I drop into a downward facing dog, feeling the stretch throughout my body. I don't have a set routine, but I have some favorite poses that I like to do. I arch, pull and stretch every muscle, pushing everything else out of my head. I focus on my breathing, relishing in the feel of my legs tingling from the strain. I block out Dylan and the tabloids blasting my picture and name. None of that matters at this very moment.

When I feel the sweat sliding down my nose, I call it a day. I go into a sun salutation and stretch my back, arms and legs. I feel invigorated and ready to tackle the world and the latest shit storm it has sent my way. Grabbing the remote, I turn off the sound and the ocean waves flowing towards me on the big screen.

I look around the personal gym. I can see why the rich and famous are in such good shape. I think with a set up like this I would workout more often as well. There is a refrigerator in the corner, stocked with various juices and bottles of water. I make my way over, browse the selection before choosing a V8 and a bottle of water. I am feeling a little drained.

“There you are!” a voice startles me, making me choke on the tomato juice I had just been drinking.

I turn to see Dylan's elderly secretary—that's who brought me some clothes. I want to laugh, but considering the way I dress at work, it makes sense he would choose her to outfit me.

“Hi,” I say, quickly wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“I left the clothes on your bed. Please do let me know if I can be of any more assistance,” she says, looking me up and down.

I look at the sweats that are barely staying above my hips. The t-shirt feels more like a poncho, hanging off my shoulders. I shrug, “I was a little desperate for clean clothes.”

She gives me a warm smile, “It's okay, dear. I imagine you weren't given much warning. I must go, but I wanted to say hello and let you know you can call me for anything. I left my number with the packages.”

“Thank you,” I struggle to remember her name. I'm sure she told me or Dylan mentioned it, but I am at a loss.

“Mrs. Daniels,” she says, extending her hand, “but you can call me Vera.”

“Thank you, Vera,” I say, giving her frail hand a gentle squeeze. “I appreciate you going out of your way and coming out here.”

She shrugs, “I like to come out every once in a while.” She turns to leave before looking back at me, “It is my house after all,” she winks.

My eyes widen in shock. This is her house! She is already down the hall before I can question her further. Instead, I stand there with my juice and water, feeling like a complete fool.

Dylan must really pay his people well.

I stroll down the hall and into my temporary bedroom. The bed is piled with a variety of bags from Nordstroms, Victoria's Secret and CVS. Like a kid on Christmas, I have to know what's in those bags. I have browsed Nordstroms, but never actually bought anything. The store is way out of my price range. I pull out a black skirt, expecting it to have come from the elderly lady section of the store. I hold it up to inspect it and realize it is actually a very nice, pencil skirt—in my size.

I dig in to each of the bags, pulling out pretty blouses, a pair of slacks, some jeans and a flimsy nightgown. Next, I reach into the pink bags and almost whoop with glee. There are four sets of matching panties and bras. I pull out the black ones first. These aren't from the clearance rack. These are from the new line. I run my hand over the smooth satin bra and smile. I feel a little guilty for accepting the gifts, but I am not about to reject new clothes at a time when I am so desperate. I vow to pay Dylan back over the next month or two or six judging by the stack of clothing on the bed.

She even bought an assortment of shoes. I think I really want to go shopping with this woman. The pharmacy bags are loaded with personal hygiene items, which I am in desperate need of. I see another bag from one of the cosmetics stores in the mall and once again, I am blown away by Vera's very thorough shopping spree. She didn't miss a single thing.

“Will this do?” Dylan asks from behind me.

I spin around, clutching the black satin bra and panties in my hand, “This is, um, ridiculous. Your secretary, she must be very used to this type of thing.”

He smiles, but doesn't deny it.

“Yes, this will all work just fine. Far more than I need. I will pay you back. It will take some time. I don't typically shop these stores—they are a little rich for my blood,” I say, trying to keep the mood light.

“No, you won't,” he says.

“What?”

“You won't pay me back. I owe you for turning your life upside down. Consider this compensation. Get dressed. I want to show you your current office space,” he says, leaving the doorway without giving me the chance to say another word.

I turn back to the spread of clothing on the bed, “What should I wear?” I ask out loud.

I'm not going to the office, so a skirt seems a little overkill. I decide to go with the jeans, a fitted black t-shirt and the brown open-toe sandals. After my little workout, I decide to jump in the shower and use the new soap and shampoo Vera left for me.

I feel like a new woman, sliding the black panties up my legs. The jeans fit perfect. The woman has a keen eye. She is in the wrong line of work I decide, pulling the shirt over my new bra. I feel good. I feel pretty and a little sexy, even though I am only wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I quickly pull my hair into a loose ponytail, but skip the makeup. I don't want to get too carried away. Slipping into the heels, I leave the room.

I can smell him before I see him. His cologne has a perfectly masculine, yet clean, sporty smell. It is light and refreshing and I feel like a honeybee drawn to a flower.

“Hey,” I say, walking into the office.

He is at the large desk in front of a picture window, staring at a laptop. The moment he sees me, he stands. His eyes run over my body and I suddenly feel self-conscious. I notice he is wearing a similar outfit of fitted jeans and a blue t-shirt. His shirt is stretched across that beautiful chest. I suddenly feel an urge to reach out and touch.

Dylan meets my eyes, walks around the desk and meets me at the doorway. Taking one of my hands, he brings it to his lips and kisses it before saying, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on—truly.”

My breath hitches. The words are smooth and if they were coming from any other man, I would automatically cast them away as empty compliments. The way Dylan says them sends heat racing through my body. His blue eyes are sincere. He means every word he says, which makes me feel as if I truly am what he says.

“Thank you,” I say, not sure what else to say.

He takes my hand and gently pulls me across the room, “Here, you take the desk. I'll sit over there with my laptop,” he says, gesturing towards a brown leather armchair. “It's more comfortable for me.”

I nod, “Thank you,” I say again, suddenly feeling like a simpleton. I am blown away by his kindness and charm. He has caught me off guard. It has created this little spark in my heart.

We both sit down and get to work. I sift through emails from various media outlets and bloggers wanting to know if I was okay and did I like the dungeon of delight. I ignore them all and focus on the messages from my boss. There is plenty of busy work to do, which gives me focus, but every once in a while I look up to watch him.

He is focused. Occasionally, he takes his phone and steps out onto the patio. I can hear the anger and frustration in his voice, but the words are unclear.

He has just come back in and I can see he is really upset, “How about we take a break? Can I make you a sandwich or something?”

Dylan runs his hands over his face and then through his hair, “Actually, you're right. We need a break. Let's go out for an early dinner.”

“Out? Aren't we supposed to be sequestered?”

He shrugs, but doesn't give me a verbal response.

I look at the clock. It is just after two. I think that is still technically lunch, but the look on his face and the waves of irritation coming off him tell me not to point out that fact, “Sure. Let me change and I'll be ready to go.”

He nods, takes his phone and heads back outside.

I close my laptop and head back to my bed filled with goodies to put together an outfit for the evening. Choosing the black skirt and a pretty blue silk shirt, I quickly dress. I decide to leave my hair loose and down for the night. With a touch of makeup, a spritz of perfume, I declare I am good enough for a casual to semi-casual restaurant. Hopefully, he doesn't have anything too fancy in mind.

I wait in the living room. When he walks in, he takes my breath away. The dark slacks, shiny black shoes and his black shirt remind me of a young Johnny Cash. He looks like he stepped off the pages of GQ. I can't stop myself and start moving towards him. He watches me cross the room.

I stop a few feet away, not sure what my goal was when I started the short journey. I only know I needed to be closer to him. He steps closer, pushes the hair away from my neck, leans in close and inhales a split second before he kisses my neck, just below my ear.

My body moves into him, before I get to revel in the feel of all that hard masculinity, he pulls back, “The car is waiting,” he whispers.

“Oh,” I say, stepping back and smoothing my blouse as if his gentle touch wrinkled it.

He grabs my hand and pulls me out the door. I go willingly. Once tucked inside the black car with the blacked out windows, he pulls me into his side. I can feel the tension in his body.

“You okay?” I ask.

He nods, “Work stuff. I don't want to think about that now.”

I abide by his wishes, sit back and enjoy the ride. He has one arm around my shoulders, literally tucking me in under his arm. I have never felt so safe and sheltered. All my life, I have been on my own. Without parents to protect me from this cruel world, I always felt as if it was me against everyone. With Dylan, I can sit back and relax—a little. The world is still mean as hell and once the car door opens, I know it is going to be back to the same old shit.

I watch as the city lights come into view and then slowly fade. He must know some place out of town I muse as we drive towards the outskirts of the city. The car comes to a stop in the middle of what appears to be a parking lot.

The driver opens Dylan's door and he gets out, reaching a hand in to help me out. It's not a parking lot, its a tarmac. There is a small jet sitting there with Hawke Enterprises emblazoned on the side.

“Um, Dylan?”

He ignores me. Another man approaches, carrying a clipboard. I see them gesture a bit before Dylan comes back, grabs my hand and starts pulling me towards the plane.

“Dylan, what are we doing? I thought we were going to grab some dinner?” I ask, with concern. I have visions of him killing me and dumping my body somewhere. Maybe I have seen too many movies, but any normal woman would think the same way.

Instead of answering me, he gestures for me to take a seat in one of the brown leather chairs. A woman meets us and offers to get me a glass of wine. I greedily accept. I'm going to need the alcohol for this ride.

He sits across from me, staring out the window. He is brooding. Instead of pestering him, I wait until after we have been served a glass of wine and the attendant has disappeared somewhere up front. The jet engines fire up and within minutes the plane starts gliding down the runway.

“Dylan, is there anything you want to tell me?” I ask again.

He meets my eyes, “I was craving seafood.”

I nod and smile, “Okay. I think there are plenty of seafood restaurants in LA.”

He shakes his head, “No. I want fresh seafood.”

His body language and tone of voice warn me not to push the issue. The man wants seafood and he intends to get it.

Instead of trying to pry more information out, I sit back and drink my wine. He finishes his glass and out of nowhere, the attendant returns to refill it. I wave her away when she offers to fill mine. I've decided I need all my faculties for this night.

“I'm sorry,” his voice cuts through the silence. He stands and moves to the seat next to mine. Puts his glass in the holder and takes my hand, “I'm being a dick. I know it. I'm sorry. I have a lot on my mind, but you don't deserve my frustration.”

I smile at him, put my glass down and put a hand on his chiseled cheek, “It's okay. Want to talk about it?”

He tilts his head to the side, pressing his cheek into my palm, “Boring work stuff. I won't bother you.”

“I'm your lawyer and I think I am a friend of sorts, you can bother me all you want,” I say softly.

I watch as the crease in his forehead relaxes a little, “Thank you,” he breathes before leaning in and kissing me. The kiss is sweet, literally. I can taste the wine on his lips and tongue. It tastes delicious and I greedily run my tongue across his lips before plunging it into his mouth. His hand moves to the back of my head, pulling me closer to him.

I want to be closer and press in, only to get a crushing jab to the ribs from the armrest, “Ow,” I mumble in his mouth.

He drops his hand and pulls back, smiles when he sees the armrest, “I guess that is a sign, huh?”

I don't want it to be a sign. I want more of him on me. Dammit! Why are we never near a bed or in a private place when the urge to take him comes over me. Am I one of those people who only gets off in public places?

He gives me a quick kiss before picking up his glass and taking a drink, “Sit back and enjoy the flight, Alexa. We have all night,” he says in a husky voice.

My body does some weird shimmy as the words register. The way he said it promises a night of pleasure. Another word pops into my head—delight.

“Dylan?” I ask, needing to know the answer to the question that has plagued me all afternoon.

“Hmm,” he responds, seemingly far more relaxed than he had been.

“What's the dungeon of delight?”