I'm naked and alone in my apartment, examining my body in the full-length mirror.

I look into my own eyes and search for signs of deception. Am I the kind of person who can do this?

Should I betray Braden? Betray my team? Or do nothing and let us all go down in flames?

The questions torments my mind and prevent me from getting ready for my date. I really do want Braden. But now our relationship is confusing and on another level.

How did things get so complicated? We just started seeing each other, and now there's this conflict of interest preventing our potential happiness.

I spent years wanting Braden, waiting for him to notice me, and now on the brink of what is possibly the best relationship of my life, this happens. Stupid FBI, I curse them in my head.

I run my hands over my body and try again to think if I'm the kind of person who can do this. Can I betray the very racing league that has given me a purpose in this life? Can I betray my family? My home?

I don't know what the fuck to do, and this makes me sulk.

I smear on some lipstick and coat my lashes in mascara. I let my black hair flow freely over my shoulders, curly and untamed, much like my personality. Then I pick through my closet, searching for the perfect frock to make this evening special.

I want to impress him. I want him to think of my body and of getting me naked.

This in itself should tell me my answer. I want Braden and I want him to be happy...with me, and that means not betraying him to the FBI.

I sigh. If these issues plague me all night long, I won't be able to concentrate on what is sure to be a very sexy date.

I choose to believe that nothing can be decided tonight. I'm not going to spend my precious time with Braden worrying about the feds. I'm just not.

I pull a very sexy little silver sheath that will accent my black hair perfectly. Of course, I don't wear underwear. I don't want a panty line. Wink.

I slide in my favorite heels, a black Tom Fords.

And then I’m out the door.

The limo's waiting downstairs, and I feel a flutter in my stomach as I think about him being in there. I thank the doorman who's holding it open for me.

"Good evening, Jenna," he says, eyes running all over me, admiring my…outfit.

"Thank you, Henry."

A breeze blows across my flushed face. I probably should've brought a shawl. The evening's cool and feels good on my skin.

He's probably staring at me through the tinted windows of the limousine. I freeze and am charged with an energy unlike anything else. This happens every time there's even a chance I'll see him or whenever I'm near him.

Butterflies are an understatement. It feels more like a mini tornado is ravaging my heart. It pounds so hard that it's all I can hear.

I find my bravery and stride over to the car, and he opens the door from the inside.

"Hi," he smiles.

"Hi," I'm somehow able to speak, despite the thunder and lightning going off in my body.

I slide into the limo, careful not to flash anyone. The cool black leather does nothing to chill my heated skin.

He puts his hand on my thigh and it feels good, it feels right, but my heart is still beating hard and fast.

"Are you okay?" he asks quizzically.

"Of course," I manage to say.

He stares at me like he knows what's going off inside of me. He knows that I have this reaction to him, and he seems to relish the idea.

He strokes my thigh and stares out the window. I look at his hair, his strong jaw, his muscles that are perfectly silhouetted by his expensive suit. It all makes me wet, and I'm acutely aware that not wearing underwear may not have been the best idea. I didn't quite anticipate the wetness that would spread between my thighs.

"Is there a drink?" I ask him, trying to dispel the tension.

Really, I need ice. Nice, cool, ice.

I move to the little-stocked bar and fill a cup with ice...and bourbon. I need both.

I drink the strong liquid, and it only spreads more warmth throughout my body.

I make another.

He stares at me in a tantalizing way, like he knows exactly why I feel the need to drink.

"Want one?" I ask.

"I'm okay," he smirks. "Just wait until you see where we're going. You may not want to be so tipsy then."

"Am I tipsy?"

"You will be, after two shots of whiskey, taken back to back. You sure you're okay?"

Yeah, like I'm going to reveal to him why the rush for the ice and drink. I need to distract myself, to calm my body of the pure nervousness that come from being around him.

"I'm fine. I just had a long day."

"Hmm, learn anything new?"

"Mr. Masterson. Are you searching me for clues as to our latest technology?" I say this as I open the sunroof, anxious for more air.

"I don't need your technology. I think it's the other way around. You need mine."

For a sec, I'm reminded of my ominous mission. The faces of those FBI agents flash through my mind. I become slightly paranoid and wonder if he knows that they talked to me.

I wish I could just tell him all about it and get the truth out on the table. If I could just reveal to him what happened, how they pressured me, maybe he could fix it. But instead, I deflect.

"You know, I'm sick of talking about work. Besides, I know what I'm doing, and my crew and I don't need to be threatened by you. You have nothing on us."

"Is that so?" His eyes light up.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see. You'll love it."

The bourbon kicks in and I'm good to go. I want this night to happen. I'm on a date with Braden, and it's a dream come true.

"We’re going somewhere special. And I know you'll love it."

"How many women have you taken there?"

He evades my question. "Tonight I'm thinking only of you."

I sit next to him, and we kiss, and it's nice, but my question has not been answered. Is this a haunt he goes to a lot? Are there other women in his life now besides me?

I'd like to think I can trust him.

Then I think of what the FBI wants me to do and wonder how can I expect to trust Braden if he can't trust me?

Damn those agents. It's ruining the evening and ruining my affection for Braden because every time I look at him I feel worried that I might have to hurt him.

Thankfully, we soon arrive at wherever it is he has planned for us. I follow him out of the limo, and everyone on the street stops and looks at us.

We look like a fairytale. Him in his deluxe suit, me in my tiny dress. I would stare at us, too. I can't believe I have the luck of being with my dream man, at last.

He takes me into a very tall building, and I look up and shudder to think of how high it is. I wonder if he'll have us going to another penthouse. Maybe a friend of his?

We're in the elevator, and there are mirrors. I see him reflected back to me, and it's very sexy.

"I want you," he breathes down my neck, assaulting me with his words.

I clench my legs together and try to maintain some sense of composure.

"Braden, not here," I warn him.

This man tries to take me in the most unexpected places.

His hand finds its way up from the back of my thigh to my ass where he squeezes one cheek and gives me a biting look. It's torment, this heat, and it's just the beginning of what's to come.

The doors open, and we walk into a room that nearly takes my breath away.

There's a bar made of all glass and ice. There's some tables and the restaurant portion, but right before us, looking straight out is a balcony...a balcony made of all glass.

"What the..."

"I know," he says. "Isn't it spectacular?"

He leads me straight through the room to the dangerous balcony. I tentatively step onto it, gripping his arm all the while.

When I look down, it feels staggering, as though I'm flying and falling at the same time, suspended in air in an unnatural way.

I bravely walk to the edge and dare to look down. He holds me. I need him to.

"My God, Braden, this is too much."

His hand holds the small of my back, and together we look out over the expanse of the city. It's a moment to treasure. But every time I look down, I feel nauseous and dizzy.

"Had enough?" he asks.

"Yes, for now."

"Why don't we go to our dinner?"

He has the VIP room all set up for us. It too has a stunning overlook of the city. Everything's airy and open up here. One side of the place has no wall, just a sheer drop down. The balcony made of glass is all that prevents the fall.

It's a rush being here with Braden. Him and heights, two of my favorite things.

We dine. He orders for me.

I sip my wine and enjoy this time with him. All the while, wind that accessible only from this height is gently blowing over us.

"So Braden, is this what you do when you're not at the track? Seduce woman at dizzying heights?"

"You're teasing me," he says with a darkened glance.

I'm testing him, trying to find out if there's anyone else.

"So, what do you do when you're not making new technology?" he asks.

"Me? Well, let's see. I do yoga, run, visit art museums, the usual stuff in the city."

"Do you ever go out, clubbing or whatnot?"

"Sometimes. I have a select group of friends that I go with, occasionally."

I look at him seductively over my wine glass.

"I imagine it's very different for you, Braden. I’m content with a quiet life. Racing fills my days, but my nights are spent calmly. You must have a new woman on your arm every night. I assume you go...clubbing a lot."

I hang on the word clubbing. I know Braden likes to party, but personally, I am so over it. Have been for a while.

I'm more serious in nature, I guess. And it takes a lot to stimulate me. To me, the fake conversations that come with fake friendships are not enough.

I need more substance to sustain me. And I surround myself with only the right people.

"Maybe all that's changed since I met...you."

My stomach drops at the thought of him thinking of me as more than just a fling.

He holds my hand over the table, but underneath it, he's grazing my thigh. Soon, his fingers make their way up my very short skirt. He kisses me, and I lean into him. It's all so good. Being in his arms is like being home.

He teases me by very nearly penetrating me with those fingers. A dark smile crosses his face when he realizes I'm bare underneath, not wearing a scrap of underwear. It excites him, I know. And I’m happy with my choice to wear nothing―even if I am a little cold.

He wantonly traces his forefinger along the outskirts of my very wet pussy, and yet he doesn't dive in. What's stopping him?

The delight of the feeling, of him caressing me, and his lips on mine, it's all too much―enough, in fact, to make me come.

To think that the simple thought of him can be my undoing.

It's intense, and it's crazy, and it's real, I know.

"Would you like to see the balcony again?" he asks suddenly.

"I'd love to," I say as he removes his hand from underneath my skirt.

A part of me is disappointed, and a part of me knows that this was just an appetizer. The true event of this night has yet to come.

He pulls on his trench coat, and takes my hand. I follow him in my teetering heels out to the balcony.

There are other people around, but to me, it's just us. Me and him. He's all I can see, and all I want to see, as the world spins around us and beneath my feet.

I'm starting to fall.