In the early hours of Sunday morning, I wake up curled under Jett’s luxurious comforter, still a little lightheaded from the events of last night.

He bought my story, hook, line and sinker—and I don’t know how to feel about it.

He’s an arrogant womanizer, there’s no doubt in my mind. He’s the kind of man my mother warned me about. She was probably picturing the manager at the corner store—a guy with a “good job”—not a billionaire with the wealth of the world at his fingertips. But it still applies.

I thought up that story about my apartment on the ride over. Something that would make my life more frustrating, but not necessarily leave me homeless. And he’d hardly hesitated to invite me to stay with him.

For sex.

Of course, it’s for the sex.

Right?

Why do I keep wondering about that when I’m the one who’s working so hard to win him over?

I turn over under the covers and let my eyes trace the automatic shades covering the windows.

To say I’m torn is the understatement of the year.

I want to erase the distance between us, climb onto his gorgeous, naked body, and rock against him until he wakes up. In another world, we could spend all day in this bed. There would be no reason to leave, and I could sit back and enjoy the ride.

But in this one, I have information to steal, a brother to protect. That’s why I’m here in the first place.

I didn’t anticipate Jett Brandon making me feel like this. The tips of my fingers ache with the need to touch him, to somehow break down the wall he’s constructed around himself. To know him so deeply, so completely, that understanding him becomes second nature.

That’s a heavy thought, and it blindsides me—but his sleeping face is open, relaxed, and last night I saw glimpses of him, the real him, underneath the bravado and the cocky attitude...and I wanted more.

I still want more.

I can never have it.

His breathing is so deep and slow, and my mind is so crowded with thoughts, that I only last a couple of minutes before the dissonance gets to me.

With a little sigh, I slide out from under the comforter and cross the room to where a new silk kimono in heather gray rests across the back of one of the armchairs by the fireplace. It feels like heaven against my skin, and it only makes me feel guiltier when I slip the thumb drive from my purse and tuck it into the palm of my hand. The robe is one of the things Jett had delivered last night. A soft knock at the door interrupted us while we were lying cuddled up against one another on the bed, me waiting for my heart to stop pounding. He’d been lazy about getting up, slowly pulling on his pants. When he came back into the bedroom, his arms were full of women’s clothes.

“Athleisure,” he said, holding up a pair of stretchy capris and a racerback top that I loved instantly. “Lunch.” This time, a coral sundress that made my heart skip a beat. “Unmentionables,” he continued, grinning slyly, and lifted a tie hanger with three lacy silk bra and panty sets. The robe was last.

I pushed myself up on my elbow, pressing my lips together to suppress the giggle that threatened to bubble over. “I thought you weren’t the romantic type.”

“This? This isn’t romance.”

“Inviting a girl to stay at your place and then plying her with expensive clothes isn’t romantic?”

He shrugged, then let his eyes roam over me from head to toe. “I’m not completely heartless, otherwise you’d be on your way to the Sheraton right now.” No argument there. “But you can’t very well walk around naked for the rest of the weekend.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Fine,” he said with a laugh. “You could. And I would like it. But it could get awkward if you ran into any of the staff.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “How many people does one person need to take care of him?”

“I think of it this way: how many people can one person supply a direct livelihood for?”

“I bet it doesn’t hurt that you’ve got servants to get you whatever you want.”

He went across the room to the seating area where he put the clothes in a neat pile on the armchair, arranging the robe over the backrest. My mouth went dry. Had I crossed some line in the sand?

But Jett came back across the room, undoing the buckle of his belt as he walked, dropping his pants to the floor at the foot of the bed. Then he climbed up, hovering over me, and kissed me deeply, like he was marking me. When he came up for air, he looked me in the eye. “Of course my staff gets me what I want.” His voice was low, commanding. “Sometimes I take it for myself.”

“Like right now?”

“Like right now.”

It was several hours before we went to sleep.

Even now my skin buzzes from his touch.

Don’t get swept away, Angelica, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. Jett Brandon wants me for one thing and one thing only: the passionate and electrifying sex that we’ve been having. And I can never, never forget it. I have no choice but to get him to trust me, to fall in love with me, but I can’t get sloppy. I can’t forget Adam. And when this is over, I need to remember that it’s only sex for him, no matter how much I might want him. Maybe that will soften the blow of never getting to see his face again, of him hating me.

The robe’s belt tied firmly around my waist, I go out into the hallway. Sunday is his staff’s day off, all except for Stuart, his driver, who is “on call.” Still, I keep my back straight, my shoulders back, and walk with purpose.

His office is how I left it last time, his computer centered on the desk. There is one small blessing in all of this: the new thumb drive from Charlie doesn’t require the computer to be on.

Ears open for any sign of movement, I plug it in and wait for the lights on the plastic case of the thumb drive to blink. Approximately one hundred years later, they do.

Mission accomplished...for now, at least.