Found In Us (Lost #2) - Layla Hagen

Found in US Copyright © 2014 Layla Hagen Published by Layla Hagen

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Dresses come in three lengths, as far as I'm concerned: stay-away-from-me length, buy-me-adrink length, and take-me-home-with-you length. Mine is somewhere between the last two, though I don't intend to entice anyone to buy me a drink, much less take me home. Old habit, I suppose. I lean forward to the cabbie and say, "Mayfair, please." He nods, smiling at me and Dani, my roommate, in the rearview mirror. Dani pulls a bit at her own dress, as if desperately trying to make the fabric appear a few good inches longer. Her skirt is definitely take-me-home-with-you length. She looks as uncomfortable in it as she was when she first tried it on, but she insisted on wearing it. That's what college girls wear, she said, with an enthusiasm that only a freshman can muster. The red fabric does look gorgeous on her, though, contrasting beautifully with her dark, very short bob. I stare out the window, nostalgic about my own college days, which ended only two months ago. I moved from California to London right after graduating from Stanford. I have loved this city to pieces since the first time I was here. Two months later, my fascination hasn't lessened one bit. I'm starting to think it never will. I love everything about it: from the never-slowing pulse of the city to the downright moody weather. There is no reason to dislike London. Well, maybe one, but I'd rather not think about it right now. However, Dani's next words force me to do just that. "I hope Parker isn't there already. He doesn't like it when I'm late." I turn to her slowly. "Parker is joining us at the bar tonight?" I ask. "Yes." She blushes furiously. "Sorry, Jess . . . forgot to tell you." "Great," I mumble, leaning back in my seat. Just great. I knew I couldn't avoid meeting Parker forever; he is Dani's cousin, after all. But I was hoping to postpone it a while longer. I met him a few months ago when he was in the U.S., working with Dani's brother, James. I think my reaction when I first saw him is best summed up by the word stunned. I can think of a few more words to describe him, though. Scorching hot. Infuriating idiot. The last part became obvious only after I was around him several times. Between his deep blue eyes and delicious British accent, Parker could have had me in his arms with nothing more than a deep stare and one single sentence. But he chose the wrong sentence. I straighten up when we enter the bar, pushing my long, blonde hair to one side. Though the decor is minimalist, with a dozen or so low tables surrounded by couches, the place has a far more elegant feel than I expected. All the tables are occupied, except the one right next to the bar. Dani says she'll join me there in a second; she needs to go to the bathroom. I stop at the bar and order a cocktail —a mojito—then proceed to the table and slump on the couch, running my fingers on the dark leather

beneath me. I swallow the first sip, close my eyes, and savor the moment. I've done this a lot since I moved here. But patting oneself on the back from time to time should be mandatory, especially when there's no one else around to do it. Achievements should be celebrated. Best with booming music and tequila shots. But a mojito in a quiet, fancy bar will do as well. I suppose this is how responsible people celebrate. Which is exactly what I'm trying to be. I have the job I want in the city I want. It's a good feeling, being independent. I'm still working on the being responsible part. "I want a gin and tonic." I hear a man's voice behind me order the bartender and instantly open my eyes. I know who the voice belongs to. Low and commanding and somehow always strong enough to get everyone around him to do what he wants. And apparently quicken my pulse. When he finally comes into view, I suck in a deep breath. His dark blond hair is slightly longer than the last time I saw him, and it frames his handsome face perfectly. He's wearing a black suit—an Armani, I think—with a white dress shirt underneath it. All man. The kind of man that makes any decent woman fantasize for hours about doing less-than-decent things to him. Myself included. His blue eyes widen in surprise when he sees me, and as he lazily undoes the only button of his jacket, throwing it on the couch opposite me, says, "Finally ran out of excuses to avoid me, Jessica?" I snort. "I wasn't avoiding you, Parker. I was busy. I’ve had lots of things to take care of since I moved here. Important things." My not-so-subtle drift is not lost on him. That he's not among those . . . important things. To my astonishment, all he does is shake his head almost imperceptibly, saying, "So how are you finding London? Is it living up to your dream?" I remember him being more confrontational when directly challenged. But my short, white dress seems to be doing exactly what it's supposed to do. He eyes me from head to toe as he sits down, and every inch of my skin catches fire under his gaze. "I should say so," I say, sipping from my mojito. "The apartment is beautiful. I love my job at the museum. Men around here aren't too bad, either." This catches his attention. In a fraction of a second his eyes snap up from my hips and meet my own eyes. He puts his gin and tonic on the table. "Been hunting already? Be careful who you pick, Jessica; I might not be around like last time to keep your spontaneity from hurting you." Now this is the Parker I know. Presumptuous. Infuriating. "I don't need you to save me, Parker." I do a damn lousy job at keeping my voice even. Though truth be told, I did need saving that one time he's referring to. And saving me cost him a split lip and a black eye. I didn't emerge unscathed that night, though that was the direct result of my idiocy and dismal eye-hand coordination rather than a fight. Parker leans a few inches over the table and says in a low voice, "Who said I have any intention to save you?" His gaze pierces me and I stubbornly hold it, feeling my cheeks getting hotter. He breaks his gaze at last, lowering it slowly, very slowly to my cleavage and then to my hips, as if he's drinking me in. I cross my legs and let out an involuntary sigh when I realize my panties are moist. Parker's breath catches. I look away, not daring to meet his eyes. Luckily, Dani arrives, cutting some of the tension. "Parker, you're here already," she exclaims. Parker gets up and places a gentle kiss on each of

her cheeks. "See," she says to him, smiling proudly, "I told you I'd eventually get Jess to go out with us." The slightest flush crosses Parker's features, but he recovers quickly and says, "I was concerned Jessica was overworking herself." Dani grins. "You're a gentleman, as always." Bless her. She and, as far as I can tell, everyone else who knows him, seems to be utterly convinced that Parker is the ultimate gentleman. I'm convinced he's the ultimate man, all right. It's just the gentle part I'm not convinced of. "I'll get myself a gin and tonic," Dani says after taking a sip from Parker's glass. "I can get you one," he offers. "No, no, it's fine," she says, hurrying to the bar. He frowns as he glances at her, then asks in a tone so full of concern, it startles me, "How is she?" "What do you mean?" I ask. "James is concerned about her. So am I." "Well, he's her older brother, so he has an excuse. But I think you are both overreacting. She's a perfectly normal young girl who wants to have some fun." Actually, there is no way for me to know if that's true. I don't know Dani very well. I met her at the same time I met Parker, but unlike Parker, whom I met very often afterward, I didn't see Dani much. The decision to move in together in London was more of an I-don't-know-anyone-else-in-London case. My best friend in the whole world, Serena, who's dating Dani's brother, encouraged the two of us to do this. But what I do know about Dani is: she was supposed to go to Oxford, but didn’t get good enough grades, and ended up going to a London university instead. As I watch Parker run a hand through his hair, pursing his lips, I can't help thinking there must be a good reason behind his and James's worry; neither of them seem to want to share it with me. Dani comes back with her drink, and just as Parker opens his mouth, the background music suddenly grows louder, and someone—the DJ probably, though I can't see him anywhere—says through the speakers, "Let the fun part of the evening begin, ladies and gentlemen." The slowest blues in the history of the world starts playing. "This is fun?" I ask incredulously, as some couples leave the couches and start dancing in the center of the room to the painfully boring song. "It can be," Parker says, standing up. "Dani, excuse us for a few minutes." "By all means," Dani says, grinning. Parker turns to me. "Come on, let's dance." "I don't dance to this kind of music," I say dismissively. "It bores me to tears." He fixes me with his gaze and I choke on my next breath. "You will dance with me." A slight tremble shakes me as I follow him to the dance floor. "I promise you it will be anything but boring." Parker puts an arm around my waist, and with a jolt pulls me so close to him that our chests touch. No one is dancing this close. As we start dancing, he interlaces his left hand with mine, as if nothing would be more natural. I swallow hard, burning at the points where our bare skin touches. I rest my left hand on his chest, taking in his solid frame. I had guessed he was well built. It's not hard to guess really. The contour of his toned arms and chest is discernible even through the long-sleeved shirts he usually wears. Touching him like this, though . . . I bite my lip. Behind his shoulder, I see Dani beaming at us. This reminds me of her comment and how it put Parker on the spot. "So you were worried I was overworking myself? Thinking about me, were you?" I ask playfully, hoping if I keep him talking, he won't feel the hammering of my heart against his chest. "Don't flatter yourself, Jessica," he whispers in my ear, sending burning tingles down my spine.

I draw a deep breath, but that only manages to liquefy me further. He's not wearing any cologne. The smell of him emanates from every pore; his scent is intoxicating. "So you weren't thinking about me?" I manage to ask. He pulls back a notch, biting his lip. I have the sudden urge to run my fingers through his thick hair, pull him to me, and taste those darned lips. Bite them, kiss them. I only realize he's been watching me fantasize about his lips when he says in a low, husky voice, "I've been thinking about you, I admit it. And I—” I shriek, jumping away from Parker as someone collides with us and spills a drink with ice cubes right on my chest. "I am so sorry," a woman in her mid-thirties, holding an almost empty glass says, eyeing my dress in horror. One glance at my white dress and I realize why. Her drink had some kind of red fruit blended in it, which pretty much means I can kiss this dress goodbye. "Okay, I need to clean this mess," I say in what I hope is a measured tone. As I swirl on my heels in the direction of the door, I catch Parker trying to stifle a laugh. The bathroom is one hell of a twisted corridor away from the bar. If it weren't for the fluorescent signs marking the way to it, I doubt I'd find it at all. I curse all the way, but as I waste tissue after tissue in front of one of the sleek sinks, I think maybe a cold shower is exactly what I need. Things with Parker were getting . . . I don't know what, but they were getting. . .something. I shake my head. No, I thought that once before, and then, despite sizzling chemistry floating in the air, Parker made it painfully clear there was nothing between us. On a night very different from this one, Parker did the one thing that's more insulting to a woman—or at least to me—than having a one-night stand with her. He refused to have a one-night stand with me. Plain and simple, he rejected me. That was a serious blow to my ego. Why he did it, I never found out. Not that it matters. All that matters is that I continue to do exactly what I've been doing until now: stay away from him, and men in general. I need to focus on my new life here. My job. Somehow, guys have always messed up things for me. Because I allowed them to mess things up, I remind myself. Starting with my dad, down to every single asshole I've dated. Not anymore. I take a deep breath, smiling in the mirror. I spend the next minutes fiddling with some tissues, trying to clean off the stain, then give up, pushing my chest forward instead. I can't hide the damn stain. I can use it to my advantage. And some advantage it gives me. A neon sign couldn't attract more attention to my cleavage, and I don't need this kind of attention right now. I decide to use the dress as an excuse to leave early. To my dismay, Parker is leaning against the wall farther down the corridor, one or two turns away from the entrance to the bar. His eyes rest on the stain on my dress for a few seconds and my cheeks flare up instantly. I'm sure he can see the redness in them even in the dim light. "I have to go," I say. "My dress is soaked." "I'll drive you home," he says, walking toward me. "No, you just got here. I'm sure you and Dani have lots to talk about." I actually take a step back, only to hit the wall behind me. "I'd just drop you off and return. Are you afraid of being alone with me, Jessica?" "No . . . it's just not necessary. I can take a cab." "What are you afraid of?" he insists, stepping right in front of me. "That I'll try to seduce you and take you to bed? Do I really strike you like that kind of guy?" Every inch of my body commands me to say yes. In my experience, men who don't look even half as godlike as he does are after one thing only. But his humiliating rejection all those months ago proves he isn't one of them. And nothing I've seen or heard about him indicated he’s a womanizer. But being so close to him makes it impossible to think rationally.

I push him away, but with one swing he grabs both my hands and pins them against the wall above me. His lips are inches away from mine, the fingers of his free hand tracing the contour of my lips, leaving a trail of fire behind them. He's so close to me that I can feel every single hot breath against my lips. He locks eyes with me, and it's the sight of his blue eyes boring into mine—more than his proximity and his touch—that sets me on fire, causing an almost unbearable pressure between my thighs. He trails his fingers from my lips down to my chin and then slowly over my neck. I bite my lip when he presses gently with his thumb on the hollow of my neck, then proceeds with his torture farther down. His fingers peruse the hem of my neckline, at the exact point where the soaked fabric of the dress meets my skin, then slip under the fabric. Just a fraction of an inch. Not enough to actually touch my breast. But more than enough to send me over the edge. "Damn you, Parker, kiss me," I whisper. He doesn't answer, the corner of his lips lifting in a delicious smile as he removes his hand from my neckline, letting it fall by his side. His eyes never leave mine. I wait, sucking in my breath, for him to lean forward and kiss me. After what feels like hours, he finally leans forward and kisses me. On my goddamn forehead.

"H ere is the confirmation from the art gallery," Fiona says, dropping a file on my desk. "Thanks," I reply. "You look distracted today. Are you all right?" Fiona scrutinizes me, the fine lines around her green eyes deepening. I straighten up in my chair. "Just didn't sleep well, that's all. I'll call the gallery to finalize the details right away." "Slow down, Jess. You work very hard. Too hard, I would say. It can take a toll on your sleep. You should take up yoga or something. Make sure you don't burn out." This makes me smile. It's true I've been working hard since I started, on that hot July day two months ago, but that's not the reason for my poor sleep last night. Parker is the reason I tossed and turned in my bed for hours, waking up aroused and frustrated this morning. I try to push Parker out of my mind, something I've tried ever since I walked out of the bar after that . . . kiss, if I can even call it that. I can't make up my mind if it was humiliating or sweet. It was confusing. And while it was impossible for me not to think about the incident last night, the mountain of work I have to do before the day ends is a very good distraction. "I know I said you work too hard, but do you think you could lend me a hand with some catalogs later?" Fiona asks apologetically, fiddling with the sleeves of her gray, knee-length, cotton dress. "Sure, just let me finish with the gallery and I'll come by your office." "Great." Fiona is technically not my boss, but since my actual boss, Mr. Norton, has been away at our partner museum in Paris since I started working, she's been taking up his role. "By the way, Mr. Norton is returning tomorrow." "Tomorrow is Friday. I thought he wasn't returning until Tuesday." She shrugs. "He didn't offer any explanation." The implication in her voice is clear. She doesn't give a damn why he did it. "I hope I didn't make you nervous by telling you about it. I figured it'd be better than arriving tomorrow and just seeing him here." "I'm not nervous," I assure her. "Thanks for telling me." She smiles and leaves my tiny office, her burgundy hair falling in waves down her back. I need a small break, so I grab my cigarettes from my bag and go outside to smoke. I wonder why Fiona thought I would be nervous about Mr. Norton’s return. I guess most people would be. But my boss was the one who hired me, and we clicked unbelievably well during the interview. He was polite and professional throughout it and did his best to put me at ease. Midway through it, I was convinced he wouldn't give me the job, because it was obvious they were looking for someone who had a bit more experience. I very nearly hugged him when he offered me the job and told me he had full confidence that I wouldn't disappoint him. He even allowed me to use one of the office phones to call my best

friend to tell her my good news. Serena was cheering with me on the phone. I don't know what made me do it, but I called my parents afterward. I remember the shock in their voices. Mom was almost good at hiding it. Dad didn't even try. "They offered you a job?" he asked. "Yes, Dad. A job." "As what?" "Assistant for museum operations. You know, that is what I studied." He grunted. For him, history and art were nothing more than poor excuses to call myself a student. "How much are they paying you?" he barked. "That's nothing," he protested after I told him. "No," I said with a trembling voice, "that is a starting salary." "Well, it would've been much higher if you had studied economics like Serena, wouldn't it? She works in investment banking. How much is her starting salary?" I hung up. There's not much I can do better than Serena. I never could. She moved in with my parents and me in San Francisco when I started high school. I liked her from the beginning and was determined she would be the sister I never had. Which is exactly what she became. I adored everything about her, from her guarded nature to her British accent. I had had a fascination for that accent forever. My mom had grown up in England where she and Serena's mom had been best friends, then moved overseas after high school. When I was little, I used to ask my mom to explain things in her British accent; other than a few odd phrases, nothing much stuck. I was too old to ask Serena to do the same thing without looking ridiculous, but I was content listening to her. My parents adored her as much as I did, and Dad never missed an opportunity to tell me I should be more like her. She was smarter, more focused, more organized, harder working . . . simply more than me. I was the party girl. The irresponsible one. I shake my head, trying to focus on my next task: talking to the gallery. There is no point remembering any of that now; I managed to get a job with no one's help, and I should be proud of that. Hell, I am proud. No one had to put in a good word for me. It's not one of the big museums in London; on the contrary, it's a small museum specializing in art from the nineteenth century. But still . . . I'm so proud every time I read my name on my office door: Jessica Haydn. My mom could not believe it. Not that I blame her—for as long as I can remember she and Serena fixed most things for me—found me jobs, cleaned up my messes. The only jobs I seemed to be able to get on my own were the ones where the only thing that mattered were good looks—the occasional promoter or hostess job. Well, I didn't get this one because of my looks.

"T he appointment with the ambassador is in one hour, Mr. Blakesley," my secretary's voice resounds through the speaker. "I know, Olive. Have a car prepared for me in fifteen minutes." Leaning back in my chair, I glance at the report in front of me for two seconds before closing it. This is useless. Useless. My brother left this company in shambles, and nothing I do will get it out of the deep shit it's in. Interim CEO. What the hell was I thinking, taking this position? I have a million other things I could be doing. I had to find someone to care for and manage my regular business activities, since this barely leaves me any time to do anything else. I loathe this company, and it's common knowledge that every single person in it loathes me. No wonder, a voice nags at the back of my mind. Whose fault is it that your brother ruined it? Mine. Which is how I ended up sitting on this bloody chair in the first place. I rise from it, stretching my legs on the way to the large window overlooking the business district. I fix the loose cufflink on my left sleeve until it looks perfect on my shirt. I've been wearing dress shirts for so long they're like a second skin now. Something that has everyone convinced I'm the perfect gentleman. Apart from Jessica. She saw right through me from the beginning. I don't know what tipped her off, but she's more right than she suspects. I'm not a gentleman. I'm just very good at pretending I am. Except when I'm around her. I realized the very first time I saw her that I wouldn't be able to keep my shit together if I was around her for long. One indicator that self-control around her would be a damn chore was my body's reaction to hers. Her clothing was hugging her curves in all the right places, highlighting her luscious hips and full breasts. I wanted to rip off every single piece of clothing right then and there, in the middle of the damn club. But the other indicator was even more worrying. The moment she started talking to me, I was glued to her words, transfixed. I don't even remember half the things she was saying, just the way she made me feel. Life poured off her, radiating a warmth and energy I had never seen in anyone before. I couldn't get enough of her—I spent the entire night watching her, which was a self-flagellating move given she was dancing with some bloke she'd picked up there. Something about her mystified me, and I was dazed and bothered by it at the same time. That contradictory feeling followed me for a long time—it still does. I had trained myself not to feel anything toward women. Any intimacy I had with them was purely physical—and defined by my rules. I had learned the hard way that the only way to keep people from hurting, deserting, or betraying me was by making them play by my rules. It was a lesson my mother taught me when she chucked me out of our home. No, not our home, our house—that viper nest had never been my home. I got pretty good at getting people to play by my rules. I applied that same rule to women. I had a system that worked well and I had no intention of changing it. But by God, just being in the same room with Jessica made me want to chuck the whole system.

Not a good sign. From the little I learned about her from Serena and James, I knew she was exactly the type of woman I should avoid. Impulsive, chaotic, and above all, uncontrollable—a threat to everything I had built. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to look away from her, so I watched her from a distance for most of the evening. Until that guy put his hands where he wasn’t supposed to, and Jessica was desperately trying to get away from him. “Take your hands off her,” I said once I reached them. When the bloke didn’t budge, I put my hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed him away. He looked disoriented, and by the stench coming off him, it was clear he had enough alcohol in his system not to discern between a woman saying yes or no. His eyes narrowed when he met mine, and then widened in recognition, probably remembering that Jessica had talked to me earlier in the night. “This is none of your business,” he slurred. “I believe she made it clear she doesn’t want you to touch her.” “That still doesn’t make it your business.” “I’m making it my business,” I said, loud enough that not even the deafening music could cover my words. I stepped between them, and Jessica mouthed thank you as I pulled her away from him. I was still looking at her when I felt his fist collide with the left side of my face. Jessica shrieked, stepping back, tugging at my sleeve. “You coward,” I hissed. “You’re lucky you sucker-punched me.” “You think I can’t take you in a fair fight?” “I know you can’t.” And he didn’t. I proved that with less than two strikes. Before long, the whole club was in chaos, and Jessica came out of the whole thing with a broken leg. And a six-thousand-dollar fine. Jessica was a bundle of chaos I had to avoid at all cost. Except, I didn't. I kept seeking her. I had a good excuse too. What with her accident, she was confined to the hospital and then her apartment for the better part of every day, and incapacitated to do certain things. My excuse for dropping by several times a week was to help her out. The truth was, I couldn't get enough of her. We rarely discussed anything very profound, and that was fine by me. I wanted to keep things light at all cost. I had a feeling she wanted the same. I kept hoping my obsession with her would eventually fade if I saw her often enough. No such luck. Worse, the more I saw her, the harder it became to hide my desire. The sexual tension between us grew stronger and stronger, and I knew I should pull away and get out before it was too late, but I didn't. Until she wanted to act on it. Then I bolted. Fast, without looking back. I never sought her afterward. When I found out she had gotten the job she wanted in London and was moving here, I didn't know how to take it—as a blessing or a curse. She apparently took it as a curse, because she avoided me every chance she got. On the few occasions we did meet, we did nothing more than snap at each other. She usually provoked me, and I retaliated with a vengeance. It was either that, or I'd have pinned her against the wall and taken her. Like I almost did last night. I shouldn't have sought her out. I should've kept the distance—stick to my system and to women who play by my rules. But I know damn well why I didn't. I've been thinking of her so much that she's become an obsession. But acting on that obsession will open the door to a chaos that will strip all control from me and leave me vulnerable.

W hen I enter the apartment, Dani is standing in front of the mirror, dressed in a floor-length white dress that looks like it belongs on the red carpet. "Oh, Jess, you're finally home. You spend way too much time at work. I tried to call you all day." "My cell phone died, sorry." I make my way to the couch, thinking of sprawling on it for a few minutes, debating if I should cook tortillas or just make a simple salad. "Why were you trying to call me? Where are you going?" "Don't sit," Dani warns. "You don't have time. Go to my room and choose a dress from those on the bed, then get dressed quickly. We're going to the opera." "Oh." That explains the dress. I've never been to the opera, though I’ve always wanted to go. Tickets are expensive. Which reminds me . . . "But we don't have any tickets." She winks, amused. "Yes we do. We have a balcony box." "Who's we?" I ask quickly, with the nagging suspicion I already know the answer. "You, me, and Parker. And before you start protesting that you can't accept the invitation because the tickets are expensive, just know that Parker has rented the box for the year, so no one's paying anything extra for you." I wrack my brain to come up with a good excuse not to go. But I had told Dani a couple of times that I hoped to get to the opera soon, and she already knows I don't have any plans for tonight. "Go choose a dress," she urges. "We're already late." I hurry to her room, accidentally hitting the edge of a table with my hip and swearing loudly. Our apartment is located in one of London's least dodgy areas, to quote Parker. In my words: expensive. When Dani and I decided to move in together, it was understood that we were going to split the cost evenly. But a little research revealed that the apartments I could afford were either minuscule, in dodgy areas, or both. James made it clear that in no way was his sister going to live in something like that. That's how we ended up here, with Dani—and her very generous trust fund—covering most of the rent. When I'm not too busy feeling like I'm taking advantage of her, I can't help but lavish in the beauty of this place. Built just a few years ago, it still has that new smell. The decor is a weird mix of old and new: the carpets and lighting are on the traditional side, while the furniture is minimalist, with a lot of glass involved. Not exactly sure how we came to this combination, but I like it. Our bedrooms are pretty small, with just enough space for a bed and a closet. But the large living room and kitchen area more than make up for it. The couch especially . . . I love it. It's the largest couch I've ever seen. Dani and I are convinced that at least six people can sleep comfortably on the U-shaped giant. There are four dresses on Dani's bed. All are floor-length and exquisite, and, I realize, not really fit for me to wear. Dani and I are the same height, but she's much more slender. Her hips are narrower and her chest is a cup size smaller. But there's no way I can find anything remotely appropriate among

my clothes. I went on a shopping spree for clothing with Serena before I left the U.S.; I only bought office clothing, nothing I could wear to the opera, especially if I'll be in a balcony box. Serena's face when I told her I needed help shopping was priceless. It’s not a secret that I found her clothing . . . a tad conservative, but even I knew what my strengths were: party clothing. When it came to office clothing, I didn't know jack shit. And I was determined not to show up at work looking like a stripper. Or under-dressed, like I had at the interviews. I choose a black dress that looks to be the least tight of the lot and put it on, still hoping my brain will come up with an acceptable excuse to stay home. I don't want to face Parker so soon after last night. I still haven't figured out what the hell that kiss meant. Especially after touching me the way he did. I curse under my breath. I shouldn't obsess over him like his. I'm firmly convinced I'm better off on my own for a while. But I don't like mind games. Or kissing games. Especially when they leave me aroused as hell. I go into my room to find a necklace to wear, and it takes about two seconds of staring at my jewelry collection to realize I don’t have anything suitable. Oh well, I can do without jewelry. As I leave my room, I notice the ghetto-gold necklace I was wearing that night in the club when I first met Parker, and remember the next days I spent in the hospital. Serena and my mother were around a lot, with James gravitating around Serena as well. But Parker showed up too, since he is James’s cousin. The first time was the day after I was admitted. I was lying in the bed, my thoughts flicking from the cast on my broken leg to whether the scratch under the bandages on my cheek would leave any marks. There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” I said. The door opened and Parker stepped in, looking every bit as disheveled as I felt. Guilt flooded me when I noticed his swollen eye and split lip, but I tried to smile. “Well, well . . . if it’s not my knight in shining armor.” “I guess I left the armor at home last night in the club,” Parker said, pointing at his lip. He sat at the edge of my bed. His British accent had the same dazzling effect on me it had in the club. “I am so sorry you got hurt,” I said. “Don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?” His gaze rested on my cheek, and the obvious concern in his blue eyes tugged at my heartstrings. “I’ve been better. It’s like everything hurts. The doctors tell me I’ll have the cast on my leg for a few weeks, and I’ll have to stay at home for at least a few days. I don’t know how I’ll survive. I’m already bored out of my mind.” That made him grin. “Of course you are.” “Do you have your car here?” “Yes,” Parker answered, alarm springing in his eyes. “Do you think you could sneak me out and take me for a short ride?” “My God, you are serious,” Parker said. “Yes I am. If you say yes, you’ll definitely be my knight, even without any armor.” “I’ll have to find something else to deserve that title. There’s no way I’ll sneak you out. You don’t feel well. Besides,” he leaned in, “didn’t they tell you never to get in a car with a stranger? You barely know me.” “If I took advice of that kind, I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. We can get to know each other later. Let’s go.” “No chance.” He chuckled. “You look terrible.” I suddenly became self-conscious, and turned my bandaged cheek away from him. Parker stopped laughing. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Leaning in, he added, “You are very beautiful, you know that?” We danced on that fine line between joking and flirting for the next few weeks. I saw him almost

every day and—as he put it—we got to know each other. I liked being around him, talking to him. He patiently listened to me talking about my doubts about the upcoming interview at the museum where I am now working. I never shared those insecurities with anyone, not even Serena. But with him I didn’t feel the need to put up the shield of self-confidence I presented to the world. Though I generally had no troubles with interviews, I was worried about the one in London, since it was the job I wanted most. Parker listened to me and encouraged me. I’d dare say it felt like we were friends. Friends who desperately wanted each other. After the rising sexual tension between us culminated in an it’s-notyou-it’s-me type of rejection, I didn’t see him any more in California. But I didn’t manage to avoid him when I moved to London, since he helped Dani and me move in and settle. Perhaps it’s time I stopped trying to avoid him, and started trying to understand him. It wasn’t for a lack of wanting me that he rejected me in California, something I knew deep down even back then, it’s just that my ego didn’t let me see it. But yesterday was proof enough of his desire. Restrained desire. So if it’s not a lack of desire that is keeping him back, what is it? Dani grins when I step back into the living room. "You look gorgeous." "I look like I belong in a porn movie," I correct her. "A classy one." She chuckles. "Let me get something that will cover your cleavage. You can take it off once we are in the box, but I'm not sure you should flaunt it on the way there, or during the breaks." She disappears into her room and returns with a red cape that covers my shoulders and my cleavage. I stare in the mirror, feeling more than a bit uncomfortable in the dress. The fabric feels too expensive, the dress too elegant. Slutty elegant. Next to me, Dani couldn't feel more at ease. Of course she is. She's used to this. "I can't wait to see Parker's face when he sees you," Dani says, her grin even wider. I narrow my eyes. "I saw the way he looks at you," she says knowingly. So her comment to Parker last night was on purpose. Looks like innocent Dani isn't as innocent as I thought. Good to know. The cab drive to the opera is punctuated by a ton of questions from the driver, who seems thrilled to have two Americans as passengers, and has a special interest in California. I do most of the talking, enjoying hearing his British accent more than the conversation itself. I wonder when I’ll get over the whole accent thing. Dani isn’t half as taken with it as I am, but that’s probably because her mother is British. When I step outside the cab, I’m momentarily stunned as I gaze at the Royal Opera House. The Roman Renaissance building is a dream for a former art student like myself. I stare in awe at the columns above the entrance while following Dani, who walks in front of me with determined strides. Judging by the few people in the lobby, I'm guessing Dani wasn't joking. We really are late. "Finally," Parker calls, waiting for us a few feet from the entrance. I make a point not to meet his eyes as Dani and I give our coats to the woman in charge of the cloakroom. I steal glances at him, though. The suit he's wearing is more elegant than usual, a tux with a bow tie. He couldn't look hotter if he tried. Unless he was naked. Heat spreads through me as he catches my eye and the corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. "White really suits you, Dani," Parker says. "Thanks, it's my favorite color. I should have chosen a different color though," she says, running her palms on the sleeves of her dress. "If I had a white mask, I think I could channel the Phantom of the Opera." Parker laughs, offering Dani his arm, but Dani shakes her head, saying, "You two go, I'll just grab the program and follow you." He doesn't offer me his arm as we start walking, instead gestures to walk beside him. He stares at me, and I pull the cape tighter around my shoulders and low-cut neck. But even without any cleavage

showing, the dress looks painfully obscene on me. Parker raises an eyebrow when his gaze lands on my hips, and I instantly feel defensive. "I decided to channel the slut of the opera," I hiss, "and I think I'm doing a darn good job." “I didn’t say anything,” Parker says with a smirk, holding up his hands in mock defense. Secretly, I don't think I'm doing a good job at all. I'm for a low-cut neck and tight dress any day, but somehow a lavish cleavage don't seem to belong together with expensive carpets and centuriesold walls, though I'm not about to own up to that. Especially not to this bastard. It might be easier to remain infuriated with him if I didn't actually think he was right. And if he wouldn't be looking so damn hot. I clutch my bag in my hands and increase my pace, leaving Parker behind, though I have no idea where the boxes are. The couple in front of me mentions they are going toward the boxes as well, so at least I know I'm going in the right direction. Behind me, I hear hurried footsteps, and then Dani asking Parker something in a low whisper. When we reach the level where the boxes are situated, Parker calls, "You can stop your lousy sprinting attempt, Jessica. Our box is right here." I stop abruptly, then wait for him and Dani to catch up with me. Parker opens the door to one of the boxes, then gestures for us to get in. Dani steps inside first, and when I attempt to follow her, Parker catches my arm. "You look beautiful," he says in a low, hoarse voice that makes my toes curl and heat pool in the lower part of my body. I swallow hard, praying to all the saints and angels for my cheeks not to turn the color of ripe papaya. They do of course. There's no way for Parker to miss it. Just as he can't possibly miss the goose bumps that have formed on my arm. "Do you have a freaking multiple personality disorder, Parker?" I whisper, not managing to sound nearly as offended as I planned. “You weren’t so impressed with my outfit a few minutes ago.” "Not at all. I merely don't like the idea of others . . . enjoying the view," he says, placing a finger on my chest, exactly at the point where the fabric of my dress meets my breasts, just like last night, as if he could guess where that damn point is even under the cape. Then he runs his finger down my hip and my thigh. I bite my lip to stop from moaning. Parker drops his hand as if I suddenly burned him, and I step inside, cursing for not having had the balls to tell Dani I wasn’t coming here tonight. I find Dani seated in one of the four velvet-covered chairs, arranged in two rows. She's in the front row, and I slump into one of the seats in the second row, hoping Parker will take the cue and sit in front with Dani, and not next to me. "I'll be back in a minute," Parker calls to Dani and me. "Coming here was a bad idea," I tell Dani, crossing my legs. She turns around startled. "Why? I thought you said you wanted to go to the opera. It wasn't my idea, anyway." "Whose idea was it then?" "Parker's. He called this morning to ask if there's anything you really wanted to do in London and hadn't gotten to, and I remembered you mentioning the opera. Just don't tell Parker I told you he asked. I wasn't supposed to." I raise an eyebrow. "Then why did you?" Dani smiles, shifting in her seat to face the front again as the curtain opens, then adds over her shoulder, "Because I thought you should know." I stare at the back of her head, my heart suddenly thumping so hard I swear I can feel it reverberate through my chest. A hundred different thoughts assault my brain, while I try to make sense of what Dani said. Coupled with last night's epic failure of a kiss and Parker's words before I entered the box . . . nothing makes sense. So why am I breathing like I've been running on the treadmill for an hour or had wild sex? No, no, no . . . no thoughts about that. I remind myself that I don't want anything to do with any

guy right now, which is ridiculous, because I don't know if Parker really does want something from me. Damn him. As far as I’m concerned, all men are as easy to read as an open book. All except Parker, it seems. I sit up straighter as the show begins, and almost manage to relax a bit as the first notes start reverberating in the magnificent hall. Then Parker enters the box and seats himself next to me. For the next fifty minutes I force myself to stare at the stage without taking in anything that happens on it. I'm not even aware of any sounds. The only thing I'm painfully aware of is that every inch of my skin is burning with an intensity it never has before. Because Parker isn't looking at the stage at all. He's looking at me. When the first act ends and the break begins Dani gets up. I don't dare move. "I'm starving," Dani says, starting toward the door. "Anyone wants to check out the buffet?" "I'm not hungry, I'll wait here," I lie, thinking that the fifteen-minute break will give me some much needed time to think without Dani or Parker around. After a long pause Parker says, "I'm not really hungry, either." "Fine, see you at the end of the break," Dani says, exiting the box. In the stone silence that follows between Parker and me, the only sound is that of my stomach— empty for at least eight hours—growling. "I get the sense that someone is hungry after all," he says in an amused tone. I take a deep breath, then turn to face him. Big mistake. His eyes . . . something's different about them. They seem a few shades darker. No, they are a few shades darker. The intensity of his stare completely unsettles me. And when I lower my gaze to his full lips, I find them wet, as if he just licked them. "I thought you would go with Dani and I wanted to be alone and—” "Run away?" He shifts in his seat, not taking his eyes off me. "Maybe," I admit. He leans in, and I instinctively lean back, wanting to avoid getting that close again. I had firsthand proof how his scent can affect me. "Why would you do such a thing?" "You know why. Don't you?" I ask, suddenly overwhelmed by dread. Maybe I've read the whole thing completely wrong. "I do," he replies, and a knot loosens in my stomach. He drops his gaze, and when he speaks next, his voice has dropped a few tones. "I can't make up my mind." "About what?" "About what I want to do with you." I gulp. "Don't I get a say in this?" He snaps his head up, chuckling. "Not really." "That's not frustrating at all, you know? What are you thinking right now?" He tugs his lower lip with his teeth. "You really want to know?" "Yeah, I really want to know." He shifts his weight on the edge of the seat, and when he leans forward this time, I don't back off. "I'm thinking I would very much like to see you come," he says into my ear. My mind doesn't register the full impact of his words right away. But my body does. "Anything against that, Jessica?" he whispers, his hand trailing up and down my inner thigh. "N-no," I say in a low voice. So low that I hope he hasn't heard me. But he has. There's no other explanation as to why his hand has already found its way under my dress. "Turn around and spread your legs," he commands.

"Parker," I mumble, "not here . . ." "No one can see us, and Dani won't come back soon. Turn around." Despite knowing I shouldn't, I turn around. My body no longer seems to listen to any commands of mine. I lean my back against his chest, my head resting on his shoulder, my forehead touching the base of his neck. I look into the room, trying to gauge what those in the boxes opposite us can see. But I can barely see anything in the back row of the boxes directly in front of us. There's no reason to believe anyone could see us from there. Anyone looking from above won't have a clear view of the back row either. "Spread your legs," he repeats, his tone more authoritative than before. It sends another wave of heat through me. Burying myself in his neck, I open up for him. He doesn't touch me right away. He takes his time, trailing his fingers on the inside of my thigh, inciting a deep hunger in my core that grows with each inch of my skin he touches until I drop any pretense of shame and beg him, "Parker . . ." When his fingers touch my intimate spot over my panties, I stiffen against him. "You're soaked," he says, and I take immense pleasure in the slight tremble in his voice. Then his fingers start rubbing me slowly, and I dig my own fingers in the cushion of the chair as a spasm wracks through me. This man will make me come. Here, surrounded by people and plush velvet-covered seats. When he stops, I let out a shaky breath and quiver in anticipation because I know what will follow. He will slide his hand under my panties, touching me—really touching me. I bite my lip, hoping I will be able to stifle any sound. I close my eyes as I feel him free the light cotton from my skin, his fingers stroking me right where I need them to. "God, your cunt is so wet," he growls. In that precise moment, I lose it. I sigh. Loudly. "You like it don't you?" he asks, sliding one finger inside me. "For me to talk dirty." "Yes," I breathe, ashamed and bewildered at the same time. I had no idea I liked this kind of play. "Good." He starts moving his finger inside me with slow, rhythmic moves that drive me crazy, anticipating the moment when I will erupt, and the tension will transform in the explosion I know will follow. "Do you want me to slide another finger inside you?" I fiddle against his neck, so that when I speak, he can feel every word and breath against his skin. "Yes, I want you to. I need you to." He groans, the reverberations in his throat more of a turn on than anything else—fingers and words included. I fiddle with my hands behind my back until I finally find his belt, but when I try to undo it, he jerks away. "No," he says. "This is for you." "What do you mean?" "It means I will slide another finger inside you. And I want you to enjoy it. Anything against that?" "No," I breathe. "By all means, proceed." He laughs softly in my ear, then slides another finger in. For a few seconds, he stops any movement, letting me accommodate, and then gently pulls his fingers out. When he thrusts them back inside, he does it hard. Again and again, he thrusts them inside me, his palm pressing on my clit, sending violent shivers through me. I dig my fingers in my thighs, fighting to express my pleasure in nothing more than heavy breaths. No one might be able to see us, but I don't want to risk being heard.

Parker places kisses on my shoulder and the part of my neck exposed to him. Soft and gentle kisses, contrasting beautifully with the brutal moves inside me. "Oh God, Parker," I say, looking for something, anything that I can bite to keep the entire hall from hearing my cry of relief. As I twist in my search, I meet Parker's lips. Or maybe he meets mine, I don't know . . . but my shattering orgasm finds me entangled with him in a fierce kiss that I don't want to end. Afterward, he keeps me against him in a tight half-embrace. "Do you have tissues?" he murmurs. "Yes," I say, snapping out of my reverie. I reach for my bag under the seat in front of me. I give Parker a tissue and rearrange my dress while he cleans his fingers. After a few minutes, I find the courage to look at him and am startled when I realize he's been watching me. "You are beautiful," he says. "I—I don't know what to say." "You don't have to say anything." I look at him silently, then pull him closer to me, trying to show him, again, that I want to please him. An electric current jolts through me when I touch him there. He's hard already. "I want you to have a good time too, Parker." But he takes my hand away, interlacing his fingers with mine. "I told you this night was for you." "I don't understand you, Parker," I say. He smiles, but it startles me to recognize sadness in his eyes. "Trust me, you don't want to." At a loss for what to say, I just stay there, staring into his deep blue eyes. When the break is about to end, I attempt to free my fingers from his. "We can stay like this while we watch," he says in a soft voice, so different from his usual commanding tone. "Only if you want," he adds quickly. "Do you want me to stay like this, Parker?" "Yes," he says. "I would like that very much." When Dani enters the box, both Parker and I turn to face the stage, our fingers clinging to each other between our chairs, unseen to her. We watch the rest of the showing like this. But just like I didn't pay attention to the first act, I don't pay attention to this one either, too torn between enjoying the most tender moment in my life and letting it confuse the hell out of me.

Dani and I don't talk at all in the cab on our way back home, but when we enter our apartment, I decide to drop all pretense of not having an interest in Parker. I wait until both of us have changed, and when I go to her room to return the dress and the cape, I say, "Dani, I want you to tell me everything you know about Parker." Dani, who's already sitting on her bed, dressed in a nightgown, grins. I lean on the doorway with my arms crossed over my chest. "Hmm, let's see," she says, faking to be thinking hard. "He grew up in England and went to the same boarding school as James." She frowns. "Actually, I think they went to the same boarding school only in high school. Not sure before. Anyway, he was sent to boarding school when he was eight." "Wow," I say. "That's a young age to be sent away from home." Dani flips her hand. "Nah, it's pretty common in our family. James was only sent there when he was eleven because mom couldn't be convinced to do it earlier. She didn't let me go at all," she adds gloomily, as if she deeply regrets it. "So, afterward, he went to Oxford. At some point he got involved with my brother in business. You already know he spent a few months in the U.S. this year, working with my brother. That's actually when I got to know him more, but I can't say I really know him. He doesn't talk about himself, you know? But man, he acts like he knows me so well. Who knows what James told him," she mumbles, clearly annoyed. "He seems to have taken over babysitting me." I smile, distinctly remembering James telling me over the phone that Parker was kind enough to agree to look after Dani closely. Now that my ego got over Parker rejecting me—or maybe because I finally had the release I've been craving for months—I can think more clearly about those weeks in the aftermath of my accident. How he came by to make sure I had everything I needed, how he made me laugh. He made me angry too—constantly reminding me that I should be more responsible. But that only made me angry because I knew he was right. I might not know much about Parker, but I do know this: he's kind and caring. And smoking hot. And skilled with his fingers. Which makes me wonder what else he might be skilled with. "Not much of a help, am I?" Dani asks. "Not really," I admit. "You can always Google him." "What? I could never do that." Dani raises an eyebrow. "Why not?" "It would just feel . . . wrong." Judging by Dani's look of complete bewilderment, it feels anything but wrong to her. "What could I possibly find about him anyway?" I ask. Dani snorts. "Tons, I bet." "Why?"

"He comes from one of the richest families in England. The press here is obsessed with them." "How come? I bet there are plenty other rich families." Dani hesitates, and slides under her covers before answering. "Well, last year his brother had some major problems with his business. And Parker's dad died when Parker was seven, in a hunting accident." "Oh, that is very unfortunate,” I barely manage to say, shaken. “I think I've heard enough." "I bet you did," Dani murmurs, a bit paler than a few seconds ago. "Do you want me to turn off your light?" I ask, my voice coming out disturbingly high-pitched. "Sure, thanks," Dani says, eyeing me closely. "Good night." I turn off her light and then walk to my room, suddenly feeling dizzy. My laptop is next to my bed, and I stare at it for a few minutes from the doorway, torn between wanting to know more about Parker, and afraid of what I might find. How come I never bothered to find out anything about him before? Because I was always too busy being pissed at him, that's why. I grab my laptop and sit on my bed cross-legged, trying to ignore my rumbling stomach. It takes some time for my ancient laptop to start. I look for an ashtray in the meantime and light up a cigarette. I almost decide to give up on the whole thing, because it still feels wrong. Just typing his name in Google feels like I'm breaking some unseen barrier. But it doesn't look as if I'll get anything out of Parker very soon. As Google lists the first results, I realize I don't even know what I'm looking for. Not anything about his family history, really. As far as I'm concerned, memories about family bullshit belong buried somewhere deep, deep inside one's brain, where no one ever has access. Hell, I wish I didn't have access to all my screwed up memories. I can only imagine how Parker feels about his. No, I'm not looking for anything about his family. I'm looking for something that tells me Parker is the passionate yet tender man I came to know tonight, and not the jerk I thought he was. But Google, my faithful companion when it came to assignments—and pretty much anything else—during my college years, disappoints. I get page after page of info on Parker's brother, Robert. I skip most of them, but can't help noticing the headlines seem to be more than six months old, nothing very recent. What I find is mostly gossip about Robert hooking up with one socialite or other. What little I find about Parker concerns business, mostly. He's not only involved in James's businesses, but also several others here in England. I don't really understand what his involvement is, but I make a mental note to ask him the next time I see him. I stop for a second, wondering how he could just leave everything behind and move to California for six months. One article states that Parker recently took over Blakesley Enterprises, his family's company that his brother had been running for years. There's almost nothing about Parker's private live. There is virtually nothing about him during his college years. There are some pictures of Parker in recent years, attending various public events. He's never photographed alone, but the two or three women who appear in rotation by his side are always the same. Two of them his cousins, I learn, one an old friend. No socialites, like his brother. No scandals. One article actually says, "Give us something worth writing about for once, Parker." Another calls him Britain's mystery man. It's somehow comforting to know that Parker isn't frustrating only for me, but also the tabloids. So Parker isn't into dating, and isn't into one-night stands. Which begs the question: what exactly is he into?

W hen my phone alarm rings, I have the distinct impression that my head will fall off if I don't get more sleep. One glance at the phone’s screen shows why. It's five o'clock in the morning, one full hour before I usually wake up. I curse my stupidity and almost turn off the alarm, when I remember that I set it to ring at five on purpose—I have a Skype call scheduled with Serena in a few minutes. I jump from my bed, the thought suddenly filling me with energy. I haven't spoken with Serena in two weeks, both of us too busy working during the week and sleeping during the weekends. The time zone difference doesn't help our case, either, which is why we settled on this lousy hour. I open my laptop and turn it on, then walk to the kitchen and hurriedly pour myself a cup of coffee. When I get back, I hide the pack of cigarettes on my bedside table. Still, I'm sure Serena will lecture me about smoking. I swear that girl can smell smoke through everything. Perfume, air freshener, and now that there's an ocean between us, through the screen of my laptop. She was very strict about the whole smoking thing when we lived together, and I could only smoke in my own room. Dani couldn't care less about it, but I mostly smoke here in my room anyway. Old habits die hard. I log into Skype and check that the webcam works. Joy overwhelms me when Serena appears on the screen, and then— "Oh my God, we've been robbed," I yelp, almost spilling the coffee on myself. I should've said you've been robbed, but I lived in that apartment for four years, and it still feels like home in many ways. But hers or ours, the place is utterly and completely empty. I strain my eyes, thinking that maybe I'm not seeing properly, which might be entirely possible at this ungodly hour. Nope, still empty. Serena is sitting on the floor, the space behind her devoid of the couch that sat there for four years, the shelves on the wall empty. "You are moving out?" I say slowly. "Bingo," Serena says, a sad smile crossing her face. "Why? Where?" "With James. Both of us work a lot and barely spend time with each other. I sleep at his place a lot, and sometimes he spends the night here, so we decided it's best to live together in his penthouse." "So where is he?" "In my room, packing my DVDs. It's kind of sad, leaving this place," she says, looking around. I know that feeling only too well. Moving out was a bittersweet experience. I was excited to move to London, but I dreaded leaving everything: Serena, our apartment, and the tons of things I couldn't take to London with me due to the airline's ridiculous weight limit. Which reminds me . . . "What are you doing with all the stuff I left there?" Serena bites her lip. "Umm . . . well, this is sort of why I insisted we have this call today." "You can't throw it out," I warn. "Not throw it out," Serena says with gentleness, "donate it." I frown. "That's the same thing. I still won't have it anymore." "You don't need it, Jess," Serena says.

"You never know." "You said so. You said you were only taking things you absolutely need." "For now." "So . . . when are you thinking of wearing this striptease costume again?" The image on the screen changes, and I realize Serena is shifting the computer until the webcam no longer shows me the wall with the empty shelves, but the front door and the numerous boxes around it. Only one of the boxes is open, and by the way its content is threatening to spill out—I know it's one of the boxes I packed before leaving. Right on top of it is a short black . . . dress. My God, it does look like a striptease costume. I know exactly what that box, and the other three belonging to me, contain. Almost my entire party wardrobe. I left them there because I thought without all that clothing, I wouldn't be tempted to revert to my old ways here. Buying new outfits was out of the question since I'm trying to save up. "Well," Serena asks, "what do you think? You'll still need this?" "I don't understand. How can any place you'd donate this stuff to use it?" "They can sell it and use the money for other things." "Okay . . . let me think." At that precise moment James's voice booms, "Serena, do we really need to take all of your DVDs? I already have all your movies." "But you don't have them as DVDs," Serena says over her shoulder. "Aha," I say. "So you don't want to get rid of your DVDs, but my stuff has to go?" Serena goes bright red, but doesn't say anything. James enters the visual field of my laptop, holding a few DVDs in his hand. I swallow hard. He looks so much like Parker, he's almost his carbon copy except for the hair, which is just as dark as Dani's. "Oh, hello, Jessica," he greets me. "Long time no see." I grin. But not such a long time since we heard from each other. Ever since I moved to London, I swear I've spoken to James more often than to Serena. James and I did an awful lot of scheming before I moved here in his attempt to win over Serena. Talking to him was always good fun. Since I moved, the fun factor has shrunk to zero. His phone calls are nothing more than poorly disguised attempts to spy on Dani. I almost expect him to ask how Dani is any second now, but he stays quiet. In spite of his nagging, James will always have a soft spot in my heart. Immensely rich and powerful, James seems to give equal importance to his businesses and to ensuring those he cares about are safe and happy. He takes time from his horrendously busy schedule as one of Silicon Valley's best known entrepreneurs to talk almost every day to his sister (and often to me about her). He seems to adore her more than anyone in this world, except for Serena, perhaps. Remembering the lengths he went to prove his love for Serena still melts my heart. When Serena first met him, I had a hard time accepting that he was genuine. Surely he was just putting on a charade to get her in bed, and then he'd ditch her. He proved me wrong. James was the first man who made me seriously doubt my theory that all men are assholes. I have since reassessed my theory: all men I meet are assholes. Except Parker, it seems. I gulp, not wanting to start thinking about what he is and isn't again. "Let's make a deal," I say. "I let you donate my clothes, if you donate your DVDs." "Excellent negotiation skills," James says, pumping a fist in the air. Serena nods gloomily and James disappears from the screen, back to her room. "So how are things on your side?" she asks. "Other than work?" I wonder what my good friend would say if I told her the truth. Oh, you know, Serena . . . I'm finally done avoiding Parker—on whom I've had a crush for months, by the way. I have no idea what his deal is or what exactly he wants from me, but last night I let him give me the most amazing orgasm.

At the opera. Surrounded by people. And then he didn't let me return the favor and we held hands. Not confusing at all. No, I don't think Serena needs to know this. At least not until I figure some things out. So I just say, "Not much going on. Keeping my promise and being a good girl." "You don't seem unhappy about it anymore." I laugh. "It's not as bad as I thought." Especially when it involves shattering orgasms. "How do you feel about moving in with James? More time for your hot sexcapades?" "Jess," Serena hisses in a low voice, turning bright red and looking over her shoulder, as if afraid James might have heard me. This is one battle I won't win. I have a hard time convincing Serena to spill anything naughty when I'm face to face with her. With a screen between us . . . I have a better shot at an answer if I ask James about it. That would be one fun phone call. Hey, James. Yep, I'll tell you how Dani has been in a second. Just fill me in on your wild sex nights with Serena. I spend the next twenty minutes chatting to Serena about the plans she and James have for their upcoming holiday—a much-needed time off from her demanding job. It warms me to see her this happy and fulfilled. God knows she deserves this—a happily ever after with the man she loves. Funny thing is, I was always convinced Serena would get a happily ever after. I thought it'd be just a matter of time until she found the right guy to be the Prince Charming in her fairy tale, despite not believing in happily-ever-afters. My parents' marriage proved to me time and again that happily-ever-afters were nothing more than wishful thinking. The men I've dated only confirmed that opinion. I never really dreamed of or yearned for a fairy tale ending for myself. Until now. I skid to the bathroom after I finish chatting with Serena. In spite of my reassurances to Fiona that my boss's return doesn't make me nervous, I must admit I'm not feeling exactly at ease as I apply a very light blush on my cheeks at six thirty in the morning. I choose to dress in the most boring clothes I can find, hoping to offset the impression I made during the interview. The dress I was wearing that day, while not in the slightest sexy, was beach-appropriate at most. Hopefully seeing me in this black suit, with a knee-length skirt and a very conservative jacket, will erase that memory from his mind forever. It's the image of the professional Jess I want him to remember. As I study my appearance in the mirror, I debate whether I should apply some eyeliner. I decide against it. Not because I think it would look unprofessional, but I've only had one cup of coffee until now. And trying to apply eyeliner at six thirty without having at least two cups of coffee beforehand will most certainly result in poking myself in the eye. I comb my blonde, shoulder-length hair, thinking of twisting it in a bun, then decide to let it fall freely over my shoulders. I have high cheekbones I’ve never been fond of, and wearing my hair up makes them seem more prominent. I apply a delicate shade of eye shadow that goes well with my blue eyes and pale, almost translucent skin. While I ride the subway on my way to work, the woman sitting opposite me reads the newspaper. On the front page is the picture of some local celebrity couple busted having sex in a public place. On a whim, I take a snapshot of the newspaper and text it to Parker. My cell phone vibrates a few seconds later. We're smarter than this, you and I. My stomach jolts as I read the last part again and again. You and I. Damn it. Obsessing over a guy is not what I need right now. It never ends well. There's one thing I need to focus on. My career. Fiona is at her desk when I arrive at work, waving at me impatiently. "Mr. Norton is here already," she whispers. I gulp. "Why are you whispering?"

"He's not in a good mood," she says, and gives me a thumbs-up as I go to my desk, which is much closer to Mr. Norton's office. I can barely concentrate on my tasks all morning, though Mr. Norton doesn't come out of his office once. He barks orders at Fiona, who is close to tears every time she leaves his office. Fiona promised she would slip in a few good words about me, letting him know what a good job I've been doing these past two months, but I'm pretty sure this is the last thing on her mind right now. Mr. Norton doesn't call me in at all. I wonder if he forgot altogether that he hired me. He doesn't sound at all like the polite and charming man who interviewed me. I congratulate myself again on the choice of my suit. Matches perfectly the grim atmosphere in the office and the mood of my boss from hell. Fiona sends me an email to meet her in front of the building for lunch. I think she's avoiding coming anywhere near my desk out of fear that Mr. Norton will sense she's here and find a reason to make her miserable again. She suggests we go to our usual restaurant, a rather shady Chinese place located a few blocks away. She tried to convince me to make a restaurant serving traditional food— where she often went with my predecessor—our usual place, but my love for all things British does not include their food. We come back forty minutes later. Over lunch, she told me that Mr. Norton's wife is leaving him, which is probably why he's acting like a first-class asshole, though she didn't look less miserable for it. But I pride myself in successfully having improved Fiona's mood. She's beaming ear to ear as we enter the office. Until we see Mr. Norton. He's standing in front of my office door, red with anger and clutching a familiar report in his hand. "I hope you don't have any plans for tonight, Fiona. This piece of crap—because I can't call it a report—needs redoing from scratch." I step in front of Fiona. "I put the report together." "I should've known, Ms. Haydn," he says dismissively. "It looks like a third-grader made it." I take a deep breath, clenching my fists. I worked many long hours to make that report about more efficiently managing the temporary collections we bring from other museums, and Fiona approved it. I open my mouth, but Fiona cuts in, probably sensing that I wasn't about to answer very submissively. "We'll revise it immediately." "No, Jessica will do it." Then he turns to me and adds viciously, "I didn't hire you to look pretty and be useless."

"If I may say so, Mr. Blakesley, the measures you are proposing are extremely drastic." I watch the older man coolly as he paces in front of my desk. He's been on the advisory board of this company since my father was running it. It's a miracle my brother kept him after he became CEO. He made sure to fill the other seats on the advisory board with imbeciles. Which is why I only kept him around after I took over. Right now, I'm doubting that decision. "I didn't ask you to come to my office for your opinion,” I say, “but to carry out my orders." "What you are suggesting is a prime example of the proverbial heads will fall, Parker." The subtle use of my first name doesn't escape me. "Then heads will fall. This is my final word." The man doesn't budge. "My brother and the fools he called his advisors drove this company to the ground with their moronic decisions. It will take equally drastic measures to restore it. Do you disagree, Donald?" The man purses his lips, pushing his thick spectacles up his nose. He doesn't say anything for a long time. "I don't disagree," he says eventually, "but I was hoping I wouldn't get to be in the company anymore when the time for those measures came." My hands stiffen on my desk. "You want to quit?" "I appreciate that you trusted me enough to keep me as an advisor, but—” "But the ship is sinking, and you have decided not to sink with it?" I demand, fury replacing the initial shock. "You are a young man, Parker; I don't expect you to understand me." "By all means, explain." He shakes his head. "I prefer to keep myself out of this. It is very noble of you to want to save this company. I know it must hard for you, given all the . . . differences . . . you and Robert have had over the years, and I admire you for wanting to do the right thing. It was your father's company after all. I am certain if there is one person who can turn this company around, it is you. You are exceptionally intelligent and have the right amount of ruthlessness. But there are people I care for in this company, and I'd rather not be here to witness what will happen, even though they made mistakes. We all did, after all." "I don't appreciate your insinuations, Donald," I say through gritted teeth. I played my own part in this company's demise; I know that. But I won't tolerate anyone rubbing it in my face. "I meant no offense. I am certain you will have everything under control here in no time, Parker, just like you always do." "Get out of this office," I hiss. "If you want to leave, I am not going to stop you. I don't tolerate cowards. Or traitors." He nods and heads toward the door. Just before going out he says, "One day, Parker, you will come to understand that I am neither." I snort. Funny how traitors never see themselves the way they are. That's where giving people a

chance leads you. Getting stabbed in the back. By now, I should know better. I raise my cup of coffee to my lips, but it's cold already. Damn it. I stand up, starting to pace around my office. I need something to distract me from everything going on. Without realizing, I start thinking of Jessica, and what happened yesterday at the opera. No, she's one distraction I can't afford. She's too complicated and chaotic. I've had a taste of that since the first night I met her. The memory of punching the guy that night is something I won't forget any time soon. It was the first time I’d lost control in years. And I’d fought very hard to bring control into my life, and even harder to maintain it. How am I supposed to keep my life under control with Jessica in it, when I can't even control myself around her? There's a good reason I hesitated for so long to do anything to still my attraction to her, even though my cock throbbed every time Jessica was in sight. She makes me lose control completely. What happened at the opera was just a taste of the effect she has on me. I smile, despite myself. I can't deny it; the whole experience was delicious. Hearing her delicate moans while I pleasured her . . . my cock pulsates at the memory. I shake my head, rising from my seat. I need to get out of here and clear my head of the mess around here and Jessica, the latter being far more challenging than the former. She might be one temptation I can't afford. But she's the only temptation I want to give in to.

I leave the museum a few hours later, cursing. I take my cigarette pack out of my bag, but it’s empty. I curse again and get on one of those red double-decker buses, not really caring where it takes me. I walk up the stairs to the second level and throw myself into a seat, leaning my head on the window, hoping it will cool my anger. I come to my senses much later, when glass and metal giants have replaced the historical buildings, and I realize I'm in the business district, which is far from where I live. I jump off the bus and start walking. After ten minutes or so, it starts raining, of course. Just what I need. I start searching for a shelter from the rain. I spot a Starbucks a block away, and start walking in that direction. As I get close to the entrance, the sound of a familiar voice calling my name stops me dead in my tracks. I turn around, and find Parker staring at me, holding a Starbucks cup. I must have passed right by him and not noticed. And by God, I wish he hadn't noticed me, either. He looks perfect, as always, in a dark navy suit and a white shirt with cufflinks, whereas I look worse than I've probably ever looked, excluding any hangover-filled mornings. Looks aside, I feel worse than ever. I don't want anyone I actually know, especially Parker, to witness this. Humiliation is something I deal best with on my own, behind closed doors. I learned that long ago. "Jessica, this is a nice surprise." "What are you doing here?" He shrugs. "I work here." I raise an eyebrow. "Not here, obviously," he says, pointing at the Starbucks sign behind me. "My office is in that building." He points vaguely to one of the skyscrapers farther down the street. "Mr. CEO is getting his own coffee?" I'm aware of how aggressive I sound, but I don't have the energy to try and sound nice. At any rate, the more unpleasant I am to him, the more likely it is that this conversation will remain short. I look up at the sky, hoping to find dark clouds, so I can blame the weather on having to bolt if my rudeness doesn't render the result I want. But instead of dark clouds, I find the sky is beginning to clear. Damn it. Can nothing work out today? "I do sometimes get my own coffee, yeah. Is everything all right? What are you doing here? I'm pretty sure there must be a Starbucks that's closer to your museum." "Yeah there is, but I've heard the baristas here are very hot, and thought it worth a trip." Parker makes a few steps in my direction, lifting an arm, as if he wants to touch my cheek. "Jessica—” "No, everything is not all right with me, Parker," I snap. His eyes widen, and for a blissful second, I lose myself in their deep blue, forgetting everything that happened today. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee? You look like you need one." "If I say no, will you insist?" He smiles. "You bet. Can't let you go inside all by yourself and risk you falling for one of those hot baristas, can I? They're all women, by the way." I can't help chuckling. "I thought someone in your position doesn't have time for such long

coffee breaks." "You'll be surprised the things you get away with when you are your own boss." I shudder at the word boss, but do my best to disguise it. Parker walks to the door, and then pushes it open. "After you." The smell of coffee fills my nostrils once I’m inside, and I relax a bit under the familiarity of it all. "What do you want?" Parker asks. "Oh, let's see. Double espresso with double tequila in it?" "I don't think that's on the Starbucks menu." "And Mr. CEO can't fix that?" He grins. "I'll see what I can do." I open my mouth to thank him, but I feel his hand at the small of my back the next second, and my words are lost in the sizzle that surges from his touch all the way to my chest. Parker presses his hand on that spot, and he leans into me, whispering in my ear, "Go sit down, I'll be with you in a couple of minutes." I stumble on my way to the seats, not quite managing to wrap my mind around the fact that an innocent touch can affect me like this. I find an empty couch in a corner, and sit down. I use the few minutes Parker spends at the counter trying to concoct some believable story that would explain my shitty mood. But when I see him coming my way, his gaze piercing me as if he can read every single thought, I know that I won't be able to lie to him. "Here’s your coffee. Double espresso. No tequila, but extra sugar." I laugh. "How is extra sugar going to make up for the lack of tequila, Parker?" "It won't. Let's see if I can. Though I must say, I don't know if I can match Don Julio or Señor Rio," he says and I immediately recognize the brand names. "Jose Cuervo," I say. "That's my favorite guy." Though I don't remember Jose Cuervo ever giving me shattering orgasms, so that puts Parker at the top of the list. He unbuttons his coat, putting it on the back of a chair, then sits down. I allow myself a minute to indulge in the godly sight in front of me. The shirt he's wearing has a slim cut, accentuating his toned body. I imagine what it would be like to open the buttons of his shirt. I'd do it one by one, enjoying every freshly revealed inch of his skin. I'd leave the cufflinks for last. I don't know what it is about those damn cufflinks, but they turn me on. Parker snaps me back to reality. "You want to tell me why your day has been so awful?" "What if I don't want to?" "I'll wait until you do." "You are very convinced this conversation thing will work out, aren't you?" Parker doesn't answer. He does something much more effective—he stares right at me, his blue eyes boring into mine, as if he's determined to crack open my darkest, oldest secrets. I shudder at the thought that he might somehow find out about them. No, Parker will never know about those. I lower my eyes to my cup of coffee, clutching the hot cup tighter in my hands. "My bo—my boss isn't really pleased with my . . . umm . . . job performance." In a split second, Parker isn't sitting on the chair in front of me anymore, but right next to me, on my couch. "Tell me what happened," he says. His voice is steady, even soft. I suddenly feel ashamed. He's the CEO of a company, for God's sake. How should I tell him I got shouted at for not putting a decent report together? As if reading my thoughts, he says, "I wasn't born a CEO, you know." I smile. "Nothing major happened, really. He shouted at everyone in the office today, not just me.

Guess he had the blues today. Though he was this short," I say, keeping my thumb and forefinger millimeters apart, "of having a severe case of blue balls. Literally. I wanted to hit him in the groin." Parker lets out a sharp chuckle, and I relax a bit. He doesn't take his eyes off me, though. "If he's a jackass," he says, "you should consider quitting and finding a new workplace.” I shake my head. "No way. I don't have a lot of savings, so I can't afford sitting on my ass while I find something else." "I can help you with that. I know the directors of half of the museums in London. I make donations to them on a regular basis. It would take a few days at most to find you something else." I smile at him, a pit starting to form in my stomach. "That is probably the worst thing you could have said to me. I don't want your help, Parker, can't you see? I've let others help me my whole life. I want to start doing things on my own." I want to feel that I'm worthy of something. That I'm not just a big, fat disappointment to everyone. I can imagine how the phone call to my parents would go if I told them I'd quit my job. My mom would try to console me, but wouldn't be surprised in the slightest that I already managed to fuck things up. And my dad . . . I don't want to think about him right now. "It was just a suggestion, Jess. I don't want you to be miserable." "Why are you so supportive? I remember you telling me more than once that I should get my act together and be more responsible." Parker's expression is unreadable. But I can see it in his eyes that he remembers that well. How could he not? Parker didn't lose one opportunity in the aftermath of the fight that gave him a black eye and me a six-thousand-dollar fine to remind me how irresponsible I was—not only because I had caused it, but because I was letting Serena handle my mess by trying to come up with the money. That whole incident was more or less my wake-up call that I couldn't continue down the same path. I almost missed my chance at an interview with the museum because of that stunt—my one shot at redemption. My job search had been one of the only things I took seriously. I wanted to prove to myself and everyone else that I was capable of more than talking my way around entry lines to clubs or flirting my way to pretty much anything. "And you did. You came here on your own. That's not an easy thing to do." "Well, I need to work harder if I want to continue staying here. You don’t look too cheerful yourself.” “What gave me away?” Parker asks. “My radar is on today. Being a CEO isn’t what they make it out to be?” “No,” he says. “Being the CEO of this particular company isn’t.” “So why are you doing it?” “Because I have to.” Looking up at me with a sad smile, he adds, “I don’t really want to go into detail about this right now.” “Okay.” I shift closer to him on the couch, and his scent seduces me. “But you told me once that the only things we absolutely have to do are the ones we can’t live without. That we owe it to ourselves to do those things, but nothing else.” Parker ’s voice seems to have dropped an octave when he replies. “You remember that?” “Yeah.” As if I could forget it. While I was confined to my apartment in California with my leg injury, I had a particularly unpleasant conversation with my father on the phone. He reminded me— again—that my choice of major would set me up for a lifetime of low pay. I usually brushed off his comments, but I let doubts get the better of me then. Parker visited me shortly afterward, and I brought the issue up with him, though I didn’t explicitly mention my dad. Parker ’s response helped me shake off any doubts. “Well, let’s just say, if I don’t do this, I won’t be able to live with myself,” he says. “Now, let’s not make this about me. It’s about you.”

I scoff, remembering my current predicament with my boss. “I don’t want to think about today.” He takes my hands in his in a gesture so tender I cannot help remembering what happened between us last night. God, it seems that so much more time has passed since then. "Then don’t. What you need is a change of scenery. Let's go away for the weekend," he says in a low voice. "A cousin invited me to her estate up north, in Scotland. Dani has agreed to come, too. I don't think you should be alone at home." As he plays with my fingers, I look up. Our gazes cross, and the same craving from last night hits me again. For a split second I almost let it get the better of me. If I would lean in and taste his lips, I would forget about everything. "Why do you care, Parker? Why do you care if I'm miserable or not?" I look away from him, biting my lip and mentally cursing for actually asking that out loud. I shouldn't even allow myself to think that. Guys never care, though they are damn good at making it seem that way. Until they get in your bed. Except Parker proved he's quite skilled at avoiding my bed. "I just do," he says in a low, husky voice, then adds in a more cheerful tone, "if you won't let me help you, at least let me entertain you." I turn, locking eyes with him. "How exactly would you entertain me?" "Just come with me this weekend. There's a lot we can do there. Horseback riding, if you're into it. I can also arrange for a tour of the . . ." His voice trails away as I shift closer to him on the couch. His fingers are next to mine, and it would be so easy to interlace mine with them, like he did last night. And so hard at the same time. My heart beats faster as I feel the warmth of his body against mine, and I remember how his lips felt against my neck, how his fingers caressed me. Leaning in slightly, I whisper, "Will you also fuck me, Parker?"

"H ow was work today? Your boss returned, right?" Dani asks me an hour later, when the three of us are inside Parker's car, speeding on the highway toward Scotland. "Crappy," I answer. Thankfully, she doesn't ask anything else. Parker doesn't look at Dani or me at all. He hasn't spoken one word to us since we started the trip, except to remind us to fasten our seatbelts. Which is good, because he's driving like a freaking maniac. Who would have thought Mr. CEO—whose shirt doesn't have one single wrinkle and whose car shines on the inside and outside like it's nobody's business—has such a disregard for driving rules? I wonder what other rules he ignores. At any rate, the good thing about his driving is that it doesn't really allow me to do anything else other than fear for my life. Thoughts of my job and Parker's complete lack of reaction to what I said in Starbucks seem trivial right now. "You drive worse than James," Dani shrieks when Parker accelerates again, narrowly avoiding hitting a truck. I cover my eyes with my hands by instinct, my heart thumping so violently I think I might throw up. I turn to look at Parker and find that focusing on his features eases the anxiety about his driving. But it fills me with a different kind of anxiety altogether. "Well, I'd say I drive better than James. I actually beat him at quite a few races." "You raced cars?" Dani asks, suddenly grinning. That brings a smile to Parker's face. The first one since I asked that darn question. It sounded provocative and playful to me at the time and still does, to be honest. But not to him. My unanswered question lingers between us, heavy and unforgiving. I don’t know how to fix it. I don't even know if he wants me to fix it. I curl my knees against my chest, holding them tight and resting my chin on them. "Are you cold?" Parker asks me. "I can turn on the heat." "No," I say, avoiding eye contact. You are cold, is what I'd like to tell him. But I have the nagging suspicion he's well aware of that. Which means . . . I don't know what it means. I snort. Here I am again, letting myself get mind-fucked by a guy. Not just any guy, sure. Because Parker can achieve what no one else has—with a kiss and the simple gesture of holding my hand—shake me to my core. Which fucks with my mind even more. I spend the next hours staring out the window, trying not to read anything into the stone silence between Parker and me. Even after Dani falls asleep, he doesn't say one word to me. At some point, I fall asleep too. When I wake up, Dani and Parker are chatting animatedly and my left leg is completely numb. I rub my palms on my thigh, while taking in my surroundings. We're no longer on the highway; freakishly green fields have replaced it. I rub my eyes and look out the window again. The fields look even greener, if that’s possible. The kind of neon green that looks almost fake in movies. I'm tempted to roll down the window and check whether the air smells green as well. "How long until we get there?" I ask. "About ten minutes," Dani answers. "You've been here before?" "Sure. I spent some summers here when I was little."

Parker chuckles. "Then she outgrew the Scottish countryside, announcing it boring when she turned fourteen." "Well, it is kind of boring," Dani says defensively, then quickly adds, "but it's nice for a weekend." I catch her eye in the rearview mirror and we both smile. Dani told me before, when Parker was out of earshot, that she wants to go to a party some of her friends are throwing tomorrow evening and is looking for a good excuse to return early. So far, neither of us has come up with a good enough excuse not to activate Parker ’s overprotective gene. "Kids these days," Parker says with fake effrontery. I wonder what brought on his sudden good mood. It can't be me, unless I was mumbling in my sleep, in which case I dearly hope Dani didn't hear anything—because I was reliving our evening at the opera. When we arrive at our destination, I let out an appreciative whistle. A small medieval castle —built sometime at the end of the eighteenth century judging by its architecture—surrounded by green fields as far as my eyes can see, lies in front of us. Stepping outside the car, I take a deep breath. I swear to God, the air does smell green. "You're grinning," Parker says, and I'm relieved that his good mood hasn't left him. He chuckles, unloading the three bags from the trunk, and we each sling one over our shoulder. As I step into a puddle that soaks my left foot, I mentally thank Dani for making me pack a pair of boots. I watch with awe as Dani aptly navigates her way through the puddles, not stepping into any. Then I remember she's had more experience than me with Scottish slumps. She walks toward the house to meet two tall women, one cherry blonde, the other with an unfortunate shade of brown. My guess is she tried to go for caramel brown, but it looks more like burned caramel. I recognize both of them—they appeared often at Parker's side in the newspaper pictures I found yesterday night, though the brunette always had a much more appealing shade of brown. Only one of them is his cousin, but I don't remember which one. Relief washes over me as I watch both women welcome Parker with a warmth that speaks of friendship and familiarity; nothing hints at a sexual or romantic connection. I'm elated. But my elation dissipates entirely the next second, when Parker introduces me. "This is Jess," he says. "Dani's flatmate." That's it. Impersonal. As if he doesn't know me at all. I wait for him to add something, anything. He doesn't. Even Dani stares at him, confused. "I'm Helen," the cherry blonde says with a smile. "Parker's cousin." The other woman waves at me. "And I'm Tara." "Nice to meet both of you," I say, doing my best to hide my disappointment at Parker's continued silence. When we step inside the house, I take a moment to admire its beauty. The furniture is so exquisite it could be in a museum. The walls are covered with wallpaper depicting various natureinspired images, and the wood-paneled ceiling gives the room a warm glow. "Let's have something to eat," Helen says. "The three of you must be famished." "I actually need to change first," I say. "I stepped in a puddle." "Of course, dear," Helen says sympathetically. "I'll show you where your room is." "I'll do it," Parker says. "Which room is hers?" "It's the one next to yours." Parker nods. "I think I'll go change, too," Parker says. I follow him silently through the house, and when we stop in front of the door to my room, Parker opens it. I step inside quickly, throwing my bag on the gigantic four-poster bed. Behind me, I can still feel Parker lingering in the doorway. "You have a fireplace—” "I don't need you to give me a tour of the room, Parker. I can find my way back downstairs just fine." I hear the door close, but Parker's breaths indicate he hasn't left the room. "Are you upset?" he

asks, and the perplexity in his voice takes me by complete surprise. I turn around, and find that same perplexity mirrored in his eyes. "Yes." "Why?" "Oh, okay," I say, sinking on the bed. "Let's see . . . where to begin? Why did you introduce me as Dani's flatmate?" He comes a few steps closer, leaning on one of the bedposts, frowning. "What's wrong with that? You are her flatmate." "And a friend, maybe? You spoke as if you’d barely met me before." Parker laughs, running his hand through his hair. "You don't want me to present you as being my friend, trust me." "Why?" "Because they'd immediately read into it and start jumping to conclusions." "What kind of conclusions, Parker? I need some help here, since I can't seem to reach any kind of conclusions myself." In a heartbeat, Parker is standing in front of me, no more than a few inches away, his hand holding up my chin so that I have no choice but to look him in the eyes. My breath catches; my skin starts to tingle dangerously. "There's only one conclusion for you to reach: we might be onto something beautiful." His words utterly and completely melt me, making the last few hours seem far less important all of a sudden. He's so close to me, it's impossible to think straight. With a great deal of determination, I push him away. "You give me whiplash, Parker." "In what way?" His lip curls into a smile that can only be described as naughty. I don't let that deter me. "You know what I'm talking about. I practically threw myself at you in Starbucks and you just ignored it. It made me sound pathetic." Parker props himself on one knee on the bed. "It was hot," he says, and I can feel his gaze on me, piercing and determined. Even without seeing it, it has the power to set me ablaze. "So . . . umm . . ." I swallow, "why didn't you react to it?" "How should I phrase this?" He laughs softly, but there is an edge to it that makes me shudder. "Sex is kind of a big deal to me." I snort. "Said no man ever." "Jess, I'm serious." "Okay . . ." I turn to look at him. His eyes glint with mischievousness and something else that I can't quite place. Something just as dark as the edge in his voice. "You're not a virgin, are you?" It's Parker who snorts this time, but it turns into a full guffaw before long. Despite it being heartfelt and adorable, I can't help the redness forming in my cheeks. "No, Jess. I promise you I’m definitely not a virgin. I will correct my sentence. Sex with you would be kind of a big deal to me." Still something no man ever said, I tell myself. I turn away from him, staring at my feet, my face on fire. He leans into me, bringing his lips close to my ear. "I’ve tried long enough to keep myself away from you. In California, and here. I don’t have the strength for that anymore. So, to answer your question . . . yes, I will fuck you Jessica. Hard and repeatedly. I will make you come so many times that you will beg me to stop. And I won't."

My face is still on fire half an hour later when I go downstairs. The shower I took, while refreshing, fell short of achieving its goal: washing off the effect of Parker's words on me. I twisted his words in my mind, trying to understand what he meant. Not the last ones . . . those were pretty clear; what he said before—sex is kind of a big deal to me. What's that supposed to mean? How is it that Parker always manages to confuse the hell out of me? I follow Dani's voice and a soft laughter—possibly Helen's—on the corridor until I find the living room. Everyone is seated on the couches in front of the fireplace, and I breathe in relief when I realize they are all wearing casual clothing. I feared there would be some dress code required, something to match the flair of the elegant castle. Helen and Tara were wearing long cloaks when they met us, so I couldn't tell what kind of clothing they were wearing. But everyone—Parker included—is wearing jeans. He's also wearing a navy sweater, his favorite color it seems. When his eyes meet mine, I blush violently and make a mental note to avoid eye contact as much as possible during dinner. "Jess, we were just waiting for you to get started on some drinks before dinner," Helen says. "What do you want to drink?" Parker asks, rising from the couch. "Whatever everyone is having," I answer. "I want some kind of fizzy drink," Tara says. I settle on the couch between Tara and Dani. Helen sits in a chair by the fireplace, lazily pushing the wood around with a poker. A few minutes later Parker brings each of us a gin and tonic. As I watch him take the wood poker from Helen, I admit something I didn't want to admit until now. He truly is the perfect gentleman everyone thinks he is. But he's also . . . more. I'm not exactly sure in what way. But I'm more than willing to find out. "So, Jess," Helen says,” Dani tells me you are best of friends with the famous Serena, the woman who finally bagged James. I must admit, no one saw that coming. We all thought he'd be an eternal bachelor. Unless I bagged him, of course," she says jokingly. I frown. "Aren't you James's cousin?" Helen laughs softly. "Nope. Parker and James are related on their mother's side, and Parker and I are related on his father's side." Parker freezes in the act of shifting the wood around. But just for a second. No, less than that. A fraction of a second. Then he turns around flashing a wide grin. "That's right, Helen and I have a truly enviable pedigree. Two-hundred-fifty-sixth in line for the British throne." "I think you just became two-hundred-fifty-seventh," Helen corrects him. "Aunt Audrey had a baby." "Damn," Parker says, shaking his head with mock disappointment. I study him attentively. His grin is wider than ever, but not at all reflected in his eyes. His arms, though seemingly relaxed, aren't. His grip on the wood poker is far tighter than it should be. I know exactly what he's doing. It's something I'm well aware of, because it's something I trained in for years.

The art of dissimulation. "So how is Serena?" Helen asks me. "She's working like a slave. I rarely get the chance to talk to her. Investment banking." "Oh dear," Tara mutters. "Well, who else would put up with my workaholic brother except another workaholic?" Dani asks. "This is wonderful. I was dying to meet someone who actually knows Serena well. So, tell me, Jess, do you share Serena's talent to catch . . . uncatchable men? Please share the secret. I seem incapable of catching anything aside from fish," Helen says. Everyone bursts out laughing, and Parker gets up, texting on his phone, subtly withdrawing himself from the discussion. "That's not true," Tara says. "I'm sure you will find someone." "Easy for you to say," Helen replies. "You're engaged. So, Jess, any secrets to share?" "Afraid not. For what it's worth, I can't even catch fish." This brings another round of laughter from the girls. I'm surprised how easy it is to talk to them. After seeing their pictures with Parker—they looked like they were about to attend an Oscar ceremony—I expected them to be at least a bit arrogant. "Do you live here, Helen?" I ask. "God no. I'd get bored here. Tara and I both live in London. My parents live here, but they're in the south of France right now." Tara's phone beeps. "Oh, the duck is ready," she says, hurrying to the kitchen. The rest of us head to the table. Behind me I hear Helen say to Parker, "I'm so glad you returned from California. I didn't expect you to be gone for so long." "How come you were in the U.S. for almost half a year?" I ask Parker when we're seated at the table. "What do you mean?" "You have a gazillion things you are in charge of here. Multiple companies. How could you just take off?" "I didn't take over Blakesley enterprises until recently," he says laconically. "But you still had other companies here." "Jesus, Jessica, did you look me up on the Internet?" "Sorry," I say, my cheeks flaring up. But instead of getting angry, Parker lets it go. Helen and Dani merely look amused. I remember how casually Dani mentioned that I should look Parker up, as if nothing would be more natural. I'd be fuming if anyone had looked me up. "I don't, for a fact, own any companies," Parker says patiently. "I am an investor in them, just like I am in James's company. I attend board meetings and act as an advisor, but rarely get involved in dayto-day executive operations." "Ah, you don't like to be the front man, I see." "No, I don't." Parker says simply. "I make exceptions for companies I have a special interest in, like James's, and sometimes take a more hands-on approach for a certain time." "Wait, I’m confused about something," I say, remembering something Serena told me. "You and James had troubles with some investors right before you came back. So, if you're an investor . . . how does that work?" Parker smirks for some reason, then starts talking in a very serious, businesslike tone. "There are several types of investors. Some, like me, are seed investors. We provide money when a business is in its very early stages. Later on, when a venture requires more money, additional investors, who can bring in much more capital than seed investors have, are needed."

I nod. "Okay." Tara returns with a delicious-looking roasted duck with honey sauce, salad, and fries. "Oh good, I was in the mood for some chips," Helen says, grabbing the fries, and I help myself to some as well, then turn to the duck. My enthusiasm for the dish is replaced by horror as Tara announces, "This is the first time I've cooked this. I hope I nailed it." I eye the dish suspiciously. Great aesthetics don't always equal great taste, as I've had the unfortunate opportunity to find out a few times. Holding my opinion back is generally not one of my strengths; I'm even worse when it comes to food. There's nothing quite as horrible as having to pretend you like a culinary failure and force yourself to eat it. Dani smiles at me. She confessed she's no good at cooking the first day we moved in together, so I've all but prohibited her anywhere near the stove. I relax after the first bite. The duck is not too dry or overly seasoned. The honey sauce is delicious. I close my eyes for a few seconds, enjoying its lingering sweetness in my mouth. When I open my eyes, I find Parker staring at me, his lips slightly parted. "You certainly know how to enjoy . . . your food," he says and the deep unsteadiness in his voice sends shivers rippling through me. Seeing him run his tongue over his lower lip next gives way to thoughts that have nothing to do with food. I imagine what other things he could be doing with his tongue right now, and heat floods my intimate spot. The rest of the evening passes in a haze. I don't remember much except Parker's intense gaze on me and the growing hunger inside me that nothing except his touch and lips will still. So when Tara and Helen announce they are going to bed, followed closely by Dani, Parker switches over to sitting next to me, and I catch my breath. “I want to kiss you so badly,” Parker says. His lips curl deliciously, and he runs his thumb over my lips, awakening the torturous hunger I've tried so hard to subdue during dinner. It will spread through me before long. "But it’s better to wait until we get to your room," he says. "If I start kissing you, we might never make it there." He stands up, pulling me with him, then, as we hurry across the room, his hand slides to the small of my back, pressing me—pushing me forward. I'll never know how we made it to my bedroom. But when Parker closes the door behind him and I lean on one of the bedposts, something else stirs inside me along with desire. Panic. Which is ridiculous, because it's not like I haven't done this before. Heck, I've been with guys I knew much less than Parker. And they hadn't kissed me on my forehead or held my hand while watching opera. Which probably explains the panic. I know how to deal with assholes. This . . . this is new. Our heavy breathing fills the room; I try to pull myself together, hoping he won't catch on. No such luck. When I feel his hand at the small of my back again, and his warm breath against my ear, I grip the bedpost with both hands. "Are you sure about this?" he asks me. I try to chuckle, but it comes out more like a hiccup. "What would you do if I said no?" I ask, not looking at him. His lips are pressing gently on my ear; I can feel them forming a smile. "I'd convince you to say yes." He trails one hand all the way up to my chin; his other arm curls around my waist, pressing me with my back against him. "I want you, Jess," he says, his voice coarse and low. But still forceful. Still commanding. And it does exactly what I hoped it would. It gives free reign to the desire running through me, subsiding the

fear and the doubt. I lean my head back on his shoulder, my grip on the bedpost loosening. Has he spent the last hours, since he left me in my room, in the same state of arousal that I have? He was good at hiding it at dinner, but then again, so was I. "I like to take what is mine, Jessica. Do you want to be mine?" "Yes," I breathe. "Then prepare yourself. Because I'm going to take you hard." My breath catches as the hand around my waist slips under my sweater, touching my bare skin. We both gasp—hard—when he cups my breast. "You're not wearing a bra. It almost killed me during dinner." "Couldn't tell," I say playfully. "How about now?" He presses his hips against mine. Feeling his hard shaft against my butt completely does me in. I turn around, and find Parker's lips ready for me. Slightly open. Inviting. "Close your eyes," he says. "What?" "Do it," he whispers. And I oblige, though still confused. For a few seconds, I feel nothing except his breath on my lips—the hot, rhythmic beats of his breath are enough to turn my need for him into a painful ache. When his soft lips brush mine, something I haven't felt in a long while awakens inside me. Butterflies. Just a few of them at first, fluttering their wings shyly—almost as if they don't dare to. But then they dare all right, and take over like a damn hurricane, until I melt in Parker's arms. And as he lays me on the bed, kissing me, some of the panic rears its head again. Because the flame that burns inside me isn't driven just by lust and passion. There's a different kind of warmth there, too—one I've tried to avoid for a long time. As if on cue, Parker stops kissing me, and I open my eyes. He's standing on his knees on the bed, his arms by his side, his palms balled into fists, as if he's restraining himself from touching me. "Are you still sure, Jessica?" I sit up. "Of course I am." To prove it, I grab the hem of my sweater and start lifting it. But Parker grabs both of my hands, pinning me back against the bed. "No. I want to do that." Parker takes his sweet time. With his right hand, he pushes my sweater up my chest, revealing my breasts. His gaze lingers first on my right breast, and then moves onto the other. His blue eyes darkening by the second, he bites his lip, as if he'd like nothing better than to fondle my breasts, graze them—lick them. Never mind what he wants. I want that. "Touch me," I beg. "I will," he muses, getting rid of my sweater. "I want to watch first." "O-k-kay,"I stutter under his determined gaze. As he unzips my jeans and starts pulling them down, I suddenly become painfully aware of my choice of lingerie—thongs with kittens on the front. Not exactly the biggest turn-on. But as I look around, desperately trying to come up with something to distract Parker, I realize he couldn't care less. Because he—quite literally—rips them apart. I gasp as the fabric cuts a bit into my left hip, but then forget all about it. Parker straightens up, his gaze traveling from my ankles up to my thighs, lingering at the spot between them. His breathing becomes heavier. "Please tell me you're bored of only watching," I say. "Oh, I could never get bored watching you." He looks up, meeting my eyes. "But I'm done with it for now." With a one arm swing, he pulls me beneath him. My skin aches everywhere his body touches

mine. And it's not just my skin that's aching. My insides burn. My core is pulsing. He unzips his jeans expertly, throwing them, together with his underwear, down. I swallow hard as I watch him put a condom on his erection. I look at him, and begin to unbutton his shirt. "I want you completely naked, too." "No time for that," he says. "But I want to see you as well," I protest. "And touch you." Parker leans forward, but I put a hand on his chest, stopping him, then start undoing the buttons of his shirt. “You teased me enough,” I say. “Now I get to tease you.” I undo every button of his shirt with sure hands, then push it back, caressing his arms and shoulders as I rid him of the shirt. I bite my lip as I push him a bit farther away from me, so I can see him better. He’s stunning. Everything about him is. His blue eyes are now dark with desire, his dark blond locks falling loosely around his face. I run my thumb over his full lips, then trail down his neck. His statuesque torso is more perfect than I imagined in even my wildest dreams. And my dreams about Parker were quite wild. The muscles in his arms and chest are well defined and strong, yet lean. As my gaze drops even farther down, I take note of his chest moving up and down with quick breaths. He’s growing impatient. Oddly, despite my own impatience earlier, I don’t feel the need to hurry now. Not to tease him, but because I can’t get enough of gazing at him. I am insatiable. Maybe he wasn’t teasing me earlier, either, when he was the one looking at me. The little well-defined squares of his abdomen show just how much work he puts into keeping his body fit. As do his oblique muscles. They are defined by sharp lines that start from his hips and go lower and lower. I raise my head a bit, peeking at his buttocks. Round and firm, no wonder his ass looks good no matter what he’s wearing. I bite my lip even harder, and now some of the impatience that plagued me when Parker was watching me returns. Parker must sense that because I barely have time to admire his strong, muscular thighs before he thrusts inside me. Hard and raw. "Parker," I gasp, my thighs clenching around him. "You're so tight," he says. Right before kissing me. His tongue explores my mouth with soft and gentle moves, so very different from his thrusts. They aren't gentle or soft. At all. Their sole purpose seems to be to make me fall apart with pleasure. And I intend to do the exact same thing to him. Breaking off the kiss, Parker fists my hair, pulling me a few inches away from his lips. They're swollen and moist and I can't wait to feel them against my own again. But he places his lips on my shoulder next, then moves them all the way to my neck. "I want you to show me what you like." "You're doing a pretty good job without any directions," I say between gasps, and as his hand slides between us, stroking my swollen nub, something beyond fulminating pleasure hits me in waves: the recognition that Parker is the first man who's ever been genuinely interested in my pleasure, not only his own. His lips coax mine, stilling the thirst for pleasure and at the same time instilling yet a deeper one within me. His tongue darts inside, exploring my mouth and mimicking the moves of his hips, making love to my mouth as well. "So fucking good," he says, driving into me with more passion than before. As I fall apart underneath him, I run my fingers on the rippled muscles on his back, feeling how defined each and every one of them is. He covers my mouth, his kiss once more gentle. Not his moves. They're ferocious. Animalistic. And yet I have the distinct impression he's holding back, as if he's afraid he might break me. I want him to break me. I have never wished for anything so intensely before. I push my hips against him, hoping the move conveys what I can't express with words. It does.

With every thrust he spreads my legs farther apart, stretching me, touching even deeper spots inside me. And it feels so intense, mother of— I cry out, release slamming through me like a thousand daggers, and I arch my back, asking for more and more. I hear Parker's cry mingle with my own, and then his body relaxes over mine. Not for long, though. I barely have time to catch my breath before Parker pushes himself up with his palms. Drops of sweat drip from his chest. I catch one of those drops with my lips. The proof of his burning passion for me. It's salty and musky. All man. All Parker. I raise my gaze and see that his eyes have a dangerous glint to them that sends delicious tingles all the way down there. My core is pulsating again, despite my clit being so sensitive I think I will combust if I touched it now. Parker stands on his knees, removing his condom. He bends to one side of the bed and picks up a fresh one. I stare at him with wide eyes as he rips the cover apart and slides the condom over his still erect member. My nub throbs with anticipation, though my entire body is telling me there is no way I am ready for another round now. "Turn around," Parker commands, his eyes boring into mine. "I don't think—" "Turn around," he repeats. "I'm too sensitive, Parker. I think I'm done for now." In a heartbeat, Parker lunges over me, cupping my face with one hand, bringing me so close to him that I feel the shot of hot breath accompanying every word against my lips. "You'll only be done when I say so." Scorching. Hot. Parker doesn't wait for me to turn. Instead, he grabs my hips and does it for me, pulling me on all fours. I can't see, or anticipate his moves in this position, which makes his nearness so much more unbearable. I try to press myself against him, but his firm grip on my hips has me unable to move. "Anxious, are you? I thought you didn't want this," Parker says. "I changed my mind." "Good," Parker says and I gasp when I feel his lips on my back, trailing up my spine, until they are near my ear. "I promised I wouldn't stop fucking you no matter how much you begged. I keep my promises." A shiver of pleasure runs through me, right through my core, and in this precise moment, I am convinced Parker can make me come just with his words. He makes it a teasing game again. He sets the tip of his erection at my entrance, but instead of pushing inside, he rubs around my entrance, going in circles on my clit, drawing a series of shivers from my already tender body that quickly turn to convulsions. I'm close to climaxing when Parker suddenly drives into me, the force of his thrust causing my legs to buckle. "Fuck, Jessica. This little cunt of yours is even tighter than before." We grind against each other in a rhythm that grows more furious with every thrust, and when Parker touches my nub with his fingers, pressure ratchets through every cell in my body. "I want you to come hard, Jessica." I whimper, his touch on my sleek folds almost too much to bear. I'm beginning to believe it's only his commands my body is listening to right now. So I oblige. And then come harder than I ever have—again and again. Trembling, I stretch on the bed, resting my head on the pillow, trying to calm my breath. I close my eyes, the last tremors of bliss still coursing through me. Far too soon though, they fade. And then I have the courage to open my eyes and turn to look at Parker. I expect him to be already fully

dressed, mumbling an excuse before rushing out the door. Or perhaps not even bothering to come up with an excuse, simply thinking I'll understand, or not caring at all if I don't. But instead I find him propped up on an elbow, still naked. He's looking intently at something, and I clutch the sheets beneath me when I realize what. The butterfly tattoo on my hip. He inches closer to me, and starts tracing the form of the butterfly with his fingers. I grit my teeth, barely refraining myself from leaping away. "Your tattoo guy botched this," Parker says, frowning. Every muscle in my body turns to stone. He leans in even closer, his thumb caressing that portion of the skin that makes up the body of the butterfly. "He left a scar." "Oh, there's a long story behind that," I say, with all the calm I can muster. I now wish that he had left. I pull the covers to my neck and turn around on one side. "I'm tired". A long story indeed. But it has nothing to do with the tattoo guy. And I never intend to tell Parker the truth. It has lain hidden until now. I'm determined to keep it that way. Parker doesn't say anything else, but I feel him move closer to me, until his warm body presses against mine, and he slides one arm over my waist. "Good night, Jessica."

W hen I wake up the next day, I'm alone in the bed. I stretch out my arm on the side of the bed where Parker slept. It's not warm. He must have left a while ago. As I touch his pillow, I imagine how he would look if he were asleep, with all his muscles relaxed, with no way of sustaining that mask he always wears—the one that never allows me to know what he really thinks. Sure, I couldn't read him in his sleep either, but at least I could watch him when he's defenseless, when he's not hiding anything. To be honest, I'm not sure how long I'd be able to just watch him. I bet I'd wake him up before long, aching for his touch and all the things he made me feel last night—his firm hands gripping my thighs while he was thrusting inside me, pleasing and arousing at the same time. But that's not the only thing I crave. I long for his soft kisses on my neck and shoulders, for his low voice commanding me to tell him what I want and need . . . almost as if . . . as if he cared. In an instant, I withdraw my hand from his pillow, terror starting to inch in. I'm used to dealing with men who don't care. Not extraordinarily well, I admit, but well enough. I allowed them to turn my life upside down, and mess around with me. But never to break me. I gulp. Well, except for Ethan, my last boyfriend, for lack of a better word. I thought he was different from others I've dated. He brought me flowers twice in the months we dated and didn't forget my birthday. I genuinely thought he cared about me. Until he proved that everything had been just one giant joke to him. That I had been just one giant joke to him. But it served me right. I shouldn't have let my guard down. I'd learned long ago not to trust men, and most of all, not to hope they'd care. Ethan just proved to me—again—that I was right. Which is why I didn't want to get involved with any guy once I arrived in London. Least of all with Parker. I fantasized about him, of course. More times than I care to admit. I wondered what it would feel like to taste his full lips, to have his strong hands caress me . . . cup my breasts and pull me against his hard shaft. I dreamed about drowning in his passion for hours. But that was all I ever wanted to do. Fantasize about him. No harm can come from that. It sounded like a good plan. Fantasizing while building a new life for myself here, focusing on my career. Well, my plan seems to have worked exceptionally well. Yet as I lie here, my heart racing at a hundred miles an hour, I can't bring myself to regret last night. It was so much more than I bargained for. I felt happy, fulfilled, and in some bizarre way, protected. Whether it was because of the way he made love to me, or because he slept next to me, holding me in his arms, I don't know. But it felt damn good. As did his wild thrusts filling me again and again, and the brush of his damp skin against mine. I take a deep breath. Sex, this was all it was. I should stop trying to fool myself that it was more. It might have meant more for me, but not for him. Men have a way of doing that: making me think the sex meant something for them, when in fact it doesn’t. I'd do well to remember where fooling myself

has led me before. But then I hear Parker's words echoing in my mind again. Sex with you would be kind of a big deal for me. And I can't help wanting to know why. I dress warmly and then go downstairs, but no one is in the living room. I debate sitting around, waiting for someone to appear, but my growling stomach decides I'd better go and find the kitchen. I locate it after a few minutes—though my sense of direction usually sucks big time, whenever I'm hungry, my body seems to turn into a food-detecting machine. Helen sits at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal. "Morning," she says when she sees me. "Hi." I grab a bowl and pour some milk and cereal in it, then sit opposite Helen. "Where is everyone else?" "Oh, Tara and Parker woke up ages ago and went to play golf at the club," Helen says, shaking her head as if she couldn't understand why in the world anyone would get up early on a Saturday. I agree with her. "Dani is outside in the garden." "You don't like to play golf?" She grins. "A tad boring, don't you think?" As Helen gets up from the table and returns with two cups of coffee, I wonder if there's any way I can question her about Parker. It's obvious they've known each other for a long time, and I desperately need some answers. I have a hunch I won't be getting any from Parker anytime soon. Last night, rough and delicious as it might have been, raised even more questions instead of providing answers. Probably because it was rough and delicious. Parker is clearly a man who isn't out of practice. The question is—who does he practice with? "How long have you known Dani and Parker?" I ask. Her lip curls into a smile. She takes a sip of her coffee and puts the cup back on the table. "Are you really interested in Dani, or just Parker?" Ah, no bullshitting needed. I like Helen. "Just Parker." "I thought so. Can't get him to talk too much about himself, can you?" Her question takes me by surprise. "No," I admit. "Not at all." She nods. "It's hard to really get to him. He keeps mostly to himself." "Why?" Helen doesn't answer right away, and I can tell by the way she twists her cup in her hands that she's weighing her words carefully. Very carefully. "Parker doesn't trust many people . . . those around him haven't proven to be very trustworthy in general. That's why there are very few people Parker lets in. But those he does care about, he's very protective of." "Like with you and Tara?" She beams at me. "Yes. We formed a strong bond when we were kids. Parker was kind to me at a time when no one else was. If I had to describe Parker in one single word, it would be loyal. He is very loyal to those few he cares about. But it takes a lot to wiggle yourself under his skin. Or in your case, in his heart. Is that what you're aiming for?" I blush. "I don't know, honestly. I don't know him well enough." But I like what I've heard and experienced so far. Loyal. Fierce lover. All very valuable qualities in my book. Helen watches me intently. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to tell you anything else. It just wouldn't be fair to him." I snort. Do all Brits speak in this mind-twisting way, deliberately dropping an evasive remark or

two, and never bothering to explain? Maybe it just runs in their family. At any rate, it drives me crazy. "That's not cryptic at all." "Jessica," Helen says in a tone so serious I jump in my seat, "be careful, please. If Parker trusts you, don't prove him wrong. Too many have." Another snort almost rolls out of my throat, but freezes under Helen's worried gaze. On that note, Helen walks out of the kitchen, leaving me completely bewildered.

"I suck at golf," Tara says, glancing after her ball, which lands about fifty yards short. "Royally." "You just need more practice." "Yeah . . . more practice at convincing you to drop this sport, Parker. It bores the hell out of me. I can't believe you're doing it every Saturday." "It's a good way to clear my head, and also a very good excuse to conduct business talks under the disguise of a friendly game." She waves her hand dismissively. "There's no one here to have business talks with unless you count the village mayor, so let's call it a day. I want to grab a lemonade before we go, though," Tara announces. We head to the bar area inside the club building and I order a coffee and a lemonade. After a few sips, she asks, "What's the deal with Jessica?" I spit coffee. "What about her?" "Oh come on, Parker. You were looking at her last night like you wanted to mount her right there in the living room." "Right." "Helen thinks so, too." "Then it must be true, no doubt," I say sarcastically. I've known both Tara and Helen since we were kids. Somehow that gives them the impression they can offer their opinion freely about every aspect of my life. I respect both of them. They’ve both decided to make it on their own, even though they come from money. But I don’t take advice about my private life from anyone. Tara's eyes widen. "Oh my God, you slept with her." "So what if I did?" I challenge. She beams. "That's fantastic. Jessica is exactly the type of woman you need." I briefly consider cutting this conversation short. But I know better than that. I can get politicians and managers to obey me, but not Helen or Tara. And if I'm honest, I'm curious as to what she has to say. "Please explain." "She is fun, you know. Loose. You need a little shaking up, Parker." "What makes you think that?" "I did study psychology, you know. You can't keep doing things the way you do them now. You compartmentalize everything, Parker. You have your professional life, where you put everything. Then you have a big blank nothing in your personal life. You've robotized every aspect of your social life. You take Helen and me to functions whenever you are forced to go. For God's sake, even your sex life—" "We are not discussing that, Tara." I cut her off, harsher than intended. To my satisfaction, she doesn't pursue it further. "What's wrong with compartmentalizing? It's simple. You know me, I don't

like complicated." And that's exactly what Jessica is. But last night, far from stilling my thirst for her, merely makes me want her more. "It's not healthy. You need someone to share every part of your life with. You have to let someone in." "You already know my view on that," I reply. Letting people near you gives them a chance to stab you in the back when you least expect it. "You've been alone long enough," Tara says, undeterred. "Jessica might be just the right person to change that." I shake my head, and then proceed to order another coffee. Matchmaking seems to be Tara's main hobby. I should have known she'd turn her attention to me after her latest attempt on Helen's love life was a failure of spectacular proportions. "Are you a psychologist or a psychic?" I ask. "I'm serious. I think you might not realize it, but you want that, too. Why else did you bring her here?” "She had some troubles at work and was upset. I thought she needed a distraction." "Parker, darling, I'm sorry to tell you, but Jessica strikes me as the type of girl who knows how to have fun on her own just fine." "Too much fun, sometimes," I agree. "Helen's place means a lot to you. Maybe you brought Jessica here because there's a part in you, deep inside, that wants to let her in?" "Is this some kind of psychology technique," I ask, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, "in which you suggest I might have an underlying reason for doing something so then I start thinking I actually did it for that reason?" "Maybe," Tara jokes. "Is it working? I've read about that and was dying to test it on real-world subjects." "Real-world subject." I grin. "I am glad to know that's what I am to you." "Oh, Parker. You know what we are to each other. Exactly what we need at that precise moment." She's dead right. It's been like that for as long as I can remember. Since we were teens. Tara and Helen needed someone to protect them when they got into the kind of trouble you don't ask your parents to get you out of. Well, Helen more than Tara. As far as group dynamics go, Tara was the good girl. But Helen and I did enough bullshit to even the balance. Especially me. And what neither Tara nor Helen seem to understand is the only antidote to chaos—the only way to redeem myself from it—is to control everything that is in my power to control. It might seem robotic to them, but I know what the alternative is. I've lived with it for years. I prefer the way things are now a million times over. Though it's no fun, I agree with that. "It is working, isn't it?" Tara asks excitedly. I let out an undefined sound, not wanting to hurt her feelings. I don't trust counselors and their techniques one bit. I was forced to see a plethora of them when I was a kid, and none helped. But Tara isn't a counselor. She's a friend. "So how did you suddenly decide Jessica is the right woman for me to . . . let in?" I ask. She watches me quietly. "I didn't. You did. You mentioned her often in our phone calls when you were in California." Blimey. I had completely forgotten about that. No idea what on earth made me talk to her about Jessica at all, but then again, Tara can scoop information out of you before you even realize you opened your mouth. Maybe her counselor techniques deserve more credit than I give them.

"You need someone who knows how to enjoy life, and Jessica seems to be exactly right." Enjoying life, yes. She knows how to do that exceptionally well. Wasn't this what fascinated me the first time I saw her? What made me go back to see her again and again, in spite of myself? She brims with life and energy and something else I can't pinpoint, but it's addictive. She also knows how to wreak chaos like no one else. Ironic how she also proved that the first time I met her. "You know, the right person arrives for everyone, eventually," Tara says. "Look at James. He's the one person I secretly thought would never find the right one. But there you have it. I've been told he's changed a lot and he has done his best to prove that to Serena." "Yeah well, I didn't agree with everything he did. He risked a great deal." "Love is worth risking everything." I smirk. If we weren't old friends, I'd tell her exactly what I think of that age-old cliché. But dickheads in boardrooms are the ones to be ruthlessly honest and sharp-witted with, not friends who have the best, if naive, intentions. As we head back to Helen's place, I find myself asking the same thing Tara did. Why did I invite Jessica here? Sex would be the easy answer, but I could have used any hotel in London for that, or my own place. I take a deep breath. Whatever the reason, I should put an end to the whole thing. Instead, I find myself wanting the exact opposite.

I finish my cereal and then proceed to eat a slice of toast and some beans with tomato sauce I find in the fridge. How anyone could consider cereal and milk enough for breakfast, I'll never know. I slip out of the kitchen about ten minutes later, when I hear laughter, indicating the others have returned. I arrive in the foyer just as Parker and Tara take off their coats. Dani enters the house a few seconds later. I don't know why, but I was imagining Parker and Tara to be wearing some sort of ridiculous golf outfits. Would've made for a good laugh, but they are dressed disappointingly normal. Still, the sight of Parker—a thin sheet of sweat covering his forehead—momentarily cuts my breath short. He really is something to look at. I blush when I see him rearranging the collar of his sweater with his fingers, remembering everything he did to me last night with those same fingers. As if sensing the torturous craving building inside me, Parker's head snaps in my direction, and the fervor I recognize in his blue eyes sends shivers rippling through me. I bite my lip, looking away. "You're awake," Dani says to me, grinning. "By the looks of it, also fully fed," Parker says. I lift my hand to my mouth, and discover that I have some tomato sauce at the corners of my mouth. I wipe it away the best I can, and then grin. "Nothing worse than starting the day hungry," I say. "I agree," Tara announces. "Which is why I'm planning to eat an entire cow next. I didn't have any breakfast." "I'll join you," Dani says. "Hey," Parker calls, just as the two head to the kitchen, "I thought we were heading over to the lake." Dani snickers. "No, Parker. You suggested that, and Tara and I pretended not to hear you. I am so not walking all the way to the lake." "It's at least one and a half hours away on foot," Tara says. Parker stares from Tara to Dani as if they just declared open war on him. He recovers and then shouts, "Helen, what about you?" Helen's voice resonates from the living room. "Sorry. I want to be a hermit this weekend." Parker raises his hands in exasperation. Then his eyes meet mine, and I have a sinking feeling that he's not going to spare me the question. "How about you, Jess?" "Umm . . ." I say, glancing at Dani and Tara, hoping to get them to back me up. But they're both laughing. "Take my jumper if you go," Tara says, pointing to a sweater on the hanger. "It's chilly outside." "No, thanks, I'm good." I look at Parker. "Is it really an hour and a half walk?" "Yeah, maybe one hour and fifteen minutes if we're fast. But it's beautiful there. It's . . ." I don't hear the rest of the sentence, the expression on his face mystifying me. It's like he's suddenly a few

years younger, an innocent enthusiasm emanating from every line on his face. I've never seen him like this. I agree to go with him, forgetting all the reasons this isn't the best of ideas. He slings a backpack over his shoulder, and I follow him out the door. But once outside, I remember. "Why can't we go by car if it's that far?" "You'll see soon enough why we can't," Parker says, grinning. Ten minutes later we are at the top of the hill stretching behind the house, and I do see why. The landscape is so rocky that nothing short of a tank could pass over it. Except for us, apparently. There are just a few rocks spread through the grass in front of me, but in the distance, the gray rocks replace the grass until it's nothing but rocks on a very steep hill. Whatever is after that mountain of rocks, it better be good. "You look cheerful," I say to Parker. Hands in his pockets, he raises his head in surprise. "Why shouldn't I be?" I don't answer. Truth be told, I more than expected Parker to show me a cold shoulder today, giving me yet another one of those whiplashes that he so expertly throws. A small part of me was convinced he'd act as if nothing happened between us last night, and give me the same treatment he gave me in the car on our way here. When we reach the foot of the rocky hill, we stop. Just as I'm about to ask him how on earth he thinks I'll be able to climb this thing that rivals a canyon wall, Parker opens his backpack and retrieves a bundle of ropes and harnesses. "What's this?" I ask. "Climbing equipment. It's not really necessary, but it makes the climb easier." “But my shoes are not appropriate,” I protest, pointing to my boots. “They’ll do just fine.” He starts pulling rather forcefully at the ropes, trying to untangle the messy knots they've formed, and as the knots come undone, one end of a harness, with a buckle, hits me by accident right on the spot on my hip where my butterfly tattoo is. The blow isn't sharp or painful. It barely touches me, actually, but I wince nonetheless, almost knocking myself over. Parker freezes, his hands clasping the rope tightly. He eyes me for a few seconds in silence, then he adds, “Sorry, I wasn’t careful.” “No problem. Let’s go.” Parker ’s expression remains as tight as before, scrutinizing me. Please let this drop. Please. Thankfully, he does, but he looks at me in a way that leaves no doubt that he suspects there is more to my tattoo than meets the eye. He secures one harness around me, then the other around him in silence. As we start climbing the hill he gives me instructions where to step, and which pointy stones to grab. There is a rope tying us together, and every time I hesitate in my spot, he reminds me about the rope, saying he won't let me fall. It becomes clear soon enough that Parker doesn't need the equipment at all. He could climb the stones just fine on his own. He brought it for my sake. Which is good, because there is no way I could have followed him without it. "Can we rest for a few minutes?" I ask halfway through, almost out of breath. Parker chuckles. "It'll get harder if we stop altogether." "I don't care," I retort, clutching my left side. "Just relax in your harness; I'll support you with the rope." I raise an eyebrow, not convinced the rope can hold me. It's not exactly thin, but not very robust, either. In a matter of seconds Parker slides next to me, putting one arm around my lower back. I cock my head to one side, meeting his eyes. And now I really am out of breath, though it has little to do with the cumbersome climb. His gaze pierces me, smoldering and reassuring at the same time. The same inexplicable feeling from last night overtakes me—that nothing can harm me as long as I am in

his arms. I relish the feeling as he surrounds me with his strong, muscular arms and I allow myself to relax for a few seconds. Then I make the mistake of looking down. "Oh my God," I yelp. I knew we'd climbed quite a bit, but never realized how much. If the rope broke now . . . "Are you trying to kill me, Parker?" I say, alert again, clinging to the rope and harness for dear life. Parker merely laughs, his arms still around me. "You don't trust me much, do you?" That's an interesting choice of words, considering what Helen told me about him. I snap free from his arms, preparing myself to start climbing again. "Take me to the top in one piece and I might consider it," I joke, not looking at him. But I think he knows it would take a hell of a lot more than that for me to trust any guy, including him. He unhooks one arm from around me, grabbing the rope tighter. He unhooks the other arm too, but not before touching slightly the spot where the belt accidentally hit me—on my tattoo. An uneasy knot forms in my throat as his message becomes clear: he might have let the subject go, but he still hasn't forgotten about it. The rest of the climb is even more tiring, but that means I don't have any time to think about what happened at the base of the hill. When we finally finish climbing and reach the top, I must admit the view is beautiful. The lake—a pond, really—lies about fifty feet in front of us, and there are willows all around it. They are a more toned-down green, not like the bright green of the grass surrounding the castle. There is some grass here as well, thin lines between the stones, giving the whole area the appearance of a giant jigsaw puzzle. It's only on the other side of the pond that the grass seems to completely replace the stones, spreading over the vast hills in the distance. Beautiful. But still not worth all the effort. I'm sweating like a pig, in addition to having a deep ache in every single muscle. "You should go to the gym or sign up for some kind of sport," Parker says as he starts undoing my harness. "I do sports," I protest. "I run from the couch to the fridge at least fifteen times every evening." Parker bursts out laughing, shaking his head. "I think that's the definition of a couch potato." "I prefer couch tomato. Rhymes with potato, but sounds a lot sexier." "If you say so," Parker says between guffaws, extracting a thin blanket from the backpack, and stuffing his equipment inside, and then mine. Which makes me realize . . . "You only had two sets of equipment in the backpack." "Exactly." "So what if Dani, Helen, or Tara wanted to come too?" "You're observant," Parker says. "I knew they wouldn't come." Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, he takes a step closer to me. "It's you I wanted to bring here." "Why did you ask them, then?" "So you'd feel bad for me when neither of them wanted to come." He grins. "I had a hunch that the odds of convincing you to come on a two-hour hike were somewhere below zero otherwise." "Ah, so throwing in a bit of guilt. Clever." And manipulative. He interlaces his fingers with mine, taking me toward the lake. Not for the first time, I have the strong feeling that Parker is a man who's used to getting what he wants, no matter what. And right now, he wants me. The lakeshore is muddy and doesn't look particularly safe, but thankfully, we stop at a considerable distance, so even if I slip I won't land in the water. "Let's go sit over there," Parker says, pointing between two willows to a group of flattened rocks

not covered in mud. Still heated from the climb, I take off my jacket and sweater, remaining in my white cotton shirt. I do my best to be careful where I step. Just when I'm about to congratulate myself that I made it to the rocks without losing my balance, my left foot gets stuck between two rocks. In an attempt to wiggle it free, I do exactly that: lose my balance and fall straight into the mud. Cursing, I get up. Parker helps me, sounding half-concerned, half-amused when he asks, "Are you all right?" "Yeah, just made a mess of my T-shirt." I pull at the hem, so I can assess the damage better. "Well, if you ever had a fantasy of mud wrestling, I'm on my way to fulfilling half that fantasy." Parker's eyes widen and then laughter bubbles out of his chest. "I'd jump around, trying to imitate someone wrestling," I say, "but I might just break my neck." "I liked this about you since the first time I met you," he says, spreading the blanket on the patch of flat rocks. "What? My ability to trip over anything?" "No," he says, "your ability to turn everything into something positive." "I don't do that." Parker sits himself on the blanket and beckons me to sit next to him. I climb in his lap instead. "Yes, you do. I remember someone made good use of the cast on her broken leg by painting the flag of England and Prince Harry's portrait on it." "Well, that was because I was bored. But I did think it was an excellent opportunity to show everyone just how much I wanted to move here," I admit. "And showcase my spectacular painting skills." Parker considers my words. "The flag looked like a flag, all right. But Harry looked like he belonged in a Star Trek movie." I gasp, feigning to be offended. "Now I know how Picasso felt when he was shunned. Future generations will know better,” I say solemnly. "Come on," he says with a smile, "put your jacket on or you'll get sick." "Ah, not impressed by my impersonation of a wrestling chick, I see," I say, but put the jacket on because I already feel cold. "So, tell me, what's so special about this place?" I turn around, facing the lake. "If there's nothing special, then by all means, make something up that sounds special. My legs need to know there's a special reason I've put them through the climbing ordeal." Instead of answering, he nuzzles my neck, flattening his chest against my back. My body responds at once to his proximity, my skin flaring up under his lips. I lean my head on his shoulder, giving him free access to devour me with his lips. And as he encircles me in his strong arms again, I almost wish he could forget my question. I don't need an answer. At least not right now. This feels pretty damn special all in itself. "I have to admit I'm a bit sore myself," Parker says after a while. "Haven't done this hike in ages." "You used to come here often?" "When I was a kid, even a teenager, I visited Helen a lot. I discovered this place when I was about eight." "And you managed to blackmail someone to come with you every time? Impressive." "I didn't. I never wanted anyone to come here. That's actually why I returned here so often. It was so far away that no one ever came here to bother me." "You came here on your own?" I ask, stricken. "To do what?" "Think, read . . . work when I got older. Get some peace." But it's so lonely here, I want to say. Then I remember Helen's words. Parker doesn't trust many people. Those around him haven't proved to be very trustworthy. Well, I don't trust people either. Especially men. But I didn't run away from them. I liked being among them—relished it in fact, knowing they desired me, even though I knew they'd end up hurting

me if I let them get too close. Parker apparently chose to hide from people. That's one way to ensure you don't get hurt, I suppose. A chill passes through me as I recall what Dani said. Parker's dad died when he was seven. That's old enough to acknowledge it. . .and young enough to be irreparably hurt by the loss. How come he was able to go away on his own for hours at a time to come here when he was eight? Wasn't his mom, or any other adult, supervising him? Forget supervising him—just being with him, comforting him. Loving him. He needed that, I'm certain of it. So why was he on his own instead, and miles away from any adult? Not all parents are warm and loving, I know that. My dad showed me that. Still, I can't imagine any mother not wanting to be permanently at her child’s side after such a tragedy. The image of an eight-year-old boy running on these rocks, where it's so easy to slip and get hurt, appears in my mind. A boy spending hours alone. A sudden urge overwhelms me, to hug that little boy and tell him he's not alone, and that his mother loves him, though it may not seem like it. That could well be a lie, but it wouldn't matter. Lies can be an efficient protection mechanism until we are strong enough to bear the truth. But no, I don't think Parker told himself any lies. Parker strikes me as the type of man who would always seek the truth, no matter what he might find. I stiffen in his arms as he trails his fingers over the spot where the belt accidentally touched me, and I know he won't let it go this time. But I have no intention of sharing my truth. "Want to elaborate on your tattoo and what happened before we started climbing?" "No," I answer simply, and attempt to free myself from his hug. He doesn't let go. "Did this kind of . . . arrangement work with other men you've dated?" "What arrangement?" I ask blankly. "You not sharing anything with them?" I snort. "You're not really one to tell me off for not sharing things about me, Parker. You're excelling at it. And for your information, men never cared about anything I had to share with them except my body. They were pretty happy with the arrangement, as you call it." With one swing, he turns me in his lap so that I'm facing him. Looking me straight in the eyes, he says, "I won't be." "Why?" "Because I never do things half-heartedly. Honestly, I don't know where this will lead. But if we spend more time together . . ."—he grabs my chin, bringing my lips inches closer to his—"I want . . . more from you." He doesn't need to define more. My breath catches as the meaning of his words slowly makes its way into my mind, captivating every ounce of my reason, stirring something deep inside me. A longing I hoped I had quenched. A need I don't want to feel anymore. A need for more from a relationship. I pull myself back a notch. "And you figured that out when? In California, when you walked out on me, or in the two months I've been here and we’ve barely seen each other?" "I don't make decisions like this lightly. And you were the one avoiding me," he reminds me. I was. And for good reason. London was supposed to be different. I was supposed to finally get myself together and stop messing up. Least of all, I was not supposed to get involved with anyone— hoping he would be my savior, only for him to turn into an asshole, as usual. "How have the women you've been with taken your severe bipolarity?" He hesitates just a beat before answering. "Without any objections. I took care of that." Goose bumps form on my arms. What the hell is that supposed to mean? At least my instincts

proved right—he does have tons of practice in bed. The British tabloids just didn't get wind of it. "But that's not what I want from us," he says. "I want us to be open with each other." I stare at him intently for a few seconds, but don't say anything. "Jess?" "Damn, don't pressure me, Parker. It took you months to have sex with me. Don't expect me to spill my guts in three days." To my surprise, Parker lets out a soft chuckle—a sign that I’m spared from the interrogation. At least for now. "Fine, I'll wait," he says. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, then cups my cheek in a gesture so tender and loving that it fills every part of me with a warmth I've never felt before. It vaguely reminds me of the night at the opera, and I finally understand that small gesture of holding my hand. It might seem insignificant to others, but it meant everything to me. And to him too. Judging by what Helen said, I bet it was just as scary for him as it was for me. As he starts kissing my neck, pulling me closer, I find myself wanting more of this. Scary as it might be, knowing he wants more than my body also gives me a sense of safety. "Parker?" "Hmm?" "Will this be a two-way street?" "You'll need to be a bit more specific." "Will you really be open with me? No more whiplash behavior and cryptic remarks?" "I never ask for more than I can give. But I also need time. I was hoping you'd be faster than me at this sharing thing." So I don't trust men, and Parker doesn't trust people. It remains to be seen if we can trust each other. "Well, let's be slow together then," I say. "I know something we're not so slow at," Parker whispers in my ear, and with a brusque movement, pulls me tight into his lap. I feel the bulge in his jeans against my groin. "Sex on the rocks?" I ask. "Well, I've had whiskey on the rocks, screwdrivers, and a bunch of other drinks on the rocks, but never sex." "Time to change that, don't you think?" In reply, I lean forward and kiss him hard, tugging at his lower lip with my teeth. And as Parker's fingers find their way under my shirt, twisting my hardened nipples, I realize he already took the first step in the direction we both fear. He brought me here, to this place that was his and his alone. He already shared a piece of him with me. It'll be my turn before long. We get off the rock and find a spot on the ground. Parker empties the backpack again, puts it on the ground and then gently lays me on my back. The whole thing is far from comfortable, what with the odd pointed stone pinching my back, but I don't care. Parker unzips my shirt slowly, and after leaving me topless, runs his tongue on the valley between my breasts, then takes one of my nipples between his lips, doing exquisite things to it. "I want you, Jessica," Parker grits out, his hands pulling down my pants and underwear. His tongue lashes against my nipples, and I arch my back as the heat spreading from the place where his tongue worships my breasts meets the wind, causing my body to shudder. Then he lowers his mouth to my exposed folds. Pleasure sears through me as his tongue caresses my sleek parts. He doesn't break eye contact, which makes the view of him between my thighs about a million times hotter. I throw my head back when his tongue darts inside me and he starts flicking his thumb over my clit. "This is so good," I say between breaths, closing my eyes, hoping that will help me bear the

pressure that starts to build deep inside me. But Parker refuses to grant me this mercy. "Open your eyes," he commands. I obey, writhing as his tongue expertly licks my inner flesh, every lick sending hotter and hotter flutters inside me until I am certain my core is on fire. "I want you to come all over me, Jessica," he murmurs. The ache inside me grows to an unendurable pit and I wantonly buck my hips against his lips and finger, desperately seeking to slake it. "Parker," I cry, fighting to keep looking him straight in the eyes as flaming impulses sizzle through me, making me thrash and writhe and lose my breath as the orgasm carries me to unexplored heights of ravishing pleasure. Parker unhitches his lips from my core. And then he claims my mouth. I can taste myself on him, and it's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever done. I pull his shirt over his head, revealing the rows of defined, toned muscles. In the dim light of the bedroom yesterday, I couldn't see him properly. But now, with the sun shining high above us, I take in all his glory. I run my hand from one shoulder to the other then down his steel chest. He pulls me into another kiss, deeper than any before, as if he's determined to claim every wisp of air, every part of me. And every secret. Goose bumps form over my body as I unzip and push down his jeans, leaving him naked. Almost. He's still got underwear on. But it doesn't matter. To me, he couldn't get more naked than this. Because Parker bared a piece of his soul, too, by bringing me here. I push his underwear down too. He fills my wet core, gentle at first and then hard and raw, the way we both like it. His arms form a shield around me, protecting me from the rocky surface beneath us as he slams with all his might against me. As we both cry out our release, one thought holds me. Wonderful, fulfilling, and scary at the same time. This is a man I could share my secrets with.

It's late afternoon by the time we enter the house, and a familiar smell invades my nostrils. "Coq au vin, that's a surprise," I say more to myself, because Parker is busy unloading the backpack and there's no one else in the foyer. We find Helen and Tara in the kitchen, both bent over a thick cookbook. "You took forever," Helen comments when she notices us, throwing me a furtive glance and smiling. "Jess is not exactly sporty, so we had to take it slower." "Thanks for ratting me out," I say, playfully pinching his shoulder. "Where's Dani?" Parker asks Helen. "Left for London about two hours ago," she answers. I chuckle. So she decided to sneak out instead of actually coming up with an excuse for Parker. Sounds like something I would have done in my heyday. Not sure if it’s good or bad in her case, though. Seeing Parker turn white at the news, I can sympathize with her decision to not tell him. "What do you mean she took off?” he growls. “How? Why?" "Ah, I think she said she was invited to a party—” "But how could she leave?" Parker runs a hand through his hair. "I drove her here." Helen folds her arms over her chest, glaring at him. "Trains were invented a while ago, you know?" Parker swears loudly and Tara actually jumps, looking at him. Helen merely shakes her head and beckons Tara to leave the kitchen with her, muttering, "The coq au vin will take a while before it’s ready." Parker already has his smartphone attached to his ear. "She doesn't answer, damn it," Parker says after a minute or so. "Why did she have to take off like that?" "Relax, Parker. She probably prefers to have fun with friends in some club in London to being here. She didn't seem too keen on coming," I say. "Look, I am in charge of her. She can't just—” "In charge?" I ask in disbelief. "I hate to break this to you, Parker, but she's eighteen." "I don't care how old she is. You are never too old to mess things up." He straightens up, hesitating for a full minute. "She was involved with a guy who was part of a dangerous gang back in California." "Oh," I say. "I didn't know that." "James and I are afraid she might do the same here." "I don't think you have anything to worry about, Parker. Honestly. I saw her friends a few times.

They seem to be decent people." "Dani used to be a really sweet, laid-back girl. A nerd, really. But about six months ago she decided to, I quote, reinvent herself. I thought it was funny in the beginning, but then she sort of ended up on the wrong side of fun." I tap my fingers on the table nervously. Though Dani hasn't done anything dangerous since we moved in together, I can tell she's trying very hard to be something she isn't. But then again, my yardstick for dangerous things isn't exactly reliable. "Why the decision to change?" I ask. "No one really knows what has gotten into her. James tried to talk to her, but even he can't get anything out of her, which is bad because she used to tell him everything. But her decision came about the same time she got involved with that guy, so I’m sure it’s related to him. We're going back to London this instant." "No, Parker. Cornering her isn't the solution. You'll only alienate her." "I don't want to risk—” "How would you have felt if someone tried to keep you on a leash when you were her age?" Parker lets out a bark of humorless laughter that sends chills down my spine. "I would have liked to see anyone try. But no one cared enough to try." He takes a sharp breath, straightening his shoulders as he strolls away to the window with his back turned to me. Warmth fills me at his words, and I'd like nothing more than to hug him tightly, but somehow I get the feeling he doesn't want that right now, even though he might need it. Opening a door to the past is an act of strength. Admitting the need for affection takes a different kind of strength altogether. I feel a rush of affection for his concern for Dani. "Just because you let her make her own mistakes doesn't mean you don't care about her," I say softly. "I don't want her to do something she won't be able to fix later on," he growls. "Have a little faith, will you?" He turns to me, and to my relief the corner of his lips lift upward to form a smile. "Fine, Jessica. We'll do it your way." Striding right toward me, he curls an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. "But you'd better take my mind off the whole thing." I shudder slightly as he tugs at the hem of my shirt, his fingers touching my skin. "Let's go upstairs," he whispers. "Just let me check on the coq au vin first," I say, unable to help myself. Parker lets me go, chuckling. "Are you serious?" "It's so easy to get it wrong," I say defensively. "There's nothing worse for you than a botched meal, is there?" "Well there are worse things, but this is right up there with a broken nail or shoe heel," I joke. "Or sex without an orgasm." "You can scratch that last one off your list," Parker says, his voice dropping an octave. "I assure you it won't happen while you're mine." My sassy reply gets caught in my throat. Mine. I like the sound of that. A lot. I try not to concentrate on how temporary he made it sound. "Checking that we won't starve for dinner?" Helen asks, entering the kitchen. "That's probably a good thing. Tara's cooking is a trial and error process that results in errors most of the time." After a pause she adds, "Don't tell her I said that." "Well, I'll let the two of you save the day," Parker says with a smile. It strikes me, as he leaves the kitchen, that his demeanor has changed since yesterday. He's no longer trying to make it seem like we are strangers.

Helen lets out a deep breath. "Thank God you managed to calm him down. I was fully expecting Parker to drag all of us back to London." "He wasn't far from it," I say as I open the oven to inspect the chicken. Helen shakes her head. "Things are either black or white for him. No gray areas. Either he doesn't give a damn about people, or is fiercely overprotective about those few he does care about. His controlling nature can get overbearing sometimes." This makes me pause from tasting the food. Being a control freak is not exactly a feature I appreciate. And still . . . I can't help asking myself what it would be like to be loved by this man.

T he first thing I do when I'm back in the apartment the next afternoon is go to Dani's room. I find her sleeping, clutching her pillow tightly in her arms. I wrinkle my nose as a whiff of alcohol pinches my nostrils. Having been through more hangovers than I can—literally—remember, I wouldn't normally think of this as more than some college fun. But in light of what Parker told me yesterday, maybe I should be more alert. I decide not to worry Parker too much, though, and just text him: She's sleeping. I go to my room next and collapse in my bed. Since I barely got any sleep last night, it would probably be a good idea to lie down for a few hours, maybe even sleep through until tomorrow morning. Except I can't. Despite every muscle in my body being worn out beyond measure, my mind is as alert as ever. It's hard to escape the reality of what happened on Friday now that I'm back here, with no Parker to take my mind off things—either by puzzling me to the point of frustration or fucking me to exhaustion. And he's gone on a business trip until next Sunday. The sensible part of me rejoices at the thought; I need my mind clear so I can step up my game at work. But my lady parts strongly disagree. I allow myself a moment to daydream about everything that happened this weekend. It’s not hard, since Parker ’s scent still lingers on me, keeping the memories of his touch fresh. It’s almost as if he’s here with me, his expert hands touching me, his seductive voice making me want him. I smile as I turn on one side, realizing something else besides his scent will ensure I won’t forget this weekend. Every muscle in my body is sore. Parker took care of that. He slept in my bed the second night too, keeping me in a tender embrace. I almost wished the morning wouldn’t arrive so I wouldn’t have to untangle myself from his arms. But we spent the better part of today in bed as well. Making love, talking, laughing. Seeing one of the dresses I wear to work hanging in my closet snaps me out of my daydream, and for the next two hours only thoughts of work occupy my mind. I try to think about strategies to improve my boss's opinion of me, but every time I remember his outburst, I hear my father's words, feeding my desperation. "Ye'll end up coming back home, you worthless, ungrateful brat." Worthless. That word is synonymous with my name to my father. And until a few months ago, I haven't done much to change that perception. My job search went surprisingly well. While most of my colleagues in my art and history classes, and Serena herself, struggled to get interviews, I breezed through them. I finally had a chance to put a lifetime of bluffing my way through school and college to good use. Apparently, a good bluffer does not make a competent worker. But I'll be damned if I won't become the best one. A noise from the kitchen startles me. Dani. When I enter the kitchen, Dani is at the sink, downing a glass of water with large gulps. "That's

one nasty hangover you have there," I say. She chokes, spilling a considerable amount of water on herself. "How do you know I'm hungover?" she asks, her eyes widening in alarm. I grin. "Experience, my dear Dani. You look like you're about to throw up." Dani blushes. "Oh, you already did. My bad. Don't worry, you'll do it again any second now." "That's exactly how I feel," she admits, eyeing the floor. "Get back to bed, I'll bring you more water." "Isn't there anything to help me with the headache?" she asks, looking at me hopefully. "Well, also from experience, I can tell you there isn't. And I've done thorough research on the subject; trust me. Some people swear by aspirin, but it never helped me." I enter her room a few minutes later, placing a glass of water on her bedside table. Dani pulls her covers up to her neck. "Was Parker mad that I left without telling him?" "I think that's an understatement." Dani gulps. "I hope he didn't call James." "Nope, between Helen, Tara, and myself we convinced him not to." That seems to cheer her up. "How long will I feel like I've got a drill buried in my brain?" "Is this your first hangover?" I raise my eyebrows. "Not exactly. Just my first really bad hangover." This makes me think Parker must have been exaggerating yesterday. James as well. From what I've gathered about James, he seems the kind of overprotective brother who would do just that. "Everyone was drinking beer after beer yesterday," she continues, "and I could barely keep up." I open my mouth, then shut it again, unsure of what to say. The old Jess would have told her she'll get better at the whole thing. The new Jess should tell her it would be preferable if she would drop the whole thing altogether, especially in light of what Parker told me. But a lifetime of coming up with reasons to convince Serena to come to parties with me didn't exactly prepare me for this. In the end I just say, "You'll be fine tomorrow morning." As I head to the door, I can't help wondering why Dani is trying so hard to become a party girl. Everything from her shy nature to her obvious feeling of inadequacy when wearing tight or short clothing makes it clear that she's not that kind of girl. I snort at the irony of the whole thing. Dani, desperately trying to become a bad girl; me trying to become a good, responsible one. Seems like neither of us is doing too well with the transition. Work is awful on Monday and borderline brutal on Tuesday. On Wednesday I finally snap and tell Mr. Norton to pull out that stick he's got up his ass and shove the report he made me redo for the fifth time inside instead. Instead of firing me the next minute, he apologizes and says he isn't acting like himself these days, then shuts himself in his office. Fiona swears she heard him cry after a courier delivered his divorce papers, but I have to see it before I believe it. He turns back to being an ass in the afternoon anyway, so I don't feel guilty in the slightest. When I arrive home, Dani is eating some of the pudding I cooked yesterday. "Sorry," she says with a sheepish grin, "I was starving." "No problem." I help myself to what is left while Dani becomes engrossed in back and forth texting on her cellphone. "In demand much?" Her cheeks redden. "Just a friend from the U.S." Dani's comment makes me think of how much I miss talking to Serena. Thanks to the time zone difference, Serena is still stuck at work, but maybe I can talk to her for a few minutes. I've been bursting to tell her about Parker. I never told her what happened between us when I was home. Out of shame because he rejected me. I've always hidden shameful things from Serena. But things have

changed now. I hover my finger over the message icon of my screen, thinking whether I should send her a message first, asking her if she has a few minutes. Just seeing the message icon makes me seriously blush, which has a lot to do with the fact that Parker and I have been sexting like crazy all week. He's abroad until Sunday. He warned me that he'll have no way of calling me during the day, or even the evening, because he's got back-to-back meetings scheduled from the wee hours of the morning until late in the evening. But at night . . . let's just say the hotness level of his texts is enough to give me night-long unorthodox dreams. It feels clandestine, too, which makes it even hotter. He won't text me for another few hours though. He always texts at the same hour, actually. I bet the freak put it as a reminder on his phone. I chuckle, imagining what it would look like. 10 p.m. - meeting with the managing director. 11:30 p.m. - sexting with Jessica. I sit up a bit straighter, suddenly feeling more important. I go to my room, light a cigarette, and decide to call Serena. Thankfully, she picks up. I start talking right away. "I am going to tell you something and I don't want you to interrupt me until I am finished. I think I have something like a huge crush on Parker. I've had it for some time. Since he was in California actually. But then we had a . . . umm . . . fight, and then everything sort of fizzled out. Anyway, we've been together a few times since I moved here." I pause, unsure of what to say next. Unsure of why I called, actually. It's not like I wanted to ask her advice on the matter. Then I realize I just wanted to share this with someone I trust and care for deeply. I hold my breath, waiting to hear her speak. But it's not her voice that comes through. "Interesting." The voice belongs to James. "James," I say, leaping up from my bed so brusquely that I accidentally burn myself with my cigarette. "Fuck," I yelp, rubbing the burned spot. "Why didn't you say anything?" "You specifically asked not to be interrupted," James says in an amused tone. "I asked Serena not to interrupt me." "Actually, you never mentioned her name." "Wasn't the fact that I called her an indication that I wanted to speak with her? Never mind, why are you answering her cell phone?" "She's at home, sleeping. She's been sick the past couple of days." "She's working too much," I say. "I agree. Look, I can tell her to call you when she wakes up." "No, wait," I say, suddenly struck by an idea. Since I already made a fool of myself, why not take advantage? James knows Parker better than anyone. I bet even better than Helen. Fingers crossed that he's less prone to frustrating mind games than she is. "I want you to tell me a few things about Parker." Silence. "I fed you every bit of information on Serena I had last year and plotted with you more times than I care to remember for you to be able to meet with her after you messed up. You owe me, James." I cringe at the very poor choice of wording on my part. If there's anyone owing something here, it's me. Literally. James lent me the six thousand dollars I needed to get out of the mess from that bar brawl. I've yet to repay that debt. But James merely chuckles. "Just out of curiosity, when you said you were together, did you mean you had sex?" "No, I meant that we were counting sheep. Of course we had sex." He starts laughing and doesn't stop for a full minute. "Umm . . . James?" "I did not see this coming."

"What is so ridiculous about the idea of your cousin having sex with me?" "Not with you specifically, it's just that—" He pauses. "If you don't finish that sentence, I swear to God I will poison your drink the next time I see you, James." Which will not be for months. Lousy, as far as threats go. "Listen to me," James says. "I don't know how much Parker has told you about himself—” "You can safely assume he hasn't told me jack shit." "I see. Be patient with him, Jessica. And careful." His tone is so serious, almost concerned, that it makes my skin crawl. An uneasy feeling settles in my chest. I light up another cigarette, then lean on my pillow, careful not to burn myself again. James snickers, which relaxes me somewhat. "I think Parker needs someone like you." I need someone like him, too. "By the way, there's something I wanted to let you know. Nothing to do with Parker," James says. "Okay." "I want to ask Serena to marry me." I gasp. "Wow, that's wonderful." "Really? You sounded like you just had a heart attack," James says, and I detect a slight nervousness in his voice. "No, you just took me by surprise. I think this is . . . you'll be so happy together. I—” "Has Serena ever mentioned to you if she. . . er . . . has imagined how she'd like a proposal to be?" "Ah, so you tell me nothing about Parker, but I'm still supposed to feed you information about Serena?" "Something like that, yeah." I laugh. "No, James, she hasn't actually. But your ideas for romantic dates have always surpassed everyone's wildest imagination, so I think you're good on your own." "I'll think about it and run a few ideas by you." "Sounds like a plan." Before I get the chance to ask him anything else he says, "Is Dani around? She's not answering her phone." "Sure. I'll pass her the phone." "Is she all right?" "Yes, James," I say, exasperated, as I leave my bed. "She's behaving like any normal college girl. Please stop acting like she's constantly in danger." "She—” "Yes, Parker told me she got involved with some guy last year that was up to some dangerous stuff, and I have a few things to say to you about that. First, I don't buy that crap. As a big brother, you're genetically programmed to dislike her boyfriends." "You haven't met the guy. He was—” "I don't care. Even if all you believe of him is true, she's broken up with him, and is an ocean away from him. So chill out, okay?" "Are you done?" James asks with a hint of anger. "Yes." "Then pass the phone to Dani." I leave my phone with Dani and go back to my room, James's words still haunting me. Be patient with him, Jessica. And careful. The tone of his voice as he said it is branded in my brain. Tense, almost fearful. I close my eyes, dread creeping up inside me.

Suddenly, I’m afraid, too.

Despite my best efforts, by Friday I'm convinced my boss hates me. Fiona insists he just hates all women at the moment, because of his wife, but that doesn't appease me. I head to the supermarket after I leave work, returning home with bags of salad, steak, ingredients for crêpes, and other groceries. I plan to make a five-course dinner for Dani and me. Cooking complex dishes usually helps take my mind off things. As does drinking and dancing till the wee hours of the morning. But I don't do that anymore. Disappointment floods me as I receive a text from Dani, informing me she's made other plans for dinner. When my cell phone buzzes again with an incoming call, my heart flutters. Parker. "Hello, stranger, how's Copenhagen?" I ask, referring to the last city he's going to on his trip before he returns on Sunday. "Wouldn't know. Just landed at Heathrow." "You're back early? Why?" He laughs softly into the phone. "I was expecting a bit of excitement, not an interrogation." "I am excited; I didn't expect it." "I decided to let my assistant deal with Copenhagen. Thought of a more fun way to spend the weekend." "Mmm, and what would that be? Staring at spreadsheets and reports in your office?" "How about I tell you over dinner? I made reservations at a place that opened last week. I'm sure you're going to love it." I eye the bags of groceries lying on the kitchen table. "Why don't you come here and I'll make dinner? I just bought enough food to feed half a dozen people." "I've got a better idea. I'll pick you up and we'll go to my place. There better be no roommates for what I have in mind for dessert." "Your place?" "Yeah. I assure you the kitchen has top-notch appliances." "You tested them yourself?" I ask, amused. "I'm offended. What would a CEO be doing in his own kitchen?" "Shut up." I laugh. "And pick me up in ninety minutes." I spend the next half hour trying on dress after dress, until I settle on a red, knee-length, tight dress with long sleeves. It hugs my curves just fine, accentuating my waist and my hips. I pair the dress with some decently high black heels. I style my hair in loose curls, then proceed to apply black eyeliner and eye shadow. I smile after I’m done. I’ve always been somewhat of an expert at creating smoky eyes. It’s my favorite style of makeup. I like the way it makes my blue eyes stand out. When I walk outside the building I find Parker pulled up right in front, standing outside his car. I slow down my pace as I take him in. Every inch of him oozes sex appeal. The messed-up, dark blond hair, so different than his otherwise impeccable appearance. Some would say it needs trimming, but I like it this way. It frames his strong jawline and blue eyes. Under the jacket of his sleek suit I can make out the contour of his sculpted chest. I smile. The outside world can guess what's under the surface,

but I know for sure. The evening air chills me, and I pull my trench coat tighter around me. With an effortless swing, Parker removes the grocery bags from my hands and pins me against the car as his lips meet mine in a fierce clash. Claiming my mouth, his tongue darts inside with passionate, rhythmic moves that make me think of a more intimate dance that moves to the same rhythm. "Someone missed me," I whisper, grinding against his erection. "You have no idea how much," he growls. "You look so beautiful. Let's get in the car or any neighbor looking out the window will witness a show he's not likely to forget." "Sounds tempting," I tease, but get inside the car. "I brought you something," he says as we drive away. You have three tries to guess what." My heart skips a beat as he shows me a rectangular box. I take the box with a blue ribbon around it from his hand. "Thank you," I say. I try not to read too much into his gesture. He probably instructed his assistant to buy me something. Still, the fact that he thought about bringing me something at all tugs at my heartstrings in a dangerous way. Men have never been that considerate with me. "Let me guess," I say, staring at the box intently. A man of his status is most likely used to buying jewelry. But the box is a tad too large and too high for that. Still, I give it a try. "Jewelry?" Parker scoffs. "I didn't buy you jewelry. I bought something I thought you'd appreciate more." "Hmm, oh God," I exclaim, as a thought strikes me, "did you buy me a . . . toy?" My cheeks catch fire. "A toy," Parker frowns. "As in, a teddy bear?" "Come on, Parker, you really want me to spell it out?" "Yes, I am thoroughly confused," he says with a smirk that tells me he knows exactly what I mean. "And unless you spell out exactly what is in there it doesn't count as guessing." "I meant a vibrator." Parker bursts out laughing, more heartfelt than I've ever heard him. "You were mocking me." I cross my arms, feigning to be mad at him, though I can barely keep a straight face. "No, it was just too good an opportunity for fun to let it pass. But I'll keep it in mind for my next trip." "I'm done guessing," I say. "Not fair. And I'm dying to hear what’s on that dirty little mind of yours." I undo the ribbon and open it. And then my jaw drops. "You—I can't believe it. You brought me some Tarte Tatin?" "Yes," he says proudly. "That's every cooking addict's dream. How did you know I'd want something like this?" "I had my assistant interview the best chefs to find out what French dish would most appeal to a hobby chef." If he didn't look dead serious, I'd be convinced he's humoring me. "Wait, you seriously did that?" "Yeah." "You're . . . thorough," I say, stunned. "Always. What did you expect?" "Oh my God, this is heaven in a box," I say, eating one of the two pieces of pie. It's a caramelized apple tart baked upside down. The feeling of bliss isn't just due to the food, though. He wouldn't go to these lengths if I wasn't important to him, would he? "I'm curious, what would you call a vibrator? Battery-operated heaven?" I elbow him. "Shut up."

"You aren't eating the second one?" "No way. I'm taking it home to study it. I tried to bake this a few times, with disappointing results." "I'm guessing my performances last week were also disappointing since you were so eager for a vibrator." He smirks as I blush. "No, it's not that at all. I have one anyway. I mean—” I stop as Parker starts laughing again. It's such a good feeling to see him laugh. Really laugh. Like now, not the forced smile he puts on when he's trying to keep up appearances, like when he was joking about his father's side of the family. "What?" Parker asks, and I realize I've been staring at him. "Nothing. I like to see you laugh. You look younger. You should try it more often." "Not many people can bring this out in me. But you can. And I'd like you to do it as often as you can." My heart skips a beat. I put the box on the back seat. There are a million things I wanted to ask him about his trip. He went to Paris and Barcelona, two cities I’m dying to see. But the lightning-quick beats of my heart somehow seem to drive away any thought of those cities. One glance at the growing bulge in Parker's pants, and thoughts about anything else except one thing vanish for good. "A penny for your thoughts?" I ask mockingly. There's a pause, and when Parker speaks again, his voice has a rough edge to it that sends delicious shivers through my belly. "They're only worth that much to you, huh? You'll have to offer more than that." "Tell me and maybe I'll consider it." "If you insist," Parker says, and though he resumes a serious demeanor, there's still a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Why was your first thought that I bought you a vibrator?" "Hmm, let's see . . . maybe because of all the sexting we did this week?" "Did you use a vibrator while we were doing it?" "No." "How did you pleasure yourself, Jessica?" he asks, and I shudder at his roughness that holds so much promise. I sink in my seat, my face suddenly really, really hot. "With my hands," I whisper, staring at the wheel. "Show me," he growls. "Touch yourself." An electrifying jolt wracks me, heating up every part of my body. One in particular. "So you didn't want my neighbors to witness something that might give them interesting dreams but you're okay with everyone driving around us watching?" "Do it. I want to see you pleasure yourself, Jessica." I sink in my seat, the tips of my fingers prickling as I push the fabric of my red dress up my thighs. "Like this?" I tease, running my fingers up and down a thigh. "Lower," he commands. "You are demanding, aren't you?" "Now." The commanding tone in his voice is just as arousing as the idea of touching myself. I let my hand slide inside my panties, when he says, "Get rid of your knickers. I want to see." I oblige, taking my time to roll them down my legs, enjoying how his breaths are becoming increasingly sharper and heavier. It gives me a sense of elation.

And power. But I don't touch my core right away. I keep one hand on my inner thigh and run the other one up to my breasts, feeling my nipples harden in my bra under my dress, throbbing to escape. Throbbing for his touch. My skin burns for him. I am slick with wetness already when I finally touch myself there, and when I start circling my clit, I arch my back as waves of pleasure start spreading through me. I did this quite a few times this week, especially when his messages reached a level of hotness that had me aching for him. But touching myself intimately under his gaze while knowing that anyone could see us makes the tingles inside me a thousand times more intense. No man I've been with wanted things like this. But Parker is offering me a freedom that others tried to restrain. Pushing me even further than I would have imagined. First, the opera. Now, this. "Parker," I gasp, as the unbearable tension transforms in shivers of anticipation. "That's it. Make yourself come." "Touch me," I whisper. "You're not the one commanding here." "Touch me," I beg, closing my eyes as I increase the rhythm of my fingers around my clit. When I'm on the verge of my release, I feel Parker thrusting two fingers inside me, curving them to touch that sweet spot that sends me into overdrive. I swing up my hips, pushing against his fingers while circling my tender spot. "Come, Jessica," he says. His words undo me like nothing else, and in one brutal second an inferno of pleasure overtakes my body, and I'm left writhing and gasping out his name. My body still shaking, I put my panties back on. Damn. They’re soaked. And their touch on my sensitive skin has the sizzling effect of making me want him. Again. The car takes an abrupt turn to the left, and it suddenly becomes dark. I sit up straight, swaying a little. We're entering an underground parking lot. This can't be where Parker lives though. It's one of the downtown shopping galleries. "What are you doing?" I ask. "Trying to avoid crashing, because I'm so hard I can barely concentrate on the road." Oh. He drives to the lowest level of the parking lot, where there are hardly any cars. He pulls over in the least illuminated part of the lot and turns off the engine. I swallow hard, my heart rate picking up speed again. There is so much sexual tension in the air it's almost like a fog. "Come here," Parker commands in a hoarse voice. He doesn't say anything more explicit, but there's no need. In a few swift moves, I leap from my seat and straddle him, seating myself in his lap. Our mouths crash into one another with desperate need, his tongue darting inside my mouth, joining my own in a dance that tells of lust and need and craving. Parker pushes the seat farther back and then grabs my thighs, his fingers grazing my skin, as if he can't get enough of me. Good. Because I can't get enough of him, either. Though I found my release not five minutes ago, my intimate spot pulsates again at being this close to him. "That's it," he murmurs, nuzzling my neck with his lips, making the nerve endings in my body sizzle with anticipation. Parker lets out a deep, hoarse sound when I press my soaked panties against the hard bulge confined beneath his pants. It's my turn to succumb to moans when he strokes the wet fabric of my panties with his fingers. I guess I shouldn’t have bothered to put them back on. "You're so responsive, Jessica," he says, caressing my swollen flesh with one hand, and seeking my breasts with the other. I don't know when he undoes my bra, but suddenly my hardened nipples are exposed. His mouth covers one of my nipples, swiping his tongue across it until my legs wobble and

then my entire body gives in to tremors. And then he removes the panties. "Parker. . ." I whisper, fumbling with the zipper of his pants. Parker hands me a condom, and I roll it on. I palm his throbbing erection, and place his wide tip at my entrance. Feeling his tip on my swollen flesh almost sends me over the edge. But I don't slide onto him right away. No, I take my time, teasing him like he's done with me in other instances. "You like this, don't you? Being in control." His voice shakes despite the playful tone. "For someone so used to being in control, you seem to be enjoying it, too" I whisper, sliding his tip in. Just a fraction. "I do with you." His lips find mine again and he starts tugging at my lower lip as I ease myself onto him, taking him inside inch by inch, enjoying the feeling of being whole again. Every cell in my body is ignited as I start moving, taking him deeper and deeper inside me. Spasms of pleasure ripple through me, starting deep in my core and my sex clenches around his shaft as I increase my rhythm, desperate for more pleasure. Parker grips my ass with his fingers, guiding me in my frantic search for a shattering release. I tug at his hair, pulling his head closer to me. But nothing is close enough. Nothing is fast enough. I let out an unrecognizable sound as tension slams through me and I rock my hips forward into him, afraid I might combust from the pleasure. And combust I do. In a million flaming spasms that overtake my body and drain every last ounce of self-restraint from it. In my frenzy, I see Parker jerk his head back, an animalistic groan resounding from deep inside him. He finds his own release as I give myself to him in helpless surrender. Afterward, I cuddle against him, resting my head at the nape of his neck. He puts his arms around me, hugging me tightly to his chest. "You okay?" he whispers, playing with my hair. "Perfect." I missed this. Him. His scent, his kisses, the way he makes me feel. I missed the ardor of his lips and the warmth of his arms around me. God, I'm pathetic. A few nights in his arms and some smoking-hot sexting and I'm turning into a clingy, weak version of myself. Don't forget the months of lusting after him. But that was all that was. Lusting. Or wasn't it? I cuddle even tighter against him. I've never been particularly good at compartmentalizing lust and feelings. But deep down, I always knew the truth. Well, the guys made it easy, really. They had no qualms about letting me know how little they cared about me. But Parker doesn't make it easy at all. In those moments before the passion overtook us, there was something between us. A spark I can't define. But though I can't define it, I know it has the power to burn me up with more fury then even the consuming passion between us can. In the silence, I lower my head, listening to the beats of his heart, as if they could provide me with the answer I need. How do I know where the lust ends and the need for more starts? Deep down, I think I know where to find the answers: in the beats of my own heart. And though what I'll find might frighten me, I know one thing: I don't want this to be just for now. I can only hope Parker doesn't, either.

It takes forever for us to cross the city. London, as usual, is buzzing with traffic, even in the late hours of the evening. I look out the window electrified, the energy from my explosive release still pulsing in my veins. I love the vibrancy of this city: the bright lights everywhere, the rush of people. When I came to London for the interview, it was love at first sight. I never wanted to leave. The time I had to spend in California until my graduation seemed like one giant drag. I couldn't wait to come back here, and make London my permanent home. I look out the window and realize we have left downtown behind. The lights are less bright, the cars fewer in number. We enter one of London's most expensive residential areas, which doesn't surprise me. I always assumed Parker lives somewhere expensive. What does surprise me, as he pulls the car in front of one of the houses, is the enormous size of his house. Built entirely with the red bricks I've come to associate with Brits, the house is three stories high and so large that four families could comfortably live inside. Despite my coat, I shiver when I get out of the car. "Here," Parker says, taking off his jacket and putting it on my shoulders. "A real gentleman, eh?" I ask, pulling it tighter around me, inhaling the smell emanating from it —the scent of him. My nub throbs and as I blink, the image of his lips between my legs appears in my mind. I catch my breath. "Always. I thought you knew that by now. No, wait, you don't believe I'm a gentleman at all, do you?" "You haven't exactly behaved like a gentleman toward me," I say as I scrutinize my surroundings: a neat garden with grass trimmed to perfection and roses lined up on either side of the patio. All in all a nice but rather small garden, so I assume the largest portion of it lies behind the back of the house. Parker unlocks the door, pushing it open, and as I step inside, he curls an arm around my waist, his lips touching my ear. "You didn't seem to want that." "No, I didn't. I hope you won't start being one now." He laughs softly. "Not a chance." A vision of us rolling on what looks like freshly polished parquet invades my mind. Followed by another vision—of him flattening me against the wall between two paintings which I'm one hundred percent sure are painted by Monet, and which I'll make sure to inspect later, when I'm not so darn horny. Damn, this man can get me dripping wet just by talking, even though we were together not half an hour ago. Parker lets me go, taking his jacket off my shoulders and putting it on the hanger. Disappointed, I undo my coat and throw it on the hanger as well. Carelessly, of course, so it slides away, falling on the parquet. Parker bends to pick it up. I get a good view of his rear in the process, which does nothing to calm my hunger for him. He's a damn good sight. In a suit and out of it. He hangs my coat properly, smoothing a few creases in it. "I love these paintings," I say. "Paintings, food, toys." He smiles. I put my hands on my hips, shrugging. "I love lots of things."

His smile widens. "I can see that. I don't think I've ever known anyone more in love with . . . life than you are." "Okay," I say, slightly taken aback by his line. I start inspecting the paintings. The mix of swirling colors captivates me, and I watch them, mesmerized as I always am when I have a painting in front of me. "Monet," Parker says, confirming my thoughts. "There are two more of his paintings in the library. I'll show them to you later on, let's go to the kitchen for now. Don't know about you, but I'm starving," he says, glancing at the bags of groceries. I trail alongside him, taking in my surroundings. From the flawlessly arranged art pieces on the tables, to the lush, expensive carpets, there isn't one object that is anything short of perfectly polished or even slightly misplaced. And while I have no doubt that Parker has an army of housekeepers doing the cleaning, this tells me he's a man who likes to have everything in order. There is no place for chaos in Parker's life. How can there be a place for someone whose life has always been governed by chaos, like me? "You live here on your own?" I ask. "Yeah, I bought this a few months ago, had it refurbished, and only moved in about one month ago." "Why didn't you buy a smaller one?" "I wanted this one. It's the house I grew up in. We lived here until I was eight. Afterward my mother sold the house, but I always wanted to move back here. When I saw it was up for sale I bought it immediately. The previous owner changed all the furniture except the things in my dad's study. It looks exactly the way it did when we used to live here. There's something really special about returning to live in the place where you grew up, don't you think?" In truth, I don't. If there is one place I wouldn't ever want to set foot in again, it's my parents' house. Ever since I moved out for college, I've done a good job avoiding it most of the time. I only went for Thanksgiving and Christmas, not able to find it in myself to break my mom's heart by not showing up on either of those days. "And this," Parker says, "is the kitchen." "Wow." Shiny surfaces and every appliance that can be found in a kitchen surround us. All unused. "Museum kitchen?" I ask. "Guilty as charged. I've been eating out ever since I moved in here. But here's your chance to inaugurate it. Ready?" "You bet. Let's start. I'm starving."

If I had to make a list of the hottest things a woman can do, cooking wouldn't make that list. But watching Jessica near the stove is a turn-on. She puts music on her phone and starts dancing around the kitchen, smiling the entire time. The fact that she’s dressed in a provocative red dress and high heels adds a touch of weirdness to the whole thing. But then again, there is nothing ordinary about Jessica. I lean on the table in the center of the kitchen, content to watch her. The way she inspects each ingredient, you'd think they're some kind of precious stones. But that's the thing with her. She finds joy in everything. I wondered briefly in the car, like I always do, if it would be a mistake to bring her here. But now I know it wasn't. She brings this place exactly what it’s missing. Life. Light. I begin to ask myself if there's any place Jessica wouldn't bring light to. "You should have a housewarming party," Jessica says after putting all the ingredients in three pans. She now waits patiently by the stove, peeking inside. "No time. Besides, the house is half-empty. It's just the ground floor and two of the six bedrooms that have furniture." She turns to face me, a smirk crossing her delicious lips. I can't wait to taste them again. "Housewarming parties aren't about showing off your furniture, for heaven's sake. It's about not having too much furniture so it doesn't stand in the way of fun." "Not for adults," I answer, smiling. "Being an adult isn't an excuse for being boring." "No, it definitely isn't for you," I muse. Her eyes widen, and something flickers in them. "Is that a bad thing?" I walk over to her, putting my arms on the counter around her, trapping her. "I'm not sure. You make me lose control in a way I haven't allowed myself in a long time. And I'm beginning to like it." I kiss her before she can answer, tasting a million things on her lips. Her passion for life, and everything in it. Her passion for me. "Parker," she whispers when we stop for air. I kiss her again, indulging in what she makes me feel. I lift up her skirt, hungry to touch her again. She offers me an escape from all the rules I've set for myself. The first time I lost control at the opera, I wanted to do anything to get it back. The second time I lost it, earlier in the car, the thought of reclaiming it didn't even cross my mind. I begin to want to lose it. It's something I need. With her, it feels right. I pull her closer to me until her full breasts press against my chest, making my dick throb anew, wanting to pound her again. A weird whistling sound that doesn't tell me anything comes from somewhere next to us. But it evidently tells her a lot, because she pushes me away.

"Crap," Jessica exclaims, hovering over the pans again, with a deep frown on her forehead. "You stay away from me until after we eat. I don't want to ruin this." "Agreed, chef," I say and she darts her tongue out briefly before focusing on the pans again. I watch her guard the pans until everything is ready, wondering how she can appear to be such an open book and yet hide so many secrets at the same time.

"So what's the verdict?" I ask, as he takes the first bite of steak. "You are a witch." "The I'll-use-your-entrails-for-a-potion kind, or the I'll-turn-your-pumpkin-into-a-carriage kind?" I frown. "No, I think the latter kind was called a fairy." I feel Parker's warm breath against my neck as he puts an arm around my waist from the back. "The kind that has the power to turn everything around her bright." Normally, I'd laugh at a line this corny. But my breath catches instead. This is no line. We take a seat at the kitchen table, opposite each other. Parker takes another bite of his steak. "You think you got well acquainted with your kitchen?" I ask playfully. He chuckles. "This isn't the first time I've been in the kitchen, Jessica. I spent a lot of time in here when I was a kid. It was my second favorite place in the house after my dad's study. I spent hours here, chatting with the cook or the maids." It takes me a few seconds to realize what is wrong with that sentence. Cook . . . maids. "How about your mom?" No reaction from Parker. He merely shifts the remaining pieces of steak from one side of the plate to the other. "Let's just say my mum wasn't a very hands-on mum." "She didn't spend a lot of time with you and your brother?" I press. Parker stiffens in his seat at the mention of his brother, then drops his fork, looking at me. "No, she was all right with Robert. She just loathed me." The ease with which he says the last few words breaks my heart. Like it's nothing more than a simple fact of life. It might seem devastating and cruel to others, but it's something he's learned to live with. "I'm sure that's not true," is all I manage to say. "You don't know her." He inhales deeply, his stare vacant. "She didn't want me at all. Or my dad. She just married him because she had my brother, Robert, and his father had left them and she didn't have any financial means to support herself and a child. She hated her marriage to my dad and planned to leave him after a few years. But she got pregnant with me and my dad refused to grant her a divorce. She even told him she'd leave me behind with him, if he agreed to a separation." "That sucks," I say, unsure if I should add anything else. He merely shrugs. "I still have some great memories of this house from when my dad was alive. After he died, Mum sold it. Not that I was around in the new one much. I wasn’t exactly . . . welcomed. She sent me away shortly after Dad’s funeral." "I know you've been in a boarding school." "Several," he says. "I got chucked out of quite a few. No matter how much my mother tried to bribe the headmasters, they weren't willing to keep me."

"Why?" "I caused lots of trouble. I'd either spend my time alone or cause trouble. I had anger issues. Got into a lot of fights." "What were you angry about?" I ask quietly. "Everything. I was mostly angry with my dad for dying. Then I'd feel guilty. I mean, who does that? I couldn't understand how I could be mad at him." A ghost of a frown replaces the impassiveness he's displayed until now, as if he can't recall that particular detail without awakening a very deep pain. "That's because you were a child, Parker," I say, and wanting to touch his hand, I extend mine over the table. But Parker removes his hand quickly, and I fake wanting to grab salt instead. Why does he reject affection when he needs it? And then it dawns on me. Because he isn't used to getting any. Perhaps, in a twisted way I know only too well, he thinks he doesn't deserve it. And just like that, I make it my goal to show him that he does deserve it. In buckets. Preferably coming from me. "You weren't supposed to understand these things on your own. You weren't supposed to go through this alone." "Well, I did," he says. "How about your brother?" "We didn't get along at all. Mum enjoyed her newfound freedom as a rich widow and shipped him to boarding school as well after some time. I think Robert resented me because of the trouble I caused. He got admonished a lot for my behavior. In a way, he felt responsible for me, and it wasn't a responsibility he wanted. Then as we grew older, he became more competitive." "In what sense?" I ask, confused. "In every sense." His tone is final. No more talk about his brother. Got it. "How about your mom? Did she change?" Parker raises his eyebrows. "She remarried two years after my father's death. I didn't go home during the holidays if I could avoid it. When I was sixteen, she officially kicked me out of the house and cut all my funds." My jaw drops. "But you were underage." "Didn't matter to her. My uncle, Helen's dad, supported me through high school. I refused to take money from him afterward. My dad had set up a trust fund for me, but I didn't have access to it until I turned twenty-two." "How did you put yourself through college? You wouldn't have had access to scholarships and loans because your family was rich, right?" Parker looks at me with an uneasy smile. "If I wouldn't know better, I'd suspect you are a reporter. There are a lot of people who'd pay good money for all these details." "Parker, I'd never—” "I know, it was a joke. A bad one." He runs his hand through his hair. "For what it's worth, I'm not sorry for Mum cutting me off like that from everything. It gave me freedom. But I think you've heard enough for one night. Don't want to scare you away. No more confessions. From me," he adds in a measured tone. "Freedom," I repeat slowly, a knot forming in my throat. Though he hasn't brought it up again, I know he's still waiting for me to explain my reaction from our climbing trip that day. He won't push me if I don't say anything, but I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to speak. I've never talked about it before. I never even wrote in a diary about it, because I knew diaries weren't infallible. I read Serena's for almost year before she realized what I was doing, in an effort to understand my tongue-tied friend better. So no diaries for me. A secret is only a secret when you don't tell anyone. But Parker laid himself bare before me. Why

shouldn't I do the same? "Ready for the next course?" I ask. "Full already, but I have the feeling you'll chop off my head if I say no." "Excellent preservation skills, I see." I serve us a few crêpes each, with cinnamon, honey, and vanilla ice cream. Between bites, I find myself blurting out the words, "Remember when you said the tattoo guy botched my tattoo?" Parker stops in the act of cutting the crêpe, nodding. I hesitate, but then go over to him leaning on the edge of the table, lifting my dress a little so the butterfly tattoo on my hip is visible. He leans forward, tracing his finger over the main body of the butterfly, the suspicious part where the skin is rough and deformed in a slight cavity. "This part doesn't look like it's part of the tattoo. I mean there is ink on it, but—" I take a deep breath. "I got this tattoo right before I started at Stanford. I did it to mask a scar— that ridge where the body of the butterfly is." "How did you get the scar?" "From the lash of a belt buckle. My father's belt." Parker stiffens. "You want to talk about it?" "Why not?" I ask nervously, letting my dress fall, covering me. But I don't go back to my seat. Somehow, being so near to him gives me strength to talk. "My father's lifelong dream had been to become a doctor. No one in his family had gone to college, and he was very proud that he was the first one with such aspirations. He did his best to get a scholarship, but it didn't work out. His family encouraged him to settle down and enjoy the simple life, like they did. I don't know why he chose to settle. Maybe his family pressured him to. But he never enjoyed it. He was frustrated. Nothing was ever good enough for him. Not his job, not my mom. When she became pregnant, he wished to have a boy. He got me instead. And I . . . I wasn't the best daughter. Certainly not the studious and responsible daughter he wanted." I take another deep breath, and look at Parker, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. Maybe it's better though. If he interrupts me now, I don't know if I can continue. "He was never violent, though. I mean, he did slap me now and again, but mostly he just said horrible things to me—” Parker's jaw tightens. "There are many kinds of abuse, Jessica. Verbal and emotional abuse can do just as much damage." He frowns. "What did your mother say?" "Not much. Though I did hear them fight from time to time. Mostly my mom telling him that he was too harsh on me. But she rarely intervened when my dad was lecturing me on the pitfalls of becoming a loser." I wink, trying to lighten things up a bit, but Parker's frown doesn't dissipate. "Whatever I did was never good enough. Not once. We weren't doing very well financially, so I began to babysit the neighborhood children on weekends. He wanted me to do it on weekdays, too, in the evenings, saying since I couldn’t be bothered learning, I should at least bring some money home. As I said, whatever I did was not good enough. So eventually I stopped trying to please him altogether. I should cut him some slack, though. I wasn't a very good daughter. I started wearing lipstick and dating guys when I was thirteen and a half. I—” "Don't you dare blame yourself for this," Parker says in a warning tone. His hand shoots forward to mine, but now I'm the one who avoids his touch, just like he did before. Funny how giving affection comes easier to me than receiving it. I guess it's the same for him. "Don't you dare pity me, Parker." I abruptly leave the table, turning my back to him, staring at the double-door fridge as if I'm particularly fascinated by it.

"I'm not. I . . . just go on," he says. "After Serena moved in with us, things got better. But also worse. It was better because he wasn't as hot-tempered when he lectured me. Less shouting. It was worse because Serena was everything he ever wanted his child to be. And he made sure to let me know this as often as he could. The last time he lost it, he lost it badly and he gave me this." I point to my hip, shuddering at the memory. "It was right before I went to college. I don't even remember what is was about. I showed up late from a party and he . . . Well, the point is, the wound left a scar." "What did your mother say?" I gulp, indignant that he might think my mother just stood by, silently agreeing with him. "She never knew. My mom is a very kind woman. She always sees the best in people and would have a hard time accepting my father being violent." "You didn't tell anyone? Not even Serena?" "I was ashamed. And my mom would have been devastated. And Serena was so fragile during high school. I never shared bad things with her. She was barely recovering after her sister's death. Sometimes I think she still hasn't fully recovered. I didn't want to burden her with something like that. I always kept everything related to my father secret from Serena. She knew we weren’t getting along very well. But nothing more detailed. Absolutely nothing. She thinks of my father as somewhat strict and a bit ill-tempered, but I never told her more.” "Always thinking about others and not yourself, eh?" Parker asks in such a kind tone that I melt on the spot. I turn to him. "How do you know your dad didn't do the same thing to your mother?" he asks. I shake my head. "He isn't a violent person at all. It's just me who somehow manages to get that reaction out of him. I must have a special talent." "You think this was your fault? That's rubbish. And when I say that, it has absolutely nothing to do with pity." "I really could have been a better daughter, you know," I whisper. "You were a rebellious teen. So what? Plenty of teenagers are like that. And let me tell you, that's not how normal parents deal with that. Heck, you weren't even that bad. You got into Stanford, didn't you?" "I guess. I don't want to talk about this anymore," I say abruptly. "That was the last time it happened?" Parker asks as if he hasn't heard me. "Yes. But I avoided speaking to him whenever I could after I left for Stanford. He didn't talk to me for a year after I informed him and my mom of my major. I guess as far as disappointments go, a daughter who studies art and history ranks right up there with stripper for someone who once aspired to be a doctor." In a fraction of a second Parker is in front of me, his hand lifts my chin. "The only person you have a duty not to disappoint is yourself, Jessica. The other people in your life, no matter how close they seem, can bail at any time. Don't try to live a life that will please others." I laugh, resting my palms on his shoulders. "Well, as you can see, I'm not. If I did, I'd probably be busting my ass in med school. Oh, who am I kidding? I would've never gotten into med school. If I'd gone down that route, I would've been a nurse. Hitting on hot doctors and all that." Parker chuckles, but still looks at me expectantly. "I'm working very hard because I want to prove to myself that I'm capable of something more than causing trouble. I want to prove it to myself." And to the universe, which includes my parents, but I don't say that out loud. "Good. You will live with your choices. Make sure they are the ones you really want. Don't live the life others want you to live. It will feel like prison."

The word makes the hair at the nape of my neck stand on its end. "Don't ever try to control me, Parker." Parker tenses under my palms. "Why would you say that?" “Nothing in this house is even slightly misplaced or anything less than impeccable. Your car almost literally shines. Your suits never have even the slightest wrinkle. This tells me that you are a man who seeks perfection in everything. That kind of perfection you want is not attained without having a firm grip on everything around you." Parker loosens a bit. "I admit I have a tendency to want to control everything around me. But not you. I knew that since I first saw you in that club. I knew you were uncontrollable. And I liked that about you even though it scared me." "Oh, you must have loved that about me," I say sarcastically. "That's why you ran away faster than I could blink when I proposed we have a one-night stand and then waited months to—” "Why do you think I kept myself away from you for so long?" Parker interrupts, his gaze boring into mine, as if he's solving a particularly fascinating puzzle. I frown. "Why?" "Because I knew you would never want to be with me if I were my usual control-obsessed ass around you. And I'll be honest, the alternative was scary." I smile at him because it takes a lot of courage for a man to own up to the fact that anything can be scary. "So where do you stand now?" I ask. "I think I have already confessed that you make me enjoy losing control." "How so?" "I don't know. You make me feel . . . free." He trails his fingers on my tattoo again, but I don't flinch this time. "That's what your tattoo is about, the wings—freedom, isn't it?" "Yes," I whisper weakly. "The scar was so ugly, and I wanted to turn it into something I liked, a token that meant something for me." "I will never try to take away your wings, Jessica," Parker says, brushing my neck with his lips, his arms now circling me, pulling me to him. "I want to learn how to fly with you." "Thank you," I say, snuggling in his arms, enjoying his peaceful, warm breath over me. We stay like this for a few good minutes, before Parker says, "You know what, I'll have another crêpe," and walks to the table with a grin. "Can I ask you something?" "Damn," Parker says through a mouthful. "Just when I thought I survived the interrogation. Shoot." "What were you really doing in California, Parker? And don't tell me you were working with James, I know that. But your presence there wasn't really crucial, was it? You said that as an investor you are more of an advisor, but you don't need to get involved in day-to-day executive things." Parker laughs. "You actually listened to that? That's impressive. People generally just phase out right after they pose the question. Anyway, yeah, that's how it usually is. That's what allows me to invest small amounts in multiple companies at a time. But I always was more hands-on with James's businesses. I also put more money in them than I do with others." He takes a deep breath. "But no, you are right, my presence in California wasn't really necessary. Let's just say I needed a break from myself." "You were running away from something." "Yes, a tough decision. I needed time to mull that over." "Does it have anything to do with taking over your family's company that your brother was running?"

"It has everything to do with that. And I fear I might have made the wrong decision." "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think," I tell him. "At the very least, your office is in a freaking cool building." He chuckles, gesturing me to come closer to him. I walk over to the table, pushing his plate away, then sitting on the spot where it was moments ago, my feet dangling. "I assure you I had a cool office before that, too." He traces the contour of my jaw. "I know I told you this before, but I love this remarkable thing you do when you turn things on their head, so they don't seem half bad anymore. Like you did with your tattoo. You see something good in everything. I want you to do the same with me." I rub my neck slowly, squeezing his knees gently with my feet. "What do you see in yourself?" Parker leans back in his chair. "I just see the man who did a lot of things he's not proud of." "Like what?" I challenge him. "Come on, I dare you to tell me. And I'm warning you, I won't be satisfied with anything less than some really wild stories. Extra points if you landed yourself in prison at least once." Parker doesn't smile when he says, "I almost did. Several times." A shiver runs down my spine as Parker's gaze bores into mine. He's waiting for my reaction. "Why?" I ask. "You asked me how I put myself through college. Let's just say the answer to that is by doing things that would easily land me in prison." "You kept that well undercover. There's nothing about it online." "My mother did," he says. "She might not have cared about me much, but tainting the saint family name, the only thing she liked in my father, was unthinkable for her." "So she's still on the watch to make sure no reporter digs out old dirt?" Parker hesitates. "No, I do that now. It would be disastrous for my businesses if anyone got wind of it. My reputation is as important, if not even more important, than my money. I fill enough pockets to ensure the past stays where it belongs". I gulp. What would my past do for someone in his position? I did enough shit. Granted, not to land me in prison, but I had one close encounter. Would that be enough for his reputation to be questioned if it somehow transpired? What would Parker do if he knew? Leave me? I push that dark thought to the back of my mind. That type of thinking isn't healthy. I try to concentrate on what Parker just revealed. I always knew that underneath the sleek Armani suits and the sweet British accent that makes me crave his touch, Parker isn't the perfect gentleman everyone thinks he is. But I never expected him to be this: a bad, bad boy. Someone who, like me, did a lot of shit and isn't particularly proud of it. Someone who's desperately looking for redemption. Not for the eyes of the world, but our own. I was naive enough to think that that sort of thing can be achieved by simply becoming a good girl: one who gets a decent job and avoids trouble. But that can't be enough, or Parker wouldn't still be tormenting himself the way he is. It takes more than that to get the redemption we both so desperately want. Parker rises from his chair, stroking my cheek with the back of his fingers. "Done with the interrogation?" he whispers softly against my lips. "I know better ways we can spend our time together." "That makes two of us," I say, leaning forward yearningly. Interesting things we have in common. A need for redemption and fear of affection. Perhaps the two things are interconnected somehow, or one leads to the other. Or perhaps both things have sprung from the deep belief we share that we aren't worthy of love. A belief that has kept me from dreaming of a fairytale ending until him. In a flash of passion, as he cups my face, hungrily placing his mouth over mine, claiming me, I know exactly what can bring us redemption. Love. Something neither of us knows much about. But even

though we don't . . . We will be each other's redemption. And so much more.

Parker lifts me in his arms, carrying me out of the kitchen and up the staircase. I don't break off the kiss, relishing the warmth and comfort of his lips. It's not until I feel a mattress beneath me and Parker releasing himself from my arms that I open my eyes. It's dark at first, but then he turns on a lamp on the bedside table. In the dim light, Parker leans over me, propping his elbows at my side. He pushes a strand of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His crystal-clear gaze bores into mine, and it's so different from all the other times he's looked at me. As if this is the first time he truly sees me. In many ways, it is. I used to be terrified by this. What would follow if I ever let anyone see what's under the armor of self-confidence I've built around myself? If I revealed that old touch of vulnerability I hid so deep inside me, I fooled myself it wasn't there anymore? But now that I've done it, I feel relieved. Hopeful, even, though I can't exactly pinpoint what it is I'm hopeful about. "I want to kiss every single part of you," Parker whispers in my ear. Yes, I know what I am hopeful for. Revealing the truth gives things a wonderful sort of power. Laying our secrets bare makes that thing that sprouted between Parker and me long ago—I don't know when, maybe even the first night we met—take on a whole new meaning. A very powerful one. Parker pushes his knee between my legs, spreading me open beneath him. In a matter of seconds, he removes all my clothing and I do the same with his. Then he starts kissing the soft spot at the base of my neck that sends me over the edge. His trail of kisses descends to my breasts, leaving a blazing mark in their wake and making me greedy for even more. Parker slips one hardened nipple between his lips and I arch my back, pushing my lower body against him, hungry for more skin-on-skin contact. When he finally turns his attention away from my nipples, they are hard as pebbles and, like the rest of my body, aching for his touch. My inner walls clench for him already, but I know he's far from done. He confirms it when, instead of doing anything to still my growing need for him, he pulls back. Way back to my ankles. When his lips come in contact with my skin there, I grit out his name. I'm caught in a dilemma. Part of me wants him to cease the teasing and fuck me hard right this very moment. But another part—one that I was frankly unaware of until tonight, the part that prompted me to open up to him—craves for more of this. Because there's something sweet and innocent about it. And I need it. Somehow, Parker seems to know all of my needs, even before I know them. His tongue swirls up and then it touches a spot behind my knee. I fist the bed sheets as his tongue lingers there, while he runs the tip of his fingers across my inner thighs, drawing quiver after quiver out of me. The inside of my knees, huh? Never too late to discover more erogenous areas, I guess. And by God, I want him to discover them all. As his kisses trail up my inner thigh, I push up; I want his lips to meet my wet slit. But they change direction at the last second, going even higher, and then stopping. At the tattoo on my hip. Ice cold seeps through my veins. I try to pull him up to me, because I don't want to think about

that now. But Parker doesn't budge. As he blows hot breaths over that spot, I start to relax. Very slowly. Concentrating on the way his lips touch me there, brushing against each wing of the butterfly, and then lingering on its spine—the part of the tattoo that is a lie. No matter how much I strive to spread my wings and be free, that one part will always be there, reminding me of a time when I had no wings. I want to kiss you everywhere, Parker said. I realize now he hadn't meant it as foreplay. There's only one way to be truly free. By healing. And that's what Parker's kisses are meant for. They tug at my heartstrings, making me let go of those last bits of old rage that keep me from being completely free. I'm starting to think his kisses could heal anything. When I pull him up to me, moments later, I make no secret of the fact that I can no longer postpone the moment he will take me. Parker lifts my legs, placing them on his shoulder. He bites his lip as he peruses his fingers over my slit, causing a hurricane of pleasure to spread through me. I push myself against his fingers, but now Parker is the one who can't wait anymore. Instead of meeting his fingers, I find his hard shaft ready for me. "Fuck," I cry as he slams against me. A loud growl rumbles from his chest as he slams again, pushing himself even deeper inside. With my legs up like this, I take more of him in. He stretches me and fills me entirely, as if he's determined not to leave an inch of me unclaimed. I willingly give him all of me. "Touch yourself," he says in raspy voice, bringing one of my hands down to my clit. I arch my back when my fingers touch my swollen nub, and as I do, his tip slides so deep inside me, it causes not one, not two, but many, many shimmers of delight to erupt inside me. They grow in intensity as they travel from my core all the way to my fingertips and toes, until I'm engulfed in them. I increase the speed of stroking my clit. With the other hand, I fist the sheet, needing to hold onto something as I push myself harder and harder against him. I throw my head back against the pillow as convulsions begin to erupt. "This is so fucking sexy," he growls, but I'm too far gone to acknowledge it with anything more than a whimper. When I cry his name, overcome with the frenzy of release, I don't give him just my pleasure. I give him everything.

"Get up, sleepyhead." "What time is it?" I ask, my eyes still closed. "Eight o'clock." "Is the house on fire?" "No." "Then why the hell are you waking me up at eight o'clock on a Saturday?" I growl, pulling the pillow over my head. "Haven't you heard the saying the early bird gets the worm?" "I don't know about you, but I've never been a big fan of worms." "Well¸ I promise to look up a more appealing expression." "You won't shut up, will you?" "Not a chance." "Fine, give me half an hour." I hear the door slam shut but don’t move. I swear my body has the consistency of lumber in the morning. Then something stirs me to life. The smell of coffee. I raise my head, and sure enough, a cup of coffee is on the nightstand next to the bed. I am confused for a few moments, wondering how it got here. Then it hits me. Parker brought it. I sit up straight, and as I take a sip, a warmth that has nothing to do with the hot coffee spreads through me. He didn’t even say anything. This silent gesture on his part means almost as much to me as his kisses last night. I dress quickly in some jeans and a sporty sweater I had the good sense to stuff inside my bag last night, and half an hour later, I make my way through the house, walking deliberately slow, so I can inspect the paintings hanging seemingly everywhere. My heart jolts a few times as I recognize paintings by several world-famous artists. “Thanks for the coffee,” I tell Parker when we’re in the car. He just nods silently. “So, where are we going?" He's wearing a light blue fitted shirt and jeans, looking just as godly as ever. The short sleeves emphasize his toned arms and chest. Decidedly, Parker can't look anything but drop-yourpants hot no matter what he wears. "I've scheduled us for golf at my club." My face must have dropped, because Parker quickly asks, "What's wrong?" "Golf? That sounds so British. And boring." Parker frowns. "I always play golf on Saturdays. I even did it last week, at Helen's." "Oh my God, I wonder what would happen if you'd do something else on a Saturday? I'm sure the entire Parker system would collapse. And then the world as we know it would end." "All right, point taken," Parker says, shaking his head. "Let's go to Hyde Park," I say. "Why?" "Umm. . . to hang out? Also, I'm hoping to make some progress with my squirrel." "You—what was that, again? It sounded like you want to make some progress with your . . .

squirrel." I blush. "There are a lot of squirrels there, and they come near you if you feed them. Once when I was feeding them I noticed that one squirrel wouldn't come close at all. I think she's afraid of people. But I did manage to make her come a tiny, tiny bit closer after a few trips there," I say proudly. "How often do you go there?" "Oh, I stop by on weekends sometimes." Parker nods. "Hyde Park it is, then. Just enlighten me on this: how is feeding squirrels more exciting than playing golf?" "Squirrels are cute. Whenever I think of golf, creepy old men come to mind." "Do I look like a creepy old man to you?" Parker asks in mock indignation. "Are you telling me everyone at the golf club looks like you? By all means, head to the club then," I joke. "So much for your squirrel . . ." "Stop saying it like that." "Like what?" "Like you want to say something else instead." Parker chuckles. "You have a dirty little mind, you know that?" "Mmm, are you complaining?" "Not really. I had something in mind for this morning. But, well, Hyde Park isn't exactly the best place for shagging." The need to laugh overtakes me so violently that I can't stop the laughter bubbling out of my chest. "What's so funny?" "I . . . am . . . sorry," I say, almost out of breath, still giggling. "That word—whoever came up with it should be sued. No one can make shagging sound sexy. Not even you, Parker. I'll never understand why you Brits insist on using it. There are tons of other words that sound better. Hell, even ‘fornicating’ sounds better." He slows down the car at a red light, then leans in to me. "How does fucking sound?" I catch my breath. "Much better.”

"H ow do you know which one is your squirrel?" I ask, staring at the group of squirrels huddled around the tree, as Jessica gently throws crushed biscuits in their direction. "Oh, it's easy. She's missing one of her tiny legs so she humps a bit when she moves. She's also a bit apart from the group. There she is." For the next half hour I watch her engaging in a back-and-forth game with the squirrel. Jessica waits for the squirrel to come closer, with her hand stretched. Not that the tiny animal makes her job easy. Whenever Jessica takes a step forward, it retreats. But Jessica waits patiently, starting the whole game again. "What d'you reckon happened to her leg?" I ask. Jessica shrugs. "I'm guessing someone hurt her, judging by how afraid she is of people. She just needs a bit of reassuring and then she’ll be fine." Watching her so determined to fix the little squirrel, I can't help wondering if that determination also extends to people. Me, for instance. I never thought I needed fixing. Or rather, I thought I was unfixable. But I'll be damned if I'm not starting to change my mind. She's changing my mind. I watch her smile widen, illuminating her features as she takes another step toward the squirrel, and this time the animal doesn't back off. Jessica’s eyes lighten up, and suddenly energy pours off her again, forming something like a bright hallow around her. She's gone through some crap. But she didn't become bitter and frustrated like me. Just the opposite. Beneath the self-confident woman I met all those months ago lies much more than I imagined: a fascinating mix of innocence, fragility, and strength. I can't get enough of her. It's the first time a woman has stirred more in me than the desire to take her. I want to protect her, and make sure nothing—or no one—hurts her again. I want her to give herself to me every night the way she did last night, and I want to watch her wake up every day. Simple things like randomly walking through a park have never made much sense to me, unless there was a purpose behind it. With her, they do make sense. I don't care if I have to do bird-watching or watch her feed squirrels if it means I can spend time with her. "Mission accomplished," she says, straightening up. "She's fed now. Let's get some food for ourselves." "You can still eat after that food festival last night?" "You worked me out pretty intensely afterward," she says seductively, putting her fingers suggestively on my chest. My cock instantly throbs in my pants as I pull her toward me, putting my hands on her perfectly shaped arse. Just thinking of touching her naked makes me groan. "I like seeing you dressed informally," she says. "Reminds me of how you were in California. You didn't go suited up to work most of the time." "What's that supposed to mean? And I'm absolutely not at fault for the fact that Americans have such a lousy dress code."

"Well, you look less like you have a stick shoved up your butt when you're like this. And you were so much looser back then." "I suppose I was more relaxed. James is the face of the companies we own in the U.S., and no one there gave a damn about all the drama going on here." "What drama?" she asks. "I don't want to ruin this day talking about it. So you liked me more in California, huh?" "Hmm . . . you were up for more fun. But at least now you're up for a good shag." She giggles. "And you're still hot. Thank God for that." "This is the second time you've hinted you like me just for my looks. I might start feeling offended." "Oh no, I can add a few other things. I like the paintings in your house, your friends, and your taste in presents. You didn't seriously think I liked you for your shining personality, did you?" She grins. We each grab a pastry from a nearby vendor and walk deeper inside the park. The alleys we choose are almost deserted, and I like it this way. After she's done with her food, Jessica rumbles in her bag, retrieving a pack of cigarettes. "You're not seriously going to smoke?" I ask. She looks at me in surprise, the cigarette already between her full lips. She smiles. "And why shouldn't I?" "It's not healthy." She rolls the cigarette between her lips, leaning with her back against a tree. "You sound like Serena." "I mean it." "Okay. I know you can probably recite ten statistics that smoking reduces lifetime expectancy by I don't know how much, but none have been very convincing. I'll be old, and cranky and useless. What's the point of living a few years more or less? They won't be worth much anyway." She looks up at me with her round, doe-like eyes, and for a moment, I lose all sense of where we are. My brain must have lost all reason as well, because I can't find another explanation for coming up with the corniest line ever. "I promise I'll make them worth it." Bugger. I cringe and try to think of something clever, fast, so I can turn it around and make it sound like a joke or something when she starts laughing. But Jessica doesn't laugh, and I breathe relieved, because —I realize to my own surprise—I didn't mean it as a joke at all. A pink tint colors her cheeks, and she takes the cigarette out of her mouth, dropping it in her bag. "Well, as far as arguments go, that's more convincing than statistics," she says, and I'm delighted to hear a slight tremor in her voice. I run my thumb over her lips and pull her into a kiss. I tug at her lip with my teeth, greed overtaking me, and then I pound her sweet mouth with desperation. Slinging my arms around her, I pull her closer to me, kissing her deeper. When I stop for air, I have an uneasy feeling that she'll ask for more words; press me for. . .more. Since I barely understand what the hell just went on, I'm in no position to offer more. But she doesn't ask for more than I can give. She pulls me into another kiss, and I give her all I have with this kiss, all I can't put in words. A need awakens inside me within seconds, one that is all too familiar whenever I’m around her. I run my hands down her delicious arse, pressing her body against my hard-on. She sighs in my mouth and I lose all self-control in that sweet yet savage way only she can make me lose it. "I need to be inside you," I say.

"That could be a bit problematic, seeing as we are in a park." I feel goose bumps forming on her skin under my touch. She wants this as much as I do. "We'll see about that."

"A ny recommendations?" I ask Parker two weeks later, as he, Helen and I wait for Dani at her favorite sushi place. Dani and Parker have met up weekly ever since the two of us moved to London, but since I was doing my best to avoid him, I slipped out of these meetings as often as I could. "The mixed platter is great," Parker answers with a smile. I slept at his place most nights for the past few weeks. After the first week I was seriously worried I’d overstayed my welcome. Parker hadn’t hinted at anything like that, but men are known to say nothing and then suddenly blurt that they need space, which is a coward’s code for a breakup. At least with the men I know. I was preparing myself to sleep a few nights in my own apartment for a change, when I noticed a box of my favorite cereal in the kitchen. When I thanked him for it, he shrugged, saying he thought this would cheer up my mornings since I hate them so much. But I could read between the lines. His words were an invitation to stay. So I stayed. Parker flips through the menu, but I can't help noticing his mind is elsewhere. I think I know where. When I finally did go home to pick up some fresh clothes yesterday, I realized Dani hadn't been home for days. For all my cunning, I couldn't get her to share anything with me, though. "What's up with you?" Helen asks Parker. Not taking his eyes off the menu, Parker says, "I think it might be a good idea to start keeping a closer watch over Dani." "Unwise words spoken by every parent of a teenager," I say. "That never works, Parker." To my astonishment, Helen is livid. "Like what, having her watched?" "Don't be ridiculous," I say incredulously. "Parker wouldn't do that." But one look at Parker, and I realize that's exactly what he has in mind. "How would that make you any better than Dani's dad?" Helen asks. "Or my own, for that matter." "What does that have to do with anything?" Parker snaps. "It has everything to do with it," Helen spits back. "Don't you see? Dani's tired of being constantly watched. Constantly being told what she can do or what she can't. What is proper to do so she doesn't embarrass her family. Why do you think she came to London? To get away from all that. She doesn't need you to pick up right where her father left off. She's young. She has to make mistakes." "I don't give a damn if she embarrasses the family name or whatever. I just don't want her to hurt herself. You and I both know that some mistakes can't be repaired, Helen. It's best not to do them." "That's a low blow, Parker. I don't need you to remind me what I did. But I got back on track, didn't I? I got my heart broken, Parker. It wasn't the end of the world. Just because James was completely out of control when he was younger and you were a downright delinquent doesn't mean Dani will end up like either of you." "You don't—” Parker begins, but I cut in.

"Whoa, time out you two," I say, staring from Parker to Helen. "I agree with Helen, Parker. You need to relax. So she didn't spend a few nights at home. Big deal. Maybe she's seeing someone. You and James should stop acting like cavemen when it comes to Dani dating. Even if it's not someone either of you would approve. You know, I hate to tell you this, but every girl will have dated at least one bad boy. Both Parker and Helen fall silent. "Amen to that," Helen says after a few seconds, with a forced smile. "Some way more than one. Bad boys are quite addictive, aren't they? I guess it's a case of once you go bad you never go back. Excuse me for a moment, I need to go outside for some fresh air." Parker rises briefly from his chair when Helen leaves the table. A true gentleman, after all, doesn't forget his manners even when he's mad. Stone silence follows. "I think you've upset Helen," I say tentatively. "I know. I didn't mean to. It's just that I can't believe she's acting as if she forgot everything she's been through." "She didn't. That's not the look of someone who forgot. She learned to let go. You should learn that, too. Not everything is permanently black, you know." "Not everything is always unicorns and rainbows either, Jessica." That tone again. He hasn't used it in a long time with me, but I know what he's referring to. I heard it often enough back in California after I pulled my extraordinary stunt that brought me the sixthousand-dollar fine. "I think you should go apologize to Helen before you'll have to apologize to me as well." After Parker leaves, I start flipping through the drink menu. Quite generous, seeing as it's a sushi restaurant. Twenty-six pages. I almost decide on a tequila sunrise when my phone starts buzzing. James. "I have news," he says. "Ready for it?" "Shoot. I have a menu with twenty-six pages of alcoholic drinks. I'm sure I can find something appropriate whether this is good or bad news." "I haven't figured out how, but I know where I'll ask Serena to marry me. In London." Whoa. Talk about whiplash. "Jessica? Say something. What do you think?" "I'm thinking that someone should invent a drink specifically for news you don't know if it's good or bad." Serena moved to California almost ten years ago after her sister's death and hasn't returned to London once. Bad memories, I suppose. And while I have no doubt if there is anyone who can heal even the deepest scars that tragedy left her with, it's James, I'm not sure whether this is such a great idea. "Why don't you take her to the chocolate factory again?" I ask, referring to the one thing that turned me into a James fan for life. To win Serena back after a screw-up, he took her on a private tour of a freaking chocolate factory. His chocolate factory. Well, his father's, but that still doesn't make the whole thing any less swoon-worthy. Sweet, swoon-worthy dates pretty much describe their relationship. Not so much Parker's and mine. Orgasm at the opera, sex on the rocks, shamelessly touching myself in the car, sex in Hyde Park—I sense a pattern here. I smile. I wouldn't change any of this for anything in the world. Who knew these were my kind of dates? "Nah, you never do the same trick twice," James replies. "Better safe than sorry." James chuckles. "My, my, my. How the mighty have fallen. Since when is that your prerogative? You sound like Parker." "Maybe we’ve started rubbing off on each other, you know? Isn't that what happens when you date someone who's unlike you in almost every way?" I ask. I try to mimic some of Parker's

calculated demeanor in business at my own work place—meaning I try not throttle my boss every time he decides to impersonate Lucifer. I'm also trying to quit smoking. Emphasis on trying. But Parker. . .I frown. Not exactly sure how or if I rub off on him at all. What did I expect, that he's suddenly going to view the world like it's all part of a pink bubble just because he's sleeping with me? As if reading my thoughts, James says, "Well, Parker definitely needs you to loan him some of that sparkling personality of yours." "Keep me updated if you do decide to bring Serena to London. I'm gonna plan a massive girls’ night out before you propose," I say as I watch Helen, Parker, and Dani walk toward me. Neither Parker nor Helen look angry anymore. Parker winks at me as he sits down opposite me. I try to remember what my sixth-grade teacher used to tell us about opposite forces. Did they attract or repel each other?

"W e're making some serious progress," I say as we enter Parker's house a few hours later. "I was willing to bet good money you'll grill Dani about her potential bad boy." "You said that would only drive her away, didn't you? I'm doing my best to learn. I'll be the first to admit I don't have any deep insights when it comes to female psychology." I grin. "You make it sound like it should be the title of a Ph.D. paper." "It should be. Come to think of it, maybe I should sponsor one. Would make life easier for men everywhere." He gives me a kiss on my forehead. "I'll be in the study for a few hours. I need to make a few phone calls, sorry." "It's late. Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to call this late?" "Not everyone I work with is in our time zone." "Can I come with you?" I ask on a whim. He looks at me with uncertainty. "I solemnly promise I won't sell out any business secrets I might overhear." He shakes his head, laughing, "It's not that, but it'll be very boring for you." "Oh no it won't." The study, a part of the house I like a lot, has so many floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books that it looks like something from an old Disney cartoon Serena made me watch once. Beauty and the Beast, I think. I wouldn't have noticed the library in the cartoon at all if Serena hadn't pointed it out about six times, telling me how much she wanted one. I was busier admiring the dancing tea set. The fact that we were sixteen when we watched it does make the whole thing a tad embarrassing. "What are you doing?" Parker asks, looking half-alarmed, half-amused, as I step up on one of the leather chairs. "Taking a picture of your library to send to Serena. She's going to freak out over it." I curl in the comfortable leather chair and send her the picture. She doesn't text back, but I know she's at work, so it'll probably be hours before she sees it. I focus on Parker next, listening to him making phone call after phone call. I've heard snippets of his conversations before, but this is different. I get to see the whole process of him convincing other people to do whatever he wants. And succeeding in every single case. It's more than just barking orders—though he does that a few times— to a secretary I'm pretty sure is based in London, and hence should be sleeping at this time, or enjoying the time with her family, not taking orders from her manic boss. But most often his calls are to people who hold positions similar to his own. The calculated tone he uses to negotiate makes the fine hair on my body stand on end. He is used to getting what he wants. And he knows how to get exactly what he wants from everyone. He oozes self-confidence and power. Nothing screams turn-on more than that.

As I look at him, I try to imagine how he could have once been a delinquent, as Helen called him. He told me as much about himself, sure, although it's hard to imagine Parker as anything but the businessman, wielding enough power to make even ministers and senators do his bidding. He seems more relaxed, yet still businesslike, during his phone call with James. I smile when I hear James speak. He, too, sounds very detached and businesslike, the very opposite of how he sounds when he talks to me, either about Dani or plotting about the marriage proposal. It's only after a dozen phone calls that I realize all of them, except the one with James, are about Blakesley Enterprises. Parker finally puts his phone down, shoving it aside on the desk and leaning back in his chair three hours later. "Sorry it took so long." "No problem," I say. "Can I ask you something?" "If I say no, will that stop you?" "Not really." He grins. "How come you are running your family's business after your brother ran it for so long? I thought the two of you don't get along?" His grin drops. Parker inhales sharply and grimaces, as if the air would sting him. "You sure you want to hear this story, Jessica? I was kind of hoping I'd get to enjoy you a little while longer before you decided you could do better." "Why don't you give me more credit?" I ask, though somewhere deep inside me, fear stirs to life. "So, how come you took over Blakesley Enterprises? Not that I understand much of business, but the papers said it was in pretty bad shape when you took it over. The word bankruptcy came up a few times." "It went bankrupt because of me." "How so?" "My brother made some lousy investment decisions over the years. I repeatedly warned him he was going to lose his company if he didn't change strategies, but I might as well have talked to the moon. Eventually he got into deep financial troubles. When the banks refused to bail him, he showed up on my doorstep. And you know what I did? I closed it right back in his face. Told him it served him right." "Why didn't he borrow money from your mom?" "Pride was one reason," Parker says. "He didn't want Mum to know. Blakesley Enterprises belonged to my dad. After his death, my uncle, Helen's dad, wanted to step in and help, but Mum refused. She ran the company with some advisors. When Robert got out of college, he started working at the company and was running it after two years. He—how do I put it—wasn't the right person for the job." "Why didn't you get involved? Since it was your father's company and all." "I didn't want to. By the time I was out of college, I didn't want anything to do with my brother or my mother, and kept myself out of anything involving them—including the company. I shouldn't have. This was my father's legacy." Despite the cool appearance, I can see just how much this consumes him. He grabs the pen in front of him; his eyes can't hide the shadow that suddenly creeps over them. I'd like nothing better than to kiss him, take his mind off it so he won't torment himself anymore. But I have a feeling he needs to talk about this and let it all out, just like I did that night two weeks ago. Secrets are like poison. They creep deep inside, tainting everything they encounter. Eventually the poison gets in so deep, we don't see it anymore. We just carry it around until it rots us to the core. If we allow it to remain inside. "My brother made a lot of risky investments. In the hands of a more skilled businessman, like

James for example, perhaps those investments could have brought him a fortune. But I never thought my brother had the necessary skill, and I had no problem letting him know how I felt. I have no doubt he made some of those decisions specifically because I advised him not to. I told you he was very competitive. He was trying to prove me wrong. " "That's extremely childish," I say, standing a bit straighter in my seat and massaging my foot that is numb. "You make a bet with your brother, if you feel competitive. You don't put your business at risk." "Clearly you have no idea how far men are willing to go if they let their ego drive them. He and I had had our differences over the years, since we were little. He sided with bullies at school against me. When we grew older, he started making a pass at the girls I liked." "Did it ever work?" He smiles sadly. "Just with one. It happened to be the only woman I'd ever been in love with." I suck in my breath. I hadn't expected him to throw love into the mix. I don’t know what makes me ask this, but the name is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Helen?” Parker raises his eyebrows. “No. Helen and I have never been anything other than very good friends.” I nod. “So what happened? With your brother and that woman?” "She ran away with him. I could have forgiven him if he cared about her, but he didn't. He broke up with her soon after." "So, you never fell in love again?" Parker looks at me intently. "She tried to sell a sex tape of us that I never knew existed to the press after my brother dumped her. She needed revenge and didn't really care how she'd get it. I kind of gave up on the concept of dating afterward." I gulp. So Helen wasn't exaggerating when she said people hadn't proven to be very trustworthy to him. "Wait. What do you mean you gave up on dating? You did have . . . sex," I finish lamely. "Yeah, I did." He shrugs, but even from here I can see tiny beads of sweat forming on his temple. "With a select few who knew better than to get involved or expect anything, knew it was nothing more than a job." I frown, not really understanding. "What do you mean?" And then it hits me. "Prostitutes?" "I prefer the word escorts." "What the hell do they escort?" I ask, my face suddenly hot. "Your dick into their vagina?" "Are you angry?" Parker asks, avoiding looking at me. "I don't know," I say truthfully. "Shocked, I guess. A man like you doesn't need to pay for sex." "No, but that was the only way of getting exactly what I wanted without any surprises. I've found out they're the most honest women I've met." "I . . . I don't know what to say." But now I get what he meant. Sex with you would be kind of a big deal for me. Because it meant that he opened up and gave me a piece of himself. Sex with me was an act of trust in itself. "Let's not talk about this anymore," Parker says. His shoulders slump a bit. "It's obviously making you uncomfortable." "It is. I didn't expect this at all." After an awkward, minute-long pause I say, "Anyway, back to your brother. I still don't get how you ended up taking over the company." "I stepped in shortly before it would have been completely ruined." "And he was okay with that?" I start playing with the hem of my right sleeve absently. "He didn't have a say in it. About the time the creditors really started to threaten him, he cleared

one of Mum's accounts he had access to and disappeared." My jaw drops. "He . . . that doesn't make any sense. He refused to ask your mom for money to save the company, but then robbed her to run away?" "First, my Mum didn't have enough money to actually save the company. As to why he robbed her, I assume he was just desperate." I leap from my chair, jolted by anger. "Do you know where he is now?" Parker shakes his head. "No one has heard from him since." He pushes himself farther from his desk, as if beckoning me to straddle him. I do just that. I walk over to him and climb in his lap, putting my arms loosely around his neck. "Mum came to see me after he took off. Begged me to take over the company and save it. I took off for California for a few months instead. By the time I came back and made up my mind to take it over, the company was a wreck. So really, the answer to your question is, I probably took it over out of guilt." I push a strand of his dark blond hair behind his ear. "No, Parker. It's because you are kind." He snorts, pushing my hand away. "I just told you I bankrupted my father's company by refusing to help my brother out, and then by taking off to California instead of facing my responsibilities, and you think I'm kind? That's an interesting yardstick you're using." I don't give up. "For one, your brother is a horrible person. Just because he was your brother doesn't mean you had to bail him out. Especially when you'd warned him he was in the wrong. And second, you needed time to think. So what? It was a big decision." When Parker doesn't say anything, I put my head on his chest and interlace my fingers with his. "You know, there are a lot of people around you who think you are a kind person. Serena, for example." "Serena doesn't know me very well." "Helen does. And she's very confident that you are kind." "That's because Helen hasn't met many people who've been kind to her," Parker says, and I hear his heartbeat intensify. "You know, you will not be any less menacing to the people you do business with if you stop thinking you're a complete asshole. That Godfather voice totally does the trick on its own. Though your sexy British accent does make it a tiny bit less menacing, I have to admit." That brings a rumble of laughter from him. Playing with a few strands of my hair, he says, "No, you know what makes me think that maybe I'm not a complete asshole? I prefer the word arse, by the way." I chuckle. "What?" "The fact that you're with me. That someone selfless like you chose me. You take joy in every simple thing you do or come across. I want to be one of those simple things that bring you joy." I lift my head from his chest, and press my forehead to his. "You, Parker, are anything but simple," I joke. "So what do you want me to be for you?" "I want you to be my everything, Jessica," he whispers, and I melt right here in his arms. He caresses my cheek, pulling me into a kiss. His lips coax mine, claiming me, his tongue ravages mine. When we break off, gasping for air, he avoids my gaze, biting his lip as if he doesn't have the nerve to continue talking. I press my thighs against him in silent encouragement. "Everyone needs a light to guide them. I want you to be mine." He pulls me closer to him, burying his face in my neck, his heavy hot breaths grazing my shoulder. "If I asked you to never leave me, would that scare you?" Parker whispers. "No. It would give me the courage to ask you the same." Our lips touch again. Not in the same hungry, desperate way as before. Gently, almost fearful. As

if the unspoken words we uttered still hang between us, and this kiss will seal our promise. Parker interlaces his fingers with mine, pushing himself against me, deepening the kiss. A kiss that demands everything. Just as he said before. I've never wanted to give a man everything before. Until now. I want to give him my heart, my soul, along with all of the things I never knew were mine to give away. I want the same from him too. I want it all. The steady fire Serena always talked about—that thing that supposedly lasts beyond the consuming passion. I never sought that before. But I do now. I want the fairy tale ending I've never believed in.

For the next few weeks, both Jessica and I seem to spend our time navigating between heaven and hell. The long hours at the office become more of a drag with each day. Jessica's boss doesn't make life easy for her, either. But I am so proud of her. She wants to succeed on her own and works hard for it. We spend every night together, splitting our time between my place and hers, not wanting to let Dani out of our sight. After work, she'll often ask me for advice, and we even rehearsed a presentation together a few times. She makes me a better man in every way, and I'd like to think I’m helping her in some way, too. As I watch her take me through her presentation notes, sitting crosslegged on the kitchen table, still wearing her work clothes, I have to admit she's no longer the little chaotic girl I first met in California. She's a woman who knows what she wants and does all she can to achieve it—and be on her best behavior. When she's in public. When she's with me, she's all wild and untamed. And I allow myself to be wild with her. No restraints. Not in those moments when I make love to her, or during any moment that belongs only to us. I love every second I spend at her side. But my favorite—my absolute favorite moment—is waking up at her side, seeing her smile first thing in the morning. Waking up next to a woman was something I'd avoided for years. I saw it as an intrusion. I welcome that intrusion now. My second favorite moment is seeing her fall asleep in my arms at night, hearing her slow breathing as she slips away to the one place where I can't reach her. She looks peaceful and happy, and I can't help thinking that if she knew all the things I'm trying so hard to keep her and the world from knowing, she wouldn’t sleep so peacefully in my arms anymore. If she'd still be in them at all.

God Bless the Queen. Banners with these four words hang all over the Westminster Bridge, and I wrack my brain trying to remember if there's some kind of celebration taking place. I've been— almost literally—living under a rock for the past few weeks, what with all the stress at work. My boss isn't satisfied if he doesn't make Fiona cry at least once a day. And though I don't shed a tear, I have a growing suspicion it won't be long now before I kick him in the groin. The only thing keeping me from doing that is I pity him too much. He talks almost daily with his divorce lawyer, and his asshole mood is more pronounced after those calls. Fiona keeps saying once the divorce is over, he'll return to his normal self again. But as soon as I leave the office, I'm catapulted to a world where mundane worries such as work don't matter anymore. Parker takes good care of that. I smile, a bubbly feeling forming in my chest, as it usually does when I think of him. Last week he did something—a small gesture—that meant a lot to me. I’d been keeping my toiletries in a bag I carried around with me, not really having any space to put them in Parker ’s sparsely furnished bathroom with just two shelves. He cleared one of his shelves, making a place for my stuff. I didn’t even ask him to do it. The next day, he also freed some space for my clothes in his closet. My cell phone buzzes. "How did the presentation go?" Parker asks. "Fantastic. The guys from the museum in Barcelona were ecstatic about my proposal, and even Mr. Norton seemed pleased." Loud honking blares from behind me. "Where are you?" "Westminster Bridge." "What?" Parker asks sharply. "You walked from your office over there? Why didn't you call me? I would have picked you up." "You know I like walking a lot. Besides, I knew you were in a meeting. I didn't want to disturb." "Well, the meeting is over now. I can come over and—wait, why are you at Westminster Bridge, anyway?" I step off the bridge and look at the giant Ferris wheel in front of me with a grin. "I wanted to get on the London Eye. But I'm too late," I add with disappointment, realizing the capsules aren't moving anymore. "We'll see about that," Parker says. "Can you go inside a coffee shop or something and wait for me there?" "Sure, there's one right next to it," I say, stifling a laugh. I slip inside a coffee shop just below the Ferris wheel on the Thames shore. "What?"

"Are you going to use your Godfather voice to sneak us onto the London Eye?" I whisper as a smiling cashier points me to a table. "What’s with the Godfather reference again?” He chuckles. “I’m the head of a legitimate business, you know, not a crime family.” “Ah, it’s just that tone you sometimes use. . .it reminds me of the movie.” “I see.” “So, will you use that tone again?” “Maybe." "It'd better work," I say. I order hibiscus tea and hold the cup for dear life, warming myself. Okay, so maybe walking for so long in this October weather wasn't the greatest idea, even though I'm wearing boots and a kneelength wool dress. I shiver and take another sip of tea, watching the small ship anchored on the opposite shore of the Thames float in the twilight. My fingers itch to have a cigarette between them— a habit I've refined over years of smoking. But I made a promise to Parker I'd try my best to quit smoking, and lately, I’ve kept that promise. There's nothing more effective to keep me away from cigarettes than remembering his promise. Those sweet and unexpected words that warm me every time I remember them: I promise I'll make them worthy. Nope. No more smoking for me. Parker walks in about an hour later, and by the wide grin he's sporting, I can tell his mission was a success. "So how many people did you make an offer they couldn't refuse, just so we can get on this thing?" I ask as he takes my hand and guides me out of the cafeteria. Instead of an answer, Parker pulls me into a kiss. "No that many," he says against my lips. "Come on." He pulls me up the metal ramp where we can get inside a capsule. I've been here already on my second day in London, and I liked it so much I promised myself I'd come again. I was here in the morning that day. Now, at night, the glass and steel capsules are slightly illuminated, which gives them an eerie look. A young man awaits us at the landing, and he frowns as he points to the open doors of a capsule, and we step inside. "Fancy," I say when the doors close and the capsule starts moving slowly. "A private capsule." "Which generally comes with an obligatory butler. Believe it or not, it was more difficult to get rid of the butler than getting them to start the wheel at this hour." I sit on the bench in the center of the capsule, crossing my legs. Parker stands near a weirdlooking trunk that I didn't notice when we entered, though I'm pretty sure it was there. "Why is a butler mandatory?" "They say it's for security," Parker says. "I think it's more for preventing sex." "Sounds legit." He bends down and fumbles with the trunk, then turns to me with a bottle of Pommery Brut Royal Champagne and two glasses. "And for serving this." "Oh, I think you're qualified enough for the job." He pours us both champagne, then puts the bottle back in the ice bucket, sits next to me, and we clink glasses. Though we're still not very high up, I see the city stretching behind him, the bright lights of the buildings and street lamps contrasting beautifully with the growing darkness. "To us, Jess," he says. I notice something in his eyes I haven't seen before. "You look troubled." He smiles and we both take a sip from our glasses. "I didn't want to bring it up now, but there's interest from some buyers for Blakesley Enterprises."

"That's good, right? I mean, you said that was the plan. Run the company until you can sell it." Parker runs his hand through his hair, a few blond strands falling over his eyes seductively. "I don't know . . . it was my father's company, after all. Somehow, selling it doesn't feel right. It's also not yet in a stable financial state to get a good price for it. What do you think I should do?" He tugs at his lower lip with his teeth, looking at me expectantly. "I . . . umm . . ." I stutter, "I don't know a darn thing about financial stuff, so I'm probably the leastqualified person you could ask." "No," Parker says with urgency, "you know me. Your opinion is important to me." "Well," I say, carefully considering my words, "I think you will be much happier if you sell it and get back to dedicating your time to what you like to do. I want to see you happy, so I vote for selling the company." Parker nods, as if my words somehow carry great importance. "Thank you," he says, before leaning in to kiss me. I put down my glass, wrap my arms around his neck, and climb in his lap. I taste the champagne on his lips, turning his words back and forth in my mind, still a bit surprised that my opinion matters so much to him. But after all, I care about his opinion as well. I asked him for advice more than once in the past few weeks. And Parker was so willing to help me. He even helped me prepare for a presentation, listening to me rehearsing in front of him and then challenging me with trick questions and giving me feedback. His rigid, businesslike demeanor made it very hard for me to keep a straight face while presenting. I usually ended up tickling his seriousness away after he was done with the feedback, and then he wrestled me to bed. Mixing work and pleasure turned out to be so much fun. Why did I ever think building a career and having a man by my side had to be mutually exclusive? Probably because most men wouldn't care about that. But Parker isn't most men. He might have been a bad boy. But now he's a great man. One who listens and supports. And who right now wants me badly. "Stop," I say, pushing his hand away from my ass, and leaping away. "I wanted to come here for the view. I won't miss it." I turn my back to him, looking outside. The London Eye is my favorite Ferris wheel ever. The capsules are built almost entirely of glass, which makes taking in the surrounding view so much easier. And what a view it is. On the left side the old city—Westminster— stretches out, with all the classic tourist attractions: Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, and so on. On the right side is the new part—the City—where glass and steel giants dominate the skyline. Though vastly different, the two parts form a picture that's harmonious in its own way. Just like me, I hope. The old Jess was reckless, and always up for fun with a touch of danger. The new Jess is more responsible and restrained, though the reckless part lingers inside, yearning to come to life now and again. I think I've found a way to reconcile both sides of me. Or Parker has, really. I feel one of his arms enveloping my waist, the other busy finding its way under my dress. "Parker," I gasp. "Not here." "Why not?" I can feel his devilish smile against my neck. "No one can see what's going on inside." "No, but I'll know they're out there. That they could see." "Mmm, but you like that, don't you, Jessica? Don't pretend you don't. There's no need to pretend with me." "I do like it," I admit through heavy breaths. "So do I," he says, before yanking my dress to the ground, leaving me in just my underwear and thigh-highs. "You're beautiful. And all mine." "All yours," I agree, tilting my head to one side to give him better access. Why do I like this so much? Is it because it's in some way forbidden? Forbidden things and forbidden behavior have always thrilled me. They give me a sense of non-conformity and freedom. And Parker gives me this kind of

freedom when I’m with him. No, we give it to each other. He craves the same thing I do. Because deep down, under his sleek Armani suit, groomed manners, and years of trained self-control, there are still remnants of the bad boy from years ago. And they are delicious. The decadence of it all strikes me as Parker pushes me against the window. I grab the metal railing with my hands. My panties are soaked already. Decadence, yes . . . maybe that's why I enjoy it so much. It should feel wrong. It should have felt wrong at the opera, in the car, the park and here. But it doesn't feel wrong at all. Not with him. We are partners in this. When we are apart, we are on our best behavior, fitting in. But when we are together, we carve our own bubble of freedom, in which nothing can touch us—where we can let loose. This might not be right for the world, but it is right for us. Parker's kisses trail down my back, and then he's on his knees, cupping my buttocks with one hand and slipping his fingers of the other to the front, stroking my panties. I breathe heavily, the contact of the wet fabric with my skin sending torturous shivers through my nerve endings. He rises and I feel his palm pressing me against the window, and I don't get why until the side of my breasts comes in contact with the window. At that precise moment, Parker pushes the portion of the fabric covering my wet pussy aside and slides into me. The sizzle rocketing through me is amplified; I shiver, feeling the cold glass against my skin. I grip the railing with all my might, rocking my hips against him. Then, he drives me to another delicious torture. I feel it at the back of my neck first, but then it glides down, spreading what feels like fire in its way. But it's an ice cube. Gliding farther down until it rests on the point where our bodies touch before falling to the ground with the next thrust. Parker grabs a fistful of hair, pulling my head back, and kisses me ferociously. His tongue darts in and out, in and out of my mouth, with a precision that makes me delirious. When he lets go, I swear the world disappears in a tumult of sparkles before me. I can barely breathe, see, or make any sense of time or place. I lean my head back, resting on his shoulder and let his thrust guide me on the path I know can end only with a consuming explosion. As the coveted tension starts building inside me, I open my eyes, wanting to look outside once more before I'm splintered by passion. I see that we've reached the highest point of the London Eye, and think to myself that nothing, nothing could be more perfect. As my mom always said, when the pieces fall where they should, all things start aligning. I would, of course, soon prove that a different saying—one of my own—would hold true in my case. The higher you are, the harder you fall.

"Y ou're kidding, right?" I say after we get off the Eye, when Parker says we have to stop by his office so he can pick up some papers he needs to go over tonight in preparation for the meeting with the buyers tomorrow. "That means you'll completely ignore me tonight, won't you?" "Until Saturday, actually." He smiles apologetically, opening the door of the car for me. "I'll be stuck in meetings with them tomorrow and Friday." I cross my arms over my chest, pretending to be upset, but then grin. The truth is I'm happy for him, because if he does manage to go through with the sale, he'll be a much happier man. "Let's go get your papers, you damn workaholic. I’m dying to see your office anyway." I had a brief glimpse of his office building the day we met at Starbucks. It's as sleek and futuristic looking on the inside as it is on the outside. Expensive, albeit not cozy, minimalistic furniture everywhere. There's isn't one soul inside, but given it's late at night, that's no surprise. Blakesley Enterprises is on the fifth floor. "This is quite a luxurious office for a company that's in the dumpster," I say when we step out of the elevator. Parker smiles, putting his hand at the small of my back as he guides me through the office. "You'd be surprised what constitutes a priority when it comes to cost-cutting." Of course, Parker has the corner office. I inspect it closely when we're inside, while he shuffles through some papers on his desk. There's not one personal item of his here. No pictures or anything. Parker curses under his breath. "Not finding what you need?" I ask. "My secretary must have locked up the papers." He opens a drawer under his desk, takes a key out, and proceeds to the floor-to ceiling shelves next to his desk. They have sliding doors that need a key to unlock. Parker unlocks one, opens the door, and takes out a folder. "This is the one," he says more to himself. "Be right back.” He leaves the room, holding the folder. I look around, and the unlocked door of the shelves catches my attention. I pull the door completely open and peruse the spines of the thick folders. It's not like the names on the folders actually mean anything to me—just random companies I haven't heard about. But it makes me feel closer to him, like I get to discover something more about him. And then my eyes freeze over one of the folders. It looks exactly like the other ones. Except it has my name on it. I open the folder slowly, cold dread invading every cell of my body. My mom always says that our body has a way of predicting when something bad is about to happen, and it's best to listen to the warning and run. But unlike my mom, I was never one to run away from things. Even bad ones. A picture of me is on the front page. Taken a few years ago. No big deal, I tell myself. He

could've downloaded it from Facebook or whatever. The same cannot be told about what lies on the second page, though. My name is on the top, followed by a fucking table of contents. Because only Parker, who asked his men to question chefs to find out which French dishes could appeal to a hobby chef, could put a team of detectives—judging by the three names and their professional titles listed at the bottom of the page—to investigate me and then organize the information in a table of contents. It all begins rather innocently, with info on my date of birth, names of my parents, and my address. The next pages document my years of high-school and college. Nothing on my relationship with my father. That was my best-kept secret. My only well-kept secret, it seems. They did a thorough job, I'll give them that. Every single piece of crap about me is here. How I got involved with a moron who turned out to be a drug dealer in my first year at Stanford. I only learned of his “profession” when I was caught in the middle of a deal because he used me as a drug mule. Luckily, the police believed I had no idea of his deals, and assured me my record would be untouched. Theoretically, that meant there was no way for an outsider to find out I had a part in the whole thing. But for Parker there is always a way, it seems. My second year is also closely documented. How I slept with Alex, a Stanford professor who was subsequently fired because of that. The way the investigation was carried out makes my stomach squirm. The emphasis is mostly on how the story resurfaced: if I did something on purpose to expose us. As per your request, this issue was researched thoroughly. All data suggests that no action on Ms. Haydn's part triggered the discovery. Our sources assured us there was no attempt on her part before, or after the discovery, to blackmail Alexander Johnson. A tear finds its way down my cheek. So that's what Parker wanted to know. I don't read any further. I don't want to know more. If you ever want to be reminded of all your sins, you don't have to wait for Doomsday. Parker's men can make your whole life flash before your eyes. Every cell in my body screams betrayal. "Jessica." My head snaps up. Parker is standing in the doorway, two shades paler than when he left. "I can explain this," he says evenly. Despite the lump in my throat, I manage to croak out laughter. "I won't stop you. I’m very curious to hear you out." "Look, I do these with every—” He stops abruptly. "With every whore you pay? You make a background check to make sure your dick won't fall off if you fuck her? Well, I am certainly glad to know that I'm given equal treatment. Did you use the same detectives? I'll be severely offended if you used someone of lower rank to dig through my dirt." Parker walks to his desk and leans on its edge. He doesn't answer right away. I can tell he's considering his words very carefully, and I’m glad he does. Because whatever he says will hurt me. At this point, it's just a matter of how much it will hurt. There's no weapon more effective than words. They lash deep wounds that can cripple in a second and heal excruciatingly slow, sometimes not at all. Because words can't be unheard. Or forgotten. "Look Jessica," he says, eyeing the floor, "it's just a precaution I take with people I let into my life." I snort. "I specifically like how you insisted they find out if I blackmailed Alexander. All that trust talk, was that just one big joke to you?" "What, no . . ." He looks up at me and moves brusquely, as if wanting to walk over to me, but then reconsiders and stays put. Just as well. I couldn't stand being nearer to him than I am already. "I

honestly meant that." "Sure, you trusted me so much that you hired a freaking team to investigate me. I saw the date on it, Parker. You gave them this task after we went to Helen's." "Yes. That's because I . . ." He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "Before we went there I was still not sure I wanted there to be something between us. And that weekend changed things. You know that too, Jessica." "I do," I whisper. "But that still doesn't explain this." I hold up the file, then quickly put it on the shelf, the hard cover burning me. "When I left for my trip I realized that I had gotten up to my neck in this, but I still didn't know much about you." "Why didn't you just ask me what you wanted to know?" Parker laughs humorlessly. "I learned a long time ago that you don't get the truth about people by asking them. I didn't want to fall into a trap believing you would be different." "Of course not," I say sarcastically. "You looked up information about me yourself, Jessica. Just because my life is out there for everyone with an Internet connection to read about, doesn't mean it's less intrusive." Am I imagining it, or is there a hint of anger in his voice? I feel my own face getting red with anger. "In what world is looking you up on the Internet in the same league as hiring a team of detectives to go through all my crap? I looked you up, yes, but I was looking for a reason to trust you. You were looking for one not to trust me." For a few moments, Parker doesn't say anything. "I've always done this. I used to move in very dangerous circles, Jessica. There are certain people who'd do anything to see me or those around me getting hurt." "Don't feed this bullshit to me, Parker. You're just paranoid." He shakes his head. "Maybe I am, yeah. But I was ready to give my heart to you, and I wanted to be as certain as I could you wouldn't just crush it." I grab the shelf behind my back, steadying myself. His words instantly soften me. Surely I can't blame him for wanting to protect himself from a heartbreak. After all, haven't I tried to do the same? But he shatters any understanding I might have, and along with it myself, down to my very core, with his next words. "And I had to know if there was anything in your past that could become problematic. Imagine if the press—” "Don't bring the press up, Parker. You did this first and foremost for yourself. And if your detectives had dug up something bad enough, you wouldn't even have given me a chance." Parker raises his hands in exasperation, a vein pulsing in his temple. I can't believe he dares to be angry. "If you were in my position, you would do the same. You could have been a gold digger for all I knew." It takes all I have not to slap him. "Screw you, Parker."

I storm out of the office building a few seconds later. Parker has the good sense not to follow me. I wander block after block until I leave the business district behind and reach the downtown, which is, as always, swarming with people. I don't stop until my feet sting like hell—an unmistakable sign of blisters in the making. I lean on the wall of a very old building and take off my shoes, letting my feet cool on the concrete. And then I start crying. Hard and uncontrollable, with sobs that wrack my body with a force that only humiliation and defeat can birth. Passersby watch me, some with fear, some with pity, and some with a mix of both. I couldn't care less. Let them watch. Let them see what someone who's been slapped in the face by life and hope looks like. When I've cried myself out, I take a cab and go home. To my astonishment, Dani isn't asleep when I enter the apartment, though it must be past one o'clock. She sits on the couch, watching TV, with a large bucket of ice cream in her lap. "You look awful," she says. "Parker sucks," I offer as an explanation. "I'm sorry," Dani says. "Me too." She holds up her bucket with both hands and a smile. "Ice cream?" "Sorry, I've never been the kind of girl to stuff myself with ice cream and chocolate to forget about an asshole. Tequila shots have always been the poison of my choice. Fewer calories, more of a knock-out factor." Dani chuckles, her dark brown eyes lighting. "Glad to see nothing can beat your sense of humor." I grin, but then my lips falter into a grimace. "The realization that today is Wednesday just did. I can't knock myself out for another two days." I eye her bucket of ice cream. "I'm getting myself a spoon." We eat ice cream and watch two episodes of—ironically—a detective series. "This sucks," I announce when our bucket is empty. "I'm not feeling better at all. On the contrary, I feel like I'm going to have a sore throat tomorrow. Whoever invented the ice cream and chocolate rule clearly hasn't had tequila." Something inside me tells me I'm wrong. Because not all girls are the same. Good girls find solace in chocolate and ice cream. Bad girls don't look for solace at all. They look for fun and excitement. And that can be found at the bottom of a tequila shot. For a while. When they wake up they realize it was fake, but the damage left in the wake of too much fun is real, and sometimes irreversible. Damage that can lead to getting an innocent man fired. Damage that ensures no matter how much I try, I can't just erase all the things I did.

I learned a new and painful lesson tonight. Bad girls don't make good girlfriends. "Let's go to bed," Dani says, and I nod. It's only after I close the door to my bedroom that I realize Dani's eyes seemed puffy, like she's been crying. I slap my forehead. The ice cream. The fairy-themed pajamas. All code for I'm going through a heartbreak. In my own selfish misery, it hadn't occurred to me to ask her. I make a mental note to question her tomorrow. See if she needs a shoulder to lean on. I slip under my covers, wondering how I'll function at work tomorrow. I'm tired, but I don't want to sleep. I toss in my bed for hours, angry at Parker and the world. But mostly at myself. If I had had an immaculate past, it would be so easy to label Parker as a stalking creep and move on. But given that I didn’t, how can I really blame him for wanting to know exactly how much damage anything from my past could do, if it fell in the wrong hands? His credibility is almost as important as his business skills. I rewind the conversation with him again and again, until I come to the root of what really bothers me. Why does it bother me so much that he took an interest in all the crap I did? It's because I'm afraid he'll come to believe I'm not good enough for him. Every nerve ending suddenly seems to be made of ice. In the darkness, I search for my phone and light up the screen. Nothing. No message or missed call from him. I try to calm my racing heart, telling myself it's normal that he hasn't. I did just walk out on him after all. But what if it's more? What if he took that file, went through it again, and realized just how much trouble I am? He could have anyone with a squeaky clean past. He could have any woman he wants— more beautiful than me, smarter. Someone who has always been something I will never truly be. A good girl. Emptiness replaces the cold inside me. I curl into a fetal position, clutching my pillow in my arms. The emptiness in the aftermath of being dumped is a feeling I'm well aware of; it’s something I have come to expect from men, and for some reason, even want from them. Probably so I won't get attached. But I never wanted that from Parker. Not when I finally found in him what I never knew I was looking for: my own Prince Charming. Not the lame kind who would run after me holding my lost glass slipper, but the kind who'd steal me away and lock me up in a glass bubble, doing delicious things to me out in the open, for anyone to see but no one to really know. Showing me the kind of thrill I need. I can't lose him. Parker didn't want just my body. He wanted everything. He sealed his request with a touch of my fingers and a kiss on my forehead. And everything is exactly what I gave him. I drum my fingers nervously on my bed, the need for nicotine stronger than it's been in weeks. I sit up straight in my bed, thinking about searching for a cigarette pack. Why shouldn't I smoke? The thought of a distant future without Parker in it seems like a poor repayment for denying myself some relief right now. I start to stand but then make myself sit back on the bed. No, I won't do this. I feel a tear at the corner of my eye and quickly wipe it away. I refuse to let myself jump to any conclusions. I will wait for him to call. Maybe he still wants to make those years worth it.

Bad timing. This is what goes through my mind the entire day as I listen to Gordon and the rest of the team from N.P.T. Enterprises drag on and on. As far as negotiations go, I can already tell this is going to be the dodgiest deal I'll ever make. Partly because Blakesley Enterprises in itself is a bad deal, no matter how much I try to convince them of the opposite. And partly because my mind is somewhere else. I should be somewhere else, period. The discussions are taking place in my office, and behind Gordon I have a direct view to the shelf where her damn folder is. I can't believe I actually said the words gold digger last night. I'm surprised she didn't punch me. I would've punched me. I didn't want to follow or call her last night because we were both angry, and angry discussions never lead to anything good. I thought I'd better let her calm down. I see now that was a mistake. At the rate this is going, I'll be stuck with Gordon's team until long after midnight, and tomorrow will be the same story. I can hardly send her a message. What can I say? Sorry I've been an arse, talk to you in two days? I can't get out of the meeting long enough to have a real conversation with her over the phone, either. “The assets of Blakesley Enterprises are simply not worth that much," Gordon says. "You are a smart man, Gordon. You know very well the brand name wipes out the competition." "If the company holds out long enough." "It will." "If you are so convinced, why do you want to sell it so badly?" I lean back in my chair, forcing a smirk on my face. Desperation is never a good tactic. "I don't have companies of this type in my portfolio. It's a much better fit for your portfolio. Or Ogden's." Gordon's face whitens, which is exactly the reaction I wanted. Hence, why I brought his biggest competitor into the discussion. Not that he made me any offer, but bluffing can go a long way in negotiations. I know this talk won't be any shorter for it. Damn it, I need to get to Jessica somehow. She's wild and impulsive, two things I've come to love about her. But if she doesn't hear from me for two days, I can bet the worthless assets of this company she'll do something really stupid. I pick up my phone and send a message to Helen, hoping she can do some damage control until this is over.

N o word from Parker. For two long, lousy days. As I stand in the mirror on Friday evening, putting on makeup, Dani enters the bathroom wearing one of the few party outfits I brought from California. I'm wearing one, too. "We both look gorgeous," I say, and Dani smiles. Her eyes aren't puffy anymore. She met my attempts of fishing out information from her with monosyllabic answers, but quickly accepted the dress I offered, which is definitely take-me-home-with-you length. I can tell we're on the same page. We need this tonight. Reckless fun. Consequences be damned. We're both wearing tight, black dresses and almost ridiculously high heels. "I called a cab. It should be here in ten minutes," Dani says. "Perfect." After Dani goes out, I put another layer of foundation under my eyes. But there's not much I can do about the puffiness. Well, there is. Stop crying. I did quite a lot of that last night. Even now, I can feel tears forming behind my eyelids. God damn it. I'll ruin half an hour of work if I start crying now. The tears gather at the outer corners of my eyes and I wipe them gently with my fingers, making them vanish without doing any damage to my makeup. Of course, I seem to have become an expert at making things, or people, vanish around me and doing plenty of damage in the process. But I must say, I never expected Parker to pull a Houdini on me the way he did. My cell phone starts ringing just as I leave the bathroom. It's Helen. Again. She's called me plenty of times, but I haven't picked up. There are two possible scenarios how our discussion could go, and I don't like either of them. Either she knows Parker dumped me, and I don't need a pity party, or she doesn't know Parker dumped me, and I'm in no mood to update her. I'll leave the unpleasant task to Parker. Answer your Goddamn phone, woman, Helen texts me. I chuckle and decide to call her after all. "I was ready to call Scotland Yard, you know," she says. “Why the hell didn't you answer your phone? Trying to avoid anyone related to Parker?" So she does know. "I'm not in the mood for a pity party, Helen," I warn. "I'm a big girl, I've been dumped before." "Oh dear, Parker told me you might say that." "What's that supposed to mean?" "He wasn't trying to send you a breakup message through his silence. Or through me. He's been stuck in meetings for the last two days. Still is. I don't think he'll get away for another two hours." I roll my eyes. "I find it hard to believe he couldn't find a minute to text me."

"I believe he was under the impression he'd need more than a minute to make things right." My heart begins to beat at lightning quick speed, hope springing inside of me, filling me with sizzling warmth. "I suppose so," I say. "Where are you now?" "Um . . . home, but Dani and I are leaving for Soho in about two minutes." "Preparing for a wild night out, huh?" My cheeks warm up. "Well—” "Perfectly acceptable behavior for someone under the impression she's getting dumped." "I think Dani actually was. Or something happened anyway. She seems kind of miserable. Out of solidarity, I still have to go." "Crap," Helen says. "You know what, why don't the two of you go ahead and I'll get Tara and meet you there. Text me the address. I'll tell Parker where we are." "Done," I say, elation overwhelming me at the sound of his name. Dani isn't anywhere in the apartment, so I assume she's already outside. When I leave our building, I spot her holding open the door of a cab and texting furiously. "Good news," I say. "Our party just got bigger. Helen and Tara are meeting us at the club." Dani looks up from her phone, relieved. "Do you mind if I catch you later?" she asks. "What do you mean? You said you were coming not two minutes ago." "I am," Dani says. "I just need to make a small detour." "But I—” I bite my tongue. I can't exactly tell her, we are going out for you. "Where are you going?" "I need to take care of something. I won't be long, I promise." "I'll come with you." Dani shakes her head. "I have to do this on my own. You take the cab, I'll get another one." She takes off before I can say anything. Biting my lip, I get inside the cab, and text Helen the address of the club, an uneasy feeling forming in my chest. The cab drive takes forever, and by the time I arrive, Tara and Helen are already there, standing in a line so long, I'm not sure we're going to get inside the club until four o'clock in the morning. "Where's Dani?" Tara asks as soon as I'm in front of them. "No idea. She just said she has to take care of something and will join us later." Helen purses her lips. "Parker will go ballistic when he finds out." "I'm not too thrilled about it myself, to be honest," I say. "I have a bad feeling." We don't say anything to each other after that, just stare ahead of us, as if waiting for something bad to happen. And then it does. Parker arrives first, and that in itself is not bad, because he looks hotter than ever in his fitted dark suit. Most importantly, he has that look in his eyes that tells me he wants me. Badly. But my phone rings at the same time, and Dani is calling. I pick up just as Parker arrives in front of us. "Jess?" Dani says in a whisper. My chest tightens. "Are you all right?" "Yeah. It's just . . . do you think you can come pick me up from here?" I frown. Why would she ask me this? "Sure, I'll take a cab and come wherever you are." "Umm . . . I don't think any cab will bring you here. That's why I am calling you, actually. No cab wanted to come here. Maybe Tara or Helen can lend you a car?" "Where are you?" I ask, exchanging glances with Parker, Helen, and Tara.

Dani gives me the address but it tells me exactly nothing. I can't even guess the general area, so I recite it out loud, hoping it will tell the others more. And boy it does. All color drains from Helen's cheeks. Parker simply looks stunned—for a few seconds only, because then fury stretches every line on his face. He asks me to pass Dani to him, but she's already gone. "What is she doing there?" Helen whispers, and Tara actually puts an arm around Helen's shoulders, as if to steady her. "Tara, take Helen and Jess home. I'm going to get Dani," Parker says, already turning on his heels. "I'm coming with you," I say. "Jessica—” he begins in a dangerously low tone, but I cut him off. "There's no point in arguing. And we don't have time to waste." I see a muscle twitch in his temple, but he nods. Tara and Helen don't seem to have any objection to being sent home, but seeing as Helen is still white as a sheet, I don't know how they could object. I tag beside Parker as we almost run to his car, wondering where the hell Dani could be. I've been to some crappy places myself in California, but never crappy enough for cab drivers to refuse to drive me there. I suspect the right word for wherever she is, is not crappy, but creepy.

Parker drives with nauseating speed, and I eventually close my eyes, otherwise I will throw up for sure. The seatbelt cuts into my skin a few times as he takes sharp curves. After what feels like a long, long, time we come to an abrupt stop. Carefully, I open my eyes. I see nothing at first, but as my eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, I detect a run-down building in the distance. I would think the place was deserted, but there are dim lights from within the ground-level windows. The hair at the nape of my neck stands on end. The street we're on is narrow, with cars parked on either side. Judging by the run-down state of the cars, I'm not sure I want to meet their owners. "If I told you to stay in the car, would you do it?" Parker asks. I meet his eyes, and the concern in them frightens me like nothing else. "No. I'm scared of staying here alone." And I'm scared of you going in there alone. He nods. "You'll be safe, don't worry." We get out of the car, and the late evening air chills me. "Are we still in London?" I whisper as I hurry after him in the direction of the building. "Oh, yes we are. Just a part of it I hoped you would never see. Or Dani." Anger flashes across his face, and I don't understand why until he says, "I should've looked after her better." I don't say anything. What have you gotten yourself into, Dani? Goose bumps form all over my skin as Parker and I continue toward the house. I rewind her phone call in my memory. She hadn't seemed scared on the phone. I try to repeat that to myself a few times. If she wasn't scared, it means she came here on her own accord. Then I remember what Parker told me about her when we were in Scotland. Dani got involved with a guy who was part of a dangerous gang in California. Has she done the same here? Damn it, why didn't I take him more seriously? It seemed so much easier to just deem him and James as overprotective and paranoid. Parker takes my hand as we come to the entrance of the building. Laughter resounds from inside, joyful and sinister at the same time. But that's not the only sound. There are muffled sounds like someone hitting sacks and growls following every muffled sound. "Are people fighting inside there?" I ask. "They are indeed," he says quietly, leading the way through the labyrinth of doors and then down a staircase. It occurs to me that Parker hasn't hesitated or seemed confused one single moment since I spoke to Dani. Not on the road. And not since we came here. There can only be one reason for it. He has been here before. Not just in the area. In this building. As we proceed down the narrow corridor, the smell of smoke and alcohol becomes more pungent. As far as bars and pubs go, this certainly wins for being the creepiest. Parker pushes a door

open and steps inside first, tightly clutching my hand. I peek at the scene inside from behind his shoulder, transfixed. For a few long moments, nothing makes sense. Then, slowly, it starts registering. The cage in the center of the room. And the two men inside it, bloody and bruised. Fighting. Cage fighters. "What the fuck?" I say. Parker squeezes my hand, muttering something I can't hear, but I know it's about Dani. I gulp, trying to look around. The place is not exactly packed, but there are enough people around us to make finding Dani hard. Smoke, rising in waves from the plethora of lighted cigarettes, isn't making the job any easier. Everyone is concentrated on watching the fight, and no one notices us. At first. If I were alone, I would go completely unnoticed. With my stripper dress and shoes, I fit in just right with the few girls who are here. But with his expensive suit, Parker stands out more than if he were naked. Most look at Parker with raised eyebrows; others look downright annoyed. And yet others . . . something flickers in their eyes, and it's neither confusion, nor annoyance. It's recognition. "Well, well, well, if that isn't Parker Blakesley himself," a deep voice booms from our right. Parker stops so abruptly that I smack right into him. I feel movement and realize the crowd steps aside, effectively making a corridor between us and the source of the voice. Parker pushes me behind him. A man, not much older than Parker, sits on a slightly elevated bench at the end of the corridor. His hair is cut razor short, and he has multiple piercings in an ear and an eyebrow. He wears large metal rings on a few fingers. He's dressed in ragged jeans and a dark brown leather jacket. Parker's features tighten and he nods curtly toward the man. "I never thought I'd see you here again," the man says. "I came to pick someone up." The man throws his head back, roaring with laughter. "That bitch, Helen? Last I knew, Devon had dumped her. Unless she's already jumped in another of our boys' bed. She seems to have made a habit of that." Parker squeezes my hand so hard I think he might break my bones, but I don't react. I have the distinct impression that he's one word away of letting go of my hand and squeezing the man's neck instead. "I'm not here for Helen," Parker hisses. "Another friend is here. I didn't come here for any trouble. As soon as I find her, I'm out of here." "The unbeatable Parker Blakesley, who would've thought you'd become so soft? Don't you have drivers who can do this? Now that you're a CEO and all." "People move on, Cliff." Cliff stands up, advancing toward us. Parker lets go of my hand, pushing me back in the crowd. His movement confuses me for a few seconds, but then I realize why he did it. So people won't think we're here together. Why? Does he think someone would hurt me if they knew? The hair at the nape of my neck rises. Too late. They do know. But as I look around me, I realize no one is paying attention to me. They step in front of me, eager to take a look, pushing me farther back. The fight in the ring has stopped. Where is Dani? Finding her now seems even more impossible as everyone in the room seems to be pushing toward the area around Parker and Cliff, trying to get a closer look. "People with money move on. The rest of us don't have that option." "I offered you an option years ago," Parker says in a chilling voice. "To be your lapdog?" Cliff sneers. "To be my right hand. To be my equal." "I could never have been your equal. But I know a place where I am. Right here, in the ring."

There is a pause and then Parker says, "I don't do that anymore, Cliff." "Ah, you didn't turn soft, I see. You're a downright coward." Fear grips me, and I fist my palms, my nails cutting deep into my flesh. My heart begins to race frantically. Please don't give in to his dare, Parker. Please don't. There are very few things easier than a direct provocation to push a man to do reckless things. But Parker proves to be a better man than I give him credit for. "I'm done with this bullshit," I hear Parker say. Over the heads of the people in front of me, I see him turn around. I smile when his eyes find me, but he doesn't smile at all. On the contrary. Parker stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening, his jaw tight. I don't understand his reaction, or what is causing it. Until I feel the iron grip of an arm on my waist. And the cold knife blade against my neck. I can't breathe. Or think. Paralyzed by fear, probably. In the split second it takes me to understand what is going on, I hear Cliff say, "I bet this changes your mind, Parker." "Let her go," Parker says, without taking his eyes off me. My captor tightens his grip on my waist, running the edge of the blade up and down my neck. My legs weaken. "I think not," Cliff says. "You see, I've been waiting for this. But you, old friend, have been quite elusive. Who knows when I might get another chance? There are only two outcomes now. She gets hurt. Or you do. Your choice." I want to scream and tell Parker not to give in, because surely they won't just cut my throat in a room full of people. I look around. Those whose eyes are fixed on Parker and Cliff have hungry stares splashed across their features. They’re hungry for a fight. But the same hunger isn't on the face of those staring at me and my captor. They seem confused. Frightened. Or maybe I'm just imagining it. The truth is, I can't stand the thought of Parker getting hurt. It seems the same thing holds true for Parker when it comes to me, because he starts turning around. Cliff's fist collides with Parker's jaw before Parker even fully turns to him. I cry out—I cannot help it—then quickly cover my mouth with both hands. It's only when I start to push forward, desperate to reach him, to do something, anything, that I notice my captor has released me. Perhaps he's still behind me, waiting to threaten me again if need be. All I want is to reach Parker. The wall of people in front of me is impenetrable. When Parker's fist hits Cliff square in his chest, he topples a few steps back, but recovers quickly. What goes on next is a blur of fists and cries and shouts of encouragement from the crowd. That's the last I hear before my ears shut down, refusing to listen to a world in which Parker is being hurt. My heart beats at an alarming speed as I try to stop any cry from leaving my mouth. Sobs find their way through though. Panic roots me to my spot as I watch the fight unfold. Even to unfamiliar eyes like mine, it's easy to see that Parker is out of practice. And thus at a huge disadvantage. Cliff is quicker. His hits cause more damage than Parker's. But Parker puts up a good fight, nonetheless. He strikes with precision, making me think he was nothing short of deadly in his years in the ring. Every blow meets its target. Cliff immobilizes Parker, holding him in a twisted position under one arm. With his other arm, he starts punching Parker's chest again and again. Every wisp of air vanishes from my lungs, and then my ears choose the worst moment of all to start working again. Hearing Parker's pain stirs a searing pain somewhere deep inside me. I grind my teeth and start wedging my way forward when someone clutches my arm. I turn around to find Dani next to me, her mouth open, confusion and fear swimming in her eyes. From behind her, a beaten up and bloody guy—one of the two who were in the ring when Parker and I arrived—resurfaces, holding Dani's hand. "I've got this," he tells her in a low, reassuring tone, then lets go of her hand, not before squeezing it once tightly. It takes me a second to understand what about him bewilders me so much. It's something more than his disheveled state or tattoo-covered arms. And then it hits me. It's his

American accent. I watch him, as if in slow motion, and all of the puzzle pieces fall into place. Dani had dated a guy in California, who according to James and Parker was involved in a dangerous gang. An underground cage-fighting club more than meets the requirements for being labeled dangerous. The hand squeeze. The reassuring tone. The way Dani looks after him, fearful. I bet he's the same guy she dated when she was in California. "Cliff, stop, man," Dani's tattoo guy calls. His voice snaps me from my reverie, and the gripping fear returns full force. Cliff is relentless. Parker frees himself from Cliff’s grip, and tattoo guy uses the moment to step in between them. Among the madness, Parker glances in my direction and I nod, signaling that I am all right. Parker spits blood, cursing. "I pity you, Cliff." "You're the one spitting blood," Cliff says with superiority. "You're nothing but a bitter man," Parker says. "And if you ever pull something like this again, you will regret it." Cliff takes a step forward, as if preparing to launch another hit, but tattoo guy stops him. "Leave," tattoo guy says to Parker, and by the way they look at each other, I can tell they have never met before. Parker nods, but his eyes narrow when tattoo guy says, "Take Dani and Jess and leave." I wince at the mention of my name; Dani probably told him. Parker finds his way easily to Dani and me. The crowd parts in his way. He points Dani toward the door, then takes my hand and we walk after her. "The unbeatable Parker Blakesley, fleeing again," I hear Cliff say when we reach the door. I swear to God his voice drips poison. "I knew you were a weakling when you chose money over us years ago. But I never took you for the type to choose a woman over yourself." Parker stops for a brief moment, turning in Cliff's direction, narrowing his eyes. "I will always choose her."

A ir finds its way to my lungs again when we step outside the damn building. Parker clutches his sides with one hand, and keeps my hand tightly in his other. His shirt is torn and bloody, and I'd like nothing better than to stop and kiss him deeply. But if I did, I wouldn't want to let go for hours. Now that I've had a taste of what fearing for his life is like, I don't want to ever let go. But we need to leave this shitty place first. "Are you all right?" Parker asks me, his eyes scanning me. I nod. "I think the only one of us who isn't all right is you." "Jess is right, Parker," Dani says. "You look awful. Let's leave this place." "Give me the car keys," I say when we're in front of the car. "You can't—” Parker begins. "Please. You're in no condition to drive." To my surprise, he doesn't argue. There is stone silence in the car, punctuated only by Parker's heavy breathing as I drive out of the narrow street and onto the main road. I clasp the wheel tightly. I haven't driven at all since I moved here. I don't have a car, and anyway, the whole driving on the other side makes me nervous even now. "I’m so sorry," Dani bursts out from the backseat. "If I'd ever known something like this would happen I would have never . . ." Her voice trails away in a sob. "Shouldn't we go to the hospital?" "No," Parker says. "But you could have a broken rib or something," Dani insists. "If I had a broken rib, I would know. I've had them broken a number of times." A shiver runs down my spine. "Though with Jessica driving, we might end up at the hospital anyway," Parker adds as I take a dubious turn, trying to avoid a hollow in the road. "Oh shut up, Parker," I say, hanging onto the wheel for dear life. "Or grow old until we make it home. Please let me drive. You're driving slower than a slug." "You are in no condition to drive, Parker." "I'm not dying Jessica, for God's sake," he says in exasperation, but he puts his palm over my hand on the stick and squeezes gently. The gesture reminds me of our night at the opera, and for some reason brings tears to my eyes. I blink them away, hoping they will go unnoticed. Parker's hand is bloody and callused, and I can't stand to look at it or feel it over my own for one more second, or I’ll start crying in earnest. So I push his hand away as gently as I can. Parker stiffens. "So you were a cage fighter?" Dani asks. "Yes, when I was in college. I had no money, and it paid more than any decent job, if you were good enough. And I was the best." There is a moment of silence as Dani and I digest his words. I wrack my brain for anything that

should have clued me in to this. Sure, there was his own admission that he almost got himself in jail. But nothing more specific. And then I remember that night we first met. How he came to my aid when the guy I'd picked up in that bar stepped way over the line. The idiot punched Parker when he wasn't looking. An amateur hit, though it did do some damage. But Parker's strike back was anything but amateurish. "How come you didn't have any money?" Dani asks. "James says you invested the money from your trust fund in his first business." "I only gained access to my trust fund when I finished college. And now I will be the one asking questions, Dani. How did you end up there?" When Dani doesn't answer, I say, "I would assume it had something to do with the tattooed, blackhaired hunk?" "Yeah," Dani says defeated. I steal a glance at her in the rearview mirror. She's watching outside, with her head leaned on the window. "Was he the same guy you dated in California?" Parker asks briskly. Dani snorts. "You know, it's hilarious how you and James always say I've dated him, when I'm not sure myself if we ever did really date." "Well, if taking you to watch cage fights was his idea of a date, I can see why you're unsure," I say in an attempt to lighten the mood, but only manage to garner ugly glances from Parker and Dani. "What was he doing here?" Parker asks. "I don't want to talk about this, Parker. I know I messed up, and I’m sorry you got into trouble for it. I would have walked back if I knew that asking someone to pick me up would lead to this. So I'm sorry, but please stop questioning me." Parker looks like he's about to say something, but I find his hand and squeeze it before he says anything. We drive all the way to Parker's house in silence, except for the few times he tells me which direction to turn. Once inside the house, I lead Dani to the spare, furnished bedroom. Before leaving her alone to change, I can't help myself and ask, "So are you and tattoo guy together now?" "I don't know," Dani says, and I leave her alone. I grab some cotton pads and rubbing alcohol on my way to the office, where Parker waits for me. When I open the door, I find him leaning slightly against the edge of his desk, trying to undo the buttons of his ruined shirt. "No, let me do it," I say. With trembling hands, I undo his cufflinks and then the buttons. The smell of blood sickens me, and I bite my tongue to keep from crying. I let his shirt fall to the floor, revealing just how damaged his skin really is. Most of his chest is swollen or red. There are several bleeding gashes as well. His back isn't much better. What did Cliff hit him with? Surely bare hands cannot cause so much damage. But then I remember the look in Cliff's eyes. Yes, bare hands can cause this much damage. If they are driven by hate. There is nothing more empowering and, in equal measure, destructive than hate. "It looks worse than it is," Parker says in a soft voice, but his reassurance is followed by a sharp gasp, as if talking hurts him as well. I nod and put alcohol on a cotton pad. Parker firmly grips the edges of the desk when the cotton touches his skin, but only a few whimpers escape his lips as I continue the torture on one shoulder and then the other. My stomach clenches as I force my hand to trail down his chest next, where most of the damage is. The smell of alcohol and blood makes me nauseous. It's a smell I will forever associate with pain. His pain. I should clean his lip because it's bloody, but if I do that I have to look him in the eyes and I can't bring myself to. When I’m halfway through, Parker grabs my wrist. "Why won't you look at me,

Jessica?" "Because I can't stand to see you in pain," I whisper. "Is that the only reason?" His voice has a strangeness to it I can't place and it takes me by such surprise that despite myself, I look up at him. His eyes have a dark edge buried deep inside that, like the strangeness in his voice, I can't place. Until he speaks. "Are you repulsed by me?" "What? No, Parker—” "I wouldn't blame you, you know, if what you saw tonight made you think less of me, or that I'm unworthy of you." My mind swirls with confusion and I actually take a step back. "Why on earth do you think I would . . .?" But as my words trail away, I realize why he thinks that. It's the same reason I was convinced I was unworthy of him the night we fought. Because deep down, both Parker and I think we aren't worthy of love. Our distrust for others. . .It isn't as much because we think they will betray us. It's because we think that's exactly what we deserve. The distrust is just a protection mechanism, a barrier. One I don't need anymore. I smile. Somewhere between making me quit smoking and showing me that we can have our own little heaven when we want it—a heaven where I will never have to give up the side of me that longs to be wild—Parker can pride himself on having torn that barrier down. And it's so much better without the barrier. I can dream and hope and love. I can only hope I managed to do the same for him. I remember the words he told me that night I was curled up in his arms on that very chair behind him. I can almost read the same question on his lips now, too. If I asked you to never leave me, would that scare you? Yes, I think his barrier crumbled at about the same time mine did. Now, if he could just see it, he'd be a happier man, just as I am happier. I take a deep breath and say, "If anything, what I saw tonight makes me respect you more." I make a step toward him then stop; the smell of blood is still strong enough to make me nauseous. Parker's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Respect me? I took the easy way, all those years ago. I had so much anger inside me." His eyes darken. "Fighting proved a good outlet for the anger and paid well. What's there to respect?" He turns his back to me, staring out the window behind his desk. "You wanted to help Cliff when you left. That was kind." "Cliff helped me a lot. He is, and has always been an arse, but he helped me. Repaying a debt is the right thing to do, that's all. No kindness involved." "You have a way of viewing everything you do as being terrible, do you know that?" A muscle twitches in his back, and he suddenly stands a bit straighter, tense. It's the exact opposite of what he always says about me. "Lucky I have you to view things in a different light, and make everything seem brighter, don't I, Jessica?" he asks and the edge in his voice betrays just how much he fears I don't belong to him anymore. If he weren't hurt, I would wedge my hands between his arms and around his chest and hug him tightly, flattening my chest against his back. As it is, I merely stand behind him, whispering in his ear, "Yes you have me, Parker. You do now, and you always will." His muscles relax and he takes my hands in his behind his back, holding them gently. "Good," he says softly. "Because I have a feeling I'm always going to need a lot of that light of yours." There is a brief pause, and then he adds in a lower voice. "I'm sorry I had someone investigate you." "After what I've seen tonight, I think you have more than enough reason to watch your back." He turns around abruptly. "I'm sorry you went through all that. I promise I will always keep you safe. I trusted Cliff and the others far too much." His expression hardens. "It won't happen again. I

assure you." "I know it won't." "Jessica," he says, so suddenly and so sharply it startles me. He lifts my chin slightly with one hand. "I want you to know that no matter what my men found out about you, it wouldn't have kept me away from you. That was never what that whole thing was about. I was . . . I have no excuse, except that I was desperate to know more about you, and this was a convenient tool for me . . ." I nod, acknowledging how a similar desperation led me to try and scope out info about him from every single person who knew him. Helen, James, Dani. Perhaps because of our less than perfect pasts, we longed to know if the other was just as flawed. Hoped, even. Deep down, I know I did. I was searching for the beauty in his flaws. And now that I found it, I can't wait to make him see it as well. And I will do so, starting tonight, for as long as we have each other. "Let's not talk about this anymore," I say. "The past brought us here. It's up to us to live our present and build our future." He frowns. "But—" "I know what you're trying to do." I grin widely. "Trying to distract me so I don't clean the rest of your wounds." Parker's frown melts, and a huge grin lights up his face. "It's more fun, I admit." He eyes the cotton pads suspiciously. "Okay, let's get this over with." I start with his bloody lip, grinding my teeth as he grimaces while I blot his lips with the pad. I'd like nothing more than to kiss him right now and forget everything that happened tonight. By the look of his lip, I'll have to wait a while. I continue with his back, cursing that we delayed this, because the blood dried somewhat, making the process harder for me and more painful for him. After I'm done with his back he turns around, and I run the pad around the parts of his chest I hadn't gotten to clean before. One wound in particular is so deep it makes me squirm. How did Cliff . . .? I flinch. Suddenly, I remember a detail about him I didn't before. Cliff was wearing some rings. Yeah. I run my fingers around Parker's wounds again; metal will do that to skin. Maybe it will even leave a mark. But then I remember that Parker had done this for years while he was in college, and yet there's not a single scar on his body. His wounds have healed nicely. I don't know what drives me to do it, but I plant a quick kiss on his chest, just below the wound. "Jessica," Parker exhales sharply, but I can tell it's not painful. So I continue with the kisses, careful to place them on unharmed skin. The smell of alcohol doesn't bother me anymore as I drink in his skin, hoping my lips can heal his pain the same way his lips healed mine. Not the pain from the wounds he got tonight. That will heal on its own. The deep kind of pain that made him seek refuge in even more pain all those years ago in the fighting ring. He accepts them with reluctance at first, his skin prickling under my lips. I think he knows what I'm trying to do. To dissipate any doubt, I run my tongue on a particular spot on his left hip—the same spot where the butterfly tattoo is on my own hip. He flinches and I stop, looking up at him, meeting his eyes. My heart skips a bit as I wait, silently asking—hoping—for a sign that he wants this too. He answers my unspoken question with a nod, and relief floods me. He's letting me in. Utterly and completely. Just like I let him in. I paint my relief and joy all over his torso, my lips carrying it all over his skin, drawing out delicious moans and whispers from him. Passion rears itself before long, wiping away everything in its way and claiming us both. My kisses turn needy and desperate. His moans turn to groans echoing from deep inside his chest. He fists my hair, pulling me up to him. Seeing his injured lip reminds me we can't give in to the passion that consumes us both like wildfire. I try to step back, his proximity making me forget why we can't give in, but Parker grips me by the hips, pulling me against him and I can feel his hard shaft against my stomach. His eyes darken with the same need coursing through my veins.

I smile, grinding softly against him. "Nothing can make you behave, can it? Not even this . . ." I gesture at his raw skin. "Nothing will ever keep me from wanting you. Not even this," he says in a low, throaty voice that threatens to undo me like nothing else. "But it will keep me from making love to you tonight, I'm afraid." "Oh, I can think of another way to please you," I say mischievously, lowering myself to my knees and unbuttoning his pants. Afterward, when we're lying in his bed, Parker, trailing his fingers over my lips, asks, "How was Dani when you left her?" "All right, I think. Wondering why you need such a huge, empty house." I chuckle as I remember Dani's predicament. Parker's fingers cup my face, and he brings me so close to him that our lips are inches away from each other. "I don't want it to always be empty, you know," he says softly. Warmth sprouts deep inside me at his words. "What do you mean?" I whisper. "You know what I mean. I love you, Jessica, and I want you to be part of my life in every way." He pauses for a few long seconds, before asking, "Will you?" "I will," I answer, and as the warmth spreads, melting every fiber of restraint in my body, I lean forward, and he does the same, our lips meeting for the first time tonight. And as we savor each other's lips, tender and cautious, because his lip is still sensitive, I can't help thinking how much this kiss mirrors us. How we were careful at first, frightened even, then gradually gave in more and more, confident we wouldn't hurt each other. We finally threw caution to the wind and dived in head first, because we knew, no matter what we lost by letting our defenses collapse, whatever we would find in each other would make up for it a thousand times over. And it did. Because we found everything in each other. We found everything in us.

I smile as I stretch on the lounge chair, letting my pores soak up the warm California sun and the breeze of the ocean fill my lungs. "Jess, get your ass back in here," Dani calls from inside the house, and I lazily open my eyes. I get up and walk back to the house, inching through the sand, laughing as my feet dip inside it then resurface again. I glance once more at the ocean before stepping back inside the house. I never realized I missed it so much until I arrived here yesterday for James and Serena's engagement party, an event I've been looking forward to for months, ever since Serena shared the good news with me. Unfortunately picking out bridesmaid dresses is something I wasn't looking forward to. I love Serena to bits, and have become very fond of Dani as well, but they both share the trait that makes them lean toward overly long and boring dresses. It drives me crazy. "Sit over there," Serena says, pointing at the bed. I sit on the bed, admiring the decor. Again. Like the outside of the house, the inside is also painted warm coral. The furniture inside is very simple, mostly made from bamboo. The large windows allowing an exceptional amount of sun are the highlight for me. That and the line of palm trees outside the house. Just over an hour from San Francisco, this place is the perfect weekend getaway. According to Serena, that’s why James bought it. The engagement party is taking place here. It was supposed to be a laid-back event, with just family and closest friends attending, but it turned into a several-hundred-people party, with everyone who is anyone in Silicon Valley attending. The guests will arrive in about three hours—though some have already arrived—so these two have plenty of time to torture me with bridesmaid dresses. "Serena and I chose some dresses while you were busy getting tan," Dani says, "and we've come up with these." To my astonishment, the dresses aren't half bad. I see at least two, both the light shade of blue Serena likes, that I could see myself wearing. They are both a few inches longer than I like them, but the bodice makes up for it. Serena glances at me, twirling a strand of her black hair around her fingers, smiling. "A good compromise between both of your styles, don’t you think?" I nod. Compromise is a good word. "Put those two on the short list." She looks relieved as she puts the two dresses aside. "It would be really helpful if you could decide which one you want before you return to London. Then I can cross that off my to-do-list." "Who knew organizing a wedding could be such a pain in the ass, right?" I ask, sympathetically. "And I'm not even doing that much, what with all the wedding planners James hired," Serena says. I love to see her like this. Happy, radiant. Fulfilled. She has that smile on her face only James can

bring out, and I’m so happy she was lucky enough to find someone like that. We were both lucky. "Don't let Mom hear you complain, though," Dani warns. "I'm sure she'd love to take over." Serena bursts out laughing. "That's true, your mom does love organizing parties. Which reminds me, she was grilling me about whether you already know if you're bringing a date to the wedding. Apparently she can't get that info out of you and asked me to. . .I think her words were squeeze it out of you. I thought I'd just straight ask you." I chuckle. My adorably naive old friend. She'll never learn the fine art of veiled interrogation. "I haven't decided yet," Dani says, and her lips tighten. When Serena is out of earshot, I whisper, "I take it tattoo-guy isn't up for this kind of job?" Dani's eyes cloud for a moment. "No, not really." No questioning technique seems to actually work on Dani, and I've tried quite a few in the past months. "Well, I think you can go back in the sun, Jess," Serena says. "Nah, I'll go check on the guys." I leave Dani and Serena, and walk to the second floor. I find James alone in one of the rooms, cursing as he stands in front of the mirror, trying to knot his tie. "You are terrible. You're a businessman. How can you not be able to tie a necktie with your eyes closed?" "At the moment I have serious trouble trying to tie one with my eyes open. Ask Serena how often I wear suits," James says, letting his hands fall by his sides in resignation. "I usually have ties delivered with the knot already made. Who the hell decreed this a suit and tie event anyway? It's my own engagement party, and it’s in my own house; I should have a say in it." "I did, actually. I'm the maid of honor." I stand a bit straighter. "I think men in suits are hot," I add matter-of-factly. James shakes his head, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like women. "Here, let me help you. I'm surprised Parker isn't around, cursing as well." "What do you mean? The sucker tied his own knot just fine then laughed at me and took off." I narrow my eyes. "Wait, so he actually can do it himself? He's been asking me to tie his ties all this time saying he can't do them himself." James bursts into a guffaw of laughter. "He'll kill me for spilling his secrets." "I'll have a word with him later on," I mumble, but can't stop smiling as I finish his tie. "Speaking of secrets, I think Serena knows you are planning something special for tonight." James snaps up his head so abruptly I swear I hear a tiny crack. "What? Did you tell her something?" I take a step back, clutching my heart mockingly. "James Cohen, when did I ever betray your surprises? I did have to tell Dani though so she can help me distract Serena when the big moment arrives." He grins. "This will blow her mind." "I agree. But I hardly think it can top your proposal." Though not exactly accompanied by big gestures, as is his usual style, that moment was special in its own way. He did indeed fly Serena to London for the proposal. It turned out to be the right thing to do. Serena, who hadn't returned to London since she moved to California years ago, has flown twice to London since the proposal. "Right, here you are. Where is Parker?" I ask. "Outside." I find Parker on the patio overlooking the ocean, engaged in a heated discussion with three suited men. I keep my distance, watching him with a smile. He successfully sold Blakesley Enterprises and

has been so much happier since then, concentrating on doing what he likes. I bite my lip, as I have a perfect view of his deliciously formed ass. Yes, suits really do look good on him. As if feeling my gaze, he turns slightly, a grin spreading across his face when he sees me. He beckons me to join him and the men and introduces me as his girlfriend. My stomach gives a jolt, as it always does when he introduces me to someone, which happens very often. Parker no longer seems to want to keep his private life secret from the world. Or, as he puts it, he doesn’t want to keep me secret. And that suits me just fine, though I still get nervous as hell before any fancy event we attend. The British press was a bit disappointed when Parker made our relationship public, since they were hoping when he finally offered them a glimpse in his life, it’d be something scandalous. Something worth writing about. A stable relationship wasn’t exactly what they were hoping for. He nods briefly to the group and we move away to a more private spot. "You little workaholic. You can't take a break from discussing business even at your cousin's engagement party?" "A bit of networking never hurts," he says before wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me into a gentle kiss. "And you're one to talk. Ever since you were promoted, I have the distinct impression you'd like nothing better than to sleep in your office." I chuckle. "How could I possibly do that? I'd miss out on those dinners you have our fancy cook prepare." I moved in with him a while ago, and the months since have been my most wonderful times. He needed a lot of convincing to let me throw a housewarming party, probably afraid my standard for a fun party would leave the house a mess. But he gave in, in the end. The house wasn’t nearly as bad as he feared afterward, and the party was still fun. I learned to compromise on a few things. "Ah, I see,” Parker says. “I thought you'd miss all those things I do to you after dinner." My breath catches. "Yeah, those too." I look around for something to distract me, because this is a poor time to let my mind wander to those things. And then I notice his tie. "I see you can tie a perfect knot all by yourself." He grins. "I thought you'd figure that out eventually." He grabs me by my waist, lifting me up, and carrying me to the edge of the now empty patio. When he puts me down, he turns me around so I'm facing the ocean. "I love letting you take care of me," he says, burying his head in my neck. Like usual, Parker melts me with just a few words. In response, I press his hands tighter around me and whisper, "I love taking care of you." We watch the ocean, entangled like this for some time, until Parker points to the abandoned lighthouse to our far right. "How about a trip there?" he asks. "There is still time before the guests arrive." "Now? What could we possibly do there?" "Mmm," Parker murmurs, his hot breath on my skin a sweet torture. "I have a few things in mind." "But there are people on the beach in front of the lighthouse. Someone could see us." A delightful shiver of anticipation runs through me as Parker whispers in my ear, "When did that ever stop us?"

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Withering Hope (Standalone Contemporary Romance) Add it to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22722898-withering-hope Aimee’s wedding is supposed to turn out perfect. Her fiancé, Chris, is perfect. Her dress is perfect. The location—the idyllic holiday ranch in Brazil—is perfect. But all Aimee’s plans come crashing down when the private jet that’s supposed to take her from the U.S. to the ranch, where her fiancé awaits her, defects mid-flight and Diego—the pilot—is forced to perform an emergency landing in the heart of the Amazon rainforest. With no way to reach civilisation, being rescued is Diego and Aimee’s only hope. A slim one that withers away, day by day, desperation taking its place. Because death wanders in the jungle under many forms: starvation, disease, and fangs of beasts. As Aimee and Diego fight to find ways to survive, they grow closer. Together they discover that facing inner demons takes just as much courage, if not even more, than facing the rainforest. Despite her devotion to her fiancé, Aimee can’t deny her attraction to Diego—the man for whom she’s slowly becoming everything. You can hide many things in the rainforest. But not lies. Or love.

(after Withering Hope) Caught in Us (Lost #3) Dani & tattoo guy’s story ;) Add it to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22722877-caught-in-us

My name is Layla Hagen and I am a New Adult Contemporary Romance author. I fell in love with books when I was nine years old, and my love affair with stories continues even now, many years later. I write romantic stories and can’t wait to share them with the world. And I drink coffee. Lots of it ;)

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T here are so many people who helped me fulfill the dream of publishing my novels, that I am utterly terrify I will forget to thank someone. If I do, please forgive me. Here it goes. First, I’d like to thank my editors, Karen and Janet, whose hilarious comments and little smileys inserted along the manuscript made the editing process as enjoyable as the writing process. To all my beta readers: you have no idea how much your feedback helped me!! I am blessed to have such great people willing to take their time to help me. It goes without saying, but you improve my writing and stories vastly with your kindness. A big thank you goes to the Black Firefly Team. You made my road to publishing this novel so much easier and enjoyable. Jade, your blurb-writing skills and willingness to answer every single question I had, no matter how silly, saved my life. Thank you also introducing me to Ari, who blew me away with her beautiful covers. I want to thank every blogger and reader who took a chance with me as a new author and helped me spread the word. You have my most heartfelt gratitude. To my street team. . .you rock !!! Last but not least, I would like to thank my family. I would never be here if not for their love and support. Mom, you taught me that books are important, and for that I will always be grateful. Dad, thank you for always being convinced that I should reach for the stars. To my sister, whose numerous ahem. . .legendary replies will serve as an inspiration for many books to come, I say thank you for your support and I love you, kid. To my husband, who always, no matter what, believed in me and supported me through all this whether by happily taking on every chore I overlooked or accepting being ignored for hours at a time, and most importantly encouraged me whenever I needed it, I love you and I could not have done this without you.

Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight Chapter Twenty-nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-one Chapter Thirty-two Epilogue

About the Author Contact the Author Acknowledgements

Table of Contents All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author ’s work. Chapter One. 3 Chapter Two. 9 Chapter Three. 12 Chapter Four 15 Chapter Five. 24 Chapter Six. 27 Chapter Seven. 32 Chapter Eight 34 Chapter Nine. 39 Chapter Ten. 43 Chapter Eleven. 51 Chapter Twelve. 54 Chapter Thirteen. 57 Chapter Fourteen. 66 Chapter Fifteen. 69 Chapter Sixteen. 74 Chapter Seventeen. 80 Chapter Eighteen. 83 Chapter Nineteen. 85 Chapter Twenty. 93 Chapter Twenty-one. 96 Chapter Twenty-two. 99 Chapter Twenty-three. 102 Chapter Twenty-four 105 Chapter Twenty-five. 111 Chapter Twenty-six. 112 Chapter Twenty-seven. 117 Chapter Twenty-eight 121 Chapter Twenty-nine. 124 Chapter Thirty. 126 Chapter Thirty-one. 129 Chapter Thirty-two. 134 Epilogue. 140 About the Author 145 Contact the Author 146

Acknowledgements. 147