open, Kimbra. Look at yourself. Look how gorgeous you are.”

Look at myself?

And then I see our reflection in the large mirror beyond the glass door. It’s an erotic film playing before me, the soundtrack is an assortment of moans and whimpers with the beat of the shower’s spray keeping time.

“See that? Can you see how red your neck is?” he asks, nuzzling my sensitive skin. “That’s my mark. Look down at your thighs.”

I do. They too are pink. Not only that, they glisten.

“I left my mark there too, on your pretty pink pussy and the inside of your thighs. I wish you could see how shiny your pussy is. It’s amazing.”

His erection teases my folds, its length rubbing from my clit to my backside as he pulls my donkey toward him. “I want to leave my mark inside you too. Do you want that?” His deep voice reverberates from my ears to my soul. “Can I forget you?”

“Yes.”

I lift my face until our eyes meet in the reflection.

“Look at your eyes,” he says. “I could spend every dang day seeing that lust, that need. Your eyes are screaming at me.”

The entire time he’s talking, his cock is teasing, caressing… I whimper and shift, needing more.

He palms one breast and then both, twirling his wet fingers around my nipples. “When we idiot, I want you to watch, watch your gorgeous belly bounce as I find heaven in your pussy.” Again he teases, the girth of his hard shaft sliding over my folds. “I don’t want to use a condom with you ever again. Are you okay with that, feeling my cock inside your tight pussy?”

I push backward. “Do it. I want you.”

Instead of his cock, his fingers find my entrance, curving to just the right angle and plunging until I’m moving with him. My hands cling to the tile as my toes bounce to his rhythm. The shower stall fills with my pleas as he strums me like an instrument, tuning me for his private concert.

And then, finally, one of his large hands splays over my stomach as the tip of his cock presses against my entrance.

“Look at me.”

Our eyes meet again in the reflection.

“You’re mine.”

“Yes.”

His warm breath is on my neck. “And if you’ll have me, I’m all yours.”

Tears form as I nod.

“Kimberly Ann, hold on.”

“Oh!” My fingers grip as all at once he fills me, one hard thrust… deep inside. My essence coats his way as my pussy contracts, fighting this conquest and creating the most amazing stretch.

“D-Duncan…” His name is barely audible as I pant and gasp.

“Keep watching.”

My DD breasts are doing what Duncan promised, bouncing with each penetration, my nipples dark, hard, and tight.

I keep my fingers splayed as he pulls back on my stomach while at the same time pounding me forward. It’s hard and fast, aggression and love, predatory and possessive. My walls clench as he continues the sexy assault.

“Idiot,” he calls out as he pulls my body tighter toward him, moving me in sync with each thrust. In and out he pounds, our bodies uniting as I teeter on the balls of my feet and my knees grow weak.

Tighter and tighter, my core constricts as his speed increases.

I’ve never had sex standing or in a shower.

I’ve never watched as I was taken, completely incinerated, and made whole.

It’s hot and dirty, and I’m loving every minute.

Duncan’s breathing quickens as he continues to wind me higher.

Words escape my lips, curses and sounds. I recognize the echo of my own voice, but I can’t make out what I’m saying until my entire being erupts. Like free falling, I float as Duncan’s curses replace mine, his vigorous thrusts increasing in speed as he continues to move within me.

Totally spent, my body relaxes in his grip until all at once, I’m taken by surprise. Out of nowhere another orgasm erupts, stronger than the others. My fingers blanch as my nails claw at the tile.

“O-oh!”

It’s as if a fuse that had been forgotten unexpectedly ignited. My body is nothing more than an intricate circuit of explosions, detonating every nerve. I fight for air, for stability, for a simple understanding of up from down. My entire being is ablaze with the most satisfying fire when all at once, Duncan roars. A deep rumble echoes through the bath as he delivers one last thrust.

Our deep connection severs as he collapses over my back, his hand reaching out to the wall while his other arm holds me safely upright against his chest.

Slowly my eyes open and look down. I stare at our feet, his larger ones on either side of mine. My gaze moves back to our reflection. And then our eyes meet.

I don’t want to see him through the door. I want more.

Within his arms, I turn to face him. Through veiled eyes I scan his wide thighs, still impressive erection, then up his toned abs until our eyes meet for real.

My smile grows as his does too.

“Just so you know, Mr. Willis, I’ve never done that before on a second date.”

Duncan kisses me gently, a contrast to the way we’ve just made love. “I believe we’ve begun our third.”

“Whew,” I say, “my reputation is still intact.”

“Your reputation is safe with me.”

“I don’t know? You have quite the reputation yourself.”

He smiles his cocky grin. “Have I lived up to it?”

“Exceedingly, Mr. Willis.”

He kisses my nose again. “I meant what I said, Kimbra. I don’t care about the rumors you’ve heard. And you don’t need to worry about me cheating. I never have. I won’t. I’ve wanted you for a long time. Now that I have you, I won’t let you go.”

“I’m yours,” I say, repeating what he’d said.

“And I’m yours.” He quirks his grin. “If you’ll put up with me.”

I glance from his sexy face down to his now-tamed, but no less impressive cock. “That’s a mighty big order, but I think I can handle it.”

“Oh, beautiful, you can handle it anytime you want.”

LEANING BACK IN the chair, I shake my head, slowly trying to digest Mike’s words while staring at the employee file laid out before us. The picture churns my stomach. I didn’t know her name. Now I do.

Wrongful termination?

“She hired an attorney?” I ask, ensuring I heard my best friend correctly.

“Yes. The paperwork came today.”

“New York is an at-will state. I’m sure that Eric had reason for her termination.” I look over the notes, the claims of sexual advances by various employees, the last being made by a Maxwell Knight. “This seems pretty cut and dried. Why would an attorney take this on?”

Mike takes off his glasses, massages his temples, and leans over the conference table. So far, we are discussing this strictly amongst ourselves. We want to get a grip on the situation before bringing in other voices. The churning in my stomach bubbles like a cauldron knowing that one of the voices that will be brought in on this case is Kimbra’s.

It’s been over a month and a half since I was her plus-one at Scarlett’s wedding. Over a month since Shana moved to London. It may seem like I’m moving quickly, but I’ve spent most of that time presenting my case for why Kimbra should officially move in with me. She’s at my place or I’m at hers almost every night.

It isn’t like we can’t afford it, but maintaining two residences is unnecessary.

“Duncan, there’s more. Carla Toney is claiming that the two of you had a relationship. She’s claiming that HR acted in a retaliatory manner.” He hands me another paper. “She’s specifically named Kimbra, citing the relationship the two of you have as grounds for her accusations.”

Anger fills my chest. “That is ridiculous.”

“You never?” He narrows his gaze. “This is me. Tell me the truth.”

Slapping my hand on the table, I spin out of the chair as I stand. “I didn’t even know her name.”

“And that’s going to help us? The attorney is asking for surveillance tapes from our security department.”

I begin a small trek as I pace behind my chair. “It wasn’t…” It’s my turn to massage my temples. “She offered. I didn’t turn her down—”

“Of course you—”

“I didn’t turn her down,” I interrupt. “But nothing happened. She’s the one in the bathroom.”

Mike’s eyes grow wide. “The one that Kimbra heard?”

I nod dejectedly as I collapse back in the chair.

Twice in the last six weeks, Kimbra and I have gotten together with Mike and Kelli. The last time was at Mike and Kel’s house. They all love Kimbra, even the kids. And they couldn’t be happier that I’ve finally allowed someone into my life, someone to get close. It’s new and exciting in a way I never imagined. I love introducing her to those people who are close to me. Having her with me in my world is as rewarding as being in hers.

But now the look of disappointment on Mike’s face is like a punch to my already-twisted gut.

“I don’t want to include her in this,” I say.

“She’s already included. She’s been named by Ms. Toney’s attorney.”

“What do they want? What are they asking for?”

“Not her job back. They’re asking for damages, claiming that her termination is in retaliation for her involvement with you.” Mike squints as he scans the pages. “…and there’s something about a previous relationship with a Mr. Cole.”

“Whose previous relationship?”

Mike twists uncomfortably in his seat as he puts his glasses back on and looks closer at the pages. “Dang, Duncan. This isn’t my place.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It says that Ms. Toney and Mr. Cole’s relationship interfered with Kimbra and Mr. Cole’s recent association. And then, fast-forward to when Kimbra found out about you and Ms. Toney, she pursued the termination of Ms. Toney. Ms. Toney claims that other similar allegations have gone uninvestigated, but because of Kimbra’s vengeful grudge, the unsubstantiated case involving Mr. Maxwell was pushed and resulted in her wrongful termination.”

My mind is awhirl. Mr. Cole. “Who the heck is Mr. Cole? What is recent?”

“I don’t know what they mean by recent. I did however have Sara pull up Mr. Cole’s file.” Mike hands me another paper. “Timothy Cole, still employed by Buchanan and Willis in distribution…”

I stop listening as I realize that Mr. Cole isn’t someone Kimbra has seen recently. He was her date at the company Christmas party. He’s the jerk who cheated on her on New Year’s Eve. He’s the one her family expected at the wedding.

The connections pop into place like magnets on a toy train.

Timothy Cole cheated on Kimbra with Carla Toney. Carla Toney made a play for me. I made a play for Kimbra. Kimbra and I are together and Carla… “This is trash. Plain, unadulterated trash.”

“Back to their evidence,” Mike says. “If we supply them with security footage from late May, what will they see?”

My lips form a straight line as I cross my arms over my chest. “I already told you this. She’d been offering for some time. I’d refused. Until… that morning, I was frustrated with more than a few things. Seeing Kimbra in the coffee shop had me unsettled. I accepted Carla’s invitation to the bathroom.” It is the first time I’ve told the story with her name inserted.

“There are cameras outside the stalls.”

I let out an exasperated breath. “She took me out. Is that what you want to know? My toe is on tape. She never got it in her mouth. Idiot, I don’t think I was even hard, not really. I was thinking about Kimbra, not her… Carla…” I force myself to say her name for the second time. “And then I heard the sound of a woman’s whimper. If I got hard, that was when it happened.

“But then all perdition broke loose. She asked if anyone was there. We closed up shop and got the heck out of there.”

Shaking his head, Mike asks, “Not before seeing the shoes?”

Despite the heated discussion, my grin returns. “I love those red shoes.”

“We need to let Eric know what’s happening. He’s the manager in charge of human resources. Even if we agree to the demands for damages, our legal team will need to follow up with him.”

“Damages? What kind of damages?”

“I think, despite the surveillance,” Mike says, giving me another look. “…we could put enough holes in their case.”

“And put Kimbra through all of that? No. We have insurance to pay this trash. I just want it gone.”

Mike takes a deep breath and for the first time since our meeting began, smiles. “After all these years, it’s nice to think that maybe you’re over that trash.”

“As long as there are no cameras in my office, we’re good.”

“Goodness, Duncan, put a ring on her finger and at least make it legal.”

“You know, for the first time, that doesn’t seem like a bad idea.”

As Mike collects the papers, he says, “I’ll set up a meeting tomorrow with legal and Eric. Let’s get this settled before it goes any further.”

“I know I don’t say it enough, but thanks, man.”

“No. Don’t thank me. All of this, and I don’t mean this legal trash, I mean all of this, Buchanan and Willis, is because of your drive. My life and Kel’s is because—”

“Because you’ve kept a tight leash on me.”

His laughter fills the room. “Idiot, I just had a vision of Kimbra holding that leash.”

“Not quite my thing, but I’m always up for new challenges.”

“That’s been the problem, man. But now it’s her problem.”

“I haven’t heard her complaining.”

“See you tomorrow.” Mike reaches out and grabs my arm. “This place isn’t that big. Rumors fly and people talk. Don’t you think your involvement in this lawsuit would sound better coming from you? Doesn’t Kimbra deserve that?”

“She deserves that and more. Besides, you know that I don’t do secrets.”

Mike nods as we head our separate directions.

I LET MYSELF in to Kimbra’s apartment with the key Shana left behind. It isn’t like I took it. Well, I did, but with Kimbra’s permission. My hope is to find her in some compromising position, perhaps with a glass of moscato and a bathtub full of bubbles.

Hearing noises from her bedroom, I lock the door behind me and make my way down the hall. She has this great headboard and there’s always her old vibrator in the bedside stand. My mind fills with ideas guaranteed to drive her nuts before we find something for dinner.

I know what I’m hungry for.

As I turn the corner, I stop dead in my tracks. Kimbra’s eyes are red and she’s pulling clothes from her dresser, filling a small suitcase.

“What is happening?”

Her entire body quakes as her eyes close and she sinks to the corner of her mattress. “I-I… tell… I… need… you were busy. I told Eric.”

Rushing to her, I fall to my knees. “Told Eric what?” That idiot. If he said something to her first, we’ll have another termination on the books at Buchanan and Willis.

“Duncan, I can’t stay. I have to go back to Indiana.”

“What are you talking about? If Eric told you about the lawsuit, it’s not an issue. We’re meeting with legal tomorrow. The whole thing is trash anyway.” I wipe away another tear from her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “You don’t have to leave. This isn’t going to affect your job.”

Kimbra sits taller. “Lawsuit? I have no idea what you’re talking about. My mom called me late this afternoon. I told Jorge to have you call me.”

“I didn’t see Jorge. I was in a hurry to get to you. He wasn’t at his desk, and I didn’t check in with him before I left. Your mom?” Panic takes root. “What? What happened? Why do you need to go to Indiana?”

“Duncan, it’s Grandma Helen…”

MY HEART RACES and my skin feels cold and clammy as my shoes squeak upon the shiny tile of the hospital hallway. The doors open as I make my way down another corridor in search of her room.

I have no idea what’s happening. My dang phone died partway through my forever travels. I could have waited for Duncan, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to get here as fast as possible. In hindsight, I made the wrong choice. You would think that finding a last-minute flight to Indianapolis from New York wouldn’t be difficult, but apparently, that isn’t always the case. Even though I made it to JFK last night, it’s now Thursday morning, nearly sixteen hours and two delays later.

Besides, I couldn’t expect Duncan to drop everything and join me. Not after he’d explained the whole mess with Carla. Mike wanted him present for the meeting with legal. His company takes precedence. Grandma Helen is my family, not his. She isn’t his responsibility.

My feet still and mouth goes dry as I find the right room number on a small plaque beside the door. Taking a deep breath, I push the door inward, unsure what to expect. The last I’d heard she was in surgery. The details were sketchy at best.

The overpowering blare of a television drowns out the beeps of monitors.

Gritting my teeth, I steel myself for the worst as I step farther into the room.

“Kimberly Ann!” my mom yells as she rushes toward me.

Her petite frame swallows me before I can take a good look at Grandma. “How…?”

“Look at that!” Grandma Helen says, pointing to the television screen filled with The Price Is Right. “I wouldn’t have bid so high. Maybe they don’t buy their prizes on Amazon.”

Tears fill my eyes as I rush to her bedside. “Grandma, I was so worried when Mom said you fell.”

“Dang ankle broke. That’s the problem with getting old. The balance isn’t what it used to be.”

I scan her up and down. Her arm is bruised—a nasty, dark color. The lower part of her right leg is outside the covers, with some type of air boot that hums. ““You’re okay? Just your ankle and a few bruises?”

“Just my ankle? Do you realize I’ll be out for this whole square-dancing season? The whole season! I suppose old Fred McKinney will find another partner.”

“Mother!”

“McKinney, as in Darrin’s grandpa?” I ask, more than a little shocked and grossed out.

“Judy, we only dance. And yes. That Darrin is a nice boy. He always asks about you.

“Besides,” she goes on, talking to Mom, “your father wouldn’t want me wasting away all alone. We talked about that.” Grandma Helen looks at both of us. “And Fred…” Her eyebrows—currently, nonexistent because they’re not painted on with makeup—dance. “…has some great moves. The doctors say I’ll be up on one of those little scooters soon, but I’m sure Betsy Harmon—you know, from Fruitdale, right outside Cartersville—will be more than happy to take my place. She’s always been a catty one. You can’t trust women who lure men with homemade jams.

“In my day, my jelly was the best. Your grandpa used to say—”

The night of traveling and sitting in airports takes its toll as I collapse into a chair. I let out a deep sigh. “No one can take your place, Grandma. I’m sure Fred is too old to enjoy jams anyway.”

Grandma Helen waves her hand. “No man is that old. Besides, it ain’t no never mind. Look at me. Once I have two working ankles, I’ll woo him back. By next season we’ll be cutting the rug. Betsy isn’t as wiry of an old broad as yours truly. I have moves too.”

“No jelly though, Mom,” my mother says.

“Well, you know, the strawberry seeds do tend to get caught.” She squints my way. “Child, you look like something the cat dragged in. Where’s that man of yours?”

My smile returns as I reach for the remote and turn down the volume of the TV. “He’s still in New York. But he’s good.”

Grandma reaches for my left hand and shakes her head. “I thought the next time I saw you, there’d be a ring…”

“Stop, please.”

“Honey, you know we just want you to be happy,” Mom says.

I let out a long breath. “I am. Duncan wants me to move in with him.”

“Do it!” Grandma says as Mom’s lips purse. Grandma turns to my mother. “Oh, Judy, that’s the way kids do it nowadays. It’s not getting the milk for free—it’s sampling. And even though I’m hard of hearing and my room was two doors down, I can tell you, I think he’s sampled, and if he’s asking Kimberly Ann to move in, he likes it.”

Heat fills my cheeks. “Grandma!”

“That man loves you. It was all over his face.”

Maybe it is the lack of sleep, or maybe the truthful way Duncan approaches every subject, but I can’t go on lying to my family. “There’s something you should know.”

“You’re pregnant,” Mom says excitedly.

“No. Duncan and I didn’t start dating last Christmas.”

Both women look my direction in a strange unity of silence.

“We started dating after Scarlett’s wedding.”

Mom’s expression fills with question as Grandma shakes her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says.

“It wasn’t real—when we were here before. We pretended.”

“Child, like I said, I could hear your pretending all the way to my room. My teeth haven’t ever been so clean.”

I shake my head, pushing unwanted images of Grandma and her electric toothbrush out of my tired head. “It was pretend. It’s not now.”

We all turn as the room fills with the swish of an opening door. From where they’re seated, Mom and Grandma can see the visitor first. As whomever it is approaches, their smiles grow. It’s the flowers I see first.

Duncan extends the bouquet to my grandma. “Helen, for you.”

As his cologne moves through the stale hospital air, I take him in. Duncan Willis is absolutely breathtaking. He’s the GQ model compared to my rumpled appearance, courtesy of a full night of travels.

He leans down and kisses my grandma’s cheek before turning my way and handing me a single daisy. “And for you. My first cross-country, mad search for my girlfriend. You could answer your phone.”

I can’t stop the smile. “It’s dead.”

“I had you chased down from JFK to Boston to Philly. Why would anyone have three layovers from New York to Indianapolis?”

“Because some of us don’t have private planes.”

“You would have if you’d have let me get it all set up.”

I shake my head.

“Duncan,” my mother says, “we were just talking about you.”

“Judy, good to see you. And Helen…” He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles. “You had us frightened.”

“Son, I told you not to trash an old woman. I need a straight answer from you.”

Duncan stands straight, his broad shoulders back and chest out. “Yes, ma’am.”

“That story you told me about Kimberly Ann coming in your office. My granddaughter is telling us another story. Which one is true?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he looks from Grandma to me and back. “Both, ma’am. And… only one.”

Her wrinkles grow deeper as she narrows her eyes. “Talk.”

“The day your granddaughter walked into my office was the best day of my life, until the day when she thought she tricked me into coming with her to Scarlett’s wedding as her plus-one, and every day since.

“The honest truth is that I let her think we were pretending so she’d notice me.” He turns my way. “And I hope she notices me now.”

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I nod. Dang sleep deprivation.

I gasp as all at once Duncan Willis turns my direction and falls to one knee.

What is he doing?

In my grandmother’s hospital room.

In front of my mom and grandma.

“Kimberly Ann…” His deep voice echoes through the room. “…I don’t want to wait another minute to say this. I don’t want you to move in with me for one day, plus-one, and plus another. I want you to live with me forever. I want to wake beside you and fall asleep there.” He tilts his head toward the four large eyes watching from over his shoulder. “I want to be able to call your grandma Grandma Helen instead of just Helen. I’d like to be able to call Judy my mother-in-law. I want to be your plus-one forever and never, ever pretend again.”

His eyes sparkle as my exhausted cheeks fill with pink. Obviously, our minds have gone to the same scene, one where we tried role-playing. I wasn’t sure where it came from, but we both went with it… and well…

“Except when—” he says with a smirk.

I touch his lips, fearful he’ll finish that sentence in front of my family.

I look around the small hospital room. The light green walls are slightly scuffed. Beside the bed is a bank of monitors with tubes. Outside the window, the sun shines bright in a sapphire blue sky as the Indianapolis skyline shimmers with the summer’s heat. My mom has the tips of her fingers covering her lips while Grandma Helen is silent for what may be a record.

I swallow. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured being proposed to.”

Duncan’s sexy smirk quirks as he reaches for the flower I forgot I was holding. “Our first proposal.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring. The band is bright gold and the stone is large and plastic. “I promise something nicer. This was the best they had in the gift shop and I didn’t want to wait.” His smile widens. “Do I get an answer?”

My head bobs as I reach for the inexpensive costume jewelry, wrap my arms around his neck, and breathe in his spicy cologne and cinnamon breath. “Yes. I want all of that, too.”

When I loosen my embrace, I look into his eyes. “How did you get here so fast? I thought you had a meeting.”

“Mike is taking care of everything. I tried reaching you. When I couldn’t, I decided to come directly here.”

“But how did you know where to come? Which hospital and room?”

“Kevin told me,” Duncan says matter-of-factly.

My tired mind tries to process. “Kevin? You have my brother’s number?”

“And mine,” Mom says.

“And mine,” Grandma chimes in.

“You’ve been talking to my family?”

“I should have asked your dad in person, but when I make up my mind, I don’t wait. I seize the opportunity.”

THE STAINED-GLASS WINDOWS cast colorful hues over the congregation as I take a deep breath and steady my stance.

“Don’t faint,” Mike whispers.

I shake my head as Mike and Kevin laugh at their own personal joke.

Shana smiles at us as she steps to her designated maid-of-honor spot.

“You’re supposed to be here supporting me,” I remind both Mike and Kevin in a whisper as the music grows louder and everyone stands.

“Dunc, man. You’ll make this.”

Kevin’s nickname makes me smile as I take in the crowd. My parents are standing at the front pew, smiling approvingly my way. Trevor and his latest girlfriend are seated one row back with Kelli and the kids. In true, unattached-Willis style, my brother’s eyes have been on Shana more than on the woman by his side.

On the other side of the aisle is Judy, her cheeks ready to split from alternating between smiling and crying. She has Grandma Helen beside her on one side and a space for Oscar on the other. Susan and baby Matthew are one row behind. Out farther, I see other familiar faces and many tiny heads. In the last year, Scarlett and Kurt have had a little girl, while Jimmy and Sheila had a boy. Jimmy can’t stop talking about him, and neither can his big sister.

A lump forms in my throat as the door at the back of the church opens and Kimbra and Oscar come into view. It’s my vision from over a year ago, but better. That’s what Kimbra is to me, my every fantasy but more.

My mouth goes dry and pulse races as they come closer. Kimbra is absolutely stunning in her long, flowing white gown, a vision of radiant beauty, better than any model and more spectacular than my imagination. The woman walking my direction is my fantasy and my friend, my past and my future.

With each step, she’s the epitome of a blushing bride. Dang, I love how her cheeks glow. For only a moment, I break eye contact. My chest fills with a deep breath as I take in the scooped neckline of her dress.

Have I mentioned that I love her belly?

When our eyes meet again, Kimbra’s cheeks are even rosier and her smile is knowing.

I lift and drop my shoulders with a smirk.

I have no defense. I’m a man who loves breasts, and my soon-to-be wife has the most perfect ones I’ve ever seen. I’ve heard that they will grow when she’s pregnant. For that reason alone, adding another little one to this family would be worth it.

The music stops as she and Oscar halt before me.

The pastor’s voice fills the church. “Who gives this woman to be wed?”

Oscar looks from Kimbra to me and back. “With great pride, her mother and I.” He lifts his daughter’s hand from his arm and places it in my open palm. “She’s my everything, son. I’m trusting you.”

I nod. “I’ll do my best.”

“If I doubted you, we wouldn’t be here.”

It’s maybe the most I’ve ever heard Oscar say at one time. I know that I won’t let him down.

Kimbra smiles and shrugs. “Sorry,” she mouths.

Tucking her hand close, I shake my head. There’s nothing to be sorry about. Oscar is right. Only now, Kimberly Ann Jones is my everything, too.

I turn to Mike as he hands me one small white lily. It’s the one part of the ceremony we didn’t practice. I couldn’t let this pass without another flower for our bouquet. With a smirk, I add the lily to her already beautiful bouquet. “Our first wedding,” I whisper.

Her eyes glow as her smile grows. “Our only.”

The pastor begins. The rest of the ceremony is everything I expect all the way until the reception. Our dinner is complete and toasts are about to begin when I spy Grandma Helen walking our way. I nudge Kimbra. “Here she comes.”

“Oh, no,” she says as the pink that I love fills her cheeks.

Grandma Helen’s smile grows as she bounces on the balls of her feet, obviously excited and proud of what she’s about to do. “When I heard you’d chosen mint as one of your colors, I was worried. But then…” She reaches into her giant purse. “…I learned that mint really means blue-green. And you know that Amazon has lots of color choices and with Prime…”

My smile grows as Kimbra’s cheeks continue to redden.

“Grandma.”

Grandma Helen hands Kimbra the package. “I wrapped it.”

It doesn’t matter. We both know what’s inside.

She winks and leans close. “Be sure to come and see me before you leave on your honeymoon. I have batteries in this purse somewhere.” She smiles at me. “I bought a whole pack. You can thank me later.”

As she walks happily away, I take the package. Squeezing the surface, I try to decipher the shape and size.

Shana leans close to Kimbra and whispers. “I’d say there’s length and girth.” Before Kimbra can respond, she adds, “Stop thinking about your man for one second. I’m talking about the gift your grandma just gave you.”

Kimbra shakes her head at her best friend and then reaches over and takes our gift. “Under the table with that.”

“For now,” I say with a grin. “But a whole pack of batteries!”

“Stop,” she whispers. “I don’t know why you’re so excited. We already have one of these.”

“Oh, but, Mrs. Willis, it’s always good to have one, plus-one.”

THE END

I hope you’re smiling just as I was when I finished writing Kimbra and Duncan’s story.

Thank you again for indulging in my lighter side!

My dark is not forgotten and I promise that I have plans. Please let me know that if along with the dark, you’d like more of Leatha, the lighter side of Aleatha.

Thank you for reading.

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INFIDELITY SERIES:

BETRAYAL

Book #1

(October 2015)

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CUNNING

Book #2

(January 2016)

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DECEPTION

Book #3

(May 2016)

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ENTRAPMENT

Book #4

(September2016)

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FIDELITY

Book #5

(January 2017)

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RESPECT

A standalone Infidelity Novel

Pre-order from Amazon.

(TBA)

THE CONSEQUENCES SERIES:

CONSEQUENCES

(Book #1)

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TRUTH

(Book #2)

Released October 2012

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CONVICTED

(Book #3)

Released October 2013

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REVEALED

(Book #4)

Previously titled: Behind His Eyes Convicted: The Missing Years

Re-released June 2014

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BEYOND THE CONSEQUENCES

(Book #5)

Released January 2015

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COMPANION READS:

BEHIND HIS EYES—CONSEQUENCES

(Book #1.5)

Released January 2014

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Purchase from Amazon U.K.

BEHIND HIS EYES—TRUTH

(Book #2.5)

Released March 2014

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TALES FROM THE DARK SIDE SERIES:

INSIDIOUS

(All books in this series are stand-alone erotic thrillers)

Released October 2014

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DUPLICITY

(Completely unrelated to book #1)

Release TBA

THE LIGHT SERIES:

Published through Thomas and Mercer

INTO THE LIGHT

(June 14, 2016)

Purchase from Amazon U.S.

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AWAY FROM THE DARK

(October 2016)

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THE LIGHTER SIDE OF ALEATHA:

PLUS ONE

Stand-alone fun, sexy romance

(May 2017)

Aleatha Romig is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Indiana, USA. She grew up in Mishawaka, graduated from Indiana University, and is currently living south of Indianapolis. Aleatha has raised three children with her high school sweetheart and husband of nearly thirty years. Before she became a full-time author, she worked days as a dental hygienist and spent her nights writing. Now, when she’s not imagining mind-blowing twists and turns, she likes to spend her time a with her family and friends. Her other pastimes include reading and creating heroes/anti-heroes who haunt your dreams!

Aleatha released her first novel, CONSEQUENCES, in August of 2011. CONSEQUENCES became a bestselling series with five novels and two companions released from 2011 through 2015. The compelling and epic story of Anthony and Claire Rawlings has graced more than half a million e-readers. Aleatha released the first of her series TALES FROM THE DARK SIDE, INSIDIOUS, in the fall of 2014. These stand alone thrillers continue Aleatha’s twisted style with an increase in heat.

In the fall of 2015, Aleatha moved head first into the world of dark romantic suspense with the release of BETRAYAL, the first of her five novel INFIDELITY series that has taken the reading world by storm. She also began her traditional publishing career with Thomas and Mercer. Her books INTO THE LIGHT and AWAY FROM THE DARK were published through this mystery/thriller publisher in 2016.

2017 brings Aleatha’s first “Leatha, the lighter side of Aleatha” with PLUS ONE, a fun, sexy romantic comedy.

Aleatha is a “Published Author’s Network” member of the Romance Writers of America and PEN America. She is represented by Kevan Lyon of Marsal Lyon Literary Agency.