The sun is setting, and the party’s winding down when I persuade Genevieve into slipping away with me. Wanting to show her the ocean, I lead her along the path that passes through the thick trees lining our estate.

“What’s with the dense woods?” Genny asks, as we curve deeper into the trees. “Isn’t the view the reason people buy beachfront property?”

“Huh.” The landscape has essentially been the same my entire life, and until now, her point hasn’t occurred to me. “I guess it is. But the problem with a view out means that there’s also a view in. Too many people walk along the beach, even with the private property signs. Too many boats pass by. Too many passengers with binoculars. My mother prefers our life be kept confidential.”

Genevieve flashes me a teasing grin. “Then she must adore your relationship with the paparazzi.”

I wince at her reference to the frequent media buzz about my social life but ignore addressing it directly. “Let’s get this straight right now,” I say instead, “my mother adores nothing. Even if I were squeaky clean and as reserved as Hudson, I don’t think I’d own any more of her affection than I do now.”

Genny looks sideways at me, her eyes scrutinizing. “Does that bother you?”

“Maybe?” My brows knit as I consider. “I know she has emotions somewhere deep inside her. Just like this property, she hides behind a bristly-needled exterior. I think I’m used to it.”

She scoffs. “I think you convince yourself you’re used to it. I don’t believe that anyone who lacks their mother’s love doesn’t feel its absence.” She sounds like she may have experience with the subject herself, but she doesn’t give me a chance to ask. “Maybe your mother isn’t the only one hiding behind landscaping.”

My steps slow as I take in what she’s said. Am I more like my mom than I’ve realized? I’m not cold and guarded like she is, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wear my own form of armor—my charm. My business-plan approach to relationships. What emotions am I hiding behind those barriers?

Genny purses her lips as though she knows exactly what’s going through my mind. “Shame, really, about all those trees. Because this view is absolutely breathtaking.”

We’ve stepped out from the woods onto the cliffside, the ocean spread across the horizon below us, but she keeps her eyes pinned on me for long seconds before casting her gaze across the panorama.

I happen to think the view I have is breathtaking as well. And I’m not looking at the water. “I had a feeling you’d like it. Away from the sand and once the sun wasn’t so high, that is.”

She squints over at me. “Does this count as having been to the beach? Can I now cross that off my to-do list?”

“Eh,” I shrug. “Real beach enthusiasts would probably say not until you’ve put your feet in the sand. The path continues over there if you’d like to try that out.” I nod in the direction of the wooden staircase that winds down to the shore.

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m fine up here, thank you. I’m enjoying this part of the beach experience. We should quit while I’m still enchanted.” Leisurely, she begins to stroll along the property.

I fall in step, hoping her sentiment applies only to the outdoor scenery. Not that she’s enchanted with anything else at the moment. Not that I want her to be enchanted with anything else.

Yet, I’m so enchanted with her.

And I don’t want to quit her. Not yet.

A cloud pushes in over my mood as I suddenly remember that my time with Genny is very possibly fleeting. That her job might soon take her from me.

I nudge the thought away, and a question that’s been niggling at the back of my consciousness slips into its place. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s something I have to ask.”

Curiosity etches her expression. “Okay. Ask.”

I ignore the connection trying to form between this thought and my last one and put it out there. “If your father is so against you working in this business, why does he let you work for Accelecom?”

“Ah. Good question.” Her features relax. “It’s because it’s the only way I’ll let him help me.”

“What do you mean?” I sort of hate to admit it, but I’d assumed she was a trust fund baby, same as me.

“I had an account for college, but after school, I was determined to make my own way. And I do. I rely on public transport. I have my own apartment—a modest little place in a part of London that is not up to my father’s standards, but I’m quite fond of it. He’s tried over and over to convince me to let him pay for something in a nicer part of town—translation: a snobby part of town. I turned him down. He bought me a car for my birthday, which I refused. He kept sneaking me money. I kept returning it. Finally he offered me a job. A dream job. And I’m embarrassed to admit that I was weak. I accepted in an instant.”

A breeze blows, and she hugs her arms around herself. “But I still have my silly little flat, even though he pays me an exorbitant salary.”

“So what do you do with all your money?” I realize too late that it’s probably an inappropriate question. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she doesn’t own a car. Had she not mentioned the size of her paycheck, I would have assumed it was decent just based on what she does, and a car would have been the first item on my purchase list.

“I do like shopping. Shoes, in particular. But I’m saving most of it for when I don’t have a dream job. I may need that money to make ends meet one day.”

Her grey eyes widen suddenly. “Oh! A gazebo!” She skips up to the old forgotten rotunda on the edge of our property. “It’s completely charming. I love it!” She spins around in the center of the structure then strolls to the opening and leans against the pillar.

I follow and pause at the bottom stair, my hands in my pockets, and cock my head up at her. “You don’t like working at Accelecom?”

“I love working at Accelecom! It’s exactly the kind of position I went to university for.” She rubs the goose bumps off her arms. “But I don’t love that it’s my father’s company. If he’d let me build more of it, that might be different, and I still hold out hope that he’ll eventually change his mind. But if he doesn’t, I’m prepared to go someplace where I can.”

Realizing she’s cold, I take off my jacket and walk over to give it to her. She’s so interesting, I decide, as I wrap it around her shoulders. We’re alike and so different. We’ve both been born into a dynasty of sorts, and she’s turned down every handout while I’ve accepted—and expected—every privilege I’ve been given. Both of our families are leery about our careers but for very different reasons. She’s worked her ass off to become something in her chosen field, proving that she deserves to be where she is even against her father’s wishes.

And me? I’ve just coasted.

God, I’m kind of pathetic next to her. Scratch that—really pathetic.

“That’s important to you, isn’t it?” I ask as I pull the front of my jacket closed around her. “Making it on your own.”

“It is. Extremely important.” She tilts her head up to look at me. “Next you’re going to ask why.”

“I am now.” I step back to lean against the post opposite her.

“I don’t know. Probably a lot of it is that’s just how I was made. But it’s also probably my mother’s fault.”

I wait, sure she’ll say more if I do.

And she does. “My parents got divorced when I was twelve,” she explains as she kicks off one of her heels. “Before that, my mother was the best wife you could imagine. Devoted. Subservient. Put everyone else above herself.” She points a foot out in front of her and circles it in the air, stretching as she talks. “My father so adored her. Doted on her like she was the queen.

“Then, one day, out of the blue, she up and left. Took off with another man and moved to Lisbon.”

Huh. Hadn’t been expecting that. “She left without warning?”

“No warning at all. We never saw it coming.” She’s quiet then, her brows furrowed.

I search for the right words to say—sympathetic and supportive—but just as I’m about to speak, she says, “Actually, that’s not exactly true.”

“Oh?” I sit down on the step and peer up at her, letting her know she has my full attention.

“There were subtle warnings, I think. Things I caught later.” She kicks off her remaining shoe and looks down, as though studying her toes. “Like, once I’d overheard her tell my father that she didn’t know who she was without him. Not in a romantic way but in a hopeless way. As though she didn’t have any identity that wasn’t tied to being his wife and our mother.”

She tugs my jacket tighter around herself and meets my eyes. “I have no idea whether she was planning to leave him at that point or if the thought had yet to cross her mind. But even without knowing what was to come, I decided I didn’t want to be like that. I didn’t want to be a woman without a sense of self. I didn’t want to rely on a man—or anyone, for that matter—to fill in the spaces of my existence. I didn’t want to ever feel as lost as my mother sounded.”

Her admission is so stark and bare and honest, and I understand. But what hits me is how vulnerable she is before me. Naked in a way I’ve never seen her.

It leaves me speechless. I want to be speechless. I don’t want to break this spell, don’t want to ruin this moment of intimacy.

After a moment, she looks away. I watch her throat as she swallows. Then she says, “My father was devastated when she left. I was pretty shook up too, of course. But a part of me also felt a smidgeon of happiness. For her. I really believed she was out to find herself.”

She turns back toward me. “Then she went and got into the same boat. Married a guy who completely eclipses her. Had new babies that consume her entirely. Hagan and I only ever have contact with her at birthdays and Christmas now—at most.”

So that was what she was hinting at when she’d talked about children missing the love of their mothers.

“My father, on the other hand, married a woman who isn’t anything like his first wife. She’s strong-headed, refined, independent. Runs her own business.”

This surprises me. “Your stepmother?”

“Strange, right? Knowing my father.” With her back against the pillar, she slides down so she’s sitting on the step across from me. “But they’re the happiest couple I know. Madly in love. Quite perfect together.”

“Wow.” I ignore the urge to wonder if she thinks we might be a happy couple together too and focus on what she’s said. “And he’s cool with her being self-reliant?”

She brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. “He is. He’s extremely supportive of her work. Which is why I have to believe he’ll one day come around about me. Honestly, I think he just wants us to be happy. He can see his wife is happy doing what she does. Hopefully one day he’ll realize I am too.”

I have a feeling she’s trying to warm me up to her father, and because he’s important to her, I want to make an effort. Just…

“I don’t know if I can get used to the idea of your dad not being a bad guy,” I admit.

Genny lets out a soft laugh. “That’s fine. He can still be the bad guy in your story. He’s just not the bad guy in hers.”

“What about in your story?”

She frowns as if the answer is obvious. “In my story, he’s my father.”

My own relationship with my father is also that complex and that simple. Jack Pierce can bring on the charm with the ladies like I can, but he’s so focused when he wants to be. So business-minded, like Hudson. Sometimes it’s like I can’t possibly share his DNA, we’re that different.

But I still love him. I’d still care if he didn’t love me.

My voice is gruff when I manage a response. “Enough said.”

Her eyes slant with compassion, as if she knows what’s going through my head. God, it makes me want things. Want to touch her. Want to hold her. Want to keep her.

I look away, stifling my emotions. With my eyes trained over the horizon, I take a beat to process everything she’s told me, letting the pieces click together in the puzzle that makes up who she is. I better understand now why she was worried to get involved with me—she didn’t want to rely on anyone to help with the Accelecom/Werner Media merger.

But that begs a different question—why is she here if she doesn’t want anyone’s help?

I turn back to study her a moment. “You like me!”

“What? Where did that come from?”

“From you. You don’t want anyone’s help. You just said that. And yet you’re here under the guise of me helping you. Why on earth would you accept help from me when you want to do everything on your own? Only one answer makes sense. You like me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I do not.” But her skin turns scarlet.

“You’re blushing. You totally do.” I laugh, loving this new turn of events. “I can’t believe it.”

“Would you stop it? You’re making a fool out of yourself.” She purses her lips and shakes her head.

“There’s no one here but you, and I don’t care, anyway. It’s worth it to hear the truth. You. Like. Me.”

She shakes her head again, but this time she doesn’t deny it outright. Instead, she meets my eyes, and I can see it clearly. She does like me.

And there it is again—that tightening in my chest. That feeling that I both want to ignore and hold onto for as long as possible. Words bubble in my throat, sentiments begging to be expressed.

With my gaze locked on hers, I scoot closer, needing to kiss her. Needing to occupy my mouth with something other than the things I shouldn’t say.

Our mouths move slowly at first, tasting. Testing. Quickly, it grows deeper. I cradle her cheek with my hand and move my body in tighter, so she can feel the thick pressure of my erection on the inside of her leg. I know we’re outside, that it’s only dusk and we could be seen, but I’m desperate to have her.

I start to gently steer us to a prone position when she brusquely pushes me away.

I search her face, questioning—did I hurt her? Did I misread the mood? Is the outdoors a hard limit for her, and did I actually just think the term hard limit?

But that can’t be it because she’s given me all the cues. Her grey eyes are clouded with desire. Her breathing has become quick and shallow. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lower lip.

Then, in a husky voice, she says, “Make me.”

I know exactly what she means. I know because it’s what I want her to mean, and because we’ve become so connected in these ways that I can just tell. She wants to fuck as much as I do. But it’s a game now. A game where I make her.

She gives me a beat to process. Her body visibly primes, her limbs prep to take off.

I’m ready when she lunges, though, and I catch her at her wrist. She pulls and twists, and I grin because all I have to do is grab her other arm, and I’ll have her trapped.

Except I’m too slow, and she takes advantage of my hesitation. She stomps down hard on my foot, and before I can react, her free hand flies through the air. With a loud smack, her palm meets my face.

Automatically, I drop her wrist to rub my jaw. Our eyes lock and we freeze.

I can’t believe she did that.

The look on her face says she can’t believe she did it either.

And maybe it’s messed up, and I should be pissed or confused but instead I’m turned on as fuck. My dick is throbbing, and I swear all my primal instincts have kicked in because I can smell her so clearly that my mouth waters. My want turns into need. Desperate, urgent need.

From the way her brow rises, I think she knows. And from the glint in her eye, I’m pretty sure she’s feeling exactly the same. The edges of her mouth turn up into a wicked smile. Then, letting my jacket slip off her shoulders, she runs.

With her heels off, she’s fast, sprinting back along the trees. But I’m right behind her, my adrenaline pushing me to chase, and even though she’s an experienced runner, I’m on her in no time. I grab her by the elbow, and before she can pull away, I fold both arms around her in a tight embrace.

“You think you can run from me?” My voice is low and gruff at her ear. “You think I won’t come after you?”

“Let go,” she whimpers, and I know she doesn’t mean it. She knows she can end this, knows all she has to do is say stop.

And as long as she’s not saying that, every other word she utters means go.

“No way, little girl. You got me hot, and now you’ve got to pay for it.”

But she’s not giving in that easily. She fights back, pushing her elbows up into my sides. It surprises me enough to lose my grip. She stumbles forward, out of my arms and onto her knees.

Immediately, she tries to stand. This time, though, I’m quick, and while she’s still halfway down, I lunge my weight onto her, knocking her to the ground. She wrestles as I shift my body over her, pinning her down forcefully. All the while, she repeats the same words as she struggles, “Let me go, let me go!”

She’s really into it, screaming, even. But we’re far enough from the house for her not to be heard easily, and I’m into this too, so with one hand wrapped in her hair, I twist her head sharply to the side and push her cheek to the ground. “One way or another you’re taking my cock, and if you don’t shut the fuck up, it’s going to be down your throat.”

She gulps but she quiets. I nudge her legs apart with a knee, and with my free hand, I reach up under her dress as I continue to play the part she’s asked me to play—a part I’ve taken on happily. “This is going to be so good,” I promise her on a low rumble. “You know that, right? You want me inside you, you little dicktease.”

“Please,” she whimpers, and it makes my cock grow thicker because it feels like she’s begging me to stop, when I know she’s really begging me to go on. And somewhere in the back of my mind I recognize how perverted this is, how vile. I’m getting off on pretending to violate the girl I like. What kind of fucked-up fuckhead am I?

But she wants it. I know she wants it, and in case I don’t know, she tells me with her body language, with the way she moves her legs farther apart, granting me better access. With the way her breath hitches with excitement. With the way her panties are soaked when my fingers find her crotch.

“See how much you want this? I knew you did.” Suddenly, I remember something important. Thinking fast, I work the question I need to ask into the scene. “Are you still going to want it when I tell you I don’t have a condom with me?”

“I don’t want it,” she squeaks, but at the same time, she nods.

It’s the green light I need. “Oh, you want it, little girl. Don’t lie to me.”

It’s not easy, but somehow I manage to pull her underwear down one-handed. Then I tackle my belt. Then my zipper. All the while, she writhes below me, hissing, protesting, never using the one word that will end this.

And then my cock is out, and I’m shoving inside of her, and Jesus, it’s ecstasy how tight and warm she feels around me. She gasps as I fill her, her character breaking as she lets out a soft, “Yes.”

“That’s it,” I tell her, driving into her again. “I knew you wanted it. Hard to fight me now, isn’t it?”

She grunts in response, shifting beneath me, but this time instead of struggling, she’s reaching her hand down to rub her clit, and goddamn it’s so hot how she wants this as much as I do. How she wants it the way I do.

I find my pace quickly, and while it fits the scene, I’m not playing anymore, uttering dirty, vulgar honest truths as I rut into her. “I fuck you every day,” I confess. “Did you know that? In my head, with my hand. I fuck you in so many ways. In your mouth. On your knees. By force. Willingly. So many ways I fuck you, but it never feels as good as when I’m inside you. Your pussy is so tight, Genny. So, so good.”

I’m crazed with my lust. I’m barely restraining her now, but the illusion of the scenario has set fire into my veins, fire that won’t be smothered until I’ve given her everything I have. Until I’m making her fall apart beneath me. Until I’m spilling my release inside of her.

She’s the one to get there first. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she says as she starts to clench around me. “Oh god, like that. Harder.” Then, “I’m coming! I’m coming so hard.”

I pick up speed, racing to my own finish. And when I cross that line, I explode like never before, ramming so far into her, I’m not sure where she begins and I end.

I’m not sure I want to know ever again.

She’s breathless and panting when I roll off her and gather her into my arms. I study her closely. Her face is dirty and her dress is rumpled and she has a bruise forming on her upper arm, but she’s smiling, and her expression appears happy and sated.

Still, I ask, “Are you okay? Was this okay?”

She nods. “I should be asking you the same thing.” She rubs her hand gently over my slapped cheek.

“Very okay.” I kiss her, wishing this would never end. Wishing I could find the way to make this thing between us last. Wishing she didn’t live in another country and that the power to keep her here were in my hands and not my brother’s.

As always, though, I hide those wishes behind a landscape of charm. “You can ask me to make you anytime you want,” I tell her, and I mean it.

But all I’m really thinking is how much I wish she’d ask me to make her stay.