Fuck.

Skye Warren is devastatingly good-looking. But that isn’t the term that comes to mind the second I see her walk into the bar. What I really think when I first catch sight of her is that she looks fucking hot.

I stand up and wave. Skye notices me a second before the maître d’ approaches her, and starts walking my way. She throws me a smile. It’s nervous, but definitely genuine. You can’t fake that.

As she walks over, I remove my suit jacket and half roll-up my sleeves. I’m careful not to go too far; careful to hide the marks that lie beneath.

I take a deep breath before she arrives at the table. She’s not late, I was just half an hour early. I don’t know why, but there’s something about this girl that has me acting like I never do – acting nervous, acting like a teenage boy taking his high school crush to prom.

It ends here. I’ve got to remember who I am: Harlan fucking Wolfe. If I want Skye – and I do, from the second I laid eyes on her, I’ve wanted her – then I’m going to get her, whatever it takes. And in Skye’s case, I’ve got a funny feeling that whatever it takes will include not acting like a dominant prick.

So yeah, it’s gonna be a learning experience…

“Skye, I’m glad you came,” I smile.

“I wasn’t under the impression you left me with any other choice… Boss,” Skye says.

She shoots me another smile – except this time it really is a shot. She took aim, and she fired. I’m going to have to remember that she’s no pushover.

The verbal wound stings, but it doesn’t make me back away.

Please, sit,” I smile, gesturing at the seat opposite me. “You didn’t like the dress I sent over?”

Skye doesn’t answer. At least, not directly.

“We need to set some ground rules,” she finally says.

“I’m all ears,” I smile, studying Skye carefully. She looks nervous – yet determined. Whatever she’s about to say, it has been on her mind all night. I’m a betting man – and I would stake good money on it.

Her beauty sucks me in. I can’t look away.

Skye’s hair is a gorgeous red. It shimmers whenever it catches the light. Her eyes are a deep, yet somehow icy blue – and the freckles that dot her face lay a tempting trail to her lips.

I force myself to look away, because I’m pretty sure Skye isn’t thinking what I’m thinking.

I can’t come on too strong. Not yet. But I will.

“I need to treat you like any other patient. This doesn’t work if you’re my boss.”

“Deal,” I say. I’ll say anything to keep her sitting across from me. I know I will.

“I’m serious,” she replies. “The dress…anything like that has got to stop.”

“You didn’t like it?”

Skye squeezes her eyes shut for a second and lets out a tiny, breathy sigh. “I loved it,” she says. “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“So why didn’t you wear it?” I ask curiously.

Skye pauses, chewing her lip – and her cheeks twitch. My forehead furrows as I study her once again. It’s strange. She’s not like the other girls who try to date me – the gold diggers, the women who only want me for my wealth.

Their faces – paralyzed from the Botox – are as false as their intentions. Even without expressions, they are easy to read. They all want the same thing; a thing I’ll never give them. I’ve got too much to protect. Not just my money, but my family.

But Skye’s not like that. I can read her, too. Her face doesn’t hide a thing. It’s a wide open book. Except this book’s written in a language I can’t understand. It’s a strange contradiction.

It only makes me want her more.

“You won’t fire me, right?” she says quietly, but bravely nonetheless.

I grin, “Right.”

“If I wore that dress,” Skye begins, wringing her hands earnestly, “then what does that say about me?”

“That you appreciate high-fashion?” I grin.

Skye shoots me a look that makes me feel very small indeed. Hell, if I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed that a girl as little as her could look so fierce.

“No,” she says in a barely-concealed snarl. “It says that I’m the kind of girl who’s happy to trade her ethics for the finer things in life. It says that I can be corrupted. You can understand that, can’t you?”

I nod my head slowly.

The truth is I’m impressed. I must have almost a decade on Skye – a decade, and a twenty-billion dollar fortune. Even so, she just talked to me like she was my equal. She showed that she was willing to be the best side of herself.

“I think I do,” I say. “You know what, Skye? I think you’ll do alright. Not a lot of people stand up to me, especially not my employees.”

A strange atmosphere settles between us. It’s like we’re two wild animals sizing each other up – preparing for a fight. I guess, in a way, we are. Two animals constrained by society, fighting with our words, but doing battle over something far more precious.

A waiter arrives to take our order. “Would either of you care for a drink?”

“We’ll have a bottle of champagne. The Veuve, a ‘72, if you have it?”

The waiter inclines his head without needing to make a note of our order, utters a polite “Certainly, sir,” and quietly departs.

“So it’s a deal?” Skye says pointedly – treating the interruption as though it never happened. I like that, too. She’s persistent. She found an opening, an advantage – and she’s damn well going to press it.

I grin and stick out my hand. “It’s a deal.”

Skye reaches out with her hand and we shake. The contact is exquisite. It’s delightful. It’s like fireworks exploding in my fingertips. I hold on just a second too long – I don’t want this moment to end.

Easy, tiger.

Skye’s eyes flicker down, and I notice that my shirt sleeves have pulled up just an inch too far. My shrapnel scars are exposed, and I quickly let go of her hand and tug my shirt’s crisp white material down to hide them.

“Why don’t you start by telling me how you got those,” Skye asks softly. Her eyes are clouded now. It looks like pity to me, and I hate it.

I drag my tongue across my bottom teeth. “That’s classified,” I say. “I could tell you –.”

Skye’s eyebrow kinks upward. “But you’d have to kill me? You’re full of shit, Harlan. Or should I just stick with boss?”

Fuck me. This girl’s got some balls on her. I don’t know if it’s pity I see in her eyes, now – or a challenge.

I grin back, the awkward tension of a moment before forgotten. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Skye?”

She shrugs, takes a sip of the glass of water in front of her – and does exactly what she said she would. It turns out that maybe I don’t want to hear the truth. To hear the way that this gorgeous woman truly feels about me.

“Okay, then. You’ve got a problem with control, Mr. Wolfe –”

Mr. Wolfe. Now that hurts.

“Mr. Wolfe was my father,” I interject with a broad grin, trying to deflect.

“You’re doing it now,” Skye says. She cuts to the heart of the matter. She’s the knife, and I’m butter.

“You’re deflecting, and I don’t even know if you know you’re doing it. The dress – that was one example. You want to shape the environment around you. You want to bend it – me – and anyone else around you to your will. And if you keep going,” she shrugs sadly. “Trouble sleeping will be the least of your problems.”

The silence between us is crushing. I clench my fist, and feel adrenaline spiking in my bloodstream.

“You’re reaching, Skye,” I growl.

“Am I?” She fires back. “Am I really? Or am I shining a light on a part of your soul that you’d rather stayed hidden? Tell me – how many exits are there to this room right now? If someone attacked, which is the best escape route?”

I bite my lip, but my eyes do the same dance they’ve been doing every thirty seconds since I stepped into this restaurant. There are three entrances – the reception, the service entrance and a small door at the far end of the bar that might or might not be locked.

I lean backwards, and my chair creaks beneath me. I’m angry, now. My fight or flight reaction is in full swing. I take a deep breath, and force the tension to seep out of me. It takes a considerable effort.

But Skye made her point well. If there’s one thing I respect, it is smarts like that.

“Okay, you win,” I grimace. “We’ll play it your way. What do you want to know?”

It hurts me to back down, but with Skye I’m happy to play the long game. There’s no point falling at the first hurdle when I’ve got all the time in the world to seduce her.

If anyone’s falling on a sword here, it’s going to be her, on mine.

“I want to know where you got those scars,” Skye says. She kinks an eyebrow. And don’t tell me it’s classified…”

I run my fingers through my curly hair. My right leg is jittering now, jumping up and down. It’s restless, like it always is when I think back to how I won the scars that now mark my body.

“The Navy,” I reply simply.

Just because I’ve agreed to play Skye’s game doesn’t mean I’m going to let her win. If she wants to unravel my secrets, then she’s going to have to get her hands dirty and do it herself.

“I pegged you for ex-military the second I saw you. You all … carry yourselves the same way. But is that all you’re going to give me?” Skye frowns. “What ship?”

“No ship. I was in the SEALs. Team Six.”

Skye’s eyes widen as she processes that fact. Still, the girl’s a professional – that much is clear. She assimilates the information as though it’s no more interesting than the obituaries section in a small town newspaper.

“Okay then,” she smiles sweetly, rubbing her hands together. “We’re getting somewhere now, aren’t we? Doesn’t that feel better?”

Skye bites her lip and looks at me. I swear she knows what she’s doing because I find the way she looks right now all kinds of suggestive. I want to sweep every last piece of cutlery off this table and take her right here, right now – and damn the audience.

The waiter returns, and pours each of us a glass of champagne as we sit in silence.

“So I’ll sleep tonight?” I reply the second he’s gone. “That’s it? You’ve prodded and pried around in my head, and everything’s coming up smelling like roses?”

“It’s not that easy,” Skye sighs. A couple of tendrils of her long red hair dance in front of her eyes, and she flicks them away. “You know it’s not. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come to me for help.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well –,” she says, looking pointedly at the champagne flute I’m twirling between my fingers.

“You could lay off the booze, for a start. But I’m a psychiatrist, Harlan – I don’t run a pill mill. I’m not just going to write you a prescription so you can drift off into a chemically induced sleep every night. I’m sure a man with your resources could find a hundred doctors willing to do that. I’m just not one of them.”

The meal finishes more awkwardly than it started. When it’s done, neither of us order desert. I’ve built my entire career – from the Navy to now – on the principle that if it hurts, I must be doing something right.

On that basis, then Skye’s my soul mate.

I know deep down that she’s right – about everything. I can’t cure my insomnia without dealing with whatever’s causing it – just like you can’t take an enemy stronghold without wiping out the machine gun nest guarding it.

But this meal has opened a Pandora’s Box. I can’t help but wonder whether I truly want to find out where it leads.

“We do this my way, Mister Wolfe,” Skye says as she pulls on her coat. “Or we don’t do it at all. From now on, I’ll see you in office hours. Thank you for dinner.”