Once I called everyone in my contacts and no one could pick me up, I pulled out the card Marcus had given me and held it in my hand for a good half hour before deciding to call him. I really didn’t want to, but what choice did I have? It was that or not show up to my new job the next day. He’s the only one who knows about my house burning down and about my life going to shit other than Alba, and even she didn’t know just how bad thing had gotten.

It takes him less that fifteen minutes to get here. Since I know a man like him doesn’t frequent neighborhoods like this, he must have sped over. In a car like that, he probably thrives on driving fast.

He gets out of his car, so out of place with the rest of the population in this part of town.

“Thanks for coming,” I say sheepishly, embarrassed to be in a position to ask him for favors.

“Any time,” he says. I watch his body language to see if he’s annoyed or seems put-out. He doesn’t. If anything, he looks relieved. I’m not sure why, though.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming yourself. I thought you’d send an assistant or something. I’m sorry I pulled you away from work.”

“I’m not going to send an assistant to get my wife out of trouble,” he says with a sideways glance at me.

Why do I like the way that sounds? I feel my cheeks growing warm and I get butterflies in my stomach. Even though this is so embarrassing, I can’t help but feel touched that he went out of his way to help me.

“Shall we?” he says as he opens the passenger side door for me. I slip into the plush leather seat and we head for the tow-yard.

We get to the yard and I hand the man at the cash register my only credit card and hope it clears. I pay the minimum balance each month. It’s been a while since I checked to see how much credit I had available. I don’t know what to do if it’s not enough. If I can’t get my car back, that means I not only don’t have a car, but I also don’t have a place to sleep.

My hands shake as the clerk rings up my charges. “That’ll be fifteen hundred dollars.”

My entire body goes numb. I just stare at him in shock. “Fifteen hundred dollars to tow my car two miles? My car isn’t even worth fifteen hundred dollars.” How can that be? A speeding ticket doesn’t cost that much. What a fucking rip off. I would tell him that too if my boss weren’t standing right next to me. There’s no way I have fifteen hundred dollars on that card. I don’t think there’s even a hundred. If that were the case, I could get a motel room.

Before I can say anything, Marcus puts a credit card down on the counter. “Use this,” he tells the man.

I look up at him, my eyes welling up with tears. Everything is spinning out of control. How could my life spiral out so fast? How could I have gone from having a house and a car to having nothing in twenty-four hours?

“Thank you, but I can’t let you do that,” I tell Marcus. I hate how weak I sound, how obvious it is that I’m about to cry.

He looks at me with a gaze that I can’t quite read. He doesn’t smile, nothing about his expression changes, and yet there’s something kind about the way he looks at me. “It’s already done.”

He’s right. The clerk has already swiped the card and is handing Marcus the receipt.

“Come on, I’ll take you to lunch,” he says.

We leave the tow-yard. Marcus tells the man we will pick up my car later and I ride with him. In the car, things are uncomfortably silent for a moment before he says, “Did you sleep in your car last night?”

I look out the window, watching the scenery whiz by. I want to lie to him, but I can’t. He’ll see me wearing today’s clothes when I come into work tomorrow. I suppose I could borrow something from Alba, but we aren’t exactly the same size. She’s stick-thin and flat chested, where I have what’s considered a true hourglass figure and bountiful breasts.

Plus, I don’t want to lie to him. He did a kind thing for me, picking me up, taking me to the tow-yard, as well as paying for it. Lying to him now would be a slap in the face.

“I did. My friend Alba has a house full of people so I didn’t want to intrude, and she’s pretty much my only friend,” I say.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says, his voice taking on a stern quality.

Shit. Is he going to change his mind about the job because I don’t have a home? Maybe he thinks it will make me unreliable. I guess, in that case, he would be right. I mean, I came so close to losing my car—which is my only transportation to and from work. If something happens to it because I’m parked in a no-parking zone, that might mean showing up to work late (again), or not at all.

“I was ashamed,” I say in a pathetic voice.

He reaches over and puts his hand on top of mine, giving it a squeeze. The kindness of the gesture threatens to make me cry again. I blink back tears.

“Your house burnt down. There’s no shame in asking for help.”

“It was my fault my house burnt down. It wasn’t some tragic accident. I left a toaster oven plugged in.”

He stifles a laugh and does a terrible job at covering it up. “That’s unfortunate. I take it the insurance company won’t pay because of it.”

“Right.”

“Which means you need a place to stay.”

“Right again.”

“You can stay with me.”

I slowly turn my head to look at him, wondering if I actually heard him right. “What?”

“I have a high-rise near the store. You’ll live with me.” He gives me another one of his sideways smiles that I’m becoming obsessed with. “It’ll help sell the marriage bit too.”

I’m so overwhelmed and grateful, and terrified at the same time. I don’t know what to say. “Are you sure?”

He hasn’t thought this through. He doesn’t even know me. How could he offer to let me live in his personal space when he has no idea if I’m a thief or a bad person in general?

“Of course I’m sure.”

This probably isn’t a good idea. Being in the car with him, in close quarters, I start to notice how amazing he smells and how good he looks. His suit pants are pulled tight across very muscular thighs and flex each time he pushes down on the clutch to shift. Those big hands and long fingers wrap around the steering wheel. I imagine long fingers like those could reach places in me only my gynecologist is familiar with.

I bite down on the smile forming at the thought. I should say no and try to figure something else out. If Alba knew the kind of bind I was in, I know I could stay with her. But Marcus lives alone and I would be far less of a burden on him than I would on my best friend and her family.

“Thank you,” I say.

We get to the restaurant and I realize immediately that I’m not dressed for this. The place has valet parking, for fuck sake. When he mentioned lunch, I was thinking a burger joint, but I guess I should’ve known better when it comes to Marcus Steere. I bet he’s never had a greasy burger in his life. His body certainly looks like it never has. I start to imagine what he looks like under all those layers, and force the thought away. That is never going to happen. After everything he’s seen from me, he’s probably totally repulsed. I wouldn’t blame him. I haven’t had a shower in almost two days and my clothes are stale. At least I carry an overnight bag in the back of my car for emergencies and brushed my teeth and put on deodorant the last time I used the restroom.

I like the way Marcus keeps his hand on the small of my back as we walk into the restaurant. The hostess has a big smile waiting for him and knows him by name. While other people sit at the bar, waiting for their tables, we’re ushered right in. The hostess keeps glancing at me like she can’t believe I’d be with someone like him. Girl, I get it.

We sit at a table in the middle of the room and I’m so self-conscious that I can’t stop fidgeting. The waiter comes by and pours us each a glass of wine, which I don’t remember Marcus ordering. Maybe he has a standing order. I’m not used to day drinking, but today, I’m all for it. Maybe it will relax the nerves that are crackling with electricity right now.

“You look nervous,” Marcus says when we’re settled in.

“Yeah, a little. Have you seen this place? And better yet, have you seen me?”

His smile puts me a little at ease. “You’re beautiful.”

I’m taken aback and stare at him, not sure what to say. I’ve had a lot of drunk rednecks tell me I’m beautiful in my day, but never someone like Marcus Steere who has made his fortune in fashion and beauty. When he says it, I believe it. His words are so sincere, you can’t help but feel their truth.

“Thank you.”

I take a big gulp of wine and hope that he thinks the flush in my cheeks is from the alcohol and not from the compliment.

When the waiter comes, I have Marcus order my meal because I’ve never tried any of these things before, and I’m not sure what most of it is. I trust his judgement. I gobble up the bread in the middle of the table, dipping it in a mixture of olive oil and balsamic while he goes over his schedule for the week. I’m taking meticulous notes as he plans our trip to Paris for the business meeting. I can’t believe I’m going to Paris. That’s just crazy. I never expected to ever leave the country in my lifetime unless it was some place like Canada or Mexico—like I said, I’m terrified of flying. I guess I’ll have to get over that quickly, seeing as I have no choice now. My job depends on it.

Our food comes. To my relief, it’s steak and salad. But not just any steak and salad. It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. There are some weird things in there I have to get used to, like capers and peppercorns. They seem like an acquired taste, so I just push those to the side. Everything else is delicious, though. Normal food will never taste the same again after this.

After lunch we have dessert. The sorbet is simply orgasmic. There’s also a cup of strawberries with balsamic, but vinegar on fruit sounds repulsive so I’m not touching those. Marcus thinks the sorbet is too sweet so he gives me his and I devour it too.

He’s telling me the ins and outs of what to expect at the meeting with his ex-wife when he suddenly stops and says, “Kiss me.”

My hand freezes on its way to my mouth with a spoonful of heaping sorbet, threatening to spill over the side.

Too late. It plops back into the bowl. “What?” I say.

Marcus glances over my shoulder. “Two of my ex-wife’s former colleagues just walked in. I need you to kiss me.”

I swallow hard when he leans forward. My ears start to ring as I lean forward too. Then I kiss him. It’s a restaurant appropriate kiss, but when our lips touch, it’s electric. His lips are as soft as cashmere, his breath warm and fruity from the wine. His tongue grazes my bottom lip, but that’s as far as it goes, a tease, a hint of something it could have been. For a moment I forget everything, where we are, why I’m here. It’s just us: Marcus and me in our own world. My breath comes out in a rush. I want to pull him closer, but I know I can’t. I can only have this brief, subtle moment, and I can’t waste it wanting more. I need to focus on the here and the now, and I wish time could freeze and I could live in this moment forever.

His hand touches my thigh beneath the table and I can feel it everywhere. Why did he do that? His ex-wife’s friends can’t see that part. The table cloth is too long, it covers everything. Our chairs are too close together for it to be obvious that he’s reaching to me. At first, when he scooted our chairs together, I didn’t think anything of it. I was writing notes, and he wanted a look at them. It seemed the most natural thing to do so we weren’t passing my notebook back and forth. I’m just now aware of my proximity to him. I’m just now hyperaware that we were within kissing distance all along.

“Marcus, is that you?” The haughty voice of a woman breaks our kiss and I want to cover her face with my hand and tell Marcus to pretend she’s not there so we can go back to kissing.

He takes his hand off my knee and I sigh inwardly before turning to the woman with as friendly a smile as I can muster given the intrusion.

She’s about ten years older than me, mid-thirties, maybe, but the way she dresses makes her look much older, like she’s about to have tea with the Queen. She’s wearing a knee-length skirt and a weird hat with frills. Her friends are dressed the same way. Maybe they’re having some kind of old-fashioned tea party, or maybe they’ve been binge-watching Downton Abby. Cosplay for rich people.

“Fiona, how good to see you.” Marcus is a good actor. The sentiment sounds legit, but when he smiles it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“And who is this?” she says, reaching for my hand. I can see her brain working hard to figure it out. I can also tell that the thought of me being Marcus’s wife hasn’t even entered her mind. She probably thinks I’m some quick fling. A girl he picked up the night before at a bar, still in the clothes that had been in a heap below his bed not long ago. Now he’s doing the obligatory morning after meal to keep me from going to the press.

I’ve never seen anything in the magazines about Marcus Steere being a playboy. He’s featured a lot in all the fashion mags and blogs, but not once had they mentioned anything personal about him. I didn’t even know he had an ex-wife.

“This is my wife, Ruby,” Marcus says.

The woman does a double take when she looks at me, stunned. No, baffled is more like it. She studies my hair, my clothes, even my finger nails, which I’ve chewed the polish off of due to stress. She continues to shake her head in disbelief as she speaks.

“I never knew you remarried.”

“It was a few months ago, a private ceremony in Scotland with friends and family. We wanted to wait until the fall line came out before doing any real announcements. I didn’t want the launch overshadowing our wedding news.”

I almost laugh. He has an excuse for everything and he’s so full of shit, but this woman is buying every bit of it. Her hand is practically twitching to get to her phone. I imagine she plans to tell everyone. The baffled look on her face turns to something of pure excitement at the thought of spreading this juicy gossip. I know the look well. Alba wears the same expression after she overhears a nice tidbit at the diner that she’s dying to tell me.

“I’m looking forward to the announcement. You must throw a party to celebrate with the rest of us,” she says, giving me another once over.

“Of course,” he says as if the thought had already occurred to him.

She gives me another once over as she saunters away, and, like I thought, she grabs her phone and expertly weaves through the tables and texts at the same time.

Marcus looks at me and smiles. “She’ll do all the work for me,” he says, satisfied with himself.

Now that Fiona is gone, my mind travels back to that kiss and the memory of his soft, warm lips consumes me all over again.

I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing, because his gaze travels back to my lips and a muscle in his jaw ripples. “We should get to my apartment so I can show you the guest room,” he says.

“Thank you again for letting me stay with you.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

I really can’t wait for a shower. I bet his apartment has amazing water pressure, unlike my house. There were a lot of things that made my house inferior to most: its small size, its one bedroom, its leaky roof, and terrible water pressure that was more of a fast drip than an actual flow. But it was all mine and I could forgive all those things.

I just wish I had clean clothes to change into once I’m done with my shower. Hopefully he has a washer and dryer and isn’t one of those people who hires a service instead.

We get to the high rise, and it’s definitely not at all like the apartments I’m used to seeing where I come from. It’s not a cluster of eight-hundred square-foot, two-bedrooms where everyone has their designated parking space with a shared pool in back. This is where rich people cluster together when they want to live downtown and are too busy to bother with lawns and housing staff—though I’m sure they have cleaners and maids here too.

We’re met by a valet who takes the car to a garage somewhere nearby. Then we’re greeted by a front desk clerk. I’m not sure why there’s a front desk clerk since these are apartments and not a hotel. You literally have to ask permission to go to someone’s apartment. They obviously pride themselves on safety because we pass several security guards along the way.

We get into an elevator and there is an elevator operator wearing a fancy uniform, pressed and meticulous. This is crazy. It’s like something out of a movie. I can’t imagine living like this—or having the kind of money it takes to live like this. I’d be too afraid of losing it all. I bet if I were rich I’d still live in a tiny one-bedroom house and save every penny—just in case. When you’ve been poor for so long and have had to count every penny you’ve ever earned, it’s hard to let go of old habits. Marcus obviously doesn’t have that issue.

I start to wonder about his life growing up. Was he born rich, or is he just so confident in his abilities as a designer and businessman that he lives freely no matter what the future holds. That confidence is evident in his stride, the way he holds himself, the way he is still friendly to those beneath his station. He doesn’t have to pretend to be better than everyone else. Everyone he sees he greets with a smile, even the janitor who is cleaning up a broken vase on the carpeted hall floor. As I watch him interact with these people in such a respectful way, I can’t help but think a girl like me might actually stand a chance with a guy like him. Even though he so very clearly loves his material things, he doesn’t come off as materialistic.

He glances at me so suddenly I don’t have time to avert my gaze and I’m caught staring at him. An eyebrow lifts high on his forehead. God, he’s sexy. Everything about him just does it for me.

“Ready?” he says. That’s when I notice the elevator door is open and he’s been waiting for me to walk out of it. I was so busy watching him that I didn’t even realize that we’d stopped.

My cheeks flush and the elevator clerk gives me a playful wink.

Inside the apartment opens up into a grand, elegant room with heather-gray furniture, crystal accents, and one of the biggest chandeliers that I’ve ever seen in a house. It’s like a dream, a beautiful, shiny dream. When the sun comes in through the massive east-facing windows, it hits the crystals in the chandelier, spilling rainbows across the room.

“This is incredible,” I say in a breath of awe.

“I’m glad you like it. I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

This doesn’t look like a place where one gets comfortable. It is a place of fear and constant worry that something is going to break or get stained. Either way, I’m happy to be here, even just to experience being in a place like this.

“Do you have a washing machine by chance?” I ask.

He gives me a wry smile and I think maybe I said something to embarrass myself, but I’m not sure yet what it was. Then I realize I’m talking to a men’s clothing mogul, someone whose fashion lines don’t makes anything under one hundred dollars—which is a pair of ankle socks. Not a package. Just one pair. Even those have to be washed a certain way and it definitely isn’t in a washing machine.

“No, but I have something you can wear while I send your clothes out to the cleaner,” he says.

“Great, thank you. I’m going to get in the shower.”

“I’ll pick up a few personal items you might need.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say out of politeness because it’s not his responsibility to do anything for me.

“I insist.”

Our eyes lock for a moment and I can’t seem to look away. Neither can he, it would seem, though he’s the first to break eye contact. He clears his throat and says, “Well, I better get to it. Towels are in the hall closet. If you can’t find any in there, I should have some in the closet in my room.” He points to a door on the left. “Help yourself. When you’re out of your clothes, just toss them into the hallway and I’ll take them to the cleaner while I’m out.”

I cringe at the thought of him handling my dirty clothes—especially my underwear. But they need to be washed. What choice do I have?

“I’ll have something for you to wear laid out on your bed when you’re done. Your room is right next to mine. The linens are fresh and there’s a shower in the adjoining washroom. If you want to use the tub, you’ll have to use the main bathroom down the hall.”

“Thank you so much.”

He nods and heads for the kitchen. The tub sounds fantastic, actually, so that’s where I head. I can’t wait to get these clothes off. Inside the bathroom with the tub, I pause and take everything in. If there were such thing as an Olympic sized tub, this thing would be it. More like a Jacuzzi than a tub, really. There are even jets. Everything is stone and natural materials, the sinks (all three of them) are made of copper.

I could live in this bathroom. In fact, this bathroom might have more square footage than my house that recently burned down. I turn on the water. Steam fogs the mirrors and warms my skin. I shed my clothes and toss them to the side. Takes a while, but once the tub is full, I climb in and turn on the jets. I rest my back against them, letting the bubbles massage my aching muscles. They unwind all the tension and knots from sleeping in my car. I realize just how exhausted I am. I could probably fall asleep in here.

I lean back, using all the fancy soaps and shampoos Marcus has on display in here. Are these things he uses or that he keeps for guests? I smell the body wash and it’s definitely him. I’m going to smell like him too, and I’m okay with that. Falling asleep to his scent will probably give me all kinds of fun dreams. I’m okay with that too.

The scent instantly brings me back to our kiss in the restaurant, and his hand on my thigh. I close my eyes, and touch the same place he had touched, a poor substitute for his own hand, but it does the trick for my fantasy in the moment. I glide my hand along my skin, pretending it’s his, and touch the growing urge between my legs. Letting out a slow moan, I insert a finger, feeling the slickness of arousal.

The jets massaging my back give me a good idea and I rise up out of the water and position myself in front of one. Spreading my legs in front of the jet, it hits just the right spot and I’m thrown into pulsating pleasure that has my eyes rolling in the back of my head.

Masturbating in Marcus’s house, imagining that it’s his hands groping my breasts and not my own, that he’s the one pinching my nipples, has me on the edge of a quaking orgasm. My body starts to shake.

I hear a faint sound. Was that a knock or something falling off the side of the tub? The jets are loud and muffle sound. Probably just something falling. I’d set out all the shampoos and body washes on the edge. More than likely, I put them too close to the edge. I don’t hear the sound again so ignore it and go back to pleasuring myself. The incident is all but forgotten as I’m reunited with the incredible pleasure the jets give me. But then I hear the same sound. I open my eyes just in time to watch the door swing open.

I startle and let out a yelp of embarrassment when I see Marcus in the doorway. His eyes go wide as he takes it all in. There’s really no denying what I’m doing. I mean, my legs are stretched and propped up in front of the jet.

I quickly dip my body back into the water up to my neck, but what I really want to do is drown right now.

“I’m …” he starts to say, fighting back shock and then laughter. “I apologize. You hadn’t put your dirty clothes out so I assumed you were still dressed.”

SHIT.

I forgot all about putting my clothes out in the hall. I’d been too consumed with thought of a long, hot soak. I’m so stupid.

He looks away and finally lets out the chuckle he’s been holding in as he picks my dirty clothes off the floor into a ball in his arms. “Go back to … whatever you were doing.” He glances at me and gives me a half-cocked grin. There’s something playful and yet still kind of sexy about the look he gives me. Despite my horrific embarrassment, I’m still really turned on. “Please don’t let me stop you.”

He closes the door and I’m left reeling in embarrassment. My boss just caught me masturbating with the jets in his tub. My God, how the hell am I supposed to face him after this? Is it too late to go live in my car? I’ll just stay in my room from now on and never leave.

Shit. I’m his personal assistant. I’m going to have to see this man all day, every day and then come home to him every night until this trip is over and I get my bonus.

I stay in the tub far longer than I should. As much as I would kill for some release, I’m not about to go for another round with the jet. The water is cold by the time I get out. I’m going to have to face him at some point.

I wring the water out of my hair and reach for the towel, but then I realize, I never got a towel out of the hall closet.

Double shit.

I have no clothes to put on, no towel to wrap around me, nothing. Not even a bath mat to hide my parts. I try to squeegee as much water off my body with my hands as I can, then slowly and quietly look out the door into the hallway. I don’t hear or see anything. He must still be out running errands.

I creep out into the hallway, naked and exposed. Opening the hall closet I see no towels and my heart sinks. Marcus said there were some in the closet in his room. If I can just get there without getting caught, then I can run back to my room and stay there the rest of the night and pretend everything that just happened was all a nightmare.

Creeping further down the hall, I peer around the corner into the living room. I don’t see him. From here I have a pretty good angle of the kitchen. I don’t see him there either. I let out a sigh of relief.

I tip-toe to his room. My hair is still dripping, and I slip a little as I cross the wet tiled floor. Letting out a slow breath, I try to calm myself. I can only imagine my utter humiliation if I slipped and broke something, unable to move, just lying on the ground injured and naked when he comes home from his errands.

I put all my attention into watching my step and keeping my balance, so when I go into Marcus’s room, I don’t notice until it’s too late that he’s standing in front of the mirror, removing his tie.

We lock eyes in the mirror and I see the horrified look on my face in my reflection, and the amusement on his.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” The words just fall from my mouth, untamed, and as uncouth as one might imagine.

I turn to flee out the door, but I somehow manage to lock it in my haste. And now I’m fumbling with the knob and so panicked that I can’t get the damn thing unlocked! My back is to him, my ass exposed in all its splendor. I’m totally freaking out.

Suddenly I feel warmth at my back. Something brushes against my skin and I suck in a quick breath. That’s when I realize Marcus has wrapped a towel around me. I tighten it and tuck it in so it won’t budge, then I turn to face him. He still wears that beautiful smirk he seems to get on his face whenever I’m around.

“You forgot your towel,” he says.

“I know. I thought you had left …”

“I did. You were in there a long time.” He reaches for another towel draped across his bed and starts to dry my hair with it. It feels amazing to have someone attend to me this way. My eyes grow heavy and turn to slits as he dries my hair with the softest terrycloth I’ve ever felt.

“I’m sorry you had to see that … when I was—you know,” I finally say. I want to continue, to throw myself on his mercy. He probably thinks I’m a complete perv and an idiot for forgetting my towel.

“I’m definitely not,” he says.

My eyes spring open. He laughs at the shocked look on my face. Though he’s finding plenty of humor in the situation, there’s more there. His hooded gaze travels the length of my body, causing my breath to come faster. It’s been a long time since someone looked at me like that, with open, unabashed lust. He does a decent job of hiding it by letting out another chuckle, but I saw it. That lust, that flirtation, it was there.

And my body was definitely affected by it.

I would love nothing more than to toss this towel aside and kiss him. I want him in the worst way, my body is screaming for him to take me now. But my mind is still in control of the wheel. If I have sex with my boss, I might find myself out of a job. It all seems like a good idea now, but what happens after, when the hormones settle, and the frenzy to get off seeps away. He would regret it. Maybe I would too, and we would be stuck with each other in an office, unable to escape.

No, I can’t let this happen.

Though it pains me to do so, I step away from him. “Could I get those clothes now?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says and goes to his massive walk-in closet where he comes back out with a t-shirt and pair of boxer shorts for me to lounge around in. “There are more clothes for you to wear, but I figured you could wear these around the house.”

Why is the thought of walking around his house wearing his boxers turning me on right now?

STOP thinking like that, I scold myself.

“Thank you,” I say, and manage to slip them on without exposing myself. I wrap the towel around my head. The way he looks at me right now is not much different from the way he looked at me without any clothes on. Maybe he also finds it kind of hot, me wearing his boxers.

“Come on, I’ll make us some popcorn and we can watch a movie,” he says as he strides past me.

Popcorn and a movie? That’s the most normal, mundane thing I can think of two people doing together. I’ve always thought of Marcus being on a pedestal, bigger and better than everyone else around him. Not once had I ever imagined him just sitting around, watching movies and eating popcorn. When would he have the time? Fashion is an ever evolving business. So far I’ve been completely wrong about him. I have a feeling that when it comes to Marcus Steere, I will never stop being surprised.

I leave his room and he hands me his tablet and asks me to pick out a movie. Going through his collection, I see that we have the same taste in movies. The list is an eclectic mix of foreign films, obscure dark comedies, and sprinkled with action, horror, and romantic comedies. I see the icon for his e-book collection on the tablet as well and decide to snoop. To my surprise, we share very similar tastes in books as well. Like his movie collection, he reads a lot of different genres. I’ve read nearly every single book on this list. I make a mental note to read the ones I haven’t. Clearly if he likes them, I probably will too. How could it possibly be that he and I are more alike than I thought?

He comes back into the room with a bowl of popcorn. No surprise that’s its gourmet popcorn and not the normal kind loaded with salt and butter-flavored grease. This stuff is sprinkled with different spices and parmesan cheese. I don’t think I’m going to like it at first, but when I try it, I don’t think I’ll go back to boring old popcorn again.

I choose a light-hearted romantic comedy from the list of movies and settle in next to him. The couch is extremely comfortable despite its looks. But I’m still terrified by how white it is. I suppose I can’t stain it too badly with popcorn. I’m careful not to drop any kernels.

As we settle into watch the movie, we’re suddenly joined by someone else. I’m surprised when a big fluffy white Persian cat jumps onto my lap. It looks at me with bright eyes and a flat, almost angry-looking face.

“That’s my roommate, Bitters,” Marcus says.

“His name is Bitters?”

He nods.

I laugh as I run my fingers through his thick coat. The name certainly fits. The cat looks as though he bit down on something bitter. Despite the disapproving face, Bitter purrs and nuzzles against my hand as I pet him. Like his owner, he’s gentle and sweet and completely defies appearances.

“I love cats,” I say.

“He seems to like you too. He hated my ex.”

With that statement, I find myself curious about his life and start bombarding him with questions. He doesn’t seem to mind, and answers everything freely. He tells me that his wife was introduced to him by his business partner at the time. They hadn’t been madly in love, but they were both very ambitious and looking to make names for themselves in the fashion industry. His rise to fame made her resentful of him and eventually led to their divorce—which I find sad, because when you love someone you want the best for them and you want them to succeed. Their success is ultimately your success. When I tell him this, he gives me the oddest look. Almost like he’d never thought of it that way.

He tells me now that they’ve been divorced for quite some time, she seems to have forgotten how terrible they were together and wants him back. He thinks the reason she wants him back is because of changes he’s making to the business that might very well put him right up there with Gucci and Versace.

He doesn’t seem to like to dwell on the conversation of his ex, and I have no problem getting away from it as well. It’s strange, but I feel a twinge of jealousy when thinking about someone he cared enough about to marry, even if the marriage was built on greed and didn’t work. She had him for a time and he’d cared enough to marry her.

When we get off the subject, he turns it toward me, about my life. I boo-hoo about my burned house and how it meant everything to me.

“It’s just a house,” he says when I tell him how much it meant to me. “It can be rebuilt.”

I shake my head. “It would never be the same. It was my first and my parents helped me buy it, so it’s extra special.”

“You’re close with your parents?” He looks confused. He must be wondering why, if my parents cared enough to help me buy a house, then why did he find me living in my car and not staying with them.

“I was, yes.”

“You’re not now?”

“My parents died in a plane crash. They were traveling home from their anniversary trip when the plane they were on had an engine failure.”

The crash happened a few years ago, but it’s still difficult to talk about.

He takes my hand and brushes his thumb against my palm. I look down at our touching hands and a feeling blooms inside of me. It’s a mix of emotions: loneliness, fear, happiness, and desire. I’ve felt alone for so long, and I’m so sick of feeling that way.

Though I know I’ll regret it later, I pull his hand toward me and kiss his knuckles. He takes in a sharp breath and allows me to keep kissing his hand. I wonder if the same war is waging in his head that is going through mine, that we shouldn’t be doing this, that it could wreck everything. If he does think so, he’s not trying to stop me.

When I stop to look up at him, at his reaction, he takes me by the hands, pulling me to him. The bowl of popcorn falls to the ground and scatters, but he doesn’t give it a second glance. Bitters, on the other hand, sees an opportunity for a snack and pounces on it.

All of Marcus’s attention is focused on me. My arms wrap around his shoulders, legs around his waist. It’s an awkward tangle of limbs at first until he stands and carries me into his room.

Laying me on his bed, our lips crash together, warm tongues colliding. God, his body feels good against mine, all hard muscle and sinew. I need to get these clothes off of him to see if he looks as good without them. I unbutton his shirt, fingers fumbling with excitement. He helps me with the last two buttons when I’m not working fast enough. When his shirt peels back, revealing a smooth, hairless chest rippled with muscles, it’s better than I could imagine. He’s a work of art. I stare at him in awe, my fingers tracing the ropes of muscles going up his arms. How is he so perfect? He looks as though he’s never consumed a carb in his life. I know that’s not the case because he was scarfing down popcorn just a minute ago.

He hurries to take my clothes off. Things go much easier for him, seeing as I’m only wearing a t-shirt and boxers with nothing underneath. As soon as my shirt comes off, he makes a sound of approval and he looks at me with the same rapt amazement I looked at him with. Could he be admiring me in the same way? I’ve always been told I have a great body, but some men have felt I was too curvy for their taste, my breasts too large, my hips too wide. I’m built more like a Kim than a Kendall.

“You’re perfection,” he says on a loose breath.

My face flushes and my nipples harden the longer his gaze sweeps over my chest. He traces a finger along the under swell of my breast. When he grazes my nipple with his finger, a shudder rolls through me, raising goosebumps.

“So are you,” I say.

He leans in, his warm breath on my cheek. He smells my neck and runs a finger down my bare shoulder. My throat goes dry. I can barely swallow. My body tingles and my wetness pools between my legs, soaking the boxers he has yet to take off of me. The desire to be touched becomes a desperate need, and if he’s not careful, I’m going to attack him.

“I want you,” he says. His skin is cool as he brushes the hair off of my neck, sending chills down my spine. Despite the chill, there’s an inferno raging between my legs. “We shouldn’t do this, but I want you so much I don’t think I have the power to stop myself.” He rubs my goosebumped arms. My whole body tenses up. “Tell me to stop. Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He’s practically begging me to tell him no.

I’m panting as my mind runs the gamut of all the reasons I should tell him no. When I open my mouth to say the words, nothing comes out. Though I know stopping now would be the right thing to do, it feels wrong. I want him. I need him.

I shake my head. “No. Don’t stop.”

The words have barely left my mouth when his lips crash into mine and we fall back into a hurricane-force of a kiss. His hands slip beneath the waistband of the boxers and he slides them down my legs and off of me. There’s more work for me than an elastic band. I take off his belt, contend with a button and zipper, and then I come to his boxers which I struggle to get off. It’s a struggle to get the elastic over his hardness. It’s stretched to its limit. When I finally do manage it, seeing him fully naked is worth all the effort it took. He has the most glorious cock I’ve ever seen. Long and thick with a glimmering head. If I wasn’t sure I turned him on before, I’m sure of it now. There’s no denying his attraction, and there’s no denying my own by the way I drip onto his sheets.

Seeing that proud cock in front of me in all its glorious hardness, I’m unable to keep my hands to myself. My fingers wrap around him. He closes his eyes and rocks his hips slowly.

While I stroke him, he starts to kiss me again. His soft lips barely brush against mine. It’s a sensual kiss at first. The tips of his fingers touch my face, rub my ear lobes, run through my hair. He puts his thumb on my chin and gives it a little tug so that I open my mouth. Then his tongue slips in and glides against mine, tangling together again. He sucks my tongue into his mouth and bites my bottom lip.

I moan into his open mouth while his hand moves down to my inner thigh. He doesn’t touch the ache between my legs that needs relief. I buck by hips, prompting him to move farther toward my center. I kiss his teeth when he smiles at my eagerness.

“You’re driving me crazy,” I tell him.

“Good things come to those who wait,” he says playfully.

I’m not good at waiting. I desperately want his hands all over me.

His lips touch my neck, covering it in soft, yet eager kisses. He moves down my body, covering my breasts, taking my nipples between his teeth. A loud moan parts my lips. The feeling of his teeth against my soft flesh sends an electric shock to my center, arousing me to a point of near hysteria.

He pushes my legs open, exposing me. The air tickles my shaved pussy.

“You’re so wet,” he says. I spread my legs further, using my empty hand to spread myself so he gets a better look at what he’s missing by not touching me. He lets out a deep groan and grabs my hand with his cock in it and forces me to squeeze hard on the shaft. “That little clit looks appetizing.”

He stares as if he’s in a trance, his hand moving closer to the junction between my legs until I’m whimpering and begging him to touch me.

“Please,” I plead with him. “I need it.”

He gives me a taunting smile and touches everything but that tender spot.

Finally, he touches the outer folds of my pussy, and even though it’s not the exact spot I want him to touch, any touch right now feels amazing. Every nerve between my legs feels raw and exposed. I jerk at the slightest touch. He runs a finger down my wet slit and I imagine that’s what nirvana is like.

My juices gleam and drip from his fingertips when he puts them in his mouth and licks them clean. He smells his fingers when he’s done and lets out a guttural sound as he starts to rock faster. I’m stroking him at a good pace now, loving the way he fits in my palm. He then moves his hand back between my legs and plunges his finger deep inside of me.

I let out a long, loud moan, raising my hips to push him deeper into me. He pulls out briefly to massage my outer folds, then pinches my clit, tugging and rolling it between his fingers. My moans get louder and I have to bite down on my lip to keep quiet. I know we’re alone in his high-rise, but I don’t want the neighbors to hear.

He adds another finger, and then another. This time I can’t help the scream that bursts from me. Three fingers blast me at a furious pace, and I’m writhing on the bed as he stretches me. He finds an incredible rhythm that nearly sends me over the edge. I’m so close to an orgasm, but somehow I manage to keep it under control. I don’t want to come yet. I want this sensation to build up until I can’t take it anymore.

My pussy is drenched and his fingers easily glide in and out of my silky entrance. His expert touch pushes me into a lightheaded euphoric state of wonder. My knees shake as my g-spot is stroked in an even rhythm. Not fast enough to make me come just yet, but keeping me right on the verge.

Marcus kneels between my legs, keeping his fingers moving as he wraps his hot mouth onto my hard clit. I thought it couldn’t get any better than his fingers inside of me, but I was so wrong. He goes back and forth, replacing his fingers with his tongue, focusing completely on my pleasure.

“Your pussy tastes so sweet,” he says before using the tip of his tongue to swirl my clit. His words send a shiver through me.

His tongue moves slowly and softly at first, then fast and furious, then back to slow. It’s a constant rollercoaster ride of pleasure. Just when he gets me to a point where I’m afraid there’s no going back, he slows down and my orgasm subsides like a patient beast slinking back into the shadows, waiting for the next opportunity.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” I tell him. It’s more of a command than a suggestion.

The side of his mouth quirks up, and he crawls up from between my legs, lips shimmering in the dim light with my juices. He kneels in front of me and I have to stretch my mouth wide to fit him in, making sure to relax my throat so I don’t gag on him. Either way, it’s going to be hard not to.

I like the feeling of him in my mouth, the look on his face while he’s there. His eyes look heavy, dreamy. There’s a strangled sound in his throat as I work the underside of his cock with my tongue.

He holds the back of my head, pushing his cock deeper down my throat. “God, your mouth feels amazing,” he says. The lust-filled look on his face is so fucking sexy I almost come then and there without him even touching me.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. His eyes close and he looks like he’s trying really hard not to lose himself to my mouth. “I wanted you from moment you ran into me.”

His words stun me for a moment. It’s a good thing he’s the one thrusting forward, or I might’ve stopped. He wanted me from the moment I ran into him? Before he knew I was his employee? My mind starts to move a million miles an hour. Nagging questions flare up. Did he want this all along? Here I was, thinking that being with him was just a fluke, and he only picked me to pretend to be his wife because I was desperate after losing my house. Was there more to it? Did he pick me because he was attracted to me?

He reaches down and starts rubbing my clit again and all thoughts evaporate instantly. Nothing enters my head except what is happening here and now.

He starts to fuck my face fast. “Damn, you’re good at that.”

He pulls out long enough for me to catch my breath. A bead of pre-cum on the smooth head glistens in the dim lights. I lick it off with the tip of my tongue and suck his cock back into my mouth.

“Wait, wait,” he says, panting, then pulls out of my mouth. “I was about to come.”

He kisses my now empty mouth, then moves down to my breasts and sucks a nipple into his mouth. Once he gives the other a little attention, he kisses his way up my chest and to my mouth again. He breaks the kiss and looks me in the eyes. The look he gives me is so sweet and gentle and loving that I feel a tightness in my chest.

He kisses me long and deep. I can taste myself on his lips and on his perfect tongue. He then positions himself on top of me, reaches between his legs, grabs his thick cock and guides himself into me.

I moan into his open mouth and run my fingers down the hard plains of his back as he slowly goes deeper. He stares into my eyes the entire time, his smile sending a shiver through me.

He starts a steady rhythm, then picks up speed. He knows exactly how to move his hips, how to make me feel every inch of him. I’m clawing at his back now, wanting him deeper, wanting to crawl beneath his skin, wanting him beneath mine until we’re one in the same.

Now he’s fucking me me fast and hard, making my tits jiggle and bounce. Our slapping skin rings out in the quiet room. The headboard crashes into the wall. If his neighbors can’t hear my screams, they can definitely hear that. I wouldn’t be surprised if we dent the wall or even break through the drywall after the beating it takes.

He lifts my legs, bringing my knees to my chest. This new angle causes him to drive into me as deep as my body will allow. I scream as my first orgasm rips through me. He pounds me until I see nothing but stars in front of my eyes and keeps at it until I see nothing at all.

I’m not normally this loud in bed, but the way he touches me, the depths he reaches, it’s as if I don’t have a mind of my own. The sounds just come out and I have no control of my own body.

He pulls out suddenly and I want to demand that he put it back, but then he rolls me over, and puts a hand on my stomach, lifting me onto my hands and knees, then pushes into me from behind. I gasp as he bottoms out, pushing me to my limit. Again, I cry out.

“God, yes, just like that,” I say, rocking into him. “Harder,” I say.

He doesn’t hesitate to oblige, plunging deep inside of me.

Holy shit. Everything is sensitive, reactive. The second orgasm building up feels explosive. When it happens, it’s going to be mind-blowing.

Our skin slaps together at a furious beat. My orgasm starts in my core and radiates up my spine and down my arms, into my legs until it reaches my fingers and toes. My entire body starts to shake. The sounds Marcus makes become more animalistic, grunting and growling as he comes closer to release.

“Oh, fuck,” he says

With one more desperate thrust, he digs his fingers into my ass cheeks and releases his load inside of me.

When he’s done we’re both panting and spent. He kisses my shoulder. As I lie next to him, I’m not sure what to say. He seems perfectly content not saying anything. He just lies there, looking at me, touching my skin, and caressing me. His mannerisms show all the symptoms of actual affection, but I know that’s not the case. It can’t be. He hired me to do a job.

I hate to admit it, but when I look at him, everything inside of me comes to life. I’m terrified about what that means. Anytime he’s near, there’s a warmth that runs through my veins, a flutter that comes to my stomach, a yearning between my legs at the thought of touching him. These feeling are turning into something I’m not sure I can control. Am I falling for him?

I try to shake the thoughts from my head. I can’t be falling for Marcus Steere. It would never work. He’s Him—smart, sexy, powerful, and very, very wealthy. And, well, I’m me. I can be smart, and on occasion I can be sexy, but powerful and wealthy I am not.

The way he’s watching me right now is so confusing. I’ve never had anyone look at me that way before, not even men who have claimed to love me in the past. I want to grab his shoulders and shake him and say, ‘Please stop looking at me that way.’ Not because I don’t want him to, but because it gets my hopes up. My rational mind tells me that it could never happen, but the romantic side of me wonders what it would be like if we fell in love.

“Do you know when my clothes will be ready? I’m going to need something to wear to work tomorrow,” I say to try and get rid of these childish romantic thoughts.

He takes his hand off my shoulder, and when he does, all I want is for him to be touching me again, even though it’s confusing as hell.

“They won’t be ready for some time, but I have something else,” he says.

He gets out of bed. I can’t help but ogle his gorgeous muscular ass as he slips his boxers on and goes to a wardrobe in the corner of the room, the kind that the new clothes come in when they get to the store. They’re on a rack, encased in plastic. He unzips one and pulls out a stunning black dress with gold accents.

My jaw drops and I sit up. He opens several more of the bags, revealing equally fabulous clothes made of expensive fabric and expert tailoring.

I get out of bed too, forgetting I’m naked at first, then slip on the t-shirt I was wearing. The boxers stay off since they are still wet, but that’s okay because the shirt is plenty long enough to cover all the important stuff.

“These are incredible,” I say, reaching for the dress, but then I pause before it’s in my hands. “Did these belong to your ex-wife?”

I know I’m just pretending to be his wife in public, but to be seen in her clothes would feel like a slap in the face, to me and to her. I don’t want people to look at me and think I’m just some second-rate version trying to literally fill her shoes. A younger, cheaper replacement part in his life.

“No, these are samples from the line of women’s clothing I’ll be adding to my collection. I’ve changed the designs a bit to fit the budget. These are the originals, and my favorites. They’re yours now. You’ll look stunning. You have the perfect body for them.”

The compliment heats every inch of my body because I know he’s staring at me.

Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m going to be wearing a Marcus Steere original. When I applied for the job at his company, I was obsessed with fashion and I wanted to be part of a company that I believed in—I still do believe in the company, but I wasn’t feeling like men’s fashion was the right place for me anymore. The only reason I stayed was because there had been rumors he was going to have a woman’s line eventually, and I wanted to be on the ground floor for when it happened. Of course, back then, I thought I would be further ahead in my job, working alongside the designers. That’s what I went to school for, after all. Now that I see the clothing, I’m even more excited to be a part of it. And even more excited that I get to wear the clothes that were part of his original ideas.

“They’re amazing,” I say, my words barely a whisper. I can’t believe he’s just giving these to me. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything as expensive as these fabrics touch my skin before.

“I’m going to get in the shower, then tonight I’m taking you out. We’re officially going to out you as my wife in the public eye,” Marcus says.

“Oh, okay,” I stammer. That’s a big can of worms he’s going to have a hard time putting back when it’s all said and done. What will he say when this job is over? Will he tell everyone it was a fake marriage? Will he say we got divorced? I guess it doesn’t really matter, but for some reason none of it feels good.