Oh my God.

It’s happening.

It’s happening, and it’s everything I dreamed of.

Brock’s hard body against mine, his musky scent filling my nostrils, his lips pressed against mine.

His hands are everywhere, and every little touch crackles with energy and passion.

I can feel his hard, throbbing erection through his pants, and I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone.

I arch my hips upwards, feeling my wetness already seeping through my underwear, aching to feel that big hard cock slip inside me, fill me up . . .

All my daydreams, all my dirty teenage fantasies, and they’re all coming true, right here, right now.

His hand slips underneath my dress, and I gasp as his exploring fingers find my sensitive, hardened nipple. He tweaks it gently, sending a wave of pleasure through me, starting from my core and spreading outwards to the tips of my fingers and toes.

“That feels so good . . .” I moan.

“You like that?” he growls, pinning my wrists above my head. “I thought you would.”

He kisses my throat and I squirm under his grip. He’s strong, and I’m completely at his mercy.

“Brock,” I gasp.

I’m about to beg him for more, but then there’s a loud, insistent knock at the door.

We both pause for a second, Brock glancing over his shoulder.

“Probably just maid service or something,” Brock says before he dips his head back down again, kissing his way down my body, and . . .

The knocking comes again, louder this time, and it doesn’t stop. If anything it grows louder by the second.

Brock glances down for a second at his very obvious and prominent erection, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Stay here,” I say. “I’ll deal with it.”

I make sure my dress is at least somewhat back to normal—no boobs or butt showing. Then, I open the door.

There’s a man and woman standing there—both dressed much like Brock and I are, like they’ve just been out to dinner.

She’s younger than him, and they’re both pretty drunk. They’re pawing at each other as they stand there in the corridor, ignoring me until I clear my throat.

“Can I help you?” I ask, firmly and loudly.

They look up, and yep, they’re both completely wasted. The guy stares blearily at the room number, and looks surprised.

“Oh, shorry,” he slurs. “We got the wrong room. C’mon Chloe, my room is jusht down here a little.”

She giggles and follows him dutifully down the corridor. The two of them are quite a sight, stumbling and slurring their way along. It would be funny if it wasn’t kind of sad.

I’m just about to close the door and go back when I see them stop. They’re still within hearing distance, and the guy is so drunk anyway that he’s practically shouting.

“Listen, Chloe, we gotta keep this . . . keep this quiet, okay? You can’t tell anyone. If my wife finds out I’m messing around with my assishtant, there’ll be hell to pay.”

The woman bobs her head, barely even sober enough to comprehend what he’s saying, and then they both carry on their walk-slash-stagger down the hall.

For a few moments, I stand there in the doorway, startled. My blood runs cold.

Is . . . is that what Brock and I look like? The big-shot businessman and his little bit on the side?

I suddenly feel a little queasy. Where there had been lust and passion just a few moments before, I now only feel . . . kind of gross.

I don’t want to be that person—the person who sleeps with their boss, the subject of office gossip. I don’t want people to say that I’m trying to sleep my way to the top, and I really don’t want things to get awkward between Brock and me at work.

Maybe sometimes, teenage crushes should stay in the past where they belong. I’m not that teenage dork anymore, and Brock isn’t the same guy either.

Things have changed. We’ve changed.

I turn back to face Brock. He’s still on the bed, still aroused, still ready for me. But I just don’t feel it now.

“Come back to bed,” he says, his voice thick with desire.

Even after what I’ve just witnessed, I almost do. I almost follow his bidding . . . but I can’t.

We can’t do this.

“Sorry, Brock.” I swallow. How is my mouth so dry? I force myself to continue. “I, uh . . . I’ve got a headache. Maybe a little too much of that wine at the restaurant. I’m not feeling so good. I think I’m just going to get an early night.”

A multitude of emotions flit across Brock’s gorgeous face. He looks surprised and disappointed and concerned, all at once.

“Well . . . sure, that’s fine,” he says. “Whatever you want. Do you want me to go get you some Tylenol or something?”

“No. No, that’s sweet, but I’m fine. A good night’s sleep, and I’ll be right as rain.”

He climbs off the bed and comes to me. “Listen, Nina, if I moved too fast there, I want to apologize. The last thing I wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable.”

I give him a wan smile. “No, don’t be silly. I was just as much in the moment as you right then. It’s just . . .” I want to tell him the truth about what I saw and how I feel, but I can’t. I don’t want him to take it the wrong way. “It’s just, I feel like crap, really.”

He nods, looking serious. “I understand. You get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning. If you need anything, I’m next door.”

“Thanks, Brock.”

He leaves and closes the door quietly behind him, leaving me standing there alone. I sit heavily on the bed, wondering if I’ve just made the best or the worst decision of my life.

Time will tell, I suppose.

I hear something vibrating. My phone is still in my bag, which I tossed carelessly on the couch when Brock and I stumbled into the room.

The last thing I want to do is talk to anyone, but it could be important.

It’s Dean.

I debate just hanging up and calling him tomorrow, but I did promise I’d get in touch, and I haven’t done it.

“Hi, Dean.”

“Hey,” comes his familiar voice. “How are things in the Big Apple? Look at you, city girl all grown up.”

“It’s been amazing,” I say. “I got to play tourist today. Saw all the sights, did some shopping, ate some pizza.”

“So you haven’t had any issues?” he asks. He sounds concerned.

“Issues?” I ask.

“Yeah. You know me. I’m your big brother, and you’re all I’ve got. I worry about you. I’ve got to look out for you. You know? Just checking that you’re taking care of yourself.”

“I’m fine, Dean. Honestly, anyone listening would think I was a little kid and you were my dad. You don’t need to check up on me to make sure I’m behaving myself.” I pause for a moment. “Thanks for doing it though. It means a lot to me.”

He laughs. “See? I know what you need, little sister. Your big brother is always going to be looking over your shoulder. Don’t forget that.”

He’s silent for a few moments, and I get the feeling that there’s something else he wants to say. But I’m so not in the mood.

“Listen, Dean. I know I said we’d have a chat, but it’s been a really long day, and all I want to do is take a bath and get some sleep in this fancy-ass hotel bed. Can I call you back in the morning?”

“Sure,” he says, sounding pensive. “Let me ask you one more thing first. How has Brock been? Has he . . . you know, tried anything with you?”

“What? Brock? No, no way,” I say, probably a few pitches too high. I laugh nervously and clear my throat before I speak again, making sure to keep my voice steady. “He’s been a great boss, flew me out first class and everything. The consummate professional.”

Images of Brock’s hard cock straining against his clothing flash through my mind, and I shake my head to clear them.

“That’s good to hear,” Dean says. “I just wanted to check. Brock’s a good guy and one of my oldest buddies . . . but I know what he’s like. I didn’t think I had to worry about him macking on my little sister, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine, Dean, stop acting like an old lady.” I pause. “But . . . what do you mean ‘you know what he’s like?’ Anything I should know?”

Dean sighs, takes a breath. “He’s always been a good-looking guy. Always known it too. He’s had more girlfriends over the years than I can count. I just didn’t want you being another notch on the bedpost, so to speak.”

My heart sinks. Is that really all I would be to Brock?

I don’t want to believe it. I’d like to think I know him better than that, that he’s a better man than that, but . . . could it be true?

Dean knows Brock better than I do, and he would never lie to me.

“Thanks for the warning, Dean. I really don’t think you have anything to worry about, though. We’re just coworkers, and that’s how it’s going to stay.”

I decide not to mention the secret fiancée stuff, because it’s far too much to explain away at this time of night.

“Glad to hear it,” he says, sounding relieved. “You get some sleep, you high-powered businesswoman you. I’ll call you again soon.”

I hang up, get undressed, and run a bath.

I am tired—bone-tired, when I really stop to think. It’s been a sixteen-hour day with champagne at the start and wine at the end. I’m surprised I’m still awake.

I slip into the warm suds and sigh, trying not to think about anything. I just want to relax and forget that everything outside this bath exists. It’s not that easy, of course.

Thoughts about Brock invade my mind.

Despite what Dean’s just told me, I don’t think Brock simply wants me as a quick lay. There’s something between us, something deeper. We mesh really well together, and I enjoy his company.

But that doesn’t mean we have to sleep together.

I make the decision to steer clear of him as much as that’s possible when he’s my boss, just for a few days. Let things cool down a little, let him know that we can’t do what we were so close to doing tonight.

I’ve just managed to get my life back on track after the horrible break-up with Pete. The last thing I need now is more complications, more drama.

I can’t jeopardize my new job and my new life by having an ill-advised fling with my boss—God, how much of a cliché would I be?

Brock’s my boss and nothing more.

Well, he’s also my fake fiancée, I guess. But hopefully, we can get that whole mess sorted out sooner rather than later.

I lay back in the bath and let out a deep sigh. Life is never simple, is it?