“Tell me everything,” Wendy squeals the moment I walk in our apartment. She’s on the couch with her knees drawn to her chest. “But keep it quiet, Erik’s asleep in the next room and you know how he likes to give Justin updates on how you’re doing.”

Exhausted, I fall into the arm chair and shut my eyes. Normally, I would offer her some sort of snarky remark about Erik spending the night—he and my ex are close friends and Erik is just as big of a douche canoe as Justin—but I don’t have it in me this morning. My body is sore and weak, and all I want is a few hours of sleep before I go in for my shift at York’s this afternoon.

“Was he—I don’t know—okay-looking at least?” Wendy demands.

If okay-looking equates to having the appearance of a Greek god. Jackson Cade is sinfully gorgeous, from his wicked smirk to his large hands and toned body. Cracking open an eye, I tell my friend, “He was very good-looking.”

She presses her hands to her mouth and squeals. “Then he must have had a really small—”

“No.” In the back of my mind, I hear the words “ten inches” playing on repeat. “I mean, we didn’t actually get down to the act last night, but it’s not small. I felt it.”

“How do you know he doesn’t have one of those dick extenders they use in porn and—” As if she’s just now understanding the rest of what I said, her brown eyes bulge.

“He didn’t sleep with you?” I shake my head. “Holy shit. Not even the tip?”

“I agreed to spend the month with him, remember?” She bobs her head, and I sigh. “He wants to take it slow. He wants me to be the one to beg for it.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Oh, he sounds like a dick.”

“You have no idea.” At her confusion, I droop my shoulders and confess everything. I hadn’t planned to tell her that Conquer&Please is Jackson Cade, but Wendy is my best friend—even if she did get me into this mess. If I can’t talk about this to someone, my head will explode. After I’m done, she spreads her fingers by the sides of her face, indicating that I’ve just blown her mind. “Yeah, mine too.”

“Only a filthy rich bastard would pay someone who owed them so much money,” she muses aloud. Before she has a chance to say anything else, though, Erik paces into the kitchen, an ill-fitting towel around his waist. I fight the urge to gag when I get a glimpse of his naked ass as he bends to fish something out of the refrigerator. “Babe, Flick’s here. Put on some fucking pants.”

He turns around and drinks orange juice right from the bottle. The dick. “Sorry, Flick,” he says with a sheepish grin.

“About tainting our juice or blinding me with hairy crack and balls?” I ask sweetly, gathering my purse and heading toward the hallway. “Apology accepted, though.”

“Speaking of apologies, Justin—” Erik begins, but I shake my head.

“Tell him no. I’m not interested in hooking up. Or seeing him again.”

Usually, when Erik brings up my ex, I spend hours lying awake, thinking about the man. Though I’m overjoyed Justin showed his true colors before I made a mistake, it still hurts. While he was promising to wait for me, swearing that he was patient because he wanted it to be special, he was off pounding any woman who smiled in his direction.

Today, though, my thoughts of my ex stop quicker than they began and I go to sleep with Jackson Cade on my mind instead.

When I wake up just in time to shower and get dressed for work, I’m wet yet again.

I rub my clit vigorously in the shower, letting the piping hot water swallow my quiet moans, but it does nothing for me. My fingers aren’t his fingers. My release isn’t inspired by his smirk and dirty-talking mouth. And when I come, I don’t feel the least bit satisfied.

* * *

Jackson doesn’t reach out to me for the next two days. I’m starting to think he forgot about our deal—and the disappointment leaves me confused—but then he makes his grand re-entry into my life.

At my job.

It’s fifteen minutes before the lunch rush begins, and I’m sitting at a table with Brooke when the bell on the door rattles. Brooke’s in the middle of telling me how relieved she is that Casey will be starting kindergarten in the fall because it will reduce her daycare costs when her mouth drops open.

“You know when I said I was swearing off men?” she asks, leaning forward and waggling her eyebrows. “I’m about five seconds from breaking that promise. Wow.”

Twisting around in my seat, I look back and my heart springs into my windpipe when I spot Jackson in the doorway. Oh, god, why does he have to be so gorgeous? With his black hair neatly combed and a dark blue business suit that hugs his tall, muscular frame in the best ways imaginable, he looks out of place in our tiny restaurant that smells like fry oil and grilled beef. My body’s reaction to him is powerful. Under my red apron and my snug white tank top, my nipples instantly harden and my sex…

My sex feels like his hands are already stroking me, urging me to come and to do it fast.

Brooke starts to clamber out of the booth, but I close my hand around her wrist and shoot her a look that’s probably darker than I intend. “I’ll grab this one,” I rasp. A grin splits her face, but I rush to shoot down her accusations—even if they are right. “He’s one of the men who invested in this place when my father opened it.”

He would have been twenty-one then. Plenty old enough for Brooke to buy my fib, right?

“Ah, I see.” Tilting her head curiously to one side, she gestures her hand toward him as he takes a seat close to the front door. “He’s all yours, then.”

Walking toward him, I tug at the hem of my tank top and force myself to take even breaths. It doesn’t really help, because the second I’m standing before him with my pen and pad in hand, my heartrate accelerates. “Welcome to York’s,” I say politely. “What can I get for you today?”

He shifts the salt shaker between his large hands. “So professional this afternoon, aren’t we?” he murmurs.

“I am at work. What can I get you to eat?”

I’m struck by the look in his eyes as he tilts his head back to look into mine. Jackson’s stare smolders, grasping me by my very core. “You know what I want to eat, Little Flick, and it’s not anything on this menu.” As if to prove his point, he raps his long fingers against the menu in front of him. “Sit.”

The bell on the door jangles again and a couple of our regular customers wander in. Helplessly, I glance behind me then back to him. “I’ve got other customers, Mr. Cade, I—”

“The blonde can handle them,” he says, nodding toward Brooke who’s already at their table wearing a flirtatious smile that’s bound to snag her a big tip. “And I’m a paying customer too. Sit.”

I don’t know whether he’s referring to paying to take my virginity or ordering food, but I slide into the booth across from him, grateful to rest my ass on a seat before my legs give out on me. The man is so nauseatingly desirable that he turns my knees to jelly with just a glance in my direction. “You know, I figured that getting in touch meant you’d give me a call.”

“And I expected you to call.” He slides the salt shaker back in place beside the ketchup and shrugs. “Guess we both assumed wrong.”

“I can’t take off to go with you … if that’s why you’re here.” Puffing out an anxious breath, I work my finger beneath the hair band on my wrist. He stops me, drawing my hand in his. Before Jackson, I’d never felt a jolt of pure energy from anyone’s touch, but now it’s palpable. It zings through my skin, warming every inch of my body. My fingers tense in his, so I look away when I tell him, “My dad’s not here this afternoon, so I’m covering for him while he’s out running errands.”

“Have you told him what you did for him yet?” he asks.

I gawk at him. Blinking several times, I shake my head. “How do you suggest I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He releases my hand and links his long fingers together behind his head. My fingers twitch from need. Need to feel his touch again. Need to wind my fingers through his dark hair just to tousle it like it was that first afternoon in his office and just the other night. I place my hands in my lap. “Maybe, ‘Hey, Dad. Remember that grimy motherfucker you’re in debt to? We’ve come together to figure out a way to help you out of this mess.’”

He says the word “come” so suggestively, I grip my thighs for support. “Grimy motherfucker,” I repeat. “Remember, those are your words, not mine.”

“The best kind of grime,” he drawls as the bell rings again. Ripping his gaze from mine, he flicks his turquoise eyes toward the door and curls his lips in distaste at the rowdy tourists stumbling in. Before I can point out I need to get to work, he says, “I’ll have whatever you suggest and a water.”

I sidle out of the booth, but he stops me before I can dart away. He slips a hand under my apron, his fingers plumping my sex through my jeans. My body rigid, I press my palm to the table but don’t meet what I can only guess is a grin that’s wicked enough to charm the devil. “I’ll have that out to you right away,” I pant.

“You do that, sweet.”

I drop the order by the kitchen and take a few seconds to compose myself in the hallway. When Brooke scoots past me, she fans her face. “He’s hot, Flick. Perfection. Do you think he’s—”

“I think he’s seeing someone.” I don’t expect to feel jealous at her innocent question, but it slices through me like a sharp blade. “Some uppity model.”

“Shame,” the blonde says with a frown, peeking around the corner to glance at the back of his head. “I’d climb all over that.”

“No men rule,” I point out, and she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah? Well, for some men you make an exception.” She bites her lips, gives him one last look, then jabs her finger over her shoulder. “Do you mind covering the frat pack on table three? I’ve got to pee and they’re over there practically beating their fists on the table for service.”

“Got it.” I turn the corner, and the hair at the nape of my neck stands on end because I can feel Jackson’s gaze following the swish of my hips. I’m winded as I greet my customers—three college-aged guys all wearing raunchy shirts about getting drunk and high. “Hey guys, what are you having?”

“That depends,” the blond closest to me says in a thick southern drawl, leering as he roams his eyes over my body. “I tip real good, sweetheart.”

“I’ll remember that when I bring your check.” Casting a frosty smile around the table, I drum my pen on the top of my order book. “So what can I get you off the menu?”

They all order the Aloha Supreme—a popular burger with pineapple and teriyaki sauce that my mom came up with during my freshman year of high school. Before I take their order to Ziggy, the blond guy shifts his knee out to stop me and rests his hand on my ass. “Jesus, girl, you’re hiding everything under that apron.”

My nostrils flaring, I start to softly tell him we won’t serve their party if he can’t keep his hands to himself, but hard footsteps stalk toward the table. I flinch when the voice that’s haunted my filthiest dreams over the last several days angrily demands. “Is there a problem?”

I swallow hard, shaking my head at the man towering over my tiny frame and the guys at the table, but Jackson ignores my pleading look. He clenches his jaw and leans his face close to the man who’d grabbed my ass. “Why the fuck do you think it’s acceptable to touch her?”

“I—” the other man starts, but he can’t even finish the sentence because Jackson grabs his hand, squeezing hard. The blond wheezes and stutters, and when Jackson shoves him backward, he clutches red fingers to his chest.

“You nothing,” Jackson spits out. “Get the fuck out of here. If I see you near her again—if I see your goddamn face anywhere in this city again—I’ll rip you to shreds. You got me?”

Though there aren’t many, I feel every eye in the room on us, and I pray that by some miracle, I’ll go invisible.

All three men nod their heads, practically tearing apart the restaurant as they rush for the door. The blond turns bold just before they stumble out onto the sidewalk, twisting around to shout out. “Fuck you and the slut. You gotta double-bag for girls like her, anyway.”

Jackson takes a step in his direction, but then the door slams shut and I watch with my mouth hanging open as they take off down the sidewalk. Ashamed, I cover my hand over my face when I feel a possessive hand on the small of my back and smaller, feminine fingers on my shoulder.

“Flick, are you all right?” Brooke asks, and when I drop my hand from my face, tears swim in my eyes, blurring my vision. She pats my shoulder softly. “I’ll handle things out here, honey. Maybe you should go to your dad’s office. Clean up your face.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I take off for the back of the building, balling my hands into tight fists when I hear her thank Jackson for sticking up for me. I’ve barely stepped into Dad’s cramped office when the door cracks open and the scent of woodsy cologne overpowers my senses. I whirl on him, shoving him hard against the door as soon as he closes it.

“How dare you?”

“What?” He gathers my hands in his, turning our bodies so that he has me trapped against the door. “Not stand to watch some little shit feel you up? Get angry at a bunch of entitled fucks for disrespecting you?”

“I could have taken care of it!” I hiss.

“Because you were doing a hell of a job removing his hand from your ass,” he retorts, stretching my arms high above my head. He dips his mouth to my ear. My heart thrums wildly—out of anger and lust—and when I strain against his firm body, he whispers, “If you think they were going to leave you alone just because you asked them to, you need to wake the fuck up, Little Flick.”

“Get out of my office.”

“Oh sweet, this is my office, not yours and not even your father’s—at least not until you finish paying me off.”

He has a point. Even if it’s still confusing that he forked over ten times what I needed to pay him back. “Yes, well—” I gasp, bucking against him when he releases my hands and tugs at the button of my jeans and my zipper. “What are you doing?”

“Apparently, you’re half-asleep today, so I’m giving you a wakeup call.” Kneeling in front of me, he jerks my jeans down until they’re pooled around my ankles. Parting my legs as much as he can, he cups my pussy, crooking his fingers just slightly. I moan and sift my fingers through his black hair. “You are mine, Felicity. Mine.”

I shake my head. Nod. Allow a sob to hitch in my chest. “They’ll know what we’re doing back here,” I whisper frantically.

“Your friend thinks I’m consoling you before we talk business numbers,” he says, kissing the bare flesh just above my clit. “She’ll keep believing that as long as you don’t scream. Can you do that for me, sweet?”

“Jackson.” But then he wiggles a finger into the entrance of my sex, and I squeeze my eyes shut, dropping my head back against the door. He pumps my pussy with one finger, strokes my clit with another, and blows hot little breaths against my slit.

“Do you think I can make you come without you screaming?” he questions again.

I move my head up and down, hating that I have to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. This is wrong. So terribly wrong. He’s just physically and verbally threatened customers just because he doesn’t want another man touching me. He’s in my father’s office, in the restaurant that my family owns, with his tongue and his fingers driving me into a frenzy. And for some fucked up reason, I’m absolutely turned on.

Heat stretches across my abdomen, pooling in my center as a rough orgasm rocks through me. I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood, but I don’t scream. I can’t because I’ll never be able to look my co-workers in the eye again if they realize what I’m doing at this very moment. When I’m finished climaxing, he stops me from shakily bending to pull up my pants. Challenging me with his turquoise stare, he laps greedily at my sex, his tongue darting out to teasingly taste me.

I start to close my eyes because the pressure is back—building quicker than before—but he reaches up and strokes my breast. “I told you this was a wakeup call, Little Flick. I want you to come again. I want you to look at me while you come.”

Though it’s the most difficult task I’ve ever done, I part my lashes and settle my green eyes on his. Everything about this moment strips me down—from his tongue probing my slick heat to his hands gripping my hips to hold me steady and, finally, to the hunger behind his gaze. I’ve never had a man stare at me like he wants to dominate every inch of me, but he does. Every time he looks at me. It’s scary and intense and dizzying, and my heart thuds as I watch him watching me as a new orgasm builds in my core and shatters me.

After the waves of pleasure have finished spiraling through me and I can hardly stand, he shimmies my jeans over my hips, grinning at the little gasp that falls from my lips when my wet panties come in contact with my pussy.

“Don’t ever do anything like that again,” I whisper huskily.

“Protect you from little shits or eat you out wherever I fucking please?” he demands and tilts my face up to his. He kisses me hard, giving me a taste of myself on his tongue. Fuck him and his tongue. Fuck me for molding against him and panting like a little kitten beneath his lips.

“Because I’ll do both again in a heartbeat,” he continues with a cocky smirk and backs away from me.

He smooths his large hands through his black hair, arranging it in the same professional, tidy style he wore into Dad’s office. I don’t understand how he can look so cool and unfazed when every emotion and nerve within me is in a state of panic. “You’re a bastard, Mr. Cade.”

“Always, sweet,” he murmurs. He steps around me to the door, but peeks over his shoulder to regard me with a giant grin. “I came by to ask you to dinner tonight. I’ll have a car pick you up at your apartment at eight. Same hotel after we’re done eating.”

“You’re going to squander your fortune renting penthouses in fancy hotels,” I say, planting my hands on my hips and resting the backs of my legs to the side of my father’s desk.

He wiggles his eyebrows and shakes his head. “Not at all. That fancy penthouse you screamed and moaned and came all over a few nights ago? I own that building too.” Of course, he does. It seems like he owns just about everything in my life. Opening the door, he steps out into the hallway, his detached, business-like smile a 180 from the one that sets fire to my veins.

Who the hell am I kidding?

Even this expression is plenty to ignite my body.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Miss York, and I’m sorry about your customers.” I don’t buy his pleasant demeanor for a second. “Until next time.”