by Amelia Wilde
But in this one, I have information to steal, a brother to protect. That’s why I’m here in the first place.
I didn’t anticipate Jett Brandon making me feel like this. The tips of my fingers ache with the need to touch him, to somehow break down the wall he’s constructed around himself. To know him so deeply, so completely, that understanding him becomes second nature.
That’s a heavy thought, and it blindsides me—but his sleeping face is open, relaxed, and last night I saw glimpses of him, the real him, underneath the bravado and the cocky attitude...and I wanted more.
I still want more.
I can never have it.
His breathing is so deep and slow, and my mind is so crowded with thoughts, that I only last a couple of minutes before the dissonance gets to me.
With a little sigh, I slide out from under the comforter and cross the room to where a new silk kimono in heather gray rests across the back of one of the armchairs by the fireplace. It feels like heaven against my skin, and it only makes me feel guiltier when I slip the thumb drive from my purse and tuck it into the palm of my hand. The robe is one of the things Jett had delivered last night. A soft knock at the door interrupted us while we were lying cuddled up against one another on the bed, me waiting for my heart to stop pounding. He’d been lazy about getting up, slowly pulling on his pants. When he came back into the bedroom, his arms were full of women’s clothes.
“Athleisure,” he said, holding up a pair of stretchy capris and a racerback top that I loved instantly. “Lunch.” This time, a coral sundress that made my heart skip a beat. “Unmentionables,” he continued, grinning slyly, and lifted a tie hanger with three lacy silk bra and panty sets. The robe was last.
I pushed myself up on my elbow, pressing my lips together to suppress the giggle that threatened to bubble over. “I thought you weren’t the romantic type.”
“This? This isn’t romance.”
“Inviting a girl to stay at your place and then plying her with expensive clothes isn’t romantic?”
He shrugged, then let his eyes roam over me from head to toe. “I’m not completely heartless, otherwise you’d be on your way to the Sheraton right now.” No argument there. “But you can’t very well walk around naked for the rest of the weekend.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Fine,” he said with a laugh. “You could. And I would like it. But it could get awkward if you ran into any of the staff.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “How many people does one person need to take care of him?”
“I think of it this way: how many people can one person supply a direct livelihood for?”
“I bet it doesn’t hurt that you’ve got servants to get you whatever you want.”
He went across the room to the seating area where he put the clothes in a neat pile on the armchair, arranging the robe over the backrest. My mouth went dry. Had I crossed some line in the sand?
But Jett came back across the room, undoing the buckle of his belt as he walked, dropping his pants to the floor at the foot of the bed. Then he climbed up, hovering over me, and kissed me deeply, like he was marking me. When he came up for air, he looked me in the eye. “Of course my staff gets me what I want.” His voice was low, commanding. “Sometimes I take it for myself.”
“Like right now?”
“Like right now.”
It was several hours before we went to sleep.
Even now my skin buzzes from his touch.
Don’t get swept away, Angelica, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. Jett Brandon wants me for one thing and one thing only: the passionate and electrifying sex that we’ve been having. And I can never, never forget it. I have no choice but to get him to trust me, to fall in love with me, but I can’t get sloppy. I can’t forget Adam. And when this is over, I need to remember that it’s only sex for him, no matter how much I might want him. Maybe that will soften the blow of never getting to see his face again, of him hating me.
The robe’s belt tied firmly around my waist, I go out into the hallway. Sunday is his staff’s day off, all except for Stuart, his driver, who is “on call.” Still, I keep my back straight, my shoulders back, and walk with purpose.
His office is how I left it last time, his computer centered on the desk. There is one small blessing in all of this: the new thumb drive from Charlie doesn’t require the computer to be on.
Ears open for any sign of movement, I plug it in and wait for the lights on the plastic case of the thumb drive to blink. Approximately one hundred years later, they do.
Mission accomplished...for now, at least.
14
Jett
When I wake up on Sunday morning, Angelica curled next to me, sleeping softly, looking like an angel with her sunlight hair spread over the pillow, my stomach twists into a knot.
This is almost too convenient—having the one woman I want to be with come back to the penthouse every night for a few weeks plays right into my hands.
In one way.
The risks are obvious.
The closer she gets, the more she’ll know about me. The more we’ll know about each other. It’s going to be a fine line to tread.
Because it was more than common decency that led me to offer staying at my place while hers is under repair, and last night convinced me of that.
The more I have her, the more I want her.
A strange warmth suffuses every one of my limbs. She breathes in and out, her bare shoulders rising above the sheet she has tucked defensively around her, then she stirs.
I should take it back. I should make up some excuse for why she can’t stay here and have Stuart drive her back to the Sheraton before I let this go any farther.
But then she turns toward me, eyelashes fluttering, and the stormy gray-blue of her eyes in the early morning light makes my heart stop, then thunder ahead.
“Hi.” She closes her eyes again, stretching her arms above her head, circling her wrists against the headboard. “Watching something interesting?” The sleepy grin on her face is too much.
“Watching something beautiful.”
A flicker of disappointment crosses her face, but it’s chased away by another playful smile, a yawn. “Sunday.” It’s a thoughtful comment.
“What about it?”
She rolls toward me, tucking her hand under her elbow. “What does a guy like you do on Sunday?”
I raise one shoulder half an inch, then lower it again. “Whatever I please.”
She laughs. “You must have some idea.”
“Do I?”
Angelica looks to the side, then turns over and hops out of bed. I can’t take my eyes off the full curve of her ass, the lithe, petite legs as she heads for the master bathroom. “There’s a toothbrush in there for me, isn’t there?” she calls out to me over her shoulder.
“You’d better hope so.”
“You’d better hope so,” she says, then closes the door behind her. Water runs for a few minutes, and when Angelica emerges she’s gathered her hair at the nape of her neck in a loose bun. Her hips sway as she walks. She’s confident, and she should be. Her body is perfect. There is nothing in the world she would ever need to feel embarrassed about.
For a minute, while she crosses the room toward the sofa and armchairs, I’m so transfixed by the movement of her body that I forget all the other shit that’s been bothering me.
Angelica’s next move is to pick up the gray robe that someone—probably Elizabeth, my personal shopper—thought would be a good addition to the weekend wardrobe. In one way, she was right—it fits Angelica perfectly, the hemline of the fabric dropping only a couple of inches below her firm ass, the belt emphasizing her slim waist. In another way, I hate that thing because it’s hiding that luscious skin from me.
I throw back the covers, exposing my naked body, my already-hard cock, and Angelica’s eyes widen. She curls one end of the belt around her fingers. “Was this a mistake?” Her tone is innocent, but her expressio
n is all heat.
“At least it won’t be hard to fix.”
She comes toward the bed and climbs on, kneeling next to me. I sit up and press my lips against her collarbone, and give into the urge to wrap my hands around her waist.
“Wait.”
I pull back and watch while she licks her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Tell me something about yourself first.”
What? “You know everything there is to know about me.” It’s a lie and we both know it.
“I know you’re rich,” she says, sitting back on her heels. “I know you’re sexy as hell. I know you take what you want....” She reaches out and runs her fingers down the muscles of my arm. “But we’ve never talked about anything important.”
The laughter comes unbidden. “We’ve spent two evenings together. Let’s not get too hasty.” I gesture toward the rest of the room. “Isn’t this enough for you?”
She appraises the space around us, then shakes her head. “Listen, Jett, I know this is only...temporary.” Angelica swallows hard. The pause is long enough for me to disagree with her. I don’t. The very last thing on earth I need to do right now is give her the idea that this is going to go anywhere. It’s not.
In time to save herself from excruciating awkwardness, she speaks again. “We’ve spent two evenings together and I really don’t want to triple my commute. It doesn’t give me a lot of wiggle room in the mornings, and my boss....” She trails off. “Anyway, I want to know more about you. Anything about you.”
“I’d rather be doing something else.”
Heat rises to her cheeks, and she cuts a glance at my cock. “Aside from that. Where....” Angelica’s breathing is shallow. “Where did you grow up?” She tears her eyes away from my body and returns her gaze back up to my face.
That’s when I see it—the struggle. She wants me, too—but her desire to know more seems entirely genuine.
The tiniest piece of my heart shifts, makes room.
She’s only going to be here for a while.
I can give a little during that time.
“In an apartment on the Upper East Side, until I was ten.”
“What happened then?”
I take a deep breath and give her what she wants.
15
Angelica
Monday is never my day.
Hadley is up my ass about the last-minute delays on last week’s package.
“Do you anticipate similar delays with any of the pieces for this week?”
“I don’t, no.” I turn to scan the calendar app open on my computer screen. “I’ve built in extra time to confirm all the necessary quotes, and the designers have been getting the graphics back at least four hours ahead of schedule.”
She purses her lips, squints at my computer screen. “Angelica, I was pretty disappointed in your performance last week.”
Then why are you telling me? “I completely understand, Hadley. It won’t happen again.” There’s absolutely no point in reminding her that I have company-guaranteed sick time, or that it’s appropriate for people to have a life outside of work.
Speaking of outside, there’s something more pressing I need to do today—even more pressing than pleasing Hadley. The sooner I can get her to go back to her own office, the sooner I can barrel through the rest of today’s work.
I have a meeting with Charlie.
I got his message as soon as I sat down at my desk this morning.
Did you download the latest information?
Yes.
I hovered over the “send” button for a moment before adding, I have the thumb drive with me. Better that he interpret my tone as serious rather than snotty. God knows what he’ll do if I piss him off.
In his next reply, he named off a coffee shop located two blocks from my office, and a time: 5:15. It seemed reasonable until Hadley revealed she was in an even more uptight mood than usual today, which usually signals that I’ll be staying until at least 6:00.
My only hope is to get enough done before 5:00 that I can make the case for heading out then.
I work like a madwoman, straight through lunch, putting text together with images for three site features that are going live by the end of the week, hassling the photography department about changes I need made on some of the photos, and checking tasks off in Hadley’s task-tracking system. She lives and dies by that thing, and so do I.
By 4:45, I’m down to the final checkbox on the list. The task reads, “Send full email update to Hadley Martin.’ It hurts not to roll my eyes.
But send a “full email update” I do, detailing little tidbits about each of the items on the list and confirming that they are, in fact, finished.
When the clock strikes five, I flip off my computer monitor with an authority I certainly don’t feel on the inside, fling my purse strap over my shoulder, and stride out of the office like I’m on a mission.
Thankfully, Hadley’s office door is closed, and as I go by I hear her voice rising in volume. I can only hope this phone call will last long enough that she doesn’t call me back in. It’s been known to happen.
Charlie is waiting outside the coffee shop—an independently owned one three doors down from a Dunkin’ Donuts. As usual, there’s nobody inside the indie store—Mugs—but Charlie lurks outside, leaning against the brickwork, his collared shirt making him look like a preppy Geek Squad member, only menacing.
When he notices me, my stomach tightens. I stifle the urge to turn and run in the opposite direction down the street.
Instead, I force myself to approach him, stopping several feet away. He straightens up from the wall.
“Drive.”
I slip my hand into my purse and pull out the thumb drive, tipping it into his hand as fast as humanly possible.
Charlie pulls an identical thumb drive from his pocket and hands it off to me. “One week from today. That’s the deadline.” I can feel the adrenaline spiking through my veins. “Got it?”
“Yes.”
He turns to go, but the blood is rushing in my ears. How long does this façade have to last? “Wait.”
Charlie turns slowly around, his eyes narrowed at me menacingly. “What?”
“How long—?” I force the words out around the tightness in my throat. “How long do you want me to keep this up? When is Adam’s debt going to be paid?”
He barks out a laugh. “If you hadn’t been such a stupid bitch and installed the program correctly the first time, this would be behind you.” My muscles tense at the word bitch, but I’m not stupid enough to pick a fight about it. Not here. “I wouldn’t answer that question even if I could.”
I should turn and go. I should walk back down the street, hail a cab and get out at Jett’s apartment and do what I’m told. But the moment is dragging out, slowing down, and I can see every twitch of expression in Charlie’s face. If we’re going to keep meeting like this, I want to have some idea of when it will end. So I give it one more try.
“You don’t have any idea when—?”
“What did I say?” Charlie’s eyes are cold, sending shivers racing down my spine even in the late summer heat.
“Never mind.” I back up a couple of steps. “One week.”
“As long as it takes,” he spits, then turns on his heel and leaves. At the next alley, he makes a right and disappears from my view.
Once he’s out of sight, my muscles go weak, and for an instant I think I might totter over on my high heels like I’ve been day-drinking. I get hold of myself at the last second.
Charlie has been crystal clear—getting Jett to let me stay at his penthouse is only the tip of the iceberg. This could go on for weeks.
Weeks.
If that happens, there’s no way I can keep pretending that I’m there for a fling. I certainly won’t be able to keep coming back after the fact if it’s as meaningless as Jett seems to make me want to believe.
He’s going to have to fall in love.
But I can’t do the same.
&nb
sp; 16
Jett
Angelica sends me a text message at 5:30.
I didn’t overstay my welcome, did I? ;)
Hell no.
My nerve endings light up when I think about Saturday night...and Sunday morning. Angelica’s body fits to mine like she was made for me. Burying my cock inside her has to be the greatest pleasure I’ve ever experienced in my life. And somehow she’s interested in me, Jett Brandon, not Jett Brandon the billionaire.
She asked me questions throughout the day, her voice tentative, never pushy. She listened without interrupting, the pink tip of her tongue resting on her upper lip. Concentrating on the answers. No dollar signs in her eyes.
Looking back, that’s all I ever saw in Emerald’s. She wanted my capital and my name even more than she wanted to sleep with me. That was an added bonus.
I’ve been replaying the weekend over again in my head all day, and each time I picture Angelica beneath me on the bed, lips parted, cheeks pink, crying out, my skin heats up.
I’m supposed to be in control, but I want her to be digging her nails into my chest, riding me hard. No space between us.
It could work.
I shut down that thought. I’m not even willing to follow it through to its conclusion.
But it creeps back in.
After two nights? Not a chance.
Phew...I’ll see you back at your place then
Where are you?
Getting into a cab right now
My next text is to Stuart.
Bring the car around. Going home.
Angelica is in the lobby when I get there, eyes closed, head tilted back.
“Thinking dirty thoughts?”
She laughs a little, but when she turns to look at me, there’s a hint of a frown on her face. “Enjoying the air conditioning.”
My reply is on my lips—You’d enjoy it a lot more without those clothes—but she raises a hand to her temple, catches herself before her fingers make contact. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes, something I can’t quite discern—but it makes me think she’s not in the mood to have her clothes stripped off and her body played like an instrument, even by me.