Chapter 1

Danielle

Holden Long is my personal form of torture.

He’s my boss. He’s my fantasy. He makes me ache in all the right places.

And I can never, ever touch him.

I stand in the kitchen of Holden’s two-story home, a brick-faced duplex in Manhattan, and prepare his daughter’s snack for her trip to her mom’s house.

Five-year-old Jessie is super excited to see her mother, and I’m always happy to see this precious little girl, whom I’ve only known for a month, reacting like this. Even if it means I have to take a weekend off, away from Holden and his sharp gaze, his sturdy silence, his presence.

Ugh, it’s been one month! Get a grip. You can’t fall in love with someone after a month. It’s never gonna happen, girl. And it’s totally wrong, too.

“Mommy’s here!” Jessie scoots into the kitchen, dressed in her princess outfit and grinning from ear to ear. “I’m leaving, Nansy!” She calls me that instead of “the Nanny,” and I kinda like it.

“That’s great, honey. I hope you have an awesome weekend with your momma,” I say, handing her the little Finding Nemo bag I’ve packed her lunch into. “Be safe. Where’s my hug?” I crouch in front of her.

Jessie flies into my arms and squeezes so tight I wheeze. “I’ll be back on Monday, Nansy.” She pats me on the back of my head. “Don’t worry. You won’t be lonely for too long.”

“Aw, thanks, sweetie.”

She steps out of my arms, grinning broadly, her blue eyes sparkling. They’re the same as her father’s.

“Ready to go, angel?” His voice purrs through the kitchen, and my heart tha-thumps against the inside of my ribcage.

Speak of the devil. The delicious, totally-out-of-reach devil.

The newly divorced Holden Long fills the doorway that leads into the kitchen. He takes up all the space—hell, he steals the air right outta the room.

Towering above me, with those ice blue eyes, a sharp, long nose, and full, expressive lips and that beard I’m dying to touch, he stuns me. A swimmer’s body. That’s probably the best way to describe it. So sexy.

But Holden Long is so much more than a hot, muscly frame and forever eyes. He’s strong and silent, and he’s borne the hurt of his divorce without showing any pain. He’s helped Jessie adapt to a new life these past few months.

The only reason I’m here is because it’s difficult for him to juggle a billion-dollar empire and all his duties at home without a partner to share the load.

“Bye,” Jessie cries out, one last time.

“Bye, sweetheart. See you soon.”

The two of them head out, and I hurry to finish cleaning the mess I’ve made. I may have gone a little overboard with Jessie’s snack. I’ll miss her, after all, and she deserves a treat after going through so much.

“What are you doing, Dani?” I mutter to myself.

This is supposed to be a way to save money for my studies. I’m twenty-two and desperate to go for my private pilot’s license, then the commercial, but I can’t afford a loan. This job is a total boon.

Holden pays well more than what I need to survive, and he’s put me up in the guestroom in his house, just down the hall from the master bedroom.

My core tightens—the thought of him in there, naked, under the sheets.

Stop! You need this damn job. You can’t screw it up!

I busy myself washing off plates then wrench open the door to the dishwasher and start stacking.

It’s probably a good thing I have to leave this weekend. I’m going to visit my sister upstate. Get my head away from Holden, out of his bedroom, out of his pants. God, I’ve had maybe one boyfriend in my entire life, and I’ve never been this hard up for it.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The door slams and footsteps echo down the hall.

I tense up but keep stacking, bending so my ass is on display in the tight skinny jeans I chose this morning. Each day, I try a little something to grab his attention, as pathetic as that may seem. Nothing’s ever going to happen.

Still, I wiggle my butt and hum.

“Danielle.” His voice is a growl behind me.

I shut the dishwasher’s door, straighten, and flush hot from head to toe. Then I turn slowly to face my fantasy. He’s inches from my chest, looking down, his pupils dilated.

“Hi, Mr. Long,” I say. I never call him Mr. Long.

“I’ll be leaving this afternoon to see my brother.” His gaze lights on the sparse cleavage that shows above the lip of my blouse. I try to keep it modest around the house. “Have you got somewhere to go for the weekend? Or will you be staying here?”

My breath hitches in my chest. God, I wish that was an invitation. “Yes. My sister’s.”

“Good.”

Silence builds between us. Heat. I have to get out of this kitchen before I throw myself at him. Wrap my legs around his waist, grind my already wet pussy against the outside of his jeans, which fit him to perfection.

I lick my lips and look down to avoid his gaze. I catch a glimpse of his crotch, and the bulge there, a length of what looks like thick pipe.

Oh, god, he’s hard! He’s hard!

My nipples pucker and pluck against the cotton of my bra. I’ve chosen something comfy today, and it does nothing to hide my reaction to him.

“I hope you have a good weekend, Mr. Long,” I say. Again with the formalities. Cringe.

I scooch past him and make for the door, because I absolutely, 100 percent cannot afford to lose this job.

I won’t make what I need working at McDonald’s or any other restaurant around here. I’ve already tried waiting tables, and after my mom’s passing, money is super tight. We’re a family of five sisters and one tired dad.

I distract myself with the thoughts and rush out of the kitchen. “I’ll pack my bags,” I say, over my shoulder, then dart out into the hall.

I pause a second, press my back to the wall, and catch my breath.

Calm down. Calm down.

It’s the first time he’s ever been that close to me. That he’s ever reacted to me. And I’m tempted to go back in there, drag his dick out of his jeans, and polish him off with my mouth, my hands, every fucking part of me.

God, why do I want him this much? It can’t be normal.

I push off the wall and spot the mail waiting on the foyer table, a mess of envelopes I usually organize for Holden into two piles: junk mail and bills or personal correspondence.

Perfect distraction before I leave.

I grab the bunch and sort through them letter by letter.

Bill. Junk. Bill. Junk. Happy New Year Card—ha, that’s a little late. Junk. Junk. Ju—

What’s this?

A golden envelope addressed to me. Weird. I never get any mail. And I certainly haven’t listed Holden’s place as my current address.

But there’s no mistaking it. That’s my name embossed on the front, surrounded by… diamonds?

No way.

I’m tempted to crack a tooth on one just to see—yeah, I’m that kinda bad bitch—but I don’t. Instead, I slip the letter from the pile and hold it in both hands.

My gaze skips past it to the remaining mail, and my eyes widen.

There’s another letter. This one in exactly the same print as the first.

Mr. Holden Long.

He’s got one, too. My curiosity hits the roof. I quickly finish sorting the rest of the mail then hurry past the entrance to the kitchen. I don’t dare glance in, in case I spot Holden in there and lose my resolve.

I take the stairs two at a time then rush down the corridor and burst into my bedroom. I shut my door behind me and lift the golden envelope again. My pulse races.

This feels important.

I’m not sure why. And Holden has one, too. That has to mean something, right?

I turn the envelope over, fingers trembling, and open the golden lip. I slide a delicate piece of paper out from within.

Dear Ms. Danielle Powell,

You are cordially invited to join us for a weekend of sex and mystery on Mystique Island. Masks will be required at all times during the course of your stay. All clothing, food, and accommodation will be provided for you.

Welcome to the sexiest event of your life.

The envelope is unsigned, but there’s an additional page of details. A plane ticket included, and a brochure explaining the island and what the parties there entail. Very explicit pictures dot the pages and my mouth goes dry.

Mystique Island?

And Holden is invited, too?

This sounds way more intriguing than a weekend upstate, but can I really do this? I’ve never been a prude. I’m more of a sixties child without the necessary sexual experience. Going to this type of “event” doesn’t scare me too much, though I’m kind of nonplussed about who invited me.

If we both have an invite, does that mean that it’s from him? No, it can’t be. Holden wouldn’t jeopardize this.

I scan the words again.

Masks will be required at all times.

What if I can be with him? No strings attached. Get rid of my desires for him once and for all. Live out my fantasies during this one weekend?

I swallow and lick my lips, the memory of Holden’s dick pressed against his jeans front and center in my mind.

I’ll do it. Just this once. And if he’s not there… I’ll leave. That’s it. Just one weekend, and he’ll never know, and it won’t matter when we’re back.

Will it?