There are a lot of firsts for tonight.

First time in designer clothing.

First time getting my hair and makeup professionally done.

First time in the Hotel Vancouver.

First time at a gala.

First time I’ve truly felt like a princess.

Because how can you feel anything but magical when you’re dressed to the nines and your hand is grasping Will McAlister’s strong bicep as you climb up the marble staircase of the hotel toward the ballroom. I think it would be impossible.

The ballroom is already packed, even though Will had insisted we were early. Waiters in fancy suits prowl the venue, armed with drinks and appies. Even though I’m still full from our sushi earlier, my eyes are bigger than my stomach and I can’t help but try every single item that comes by our way.

“I like this,” Will says, eyeing me and the fact that I have a glass of champagne in one hand and a small paper plate piled high with finger food in the other.

“What?” I ask through a mouthful of sweet potato tartlet.

“You shoving food in your face,” he says. “It’s very becoming.”

“Shut up,” I tell him, trying not to spit out food as I’m talking.

“I’m serious,” he says. “Sasha never ate. Says it kept her thin, but I think it just kept her mean. You can’t be happy if you’re hangry all the time.” I nod, trying to swallow. “It’s nice to be with a woman who knows what she wants and goes for it.”

His words sink like stones.

Nice to be with a woman?

I’m the woman?

“What?” he asks. He’s peering at me inquisitively.

I shake my head. “Just trying to figure out what spices they used in this.”

Smooth, Jackie.

“I guess you’re a pretty good cook,” he says, taking a glass of champagne for himself off a passing tray.

“What makes you say that?”

He cocks his head. “You care too much about your son to have ordered him in takeout every day when you were up north. I bet you cooked for him as much as you could.”

He’s actually right. Sometimes the budget and my schedule didn’t allow it and I had to do the Kraft Dinners and Hamburger Helpers. It comes with the territory of being a single mom trying to make ends meet. You have to put something on the table. But when I had the extra money and time, I always tried to make sure Ty had a healthy meal.

“I did,” I tell him. “Can’t say I’m any good at it though. He barely ate it half the time. But mention the word McDonalds and his face lights up like Christmas.”

“I can be like that if I’m hungover,” he says. “Nothing sets me right like a Sausage and Egg McMuffin, extra hash browns, a big thing of Diet Coke.”

I laugh. “I’m sure the Diet Coke makes a big difference. Funny, I can’t imagine you being hungover.”

“Ask me about that tomorrow,” he says, downing the rest of his champagne. “I can do a good breakfast though.”

“That’s not all that hard,” I tell him. “Crack some eggs, fry up some bacon. Boom. Everyone’s fucking Jamie Oliver.”

“Well, maybe you can make me dinner sometime,” he says to me, his voice taking on this silken quality that feels like stepping into a warm bath.

“Oh yeah?” I ask him, hoping my voice isn’t as shaky as I feel. “And what do I get in return?”

“A good breakfast.” And for a moment I don’t think he’s joking. His expression is asking something of me, something I might be too blind, too scared to give.

“You’re starting to sound like you’re flirting with me,” I tell him, my tone slightly warning, though I don’t mean it to be.

He keeps staring at me and he doesn’t even flinch at what I just said. I think that scares me most of all. That maybe this isn’t in my head. That I’m someone that he really wants.

I remember what Alyssa said. It’s all in my hands. He’s not going to do anything, not going to try anything, until he knows for sure it’s something I want. There’s too much for him to lose, there’s too much at stake. An employee can get reprimanded for hitting on her boss, but if it’s the other way around the boss could get slapped with a sexual harassment suit, or worse.

These looks, these words, this is the most I’m going to get out of him.

Unless I tell him otherwise.

Suddenly my bravery slinks away. I need liquid courage. Or more food. Stat.

I focus my attention on my plate and tentatively bite into a goat cheese and almond stuffed date. My eyes close at the taste. It’s delicious.

When I open my eyes, Will is staring at me with wild wonder. “What?” I ask, thinking I might have goat cheese on my face.

His head shakes slightly though his eyes are still trained on me. “Nothing,” he says softly. He swallows, his nostrils flaring slightly.

Then his attention is elsewhere, searching the room. “I think I need another glass of something,” he says, his voice low.

He grabs my hand, holding tight, and pulls me along through the crowd.

As we go, people seem to part for him. Men and women glance at him appreciatively as we pass. I know Will isn’t all that well-known in the city, though perhaps he is when it comes to his own industry, but I don’t know how you can’t stare at this man, especially in a tux. He has a way of turning heads, whether he wants to or not.

How could Sasha even cheat on him? I mean, I’m not a fool to think that good looks equal a happy marriage or even a nice personality, but Will is the total package. His looks, his body, his dick, plus the fact that he’s funny, sweet, kind, generous. He’s everything any woman could ever want.

And fuck, do I ever want him.

Want, need, desire, lust after.

I’m not sure how much more I can take.

But then the evening goes on and more drinks are had, as well as more delightful canapes, and then the slow dancing starts.

We’re standing in the corner of the room after we were just in a long conversation with some film executives and we’re both a little tipsy.

“Maybe I’m Amazed” by Paul McCartney starts to play, one of my favorite songs ever.

Will offers his hand to me. “You owe me a dance,” he says, his voice strangely quiet.

I nod, putting my hand in his as he leads me to the dancefloor.

He takes complete control. One hand firm at the small of my back, another hand gripping mine. I’m pressed up against him, tight. His eyes are locked on mine, their grip just as strong as his hands around me.

It’s hard to breathe. Not because my boobs are squished up against his hard abs and chest. Because the warmth of him wraps around me, lowering my inhibitions. The champagne swirls inside my head and everything else heats up my heart. His smell, sweet and spicy and woodsy, like walking through a mossy forest under a full moon, fills me from head to toe.

I close my eyes, sinking into him. This feels right. So incredibly right. To sway back and forth in his arms. To do anything in his arms. I want his arms to become my home, the place I go to when I need everything I never knew I could have.

Then he seems to stiffen against me, his posture growing rigid, with space growing between us. I look up at him and see his attention is elsewhere, something going on behind his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask him.

A few beats pass while Paul McCartney sings on.

“Baseball,” Will says hoarsely, not looking down at me.

Baseball?

“Why are you thinking about baseball?”

Hockey would make more sense.

He clears his throat. “Because I don’t dare think about you.”

His glances down at me, his eyes holding mine and it takes me a long moment to realize what exactly he’s saying.

Oh god.

Oh my god.

Every single instinct inside wants me to push myself further into his hips, because fuck if I don’t want to feel what thinking about me does to him.

I manage to restrain myself, though I’m still staring up at him with wide eyes, my mouth gaping slightly, while his own gaze burns into mine.

His breathing becomes labored, his chest rising against me, his nose flaring, his mouth set in a hard line. He’s having a hard time controlling himself.

I want nothing more than to push him over the edge.

Here I go.

I swallow. “What if I want you to think about me?” I whisper. “What if it’s all I’ve ever wanted?”

He blinks at me. Stops dancing. He can’t believe what I’ve said.

And neither can I.

I try and think of the words to double back. I try and think of something to say that will shove all of that under the rug.

But there’s nothing.

Those words still hang in the air.

What was I even thinking?

I wasn’t.

I’m drunk and I’m horny and I think I’m falling for my boss.

My gorgeous, beautiful boss who is still staring at me like I’ve gone way too fucking far.

Not saying a word.

Oh god.

I have royally fucked everything up.

I read every signal wrong.

And that’s all I had to go on.

Signals that probably only existed in my head.

“Jackie . . .” he finally says, his voice thick.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say quickly, stepping away from him and hurrying off toward the bathrooms, dodging the couples who have started dancing to the next song.

I’m near tears. I don’t want to cry. I don’t like to cry. And I don’t think my makeup artist used waterproof makeup. But damn if everything isn’t rushing to surface.

I run down the dark corridor past the coat check room and a small room with a telephone, until I’m in the woman’s washroom and finding an empty stall.

I close the lid and then sit down, my face in my hands, trying to breathe.

Holy fuck. That was so damn humiliating, I can’t believe I said that.

He said he was thinking about baseball.

I assumed he meant he was trying not to get turned on as he danced with me.

Isn’t that what that means when you’re thinking about baseball?

It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. Whether he meant baseball or the fact that he was trying not to get an erection, the fact is I said what I said and he said nothing in return.

Alyssa was wrong. It may have been in my hands but it doesn’t mean that Will would go along with it. It doesn’t mean for all his feelings and wants and needs and flirting and innuendos and jokes, it doesn’t mean that this, us, would ever be more than boss and employee. It never did.

Oh fuck. I’ve screwed up so big.

What am I going to do now?

Go back out there and pretend that it never happened?

Knowing Will, he’d probably let that slide. He would do what’s best for the both of us, for the company.

But fuck if that’s not so humiliating.

I just told my boss that I all I ever wanted was for him to think about me.

I knead my forehead with my hands, wishing I could turn back time and erase that blunder. Just go back to the bedroom eyes and loaded looks and keep it all there, where it’s safer for both of us.

I’ve been in the bathroom for at least five minutes, but I still don’t feel ready to face him. I’ll just have to tell him I’m drunk and I’m sorry. I don’t have to bring it up, don’t have to explain what I meant. Just tell him I had too much champagne and try and laugh it off. It’s the best that I can do. It’s all I can do.

I step out of the stall, relieved to see the bathroom still empty. I try and splash cold water on my face without ruining my makeup and take a good look at myself in the mirror.

My cheeks are pink, even more so than the coral blush Theresa used, and there’s the distinct look of fear in my eyes. But other than that, I still look pretty good. Put together. Maybe there’s a way to get out of this alive.

I straighten my shoulders, raise my chin, adjust my breasts in my dress.

Professional, professional, professional, I tell myself. Go back out there and put things back to normal, back in their natural place.

I take in a deep breath, steadying my nerves, then I turn on my Louboutins and head out the door.

I start walking down the dim hallway.

I see Will at the end of it.

He’s walking toward me, his frame seeming to take up so much space, his stride commanding, the look in his eyes unlike anything I’ve seen yet.

“Will,” I start to say, hoping the words come out right.

But he’s not slowing down.

He’s coming right for me.

And I’m stopped, frozen, while he strides toward me, his gaze burning into me, igniting a bonfire in my chest.

He’s going to kiss me, the thought absently snakes through my head, my eyes locked to his.

And then he’s leaning over slightly, both hands, large hands, warm hands, cupping my face. And I’m moving backward from his momentum until I’m pressed against the wall and his mouth is pressed against mine.

I whimper against his lips as he takes me, his mouth wet and hot, his tongue soft as it strokes against mine, building up with each movement. Will is kissing me. He’s kissing me here, in this dark hallway, pressing me up against the wall. He’s kissing me in such a way that he steals the air from my lungs, stokes the fire inside me, makes my heart pound rapidly in my head.

Oh fuck. Fuck.

I didn’t think it could feel this good, this easy.

So easy.

His hands hold my face steady as he kisses me, and all I can do is kiss him back because it’s now second nature, our mouths and lips and tongues moving against each other in this beautiful rhythm. I’m being devoured like fruit until everything inside me is bare, just seeds.

“Jackie,” he says, breaking away for long enough to stare at me with heavy-lidded amazement, like he can’t believe he’s doing this, and I can’t believe it either. He rests his forehead against mine and I feel his heat, the dampness of his skin, his nose as it brushes gently against mine, like a separate kiss, so terribly intimate.

I don’t want him to stop.

Ever.

I find my breath for a moment as he finds his.

Then the hunger hits me, harder this time. I grab him by back of his neck and pull his mouth back to mine, a groan escaping from his lips and sending shockwaves through me.

Oh my god.

He makes the most beautiful sounds.

This is all I want to hear.

One of his hands drops to my waist, coasting over my hips, his fingers curling into the fabric of my dress.

This is all I want to feel.

I could kiss Will forever.

God, would that be too much to ask?

“Excuse me,” someone says. It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere in the distance, in some other world that doesn’t apply to this one.

Then I feel the presence of someone else and Will is pulling away from me and my lips are throbbing at the absence of his.

I blink and see a man walking past us to the bathrooms, giving us a look like we need to get a room.

We do need to get a room.

Will agrees. He grabs my hand and pulls me around the corner into the tiny alcove with the telephone. For a silly moment I think maybe he’s going to make a call but then he’s pressing me back against the wall again, his mouth at my neck, his hands working down my back to my ass.

My eyes flutter closed as his lips suck at my skin. This is my kryptonite; doesn’t he know that if he kisses along my neck I’m absolute putty in his hands?

But who am I kidding, I’m completely his. He can do whatever he wants to me, here, there, anywhere.

I can’t believe this is happening.

“Neither can I,” he groans against me.

Shit. Did I just say that out loud?

“You don’t know how fucking badly I’ve wanted to do this,” he says, his voice is so low, so hoarse, it’s lust personified. He drags his lips down to my shoulder and back up to just beneath my ear. “I’ve dreamed of this. All this time. My fucking dream girl.”

My mouth opens, wanting to tell him I’ve dreamed the same but only a moan comes out, breathless and throaty and nearly breaking with disbelief.

This is happening.

This is Will’s mouth on my skin, sending shivers down my limbs, to my toes where they are curling in my shoes. A tight noise of want drives him harder against me, and now I feel him, all of him.

He’s not thinking about baseball anymore.

Boldly I reach down and run my hand along his length where it’s straining against his pants. I can feel the heat of him through the fabric, feel how long, thick, and hard he is. He seems unbreakable.

He could fucking break me. The thought scares me for a moment until I realize how badly I want him to try.

“Oh,” he groans, biting my earlobe between his teeth, his words and hot breath in my ear. “You keep doing that and you’re asking for trouble, Dream Girl.”

“I wouldn’t be your dream girl if I didn’t,” I manage to say.

“Fuck,” he swears as I try and cup his length, his size already leaving me breathless. He brings his mouth back to mine and pulls me into a long, wet kiss, a kiss that rushes through me like waves, knocking me down again and again.

He’s the best kiss I’ve ever had. I’ll be ruined for anyone else after this.

That thought shouldn’t stick around in my head but it does. Because it makes me think, of course there will be others after this.

This is Will. And despite how real this feels, how good and easy, he’s still the man I can’t really have. My boss. My father’s friend. The same damn reasons I’ve repeated to myself over and over these last two months. Those reasons haven’t gone away.

And so, then what?

What’s going to happen?

We kiss? We fuck?

And things go back to normal.

Will slowly pulls back, as if sensing my thoughts. His breath is ragged, his gaze is lazy, focused on my lips. “I shouldn’t be kissing you,” he says roughly.

I can’t say those words don’t bite with disappointment. I stare at him for a moment. “Do you mean that?”

“Not a bit,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again, sucking my lower lip into his mouth. “Jackie, Jackie, Jackie. What are you doing to me?”

“I’m not doing anything,” I say against his mouth.

“You are, you are,” he whispers. “You’re being you. This impossibly beautiful wonderful you.” He closes his eyes briefly, kissing at the corner of my mouth. “I want to take you back home. Let me take you home.”

Oh god I want to go home with him. I really fucking do.

But I should say no. I don’t want to say no, but I should say no.

It’s getting late.

I should check on Ty.

I should not sleep with my boss.

“Come home with me,” he says again, his hand running down to my hem, trying to bring it up but the dress is too tight. “There are things I want, I need, to do to you.”

“What things?” I ask, unable to ignore it.

He brings his head back enough for me to catch his wicked smile. “You have no idea.”

But from the raw, desperate look in his eyes, I have some idea.

Do it, I tell myself. Fuck it all. And fuck him.

“I should go home,” I tell him.

I feel as disappointed that I said that as he looks.

But he doesn’t protest. He just straightens up, putting some distance between us, his hand resting at my side. The distance is already fucking painful. It’s wrong.

“I’ll drive you home,” he says, clearing his throat, trying to blink the desire away from his eyes, come back to this reality I just put us in.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” I remind him. “I’ll just get a cab.”

He swallows uneasily, steps back even more. “Are you sure?”

I nod. I’m not sure. I’m not sure at all.

I just know the responsible thing to do is to get in the cab and go home and be a mother and his employee and forget this happened.

But that will never happen.

I’ll never be able to pretend I don’t know what Will McAlister tastes like—bourbon and cherries—or feels like—the hardest fucking cement—or looks like when he’s deep in lust—like he’s drowning in me.

I’ll never be able to forget any of that, ever.

Change your mind. Go home with him. Let him fuck you senseless, you know that’s what he wants, you know that’s what you want. You want him.

Tell him!

But I’m not going to. My mouth is clamping shut and I’m stubbornly glued to my decision.

And Will looks fearful. Respectful, of course, because it’s Will, but fearful nonetheless.

I grab his hand and squeeze it. “I just need to go home. It’s nothing to do with you, with this.”

He rubs at his jaw with his other hand and I can already see the walls going up around him, the detached look in his eyes. “I think it has to do a little with this,” he says softly. “Hey, I get it. I’ll walk you out.”

And then he leads me out of the alcove, back into the hall, back into the ballroom and I’m regretting ever opening my mouth. He’s not even back to being my boss, he’s gone way back, to a man I don’t know, a man I just rejected because I’m a stupid moron.

Before I even know it, I’m outside at the curb and a cab is pulling up and this is all happening so fast and I can’t leave it like this.

But I am.

“Thanks for coming with me, Just Jackie,” Will says as he opens the cab door for me. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us.”

Oh god, but it already has. And it’s my fault.

“Nothing has changed,” I tell him. “And thank you for this. For all of this. I’ve never felt more like a princess in my entire life.”

“I guess I don’t make much of a Prince Charming, do I?” he says to me. “I’ll see you Monday, kid. Have a good weekend.” Then he shuts the door.

One minute he we’re kissing, lost to each other, the next I’m practically being pushed away.

I watch, shocked and saddened, as he turns and walks back up the stairs into the hotel.

The sound of him closing the door was like being shut into a tomb.

A tomb that takes me on a long journey back to my parent’s house and the whole time I’m replaying what happened in my head. The whole time I am regretting my decision.

This wasn’t the right choice at all.

And I’m not sure I’ll have another chance to get it right.