The next morning, I woke up with my stomach tied in a bunch of big knots. The night with Hanson had been perfect. Too perfect. I had let the mood suck me in, and when he’d kissed me, I hadn’t said no.

I should have said no.

He was my client, and I’d told myself I wouldn’t do this. But he had been so handsome in his suit, and he had donated so much money to the hospital. For a moment, I’d entertained the idea that, under his playboy mask, he was a nice person.

Of course, he could be. The fact that he messed around so much didn’t mean he wasn’t nice. I of all people should know that, and I would be a hypocrite to judge him for it.

But I couldn’t afford to fall into this spiral of justifying everything he’d done in the past. It would only pull me deeper. We had already breached the touch barrier now that we’d kissed. It would be so much easier for something else to happen now.

And there was no way that was happening. I couldn’t sleep with Hanson. No matter how badly I’d wanted him last night, no matter how much he’d looked like the hero I had been preaching about in the restaurant.

I called him.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said, answering the phone.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Will you come over for lunch today?” I asked. “I would like to talk to you.”

“Sounds serious,” he said.

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. Of course, it was serious.

“I don’t want to meet in public, if that’s okay. After last night, you’ll be in the public eye, and you can’t afford to be seen with a woman that might be mistaken for, well, you know.”

“A booty call?” he asked, finishing my sentence for me.

I didn’t answer. That was exactly what I had meant. I had fought my urges to be with him last night and I’d be damned if I was going to give some tabloid ammunition to suggest that I’d slept with him. I had wanted to really bad and the only thing that had stopped me was that it would be a career killer.

If the press made it look like something had happened, I would have wasted all my willpower on nothing. And I, Lacey Townsend, didn’t believe in wasting energy. Certainly not on something as silly as my client whom I was supposed to be reforming but in fact was being corrupted by.

You are not being corrupted by him, I reminded myself. Stay strong.

Meanwhile, he was answering my question about whether we could talk today.

“Okay,” he said. “What time do you want me to come over?”

“One?”

“I’ll be there,” he said, and the line went dead.

I was suddenly nervous. My place wasn’t nearly as glamorous as his must be, and what were we going to eat? 

I stopped myself and forced myself to breathe. He was just a client. What my place and my food were like didn’t matter. I needed to speak to him about yesterday and nothing more.

I showered and then went to the store. I bought a spread of different meat and cheeses to offer him for lunch. I got Portuguese rolls and fresh fruit juice.

Was I trying to make an impression on him? Of course not. I was only trying to host a proper lunch.

At exactly one o’clock, a knock sounded on the door. When I opened it, Hanson stood in front of me wearing jeans and a V-neck t-shirt that hugged his muscles so tightly it looked painted on. His hair was damp, like he’d just gotten out of the shower, and his smile made me melt a little. His cologne was strong, manly, and delicious.

I pushed the thought away. If I couldn’t resist a man like this when I’d told myself it would be strictly business, I would be disappointed in myself.

“You’re on time,” I said.

“You keep telling me not to be late,” he said.

I stood to the side, and he walked into my home, looking around. I tried to look at my place through his eyes. It wasn’t very big, but it was comfortable. Parquet floors, a television in the corner, couches that were big and comfortable enough to sleep on in case I had guests. A long passage that led to a bathroom, a spare bedroom, and then my room. His hotel rooms when he toured were probably bigger than this, not to mention his home.

It didn’t matter, I reminded myself.

“You can come through to the dining room,” I said.

The dining room was more like a division of the living room where a dining table for six had been put in a corner. I had put the food out on a table cloth.

“This looks good,” Hanson said and sat down.

I sat down, too, and for a short while, we busied ourselves eating and making small talk.

When we had nothing left to say, I took a deep breath.

“Listen, Hanson. What happened last night. We can’t do that again. That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

Hanson frowned. “Go out together?”

I shook my head. “Don’t play dumb. I mean the kiss in the car on the way back. We can’t do that.”

Hanson looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read. His features were perfect, a square jaw, a straight nose, and a strong brow. He was so good looking, I hated to be telling him this but it obviously had to be done.

“Did you want it?” he asked.

I blinked at him. “What?”

“The kiss. Did you want to kiss me?”

I shook my head. “That’s not the point. This is a working relationship. I can’t do this with a client, especially not with you, when your reputation is what it is.”

Hanson didn’t look shocked or nervous or shy or taken aback. He looked calm and in control, the opposite of what I was feeling.

“You’re not answering my question,” he said.

I was aware of his cologne. It was like it had gotten stronger now that we were talking about this. The smell reminded me of him last night and of the way he’d kissed me.

“Yes,” I said. “Are you happy now? Yes, I wanted to kiss you.”

I didn’t know why I’d said that to him. He didn’t have any right to demand an answer. I had been under no obligation to give it to him. And yet I blurted it out in frustration.

“Then what’s the problem?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes. “I just explained it to you,” I said. “It’s a working relationship.”

Hanson shook his head. “All work and no play makes Lacey boring.”

I was getting irritated. I had a right to tell him we weren’t doing this. The fact that I wanted to or wished we could be doing it was a different thing altogether.

“Don’t be a dick,” I said. “This can jeopardize both our careers. I can tell you now, that’s not what you want.”

“But I want you,” he said.

I blinked at him. “Don’t, Hanson. We can’t.”

My breath hitched in my throat. He inched closer to me. Talking to him had done nothing. In fact, maybe it made things worse. He was the kind of guy that would do exactly what you told him not to.

Damn it.

His lips touched mine, and electricity shocked through my system as if I’d touched a live wire.

I pulled away. I couldn’t do this. I shook my head.

“Don’t you want this?” he asked.

Why did he have to ask me what I felt? What I felt and what was right were two different things. Hanson’s face was still so close to mine that I could see the specks of gold in his hazel eyes. I looked into his eyes and fell, deeper and deeper. My body screamed for attention, aching for him to touch me again.

As if he knew what I was thinking, he made his move. He put his hands on my cheeks and pulled me toward him, kissing me hard. His lips mashed against mine, his tongue snaked into my mouth, and I forgot every argument I’d prepared in my mind.

Heat washed through my body and pooled between my legs. Hanson stood up, pulling me with him and drawing my body against his.

I felt his muscles through his clothes. Hanson had a taut body. His muscles were fit and sculpted from years of keeping his body in peak condition. His erection pressed against my hip bone, telling me exactly what he wanted.

His hand slid down to my breast, and he massaged me through my blouse. My nipples tightened and I gasped. My core clenched, begging, expectant.

I knew I shouldn’t want this, but I did. I should stop it, but I couldn’t. I felt physically incapable of doing anything but giving into what Hanson wanted— what I wanted.

Hanson pushed me firmly against the wall. He reached for my thigh and hitched up my one leg so that his erection ground against my crotch as he gyrated his hips. He moved his head to my neck and nibbled the skin, kissing a trail of fire to my collarbones.

I reached down and fumbled with the hem of his shirt, working it up. Hanson broke the kiss just long enough for me to get the shirt over his head. I dropped it on the floor.

I could do nothing but stare at his chiseled abs and chest. The tattoos on his chest and arms. His strong biceps and sculpted shoulders. He was even hotter than I thought he had been when I could only see him with his clothes on.

Hanson dipped his head straight back to my neck. His hand was still on my breast, and his arousal pressed into me, making me ache for him.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mumbled into my neck.

I pushed him away from me enough to reach his jeans, and I unbuttoned and unzipped them. I worked his pants over his hips. He did the same for me, getting rid of my own jeans and then my blouse.

He didn’t stop at my panties. He wanted them out of the way and so did I. When I was naked, Hanson paused only a second to look at my body.

“Fucking perfection,” he said.

He pulled down his boxers, and I looked at him. His cock was big and hard, smooth and veined, erect with lust. Hanson pushed his hand between my legs, and his fingers slipped into my slit. He found my clitoris and drew small circles around it, making me tremble and shiver right there where I was standing.

“God, you’re so wet,” he said.

“You did that,” I whispered, feeling stupid the moment I said it.

But it was too late to take it back. Even though the feeling had been palpable, the admission was now out there between us. I wanted him to fuck me.

Hanson kissed me again before he spun me around and backed me up toward the table. He laid me on my back, and I gasped. The wood was cold against my bare back. The food we hadn’t eaten was next to me on one half of the table.

Hanson’s hands eased onto my thighs, which fell open for him. He reached over into the pockets of his pants for a condom. Once he found it, he opened the wrapper and put it on.

Then he stepped on a chair and balanced himself over my body. His arms and shoulders bulged as he held himself up. His cock moved toward my center like a missile, and he pressed against my entrance. I gasped.

“I love seeing the head of my big cock up against your wet little pussy,” he told me, whispering into my neck.

I leaned back into him, my pussy dripping and aching for him. I wanted to feel him inside me. I wanted him to take me.

He pushed into me and I cried out. My pussy stretched to accommodate him. He was large and he filled me completely.

Hanson didn’t wait for me to adjust to the big size of his cock before he started thrusting it in and out of me. His body arched over mine, his hips bucking as he fucked me as if he had been waiting a lifetime to do it.

My body moved back and forth on the table, and my breasts jiggled. Having Hanson inside me was pure pleasure, and I cried out as the friction against my g-spot reduced me to a puddle of lust beneath him.

I orgasmed suddenly, not able to stop it even if I had tried. My body tightened, my toes curled, and I held onto Hanson’s shoulders while I climaxed and my orgasm washed over me. When it finally subsided, I gasped for air.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

“We’re just getting started, baby,” Hanson said.

He stepped down from the table and wrapped his arms around me. He closed my arms and legs around his body, and he carried me to the bedroom.

This was it. I was fucking my biggest, career making or breaking client. Or rather, he was fucking me. Hard, fast and strong. And I didn’t want it to stop.