These past few days with Harlow have been full of agony as well as ecstasy.

There’s ecstasy whenever I’m near her, but the agony is so entwined with it that sometimes I cannot tell one from the other. I took a dumbass chance on that beach yesterday, bringing her to orgasm under a blanket, because I just couldn’t keep my hands off her, and ever since then, there’s been a raging tug of war within me. I can look and touch her, but I can’t fuck her. I can have her in my bed, but I can’t bed her.

I don’t want to feel anything for her. I don’t want this fake relationship to matter.

But I also don’t want to see the hurt in Harlow’s eyes whenever I draw away from her, so when I return home that night from my planning meeting with Rick, I quietly slip into my bed. She’s asleep in it with her golden curls splayed over the pillow, and just that tiny detail is enough to get me hard. I awaken her with lazy, passionate kisses and sensual strokes, and after she cries out for me once again, she gives me my own release. Then I hold onto her, knowing that I will have to let go at some point anyway. I cannot ever let anyone get a peek over my walls. Ever.

Even so, I sweep Harlow off to another “date,” squiring my “girlfriend” around Cambridge for a tour of Harvard and its surroundings. But even that presents some agony because I can see the dreams in Harlow’s eyes as she looks at all the Ivy League buildings. I know she is aching for a better life. She said something about how she was going to school for her family’s sake, and even though I will never read her dossier to discover everything about her, I want to make her feel good. For the first time in my life, I want to work to make someone besides my family and myself happy.

So I treat Harlow like a queen as we wrap up our tour and then go to another one of the finest restaurants in Boston, where there will be more photo ops and tabloid stories that ask who this mystery woman is. This morning’s paper called Harlow and me “A Royal Romance,” and I know Rick and our PR team are doing their best to manage whatever is in Harlow’s past so it seems that she’s a good influence on me.

That night, we get our fill of each other again, but I still don’t fuck her, even though all I want to is to feel my cock inside of her gorgeous pussy, which is constantly wet for me. But why ruin things between us before the big dinner tomorrow night?

I leave her to sleep in the next morning and go into the office, even though it’s closed for the weekend. Harlow spends the day with Jayne, although I am fairly certain there is nothing more Jayne nor I can do to prepare Harlow for the dinner. My nerves are bunched up inside my body like frayed wires that are spitting electricity. But I’ll be damned if I let anyone know it.

However, goddammit, Harlow seems to see right through me.

We have only just sat down for dinner right across from each other as if the rest of the long dining table doesn’t exist. This will be our own private dress rehearsal, and I intend to strenuously quiz Harlow about anything Jake Foreman might bring up in conversation. I merely hope I won’t get distracted, because she looks so beautiful with her hair up and a ruby necklace draped around her gorgeous neck. Her gauzy Vera Wang gown matches the red gleam of the jewels, and she looks as classy and poised as the movie star for whom she was named.

Harlow smiles at me from across the table. “I’m ready to pass the Jake Foreman test, so have at it.”

“Are you ready?” I carefully unfold my linen napkin and lay it on my lap. “Because there are some final details you should know before tomorrow arrives.”

“Bring them on.”

I battle a smile and vanquish it. “This big meeting between Avilus, Inc. and Colossus Pharma will be held at the Swann Room in the North End. It’s the most elite restaurant in Boston.”

She arches her eyebrows. “Fancy-schmancy. But I can handle that. Since you’ve been taking me to high-end restaurants, I’m used them.”

“On your first day here, you said you were a quick study, and you weren’t kidding.”

“Told you.” She grins. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Yes. All the top people from Avilus, Inc. and Colossus Pharma have RSVP’d and will be present.”

“All of them?” She sets her own napkin on her lap. “Okay then. I can’t wait to meet them.”

“Then how do you feel about the esteemed CEO of Avilus requesting that we dine right next to him so he can meet and speak to both of us during the evening?”

“Not a surprise. I expected to get up close and personal with Jake Foreman. He won’t throw me off.”

I don’t know where this confident woman came from, but she is not the same one who walked through my door on that first day. I’m so damned proud of her, even though I don’t quite know how to say it without seeming sappy.

As I give her a long, appreciative look, she returns my burning-hot attention. There is nothing sappy about what happens between us whenever we’re alone. And, once again, I am dying to be alone with her.

I clench my jaw and my fists. Thank God for Chef Lefevre, who chooses this very moment to stroll in to the room with our Lobster Ravioli amuse bouche. After he wishes us bon appétit, it’s dry-run time for the dinner with Jake Foreman, and I put Harlow through the paces.

She shines.

And she twists me up, just by being so near.

By the end of dinner, I am knotted up so tightly with heat that I can barely move, but I manage to stand from the table and go around to her side. “You have done exceptionally well. For the rest of the night, you will relax.”

“You’re ordering me to relax? How effective will that be?”

She’s joking around, and when she draws out a smile from me, she beams. In response, something inside me shines like a beacon that has not been activated since it was installed. It’s a good thing she won’t be around for long, because this woman could be the end of me.

If I let her be.

I extend my hand to help her out of her chair. She slides her hand into mine, and I’m overtaken by desire as she stands.

I tighten my grip on her. “I’ve arranged to have a movie shown in the home theater in the east wing.”

“Which movie?”

“Hell’s Angels.”

Her smile only grows, and so does the uncontrollable glow that’s slowly spreading through me.

“Hell’s Angels is one of Jean Harlow’s most famous movies,” she says. “Wow. Jayne must’ve been working overtime when she arranged this.”

I begin to walk her out of the room, still holding her hand. It feels too good to let go of.

She laughs a little. “Was Jayne the one who arranged this?”

When I refuse to say anything, she squeezes my hand. “It was you!”

I fight another damned smile, and this time I lose.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” she gushes.

As I glance down at her, there’s a soft look in her eyes.

Shit. A line has been crossed. In the beginning my sexual appetite for her was on one side and trouble was on the other, but during these past few days, the line has become blurrier and blurrier. Now I’m not even sure where it is anymore.

“Grayson?”

Harlow pulls me to a stop when we reach the foyer. We’re all alone, her voice echoing in the expansive space, surrounding me with its sweet tones.

“What is it, Harlow?”

“You’re so tense. Why?”

Does she think I’m this way because of the dinner tomorrow? Or does she know that, somehow, some way, she’s started to inch into the very center of me?

She grabs my other hand until we’re facing each other, and when she looks up into my eyes with those big blues, I am slain. I hope to God she can’t see that I would do anything for her right now. Certainly I’ll get over it soon, but...

Goddammit, right now nothing else but her exists.

Her gaze reflects what must be in mine, and it almost takes me out at the knees.

“You know what you need?” she asks softly.

To fuck her. But I’ve spent these past few days on a leash, cockblocking myself with my determination to keep her a virgin, because that would be going much too far. Let someone else take that responsibility.

But now that leash is coming apart because I’ve been pulling at it so viciously. “What do I need, Harlow?”

She swallows heavily, as if she’s gathering up all her courage. Then she says, “A nice, relaxing bath.” She adjusts her grip on my hands. “We need a nice, relaxing bath.”

I clench my jaw so hard that I feel as if I’m turning to stone. I fucking wish I were stone, because I would be stronger right now. I wouldn’t be dying to give in to her.

She swallows again. “It’s...more than past time.”

I barely get the words out. “What are you saying?”

She looks toward the staircase. Toward the east wing. Toward my suite.

She starts to pull me toward the staircase.

“Harlow.” My tone comes out as a command, a desperate directive for her to stop what she’s doing, because I fear that the next time I’m alone with her, I’ll go over the edge.

But how can I resist when she looks up at me with all the desire in the world in her gaze?

“I’m ready for you, Grayson.” She bites her lip and then comes out with the rest of it. “I’ve been ready for all of you, and I’ve just been hoping you would...”

Take her?

In a burst of lust, like a flash bomb exploding and blinding me, everything inside me is unleashed — the heat, the restraint, the need for Harlow that I’ve been warring against. Utterly undone, I scoop her into my arms like she’s a true bride, her lips inches from mine. Then I kiss her until I can’t breathe.

I carry her up the stairs, absolutely at her mercy.