The Forbidden Series
Billionaires who can look, but shouldn’t touch!

For Logan Black, Jaiven Rodriguez and Zair al Ruyi, New York City is spread out before them like the Garden of Eden…and no one knows the sweet taste of forbidden fruit better than America’s most ruthless billionaires!

Jaded and cynical, with a darkness that threatens to consume them whole, they think they’ve seen it all. But temptation has something new in store for each of them…

When Louise Jensen spent one wicked night with the devastatingly handsome Jaiven Rodriguez, she thought it would be enough. But now that Jaiven has had a taste of his greatest fantasy, he wants more. Louise is about to be taken on a sensual journey by this billionaire bad boy!

Collect all three novels in The Forbidden Series:

THE BILLIONAIRE’S INTERN by USA TODAY bestselling author Maisey Yates

THE BILLIONAIRE’S FANTASY by USA TODAY bestselling author Kate Hewitt

THE BILLIONAIRE’S INNOCENT by USA TODAY bestselling author Caitlin Crews

The Billionaire's Fantasy

Kate Hewitt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Maisey and Caitlin. It was just as fun the second time round.

THE BILLIONAIRE’S FANTASY,

KATE HEWITT

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 One

SHE WAS THE embodiment of every naughty nun and sexy schoolteacher fantasy he’d ever had. Which, Jaiven acknowledged, had to be stretching it since Louise Jensen didn’t look like either, dressed as she was in a perfectly normal wrap dress in some semiclingy material and a pair of low heels.

It was the glasses, he decided. Chunky, square black frames that somehow highlighted rather than hid her vivid hazel eyes. And her laugh. She had a tense way of holding herself; she held a glass of wine in one hand and cradled her elbow with the other, as if she were only just keeping herself together. But she had a surprising, sexy, dirty laugh.

The whole package—the glasses, the laugh, the ruler-straight posture and the fact that he knew she was a professor at Columbia—made him decide to take her to bed.

Judging by the covert glances she’d been shooting his way, he was pretty sure she wanted to go there.

Admittedly she wasn’t his usual type; Jaiven preferred his bed partners to be vacuous, shallow and well-endowed. Those qualities, he found, made sex the simple and pleasurable transaction he wanted and needed it to be.

Louise Jensen was neither shallow nor vacuous, although she definitely fulfilled his well-endowed requirements. Different though she might be, Jaiven still wanted her. Still intended to have her.

He drained the rest of his beer and glanced around the private ballroom, guests milling around all that gilt and marble, chatting softly. Even their laughter sounded entitled, like the tinkling of expensive crystal.

Except for Louise. Her laugh was louder than everyone else’s, and every time he heard it, which admittedly hadn’t been that often, he experienced a jolt of lust.

He normally avoided parties like this. He hated all the snobbery and schmoozing; everyone was trying to prove themselves in some way and he wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t even if he wanted to.

He also stood out amidst all these preening peacocks. He could feel their curious, sideways glances taking in the tattoo visible on the side of his neck, the once-broken nose, the fact that even though his tuxedo was top-of-the-line it still felt like a monkey suit.

He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension that knotted there, and then decided to hell with it. Sex was the easy and simplest solution. Best way to relax, hands down.

And he knew just whom he intended to relax with.

He glanced at Louise again, openly, not hiding his interest as she so obviously was. Even though her back was to him he knew she could feel his stare, saw it in the way she shifted slightly, clutched her elbow more tightly and took another hasty sip of wine.

Did she have a thing for bad boys? Tattoos? Jaiven had certainly come across that little fetish before. Whatever it was, she was clearly interested in him, even if she wanted to act as if she wasn’t.

She’d been sliding him glances while she was sipping her drink and then hurriedly looking away, quickly saying something or laughing too loudly.

Jaiven smiled, the tension inside him already starting to loosen. This would be both interesting and easy, a particularly enjoyable combination, and the perfect way to end his evening.

“Jaiven.” His friend and host of the party, Alex Diaz, clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked with a knowing smile, and Jaiven rolled his eyes. “I know this is your personal hell. Not just a party, but one celebrating an engagement.”

“Two strikes,” Jaiven agreed equably. He wouldn’t begrudge the happiness of one of his oldest friends; it was just bizarre that Alex had found it with a woman, in a relationship. A permanent relationship, something they’d both vowed to avoid.

People changed, Jaiven supposed, even if he didn’t think he ever had or could. Yet Alex seemed happy with Chelsea Maxwell, the once-celebrated talk show host and now head of some high-profile charity. He didn’t get it, but then Chelsea, with her glossy television looks and frosty attitude, was so not his type.

But her sister Louise was. She would be. For a night, at least.

Alex moved off to greet another guest and Jaiven turned to Louise. She was by herself now, heading toward the bar for another drink, and if the slightly unsteady walk was anything to go by, she’d already had a few. Not too drunk, though. Jaiven didn’t do drunken sex. Too much messy emotion, too many regrets—and he had enough of his own already.

Smiling in anticipation, he headed toward her.

* * *

Louise reached the bar and set her empty wineglass down on the polished mahogany surface just a little too hard. She winced at the thunking sound, and the bartender whisked it away with a bland face. Classy joint, this.

She steadied herself with one hand, wished she hadn’t worn these stupid heels. They were all of three inches high but they felt like stilettos in comparison to the sensible shoes she usually wore.

Her dress felt uncomfortable too, too tight and revealing. She wore pantsuits to work and the occasional knee-length skirt, sensible blouses, a nicely tailored blazer. The stereotypically boring wardrobe for a single, female academic.

But she’d wanted to dress up for her little sister’s engagement party, wanted to celebrate in style. Aurora, or Chelsea as she now was known, had escaped the misery of their childhood. She’d found a man who made her happy, a man who would cherish her and keep her safe. That was certainly worth celebrating.

It was just too bad Louise hadn’t found the same.

“Another one?” The bartender asked, pointing to her wineglass, and Louise nodded.

Two glasses of wine and she was feeling a little tipsy. A little weepy too, because Chelsea’s happiness was casting her own life into rather bleak shadow. Which was selfish, she told herself as she accepted the glass of wine from the bartender. She shouldn’t be thinking about herself at her sister’s engagement party; she should be thinking of Chelsea.

But thinking of Chelsea was hard, because even though they were becoming closer now, they had so much sad and sordid history behind them, as well as fifteen years of estrangement. You didn’t get over that in a night, or even a year.

Maybe ever.

Sighing, Louise took a rather large sip of wine.

“I was going to buy you a drink, but I see you’ve beaten me to it.”

Everything in her jolted at the sound of the male voice—a sexy, accented rumble—because she knew without turning who was talking to her.

That man, the one she’d been stupidly sneaking looks at all evening. Had he noticed? Just the possibility made her insides curl with both a mix of humiliation and anticipation. He was talking to her.

She took a deep breath, turned to him with what she hoped was the kind of airy insouciance so many other women seemed to manage with effortless ease. “Thanks for the offer, anyway, but…” Whatever she’d been going to say evaporated in the emptiness of her brain because all she could do was look.

Did he know how sexy he was?

Clearly he did, judging from that quirky little half smile. But even the man’s arrogance couldn’t detract from the whole, mouthwatering package.

Wicked amber eyes. Dark hair, cut short enough to show off the sculpted perfection of his skull, his jaw, his cheek—all hard, unforgiving lines.

His nose wasn’t perfect. It had clearly been broken at least once sometime in the past, but that just added to his dangerous appeal. This was a man who had lived and lived hard.

And as for his body… Louise willed herself not to drop her gaze, but clearly her brain wasn’t accepting such signals because it dropped of its own accord. He had to be at least six foot three, maybe taller, something she appreciated since she was just a few inches under six feet herself.

And whether he was six foot three or four, he was all rangy, powerful muscle, taut and lean, perfectly proportioned.

And then there was the tattoo. Her gaze moved up again, to the swirls of blue-black ink peeking out from under the starched collar of his shirt. She should definitely not find that sexy. At all.

Jack had had a tattoo. Admittedly his had been on his forearm, a naked woman sprawled provocatively on a motorbike. If she’d had any sense at eighteen, she’d have taken that as a clue.

Not a good bet.

Clearly Jack’s tattoo hadn’t put her off them altogether, because there was something undeniably sexy about this guy’s ink. Something unbelievably sexy about the whole of him: the dark hair and light eyes, the broad shoulders and trim hips, everything about him signifying a restless power, barely leashed.

He reminded her of a tiger, with those amber eyes, that stealthy grace. And tigers, she told herself, could kill you.

“Finished?” he asked softly, a hint of a Spanish accent in his voice, as well as more than a hint of laughter. Louise jerked her gaze up to his knowing one and realized she’d been checking him out with obvious thoroughness for at least a minute.

Good grief. Get out much?

Get laid much?

Not for five years, actually. But she wasn’t going to pick this tiger of a man to break her dry spell. No, definitely not. He was too big, too male, too like Jack. And the last thing she needed was to get it on with a man who reminded her of her ex-husband.

Except this man made Jack seem like a pussycat. He was taller, bigger, stronger, more everything.

Which just made him more dangerous. Lethal.

Definitely someone to stay away from, even if she couldn’t help but be a little fascinated by his raw sex appeal.

“Yep, finished,” she informed him with what was meant to be airiness but sounded more like apology. Yes, I am clearly desperate. Moving on.

“Good, because after I bought you a drink, I was going to suggest we leave this party.”

Shock jolted through her system, sending her pulse into hyperdrive. Was he actually coming onto her? She scrabbled for words, cocked what she hoped was a haughty eyebrow. “Is that how it’s done these days?”

“That’s how I do it.”

Louise had no trouble believing him. She took another sip of wine, her mind racing. This man wanted her. In bed. And she was honest enough to admit she wanted to be there, but…

It was way too dangerous. In so many ways.

“Not much of a pickup line,” she observed with a touch of acid. The man shrugged, all easy, relaxed grace.

“It was more statement of fact.”

She lowered her glass, pursed her lips. “That Neanderthal caveman thing?” she informed him. “Not a turn-on.”

His lips curved in a slow, sure smile. Okay, that was a turn-on. His smile made her stomach plunge, her mind empty. “I’m not into caveman tactics, Louise. But there’s no point pretending you don’t want me as much as I want you, is there?”

Fire raced through her, heated her cheeks. She was both utterly appalled and unbearably aroused by his plain speaking. When had a man last said he wanted her, and with such cool, calm certainty?

Umm…still thinking about that one.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, and he lifted one huge shoulder in a negligent shrug.

“I asked.”

“I don’t know yours.”

Amusement danced in his eyes, turning them to pure gold. Good Lord, she was in trouble. “Then do the same.”

“Fine.” She was, Louise realized, clutching her wineglass as if it were a life preserver. Any harder and it would shatter. She forced herself to relax. “What’s your name?”

“Jaiven. Jaiven Rodriguez.” He paused, his firelit gaze steady on her. “I’m an old friend of Alex’s.”

“All right, Jaiven.” His name sounded strange and yet weirdly right on her tongue. Familiar too, although she didn’t know why or how. “As appealing as your…proposition might be, I can’t leave this party. Chelsea is my sister, and I’m her maid of honor.”

He raised his eyebrows. “So?”

Already Louise could imagine what his skin would look like underneath his shirt: like burnished gold. Silky-smooth, his chest hair crisp and rough under her fingers—

Stop this right now. “So?” she repeated, her voice just a little too high. “So, that would be rude.”

“I’m sure Chelsea would understand.”

“Why? Because you’re such a stud?”

He laughed softly, a huff of sound that wound its way around her. “That too, but mainly because she’s in her own little world. She doesn’t need you right now.”

No, she didn’t. Sudden tears stung Louise’s eyes and she quickly glanced away. She was a little bit drunk and definitely overemotional, not a good combination. Definitely not a state in which she should be making any decisions about her love life. Or sex life, rather, since she was under no illusions about what Jaiven Rodriguez wanted. A good time in the sack, not a lifetime commitment, or even breakfast.

“I can’t,” she said after a moment, realizing how revealing that statement was. She couldn’t, not that she didn’t want to. But Jaiven had probably known she wanted to from the moment he’d walked into the room. He must have seen all her darting little looks, felt her interest and desire as if they were coming off her in waves of heat. Maybe they were.

How totally humiliating, not to mention stupid, because Jaiven Rodriguez was surely way out of her league.

And yet he wanted her.

That, Louise thought, had to be the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world. Simply stated desire.

“I have to stay here for Chelsea,” she told him, her tone resolute. Because I didn’t before. When Chelsea was only sixteen, she’d walked away from her, left her to make her way in a world that had been cruel and unforgiving to them both for far too long already. The memory of that last meeting was burned onto her brain, seared into her soul.

She’d had her own plans, a scholarship to the University of Alabama, a ticket out of the trailer park. Chelsea had two years left of high school and a serious boyfriend on the football team she didn’t want to leave.

Look, Louise, just go. I’ll be fine. I’ve got Rick.

And so Louise had ignored the hint of vulnerability in her sister’s eyes, had chosen only to see the defiant tilt of her chin. And she’d walked away, gone to live her own life at college. When she’d returned for her October break, Chelsea had disappeared. She hadn’t seen her sister again for fifteen years.

Fifteen years to think about what she should have done differently. To wonder, regret, and burn with both guilt and shame.

She and Chelsea had forgiven each other now, and Louise had moved on from the guilt, but she could still hear and feel its echo, especially in moments like this one, when Chelsea was so happy and she’d had too much to drink.

“Fair enough,” Jaiven said easily, bringing her back to the present with slamming force. She felt a ridiculous flicker of disappointment. He was going to give up that easily?

Of course he is, you idiot.

Jaiven hoisted his beer bottle in a mocking toast. “Never say you didn’t do your duty as a bridesmaid.”

He turned away, and she watched him go with a churning mixture of relief and regret.

Jaiven Rodriguez was definitely not the kind of man she should go home with. Go anywhere with. She needed safe. Unthreatening. Maybe even boring.

Jaiven was none of those.

But for a single night…a night to remember, to remind you you’re actually a woman and that you’re alive…

Jaiven seemed just about the perfect choice.

He was right, though, when he’d said Chelsea didn’t need her, Louise thought an hour later. She’d stuck to water and was coming down from her tipsy state so she felt only flat and tired. Chelsea had introduced her to a few media types, tried to include her, but Louise couldn’t make the effort.

It was only ten o’clock but she wanted nothing more than to go home to her one-bedroom apartment near Columbia and curl up in bed with the TV on mute and a pile of essays she had to mark. Just another typical Saturday night in the life of Louise Jensen.

Get over yourself, she thought crossly. You have a rewarding career, a lovely apartment, a small but close group of friends. There was absolutely no reason to feel sorry for herself.

Except she’d just turned down what she really wanted, and he was standing across the room. The only tempting offer of sex, of any kind of physical intimacy, she’d had in a decade.

Not that there hadn’t been other offers: a brief and unremarkable relationship with another grad student at Columbia; a blind date that had been excruciating in its awkwardness and, even more awkward, a pass made by Pete, the neighbor who had looked after her cat when she’d gone to San Diego to present a paper on women’s changing roles in the workplace.

Louise had thought he’d been inviting her in to retrieve Mallow’s litter box. He’d tried to pull her into a clumsy embrace while she’d been going for the box and the result hadn’t been pretty. Cat litter and kisses didn’t go so well together. Neither had she and Pete.

Sighing, she decided it was time to call it a night.

She caught Chelsea’s eye from across the room and waved a farewell; her sister made an apologetic face and waved back. She got it, Louise knew, and she wouldn’t try to cajole her into staying a little longer.

Louise handed her ticket to the young woman behind the coat check, slid her arms into the sleeves of her black wool trench coat. It was April, but there was still a nip in the night air.

In the lift down to the lobby she pulled out her phone and for curiosity’s sake—that ship had sailed, after all—she did an internet search for Jaiven Rodriguez. Half a million websites immediately came up, and she soon saw why: Jaiven Rodriguez was the founder and CEO of JR Shipping, one of the largest delivery services in the world. No wonder his name had sounded familiar.

And you could have had him in bed.

With a shake of her head she slipped her phone into her pocket and stepped outside the Plaza Hotel, breathed in the smell of New York: taxi fumes and litter and that inexplicable, muggy steam that rose from the subway grates, and over it all the damp freshness of a wet spring night. She dug her hands into her pockets and started across the Grand Army Plaza toward the park. She’d walk for a little bit, she decided, and clear her head.

She’d just crossed Fifty-Ninth Street and was turning left toward Sixth Avenue when she heard the sputter of a motorbike behind her. She tensed, because it was night in New York and she was a woman alone; instinctively she reached into her pocket for the small can of pepper spray she kept attached to her key chain.

The sputtering stopped, and a voice rumbled out her name. “Louise.”

Slowly she turned. Jaiven Rodriguez eased off his helmet as he smiled at her with such knowledge, such assurance. If Jaiven Rodgriguez at a party had been hard to resist, then the man on a motorbike was damn near impossible.

You don’t like bad boys, she reminded herself. You have had way too much experience with one in particular to make this remotely appealing.

Too bad her brain wasn’t listening. Although in actuality it wasn’t her brain that was responding to Jaiven. It was her body, and her body was saying yes.

Yes, take what he’s offering and go with it for a night. When was the last time she’d been so much as touched? Accepting a parcel from her postman did not count.

And at least a night with Jaiven Rodriguez would not engage her emotions. No chance of a relationship with this bad boy. No possibility of falling in love. No danger of getting hurt.

Just a basic and overwhelming need finally, wonderfully met.

“Party over?” Jaiven asked, and Louise heard that rich, velvety note of laughter in his voice. She was staring, she realized belatedly. Again.

“Not quite. But I was ready for bed.”

Her whole body tensed in mortification as Jaiven gave her one of his toe-curling smiles. “Good. So am I.”

She stared him down. Almost. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

He arched one dark eyebrow. “Didn’t you?”

Hell, maybe she had. Maybe her body was staging a coup over her brain. Resistance was futile.

Still her brain attempted one last feeble attack. “I told you that caveman thing was not attractive, right?”

“Do you see me dragging you onto this bike?”

No, the trouble was she’d get on it, just as she had once before. She’d take whatever a man dished out and ask for more.

Whoa. Jaiven was not Jack. And a one-night stand was not a marriage.

Still… Could she seriously be thinking about this? Getting on a bike with a stranger? God knows where he’d take her. He could strangle her in an alleyway and dump her body in the Hudson River.

The fact that he was a well-known, multimillionaire entrepreneur made that a little more unlikely, but only just.

And yet she was still thinking about it. Maybe it was the knowledge that Chelsea had found some happiness, so she wanted to grab a little for herself. Maybe it was just five years, or really a lifetime, of sexual starvation. Maybe it was this man, looking at her with both assurance and hunger.

She folded her arms, eyed him coolly. “If I get on that bike, you know where this is going, right?”

“A nice hotel on Forty-Sixth Street I know?”

She swallowed. A hotel. It sounded so sordid. But also safe. “And that’s it.”

“You’re talking my language.”

She laughed then, shook her head in disbelief. Was she actually warning Jaiven that she didn’t want a relationship? Talk about unnecessary.

“In any case, though,” Jaiven said in that slow, sexy rumble of a voice, “you can’t get on my bike. I only have one helmet.” She must have looked disbelieving because he chuckled softly. “I ride safe, and I mean that in all sorts of ways.”

“Nice.”

“Glad you think so.”

They stared at each other, the moment spinning out so Louise felt breathless. Her mind emptied of thoughts and her heart started to thud. She really was thinking about doing this. Hot sex with a stranger.

A little voice in her head, a voice that she’d been trying to silence for ten years, whispered that this was a bad idea. She didn’t trust men, not with her heart and not with her body. She wouldn’t be able to stand it if he ended up humiliating her, rejecting her. She could not bear to feel that way again, not for so much as five seconds.

She took a step backward.

“Looks like it’s not going to work out.”

“You give up awfully easy.”

She shrugged. “Some things aren’t meant to be.”

“And yet we left the party at the same time, met up out here. Seems like fate to me.”

A thrill ran through her. He was trying. He really did want her.

Maybe she could do this. Maybe this was actually what she needed.

“So what do you suggest?” she asked. “If you won’t let me on your bike? And that was not some double entrendre, by the way.”

“I’ll meet you at the hotel. You can take a cab. It’s The Black Book on Forty-Sixth and Seventh Avenue. The penthouse suite.”

“The penthouse suite? What, do you have a standing reservation?”

He gave her another slow smile. “Something like that.”

So he kept an expensive suite on permanent reservation for his one-night stands? Charming.

But then, this night wasn’t about charming. It was about sex. Hot, raw, primal sex.

“How long will you wait?” she asked, and he cocked his head, swept her in a thoroughly assessing gaze.

“Twenty minutes.”

Louise let out a choked laugh. Twenty minutes? That’s all of his time she was worth? “What if there’s traffic?”

He glanced down the near-empty Fifth Avenue. “There won’t be. Twenty minutes should be plenty of time to decide what you want, Louise. Because once you’re through the door, I have no time for regrets or cold feet.”

She felt a shiver run right through her; his tone was utterly implacable. “I consider myself warned.”

“Good.” He settled his helmet back on his head and revved his bike. “See you in twenty minutes,” he said, and sped off into the night.

Chapter Two

IT HAD BEEN seventeen minutes. And thirty seconds. Jaiven prowled through the penthouse suite of the Black Book with restless impatience. He’d been so sure she was going to come. She hadn’t said as much, but he’d seen the way she’d looked at him. Felt her want. It was a mere thirteen blocks from the Plaza to here, so where the hell was she?

Had she actually turned him down?

He went over to the bar that overlooked Bryant Park and poured himself a whisky. Maybe it was just as well, he decided. She’d obviously been a little nervous about negotiating a one-night stand. He’d thought she was ballsy but maybe this kind of thing was out of her element.

And he didn’t sleep with virgins, or even women with little experience. He liked his lovers to be as assured in bed as he was, to know what they wanted and be confident enough to take it. No regrets, no repeats.

Louise Jensen, despite her dirty laugh, didn’t seem to fit that mold. But he still wanted her. Enough to check his watch again and see that nineteen minutes had passed.

Damn it.

He was surprised, he realized, at how disappointed he felt. Sex was simple, and a woman’s company was easily found. All he needed to do was go down to the bar and chat up one of the women he’d already seen there on his way in. Fifteen minutes tops, and he could be back here with a warm and willing body in his bed.

But he didn’t want just any warm and willing body. He wanted Louise. She felt like a challenge, even an enigma; she seemed confident and shy at the same time. He wondered which she would be when it came to sex. Maybe she’d take what she wanted, after all. And maybe he’d let her.

Or maybe not.

A knock sounded at the door. Instinctively Jaiven checked his watch. Twenty minutes exactly. And he had a feeling that was on purpose. A smile curving his lips, he went to open the door.

She stood there tall, straight and proud, her chin lifted, her gray-green gaze clashing with his.

“Exactly twenty minutes,” he said and she shook her head, her mouth curving in a knowing smile that he liked.

“Twenty-one from the moment you left me.”

He laughed, realizing she was right. He hadn’t checked his watch until he’d stopped at a traffic light.

“So, was there traffic?” he asked as he took her by the hand and drew her inside. Her skin was soft and cool; her fingers felt slender and fragile in his.

“No, none.”

“So what took you so long?”

“I wanted to see if you’d wait.” She spoke airily enough, but as Jaiven gazed at her he thought he saw something in her eyes, something hidden and shadowy that both intrigued and alarmed him. He was not going to be soft about a woman. And he couldn’t have her turn needy.

“I was just about to leave.”

She eyed his half-drunk whiskey on the side table, the tuxedo jacket he’d shed on a chair, and arched an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

He laughed again, liking her attitude, and because he didn’t want to wait anymore he drew her to him, sliding his hands up to cradle her face. Her cheeks were as cold as her hands. “Good thing I’m a patient man,” he murmured, and then he kissed her.

* * *

That first kiss felt like an electric shock, or maybe being doused in ice water. Everything in her jolted with sensation; it had been so long since she’d been kissed she’d forgotten she had lips, and how good it felt to have someone else’s on them.

She opened her mouth, wrapped her hands around his lapels as she pulled him closer. She needed this. Needed to be reminded she was alive and desirable.

As she kissed him she pushed off his jacket, fumbled with the studs of his tuxedo shirt. Damn those fiddly things. Why couldn’t tuxedo shirts have regular buttons?

“Whoa.” Jaiven eased back, wrapping his hands around her own so they remained trapped and stilled against his chest. She could feel the steady thud of his heart, beating at a far slower rate than her own. “No need to rush.”

Yes, there was every need. Because if she didn’t rush she’d start to think and then she’d start to fear and regret. He’d told her no cold feet and no regrets when she walked through that door, and so here she was holding up her end of the bargain. He needed to hold up his and get his game on. “No need to wait, either,” she said. She leaned forward to kiss him—and missed.

His mouth quirked slightly as he leaned back out of range. “Forgive me if I like to take my time.”

And then he kissed her again, his hands still wrapped around hers, forcing her to be still. To be slow.

And God help her, but the man could kiss. His tongue traced the seam of her lips before delving inside, sweeping the contours of her mouth, teasing a response from her even as he held on to her hands, kept her still.

Louise whimpered. She heard the sound she made and couldn’t even care. It had been so long since anyone had kissed her like this.

Had anyone ever kissed her like this? Jack certainly hadn’t. Jack had—her brain screeched to a halt, but it was too late. Now she was thinking about Jack and panic was taking the place of desire.

Jaiven must have felt the change in her, because even as he deepened the kiss he released her hands. Freed her, and the panic receded as desire washed over her again.

She was not going to let her history ruin this.

She kissed him back, eager again, and yes, rushing, because she really didn’t want to let her brain take over. Jaiven laughed softly against her mouth as he slid one hand down her body, palming her breast before he tugged at the tie of her wrap dress and it fell open, revealing her in all her control-topped glory.

Instinctively Louise broke the kiss, pulling her dress together as humiliation scorched her. So she clearly hadn’t thought this through and considered that Jaiven would see her decidedly unsexy underwear.

“Some low lighting might be good right about now,” she muttered, trying for a laugh, and Jaiven chuckled and shook his head.

“Not a chance. I like a woman with curves.”

Curves she had. Jaiven slipped his hands under her dress, his palms warm against her skin as he pulled her to him. He smoothed a hand down her hip, shaking his head in mock wonder. “They should sell these to the US Army. They must be bulletproof.”

Louise let out a surprised laugh. “Just about.” Still she tried to pull away again. “Let me just go to the bathroom—” And take off her underwear, find something sexy to put on instead. Like a bathrobe, or a towel. Anything but granny pants and a matching bra. She so had not been planning to get lucky tonight.

“I can never resist a challenge,” Jaiven answered, his voice a lazy murmur as he pulled her forward and unhooked her bra with a single twist of his fingers. The pants proved slightly more of a challenge, but with a couple of quick tugs he’d got rid of them and she kicked them off in relief. Realized she was completely naked in front of this man and felt a blush rise over her entire body. The underwear served a purpose, after all.

“Beautiful,” he said softly and cupped her breast in his hand. “Naked except for your glasses. Just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Astounded, her jaw dropped. ‘My glasses?”

“The whole package, but yes, I find your glasses a huge turn-on. However—” he slid them from her nose and put them on a side table “—for strenuous activity, they have to go.”

“If you say so,” she muttered, and then her breath hitched as he ran a thumb over the tautened peak of her breast. She gestured to his clothes. She’d abandoned trying to get his shirt off after one difficult stud but she still wanted him naked. “What about you?”

Jaiven smiled wickedly. “What about me?”

“Your clothes.”

“Aren’t you going to do the honors?”

Was she? Louise hesitated, frozen in sudden, unspeakable shyness even as she reminded herself she needed to be bold. She wanted to be bold. Wasn’t that what this evening was about? Taking what she wanted, enjoying herself for the first time in ten years? Finding the sexual confidence she’d lost so long ago, if she’d ever had it at all?

“All right, then.” She stepped closer to him, her breasts brushing against the starched crispness of his tuxedo shirt. She gave him a small smile as she attempted to undo the studs, but one of them snagged on the buttonhole. Again.

“Damn but these things are tricky,” she said, and Jaiven laughed softly and with his hand warm and strong over hers, he undid it and all the others.

With his shirt undone Louise had the intense pleasure of pulling it back over his shoulders, letting her fingers trail down the length of his chest. His skin was as warm and smooth and perfect as she’d imagined; his chest hair was crisp and dark. The muscles of his lower belly contracted as she dipped her fingers lower and undid his cummerbund, tossed it aside.

Trousers next and those went easily, whispering down his legs before he kicked them off. The only thing he wore now was black silk boxers and a pair of socks. She went for the boxers first, her hand brushing against the very impressive length of his erection as she got rid of the underwear.

Her body blazed at the sight of him; it had been a long time since she’d seen a man like this. Wanted a man like this.

And suddenly she felt a bubble of near-hysterical laughter rise up in her, because really, what on earth was she doing? She didn’t do one-night stands or casual sex and certainly not with superstuds like Jaiven Rodriguez. He’d seen her control-top underwear, for heaven’s sake.

And yet he was still here, and judging by the size of his arousal, he wanted to be. He wanted her.

Desire crashed over her at the thought.

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you,” Jaiven murmured as he drew her naked body to his, points and curves colliding in exquisite agony. “Because you know what I said about that.”

“Nope,” Louise assured him. “Just kind of amazed this is happening, actually.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“I bet you do.” She could feel the rough hair of Jaiven’s legs against her own; his arousal pressing insistently between her legs. She stifled a moan of pure longing. Jaiven nipped at her earlobe, sending sizzling arrows of sensation shooting throughout her body, before he scooped her easily in his arms and brought her to the bedroom of the hotel suite. He deposited her on the silky, slippery duvet before joining her there, his mouth finding her breast, his hand seeking between her thighs.

Louise arched off the bed, her body short-circuiting with sensory overload. It had been a really long time since she’d felt anything like this.

Her hands clawed at the sheets as Jaiven moved his mouth down her body, tongue licking and teasing as he found her navel, her hip, and then—

“Oh dear heaven.”

She bucked under his knowing mouth, her body ablaze as he hooked her legs over his shoulders, her climax coming so fast and hard she barely had time to catch a breath. She let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a shout, and gently Jaiven lowered her legs.

“That was easy,” he murmured, but Louise was too overwhelmed by the aftershocks of her orgasm to be embarrassed.

“It’s been a while,” she said with a shaky laugh, and Jaiven pressed a kiss against her middle.

“I gathered that.”

And even though she was still recovering from that last wave of pleasure, she could feel a pressure building up inside her once more, and as Jaiven touched her with such knowing expertise, she felt that restless ache again.

It seemed an age before he finally gave her what her body had been clamoring for; he rolled on a condom and then slid inside her so she gasped at the sudden sense of completion she felt. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched into him, meeting him thrust for thrust, clumsily at first because it had been so long and then remembering the rhythm.

And then exploding into fragments, the pieces of her tightly held self scattering under the force of their shared climax.

Afterward she lay underneath him, his heart thundering against hers, her face tucked into his shoulder. She’d forgotten how intimate sex was. It seemed crazy that people could have dozens or hundreds of lovers, that they would share this experience with anyone they didn’t truly care about.

And yet she just had. She didn’t care about Jaiven; she didn’t even know him. And what notch was she on his bedpost? About seven thousand?

Squirming a little, she rolled out from under him. He let her go, falling onto his back as he watched with an amused, knowing little smile.

“Thanks for that,” Louise said, inwardly cringing at the ridiculousness of her words. But what did you say to someone who had essentially just serviced you? Of course, he’d had his share of pleasure. But when she’d agreed to go back to this hotel with Jaiven she hadn’t quite taken into consideration the awkwardness of the afterward.

She needed to get out of there fast.

* * *

Thanks for that?

Amused, Jaiven watched as Louise hunted around for her clothes, having obviously forgotten that they were in the living room. He quickly took care of the condom before rising onto one elbow as he watched her search through the scattered bedclothes.

“If you’re looking for those impressive underpants, they’re in the other room.”

“Ah, right.” She averted her face, her hair coming down to swing against her cheek in a soft, dark waterfall. Then she hurried from the room, presumably in search of her clothes.

Jaiven gave her about thirty seconds before he followed, lounging in the doorway as he watched her hunt for her underthings. There was something inherently sexy, he mused, about a naked woman looking for clothes. She grabbed her dress, held it to her body as she went in search of her bra and pants.

“You don’t have to go quite so soon, you know,” Jaiven offered lazily. “I was just getting started.”

She shot him one quick, surprised look. “I’m good. And I’ve got essays to mark.”

Essays to mark? She was leaving his bed so she could grade a bunch of college papers? He would be offended if he didn’t think that Louise leaving like this was for the best.

It had been fairly obvious from the moment she’d walked into the hotel room that she didn’t play by his rules. One-night stands were the aberration rather than the norm. And since he didn’t do any messy emotion or serious sentiment, it was better all around if Louise beat a hasty retreat.

Except he didn’t want her to go.

He watched as she found the last of her clothes and clutched the whole bundle to her as she searched rather wildly for the bathroom.

“Through the bedroom,” he offered.

She muttered her thanks as she headed for the bathroom, only to come to an abrupt and awkward halt in front of him.

Slowly she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “I think you need to move.”

“You’re not going to run away now, are you?”

“I’m not running away,” she snapped, her clothes still pressed to her chest. “I told you, I have stuff to do.” Her cheeks reddened again, rather adorably. And Jaiven wasn’t used to thinking of women as adorable. But then everything about Louise had confounded him; even the sex had been surprising.

He’d always viewed sex as a tit-for-tat type of exchange; he gave pleasure in order to receive it. But the giving of pleasure had never been more than a necessary part of the bargain…until tonight.

Until Louise Jensen had come alive under his mouth and hands, and her response had made his own pleasure all the sweeter. Deeper.

“You have stuff to do at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night?” He arched an eyebrow, challenging her to keep his gaze. She did, and he admired her for it. She might be shy, uncertain, embarrassed, but Louise Jensen possessed a strength and confidence all of her own. He found he liked it.

“Look, both you and I know what this is,” she said, lifting her chin a notch. “A one-night stand. And as you’ve probably guessed, I’m not well versed in the protocol.”

“I guessed,” Jaiven agreed in a murmur. She’d caught her lower lip between her teeth and just that thoughtless little gesture had desire rushing through him again. No way was she ducking out of here now.

“So I think it’s easier all around if I just leave.”

“How is it easier, Louise?” He braced his arm against the doorjamb, blocking any exit she might have been hoping to have. “You’ve come this far, and I mean that in all sorts of ways.”

“Your double entrendres are so charming.”

“Secretly I think you like them.” He took a step closer to her, so her breasts brushed his bare chest. He felt her shudder, or maybe it was his response he felt, because that was strong, too. Overwhelming.

“I’ll say please,” he answered in a low voice. Gooseflesh rippled across her skin and she shivered. “Please stay. Please let me make love to you again.”

“There’s no love about this,” she retorted, and Jaiven stilled, his eyes narrowing.

“No, there isn’t. Is that a problem?” His voice had turned cool, and she noticed the change in tone, glancing up at him with a wry smile.

“Don’t worry, hotshot. Trust me—I am not angling for a wedding ring.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Or even breakfast.”

“I’m not stingy. I’ll buy you coffee.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“And a bagel.”

“Oh, okay then.” She laughed, that dirty, knowing sound that had him hauling her naked body against his.

“That’s better,” he murmured, and then he kissed her. Her mouth was incredibly soft and sweet, and her response so wonderfully uninhibited and yet surprisingly innocent. She kissed with a clumsy enthusiasm he wasn’t used to; his encounters were always with women who knew what they wanted and just how to get it.

A few minutes later they found their way to the bed. An hour later, it was the shower, against the wall, the water beating down on them. And then the sofa. And by dawn they were back in bed again, Louise cuddled up against him as he finally fell asleep.

* * *

Louise ached in all sorts of places she’d forgotten she had. Talk about breaking a dry spell. She’d had more sex in the past eight hours than she’d had in a decade.

And it had been amazing sex. Truly mind-blowing, out of this world, orgasmic sex. Jaiven Rodriguez set her body on fire.

Too bad it was only one night. Although another couple of nights like this one might kill her.

Carefully she eased away from him. It was just before six in the morning and she needed to go. Needed to get back to her normal life.

Maybe sex with Jaiven had been so good because they both knew it wasn’t going anywhere. The lack of an emotional connection had made the physical one more intense.

Maybe.

She slipped from the bed, pausing a moment to look at him; asleep he seemed softer. Gentler, somehow. His thick, dark lashes feathered his cheeks, and his lips were slightly parted.

She dropped her gaze a little lower and examined the tattoo on his neck. She’d licked it at some point that evening, when her inhibitions had well and truly scattered. Now she saw it was comprised of several swirls, with three dots in the center. She wondered if it had any meaning, and knew she would never know him well enough to ask.

What kind of man was he, anyway? Clearly one who didn’t go for relationships, but had had a lot of sex. One who was successful, because she knew from her quick internet search that he’d built JR Shipping from nothing.

But beyond those elementary facts, she had no real knowledge or understanding of the man she’d just been incredibly intimate with.

The realization made her sad, although she couldn’t have even said why. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for casual sex. Perhaps that was why she’d married Jack even though on some level she must have known he wasn’t husband material.

Just like Jaiven Rodgriguez wasn’t husband material.

Her mouth twitched in a smile even as a sigh escaped her. Not that she would harbor such romantic fantasies for this man even for a millisecond. She wasn’t quite that stupid.

But she knew she needed to leave before he awoke and made love to her again, because she was just needy enough to confuse sex with love even though on every analytical level she knew what a ridiculous mistake that was. She was a professor of Women’s Studies, for heaven’s sake. In her Introduction to Feminist Studies lecture she talked about women reclaiming their bodies.

Well, maybe she’d reclaimed hers tonight. Walked the talk.

And now it was over.

Another little sigh escaped her as she slid out of bed. She gathered her clothes quickly and dressed in the living room before she quietly opened the door to the suite and stepped out into the hallway of the hotel. It was the kind of upscale place that still seemed seedy, or maybe she just felt that way. She’d never sneaked out of a hotel room at dawn in the clothes she’d worn the night before.

Chalk it up to a new experience, and not a particularly pleasant one. Her hair was a mess and she had a terrible taste in her mouth. And all that pleasure was trickling into embarrassment and guilt.

Time to go home, she told herself as she buttoned up her coat and began walking briskly toward the elevator. Time to go back to real life and forget Jaiven Rodriguez had ever existed.

As if.

Chapter Three

IT HAD BEEN three days since Louise Jensen had crept out of his bed at dawn, and he was still annoyed. Jaiven spun around in his chair in his penthouse office at JR Shipping’s headquarters in the Bronx and let out an impatient sigh.

He shouldn’t really be annoyed, he knew. She’d just made life easier for him. No awkward goodbyes or tedious chitchat over breakfast. He hadn’t even had to buy her coffee. Or a bagel. Really, he should be thanking her.

But he was still annoyed. He was the one who left, who showed women the door if he didn’t take it first. He didn’t wake up in an empty bed reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

Except three days ago he had.

And he damn well hadn’t liked the feeling. The dissatisfaction, the disappointment, the restless ache and the sexual frustration. Nope, he hadn’t liked any of that.

This wasn’t some stupid macho thing, he realized. It wasn’t just about being the one to call the shots. He wasn’t that much of an ass, even if plenty of women might think otherwise.

He just wasn’t ready to be finished with Louise. He wanted more of her. Her lush curves, her dirty laugh, her chunky glasses. And more than that; he wanted her strange mix of shyness and aggression, her unrestrained, enthusiastic response, her snappy comebacks. He wanted the whole package.

And why shouldn’t he have it?

He’d slept with women for longer than a night before. On several occasions he’d managed a whole week before he called it off. Why shouldn’t he have more with Louise?

She knew his rules, and just in case she forgot he’d make it abundantly clear that all he wanted was sex and more sex. Maybe a week’s worth.

Then they’d both move on.

It was, Jaiven decided, the perfect solution. Now he just had to decide how to go about it.

As he considered various possibilities, he scrolled through JR Shipping’s list of deliveries for the day. Besides the same-day shipping service to anywhere in North America and express service in most parts of the world, he ran a sideline, the original business he’d started as a nineteen-year-old ex-con with a beat-up van—he provided messenger services within the five boroughs.

And as he scrolled through that list, he saw that Columbia University had several deliveries scheduled for that day. He hadn’t personally handled any deliveries in well over a decade, but he might make an exception for today. For Louise. He liked the idea of surprising her while she was in her professor mode. Making her lose control. Again.

Quickly he did an internet search for Louise, saw she was an associate professor of Women’s Studies. Her office was on Amsterdam Avenue, and today she was going to get a special delivery from JR Shipping. From JR himself, actually.

Smiling, Jaiven powered off his laptop and headed out.

* * *

Louise reread the introductory paragraph of the essay she was meant to mark for the third time before finally giving up and pushing it away. She couldn’t focus, hadn’t been able to since she’d left Jaiven Rodriguez’s bed three days ago.

Wasn’t sex supposed to energize you, make you more rested and relaxed and productive? It had done the opposite for her. She’d felt edgy and restless for three days, and had stared at the ceiling most nights reliving her eight hours with Jaiven in all of its excruciating and exquisite detail.

Now that it was over she felt incredibly embarrassed by what she’d done. What kind of woman agreed to have sex in a hotel room with a stranger?

Plenty of women, probably. Maybe most of her students. But she never had. She’d had exactly two sexual partners before Jaiven. Her husband, Jack, and then briefly a boyfriend five years ago, who had been the wrong person at the wrong time. She’d still been trying to get over the train wreck of her marriage, but she hadn’t been ready to trust or love. Maybe she never would be.

And maybe she shouldn’t have thought she could handle a one-night stand. She’d wanted the oblivion of pleasure and she’d had that—for a night. But now? Now she felt a restless mix of want and guilt, unease and dissatisfaction. She still wanted Jaiven.

Not that he was beating down her door, in any case. She doubted he’d spared her so much as a thought since she’d left the hotel suite. He’d probably moved on several times since her. It had been three nights, after all.

Sighing impatiently, she turned back to the essay. Women’s individual resistance to pronatalist policies under Communist governments…

Ugh. She had no space in her brain for this. Maybe she should get out, grab a coffee or go for a walk. Clear her head, restore her equilibrium. Anything to somehow appease this aching restlessness inside her.

Unfortunately she had a feeling the only way to appease that would be another round with Jaiven, and she wasn’t willing to go there. He probably wasn’t, either.

So she’d just have to deal with it the normal way: work and exercise. Eventually she’d forget him. Her body would, too.

Restless, she checked her in-box before heading out for a coffee, surprised when an email popped in from someone named Nora Grant.

Dear Ms. Jensen, I’m writing to you about a former student of yours, Harlow Spencer. I believe you were her advisor on her senior thesis. She went to London for a law internship and has been missing for several weeks. I wondered if I could talk to you at your earliest convenience? Sincerely, Nora Grant.

Frowning, Louise recalled the young woman in question. Harlow Spencer. Tall, willowy, long chestnut hair, with a sharp mind and a surprising ambition. Louise had advised her on a thesis on sex trafficking last year, and then Harlow had left for London soon after graduation. And now she was missing? What did that mean, exactly?

Her frown deepening, she clicked Reply. Dear Nora, I’m sorry to hear about your concerns with Harlow. I’m not sure how I could be of help, but I’m happy to meet—

A quick rap on the door of her office surprised her and she looked up from her laptop.

“Special delivery.”

Department deliveries went to reception, not a hole-in-the-wall office on the second floor. “I’m not expecting a delivery,” she said as she opened the door, and then her jaw dropped because Jaiven was standing in the doorway, a parcel in his hands and a canary-eating grin on his face.

“What…” She trailed off, unable to think. He wore the dark green button-down shirt and trousers of the JR Shipping delivery guys, and a pair of beat-up work boots.

“Like I said, special delivery.” He sauntered past her into her office, which was the size of a shoe box and felt even smaller with Jaiven in it.

Louise turned to face him, her arms folded. “Why do I think you don’t usually make deliveries for the company you’re CEO of?”

“This is a special circumstance.”

“I wasn’t aware of a special circumstance.” What she was aware of, Louise thought, was how amazing Jaiven looked even in a delivery uniform, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to expose his powerful, brown forearms. He’d placed the package on her desk and was now leaning against it, his arms folded in front of him. How anyone could think he was a mere delivery boy for even a moment was beyond Louise. He radiated both power and charisma.

“The special circumstance,” he told her, “is that I’ve had this fantasy about sex with a certain college professor. In an office. With the door just a tiny bit open.”

Louise’s mouth dried and she shook her head instinctively. Already she could feel the need rushing through her, weakening both her resolve and her knees. “Impossible.”

“Actually, it’s not.” He straightened, walked slowly over to her and hooked a finger around her belt buckle, drew her forward a few unwilling inches. “And this outfit? Totally part of my fantasy.”

She glanced down at her tailored trousers and crisp blouse. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Just tell me you’re wearing that armored underwear again.”

She let out a huff of laughter. “Tell me you don’t actually like control-top granny pants.”

“They are seriously sexy.” Already Jaiven was unbuttoning her blouse, and she wasn’t doing a thing to stop him. The feel of his fingers against her skin felt like water when she was dying of thirst. A few drops dribbled on her lips and she wanted more. Needed more.

As he slid the last button from its hole and parted her blouse, she saw, with a blaze of shock and even excitement, that the door was more than a tiny bit open. Anyone could walk by… Anyone could see…

And somehow that just upped her desire. She never did stuff like this. And maybe she wanted to. Just once, anyway. She wanted to be reckless and wild and wanted.

“Red lace, Louise?” Jaiven glanced down at the skimpy red lace bra she’d bought in a moment of reckless shopping and never wore. “Did you know I was coming?”

“Actually, I just need to do my laundry.”

He started on her belt buckle. “Tell me you’re wearing matching pants.”

“Actually, a thong,” she said with a shaky laugh. She was incredibly embarrassed and yet also impossibly turned on. Jaiven stopped undoing her trousers to glance up at her, his eyes alight with wicked amusement.

“Seriously? You’re going to kill me here.”

“At least you’ll die happy,” she shot back, and he grinned.

“That I will.” He popped the button on her trousers and somehow she found the will to stay his hand. “Jaiven, you can’t be serious. I’m at work.”

He stuck out one foot and pushed the door so it was almost, but not quite, closed. “So?”

He tugged down the zip of her trousers and Louise groaned aloud. “So, it’s unprofessional. I could be fired. Or on the news. Or something.” Except none of that seemed to matter as Jaiven hoisted her easily in his arms and sat her down on her own desk. On top of the pile of essays she’d just been about to mark, her laptop pushed to the side.

And she knew then her protests had been tokens; she wanted this. Wanted to feel reckless and a little bit wicked. He stood between her legs and slid his hands into her hair.

“And you put your hair up. Plus you’re wearing your glasses. I’m going crazy,” he muttered, and then he kissed her.

Kissing him again felt, bizarrely and perhaps stupidly, like coming home. She remembered these lips, knew how good they made her feel. And the last of her protests scattered along with her inhibition as he slid his tongue into her mouth and his hand into her pants.

Louise rocked against him, overwhelmed by sensation. “Secretly,” Jaiven murmured as he kissed her, “you’ve always had a fantasy about getting it on in your office with a delivery boy.”

“Maybe,” Louise muttered. She couldn’t manage more than that. Jaiven was pressing against her and all she could think about was how good he had felt inside her. How much she wanted him there.

Her breathing turned jagged and she pressed back against him, needing him so much it had become a force outside of herself, or at least outside of her brain. Her body had staged a complete coup. She fumbled with the belt of his trousers, tugged at his zip.

“You’re always in such a hurry,” Jaiven murmured, and somehow she found the sense to string a few words together.

“We’re in my office.”

“And having that door open turns you on, doesn’t it?” Jaiven said as he stroked her. “Knowing you can be that shameless. That wild.”

“Yes,” Louise gasped, amazed that he had understood that about her and yet unable to say anything more. The ache inside her had become impossible to ignore or suppress. Giving in to temptation, in to him, she tugged down his trousers. He slid on a condom, and then he was inside her, and she wrapped her legs around him, burying her face in his shoulder as she bit him lightly to keep from crying out as he rode them both to a shattering climax.

They stayed locked together for a moment as their heart rates slowed, her breasts flattened against his chest, her legs wrapped around his hips, her body still joined to his.

The door still a little bit open.

Shock, far too delayed, trickled icily through. Good grief, where was her brain? Her sense of self-respect, if anything, and yet…

She felt better than she had since she’d first crept out of his hotel suite. Maybe she really had needed this again. Maybe she needed a fling to rid herself of all the hang-ups of her past. Not the usual method advised by therapists and counselors, but the self-help stuff she’d tried hadn’t worked. She still had trouble trusting men. Trusting herself. And too often she woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare of Jack’s sneering face…

With that thought, reality started creeping in like a cold dawn mist, edging out the heat and satisfaction she’d felt only moments before. She eased back, wiped the hair from her face as she looked into his sleepy eyes. “I didn’t think you did repeats.”

Jaiven gave her a catlike smile. “Once in a while I make an exception.”

“And you made an exception because…?”

“Because I wanted to. I told you, I had this fantasy…”

“Well, you’ve enacted your fantasy then. Sex with a college professor on a pile of essays, no less.” She scrambled out from underneath him, tidying herself as he disposed of the condom and buttoned up his trousers.

Why did the aftermath feel so sordid, she wondered, when the sex felt so incredible? She pushed a few pins randomly back in the mess that was her hair and turned to him with what she hoped was a smile. “So, no more fantasies.”

Jaiven regarded her thoughtfully. “Actually, I have a few. And I’m betting you do too, even if you like to act as if you don’t.”

Fantasies? She hadn’t had the emotional space to fantasize. “Seriously, Jaiven…”

“I am serious.”

She shook her head. “Look, I thought I told you before. I’m not really into casual sex.”

“Could have fooled me.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “I know. I’m attracted to you. Obviously. But we’ve had our…thing and we should probably just move on. Right?”

“Definitely, when we’re ready to.” He took a step closer to her, and with a little smile on his face he started rebuttoning her blouse. She glanced down, saw she’d done it up completely crooked. And as he tucked her shirt back into her trousers she felt weirdly, stupidly touched.

She could not let this man affect her emotionally. That would be beyond stupid. It would be bordering on insane.

“I’m ready to move on,” she forced out, and Jaiven arched an eyebrow.

“You sure about that?”

No, she absolutely was not. But she wanted to be. She needed to be, because anything else was akin to juggling bombs. Exciting, yes, but eventually one would explode in her face.

She wasn’t about to explain that to him right now, though. “What do you want from me? Really?”

He met her gaze with an even one of his own. “Just a little more of what we’ve been having. Look, Louise, I’m not into commitment. Or relationships of any kind, emotion, that whole thing. I think you know that.”

“Yes…”

“And you seemed like you weren’t interested in it either, at least with a man like me.”

“I suppose…” Her brain snagged on that phrase, a man like me, and wondered what he meant by it. But before she could work up the courage to ask, he was onto the next thing.

“So why not enjoy what’s between us? I’ve got a fantasy about buttoned-up academics. You’ve got a fantasy about bad boys with tattoos. Let’s go with it.”

“How do you know I have a fantasy about bad boys with tattoos?” she asked, folding her arms. How could she have a fantasy about bad boys with tattoos when she’d been married to one, and he’d been an utter bastard?

Maybe this is how you can redeem the past. Make sense of your marriage. Feel strong again.

Or was she just seriously screwed up?

He shrugged. “Maybe it was how you kept sneaking glances at my tattoo at that party. Or possibly how you licked it a few nights ago.”

“I think one rule of any possible fling should be you don’t say things like that.”

“Why are you embarrassed?” He lifted a hand, pressed it to her cheek. “Your face is on fire.”

She closed her eyes and willed the heat to fade from her face. From her body. Humiliation came so easily to her, still. “Thanks very much.”

“All I’m saying is,” Jaiven told her, his hand still on her cheek, “this doesn’t have to be awkward or something to regret. We could both enjoy it. We’re not looking for commitment, we’re not hurting anyone, and frankly, I’d love to know a few more of your fantasies, especially if they involve that underwear you wore the other night.”

She opened her eyes, felt a bubble of laughter rise inside her. “Do you have some weird fetish for figure-controlling undergarments?”

“Possibly.” His teeth flashed in an answering, wolfish grin. “I might have all sorts of fetishes and fantasies I didn’t know about before. You’re opening me up to a whole new world of possibility, Louise.”

That bubble of laughter escaped and she shook her head. “That would be novel. I’ve got probably a thousandth of the sexual experience you do.”

“So?”

So? How was she supposed to answer that? The truth was she was tempted. Tempted to say yes to a fling, yes to fantasy sex with the hottest man she’d come across in a long, long while.

She’d lived her life like a nun for the past five years. Ten years, really, if you discounted that one unfortunate relationship that had lasted all of three weeks. She’d thought closing herself off meant keeping herself emotionally safe, but maybe it just kept her bored, frustrated and lonely.

She was tired of all three. Tired of living like a ghost because the past haunted her so much.

Why shouldn’t she choose this, for a little while at least? Jaiven wasn’t asking for a relationship. If they kept their encounters purely physical, there was no real way she could start to care about him. No real way he could hurt her.

And there was something fitting that Jaiven reminded her of Jack except about a thousand times better in every way. He had the tattoo, that bad boy charm, but he didn’t lose his temper and he hadn’t hurt her.

Yet.

Even now her self-doubt rose up in a howl of fear. You don’t really know this man. And you have a proven track record of picking losers.

But this wasn’t a relationship, she reminded herself. This was just sex. Sexual liberation.

Maybe, through Jaiven, she’d finally free herself from the past.

Or maybe she’d just get her heart broken.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, and Jaiven gave her one of his slow, toe-curling smiles that she’d come to know—and respond to.

“You do that,” he said, and he leaned forward and kissed her. A soft kiss, not one that was a prelude to sex but one that was just because. And it affected her more than anything else he’d done to her so far.

He stepped back and she blinked, suddenly, bizarrely near tears. This was so not a good idea.

Those bombs she was juggling? One had just started to tick. She needed to be smart, and smart meant never seeing him again, ever. Never cracking open the window to her soul even a little. Sex was personal and intimate and incredible, and you couldn’t have it with someone and then just walk away. At least she couldn’t. She’d start to read things into it, to feel things she absolutely couldn’t feel.

And she didn’t have any fantasies, anyway.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said softly, and with one last knowing grin he stepped backward, opened the door, and then was gone.

Louise sagged against her desk, her mind spinning, her heart still thudding. What on earth was she getting herself into?

Nothing, she reminded herself. You are not doing this. You will not see him again. Your one foray into casual sex is officially over.

What she should do was find a nice, respectable, safe, boring man to go out with. Have vanilla sex and spend the weekend reading the newspaper in bed. Totally her style.

Jaiven was so not.

And yet it was Jaiven she wanted. Jaiven she dreamed about, Jaiven who came into her office and woke up her body so she felt more alive and real and whole than she had in ten years of staying safe.

She was in so much trouble.

Chapter Four

THIS WAS NOT the way he operated when it came to women, Jaiven had to acknowledge as he stood in the kitchen of his brownstone in the Bronx and wiped at the already-clean counters. His mother was coming over for her monthly dinner and criticism-fest, and Jaiven was making the pointless effort of cleaning up. His mother refused to be impressed by anything he did or had—not his global shipping empire, or his renovated brownstone, or even a clean countertop. Nothing he did would make a difference to his mother, Jaiven knew, because he’d broken her heart fifteen years ago and she would never forgive him for it.

He wouldn’t forgive himself, either. He couldn’t.

At least, he told himself tiredly, she was coming for dinner. These monthly meetings had been happening for less than a year, after over a decade of estrangement. He’d been trying to reconcile with her since he’d been released from prison, but for years his mother wouldn’t take his calls. Slammed the door in his face. Said he was dead to her, just as his father was dead. Just as an innocent woman was dead.

Jaiven closed his eyes, willed such thoughts away. He couldn’t keep his gut from churning with an all too familiar mixture of grief and regret. Mindless sex and a lot of antacids were the only things he’d found to help.

And mindless sex made him think of Louise. Four frigging days since he’d had her on her own desk and she still hadn’t been in touch.

He’d really thought she’d take him up on his offer. Fantasy sex, a no-strings fling. How much better did it get? He didn’t need to be Freud to know what was going on with his own little fantasy. Dressing up as a delivery boy and showing up at her office, making her want him? Talk about trying to rewrite history.

Still, he wasn’t going to go to her first. This time the ball was in her court, and he just hoped to hell that she hit it back.

Game on, Louise. Come on.

He’d told himself a dozen times that he didn’t need her. He could have just about any woman he wanted, anytime, and yet he hadn’t taken up any other offers since he’d been with Louise. Maybe she was just a challenge, he told himself, even though he knew she was more than that. So, fine. He actually liked her. That didn’t have to be a game changer. He’d just get her out of his system. She’d get him out of hers. They’d both move on, happy and definitely satisfied.

The doorbell rang, and he went to open it, dutifully kissed his mother hello even as she angled her head away from him, and then watched as she bustled into the living room of the boarded-up brownstone he’d bought five years ago. It had once been a crack house, and now it was a top-of-the-line residence, although admittedly in a less than savory neighborhood.

He might have moved on up, but he wouldn’t abandon his roots in a Dominican neighborhood in the Bronx. He would never pretend he was something other than he was or had been, which was a boy with an eighth grade education and a criminal record and a truckload of guilt.

Not that he advertised any of those facts. But he knew what he was, what he was capable of—and so did his mother.

He wondered what Louise would do with that information. Would it just add to the bad boy fantasy, or would it be a little too real for her taste or comfort? Everything inside him shrank and cringed as he imagined her horrified reaction.

In any case, he had absolutely no intention of telling her anything personal about himself. Their relationship was about sex and sex only, and he really hoped they had it again soon.

“Look at this!” Triumphantly his mother lifted her finger from where she’d been running it along the top of his TV cabinet. Jaiven briefly closed his eyes. So he hadn’t dusted there, and neither had his housekeeper.

“What can I say, Mama? I need you to keep me on track.”

She just pursed her lips, which was as close to a smile as Jaiven had ever got, because he was the screwup and his brother Marco was the saint.

“I brought empanadas,” she said, proffering a foil-wrapped casserole dish that Jaiven took with murmured thanks. His mother always brought dinner, because she refused to eat takeout and Jaiven’s cooking wasn’t up to scratch. He made a mean scrambled egg, but nothing his mother would be willing to eat.

“So you got a girl in your life yet?” she demanded as he reheated the empanadas.

“No.” But he thought of Louise. What, he wondered, would his mother make of Louise? She’d disapprove of her career, definitely. His mother believed a woman’s place was in her home, preferably in the kitchen. She’d probably turn her nose up at Louise’s clothes too, because his mother liked women who “dressed like women,” as she put it. For her, it meant a dress and heels, no matter what the occasion. But nothing too clingy or revealing. His mother had plenty to say about that, too.

“When are you going to get married?” she demanded. “Be respectable, as much as you can?”

Because his past, Jaiven knew, made respectability a joke. Nothing he did would make up for his past sins. He knew that—of course he knew it. He lived with the awful truth of it every day, and every sleepless night. But stupidly it still hurt coming from his mother.

Sometimes he wondered why he endured these monthly rituals. His mother would bring dinner, heckle him to get married, complain about the state of his bathroom and clean while clucking about it all the while. He could handle all that, easily, if he didn’t feel her churning fury underneath all of it. His mother might come to dinner here at his brother Marco’s request, but she still didn’t like spending time with Jaiven. She refused to talk about the past because it was too painful, too terrible, but she muttered. Oh, how she muttered.

Once, only once, when she’d been angry at him for employing ex-cons as delivery guys, she’d said two terrible words.

Your father…

She hadn’t finished the sentence, but then she hadn’t needed to. That had been enough to make Jaiven hang his head, tears he’d never once shed stinging his eyes.

Usually she couldn’t bear to talk about his father, and neither could he. So he’d endure her visits and breathe a sigh of relief when she left, try to suppress the endless guilt his mother always called up in him.

And that was why he did it, why he endured. Atonement.

Too bad that wasn’t actually working out for him all that well.

They were just sitting down to empanadas, with his mother going on about his cousin Luis’s fiancée, when the front doorbell rang.

His mother’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “Who comes calling at this hour?”

“It’s seven-thirty, Mama,” Jaiven answered mildly, although he had no idea who it could be. He rose from the table and went to answer the door.

And opened it, to his utter astonishment and delight, to Louise Jensen, wearing a belted trench coat and a pair of sky-high heels.

“So I decided to run with the fantasy thing,” she said, her voice high and breathless, and then she opened her trench coat to reveal what she was wearing underneath.

Precisely nothing.

* * *

As soon as Louise Jensen opened her trench coat she knew she’d made a mistake. A huge one, because Jaiven Rodriguez looked appalled.

Damn, damn, damn. What the hell had she been thinking, cabbing it to the Bronx in nothing but a coat and six-inch heels? Was she really that stupid?

Apparently, yes. Because Jaiven’s comment about sexual fantasies had lit a spark inside of her, and four days of celibacy—hardly unusual, yet now seemingly unendurable—had fanned it into raging flame.

She’d told herself she could use a little fantasy sex, the no-strings fling Jaiven had promised. She’d made a compelling argument inside her head that it would actually be good for her, that it would help her move on to a real relationship. This was the bridge between loneliness and hope, between marriage to Jack and a relationship with some stable, safe, boring man she might meet one day.

And she’d realized she’d always had a secret fantasy about showing up to a man’s place in nothing but a coat and heels. Being that sassy and confident and bold.

What an idiotic fantasy that was.

“So maybe not,” she said, choking on the words as she hastened to close her coat. Her hands were shaking and she couldn’t get the buttons and buckles fastened. Stupid coat. Stupid buckles. Stupid her.

“I love it,” Jaiven told her quickly, his voice low, “but my mother is here.” He sounded caught between amusement and alarm, and Louise let out a horrified laugh.

“Your mother? You have got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

He sounded so regretful that Louise laughed again, albeit shakily.

“Who is that, Jaiven?”

Louise’s mouth dropped open and she took a stumbling step away from the door. “Oh no—”

“Oh, yes.” Jaiven rolled his eyes heavenward as his mother, a small, round woman in a cherry-red dress and matching heels came bustling toward them.

Louise smiled, or tried to, but she seemed to have lost control of her facial muscles. And her coat still wasn’t buttoned up properly.

She’d thought she’d been embarrassed before, but she’d had no idea what that even felt like. If embarrassment were a video game, she was the world champion, her initials on every glowing screen. Beat this score. Not.

“Who are you?” his mother asked, not precisely rudely, but close. She eyed Louise’s coat with suspicion, and who could blame her? The important bits were thankfully covered, but she was showing a lot of leg.

Louise tightened her belt, tried to close her coat a little more. It gaped at the throat and with her other hand she snatched at the lapels. His mother probably thought she was a streaker. Or maybe a prostitute.

“Umm…”

“Louise is a friend, Mama,” Jaiven said calmly. He looked weary and weirdly resigned, yet when he caught her eye he gave her a tiny quirk of a smile. “She just stopped by for a drink.”

“A drink?” His mother looked even more suspicious. Maybe in her world respectable women did not stop by men’s apartments for drinks. They certainly didn’t turn up nearly naked.

“That’s right,” she managed, still clutching at her coat. “But I didn’t realize he was with you. So I’ll just…”

“Stay,” Jaiven interjected. He tugged at her hand, which had her coat gaping open again. Now she was showing leg and cleavage. Perfect.

She tried to give him a covert glare. “No, really—”

“I’d like you to stay. We were just sitting down to dinner. You can eat with us.” He turned to his mother with an appealing smile, his hand still clasped around Louise’s like a vise. “Can’t she, Mama?”

His mother sniffed. “I suppose I made enough.” She turned back to the house and Louise leaned closer to Jaiven.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed.

“Keeping you here, of course,” he answered, as if that were a no-brainer. “You are going to drive me out of my mind all evening, you know that?”

“And I’m supposed to wear—what?” Louise demanded.

“Just keep your coat on.”

She let out a disbelieving huff of laughter. “Jaiven, that’s going to look a little weird.”

“Have some confidence, Louise.” He gave her a wicked smile. “Be bold. Isn’t that what you coming here is about?”

She stared at him, once more unsettled by how well he read her. He knew exactly what this fantasy was about. And how better to own it than to see it all the way through?

And yet this situation was also very awkward. Potentially totally humiliating. And she did not do humiliation.

“Come on, Louise,” Jaiven said softly. He tugged her into the house, his eyes glinting with amusement and yet also hot with desire. “Drive me wild.”

And with a small, answering smile curving her mouth, she knew she did want to drive him wild. Tempt and taunt him all evening. But she was going to tighten the belt on her coat first.

She followed Jaiven upstairs to the main living area, the dining area open to the kitchen. His mother was already seated at the table. “So sorry to interrupt,” she told Jaiven’s mother. “Jaiven didn’t know I was coming. What’s your name?”

“Rosa.” The woman eyed her beadily as Jaiven pulled out a chair and Louise sank into it, making sure her coat stayed closed.

“So nice to meet you, Rosa,” she said, trying for a smile, and the woman just folded her arms.

Jaiven placed his hands on her shoulders and asked, “May I take your coat?”

A bubble of surprised laughter burst from her lips and quickly she shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Sure?” Jaiven murmured, and she tilted her head up to meet his glinting gaze, tried to convey with her sternest teacher’s glare that he should not push it quite that much.

He just smiled back.

All right, fine. She could do this. Jaiven thought she could do this. Taking a deep breath, she gave him a smile back. “But if I get a little hot, Jaiven, I’ll let you know.” She trailed her fingertips along her cleavage, saw Jaiven’s pupils flare, heard his mother snort.

Okay, whatever. She didn’t care what this woman thought of her. She wasn’t going to cringe or cower or apologize. So she’d showed up to a man’s house in a trench coat. Her choice. And she’d see it through.

Jaiven went to the kitchen area to fetch her a plate and Louise sat in silence across from his mother, who had folded her arms across her impressive bust and was giving Louise a narrowed, very shrewd look.

“Your coat,” she finally said after nearly a minute of taut silence. “It needs to be buttoned.”

Louise glanced down and saw that her improperly buttoned coat was gaping so much at the front that Jaiven’s mother could nearly see her nipple. She bit her lip to keep from laughing out of sheer nerves and rebuttoned it.

“Oops,” she said.

Rosa made a huffing sound, her arms still folded. “You know my son well?”

Hmm, tricky question. What was she supposed to say? No, we’re just acquaintances really, but I showed up to his house naked. “We’re friends.”

“I just met Louise last week,” Jaiven said as he came back with a plate and cutlery and set her a place at the table. Oh, and that sounded better.

His mother said nothing, but then she didn’t need to. The expression on her face said at all. Clearly in her eyes Louise was a no-good slut of a woman.

Well, Louise thought with sudden satisfaction, maybe she was. That would make a change, at least.

The next hour bordered on interminable. Louise didn’t really contribute to the conversation between Jaiven and his mother. She didn’t even think of someone like Jaiven as having a mother, and certainly not one who pestered and nagged him about all sorts of things: his work, his home, his lack of a respectable woman in his life—it was, she suspected, safe to assume his mother did not place her in that category.

What was even more surprising than the woman herself was Jaiven’s response to her. He took all her criticisms, implied or overt, with a careful equanimity that intrigued Louise because he certainly seemed like a man who didn’t take crap from anyone, not even his mother.

After an hour of only half listening, even Louise felt like telling the woman where she could put it. Instead she decided to have some fun, and slipped off her heel. Stretching her leg out under the table, she ran her foot up Jaiven’s leg all the way to his crotch.

She kept her face blank as she pressed her foot between his legs and felt him harden. Jaiven had gone still, his eyes narrowed as his mother yammered on about some cousin’s baby.

Louise pressed her foot against him and Jaiven shifted in his seat, ground out some response to Rosa. Louise bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

She’d never felt so powerful. This was sexual confidence.

She ran her foot down his leg again and then back up, and this time when she reached his crotch his fingers clamped around her ankle, keeping her foot in place.

Louise thought he would thrust her foot away but to her amazement—and delight—he didn’t. He met her gaze across the table with a wicked, knowing one of his own, and then brought her foot closer against him, his fingers sliding up her ankle nearly to her knee.

Desire sizzled through her. So two could play at this game, apparently. And Jaiven, she suspected, could play it very well.

They kept up their game of footsie through another half hour of Rosa’s company, and by the time she finally hefted herself to her feet Louise felt nearly liquid with desire. Jaiven rose as well, and Louise followed suit, one hand clutching her coat to keep it together.

Finally the door closed, and Jaiven turned to her, his eyes dark, his expression suddenly fierce.

“You’d better get that coat off now.”

And bold as she’d become, Louise couldn’t keep from teasing him a little more. “Didn’t you have a nice time?” she asked, her eyebrows raised innocently.

“I’m in pain, woman,” Jaiven growled. He reached for the belt of her coat and gave it one swift tug. “You’ve been torturing me for nearly two hours.”

“You were the one who invited me in.”

Her coat had fallen open and Louise found she didn’t even mind. She shrugged it off, stood before him in nothing but heels. She’d bought them especially, fire-engine red with a six-inch heel. She’d almost broken her ankle climbing out of the taxi, but they were all part of the fantasy. The fantasy Jaiven had understood, about feeling sexy and bold and on top of the world.

She felt that way now.

Jaiven groaned aloud. “You are the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. Now come here.”

And laughing, she came, pressing her naked body against him as he kissed her.

“I bet the cabbie knew you were naked under that coat,” he murmured as he turned his attention to the curve of her neck. “Tell me you did take a cab, and not the subway, to the Bronx at night with nothing but a trench coat on?”

“Of course I took a cab. I’m not stupid.” And now that she thought about it, the cabbie had eyed her coat with something close to a smirk. “I bet he’ll remember me,” she said with satisfaction, and Jaiven let out a throaty laugh.

“Damn right he will. Best ride of his life, I bet, and all he got to do was wonder.”

He lowered his mouth to her breast, his hands spanning her waist. Louise let her head fall back, let the sensations overwhelm her. They felt so good. “I’m very, very glad you had this fantasy,” Jaiven said in a voice that had turned hoarse with desire. “Very glad.”

Louise laughed breathlessly, driving her fingers through his hair to anchor him more closely to him. “Even if your mother thinks you consort with disreputable women?’

“My mother already thought that. And she couldn’t think less of me if she tried, anyway.” It was an offhand comment, and Jaiven had already moved his mouth lower, his tongue teasing her navel and making it very hard to think, yet even so Louise felt a flicker of curiosity. Wondered about the heart and soul of the man whose body she craved.

Then she stopped thinking at all because he was shucking his clothes and reaching for her, and as his lips found hers again and her legs wrapped around his hips she wasn’t curious about anything but the desire deepening inside her, and how only Jaiven could satisfy it.

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