It’s nearing 6:00 when Jax Hunter turns into a winding driveway on none other than Meadow Lane in Southampton. Three years in the city, and I’ve never been to the Hamptons before—much less the ritziest avenue on the island.

I have no idea why someone like Jax invited me to a party like this one, but once I got into the car, it was out of my hands.

He made a couple of calls on his cell and whisked me to a high-end boutique in the Garment District. When we got there, the owner had put a temporary closed sign on the front door and was waiting inside next to a rack of dresses in my size. Inside of thirty minutes, my red sundress had been seriously upgraded. My new dress was also red, but that was where the similarities ended. Dressing well has been a major part of my job ever since I started at Basiqué, but this dress was on another level.

Christine, the owner of the boutique, sent me out the door fully styled with new heels and jewelry and a sassy wink. “You owe me, Hunter,” she called as he opened the passenger door to the Aston Martin for me.

“I won’t forget.” Even from the car, I could see the pink in Christine’s cheeks. What is it about arrogant playboys that makes women fall so hard?

Jax drove fast on the way here, cutting the nearly two-hour drive down by at least twenty minutes, and thank god for that. My heart never stopped pounding with nervous jitters.

If Jax felt the same way, he didn’t let it show. His confident driving was a perfect match for his confident attitude, and over the music playing low on the car’s radio, he kept up a constant stream of well-rehearsed banter.

Like a fool, I fell for it. Hard.

For half the time, at least. The other half I spent furiously reminding myself not to get derailed by a man, not when my career is in such a precarious position. Especially not Jax Hunter.

You are a distraction, I told myself at least ten times on the drive. A man like him won’t need a woman like you for long. And more than that, he’s a thorn in Sandra’s side. Loyalty to my boss is the strongest card to play at work if I don’t want to end up in a situation like the one my dad found himself in. All of it adds up to one fact: Jax Hunter is completely off-limits.

Yet every time he says my name, my heart flutters with a secret joy.

It’s embarrassing to feel so giddy over him, but it probably has more to do with our destination than with the light, spicy scent of him that I catch whenever he moves. He keeps his eyes firmly focused on the road, but somehow I still get the impression that he’s looking right through me.

By the time we reach Marie Hantz’s palace of a home, I look calm and collected but inside I’m a hot mess. Jax holds out his hand to help me out of the car and tosses his keys to a valet waiting by the edge of the driveway.

The Aston Martin is pulling away and we’re halfway to the door of the house—the understatement of the year—when I lose my cool. Before I can stop myself, I’m tugging at Jax’s arm, forcing him to stop. I’m on the verge of losing my breath.

He looks down at me, the expression in his eyes a shifting combination of concern and irritation. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t—” I swallow hard. “I can’t go to this party with you. Look at this house. I don’t belong here.”

Jax steps closer to me, looking like he’s either going to laugh or sigh. “Catherine—Cate. What do you think is going to happen in there?”

“I don’t know,” I say, the last word coming out in a shameful gasp. “I work in fashion, for god’s sake. I’m not on their level.”

Now Jax does laugh. “Who gives a damn what they think? They’re people, Cate.” He leans down, putting his strong hands on either side of my waist, and puts his mouth next to my ear. “You look incredible. Not one person in there will think for an instant you don’t belong. You’re with me, remember?”

The heat from his breath sends shivers of pleasure down my spine. I want his hands all over me.

Maybe, for today, I can go along with it. Once I make the decision, the muscles in my shoulders relax. Jax feels it too, and presses in on my waist with a hint of pressure before letting go and offering me his arm again.

Yes. For one day only, I’ll allow myself to enter his world. It’ll all be over by tomorrow. The carriage will turn back into a pumpkin, and I’ll be back on the other side of the wall with Sandra, fighting to keep Basiqué—and my job—alive.

Today, I’m Cinderella.

* * *

The party is unbelievable.

On its surface, it’s not much different than any other Fourth of July barbecue…but the details give it away.

All the food has been catered by some of the biggest names in dining in all of New York. Basiqué doesn’t run features on restaurants, but Sandra demands nothing but the best. When she wants me to make reservations, she usually identifies the location by the name of its owner and nothing else, so as a result of hours of preemptive Googling I recognize two of them on sight. They seem to be mainly enjoying the party and making sure that all the dishes they prepared earlier are going out on time. Gordon Ramsay, on the other hand, is manning a massive, professional grill and trading jokes with a gaggle of men dressed, almost to a one, in variations of preppy chic. Boat shoes are the hot item of the day, although no one here would be caught dead in Sperrys. Gucci is the entry level.

Marie Hantz turns out to be a woman who is a dead ringer for a supermodel but with the personality of a bubbly southern belle, if that southern belle was born in London.

“Aren’t you darling,” she says when Jax introduces us. She kisses me on both cheeks, gives Jax a sidelong look, and flits back off into the crowd.

Marie’s beachside mansion is the largest house I’ve ever been in, but the party is so well-attended that there’s hardly any room, which has made it very convenient to get closer and closer to Jax with every minute that goes by…and harder and harder to remind myself that he’s not looking for a relationship. He’s a man who has whatever he wants, and what he wants right now is me—for a reason I can’t fathom—but he was clear. It won’t last.

“Do you have any siblings?” he says into my ear as he grabs me another glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.

“One,” I say, my chest feeling warm and light from the drinks he’s been handing me all afternoon. “Her name is Abigail, but everyone calls her Bee.”

“It must have been hard, having a sister that was so jealous of you.”

“What?” I say, confused. “She wasn’t jealous…”

“Of course she was,” he answers, his voice husky. “You’re the most beautiful women on the planet. She couldn’t help herself.”

I give him a playful slap on the arm but I can’t stop myself from blushing a deep shade of red.

As the evening wears on, Jax stops introducing me to people and starts finding little pockets of seclusion—the corner of Marie’s library, a cocktail table that’s only big enough for the two of us—and he takes his game to another level, whispering softly into my ear, bringing me tiny plates of delicacies, making excuses to brush his hands over my skin any chance he gets.

It seems like only minutes have passed before the sun has set completely and pinpricks of starlight dot the navy sky.

I can’t resist it.

Neither can he.

When the fireworks explode over the bay, lighting up all the beautiful people in glittering reds and yellows, Jax slips his arm around my waist and pulls me in. When I’m firmly pressed up against his side, his hardness against my curves, something inside me breaks.

The night is almost over.

This is my one chance to act on the wild desire I felt in the office yesterday.

I snake one arm around his neck and pull his face down to mine, kissing him with every ounce of pent-up sexual frustration I’ve been feeling for the past year. He doesn’t resist. Instead, Jax tightens his grip on my waist and kisses me back hard and rough. He’s so possessive, even in sight of all of these people—some of them his friends, I assume—that it takes my breath away.

Echoes from the fireworks booming in my ears, it takes me a second to realize we’re moving. Jax pulls away, breaking the kiss, and with one strong arm pulls both of us through the crowd and inside the house.

Most of the lights inside are off to enhance the fireworks experience, and when we get back to the library, it’s bathed in a sexy gloom that’s only broken by flashes from the fireworks. The sharp cut of Jax’s jaw is illuminated every few seconds in sultry blues and greens.

We’re barely inside the door before he’s pressing me up against the shelves, crushing my mouth with his. His hands are cupping my face, sliding down over my shoulders, cupping my breasts...everywhere. I’m drunk on the taste of him, on the expensive champagne, on the smooth whisper of my dress against my skin.

The kiss deepens and he takes over, one of my wrists in each of his hands, spreading my arms wide, pinning them against books on either side as he drags his hot mouth down the side of my neck to my exposed collarbone. I test him a little bit, tugging slightly on my arms, and he holds on tighter. I know he would let go if I asked him to, but the pressure of his hands against my wrists has my panties soaked underneath my dress.

He only releases my wrists to drop his hands to the hem of my dress and start shoving it up.

Jax Hunter is going to fuck me right here, up against a shelf full of first-edition books in the American equivalent of a palace.

The heavy door to the library opens with an audible click.

Jax reacts immediately, pulling me away from the shelves. I’m tipsy and still reeling from the hot attentions of his mouth, becoming aware all at once that my hair is a mess, that my dress is shoved indecently high on my thighs, that the fireworks ended a long time ago.

He reaches for my dress and pushes it down a few inches before the intruder flicks on a small table lamp.

It’s Marie. When she sees us, she lets out a cartoonish gasp.

“Jax Hunter, what are you doing in here?” Her voices rises in pitch and then she laughs, waving away her fright. I’m so mortified I can’t move except to look up at Jax’s face.

He gives Marie a roguish smile. “We stopped to see your collection, Marie. We’re on our way out.”

Marie’s eyes twinkle in the lamplight. “Is that so? Well, I won’t keep you. It was so nice of you to come to my little party. I’ll let you know about the next one.”

She’s at his side, kissing his cheek and then mine while I stand there dumbly, my heart pounding in my chest. I feel like a teenager who got caught on her parents’ couch.

Suddenly my head is throbbing with the champagne, with the incredible risk of doing this with Jax, with the overwhelming fear that I’ve missed a call from Sandra, I’ve missed something I was supposed to be doing, and everything I’ve worked for could crumble to ashes.

As soon as we’re out the front door and back in the summer heat, I shake my head to clear it of the last of the champagne. I don’t want to, but I put a little distance between me and Jax. This can’t go any further.

The valet brings his car around and Jax opens my door for me. “Come home with me.” His voice is full of authority, of command, and I want more than anything to give in.

I can’t do it.

The heat between us—the overwhelming, agonizing, molten heat—is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. But Jax doesn’t want me for his girlfriend, no matter how skilled he is at flirting, at breaking down my defenses. He’s looking for a quick fuck, a plaything, and I can’t risk a broken heart…or my job.

“It’s late,” I say, as firmly as I can. “Please take me home.”

His jaw juts forward, but he doesn’t argue.

It’s the right decision.

So why am I so crushed?