What. The. Hell?

Blood rushed to Jessie’s cheeks, the heat spreading down her neck into her chest. Here she was in a men’s bathroom with the sexiest guy she’d ever met who happened to be her boss. He’d given her the best orgasm of her life without even penetrating her, and he wanted to increase her pay and fund not one, but THE two biggest ticket items on her bucket list…but only if she slept with him? “I’m being punked, aren’t I?”

He shook his head with an inscrutable look in his eyes. No smile either. “Not in the slightest.”

Wow. A deep shiver rocked her body. No way should she be asking for details. This was wrong on so many levels. This was like...prostitution. She was studying to be a lawyer for crissakes. “One night?”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. It shouldn’t have made her want to run her fingers along his stubbled skin.

“No. One week, living with me in my new house. Basically, I want you to do anything I ask of you for the next seven days.”

Never, never, never in a million years would she have dreamt this kind of thing could ever—like freakin’ ever—happen to her. The serial killer thing floated through her mind again. What if he hacked her into a hundred pieces and buried her in a secret chamber in his house? He could totally get away with that because he was the type of man who seemed to get away with anything. Who would take care of her grandparents then? “Pay me up front what I need for the year.”

“Okay.”

Whoa. Not a sliver of hesitation. “What if I spend the money and then don’t follow through?”

His slow smile raised the hairs on her arms in a not-so-bad way. “I will find you.”

She believed him. Besides, where would she go? She’d never leave her grandparents. Sweet juicy peaches, he was sexy. The man sure knew how to use his hands. And mouth.

Ooo, that mouth.

She rubbed her arms, feeling like a ninth grade wallflower who’d just been asked to dance by the hottest guy in school. This was beyond awkward, and here she was, developing quite an unhealthy hatred-cum-fascination for him. But wasn’t her future and that of her grandparents worth it?

It’s only seven days.

He was standing so still he seemed hewn from stone—the old, rugged kind like you find in musty catacombs. “Why do you want this so bad?” she asked.

“You mean, want you so bad?”

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry it was hard to speak. “I guess.”

He waited several moments like he was weighing whether or not to tell her the truth. “You liked me before you knew who I was.”

His unvarnished honesty—because that’s what it felt like—completely disarmed her. And banished the last fragments of JBlaze. “But I don’t really know you at all,” she said, quietly.

He tilted his head, a boyish innocence in his eyes. “You’ll have seven days.”

Would it be enough, though? How much would he let her see? Would she get the proof she needed to clear Uncle Mason’s name? She’d be sleeping with the enemy. It sounded like a movie slogan—dangerous and sexy. She should turn him down just to thwart him. Clearly, it didn’t happen to him often enough. If ever. But then, she’d be back to square one, trying to support herself, pay for school, and figure out how to keep her grandparents together. Besides, how else would she get close enough to dig up dirt to help Mason?

She could find empty justifications for either of her actions, but wasn’t that always the case for anything? Human beings could rationalize any behavior to clear their conscience. The reality was, she had bills to pay, an uncle to avenge, and this guy was offering multiple solutions on a big, bad, seductive platter.

Nate ran a finger across her lips, his eyes darkening as her jaw parted slightly from the pressure. “Jessie, as much as I hope you’ll accept, I’m not going to stand here all afternoon waiting for your answer.”

It was, without a doubt, the most indecent proposal she’d ever received. But she’d always wonder if she said no. Right?

Gut churning, she looked into his eyes. “I want a notarized contract.”

* * *

She said yes. Nate inhaled heavily to bring some oxygen to his brain. “You won’t regret it.”

Jessie put a hand on her hip. “…said the fox to the Gingerbread Girl.”

He rubbed his chest where his heart pounded in giddy victory. “Where did all this cynicism come from? Every conversation we’ve ever had you’ve been nothing but a glass-half-full type of woman.”

“That was before I learned that you lie and manipulate as easily as you charm,” she snapped.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She threw her hands up. “I can’t believe I thought you were actually—” She stopped abruptly and shook her head.

When she moved to go around him, he gently grasped her wrist. “Thought I was actually what?” He held his breath once again, which was absurd because he’d never cared before what people thought about him.

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

That might have concerned him if it didn’t make him mad first. He dropped hold of her arm. “Look, until you know someone’s background and the motivations for their actions, you’d do well to delay judgment. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? Withhold judgment?”

“Yeah, but—”

“It goes both ways, Jessica. My so-called manipulations generally come back to benefit both parties. You’ll see what I mean within moments of my signature drying on our contract.”

“The contract is going to specify that I am your companion for the week. Or maybe we should make it interior design consultant, or something,” she said.

“You are welcome to use any terminology you prefer when you draw it up, but you and I both know what the stipulations are. Do we not?”

“I can’t become a lawyer if I have prostitution on my record, Nate.”

“You shall have no worries on that account. In fact, why don’t you write up the contract as my companion, and I’ll increase your compensation commensurate with the extra tax load when you report your income as rendered personal services. At that point, you’ll be running a legitimate business, no?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Think you’re pretty smart, do you?”

Pretty desperate was more like it. He couldn’t ever remember working so hard to convince anyone of anything. “You can’t operate a successful business,” or survive a hundred years fighting demons and your own depravity, “if you don’t have some wits.”

She stared at one of the mens’ room hand dryers like it was an object of endless mystery. When she finally looked up at him her eyebrows were fierce. “No monkey business here at work.”

He smiled. “You mean fucking?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You have a nasty mouth. And you’re delusional if you think I’ll be dropping my panties in the beer locker.”

“Now there’s a provocative idea. I can’t wait to hear what other ideas you dream up.” He watched her quiver. The contradiction between her heated gaze and blushing cheeks sent lust arrowing through him, though he kept his distance because he sensed her readiness to bolt. “I’ll curb my language if it bothers you so. Over-thinking leads to paranoia. When you’re done here, put your schooling to work and go draw up that contract. Katherine can notarize it.”

His by-the-book, straight-laced partner would certainly scorn any involvement in what she’d consider a sordid arrangement. But everyone had an Achilles heel, even Katherine. And she would know he’d use hers—which happened to be a tall, swashbuckling Viking she had loved and loathed in equal measure for decades—to his advantage if she tried to cock-block this agreement.

Unable to keep his distance from Jessie any longer, Nate eased closer, backing her up against the bathroom wall once more. He bent down, bringing his mouth an inch from her neck. “Once I sign it, you’re mine for the next one hundred sixty-eight hours—whether that’s here, the beer locker, or anywhere else.”

Her head listed sideways, a soft sigh escaping. His teeth latched onto her earlobe while his hands slid down her sides, cupping her bottom to bring her tight against him. “I want you at my place tonight, Jessie.”

“Too fast. C-can’t we start after Halloween?”

“Tonight or no deal.” His voice was gruff. Would she call his bluff? She could probably call all the shots at this point, his brain so foggy with wanting her he couldn’t see straight. Don’t let her think either. He kept one hand on her full, sweet ass—damn, she was fit—and brought his other hand to her jaw so he could hold her in place. His mouth needed to mark her, the kiss lighting him up from the inside. Reds, oranges, and hot pinks flared in his peripheral vision as he pressed against her body. A sigh shuddered down her frame. His left hand snuck under her sweatshirt to palm her. It took every last ounce of self control not to peel those tight jeans down her legs, hoist her up, and—

Pound, pound, POUND.

One look at her glazed eyes had him licking the seam of her lips again.

“Nate.” She tried pushing him away. Then he noticed it again. The pounding wasn’t his hips against hers. It was…

“The door! Someone’s at the door!” Jessie hissed.

Nate spun around, shielding her as the door crashed inward, heralding another Unholy Inc partner, Spencer Jameson. Nate glowered at his fellow Englishman, trying to keep Jessie behind him because he was pretty sure her clothes were askew. And if Spencer saw Jessie’s naked breasts Nate would have to maim the knave.

Spencer straightened his sport coat lapels like he hadn’t just gone all ninja warrior on the door, then raised an eyebrow behind the Versace eye glasses that he didn’t even need, the GQ punter. Sans the color aspect, Guardians had perfectly sharp vision.

“I do so detest behaving in such an uncouth manner. However, Katherine intimated there might be a row on the premises, and that I should have a look into it. I’ve looked. Now, can we please dispense with the eau de coitus, and get on with the day? In case you’ve forgotten, your establishment opens in six days, Nathaniel.”

Bastard. Spencer knew the full use of Nate’s name made him crazy, though not why. Only Nate’s mother—who’d originally put him on the streets to pinch food and pockets—had ever called him that.

Spencer patted Nate’s cheek, then turned and sauntered out like the cavalier English-aristocrat-turned-celebrated-naval-officer he’d been in Queen Elizabeth the First’s campaign against the Spanish Armada.

In 1588.

One would think the arrogance would’ve worn off by now.

“Nathaniel?” Jessie was trying not to laugh.

“Think that’s funny, do you?”

“Things that make us uncomfortable are always funny.” She shrugged, but her smile faded. “I was laughing because of your reaction. I’ve been called a lot of names I’m not fond of either. Nathaniel isn’t bad.”

People rarely came to his defense. But when they did, it was always motivated by self-interest. He looked at her cautiously.

“Does he always talk like that?” she asked.

“Spencer’s one of a kind.” Nate wondered what quirks and idiosyncrasies he’d accumulate over four centuries if he survived being a Guardian that long.

“In addition to the Masterpiece Theater style of speaking, he has an English accent like yours, though his is much more pronounced. Were you born there?”

He blinked at her for a moment. “Are we talking about Spencer or me?”

Her lips quirked. “Men should really try harder to use both sides of their brain at once.”

“There’s no cause to be mean, Jessica.”

“But you make it so easy. Plus I feel like I have to go on the offense when I’m with you.”

His lips curled. “I’m all for offensive women.” He spread his arms wide. “Have at me.”

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You still haven’t told me where you’re from.”

She was like a hound on the trail of a juicy steak. “I was born in London’s East End, but it’s been a long time since I left. I’ve no desire to return.”

“Why?”

The memories torment my sleep. “I fancy my life here. Especially lately.” He reached out and ran his fingers along the side of her arm. She shifted and moved away slowly.

“Why did Spencer call TERRA your club if he’s one of Unholy Inc’s partners?”

Nate’s shoulders relaxed. “All the partners in our world-wide network have a stake in all the clubs, but each of us has claimed a specific location. TERRA’s mine. Now come. The booze distributor will be here in a few minutes. You can help me pick the poison if you allow me take you out to supper at Murray’s later.”

She briefly chewed on the corner of her lip. He was a little taken aback at how much that glimpse of vulnerability bothered him. She didn’t trust him, but he could hardly blame her. With the erotic visuals he was entertaining about her, she certainly shouldn’t. She instigated other feelings, too. A soft, flossy business that left him unsettled. Which meant he’d have to think about all this, because he wasn’t the type to shove his feelings away. He was more wont to lay them bare upon an operating table. To dissect them in an effort to de-mystify them. To drain them of their power.

“...take some time to write up. Hey…” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “So if you want me to come over later—much later—I’ll leave a list of beverage preferences for my station and take a rain check on supper. It doesn’t have to be Murray’s, though. That place may be good, but it’s ridiculously overpriced.”

His sweet Jessica was back one hundred percent. Little did she know she could get anything from him at the moment. He’d had money for years, but he’d never been a spender. He bought what he needed and invested the rest. Looking at Jessie, however, he found himself imagining all the wonderful ways his money could gratify them both.

Over the next week anyway.

Live and let live had always been one of his mottos. Don’t judge and go with the flow, two others. And right now, that flow was streaming her way, and he was determined to ride it out until his interest waned. Because, even though this attraction and these colors were amazing, it was bound to end. She was mortal after all. Not that he was immortal, but close enough to it that human life-spans were a drop in the bucket compared to a Guardian’s existence. Alexios, the original Guardian, had been a battle-hardened warrior in ancient Sparta more than fourteen hundred years ago.

That was a tediously long time to walk the Earth.

Nate backed away from Jessie. Now was not the time to dissect his thoughts. Maybe he’d have a breather between the beverage distributor and when she returned with the contract that would make her his.

Then again, maybe he’d wait until their week was over.

He needed to enjoy her—and the colors she instigated—while he could. She’d attract the bar patrons and their lack of inhibition, which would draw the demons.

And be a soft place for him to land after dispatching them.

He touched her one last time because he couldn’t help himself. “We’ll take a rain check on Murray’s then. I’ll prepare something for you at my place. Don’t worry about packing much. I’ll take care of everything you need this week.”

He eased away from her then, and she hurried to the bathroom door.

“Oh, and Jessie?”

She turned back, one hand splayed on the door. “What?”

“You have until ten pm to return the contract. After that, Kathrine won’t be here, and the opportunity to notarize the document will have passed.”

“As will my so-called opportunity?” When he nodded, she snorted. “What if I have other obligations this afternoon?”

“Cancel them. Me and my nasty mouth will be waiting.”

She blushed as she swept out of the bathroom. He didn’t know her well enough yet to perceive if that meant she’d merely be prickly when she showed up later.

Or if it was a resounding Go to hell.

Either way, she deserved a bare-assed spanking for her insolence. And he’d be more than happy to give it to her.