Morning light filters in through the billowing curtains that hula dance in the slight breeze. I blink against the stark white sheets, my eyes adjusting to the foreign room that smells like sandalwood, replacing the distinct cigarette scent that usually seeps into my motel room from the one next door. A fog pounds against my skull, blotting out all thought of where I am and how I got here. But then the sound of the shower pings in my ears and I bolt upright.

Holy shit.

I’m in Colby’s bed.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m in Colby’s bed and last night I did the one thing I shouldn’t: I forgot my mission, let my desires overtake me, and nearly screwed myself over in the process of screwing him.

I blink, my eyes sweeping over the empty room once more. I’m in Colby’s room…and he’s in the shower.

I leap out of bed, completely naked, my muscle memory and instinct kicking in before the events from last resurface in my brain like a movie I’d forgotten I’ve already seen. Images float to my mind: the rough scrape of his stubble against my thigh, the scream that ripped from my mouth as I straddled him on this very bed with my palms braced against the wall, the delicate whispered words about promises for more. More than tonight. More than just sex.

More than I can keep.

I fucked up last night but today I have clarity. He’s not here and this might be my only chance. I rip open the first drawer I come to and sweep my hands inside, my fingers working fast and methodical the way I’ve always been good at, before I knew my fingers could work other magic on him besides theft. The first two drawers yield nothing but immaculately folded clothes and frustration that makes my teeth clench. But when I dig my hand beneath his boxers, hard velvet scrapes my fingertips.

I freeze, not daring this to be real as I trace the rectangular shape. My pulse quickens. I fumble to remove the box and gasp at the sight of it, my heart swelling with hope and nostalgia and down right gratitude. Tears spring to my eyes, and when I pop open the box and my gaze catches on the iridescent shimmer of the brooch, my breath shivers out of me. I hug the beautiful piece of jewelry to my chest. It’s mine. It’s finally mine.

“Ahem.”

I scream, spinning around to come face to face with Colby leaning against the bathroom doorjamb, a teal towel wrapped around his waist. My heart leaps into my throat and I scramble to hide the brooch behind my back in a childish game of hide and seek.

He stalks toward me, his face void of expression. A lump lodges in my throat and I stumble backward a step, the brooch knocking into his wooden dresser with a bang that sounds like a nuclear bomb to my years.

He holds out a palm, forcing me to be the one to close the distance between us. My throat feels swollen. My hands shake and it takes all my will power to reluctantly hand over the brooch. It feels as if a part of me has been severed. A strangled sound rips from my throat.

“Do you like it?” He holds it up to the sunlight, marveling at the way rainbows sparkle in each tiny prism. A ring of tiny, exquisite diamonds surrounds a teardrop shaped deep red ruby, two inches in diameter.

I gulp down a swallow, my head squirrel-darting around his room in a desperate attempt to locate an excuse. Any excuse. “What is it?” I say because I can’t admit the truth: that I love it. If I say that, I might confess everything.

His lips curve into a frown. “I bought it to give it to my mom on her anniversary of being cancer free.” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “But maybe I should give it to her on the day she starts chemo again. It might be the only thing that will cheer her up. She’s obsessed with nineteenth century royal history.”

My stomach clenches. I know I shouldn’t ask questions. I should make an excuse and get out of here before he can call the cops on me. But alarm bells ring in my ears and I press my palm against the dresser to steady myself. “When does she start chemo?”

He lets out a low breath. “Sunday.”

Two days. A whimper leaks from my throat. “It’s beautiful,” I force myself to say. “She’s going to love it.”

He settles it back in the box and gently sets it in the drawer, then sets his blue eyes on me. “Why were you looking through my drawer anyway?” He’s clearly trying to keep his voice casual, but his clenched teeth betray him.

My pulse is still pounding with the force of a concert speaker, making it hard to think, but my brain latches onto one piece of evidence: boxers. I glance down and realize I’m still standing here, completely naked. “I was looking for something to wear.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I was going to grab your clothes for you after I got out of the shower.” He bends to open one of the drawers I dismissed and plucks out a crisp black t-shirt and then a pair of boxers. “You can put these on for now.”

I yank them from him hastily and clutch them against my chest. “Where’s your mom?” I bite my lip and suck in air through my nostrils so I don’t sound so desperate. “I mean, where’s her chemo treatment?”

“Back in Indiana.” Colby rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ll have to take an early morning flight out on Sunday to be able to surprise her in time.”

I nod while cold panic sluices through my blood. In two days, the brooch will be gone forever. “What are you doing tomorrow?” I blurt, my mind running ten steps ahead, working out a plan of action while I’m still trying to get my bearings straight here.

“Um. Work?” He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I need to make up for yesterday.” He slides his palm over his forehead. “You can have the day off today, by the way. And a few days next week once I figure out when I’m getting back. I’ll still pay you, of course.” He pauses, his eyes widening. “Actually. Would you want to come with me? To Indiana?”

My body thrums with his invitation. The girl part of me wants to say yes yes yes and leap into his arms. He’s asking me to go on a trip. To meet his mother. The mother he loves enough to pluck down three mil for a stupid brooch his mom won’t even wear, just display.

But there’s another part of me—the criminal part—that can’t possibly say yes. Because by Sunday, I’ll be far away from this town and never looking back. “I wish I could but…” I tap my finger against my lips, cobbling together a plausible excuse. “I have my grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday on Sunday. I’m throwing her a surprise party.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. My grandma didn’t live to see seventy-five. “I was actually going to invite you to it, but—“

He holds up his palms. “No worries. That’s just as important.”

“But Saturday,” I say again. “I know you said you have to work, but my friend’s having a party that afternoon.” My stomach clenches. Damn it, I just used the party excuse. “It’s a low key barbecue, should be fun. I’m going to work my magic on the grill,” I add, because if this is a fantasy date, I should put on all the fixings. “Do you want to meet me there?” I disarm him with a smile. “As my date?”

He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “That sounds amazing, actually. Screw work and my investors!” He fist-pumps the air.

My arms are trapped between us, still clutching the clothes he handed to me. I toss them to the floor. Outside the door, I can hear Galina singing to herself, but I don’t care if she hears us. “Meet me there around six then? I’ll text you the address.” I tug at the towel wrapped around his waist and then toss that aside too.

“Why can’t we drive there together?” His lips graze against my neck, leaving a trail of tingles in his wake.

Fuck. Why can’t we? “I promised I’d help her set up so I’m actually getting there a few hours early. Trust me, you don’t want to be there for this. It’s more about leg waxing than setting out appetizers.”

He laughs against my neck and I nearly melt into a puddle right there. “Okay, I can still work all afternoon then.” He kisses me, hard and passionate, leaving my gasping. My hands start to grasp at his exposed skin but he wraps his fingers around my wrists and sets them back at my sides. “But unfortunately we have to wait for this.” His eyes flick toward his clock. “I have a conference call in a few minutes.”

I let out a moan at the unfinished business pulsing between my thighs. Business that’ll never be finished between us again.

Because tomorrow when he drives an hour a half to meet me, he’s going to leave his house empty. Ripe for the taking.