As the tub filled to the brim with bubbles, I jittered from excitement. It had been months since I’d had time for a bath. My phone vibrated with text messages a few times, but I brushed it off, knowing it had to be Khloe or Sophia. Then it rang, Jameson’s name flashing across my screen. When I picked it up, I had four texts and two missed calls from him.

I need to speak with you.

When I didn’t reply, he’d sent another, then another immediately after. They were equally cryptic.

Answer your phone Eden, now.

Call me.

The texts were more urgent with each passing message. What in the world was going on? Had he lost his shit in the last few hours? The final message worried me the most.

WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?

Thankfully, he didn’t leave voicemails after his calls. I sucked in a deep breath and swiped to call him back. All it took was one ring before he picked up. Uh-oh. Not good.

“Jameson, hey.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Miss Black?”

We were back to Miss Black? Lovely. “I had a relaxing bath planned before you interrupted me.”

“I meant with Mrs. Rodriguez.” His voice had dropped to a menacing tone.

“Oh.”

“Oh? ‘Oh’ is all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say? I never agreed to let Uptown go.”

He didn’t reply for a few moments, but his angry exhales came through the receiver loud and clear. “We need to talk in person. Meet me at the Raffaello Hotel in an hour.”

“It’s my day off, and I have to be up early tomorrow. Wasn’t lunch enough?”

“The ball is in your court. You can have City Net back or not. It’s up to you.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “Be there in an hour. Text me the exact address.”

“An hour then,” he repeated right before hanging up.

Somehow my bath would have to wait for another day. It pained me to waste the exquisitely warmed water and bubbly foam, but City Net was too valuable. Jameson sounded angry. I’d known calling Mrs. Rodriguez would push his buttons, although I didn’t anticipate it happening so quickly. I dressed in a suitably professional sheath dress and coordinating blazer. The right pumps completed the look. Luckily, I hadn’t yet washed my face so I didn’t have to reapply my makeup. With one last glance in the mirror, I headed for the door.

As I slid into the leather seat of my car, my phone vibrated again.

Room 77

Shit. What happened to meeting at the bar? Was he insane? We shouldn’t talk business alone in a hotel room, but fine—I could be a professional. His text shouldn’t change the outcome of the evening. We were meeting about business. No big deal.

* * *

As I stood at the threshold of Jameson’s suite, my heart raced. I leaned in, my ear close to the thick door in an attempt to listen. Before I gathered the courage to knock, a loud thud vibrated through the maple wood.

My instincts kicked in and I knocked hard, yelling from the hallway, “Jameson, are you in there?”

More thumps and bangs came from inside the room and he shouted, “Yeah . . . I’m comin’.”

His voice sounded a bit slurred. Was he drunk? It was so unlike him. Calm, cool, and collected Jameson never managed to be ruffled or upset. I banged harder on the door with my fists. “Open up.”

“I’m tryin’ . . . hang—on a min—”

He had to be smashed. His voice sounded deeper, too.

Crap on crudités.

When he finally opened the door, Jameson had a goofy smile on his face. With glossy eyes and heavy lids, he winked at me.

“Are you okay?”

He cocked his head to one side. “I’m great now that you’re here.”

He turned and walked back into the suite, leaving the door wide open and me standing in the hall. The room’s cream walls were covered in fancy art, and its large, king-sized bed was adorned with a plush comforter. After almost a minute, I followed him in, uninvited.

He reached for a bottle of Blue Label, but I grabbed it from his grasp. If he kept drinking, he would pass out. “Think maybe you’ve had enough? How about we get you in bed?”

“How about I sit and watch you in my bed?” He took a seat on the tufted chair across from the king-sized bed, pointing at it like I was going to take his bait.

Not a chance, Winthrop.

His attempt at sexiness was priceless. I couldn’t help but laugh. He looked messed up—shirt untucked, hair askew, tie loose—but somehow remained utterly adorable. It was such a relief to see him letting his guard down, even if it meant he needed to get a buzz going to do so. Maybe I could even coax some information out of him? No, doubt he’ll want to talk shop tonight.

“How many drinks have you had, J. R.?” I used his nickname to annoy him.

A shit-eating grin spread across his lips. “Wasn’t keeping count.”

Definitely not getting anything out of him tonight. I wagged my finger at him. “Someone’s been very bad, Mr. Winthrop.”

“Yes. Maybe I have,” he hummed, sexy as fuck as he eyed me.

A delicious idea occurred to me. Christ. Depravity, meet Eden. Eden, meet depravity. His disheveled, freshly fucked look drove me wild. I pictured the taut body beneath the rumpled suit. God, I needed him. Wanted to have him watch me undress and see me fully naked, nothing left between us—not the way we’d been in his office with layers keeping us apart.

What if I played a game with him? Because, God, did I ever crave his core-melting stare, his hands on my skin, his tormenting tongue.

“Want to play a game?” I asked, biting my lip.

The buzzed haze lifted, and his eyes burned with a deep, dark thirst for something sinful. My heart skipped a beat.

“Yes,” he sighed.

“Twenty-one questions?”

“Mmm . . . but I want more than questions.”

I grinned. “I’ll take a piece of clothing off if you answer my questions honestly. Will you do the same for me?”

“Better,” he uttered, hungry desire in his stare. “And when you’re naked, I want you to come.”

My pulse spiked off the charts. He wanted to watch me come apart for him. I bit my lip at his unabashed suggestion.

“Why did you invite me here?” I continued. “Obviously it wasn’t to talk about business.”

“I needed to see you.” His gaze traveled up from my heels, gliding over my body to land on my face. He crossed an ankle over his knee, chest rising and falling in slow, drawn-out breaths.

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Why did you need to see me, Jameson?”

He stared me down. “You forgot to take something off—not answering the last question ‘til ya do.”

I sat at the edge of the bed and unfastened the ankle strap on my pumps, slipping one off, then the other. “Now answer my question.”

“You make me forget everything, and the only thing I need when I’m with you is to . . . to bind you, touch you, make you beg.”

With this declaration, the vulnerability in his eyes showed. He fixated on me, and I stared back, remembering a time when he could glance my way and I’d dissolve at his feet.

With my eyes glued to him, Jameson exhaled. “Eden.”

A jolt sparked in my core. He wanted this, and every part of me begged for it, too. He watched as I slowly reached for the top button of my shirt, his eyes caressing me. I unfastened it, pop, then the next one, pop, and then a third, pop, lower and lower until it fell open and exposed my lace bra with a pearl bow at the center. I shrugged the shirt off my shoulders, letting it tumble to the ground.

“Fuck,” he groaned. Leaning forward a bit, he asked, “Why did you show up?”

I rubbed my lips with my fingers. “I don’t know. I thought we could talk about work.”

He cocked his brow at me. “You’re not fooling anyone—you came here because you want more, Miss Black.”

“Yeah, sure. Now off with the jacket.”

“You said we had to answer honestly. Your last response wasn’t the truth.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Next question . . . why do you hate me so much?”

His pupils dilated and his jaw tightened. “You’re a tease and I can’t have you.”

Could I be a more of a horrendous person for enjoying this? “You say that quite often, Mr. Winthrop, but I’m unsure as to why it’s a good enough reason to hate me—or, for that matter, steal my accounts?”

“You use it to get what you want.”

What the eff? Like hell I do!

“Is that so?” I asked, leaning back on the bed and propping myself up on my elbows.

Jameson didn’t say a word. He didn’t move a lash. He sat, motionless, like a lion waiting to pounce.

“Do you miss our lil’ games?” he asked coolly.

“Maybe.” I paused, biting the pad of my finger playfully. “Do you miss our games, Jameson?”

I held my breath as he watched me on the bed. I didn’t even care that he hadn’t removed any of his clothing—his answers were more than enough to get me hot. Don’t you dare fuck him! But I want to so badly . . .

When he refused to answer my question, I decided to try something else.

“Why don’t you come here and touch me?”

“I’m enjoyin’ the show from this chair, thanks.”

“It’s more comfortable over here.” He didn’t budge, so I ran my palm across the soft, silky sheets in an attempt to lure him. Still nothing. Maybe a different line of questioning was in order. “Tell me what you want me to do next.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

He was still sharp, even in a scotch haze. I bit my lip, admiring how delicious he looked with his hair messed and his suit all wrinkled to hell. “What would you like to watch me do?”

Jameson licked his bottom lip and leaned forward, dropping his leg back to the floor. He appeared less buzzed at the sound of my question.

“Take off the bra,” he whispered.

He’d sobered up a significant amount since we’d begun this little cat and mouse game. I moved my hands back to the clasp, releasing my full breasts.

“Now what?”

He narrowed his eyes at me, focusing on my nipples from across the room. They hardened without a single touch. “Squeeze them, tease each one ‘til—yeah, like that.”

I brushed the taut peaks, then gave them a firm pinch, sucking in a sharp breath. When his gaze drifted over my body, I let out a slight whimper.

He replied with a carnal groan that started deep in his throat. “You’re already soaked under those polka-dot tights, aren’t ya?”

Dropping my head back, I shut my eyes. “Yes.”

“Do you crave my tongue?” His bottom lip glistened from his slow lick. “How about when I tie you down and taste your sweet cunt?”

Holy hell! Wasn’t I supposed to be in control?

“Mmm . . .”

“You taste like warm honey,” he murmured with a breathy sigh.

I heard the sound of his heavy movements—Jameson was off the chair, gliding toward me. His steps ceased, and I opened my eyes to find him standing at the edge of the bed, drinking in the sight before him. The glimmer in his eyes had the air in my lungs feeling trapped. It said he wanted to ravage me, strip me down, and leave me bare, satisfied, utterly his.

He knelt, grazing his stubble over my stockings, across my inner thigh. In a barely audible murmur, he said between kisses, “I’ll never get enough of you. Never.”

Then, quicker than a lash of a whip, he tore through the nylon, exposing my flesh to the cool air. I shivered, eyelashes fluttering.

With his lips on my skin, I didn’t care enough to think about what he meant. Jameson began skillfully tormenting my slick folds, and before I knew it, my core was tightening, my aching clit pleading for more. The way he teased me: pure agony. I tried to find added contact, bucking my hips as everything around me fell away. The pumping of my heart remained—loud, hurried, urgent—but his lips were my tether, the way a rope ties a boat to a dock. I could swag there forever if he’d let me.

My legs trembled, my toes curled, and the ache at my center pleaded for release. Jameson’s relentless tongue held me at the edge for what felt like hours. He drank in all my body had to give, then stole what I wouldn’t give willingly.

“Jameson, I . . .”

“Shh . . . ”

I gripped the sheets, balling them in my hands. “Please.”

“Come for me,” he said between licks.

His words made me fall over the edge into the abyss—I trembled, limbs shivering, skin hot to the touch—while the orgasm ripped through me. Every moan came louder than the one before, and I bit down on my lip to stifle them. I gripped Jameson’s hair, pulling tight. When my body slowed and my breathing evened out, my extremities felt floppy, lifeless even. I was categorically spent.

Somehow, Jameson managed to get off the floor and pull me into his arms. We sat that way for I don’t know how long, possibly an eternity, his clothes still on while I remained bare. And yet, oddly, it was perfect.

He nuzzled my ear and sucked the lobe. “I love it when you let go.”

I turned to him. “And I love when you go down on me.”

Jameson took my hand and intertwined his fingers with mine. I couldn’t make out what was behind the look in his eyes. Burning? Longing? He stared for a few more moments before speaking. “You cling to your control so tightly. It sometimes falls away, but those moments are rare. Why won’t you let me give you what you need?”

“What is it you think I need?”

Avoiding eye contact, he tilted his head back. “When you’re tied up, you have to surrender, but this—this is your choice. You want it, more than you even know.”

“Interesting theory.” I rolled my eyes. What did he know about what I needed?

He tightened his hold on my hand. “Has any other man made you come apart the way I do?”

I didn’t give him an answer, but as much as I wanted to deny it, no one ever had. I hadn’t even been interested in trying. I’d been his since he’d first bound me six years ago.

“And what do you want?” I attempted to change the subject.

He exhaled. “You.”

“I think you’ve had one too many scotches,” I chuckled.

He smiled before he nibbled at my earlobe again. “Not enough to forget what you do to me.”

“Now I know it’s definitely the alcohol talking, because I’m pretty sure we still hate each other.”

Jameson kissed me on the forehead and then on the lips. “It’s not.” While his two little words lingered, he leaned back and rested his head on a pillow, shutting his eyes.

Am I in the twilight zone? What in the hell was that?

I stared at the ceiling. When his breathing slowed, I glanced over. He was fast asleep. After another ten minutes, I knew he’d be out all night. I finally wiggled out of his arms at a little past one in the morning. The warmth from his embrace cooled as I put my skirt, button-down shirt, and pumps back in their appropriate positions. Jameson would wake up without me there, but I needed to get the hell out—for the sake of my head and my heart. I couldn’t do this with him. Not again. Sex was one thing, but feelings couldn’t happen. We were still on opposing sides, and I couldn’t give up my dreams for any man, not even him.

Quietly, I bent and kissed his cheek—a gesture he wouldn’t remember come sunrise—then turned and left.

Goodbye, Jameson.