I want to say yes to him. I want to say yes to everything that’s coming out of Weston Grant’s mouth, in spite of every instinct telling me not to, that it isn’t right, that I need to be self-sufficient. That I can’t reward a man like Weston for the way he’s built his fortune—stripping it right out of the palms of people like my dad.

I spent all afternoon on fire because of that kiss. No matter how many times I turn the memory over in my mind, I can’t decide which one of us it was that leaned in first. I’m beginning to think that there’s nobody to blame, exactly—that we both took advantage of the moment, of the fire burning between us.

I called the Rose and told Greg that something had come up.

“No problem, Juliet,” he’d said. “See you for tomorrow’s shift?”

“Of course.” I’d opened my mouth, ready to give him any number of excuses, but he’d ended the call. It was almost too easy, but then again, I wouldn’t know much about ducking out of work shifts. I’ve never called in for anything since my first job at the ice cream shop in Lansing. My dad never would have endorsed anything like that, and I didn’t have to ask him to know. After a while, a strong work ethic became habit. 

Then, the relief cascading over me like Weston’s hands on the curb, I’d drawn myself a bath.

The bath did nothing to cool the pulsing heat between my legs, or submerge the images of him to some space in my mind that wasn’t quite so front and center. The water caressing the folds of my pussy pushed me over the edge, and no matter how much I tried to convince myself that getting off to thoughts of him—to the real memory of his hands on my waist, on my back, on my cheek, of his lips on mine—would only add to this mistake, it wasn’t enough. I’d closed my eyes and spread my legs under the bubbles that were supposed to calm and soothe my mind, reaching down, seeking out my clit and rubbing it with two fingers in a familiar rhythm.

Picturing him.

And picturing us doing far more than what we’d done outside Overbrook. 

Weston Grant, in a bedroom, the door locked firmly behind us, the sheets rumpled underneath us, no clothes separating us...

The orgasm left me so breathless that I went back for a second.

“It would be easy to give in,” I admit, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “But it’s—it’s very important to me that we discuss this.” He grins at me, leaning back in his seat. “Please.”

Something changes in his face at please, and he leans forward again. “Okay. What do you have in mind?”

I reach for my purse, tucked in the seat next to me, and pull out the sheet of paper on which I’ve written down some notes. It’s all based on the amount that Darla and I had discussed—a catch-up payment or two, plus a ballpark estimate of what a private aide might cost. I push it across the table toward Weston. “I’m not sure how well this matches up with—with what you paid earlier, but I should be perfectly capable of paying you back in installments with—”

“Oh, this doesn’t match up at all.” Weston glances over the numbers I’ve written on the sheet.

“It doesn’t? This is based on—this is what I owed Overbrook after an incident that happened a couple months ago with my apartment, and then the cost that Darla had mentioned for—”

“I didn’t pay for the overages.” He folds the paper back up and slides it back across the table. “I paid the entire bill. Well—” He tilts his head down toward the paper one last time. “She wouldn’t accept any payments past the month of February. For some reason.”

I stare at him across the table, the candles in the center flickering in tandem with the air currents in the room. There’s heat rushing to my face, and most of it is because I can’t believe I’ve been this stupid. “All right,” I say slowly. “So I owe you for all the Overbrook expenses…instead of Overbrook.”

“If you insist on looking at it that way.”

“I do.”

Weston’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Bottom line, Juliet James. What’s going to set your conscience at ease so I can seduce you?”

I laugh out loud, my thoughts creating a riot in my mind. “That’s a little forward, don’t you think?”

“Compared to the way you kissed me earlier?”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” I suck in a breath, trying to get myself under control. “And I don’t think I kissed you. I think you kissed me.”

“I think it was a mutual attraction so powerful that no human on earth could have resisted it. Not even you.”

His hands on my waist, his hands running down my spine....

“This isn’t who I am.” The words come out in a low whisper. It’s not like me to give in. It’s not like me to give up. So why does it keep happening with Weston Grant?

“Who are you?” He takes a sip of his wine, then puts the glass back in its place. “I’ve been waiting days to find out. I’ve been waiting nights. I’m losing sleep over you, Juliet.”

My heart beats so hard that it drowns out the low chatter in the restaurant, mutes the clinks of silverware on china. “You don’t think—you don’t think that’s a little crazy, losing sleep over a woman you’ve only met once?”

“Not at all.” Weston looks me dead in the eye. “Not when that woman is you.”

I let go of the numbers I’ve written on the paper. I let go of the pipe dream that I could pay Weston Grant back by February. 

Almost.

“There’s one more thing.” He cocks his head to the side, waiting. I name a figure—one I’m certain will cover most of what he’s paid by February, with an option to extend payments until May if I can’t swing it.

But Weston is a businessman, and a wildly successful one. He’s never without a bargaining chip. “I’ll give you that option,” he concedes. “But only if you give me what I want.”

I can hardly get a breath in. “What do you want?”

“You.”