I’m frazzled as I rush into my office. Fridays are hell. The judge was being difficult, and I felt like a newbie in the courtroom, scrambling to justify my evidence. It was all solid, of course, but Judge McNamara has a way about making you second guess yourself. She’s older and resembles a hawk. I swear, she enjoys tearing poor little attorneys apart and eating them for breakfast.

“Calendar is up,” a familiar deep voice says. “You had a phone call with a campaign donor scheduled for noon—”

Shit!

“Oh no,” I groan as I drop my messenger bag and purse to the floor. “That was ten minutes ago.”

Camden smiles warmly at me. He’s made himself comfortable in the chair across from my desk looking all too good in his three-piece suit. The guy dresses better than the partners at this firm. “That’s why I took the liberty to call and reschedule. I booked a lunch with him next week instead. He was thrilled to have more of your time than a simple phone call.”

My heart races as I mentally think over my schedule for next week. “Do I even have any lunches open?”

“I sent your father an email canceling. You can meet with him anytime. Mr. Booker is now in Tuesday’s slot,” he tells me. “Coffee is hot. Sit. Chill out. You have the rest of the afternoon free of appointments. Then, at five, you have a meeting with your wedding planner.”

I plop down in my chair and let out a heavy sigh. The last thing I need right now is to be planning a wedding. Jacque demands my focus at these wedding meetings and I’d rather be anywhere but picking out venues, flowers, and cake flavors. Mateo says it’s the woman’s choice, therefore he’s leaving it all up to me. Since he’s been married once before, he wants me to have it exactly the way I want.

The way I want is just the two of us on an island with our toes in the sand and God as our only witness. That’s not so difficult. When I mentioned it to Mateo, he laughed as if my suggestion was a joke.

“Keep frowning like that and you’ll get wrinkles,” Camden teases.

I rub at my temples, feeling another migraine coming on. That makes one every day this week. The stress is really beginning to weigh on me. I hate to admit it, but Camden came at exactly the right time. He still undresses me with his eyes at every turn, but he’s incredibly smart and takes initiative. He puts out fires with ease and keeps me on track. He’s barely been here a week and I already feel like I would drown without his assistance. When I admitted that last night over dinner, Mateo had been overjoyed.

Lifting my gaze, I watch Camden as he taps away on his laptop. I know he works on assignments when I don’t need him immediately. It’s fascinating how he multitasks effortlessly. I’m trying to take a page from his book, but he makes it seem so simple.

“Stare too long and you might fall in love,” he flirts.

I laugh, no longer angered by his advances. “I don’t have time to fall in love.”

His brows lift. “But you’re already in love, so that doesn’t matter anyway, right?”

My face heats as I realize I admitted something I hadn’t yet admitted to myself. I love Mateo. I love Mateo. I love Mateo. But I’m not in love with him. My head throbs, and I squeeze my eyes shut. His chair squeaks, and then his palm is on my back. He strokes his fingers through my hair, and instead of yelling at him or removing myself from his touch, I allow this moment of comfort.

“When my sister-in-law was pregnant, she was susceptible to migraines,” he utters softly. “I was the only one who could help. Once, I read up on acupuncture and pressure points.” His fingers dance along my skull, sending shivers through me. He begins pressing into parts of my head, temples, and neck, and I drop my head forward. Some spots do nothing. Others make me see stars. And certain areas keep the throbbing at bay.

I moan in relief, my hand clutching his wrist to keep him still. “Right there. Don’t stop, Camden.”

He kneads the flesh with expert hands, and I relax. It feels good. Too good. It makes me wonder what else he’s good at. Heat floods through me, and I feel myself blushing again. I moan again, this time having nothing to do with my headache and everything to do with my dirty fantasies. The more I work with him, the more frequent they come. Just this morning, I got myself off in the shower, imagining it was him doing it instead. Then, guilt overcame me.

As Camden presses into my skull with his right hand, his left strokes my hair away from my neck, massaging the tightness out of my shoulder. It feels so good, I moan in relief, then panic slightly that he’s going to make fun of me. Camden doesn’t, though. He remains silent, and I’m thankful. If he were razzing me or flirting, I’d freak out, and I’m enjoying this moment. I selfishly don’t want to be stolen from it. When he slides my suit jacket off one shoulder, I tense, but it gains him access over my blouse to work the area better.

Hot breath tickles my hair near my ear as he whispers, “Feeling better?”

“Much,” I choke out. I grip my hand tighter around his right wrist, willing him to continue doing what he’s doing.

He chuckles, and it vibrates straight to my core. My thighs clench, and I’m embarrassed at how wet my panties are. All from a simple massage. Thank God I’m spending the night with Mateo and can take my sexual frustrations out on him. His thumb peels back my blouse at the neck, grabbing my bra strap along the way, exposing my neck and shoulder. I let out a gasp of surprise, but then his hot hand is directly on my flesh.

We need to stop.

This feels too good. It’s going to lead to things I can’t undo.

And yet…

“You have so much tension,” he murmurs, the heat of his words against my ear. “I’m going to work it all out.”

His fingers slide lower down the front of my chest beneath my blouse, and my breath stills. I can’t find the words to tell him to stop, part of me hoping he’ll touch my breast. His long fingertips skim over the top, tickling me.

Don’t stop.

Don’t stop.

Don’t stop.

God, don’t stop.

“Stop,” I choke out. “You have to stop.”

His fingers pause, caressing my flesh just above the cup of my bra before he drags his hand up in a slow retreat. My skin burns in his absence, and I hate that I can’t have what I want.

“Miss Beckett—oh…oh my,” a voice says as the door to my office opens.

Horrified at our position, I swivel away in my chair to right my shirt. Camden wisely strides away from me toward Nellie.

“That looked worse than it was,” he tells her. “I know how pretty little girls like to gossip. She has a migraine.” He smiles as he tugs on a strand of her hair. “Plus, I don’t want you thinking I’m interested in her…” he trails off, “because I’ve been wanting to ask you out all week.”

He has?

“You have?” she breathes, her eyes wide with awe.

“Tonight. Dinner at Zaggato’s?”

“The waiting list is months in advance,” she utters.

“I always get what I want, Nellie. Tell me your number and I’ll get your address later to pick you up at seven.”

She rattles off her number, and he plugs it in his phone. I’m composed by the time they finish.

“Miss Beckett, your father called. He says the lunch you canceled was important,” she finally says, smiling. “Please call him back.”

“Of course,” I say tightly. “And next time, knock please.”

She gives me a clipped nod and Camden a bright smile before slipping from my office. The migraine is in full force now. Tears burn at my eyes. That was so close. Shit.

“Calm down, Poppy,” Camden grumbles. “It was nothing. I fixed it.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a couple pills. I toss them back and swallow them dry.

“Thank you,” I finally say.

“Come on. You missing lunch is a thing of the past. We’ll grab food really quick. Let’s go.”

I rise to my feet and grab my purse. “We can’t…uh, we can’t ever do stuff like that. It looks bad.”

“Yeah, we’d hate for Daddy to find out,” he says as he storms out of my office.

What the hell?

“Camden!” I call out as I rush behind him. Several eyes dart our way, but I ignore them. He’s at the elevators by the time I catch up. I grip his elbow. “What’s wrong?”

He flashes me a wide smile, but his steel-blue eyes are hard. This is the look I struggle with so much. Camden Pearson is better at faking than I am. A monster lives inside him and rages to be set free. Just then, his monster was nearly cut loose.

“You can’t be mad at me for what didn’t happen,” I say lamely. “I’m engaged.”

He chuckles. “And I’m about to go on a date tonight with a beautiful woman. Nothing happened, and nothing will.”

My head throbs. I don’t understand his abrupt mood swing. The doors open, and I follow him inside. He mashes the button and ignores me the whole way down. Once in the parking garage, he stalks over to his Bugatti. One of the partners admires it as he climbs out of his Porsche. He gives me a nod before walking inside, leaving us alone. Camden climbs in, and I hurry after him. The tires peel out, and I quickly click my seatbelt into place.

We drive out of the garage into the sunlight. It warms my flesh, and I yawn, suddenly exhausted. Closing my eyes, I rest for a moment.

* * *

“A little too much to drink,” Camden says. “She needs to sleep it off.”

“Sleeep,” I slur and giggle.

The man laughs, shaking his head. “A little early in the day for that, miss. But your secret is our secret. Enjoy your stay.”

* * *

Migraines are the worst. I wake, thankful to realize it’s gone. Squinting, I try to make sense of where I am. I’m stretched out in a bed, not a car. A very soft bed. It’s dark, and I can’t see anything but shadows.

Mateo’s.

I’m at Mateo’s.

It’s all coming back to me.

It’s Friday, and it’s evening. That’s where I am.

A warm hand caresses my stomach, and I let out a sigh of relief. I’ll have to call the doctor. Losing half my day to a blackout migraine is scary. What if I have a brain tumor or something? The terror bleeds away as desire pools in my belly. Mateo’s hand finds my bare breast, and he squeezes. His mouth starts pressing kisses down the middle of my chest. I moan when he spreads my thighs apart. He’s rougher than usual, his fingers bruising my flesh, and I love it. His body presses against mine, his hard length straining against his boxers between us. A thrill of pleasure shoots through me as he grinds his cock against me. Almost painfully so.

I’m dizzied by his touch. My nails scrape along his flesh as he dry humps me. His lips find my neck below my ear and my back arches, pressing my tits against his chest. He smells good. Different. He smells like…

I freeze.

Panic stutters through me.

I feel his smile on my neck. “Did you enjoy your nap, Popps?”

Camden.

Oh. My. God.

“No…” I choke out.

“That’s not what you were saying hours ago when I fucked you,” he taunts.

I shove him hard, and he rolls off me. My body falls to the floor with a thud in my attempt to escape him. Tears spring to my eyes as I blindly search for a lamp or something. Before I can find one, the overhead light comes on. I spin around to find a disheveled Camden watching me with narrowed eyes, all flirtation and ease gone from his features.

He’s glaring. Angry. His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches. Against my better judgment, I skim down his cut, muscled chest down to the dark trail of hair on his lower abs leading below his black boxer briefs. I blink several times at the way his large cock strains in his underwear—underwear smeared with my arousal across the front.

“Fuck!” I hiss. “How did this happen? What did we do?”

He skims his gaze along my naked flesh. “What didn’t we do is a better question.”

I shake my head in horror. “No. I don’t believe it.”

“Oh?” He saunters over to the bedside table and pulls out his phone. “This says otherwise.” He tosses it on the bed between us.

Dread pools in my belly.

I snag the sheet from the bed and wrap it around me, hiding my nakedness from him, then snatch up the phone. It’s open to his pictures folder. I stare in disbelief.

There we are. Middle of the day. Lying in the bed. Naked. My eyes are closed, and his lips are on mine as he takes a selfie.

No.

No.

No.

When I flip through the pictures, I’m stunned to find several of them with us in intimate positions. I recall nothing. Holy shit.

“Did you rape me?” I ask, horrified.

He laughs scornfully. “Nope. What you see in those pictures is all that happened.”

“Why did you do this?” I start deleting pictures as quickly as I can, and he makes no moves to take the phone from me.

“Insurance.”

“Insurance for what?” I screech.

He shrugs. “To get what I want.”

“Which is what? To ruin my life?”

“Nobody has to know about this. Unless you decide to change things. Then, everyone will know,” he says simply as he prowls my way.

An affair on my fiancé with my young intern. The press would have a field day and my campaign would be ruined. All I’ve worked for would go down the toilet.

He’s blackmailing me.

Shit!

I stumble away from him as reality sets in, dropping the phone to the carpet. He backs me against the wall, tearing the sheet away. When his body presses against my bare flesh, I shudder. My eyes close as I wait for the tears that never come. My mind is too busy trying to plan how I’ll fix this—how I’ll erase it all. Strong, warm hands grip my hips, and I snap my gaze up to stare into his cruel blue eyes.

His thumbs rub circles along my naked skin, and I curse the way my body heats to his touch.

“What did you give me? You drugged me,” I accuse, pressing my palms against his sculpted chest to push him away. He’s like an immovable wall.

“A little bit of this. A little bit of that. Something to make you sleepy. Something to make you horny.” His lips curl up into an evil smile that shouldn’t look hot. “You were horny first, for the record. Then you tired yourself out.” He reaches up and grips my jaw in an owning way. “Do you remember the way you came all over my tongue, Popps?”

“No. I would never,” I snap. But that’s a lie. Memories from this afternoon flutter into my mind.

“Please,” I beg. His hot breath on my naked thigh drives me wild. This is a bad idea, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to figure out why. All I know is I want him.

“Say it again,” he mutters, his voice husky.

“Please.”

His tongue runs along my slit, and I lose my mind to pleasure.

My body heats several degrees at his touch and the memory fresh in my mind. My nipples harden as I allow myself to consider the fact that this wolf in sheep’s clothing was between my thighs. And I begged him for it. Fuck.

“Is that so?” he murmurs. His lips press to mine, and I taste me, confirming his words.

Shit!

What have I done?