What the hell was I doing?

My best friend’s voice rang in my mind, soft as if from afar. Riley, you’re together at the best of times, but you’re all over the place lately. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, OK? Because—

“This way,” Jax said and stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor of an apartment building that was more like a skyscraper and had made my jaw drop the minute we’d pulled up outside it.

I stepped out behind him, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth. Good god, this was a terrible decision, but I was so damn desperate.

What kind of business owner slept in her own dance studio? Me, apparently. I was that kind of business owner, and it shamed me to the core. It was the reason I’d even agreed to come back to this place with this exceptionally handsome stranger.

Jax halted in front of a door directly ahead of us, the only one in the wall, and swiped a keycard against a pad beside it.

I paused, shaking my head.

This really was crazy. God, I wasn’t some twenty-year-old brimming with naivety and promise. The type of girl who’d go home with a devilishly handsome dude and end up chopped up like the Black Dahlia.

Now that was a truly morbid thought.

“Everything OK?” Jax asked, holding the brass doorknob in his massive hand. Seriously, they had to be the biggest hands I’d ever seen, and his handshake had been strong and purposeful, but not crushing.

Those hands…

“Riley?”

“Sorry, I’m just reconsidering,” I said. I’d cultivated the habit of a) always telling the truth, and b) blabbering incessantly when I was nervous. Thirty or not, I hadn’t rid myself of that habit. “I mean, how do I know you’re not like that Silence of the Lambs guy?”

“Anthony Hopkins?” Jax asked. “He’s awesome. I could only consider that a compliment.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I think you’re reaching for Ted Bundy,” he replied. “Or was it Ed Gein?”

“You’re seriously not making me feel any better about coming here,” I said. “At all. In fact, I’ll just leave. I’m fine sleeping at the studio. Ya know, at least there I know I’m totally alone. Man, I’m an airhead because, I mean, this was a mistake. Sorry to waste your time. You seem like a super nice dude, but one can never be too careful, and I’m not a kid anymore who’ll just—”

“Do you always talk like you’ve got a machine gun for a mouth?” Jax asked, that sexy smile twisting the corner of his lips again.

Damn, he was attractive. Like sinfully hot. And it shouldn’t matter.

I’d been dragged across the coals by a sinfully attractive man once before. Once bitten, twice… ready to run for the hills at the first hint of trouble. That was how the saying went now, right?

“Only when you’re not checking me out, apparently.”

The smile grew more confident.

God, this was not a good idea. “Yeah, thank you for your concern,” I said, and cleared my throat. “But I’ve got to get going.” I moved to the left, ready to flee to those hills.

“Stop.” The word, said with so much power it actually reverberated off the cream wallpaper in the hall, halted me in my tracks. “Turn.”

I did as he told, like my brain had commanded it instead. What the hell was up with that?

Jax’s lips weren’t drawn into smile now. He was totally serious. “I don’t want you to go back there, Riley, but I don’t want you to be afraid. I’ll leave the front door of my apartment open.”

“So people can wander in anyway?” I asked.

He snorted a laugh. “So you feel safer.” He ruffled his hair. “This is rough. I’m not the guy who makes concessions for anyone.”

“Should I be honored?”

“No, comfortable. That’s the point,” he said, then sniffed. “My name’s Jax King, and I’m a businessman and investor.”

The name rang a distant bell. I’d been pretty stressed about my own issues lately, so I hadn’t paid much attention to anything else, least of all the news. Jax King? He’d wanted to speak to the owner of the studio—to me—and I’d put him off.

How could I not after he’d basically watched me living out my fantasies on the pole? It was the only time I got to do that. Time for myself. Time to enact what I imagined passion felt like, even love.

“I recognize the name,” I said.

“You got a phone?”

I lifted it from the pocket of the sweatpants I’d tugged on before leaving the studio. “Yeah.”

“Look it up while I make us dinner. That sound good? Shit, you can stay out here while I’m cooking.”

“You cook?” I asked.

“Pick the dish,” he replied. “Unless you’re a vegan or something. I don’t eat rabbit food.”

“Because that’s what vegans eat,” I muttered, but he had me smiling again. His cheesy jokes and one-liners endeared me to him. “I don’t want to intrude, Jax, just make whatever you’d planned on making.” Thankfully, my voice was strong again, and I’d lost the urge to tell him my life story in the span of a single sentence.

“Lasagna? Lamb casserole? Just like mamma used to make,” he said.

“Maybe your mamma,” I replied.

“No, definitely not mine.” He winked and sauntered inside, whistling under his breath, his hands in his pockets. It was a miracle those broad shoulders fit in the corridor beyond. Or rather, a miracle the massive ego fit.

I did as he’d suggested and looked him up.

Jasz Jing.

Miraculously, my phone’s autocorrect deciphered what I’d tried to type and brought up a list of results.

Jax King was a businessman and investor, all right. He’d bought up property across Miami and owned several… strip clubs! And restaurants. Ugh, no wonder he’d stared at me like that. He’d probably pictured me stripping.

Don’t be ridiculous.

I tucked the cell phone back into my pocket. Regardless, he didn’t appear to be an ax murderer, and just because he owned a strip club didn’t make him a bad person, did it?

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on morality. Now was the time to either go in or get out.

I squared my shoulders and walked into Jax’s apartment. I shut the door behind myself and the lock clicked, the pad outside giving a beep.

Well, if that wasn’t final, then I didn’t know what was. Decision made. And I’d been particularly indecisive of late. I—hated that about myself. Entrepreneurs were supposed to make fast decisions, to take risks.

Maybe this was my risk.

I walked down the hall, following the gentle hum of music from the kitchen and the clanks of pots and pans. It was a homely sound and one I hadn’t heard in years. I didn’t cook for myself usually. I’d eat at Veronica’s place or stay home with a microwave meal. I was usually too pooped after work and stressed to do anything about it, and it bothered me.

I entered the kitchen and stopped in front of the counter that banked the massive space. The room was done in silvers and whites, clean lines, with a massive fridge at one end and gas burners between two sets of granite-topped work surfaces.

“Are you a chef?” I asked, and finally looked at him.

Jax stood in front of a chopping board, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off sexy, strong forearms, tanned and corded with muscle. His blond hair and bright blue eyes shone beneath the lights set into the ceiling above.

He lifted his gaze to mine and pinned me to the floor. “No, unfortunately not. I’m just an enthusiast. It helps to like cooking and eating when you own restaurants.”

“How does that factor in with the strip clubs?” I asked and dragged over one of the bar stools lined up next to the counter. I sat down and propped my chin on my palms, studying his every movement, the ripple of his muscles, the biceps straining against his shirt.

He was in peak physical form. He couldn’t be that into food.

“Are you judging me?” Jax asked and diced up a garlic clove. Good, that would keep me from kissing him or him me. Bad thought, Riley. “Because, I gotta say that’s rich coming from someone who teaches pole dancing for a living.”

“A living,” I replied. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

He abandoned the garlic and fiddled with the burners, placed a pan on top, and heated it. After, he poured us each a glass of white wine, and we clinked on nothing but the smell of garlic and the potential for lasagna. We listened to music as he prepared it all, then put it in the oven. Finally, he came over and stood across from me, smiling. “Give it thirty minutes or so.”

“Great,” I said. “Thank you for doing this, Mr. King, I really appreciate it.”

“Mr. King? Am I your daddy?”

“What?”

“No, I’m not. I’m Jax, and you’ll call me that,” he said, and drained the last of his wine, set the glass aside. “Tell me, if the teaching thing isn’t working out to the point that you’ve got to sleep in the studio, why do it?”

“I love it,” I said, immediately. “Not just pole dancing, but all dancing. I love it all, and I’m not going to give it up.” I’d had this conversation with others too many times—the words came out bitter and defensive now.

“Easy,” he said. “I’m not suggesting you give it up, just that you need some help, and I happen to be in the position to offer it to you. You don’t have an apartment.”

“Nah, I just sleep in the studio for fun.” I flashed him a smile.

“What happened?”

I didn’t owe him an answer. I could walk out of the delicious-smelling kitchen, a mixture of lasagna, cheese bubbling, and his sharp yet smooth cologne, away from his gaze right now. I could. But something about the way he’d asked it gave me pause. I licked my lips. “I couldn’t pay my rent. I’ve got savings put away, but I can’t access them for another thirty days.” I cut off then.

Even when I could access them, I had a huge decision to make. One between two passions, two desires, and that made sleeping in the studio even more difficult. And being here just the worst.

“Right, so you need some time to recoup your losses,” he said and laid his hand next to mine.

Our skin didn’t touch, but the heat was there, and it streamed from that point up my arm and into my solar plexus, then lower, and lower.

I studied his features up close—a slight crook in his nose, a freckle right below his lip but above his chin. His cupid’s bow wasn’t too defined, and his lips weren’t too thick. They were just perfect. His jaw could’ve chopped down trees, for heaven’s sake. It was angular and cloaked in a blonde beard, neatly trimmed.

I didn’t have a type, but if I did, this guy could totally be it.

“It’s settled,” he said, and brushed a pinkie over an eyebrow. “You’ll stay here until you’re back on your feet.”

“Settled? That’s—not settled at all.”

“It makes perfect sense. I’m hardly ever here, traveling most days, and you need a place to sleep. I’ll give you a good deal. Only gotta pay me rent at the end of the month when you’ve got the cash for it. Give you a damn good rate.”

“That’s…” Generous? Troublesome? Super damn dangerous?

Jax made my insides shrivel up with desire. I couldn’t picture myself hanging around here without wanting to pounce him, and that would seriously distract me from everything I had on my plate.

“That’s—”

“A great idea, I know. Those are the only kind I have,” he said.

I managed a laugh.

“Listen, sleep on it. We’ll eat, we’ll drink, you’ll take a shower, and I’ll show you to the guest room. You don’t gotta make any decisions tonight, princess,” he said.

I wasn’t capable of it with him looking at me like that. In fact, if I didn’t excuse myself soon, I’d likely start babbling truth again, and he seriously didn’t need to know how hot he was. He knew that already.

“Whatsamatter, Riley?” He asked, licking his bottom lip. “You never heard of the generosity of strangers?”

I didn’t have an answer for that, so I drank my last gulp of wine instead. Decide tomorrow. Decide in thirty days. Whatever happens, you’ve got to do it. This is our future at stake. More than yours.

“More wine?” Jax asked, his tone a deep grumble, leaning far too close to get the wine bottle.

I fixated on his lips. “Please,” I said.