Jett pops the rest of the buttons on my blouse on the way to getting it off, and when those go it drives him a little wild. He’s tearing at the fabric, breaking the seams. By the time it falls to the floor, he’s already swept me up in his arms, striding effortlessly into the lavish living room, the city spread out in front of us through the massive picture windows.

I couldn’t be less interested in the view. I’m too wrapped up in wriggling out of my skirt while Jett shrugs off his jacket. In seconds, his clothes are strewn on the carpet next to my skirt. His body is absolute perfection. Ripped abs. Strong arms. And the green eyes with fire at the center...

Then his hands are encircled around my waist, pulling me in, and I breathe him in, his scent spicy and clean and manly.

I want nothing between us.

I run my hands down his bare chest, letting my fingertips explore every dip and ridge as he plants kisses down the side of my neck, over the skin of my shoulder. When his hands go lower, diving between my legs and stroking the slickness there, it feels like a flame that suffuses every nerve ending with an electrified warmth. His fingertips are pure pleasure gliding over my skin.

The kiss deepens, slows, until finally I can’t stand it.

“Give it to me,” I cry out hoarsely.

Jett responds by unhooking my bra and sliding the straps off my shoulders. My nipples peak at attention from the air conditioning, and Jett covers one with the pad of his thumb. The sensation takes my breath away, and then he leans his head down and swirls his tongue around the sensitive skin. I can’t help throwing my head back, pressing into him.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” he whispers, and the next thing I know he’s pressing me back into the couch, pulling my ass to the edge, and spreading my legs wide. Kneeling on the lush carpeting between them, he looks at me for a long moment, face focused with anticipation, like I’m a gift he’s about to unwrap on Christmas morning.

Then the moment stretches to its breaking point and snaps, my legs quivering, my insides melting as Jett devours me like an exquisite entree, his tongue ravenously exploring every fold, pressing inside me, licking, tasting.

“Oh, my God.”

“You like that?” Jett says, and pushes one finger into my opening. My legs clench involuntarily, but they meet with the rock-hard resistance of his shoulders.

“Yes.”

Another finger joins the first, and then he does something—Jesus Christ, I don’t know what and I don’t care—that hits a space inside of me that I never knew existed until this moment. When he does, it releases the climax that’s been building since he kissed me in the foyer. As I start to come down from my high, he curls his fingers again and sends me back up to the top of the roller coaster, again, and again, and again.

By the time he pulls me to my feet, bending me over the arm of the sofa and slamming the full length of his steel-rod cock in to the hilt in one stroke, I’m jelly, I’m light, I’m his.

I’m so lost in him that I don’t hear my phone ringing, once, twice, three times.

* * *

After we’ve showered, Jett sends Stuart to collect our sushi from Sasabune, which is one of the priciest restaurants in New York. While he’s texting the order directly to the owner of the place—sometimes Jett’s lifestyle strikes me as completely unbelievable—I go hunting for my phone and find it exactly where I left it, tucked inside my purse on the table in the foyer.

My heart sinks into my toes when I see the missed calls from Adam.

“Angelica?” Jett’s voice floats over from the opposite end of the living room. “Where are you, sweet thing?”

“I have a call to make.” Does my voice sound shaky? Is it a giveaway?

Work. I can always blame it on work.

Stepping closer to the door, I dial Adam’s number. The fact that he called instead of texting makes me think this is urgent, and my heart pounds in my ears. Did Charlie come back? Did plans change again? He stayed at my place for about a week before he got sick of the commute and seemed fine when he left....

He answers on the second ring. “Angie?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t...nothing.”

My stomach contracts. “Nothing? You scared the shit out of me, Adam.”

“I needed—I wanted—”

“Spit it out.”

“Is everything going all right? Are you okay? He’s not...he’s not following you or anything, is he?”

I take a deep breath. If Adam is in the dark about all this, then Charlie hasn’t been lurking around making any threats. That’s good for Adam.

Not quite so great for me, because now I’m more certain than ever that somehow this is all on my shoulders.

It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, not after the way we grew up.

“How have you been sleeping?”

Adam lets out a bitter laugh. “Like shit. I had three extra locks installed on my door, and I’m constantly looking over my shoulder everywhere I go. Not that it would make any difference if Charlie decided to....”

“He’s got people everywhere,” I agree.

“Angie, it’s driving me crazy.” Adam’s voice pitches lower, tighter, and I know this is the absolute truth. He’s never handled stress very well. I’ve always been the one to sort things out for us.

It’s clear I’ve never stopped.

“Do you have any vacation time?”

“Vacation time?”

“Yeah. You’ve been at the bar long enough, haven’t you?”

“I guess....”

“You should go home. See mom.”

“I can’t leave you here by yourself.”

“Has Charlie been back to see you?”

“No.”

“I’m handling it, Adam. Go home for a little while.”

“But what if—?”

“I’m handling it.” I lower my voice. “It’s not dangerous, okay? I’m fine. Go away. Clear your head.”

“Okay.”

“Gotta go. Love you, brother.”

“Love you.”