He still hasn't touched me. At least not the way I need him to. Last night, he was the perfect gentleman—again. We ate a quiet dinner by candlelight, sat in front of a fire drinking wine and talked. While I am thrilled to learn more about Dylan and what makes him tick, I am still waiting for him to follow through with his promise.

I couldn't sleep last night. It was almost too quiet without the noise of sirens, traffic and city life in general. Even now as I sit out on this glorious deck, all I can hear are birds. It is very serene. I stare over the edge, drinking my coffee and imagine living here. Maybe not. I love the mountains, but I don't think I am quite ready to leave society behind—yet.

My mind drifts back to Dylan. I struggle to align the man I know now with the man I have heard and read about. They are two very different people. Which one is the real, Dylan Hawke? I suspect it is a combination of the two. This softer, more gentle side is attractive, but I'm drawn to that more demanding, arrogant side. I am a strong woman and it feels good to be dominated—sometimes. With Dylan, I don't mind it. If any of the jerks at work tried some of the stuff Dylan has said and done I may just throat punch them.

“Hey,” his voice interrupts my thoughts.

I turn and smile. He is washed in the early morning sunlight, wearing a pair of low-slung sweats and nothing else. His hair is mussed. I don't think I have ever seen anything more attractive. He looks so relaxed and—normal. Is that the word? I feel normal, like this is what we do everyday. The guy standing there with bedhead doesn't look like an all-powerful billionaire.

“How'd you sleep?” I ask, staying next to the rail. The temptation to put my hands and mouth on that glorious chest is far too tempting. I don't want to make a fool of myself, again.

He rubs a hand over his face, smiling, “I slept really good, actually. Better than I have in a while. I think I am going to have to come here more often. I didn't realize how nice it is out here.”

My heart picks up its slow beating as he walks closer to me, he leans down, kisses me before leaning his arms on the rail and looking over the landscape.

I take his kiss and cherish it. It is all he wants to give me for now. I'm okay with that. I like being near him, feeling the warmth of his body and his presence in general.

“Can I get you some coffee?” I ask, knowing there is no way he is getting anybody to deliver it out here.

“Sure, that'd be nice,” he answers, still staring into the distance.

I leave him to get the coffee and return within minutes. Whoever invented those little machines deserves a gold medal or some high praise. I don't care how much they cost, but I am going to get one when I get back home. I don't think I can ever go back to life without one.

When I get back to the deck, he is in the same position. I saunter over, touch his arm to hand him the steaming cup. He takes it and blesses me with another kiss.

“Let's have a seat,” he says, taking his cup to the small bistro table. I follow, taking the other seat. “I need to ask you something,” he starts.

I instantly go on alert, waiting for him to say something that is going to ruin this little slice of heaven we have managed to take refuge in.

“What is it?” I ask, feigning nonchalance.

“Will you be my date at a gala tomorrow night?”

I wait for the words that are going to make me furious or hurt. I don't hear them. That's it. He wants me to be his date. The way he led into that, I thought for sure I was going to be fired or some equally horrible event.

“Of course. I would love to,” I say, before realizing I didn't really know what a gala was. “Um, what does one wear to a gala?”

He chuckles, “This one is black tie. Don't worry about a dress. I'll get one for you.”

I am only a little hurt that he knows I can't afford a fancy dress. I would like to have a say in what I wear though.

“Um, Dylan?” I start.

“Hmm,” he says, taking a sip of the hot, black coffee.

“Do you think I can pick out a dress?”

He looks at me over the cup, as if I have spoken in a foreign language.

“Uh, yeah, of course, I mean, if you want to.”

I can see that doesn't please him. Did he want to pick the dress? He wouldn't have the first clue. It would probably be the very fashionable Mrs. Daniels doing the shopping I imagine. I instantly feel bad. I have no right to ask to pick the dress that he is buying.

“You know what, never mind. I trust your judgment. I don't think there are any dress shops around here anyway,” I laugh nervously.

He looks pensive. I wonder what has him troubled now. I silently kick myself for ever saying a word. What do they say? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth or something stupid like that. We each sip our coffee and stare into the distance, each lost in our own thoughts.

“Well, I guess I will jump in the shower and then get some work done. Are we staying here today? Headed back to the city?” I ask, having no idea what the day holds. He has kept me moving all week. I feel a bit nomadic. He had someone pack up my things at the other house and bring them here without me even realizing he had done so.

“I think we can stay here for the day and maybe head back tomorrow if that is okay with you?” he says it in the form of a question, but I know it isn't a question at all. It is the way it will be. Surprisingly, I'm okay with that.

“Sounds good. I want to get out and explore your ranch a bit. Maybe I'll find a cow or two,” I say with a wink before leaving the deck.

The bathroom is something you would expect to see in a 5-star hotel. I take my time, enjoying the luxuriousness of it all. I know my time in this world of privilege is short and I want to appreciate every minute of it. Instead of heading out in search of an office, I set my laptop up on the desk in the room. There are of course more emails from reporters, but the subject lines are different. Instead of painting me as a whore, they want to know how long Dylan and I have been dating.

I tell myself not to do it, but I do it anyway. I Google Dylan's name and sure enough, there I am, standing behind him, with a big, proud smile on my face. I knew there were photographers, but I had no idea I had been the focus of the attention. I pick apart my outfit, my hair and every other little detail.

The articles are all about Dylan's generosity and how he is turning over a new leaf thanks to the woman in his life. I laugh. The woman in his life has only been around for a few days and there has never been talk of anything business related at all. I am happy the storm is subsiding and by next week, I will all but be a distant memory.

I ignore the feelings of sadness and emptiness. My time with Dylan was never meant to last, but I have grown to rely on his company.

“Stop, Alexa,” I say out loud. I refuse to go down this road of loneliness. I have been alone forever. No time for boohooing.

I exit off the stupid gossip pages and dive into the minimal work I have been assigned. I have a feeling Dylan is behind that as well. Mr. James worships the ground Dylan walks on and is clearly trying to keep the man happy and that means keeping me free to be at his beck and call.

I look at the time on my laptop and am surprised to see it is almost lunchtime. I wonder what Dylan's up to? I head downstairs and find him sitting on the couch, laptop open and his head leaned back. Is he sleeping?

“Dylan?” I ask softly.

His head jolts forward, “Yes?”

I smile, “Babe, if you're tired, why don't you head to bed and take a nap?”

It is only after his eyebrows raise I realize I just called him babe. I feel like an idiot.

“I'm sorry,” I blurt out. “I don't know why I said that.”

He smiles, closes the laptop and pats the place beside him, “Don't be sorry. I liked it.”

I hesitate, but quickly sit down next him. He leans down and kisses me softly before putting an arm around me.

“I can't believe I dozed off. This place is better than any sleeping pill I have ever taken. I feel so relaxed,” he muses.

“I think you have been pushing yourself too hard, for too long. This is your body screaming for a timeout. When was the last time you slept for eight hours straight? Or stayed in bed all day?”

He laughs, “Probably when I was an infant. I'm not that kind of person. I hate not doing something.”

I squeeze his thigh, “Take a day off, Dylan. A real day. Turn off your cell phone and enjoy everything you have earned for yourself. You are sitting in the middle of paradise and you are working.”

He doesn't say anything for several long moments, “Okay.”

“Really?” I ask in astonishment.

Now I'm the one who feels the nervous energy. I feel like I have to entertain him. I know what I want to do, but I think he needs to step away from sex, work and anything he normally does and I know he has a lot of sex.

“I'm going to make some sandwiches and put a few things together. We're going for a hike and then we're going to have a picnic,” I say standing.

He raises an eyebrow, “A picnic?”

I can't help myself and lean down to kiss the perplexed look off his face. He grabs me, wrapping both arms around my torso and pulls me down. Once again I find myself straddling him. The kiss heats up and my body lights up, wanting the ecstasy that only he can give.

He pulls back, slaps one of those big hands against my ass and says, “Go. Get the picnic ready. I'm going to change into something a little more picnic-friendly.”

I push him down, “Why are you doing this?” I ask, every ounce of frustration evident in my voice.

Without a second's delay, he rises, turns and flips me to my back, his body hovering over mine, pressing me into the couch. He looks at me, stares at my lips and then meets my eyes again, “Because it isn't time yet.”

The words are said in a low, husky voice that floats over me like a gentle breeze. I want to scream it is time, but I know it won't help. He leans down, his hair falling forward, brushing over my face and kisses me. I can feel his erection. I know he wants me just as much as I want him. The man is making me crazy.

“Please,” I whisper.

Another soft kiss on my jawline and then my ear, “Not yet, Alexa. Not yet,” he says in a voice lower than a whisper. His breath dances across my ear and the sensitive skin on my neck. He presses his hips into me, allowing me to feel how hard he is, but then pulls back and leaves the room.

I lay on the couch, not wanting to move. The sea of lust I am drowning in makes it impossible for me to get up and make those stupid sandwiches I promised. I don't understand why we can't at least have a quickie. That wouldn't really count. All I need is a quick touch, maybe a little penetration and I will be good to go.

When it is very obvious he isn't coming back, I manage to get off the couch and make the stupid sandwiches. My sexual frustration is apparent by the palm print in the bread as I smash it together. Frustration quickly turns to anger with Dylan Hawke as the target for my fury. I want to kick him.