Almost a month later, Jake was forced to admit his plan was a total bust.

He’d followed Stacia and Charlie to every gallery booking they’d done in the Northeast these last few weeks, but Charlie was even more devious than he was. He was beginning to realize just how much she’d perfected the art of dodging unwanted human contact over the years. She was a master of avoidance, and when she was forced to do the interaction thing and couldn’t hide from him, she made sure she was surrounded whenever he was in the room.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find she’d pulled another fast one.

But he was.

“She left?” He gaped at Stacia, unable to grasp the simple words. “You let her leave, alone?”

Stacia raised an eyebrow. “Despite how you like to perpetuate the dungeon-master image when it comes to me, I don’t break out the thumb screws when a grown woman tells me she needs a break. Honestly, she deserved it. And we’ve got nothing booked now until that LA gig the week of July Fourth anyway. She’ll fly in for that. She promised.”

“But I . . .”

Stacia put a hand on his shoulder, her gaze surprisingly sympathetic. Somewhere between New York and Dayton, Stacia had changed her mind about him and Charlie. He’d actually caught her smiling more than once when she watched them together. But he hadn’t missed the sadness that would flicker through her eyes, or the way her right hand would reach over to touch the empty space on her left. Or the way her lips would thin when she caught herself. “You know he’s got eyes on her. It’s not like she’ll be without protection.”

Stacia hadn’t spoken Lucjan’s name since Jake had told her about the Bratva brand her husband and Timor shared. She knew of Lucjan’s mark, of course, and had known the symbolism behind it, but since she’d never seen Timor’s, the connection was one his sister had never had the chance to make.

He’d expected an outburst when he’d told her, something along the lines of Lucjan’s explosion when he’d heard about Stacia’s memories. Instead, his sister had gone quiet. Knowing her, this was likely the calm before the storm. He still hadn’t gotten the nerve to tell her he was ready to give up pursuing Darnell, but somehow, Jake thought she knew.

She looked at him now with just a flicker of humor.

“It wouldn’t hurt your case to give her some breathing room, baby brother,” she said. “You’d drive a saint batty the way you’ve been pursuing her. And if you hadn’t noticed by now, our Charlie is no saint.”

---

He was driving her mad.

As she crossed the Illinois-Iowa state line, Charlie pounded the steering wheel of her car as a dark blue Charger pulled closer in her mirror. Even from—she glanced at the GPS—four-hundred and twenty some miles away, Jake Harris was invading her space.

Just like he had last night, at yet another hotel bar.

She could still hear his fucking voice.

“You have no idea how good I can make you feel if you let me.” Jake’s voice was low, like a big cat purring in her ear as his hands roamed, warm and strong, sliding under the hem of her T-shirt, over her bare skin. The tip of his tongue trailed just below her ear. “I dream of you every night, spread out under me. I want to taste you again, Charlie, to make you wet and hot and then slide inside you.” Jake’s teeth caught her earlobe and nipped. “You want that, too, Charlie. I know you do. You want me.” She couldn’t think through the haze in her head, the need pulsing through every nerve in her traitorous body.

Want him? Dear god, she had never wanted anything the way she wanted this man.

But if she got him, what would she do then? Having Jake would be good. Very, very good. She already knew that. If it was just a matter of casual sex, she could maybe handle that. But with Jake . . .

It wouldn’t be casual. It couldn’t be. As much as he drove her crazy, she liked him way too much for casual anything.

Jake was warm and funny and sweet. It was impossible not to like the son of a bitch. He was the first person who’d found a chink in her armor in years. This wasn’t a man she could fuck and walk away from. She knew that down to her very soul. She had a feeling he knew it as well, hence Jake’s single-minded determination to get her into bed.

But knowing what he was up wasn’t much help when his hands were on her, warm and rough and strong, the feel of that hard body pressed into hers, his breath hot against her throat . . .

She’d almost given in last night.

Almost.

She’d even admitted how tempted she was. “I do. I want you, Jake.”

He’d gone stock still at those words. Held his breath. She’d reeled a little at the expression on his face. There was no mistaking how badly Jake wanted her, and the wonder of that was a heady thing. In the end, though, sanity had prevailed.

“But this is never going to happen.” Somehow she’d put a firm hand on that hard chest and pushed him away.

Sanity, she repeated to herself as she headed north to Minnesota and home. Sanity was keeping Jake at arm’s length. Or halfway across the country. Better safe than sorry, after all.

The Charger passed her, its tinted windows a dark streak in the June-bright sunshine.

---

“We should run her off the road,” Timor growled as Archie gunned the Dodge. The man’s thin face was sour. Archie resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Timor had never been the easiest person to get along with, but since the snafu in New Orleans, he’d become insufferable. To hear him talk, Jake Harris had superpowers, leaping from balconies and shit. They had been incredibly lucky it all hadn’t gone much, much worse. Not only had Harris been in the artist’s room, but the damn sister had still been next door with that psycho Polack’s men hanging around. Archie had practically walked right into them, running point for Timor. But Timor had refused to heed Archie’s signal to abort and almost gotten them both killed, or worse, arrested. No fucking way he was ever doing time again. Not for anyone.

Darnell had been pissed, until Timor had told him about Harris being in the Gracen chick’s bed. Then all his anger had vanished as if it had never been. Suddenly, Timor was the man of the hour. The boss had been interested in every detail of their encounter.

Very interested, indeed.

Archie’s fingers twitched for his gun, wondering how upset Darnell would be if Timor had an accident that involved a bullet between the eyes and the Mississippi River currently rolling below their tires. Finally, he forced his fingers to relax on his thigh and his voice into an even and calm tone.

“You know what the boss man said.”

“Yeah, yeah. We watch and make sure the damn Polack sees us watching. And we wait,” he added with a petulant scowl.

Archie glanced in the rearview, catching a glimpse of the white SUV that had paced them since Chicago. His jaw tightened. Kowalewski’s men. Riding their ass. They knew Archie and Timor were watching the painter and that Archie and Timor knew they knew. It was all a very elaborate and deadly game being played by men with far more power than them. A pawn. He was a fucking pawn, when at one point he’d been a knight.

His eyes flicked right, to the dark red hair blowing in the wind and the profile of the woman he was beginning to hate with an uncharacteristic passion. Archie’s itchy fingers tightened into a fist as he passed her car.

“Yeah, we wait. For now.” Archie tore his eyes from the rearview with an effort. But a second later, a smile twisted his ruddy face as he imagined putting a bullet between those eyes. Big, placid blue ones.

Man, he hoped Darnell let him kill the bitch. Because the plan had changed. Charlotte Gracen wasn’t just slated to be Timor’s next play toy now.

The bitch was going to die.

And Jack Harris was going to watch.

---

Lucjan swiped his thumb over his cell and sat back in his chair. Then he opened one of his desk drawers and stared down into it, thinking.

After the shit storm in New Orleans that had led his brother-in-law to travel five thousand miles to stick a gun in his ribs, he’d beefed up the team watching his wife. Nine operatives, working in trios, round the clock, eight-hour shifts. His lips pressed together briefly. Two men had lost their jobs that night and no doubt counted themselves lucky not to be sitting on the bottom of a cold Russian river. The only reason they were alive was because Stacia was.

And Jake’s Charlie. Lucjan blinked, considering. This women he’d met once was rapidly becoming a touchstone for the Harris twins. One more complication he did not need. Especially now. The night Jake went down in Minneapolis, Lucjan had ordered Stacia’s detail to temporarily keep an eye on Charlie, but he hadn’t really considered the artist important enough to be a real target. Obviously, he’d reconsidered that position. Charlie had her own team now, also round the clock. And apparently she needed them.

He’d just been informed her shadows were still in place and had trailed her back to the apartment in Minneapolis. The apartment Matthias had wired every inch of the day after the attack in NOLA. Lucjan couldn’t afford another incident like that one.

His men’s negligence had revealed his connection to Timor, however tenuous. Jake would be on guard now, watching him. Of course, Lucjan had a plan for that. He had a plan for everything.

With a sigh, he got to his feet, shutting the open desk drawer after one last look at the egg sitting there.

The pretty, bejeweled one that still carried his brother-in-law’s fingerprints.

---

Charlie didn’t end up joining Stacia in LA.

Because Stacia wasn’t there.

It wasn’t on purpose, Charlie knew better than that. Stacia had gotten the flu, some full-on plague that was taking over the Eastern Seaboard courtesy of some animal or another. And Charlie was worried about her. She really was. It was just . . .

Jake was Stacia’s chosen replacement.

“Come on, Charlie,” Stacia had pleaded on the phone, sounding somewhere between a foghorn and Elmer Fudd. “He knows the drill, he’s excellent at schmoozing the suits, and he gets on well with everyone.”

“Except me.”

She almost heard Stacia’s eyes rolling, but all the woman said out loud after a particularly loud sneeze, was “He’ll behave himself, he’s promised.”

Charlie snorted.

“I don’t have anyone else,” Stacia snapped, now an angry foghorn. “You don’t want to do this alone, do you?”

No. Charlie didn’t want to do this alone. She’d come a long way, but not that far. Not yet. And she couldn’t let Stacia down. The woman had gone to the mat for her time and time again. Charlie knew this kind of exposure wasn’t normal for a new artist. Stacia was busting her ass to get Charlie’s work in front of as many people as possible.

So here she was.

Jake had texted her as soon as her plane landed. Meet me in the hotel bar for a drink and we’ll talk schedules.

And there he was. A familiar silhouette leaning against the wall opposite, waiting for her. Instead of irritating her, the sight sent a thrill straight into her gut, a happy, effervescent little Jake-thrill.

Goddammit.

Some blond waved as he crossed the bar. Jake gave the woman an absent smile on his way to Charlie. She frowned. The blond looked familiar, but Charlie couldn’t place her. Honestly, she had met so many people in the last few months—gallery owners, museum curators, art appraisers, collectors, connoisseurs. Critics and promoters like Stacia. It was hard to keep all of them straight. She’d never been great at faces.

“Who is that?” she asked when he stopped in front of her, feeling annoyed and annoyed at being annoyed.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “That’s Bri. Sabrina Devereaux. She works for Maxwell’s, one of the biggest insurers of museums and galleries around the world.”

“Oh, her,” she muttered. Bri. This was the woman who had interrupted them in the pool in New York City.

Jake grinned down at her, no doubt remembering the scene just as well as she did.

She didn’t return the look, too busy staring at the other woman. She was easily as glamorous as Stacia, though not as tall or exotic looking, with her blond hair and big dark eyes. But she still managed to look like a runway model in a fitted black waterfall of a gown.

Charlie refused to look down at her own simple white silk. Stacia liked her in white, said it set off her curves and her hair. Charlie always deferred to Stacia’s fashion sense, but right now it just made her feel impossibly vanilla. “Well, she sure looks competent.”

Jake smiled. “Good thing I’m not planning any heists in the near future then, isn’t it?”

“Have you slept with her, too?” Oh god. She’d only meant to ask how long Jake had known the woman, but instead the snipping question had burst out, in a rush of nerves, annoyance and fear.

Jake blinked, considering her.

She lifted a hand. “Actually, I don’t want—”

It was too late. His tone turned uncharacteristically stern, his eyes hardening. “I’ve never touched Bri. But please, carry on searching for any excuse to keep me at a distance.” He stepped past her, back toward the entrance. “We need to discuss your schedule for the night.”

Charlie closed her eyes, sighing once, before opening them again. “Jake, wait.”

He stopped, but didn’t turn. The tension he carried in those broad shoulders was palpable.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized weakly. “I know I’m being a bitch. It’s just this party tonight and Stacia being gone and you being . . . you. And . . .” Dear god, she was babbling. She didn’t babble.

He turned, cocking his head as he looked her up and down. Those blue-gray eyes softened. “You need alcohol, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whined.

Shaking his head, he held out an arm. After only the slightest hesitation she took it.

For a brief time, it felt like things were back to normal. Like they had been in her apartment. He asked how her “break” had gone and if she’d finished any new paintings. She asked him if he’d stolen any. She started to relax.

Then their drinks came. In the ensuing silence after the bartender left, Jake looked at her, one long level look that instantly heated her cheeks. She dropped her gaze, toyed with her drink. Cleared her throat, but said nothing.

Finally Jake did.

“I could promise to stop trying to get you into bed,” he said slowly.

“You could,” she agreed, but even she could hear the disappointment in her own words.

She glanced up in time to see Jake’s lips twitch. “But I don’t think either of us wants that.”

Charlie sighed, wishing she could disagree, but unable to work up the irritation that had come so easily just a short while ago. She was discombobulated, out of sorts. Her skin hot and tight despite the chill of the ever-present Los Angeles air-conditioning.

He set down his glass. “This is bullshit, Charlie. Why can’t you just accept it?”

“Because I can’t.” She’d picked her napkin to shreds. “I don’t like this”—she waved a hand, scattering bits of paper everywhere—“between us. Can’t we just go back to being friends?”

He hesitated, but only for a second. “No. Because we were never friends, not the way you think.”

She flinched, stung. Blinking very fast, she tried to hide it, to slip into her defense mode, but it was too late. He’d seen her reaction.

With a sigh, Jake reached out and cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “That doesn’t mean what you think it does, Charlie. I care about you. A lot. More than . . .” His gaze flicked away from hers. Charlie frowned at the sudden flurry of emotions that passed over his face. Panic, frustration and something so heartbreakingly sweet, her breath caught in her throat. But then he was back again. That look she knew all too well. Focused. Intent. “More than I should, maybe.” Before she could finish processing that, he continued, “But you can’t be ‘friends’ with someone you want to fuck this badly.”

She choked on her drink and got to her feet, sputtering. Jake smiled, cocking his head again so that wild dark fringe fell over one eye. He reached out and placed a warm hand on her back, rubbing between her shoulder blades as she got her air back.

“Maybe given time, we could get there,” he continued, his tone reasonable and soothing. “But until we sort this, there’s way too much tension between us for comfort, let alone simple friendship.” He leaned closer, his voice going low and soft in that way that made her reason pack its bags and head for Vegas. “You know it’s true.”

She had to set her drink down, she was spilling everywhere. Biting her lip, Charlie turned her back on him, staring blindly across the bar, trying to think straight. Jake was right about one thing. They were a like a balloon ready to pop. Maybe it was time to let some of the air out. Take the fantasy, if only for a night. Yes, she was scared that Jake would hurt her.

Terrified, really.

She was getting awfully tired of being scared.

“Dammit, Jake,” she breathed, knowing she had to make a choice. Now or never.

“I like it when you curse at me. But I like it better when you beg.” His hand slipped around her, just beneath her ribs, pulling her back into him. His chin tucked itself into the curve of her shoulder, his breath feathering over her skin. “Remember?”

“I . . . I didn’t beg.”

He chuckled. “You don’t sound very confident of that. Shall I remind you how you sounded?” His teeth tugged on her earlobe before he pressed his lips to her neck, sucking lightly. Her head fell to one side as tingles cascaded downward from his mouth, running over her skin like champagne bubbles.

“Jake, please.”

“Mmm.” His murmur of satisfaction slid over her skin. “There it is. Just like that, Charlie. See why I can’t sleep? See what it does to me when you say please?”

He shifted his hips, his hands pulling her back more firmly against him. The thick curve of his erection pressed into her tailbone. She shuddered as his thumb circled her belly button through the thin dress.

“Come upstairs with me. Let me taste you again.” His teeth nipped the top of her shoulder hard enough she had to press her lips together to smother a soft cry. “Let me do everything I’ve been dreaming of.”

She twisted in his hold, her cheeks flaming. He took a step back, possibly expecting a slap or a refusal. She didn’t give him either. Instead she forced a smile that was far more confident than she felt.

“Alright. But we have to do everything I’ve been dreaming of, too.”

His eyes went wide. Charlie couldn’t help but laugh out loud. After tossing back the rest of her drink, she laughed again, her head spinning. Was she really doing this?

Then Jake threw a handful of bills on the bar, his expression dark. “Let’s go.”

Apparently she was.

---

The elevator was ridiculously slow. Excruciatingly slow. They didn’t touch each other, not once. But the way his eyes smoldered had her shivering and pressing her thighs together. A fact that Jake didn’t miss. He smiled, a slow, satisfied grin, his predatory gaze holding hers, making it hard to breathe.

When the elevator doors opened, he lifted a hand, indicating she should go first. She could feel him behind her every step of the way, her legs so weak they wobbled. Halfway down the hall, his fingers brushed the small of her back. It was like a shower of sparks on a pool of gasoline. She gasped. Jake growled.

The next thing she knew she was up against the wall, his mouth on hers.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was him demanding and her opening, his tongue tangled with hers and making her gasp and ache in ways she’d never imagined. Then his thigh pressed between hers and she imagined even more. She let her legs fall apart as they kissed and groaned when hard muscle pressed against her core.

They fell into the room, Jake kicking the door closed as they tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs and need.

He stripped off her dress faster than she would have believed possible, all without his mouth leaving hers. When he finally did pull back to stare at her, she shivered, missing the heat of him.

“What, Jake?” she asked as he just hovered there, looking down at her for seemingly forever, his jaw clenched as he got to his feet. She felt vulnerable lying on the floor at his feet, wearing only her bra and panties and her heels.

“What have you dreamed of, Charlie? Tell me.” He loosened his tie and tore it off with a curse. The shirt was next. It landed next to her. Then he reached over into his overnight bag and yanked out a package of condoms. A brand new package. Her eyes widened. He pulled out a long strip and ripped one off with a feral grin. Then he thumbed open his pants and dropped back to his knees.

“I . . . you . . .” She couldn’t think. Not with Jake half naked above her. At last.

He seemed to recognize her problem. “Close your eyes, darl,” he bit out. “And tell me. I want to hear the words.”

Losing the sight of him was hard, but when her eyelids fluttered down and the dark descended, she could still see him. Like she’d imagined. So many times. “You’re behind me, your mouth on my neck . . .”

He groaned and before she knew what was happening, he flipped her over, right there in the hallway. Her palms and knees pressed into the thick carpet as she heard the snick of a zipper. She swallowed. Then he was back, the heat and weight of him behind her, covering her. Skin on skin. She started to shake.

Jake pushed her hair off her nape. Lips, hot and firm, descended. Nibbled and sucked. The hot velvet of his tongue trailed over her skin and she pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the maddening ache between them.

“More. Tell me all of it. Every goddamn word.”

Mutely, she reached back for his hand, pressing it to her breast.

“No. Fucking say it.”

“I want your hands on me.”

“That’s it. Good girl.”

Jake used both hands to squeeze her tits through the thin satin bra. Then he yanked the cups down, the rough scrap of his palms making her moan out loud. He growled in satisfaction, rolling her nipples between his fingers as his hips cupped her ass. Ruthlessly, he ground the thick length of him against her, her panties a bare scrap separating them. Jake hadn’t yet removed his pants, just shoved them down. The soft fabric bunched against the backs of her thighs, at war with the heat and hardness of him.

The heat and hardness she needed so desperately.

“Jake.” Her arms were shaking. She reached up to take one of his hands again. “Touch me,” she whispered.

Together their fingers trailed over her stomach, she guided him down. When his palm was pressed against her core, Charlie whimpered, rocking back helplessly. Jake yanked aside her panties, biting her neck hard when his fingertips came away dripping.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Charlie.” The words were breathless. “You might want me almost as bad as I want you. Feel me.”

Her fingers brushed his thighs at the rumbled order. With an impatient groan, he reached down and wrapped her fingers around his cock. She gasped. The feel of him. Soft as suede with a thick, rock-hard core, pulsing, hot and thick. Her grip tightened and it was Jake’s turn to gasp.

“Wait a minute, baby.” He pulled back with a hiss to put the condom on. She started to tremble, knowing what came next. A heartbeat later, he was pressed against her fingers again. “Now. Guide me inside you, Charlie. Show me what you want.”

She did as she was told, bringing his tip flush against her with a small moan, but Jake didn’t move to take more. She opened her eyes and looked up. The hotel curtains were wide open to the LA night, their reflection in the glass hovering over the sparkling cityscape. He looked massive behind her, massive and wavering, almost as if he were shaking. But that couldn’t be right. The shaking was all her.

“Are you sure, Charlie?”

“I’m sure,” she whispered. “I want you.”

His fingers tightened in her hair as his body went still. “Say that again.”

She whimpered and twisted. “I want you to fuck me, Jake.”

He eased inside her, an inch, maybe two. The resulting wash of pleasure had her eyes rolling back, her mouth falling open. Liquid trickled down the inside of her shaking thighs as his cock slowly spread her wide.

“Again,” he demanded, his voice so rough it was more a snarl, primal and fierce. The tension from his big body seemed to vibrate into her own, waking something greedy and desperate and a little terrifying. Oh yes, Jake was going to shatter her. But she had to trust that he’d put her back together again.

“Fuck me,” she begged. “Please.”

With another snarl of satisfaction, he rocked forward, plunging so deep a scream caught in her throat. She shuddered hard, adjusting to the length and breadth of him. Before she could, Jake drew back again, fisting her hair before finding a rhythm so hard and demanding, Charlie almost came then and there.

But she fought it. Fought the pleasure and the exquisite pain of fantasy becoming reality. Jake had haunted her dreams for months, but Jake in real life was more than she could bear.

Her muscles convulsed and she gave a long gasping cry that had him moving faster, driving her closer to the edge. It was dirty and hot and desperate, both of them too hungry for finesse. The slap of his hips against her ass was loud, but she could hear him murmuring her name as he moved. Heard him choke on it as her body tightened minutes later. Tightened and tightened until the ecstasy took over, sending her soaring.

The orgasm stole her breath as Charlie stared out over the city, all those lights swirling like they were flying straight into the stars. His cock sank deep inside her body one last time, twitching hard as Jake shook with his own release. His warm lips pressed against her ear and she heard him breathe her name again. Like a prayer.

Or a promise.

“Charlie. My Charlie. Mine.”