“Would you stop?” I said, laughter thick in my voice. “You’re making me make a mess!”

Jal stood behind me, his mouth pressed to the side of my throat, his teeth and lips doing dangerous things to my skin.

Waffle batter now liberally splashed the counter and my hands. I’d been getting ready to pour out the first one when he caught me off-guard with a kiss to the back of my neck.

“No.” He took the bowl and set it down, then spun me around and boosted me up on to the counter, wrapping his arms around me.

“You got my shirt dirty,” I protested. “And the batter's cold.”

“So what? You’re warm…hot…” He kissed his way down my neck and then, before I could stop him, he pulled the shirt off and tossed it to the floor. “And, technically, it's my shirt.”

His kisses moved down my collarbone, and my nipples tightened with the knowledge that he was going there next. Then my stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten yet.

“No…nuh-uh.” I pushed him back. “I’m getting food first. You clearly have no idea what a monster I turn into when I’m hungry.”

He heaved out a sigh and leaned back. “Fine. But only if you finish breakfast and eat…like that.”

I looked down reflexively even though I already knew I was naked from the waist up. “You’re serious.”

His challenging smile was all the response I needed.

I grinned. “Fine by me.”

His eyes widened, and I knew I'd caught him off guard.

Doing my best to keep myself from chickening out, I asked him to get out plates and start the coffee, and before too long, we were sitting down to waffles, eggs, and bacon.

“Do you cook?” I asked him from the opposite side of the island.

He’d tried to put us next to each other, but I’d insisted on space until I had food in me. He’d sulked good-naturedly, but had given in.

He shrugged as he answered my question. “Not really. I can do basic stuff, but I’ve got a cook who comes in three or four times a week and prepares meals ahead of time. If it were up to me, I’d live off fast food or whatever I could scare up at the closest restaurants to my job.”

“You eat fast food?” I asked dubiously.

“I’m addicted to a couple of places.” He gave me a self-deprecating grin. “My mother sort of loathes my ‘low-brow’ tastes, but give me some McDonald’s fries, and I’m a happy man.”

I laughed. “Me too.”

I was about to take a bite of my waffle when the bell rang.

Jal ignored it, snapping a piece of bacon in two, his gaze on my breasts. “I’m going to enjoy spreading you out on the island here in a little bit and having some dessert with my breakfast.”

I blushed as he winked.

There was another knock – harder this time. “Mr. Lindstrom, you need to open up.”

He frowned, and I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly self-conscious. “You know who that is?” I asked.

“No.” Sighing, he nodded toward the stairs. “Why don’t you grab a clean shirt and I'll get rid of whoever it is.”

I hurried up the stairs and into Jal's room. I grabbed the first shirt I could find, my gut telling me that something was wrong. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I heard raised voices, the kind of voices that had authority in them. I hurried down the stairs and into the living room where I stopped dead.

Cops surrounded Jal.

Gaping at him, I took in the uniformed patrol officers and the men in plain clothing. Detectives.

“This whole thing is bullshit!” Jal's face was flushed, the muscles in his jaw tight.

One of the detectives gave him a mild look. “That may well be, and you’re entitled to a lawyer who can help you figure it out.”

A uniformed officer looked at me, his gaze sliding down and up again, his expression making it clear that he knew what we'd been doing. He looked back to Jal. “Do you really want to make this any uglier than it has to be?”

Jal looked at me, his eyes meeting mine, and he shook his head. Without looking away, he put his hands behind his back.

“Harold Lindstrom, Junior, you’re under arrest for insider trading. You have the right to remain silent...”

This couldn't be happening.

Except it was.