What a night.

These things always exhausted her, even when they went well. Tonight had gone extremely well, especially considering he was here. Charlie was aware of Jake across the room as she thanked Tomas and his people for all their hard work. Just as she had been aware of him all night. She had to admit he’d helped. Jake was just as skilled as his sister at working a room. He was also observant enough to note when Charlie was struggling. She’d found him by her side more often than not, deflecting attention just when she needed it most.

Of course, now there was no one left to deflect his attention from her. She made her way to the elevators. Jake pushed away from the wall at her approach, tugging at the tie he’d already loosened, until the ends hung against his white shirt. Tonight was the first time she’d seen him in a suit. Even now, it sent a tingling shock through her. He’d been sexy enough in the sweats and T-shirts of his convalescence. In Armani, Jake Harris was devastating.

She swallowed as she drew along side him.

“Going up?” he asked with a soft smile.

“Please.”

He looked at her as the old-fashioned elevator doors closed. That look. Those eyes. She’d felt them on her all night. Even when he’d been out of sight, she’d known he was there. Jake was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, at least not in polite company. She shifted in sudden irritation. It had been a long night. She wasn’t up for his bullshit.

“Quit it, Jake.”

“Quit what?”

“Looking at me like that. I know you like your teasing and all, but we’re not alone in my apartment anymore. So . . . Quit. It.”

He smiled. That slow, devastating smile that did . . . things to her, all sorts of things she had no business thinking about, not with him. Then he took a step closer, the look on his face bordering on predatory.

Her stomach took a dive for the carpeted elevator floor.

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean, darl.”

How had she forgotten how ridiculously sexy that accent was?

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to lose her head just because he talked pretty.

“Liar. You’ve been looking at me like that since you got here.” Hand on hip, she’d meant to spit it at him, but it came out as a croak. Like a frog. Oh god, even when she was trying to insult him, she came off lame. Ribbit, ribbit.

“Well, I like the way you look. Very much.” He took a step toward her and she swallowed as his nearness sent goose bumps down her bare arms. Jake noticed.

Of course he noticed—he always noticed far too much—but there was no smug smile this time, only a flash of dark, unmistakable hunger that made her stomach flutter. What was going on here?

She felt like she’d been accidently dropped into someone else’s story, the way she had ever since he’d first dropped into her life. Men didn’t crash through windows in the middle of the night, shot and bleeding. Men didn’t look at her the way Jake was looking at her.

Particularly men that looked like Jake.

“Charlie.” His hand covered hers, pressing her back as he took another step. His fingertips brushed her hipbone through the delicate fabric, the light touch scorching. She sucked in a breath.

“Jake.” Not a croak this time, but breathy, pleading. For what, she wasn’t sure. For him to stop. Yes.

No.

His grip on her tightened. To her shock, he shuddered. “Jesus, Charlie. You can’t say my name like that and not pay the price.” His eyes had gone dark, that deep, boiling blue of a thunderstorm just before the first lightning strike. She swore the scent of ozone split the air.

“Price?” she gasped as Jake flattened her against the elevator wall.

He nodded, his gaze dropping to her mouth. His tongue flicked out. She suppressed a whimper with difficulty. He reached for her other hand, lacing his fingers in hers before he lifted it over her head, pinning her back. God, he was so big. How had she forgotten how big he was?

His chest was solid and warm, his heartbeat thudding against her tightening nipples, her legs starting to quiver.

“A kiss. One kiss. That’s the price.”

“It is?” she said, pulse racing, her brain on stand-by as her body took over. “You want to kiss me?”

He chuckled, his head lowering. “God yes. I’ve wanted to taste those damn cotton-candy lips since the first morning I woke up in your bed . . .”

He was lying, he had to be.

“. . . . so pink and soft and sweet, just like spun sugar. I’ve always had an awful sweet tooth. And, Charlie?”

She blinked up at him, unable to speak.

“I’m not fucking lying.”

Then his mouth covered hers and it no longer mattered if he was lying or not. It only mattered that his lips were stealing her breath.

Firm lips taking over her mouth, coaxing her lips apart with the hot flick of his tongue. She did whimper then. Jake growled something low in response. His body pressed harder into her, his grip on her tightening as he deepened the kiss. Every thought spun away.

He yanked her hip up against him until she could feel the solid weight of his arousal burning into her belly. Her knees went weak as he sank his teeth into her bottom lip—

---

The elevator doors opened.

Charlie gasped, straightening with a jump that nearly bashed Jake in the eye. Two older gentlemen stood there, their eyebrows rising in tandem. Neither of them bothered to hide delighted smiles as Charlie’s face went bright red. She pulled away from him, and he let her go with a sigh. She stomped off down the hall, legs flashing like pistons in her heels. Jake moved between the men, who gave him approving looks that he acknowledged with a bemused nod before trailing Charlie to her room.

He got there just as the door was shutting in his face.

“Hey.” He slapped a hand out to keep it open. “Aren’t you at least going to say good night?”

“Good night, Jake.” Charlie held on to the doorframe. He was pleased to see her fingers trembling on the jamb.

With a smile, he leaned forward as she ducked back. “Charlie, you could invite me in.”

Her eyes widened and satisfaction stabbed him as she bit her lip. She was thinking about it . . . she was . . .

“No, Jake. That isn’t an option.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. Good night.” The door closed. This time, he let it, frowning at the snick of the lock. Did she think he would break down the goddam door?

Hmm. He stood back and examined it for a minute, noting the lock type, the hinge screws and weight, going through a mental list of the tools he had with him, then he shook himself.

Jesus.

He needed a goddamn drink.

Half an hour later he was at the cocktail bar when Stacia came up and took the stool next to him.

“So you just fucking had to go there, didn’t you?”

He didn’t bother to play coy. Obviously, Stacia had spoken to Charlie. Obviously, Charlie had been flustered enough by what had happened she’d needed to talk with someone, let off some steam. He restrained himself from grinning into his glass.

An effort that was wasted on his twin.

“This isn’t funny, Jake.”

“Oh come on, big sister. She’s a beautiful woman, she—”

“You see her that way, maybe. But she doesn’t.”

He snorted. “How could she not? Come on—”

“God fucking dammit! I thought you got this when we talked earlier.”

“You said to go easy on her. I can do easy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe for you it will be easy, but Charlie is different. She’s not the same as all your other women, okay?”

“All my other . . . Jesus, you make me sound like some kind of player.”

She raised her eyebrows as he lifted his shot. Finally he sighed and set it down.

“Okay. Yeah, she is different. I get that.” And he did. He really, really did. It kind of scared him, if he thought about it too much. Just like it had that night in her apartment. When he’d almost kissed her. So he was trying his damnedest not to think too hard. “But really, Stace—”

“No. None of your ‘really, Stace’ bullshit. You can’t mess this up for her. She’s not up to you and your games. You play with Charlie and you will break her. Do you really want to do that just to make yourself feel better?” Stacia’s eyes held an expression that made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

She was right.

Charlie had never fit into any preconceived box he tried to put her in. She was the mystery he couldn’t solve, but he kept trying. Seducing her would be one way to do that, he realized with a stab of something like shame. Was that what he was trying to do here? Get her in bed so he could put a label on what he was feeling?

Lust was easy.

Lust was safe.

Lust would make Charlie predictable . . . and maybe forgettable. Did he really want that?

He looked down at his empty glass. Then he signaled for another, not looking at his sister. His voice was gruff. “All right then. I guess that’s clear. I’ll go.” He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow morning. First thing. That suit your plans well enough?”

Stacia’s sigh was loud, but her hand on his arm was gentle. “Yes. Thank you. We’ll see you in New York for the Met opening in a few more months, okay?”

He nodded, refusing to lift his gaze, even when her lips brushed his cheek. He waited until the click of her high heels had faded. By then the other shot was sitting in front of him and he grabbed it, his fingers tight on the cool glass.

It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Yeah, his dick wanted Charlie pretty bad, but his dick wanted a lot of things it didn’t get. Well, maybe not a lot of things. “No” wasn’t a word he heard all that often, after all, nor did he have hotel room doors slammed in his face every night, but . . .

He wasn’t a complete prick, no matter what his stupid sister thought. He just liked sex. A lot. And he’d really, really like to have sex with Charlie.

He thought about the way she’d looked right before he kissed her. Those cotton-candy lips trembling, her cheeks flushed, those big blue eyes bright as fucking stars. Her sweet, lush little body quivering against his . . .

He wanted her under him, begging. Saying his name in that breathy voice that did something to his insides. Making him feel tight and wild and possessive in a way that was surely not normal.

Not for him.

Christ. It hit him then, hard and brutal.

Could he fall in love with Charlie?

He stared into space, rubbing at the sharp stab the thought had sent through his chest. But he couldn’t rub the warning away.

The question was a chilling one. He had nothing to offer someone like Charlie, nothing beyond a night or two.

And she deserved a lot more than that. A lot more than him.

He shifted in his seat and downed the shot. He had been right when he’d left before and Stacia was right now: he should stay the hell away from Charlie.

For both their sakes.

When he finally got back to his room, it was late. Very late. He’d been hit on tag-team style for that last half hour by a pair of lookalike blonds at the bar. He had been pleasant, but cool. Not that he hadn’t been tempted. He had, because zoning out and burying himself in something willing and warm and soft would be a far more effective and pleasant escape than the alcohol.

Unfortunately, Charlie was the only woman he wanted to touch. Anything less wouldn’t do. So he drank until he was semi-okay with going to bed alone. He sank down on the edge of the hotel bed, stripped to his boxers, about to shut off the light.

Then he heard something over the squeak of his mattress.

Something soft and broken, like a muffled sob. His whiskey-laden head came up. Then he heard it again. Crying.

Charlie.