I’m in heaven.

I’ve been at Vivian’s for a few days. So far, my time with the dogs has gone by without incident, and I can only imagine it getting better, now that the weekend is almost here.

For starters, this condo complex is a short walk from the main veterinary sciences building on campus. Skipping my subway rides from Brooklyn means no cramming myself into a packed subway car just to make my morning lectures, no rush hour delays, and no weird body odors curling up my nose, threatening to make me gag or pass out for a forty-five-minute ride that feels like a lifetime.

Being able to skip Brooklyn altogether is a Godsend, and I’m not talking about the nice parts of the city. Pooling rent with my roommates, Emily and Rose, was barely enough to get us a tiny two-and-a-half-bedroom apartment in what Rose calls the ‘shady armpit of the big Apple’. Needless to say, our apartment is not in the greatest of neighborhoods. Even men would be hesitant to walk alone at night. Muggings happen regularly, prostitution is rampant, and I customarily dodge the odd sketchy-looking person lingering around outside my building.

This live-in pet-sitting gig at Vivian’s palace in the sky gives me three weeks’ vacation from dodging danger on a daily basis. There’s also no walking up five flights of stairs when I’m exhausted after class, and no cramped living situation with Emily and Rose—who by the way, have been drooling over the couple of photos I texted to them of my temporary dream home.

The dogs are no problem at all. They’ve been a joy to be around since the first time I took care of them. I can tell they miss Vivian being away, at least a little, but I’ve been with them all the time, except for when I’m on campus. Even while I’m at lectures and labs, the pet monitoring app keeps me connected to them.

Whoever dreamed up this app must have had someone like me in mind. I’m connected to a two-way video and audio feed via the condo unit’s home Wi-Fi, and can see what they’re up to. It gives me an alert if they bark loudly or for other noises they make if they get into anything naughty. The live video feed streams all activity in their doggie room, which is where I leave them while I’m out.

There’s also a setting for me to give a pre-recorded message to help Bailey calm down. She’s the only one of the three that tends to have separation anxiety issues when no one’s at home. I don’t use the feature to speak with them live very much, as I only leave them alone to attend lectures. Still, the feature is there when needed.

I love this job.

It’s been pure bliss.

Sheba has even steered clear of Jackson’s side of the balcony. I haven’t seen the neighbor either, which is probably a good thing. He’s the kind of guy moms everywhere warn their daughters about.

Like the devil.

Smooth and tempting on the outside, and all bad when you dig deeper.

When he spoke to me at his front door the other day, his deep, rich voice rumbled in his throat, reverberating through me. The way he leisurely uttered my name, so thoughtfully, almost in a calculated way, caressing each letter before he let it leave his tongue, well, it was nothing like what I expected. It was like hearing my name pronounced correctly for the first time—the way it was meant to be spoken.

And why did my heart race the entire time while his eyes raked across my body, ending any possibility of coherent thought? He inspected and dissected me with just his eyes, yet seemed to appreciate every inch of what he saw. It was as though he could see right through me, like I was naked and exposed.

I need to stay away.

Up until now, keeping far away from him has been easy, because I haven’t seen him or anyone else on this floor since the day Vivian left.

What a dream weekend this will be. Starting with the two-person jacuzzi tub with jets in my guest bedroom. But first, I need to feed Bailey, Sheba and Daisy, take them outside so they can stretch their legs and do their business, and get them settled down so I can have a long, uninterrupted me-time session.

Feeding them was the usual process. Each of the dogs has his or her own special diet. Sheba gets packaged beef liver or kidney from the butcher, which he likes warmed up to exactly eighty-two degrees or he won’t touch it. As long as I get his dish ready first, mealtime goes smoothly. Daisy has the canned chicken and rice, and Bailey likes dried dog food straight from the bag, so she’s easy. Today, dinner is easy as pie, so I get them leashed up and take them down to the private dog park adjacent to the condo building. It’s not near large enough for all the pets that congregate from the three buildings in the condominium complex, but as I take them for a long walk in Central Park every morning, it does the trick on evenings.

We return to Vivian’s place a half-hour or so later. They’re fed, calm, and happily wagging their tails. Getting them up to their doggie bedroom on the second floor—which incidentally, is almost double the size of my entire apartment in Brooklyn—I find them their special chew toys and comfort play things, dim the lights, and close the door behind me. They don’t even give me any pleading looks tonight.

‘Me-time’ has arrived.

Filling the jacuzzi, I throw in my honey almond aromatherapy bath salts and light up some scented candles to add to the atmosphere. My bathrobe is neatly folded with some towels on the bench beside the tub, with my comfy bedroom slippers on the floor nearby. And just in case I need it, the pet monitor app is open and streaming audio on my phone. I scan the room one more time. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long, it needs to be perfect.

Everything’s quiet out there.

I’m ready in here.

A peaceful smile rises on my lips. I turn off the overhead lights. I step out of my jeans, peel off my cardigan and shirt, unhook my bra, and slide my cotton panties off, leaving them in a pile on the floor beside my bedroom slippers. The light humidity in the air kisses my bare skin, setting me at ease. With one hand on the bath support grip for balance, I dip one toe into the water. Excellent temperature. Taking a long inhale, I step into the tub and slowly sink down in the heated water. I reach out and turn on the timer for the jets, close my eyes, and embark on my escape.

It’s perfect.

Until it’s not.

I only have about ten minutes of relaxation before there’s a loud thump out in the hallway, followed by a noise alarm from the dog monitoring app on my phone. Sitting up in the tub, I reach for the phone and turn on the video feed. Bailey’s in her doggie bed, but Sheba and Daisy aren’t anywhere in the room, from what I can see on the screen.

“Sheba? Daisy?” I call out.

I know they can hear me through the bathroom door because I left it slightly ajar. Yet this time, they don’t come to me.

“Sheba, Daisy, here doggies!”

Not a sound. It’s silent again, but I can’t take the chance that they’re romping around the penthouse unattended, possibly breaking Vivian’s things. Expensive stuff I can’t replace.

Groaning, I begrudgingly turn off the jacuzzi jets and step out of the tub.

“Here Sheba! Here Daisy!” I shout, drying off a bit and putting on the bathrobe. If I’m quick about locating them and taking them back in their room, the water may still be warm enough to top up and resume my de-stressing.

They’re not in any of the rooms upstairs. Taking the stairs from outside Vivian’s master bedroom, I look around in the hallway outside the formal dining room. It’s only when I cross through the foyer to check the kitchen that I see why they’re not answering. The balcony door is wide open, Daisy is sitting beside it, tail wagging.

Sheba isn’t with her.

“Stay, Daisy,” I say, hurrying over to her. “Don’t you move. Bad Daisy. How did you get this door open? I know I locked it too,” I tell her, scolding her with one finger that should be all wrinkly by now if I were still in the jacuzzi. She tucks her head under one paw and makes a few soft, apologetic whimpers as I look around the terrace for Sheba. “Sheba? Here, Sheba. Be a good boy and come here.”

Please, please don’t let him be on the neighbor’s side of the terrace, I pray inwardly, but the sound of his barking is coming from exactly there.

I check Jackson’s balcony from the edge of the railing, and cringe when I see Sheba, playing beside one of the terra cotta flower pots.

“Stop, Sheba! Come here, boy,” I call to the little menace, clicking my tongue for extra emphasis.

I’m flustered and frustrated. He’s been so obedient up until now. Why won’t he come? Sheba turns his fluffy little doggy head and looks at me, but doesn’t move an inch. Correction. He bends his back legs, then his tail raises in defiance as his one back leg raises. No. Oh no. He’s not doing what I think he’s about to do.

Crap.

Oh yes he is.

Sheba proceeds to pee beside the potted plant, leaving a hot, steaming puddle right in the middle of Jackson’s terrace. It’s steaming because out here is freaking cold, and all I’m wearing is a bathrobe. I didn’t even think to put on my slippers.

“Sheba! Bad dog! Come here right now!” I shriek.

In my panicked state, I hold on to the partition and swing one leg, then the other, over the ledge to step onto Jackson’s balcony. Checking my pocket, I let out a sigh of relief when my hand grasps a bundle of facial tissues I stuffed in there the last time I used my bathrobe. Thank goodness. I need to clean up this mess and get this naughty little pooch back to Vivian’s before the grumpy guy next door shows up and goes off the deep—

“What the fuck is going on out here?”

The sound of Jackson’s voice booming out from his sliding door behind me causes me to freeze, just as my tissue-covered fingers begin to sop up Sheba’s handiwork.

Shit.

“Uh, I uh, I’m sorry, Mr. Knight,” I say tilting only my head to look at him from my bent over position. “It looks worse than it really is. Sheba got out again, and just had a little…accident.”

I manage to wipe it all up, closing the drier sides of the tissue papers around to cover the wetter center. Then I notice the droplets of water that fell from my soaking wet hair. Jeez. Maybe he won’t see.

“There,” I chime out. “All good now. If you don’t mind me coming back in a few minutes, I’ll clean and sanitize the spot with some disinfecting pine cleaner.”

He doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me, eyes narrow, with an icy glint in his stare. I can tell he’s not the least bit happy. One hand is fisted at his side, while the other has a death grip on the sliding door handle.

I’m in so much trouble.

Then Sheba outdoes himself, making things worse for me by running up to Jackson and licking his expensive shoes. Then he humps Jackson’s ankle.

I’m so dead.

“Come here right now, Sheba!” I hiss through gritted teeth.

Jackson glowers down at Sheba, but remains cold and silent. He’s probably swearing an endless string of profanity in his head, and the scowl on his face says plenty.

I approach him and pick up Sheba with my free hand. “I’m very sorry about this, Mr. Knight. It won’t happen again,” I assure him, although I have no way of knowing how I’ll make good on such a promise, short of barricading the sliding door so Daisy can’t open it for Sheba to get out again.

As I straighten up with Sheba cradled in one arm and the tissue paper with his wet little accident in the other, I notice Jackson’s eyes move from my face, down to about breast level. My body shivers from his stare. Or it may just be that I’m cold.

It’s the cold, all right.

And partial nudity.

Aww hell.

In my haste to take care of what Sheba just did, the bathrobe’s tie belt loosened from my waist and exposed almost my entire body, from neck to knee. I can’t even begin to hold back my embarrassment. Heat burns my cheeks when I remember that my hands are full. Clearing my throat and swallowing hard, I do what I can to at least cover some of my nakedness by using my forearm and elbow to push the plush fabric forward. Jackson is not the least bit shy. He continues to pierce a hot trail down my body, all the way to my feet, then back up, stopping at my hips, stomach, and breasts before connecting with my eyes again.

“Take your mutt home. Now.”

Turning away from him, I start to walk across the terrace toward Vivian’s side of the balcony.

“Not that way, for Christ’s sake,” he barks, raking masculine yet well-manicured fingers through his thick, dark, perfectly combed-back hair. “It’s dangerous. I can’t have anyone falling to their death from my balcony.”

“But, that’s the way I came,” I nervously inform him, ignoring his comment about my potential demise. I throw the wad of tissues over to Vivian’s side so I can dispose of it once I’m safely on the correct side of this terrace. Closing my bathrobe, I turn to him. “Mr. Knight, sorry, but I won’t be able to get into Vivian’s apartment if I go through the front door. It’s locked…I wasn’t thinking. Gosh, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he shouts. “Just come inside. I’ll phone the concierge desk security guards. They have a master key to every unit.”

He steps to one side, leaving just enough room for me to get in from the cold. Peering into the lavish space, my first impression is that his condo unit must be twice as large as Vivian’s. It’s enormous, and tastefully decorated with masculine tones of neutral creams, tans and browns.

As I place one foot inside, my elbow brushes against the back of his hand resting on the door. My breath catches in my throat. What on earth was that? The moment I touched him, something transfers from his skin to mine and hits me like a freight train, spreading electricity through me so unexpectedly that I jerk away. I can’t explain what that was. Maybe attraction. Or lust. Or desire. That’s a first for me. I didn’t experience anything like that while making out with Noel Ashton, the only guy I dated in high school. We got to second base. Once. Maybe that’s why we never tried again. Chemistry was sorely lacking.

Jackson further surprises me by extending his arm across the opening of the doorway, blocking me from entering. “This is your last warning,” He says in a menacing baritone.

“Excuse me?” I ask in almost a whisper.

“Keep your mutt off my property. That’s not a request.”

“I will,” I assure him.

“Good, because if it happens again, one way or another, I’ll make sure you pay.”

How am I supposed to respond to that?

“Last warning,” he repeats. “Or you’ll be punished.”

“I’m… I’m not sure I understand,” I stammer.

Keeping his arm out, he leans just his head closer to me, so close I can smell the expensive cologne wafting from somewhere around his jaw. “Don’t let it happen again, doll. Or I won’t hesitate to make you pay.”

No fitting answer comes to mind. I mean, does this rich guy understand that I’m a student, scraping by to get an education, and that my parents are working class farmers, practically destitute by his standards? Still, his threat has an effect on me. I make a promise to myself that the second I get back to Vivian’s, the balcony doors are going on lockdown. I don’t care what I have to use—chain-link fencing, padlocks, chicken coop wire mesh.

Whatever it takes to avoid the wrath of Jackson Knight.