I don’t know if he felt it, but I did: the jolt of fire whenever our skin happened to brush against each other. My employer’s words kept echoing in the back of my mind, but all I could do was hold my breath while we sat on the couch. I sipped my wine delicately while he talked about his business and the building of his career, and I found twinkling stars bursting in his eyes every time he smiled.

“What about your family?” I asked.

I saw his shoulders tense at the question before he brought his drink back up to his lips.

“What about yours?” he shot back.

“I asked you first,” I smirked.

“Ladies first,” he winked.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, just tell me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

My eyes hooked onto his face as I watched his jaw clench. His entire body seemed to wrench away from mentioning anything about his family, and all it did was pique my curiosity. But I knew better than to press because I wasn’t about to become personal about myself just to know a little more about this spoiled-rotten playboy sitting in front of me.

Except… the spoiled rotten playboy that greeted me at the door that morning was not the current man sitting in front of me.

“When is your birthday, Madeline?” he asked lowly. His eyes were trained towards the window, no doubt taking in the view of the city skyline against the black backdrop of the dancing stars in distant solar systems.

“December second. Why?” I asked.

My view was already in front of me, and I kept my eyes hooked onto the profile of his face while the cogs behind his eyes slowly began to turn.

“Just… trying to learn more about you,” he murmured.

“What brought you to New York in the first place?” he asked. He turned his head towards me, and this time it was my turn to lock up. I felt my shoulders roll back as the wine in my throat suddenly caught, and it caused me to cough it back up into the delicate wine glass I was holding before I could even catch what I was doing.

I felt a large, strong hand descend between my shoulder blades before someone took the glass from my trembling hand. The hand rubbed my back soothingly before a handkerchief came out of nowhere and covered my mouth, and before I could cough up the rest of the wine, I felt another hand smoothing the hair back from my reddening face.

His touch was warm, and intentional. Every stroke had a purpose and every touch had a mission, and I could feel the pads of his fingers fluttering across my skin as he deliberately tried to calm my body as it wracked itself with coughs.

I finally started breathing in deeply without pain and sat back up onto the couch. As involuntary tears poured from my eyes, he hooked his mesmerizing stare into mine before his hand traveled to my shoulder. I felt the heat of his body cascade down my chest before he raised his hand to cup my face, and it was then that I realized how closely our bodies had moved to each other on the couch. I could smell the tinge of scotch on his breath while the pad of his thumb slowly caressed my tear-drenched cheek, and I swear I had to tell myself to keep breathing as I watched his eyes dance in between mine.

“That good of a reason, huh?” he smirked.

I rolled my eyes and pulled back from his touch before I brought the handkerchief up to my eyes; but it wasn’t long before I felt the heat of his body lingering elsewhere as I continued to clean up my face.

He had laid his hand down onto my knee, and I was painfully aware of how wonderful his touch felt.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, just tell me,” he repeated.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I whispered.

His thumb continued its soft circles on my knee, and I had to begin breathing deeply in order to keep the shivering of my body at bay. My mind was pulsing with the rules of my job, but my body was slowly caving to this man –

– This man, who had hired me to take care of his daughter.

He was an enigma, this one: a master of sarcasm and wit by trade; owner of a ruthless business by day; and an enchanter of women by night. He threw his money around in a metaphorical dick-measuring contest with those around him, and he never once backed down from a challenge. He was strong, sure of himself, and knew he could have anything he wanted if he snapped his fingers loud enough.

Was that what he was doing to her?

Snapping his fingers?

My eyes grazed back up his body before I took in his position, and when I locked my eyes onto his lips I realized just how closely he had leaned in towards me. My body was drawn to him, like a magnet to its metal counterpart, and the pulsing of his scotch-tinged breath on my lips sped up my own breathing. I could feel the hair on my arms standing on end as he ran his hand from my knee all the way up to my waist, and as our lips connected, I felt my back slowly being laid onto the couch.

Desperation combed over me so that my hands flew into his hair. His honey blonde tendrils curved their way naturally around my fingers, and his tongue plundered the corners of my mouth. My legs willingly fell apart, accepting his body as his hips began rolling into mine. I could feel his growing length in between my trembling legs. Thick and veiny, I imagined it dripping for me while I ran my tongue up its length.

My appetite became voracious, and I raked my teeth across his bottom lip, eliciting a growl from him that could only be considered evolutionary. His chest was strong and the nails of my fingers raked down his shirt, frantic to claw away the pieces of fabric that separated his taut skin from the pads of my fingers.

His hand let go of my face and ricocheted down to my breast, massaging it rhythmically before my nipple stood at attention between his fingers. He rolled the pert little bud against his skin, and the moan that dripped from my lips caused a grin to break out on his cheeks.

He was proud he could elicit that sound from me –

– Just like he probably had so many other women.

If there was one thing I knew about myself, it was that I was better than the lot of them. I might have dropped out of school, grieved the loss of a child that wasn’t mine, and lived two ticks above squalor just to get by, but I was better than being some rich guy’s flavor-of-the-night conquest.

I deserved better for my life, and it was time I started demanding that.

“Mr. Blake,” I breathed as I put my hands on his chest.

He stopped in his tracks and hooked his dark, gluttonous stare onto my face before I fluttered my eyes open to meet his.

“I really should be getting to bed,” I whispered.

I saw his jaw clench in frustration, and I knew I had made the right decision. Whether Mr. Blake saw me as another notch in his belt, or whether he saw me as a challenge, this job was financially changing my life.

So I had to keep it long enough to make sure it continued to do just that.

He sat up and took my body with his. His arm was strong around my waist: a part of me wanted to melt back into his arms; a part of me wanted to straddle his lap, feel his large hands cup my ass cheeks before picking me up, taking me to his room, and sinking me lustfully down onto his mattress;

a part of me wanted to scream his name.

But I had to keep thinking about my future.

I scrambled off the couch and resituated my clothes. I fluffed my hair and smoothed my palms down my shirt. Before I could reach for my wine glass on the table his soothing voice stopped me in my tracks.

“I’ve got it,” he said lowly.

I flicked my gaze his way and caught his stare one last time before he stood to go. Gone was the look of darkened lust and wanton gluttony. Gone were the predatory stare and the confident stature. In its place, however, was a look I couldn’t quite place.

It was a look I’d never seen on Der – I mean, Mr. Blake – before, and before I could question my actions and second-guess my decisions, I allowed my feet to carry me as fast as they could out of the room and into the dark confines of mine.

Distance was what we needed… and distance is what I would keep.