Jordan watched Abigail’s ass as she walked away from him. God, it was a good ass. Two perfectly plump handfuls he’d spent the last eight weeks dreaming about.

And he was finally done with the buyout.

Finally ready to spend the foreseeable future on a private stretch of beach in the Caribbean.

A stretch that he now owned.

His private jet was fueled, the pilot on standby.

So why wasn’t he already in the air?

Unfinished business.

With the curvy brunette who was moving further out of reach by the moment.

He trailed her across the bar to the blond model-type, Suzette or Sandy or some S-name. Heads dipped together and twin glares were thrown his way.

That might have made him smile. If he weren’t so desperate to improve Abigail’s impression of him.

Not just in the bedroom, either. Love them and leave them wasn’t his style. Jordan was more of a serial monogamist. And since he hadn’t found a woman in a long time who would tolerate his long work hours, frequently broken dates, not to mention panicked phone calls from his staff at all hours of the day, it had been a long time since he’d had an orgasm that came courtesy of a member of the opposite sex.

Aside from Palm-ela, that was.

Inwardly snorting at his own awful joke, he plastered on a confident smile, and approached the girls.

“Ladies, can I buy you another round? Maybe some food?” The mention of food made Abby’s face go pale and he gritted his teeth. Of course she wouldn’t want food. She’d just been heaving up breakfast in the bathroom.

“No food,” he said quickly.

“Stop mentioning food,” Abigail ground out, one hand coming to her stomach, the other to her mouth.

“Abs?” the S-friend asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just not feeling good.”

“Well our tab is paid, so we can go.”

Jordan stood like a useless floor lamp shoved into a corner as he watched the girls talk.

He wasn’t in the habit of being ignored and though it wasn’t something he enjoyed admitting, he didn’t like it one bit.

He was important.

Correction, he used to be important.

Now he was just an out-of-work inventor. Granted, one with a couple of billion in the bank, but still, he was at loose ends.

Beach ends, he reminded himself.

“I’m just going to head home,” Abigail was saying. “Go to bed early and hope that this thing blows over quickly.”

“Okay, love. Want me to walk with you?”

Abby opened her mouth but the sound of a cell phone ringing stoppered any words that might have emerged.

Jordan reached for his cell then remembered he didn’t have one any longer.

It was relief that coursed through him, not a pang for the job, and certainly not a desire to go back to somewhere he was needed.

His—the—company was in good hands. He was going back to his roots. His wallet was just a little thicker.

“Go, Seraphina” Abby whispered, gesturing to the bar’s entrance as her friend picked up the call. “I’m fine.”

“Talk to you later,” Seraphina mouthed before taking off.

“Okay,” Abby murmured and tucked her purse over her shoulder. She turned for the door without a glance back at him.

Which was fine.

Because Jordan knew where she lived.

He let Abigail leave, giving her a thirty-second head start before following her.

She was barely a block away and he used his long legs to his advantage, catching up to her in hardly any time at all.

Shortening his stride to match hers, he didn’t say anything as he walked next to her.

Her breath caught when she peeked up at him, but the verbal litany he’d expected to greet him didn’t come.

Hazel eyes stayed forward, ignoring him.

Ah. They’d progressed to the silent treatment.

He could work with that.

Keeping pace, he stayed at her side as they walked to her apartment.

Patience was his strong suit, and he’d spent every spare moment of the last two months imagining all the ways he was going to make up that night to her.

It hadn’t been until hours after the call that he’d realized exactly what he’d done to her. When Abby had said he’d used her like a sex toy, she’d been right.

He’d acted like a premature teenager and then hadn’t even bothered to explain or make it up to her. Yes, that phone call had put his business deal on the razor’s edge of falling through the cracks and almost destroyed every single thing he’d been working toward for years.

But he wasn’t a user.

That was his father’s job.

So now that the deal was tied up in a neat little package and the checks had cleared, he was going to explain and, if she let him, make it up to her.

“I shouldn’t have left without a goodbye.”

Abigail’s feet stuttered, missing a step before her chin came up and her lips pressed into a firm line.

Ruby red and plump, that mouth sent heat right through him.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to talk to her.

Which should have sent him running.

Instead, he was right there next to her.

“I was in the process of selling my business and the call I received . . . well, it jeopardized everything I’d been working for.”

Jordan stopped talking and waited for her to say something.

She didn’t.

He sighed. He might need more than patience for another shot with this one.

“I—”

“Will you just shut up?” she snapped.

He paused, rocking back on his heels as she stormed on and for the first time, he wondered if he’d been daydreaming about the wrong woman all these weeks. Yes, she was beautiful, but maybe she wasn’t what he remembered.

Fiery yet tempered with vulnerability. Kindness for her friend. Self-deprecating and funny.

Maybe she was just mean.

And he had spent too long with mean to take up with it again.

Jordan hesitated, feet pointed back toward the bar and the lot his car was parked in. Maybe instead of trying to make it up to her, he’d drive to the airport and hit his private stretch of oceanfront.

Then Abby began running.

“Wh—”

They were less than a block from her apartment and she was sprinting for it like the hounds of hell were after her.

He knew he hadn’t been that bad in bed. Okay, on the table.

Right?

But it was her posture that finally snapped him out of his stupor. She was bent at the waist, hand across her stomach, head tilted down, and she was barely watching where she was going.

Thankfully, the sidewalks weren’t crowded but she wasn’t looking. She could knock over a little old lady, crash into a street sign. Hell, she could miss the edge of the sidewalk and get hit by a car.

Which was the thought that finally propelled him forward.

He ran toward her, catching her arm and tugging her away from a trash can. “Careful, you almost hit—”

“I need that,” she groaned, ripping free and whipping back to the receptacle.

And for the second time in less than an hour, Jordan watched Abby toss her cookies.

Funny how the sight would typically make him run, but with Abby, he stayed beside her.

Albeit, he still had no idea what he should be doing.

Holding back her hair? Rubbing her shoulders?

She didn’t seem to like it when he touched her, so he opted for searching his pockets for a tissue and shifting from foot to foot.

This round didn’t last as long as the first. Thankfully. For her. Because he definitely wasn’t feeling relief at not having to find something else to keep himself occupied while she was feeling horrible.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She rested her head against the metal rim of the garbage bin. “Me too.”

They stood like that for a few moments, awkward and unmoving. He wanted to ask if he could help, but he sensed that she was trying to figure out if she was done.

Finally, she raised her head and winced. “I need to get home.”

“I’ll help you.”

Hazel eyes skewered him. “Help only. Promise,” he added when her glare didn’t relax.

“Okay, fine.” She wrinkled her nose. “I meant, thank you. Yes, I’m still mad at you, but I’m not a total troll and you didn’t leave me heaving my guts up on the side of the road, so . . .”

“That counts as something?” He grinned at her.

She huffed out a breath. “A small something.”

“Progress. Here.” He took her purse from where it had slipped down to her elbow. “Let me carry that for you.”

“Thanks,” she murmured then squinted up at her building and the three flights of stairs to her apartment. “Why did I like this walk-up so much?”

“Exercise?” he joked as she headed for the building.

“Pish, exercise is overrated. I’d give anything for an elevator right about now.”

He touched her arm. “I can carry you.”

“I’m fine.”

Since she didn’t exactly look fine, Jordan stayed close. Her skin was waxy and pale. Even her lips weren’t as rosy as they’d been minutes before.

He slipped an arm around her waist, shushing her when she started to pull free.

“Just let me help you,” he said. “You’ve still got two flights to go.”

She groaned. “I thought I was almost there.”

“Forget this,” he said and swept a hand under her knees, pulling her up into his arms.

It was a good thing he chose that moment to ignore her wishes because the second she was against his chest, Abigail’s eyes rolled back and her entire body went limp.

He cradled her close, spent a half second enjoying the weight of her against him before Jordan realized that he held an unconscious woman in his arms.

He climbed the last two flights of stairs in rapid time then carefully laid Abby against her door as he searched her bag for the keys to her apartment. She’d put in a code on the keypad that night, but he hadn’t seen it, and after a few minutes of searching the black hole that was her purse, he dumped the entire contents on the ground next to her.

Nothing.

Or, well, no keys.

There were about a million other articles—junk—in the feminine depths. But no keys.

Shit.

He reached a hand into his pocket and remembered all at once he didn’t have a phone.

Which had been a tactical decision at the time. To be unreachable.

To be free.

Jordan realized that had been a really fucking stupid idea.

He’d figured that he could always use someone else’s phone if it came down to it. But the only other person around at the moment was unconscious, so that plan was in the crapper.

Except, she had a phone.

He’d seen it in the mess on the ground. Shoving tampons and receipts to the side, he unearthed the smartphone and pressed the home button.

Locked.

He cursed. Of course it was locked, and he knew the PIN to Abby’s phone as readily as he knew the code to her apartment.

Abby moaned, and he cupped her cheek.

Maybe she was coming around and could unlock the phone herself. Then he could call someone. But after a long moment of him waiting for signs of consciousness and her not waking up, Jordan recognized that he was well and truly fucked.

He dropped his hands from her face and pressed his fingers to her pulse point at her wrist.

Steady.

So she’d wake up. Right?

But now it had been longer than he was comfortable with. Her hands were like ice, and she was so, so pale.

Damn. He had to do something.

When it occurred to him, he realized he was an idiot.

Jordan picked up her hand, pressed her right thumb to the home button.

It worked. The screen unlocked and he hurriedly keyed in 9-1-1.

“I need an ambulance.”