For days after our date, Leah doesn't text or call. And it only makes me think about her that much more.

I can't stop thinking about the way her skin felt, about those delicious, full and perky breasts beneath her shirt. But at the same time, it was more than physical. She's a smart girl—a writer, after all—and she's sweet too. On top of all that, I believe her when she says she's not out to get my money.

She seems honest, and I sense a kind spirit in her. I also sense a tremendous amount of pent-up sexual energy inside her. I can't quite put my finger on where that's coming from, but it's definitely there.

Leah is a hell of a girl. It's no wonder I can't stop thinking about her.

This morning, I wake up at six sharp to my artificial sunlight alarm clock. My mansion has built-in skylights throughout, but I make a habit of being up before the sunrise. It's the best way to stay sharp, focused, and ahead of the competition.

This particular morning, I wake up with morning wood that's even harder than usual. I had a sex dream about Leah, and it was hot as hell. I'm tempted to turn off the alarm clock and sleep in to try to make the dream come back, but I always keep to a strict schedule. Always. No exceptions.

As I get ready for work, I think about what it'd be like to crush my lips against hers, to tangle her tongue with mine. And I realize, as much as I want to explore that sweet body of hers, I like that she didn't give it up on the first date.

It'll make her taste that much sweeter when I finally catch her. I'm going to take my time with the pursuit and really enjoy every minute of it. A real pursuit is something that I haven't had in a long time.

Right as I'm about to head out the front door so Earl can drive me into the office, my personal phone buzzes in my pocket with a text message. My heart hammers hard as I wonder if it could be Leah. I get dozens of messages on my work phone each day, but my personal phone has been way too quiet lately.

I yank it out of my pocket and read the message:

Sorry to bother you. I left an important notebook in your car. I need it today if possible. -Leah

I usually hate distractions in the morning—I like to get into the office before 7:30. But my cock stirs at the thought of seeing Leah again. And to be honest, it's not just my cock. I'm genuinely excited at the prospect of seeing her.

I text back:

Ok. Sending a car to pick you up immediately. Be ready.

On my work phone, I send another text message to my assistant, who's always up before I am, to call for the car.

This is an unexpectedly pleasant way to start the day.

* * *

I wait until the knock comes at my front double doors. Then I pull one open. They're French doors, each one weighing more than three hundred pounds and made from rare French maple. They're perfectly balanced on German-engineered hinges. They open and close as smoothly as ball bearings rolling on glass, and they swing as light as feathers.

There she is. Leah Price, just as adorable and fuckable as she was when I met her last Friday afternoon. In this chilly morning air, she's wrapped up in black leggings and a college logo sweatshirt, but it just makes me want to unwrap her that much more, like the prize she is.

I grin. "Just couldn't wait to see me again, eh?" I poke fun at her, but the truth is, I was starting to wonder if she was going to get in touch at all. And for all I know, this could be completely about her missing notebook and nothing more.

She rolls her eyes. "It's more like, that notebook has the outline for my whole series in it. I looked everywhere. I even went back to the restaurant and asked about it. If it's not in your limo, then I'm really screwed."

"You should have let me know," I say. "I could have easily had my people search everywhere we went on Friday."

"It's fine," she says, brushing her hair out of her face. She looks positively radiant this morning. "I didn't want to bother you."

"Well," I say, "Beautiful and considerate."

She blushes.

"Regardless," I say. "I wanted to see you again anyway. Come in."

She steps into the main foyer, a chamber with a thirty-foot ceiling and hanging crystal chandeliers. "Well, this is excessive," she says. "The entrance of your house is bigger than my entire apartment."

"You're welcome to stop by whenever you need a change of pace," I say with a wink. "I know how to share."

Leah laughs softly. "But… does it really count as sharing when you inherited all of this?"

Her question catches me off guard, and frown as I close and lock the door with a click behind her.

"Where did you hear that?" I say.

"On the Internet."

"So you're cyber-stalking me?" I ask, frowning.

She turns red. "I Google all my dates."

"You have a lot of those?"

"Not really," she says, and she looks uneasy. "But Forbes says that you inherited your company and fortune. Anyway, I didn't mean anything by it. It's not like it matters to me anyway."

"Well," I say, walking with her toward the main living area, "If we're getting technical about this, then I'll have you know that I inherited the company from my father while it was in Chapter 11 bankruptcy. I turned it around myself."

She crosses her arms. "Then why does the Internet say otherwise?"

"Do you believe everything you read on the Internet?"

"Touché," she says. "I guess you're a self-made man after all."

"Yes. I couldn't look myself in the eye if I was riding daddy's coattails. But don't mention that to Rex LaPrise at McMaster Publishing. Rex, he inherited his company. And he doesn't know what the hell he's doing with it."

She laughs. "I've heard of him. I heard he's a jerk."

"You heard correctly. You got signed at the right company."

"Good," she says, smiling. "As long as you're in charge, I have a feeling that I did."

I nod. "I'm in charge at all times. Day… and night."

Leah bites her lip, twirling the tips of her hair in her fingers. I flash her a winning smile. "You'll see."

She draws in a quick breath and changes the topic. "Okay, mister smarty pants. Where could my notebook be?"

"Likely still in the limo," I say. "Let's go look."

"I checked when they picked me up just now," she says. "It wasn't there."

"That was a different limo."

"…Oh. Of course." We both laugh.

"I'll take you to the garage. But it's on the other side of the property. So you'll get the full tour."

"I'm not impressed by material things, remember?"

God, her pink lips look so full and pouty, and I just want to press them against mine. I shrug. "Not trying to impress you. Simply showing you around the property so you'll be prepared to spend more time here in the future."

I walk toward the central living room and she chases after me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I just smile and lead her through the corridor into the main living area, and I hear her gasp when we enter it.

The ceilings are nearly forty feet high at their peak, all sustainable wooden paneling supported by Argentinean log beams. A reflecting pool composes the centerpiece of the room, framed by sculptures and designer sofas.

"I take it back," she says. "That wasn't excessive. This is excessive."

"I thought you weren't impressed by material things?"

"I'm not. I'm just trying to understand why they're so important to you."

I can't lie, I'm taken aback by the bluntness of her question. I've been challenged by a lot of people, men and women alike, but never about my appreciation for the finer things in life. Most people believe that the value of having nice things is self-evident.

"Well," I say, "I was brought up to believe that no one would provide for me. That I would have to provide for myself. So I enjoy surrounding myself with evidence of my success."

Leah tips her head, as if she's psychoanalyzing me. But I don't care. I'm too busy thinking about how her head would tilt the same way if she were kissing me.

"So your parents didn't provide for you?"

Again, I'm taken aback by her questioning. "Of course they did," I say. "But I had to… fend for myself."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning… they prioritized their work above everything. Including their child."

"So you like to buy stuff as a replacement for your parent's love."

My jaw twitches at the way she analyzes me, and for some reason it hits a nerve. But nobody gets under my skin—not Rex LaPrise, not investors and shareholders, and certainly not Leah Price.

I force a smile, and I don't need to wonder if it looks natural. I know it does. I've used my fake smile many times before. "Sure. Something like that," I say with a dismissive wink.

But inside, I feel like she's exactly right. My parents were never truly there for me as a child. Even though I technically had a family, I always felt alone. And I think that explains why I feel so lonely now. I never learned how to have real relationships, so instead I did the only thing I was good at: making money. Lots and lots of it.

And I neglected everything else.

Damn. Does she see right through me? There aren't many people in this world who can make me start to reflect on my life before eight-'o-clock in the morning.

I take Leah through the rest of the mansion on the way to the garage where the limousines and other vehicles are parked.

It's a 10-car wide garage. Three limos, two SUVs, two sports cars, two motorcycles, and one ATV.

"That's the one we were in last night," I say, pointing to one of the limos. "It'll be unlocked."

Leah opens the rear door and sticks her head inside. I didn't mean for her to give me a great view of her ass in those leggings, but it's exactly what's happening. I wonder if she realizes it and is teasing me on purpose, or if she's completely oblivious. If I had any less self-control, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing it.

Either way, it's making my cock fucking hard as hell in my pants. I reach down into my waistband and make a discreet adjustment before she stands upright again.

"Hey," she says, turning toward me. "I don't see it in here."

"If you left it there, it's there," I say. I walk around to the opposite door, yank it open, and start searching inside. I slide a hand around on the dark floor, under the seat, and feel a flat object.

"Got it," I say, and lift my head up.

Then I realize I'm face-to-face with Leah, each of us leaning into the limo on opposite sides. And our faces are only six or eight inches apart. Her smell reaches my nose, and it's perfectly natural, perfectly feminine. Not like most women, who use overpowering perfumes and other products that hide their natural smell.

No, this is all Leah Price, and it's absolutely intoxicating.

I see her eyes drop down to my lips, and for a second, I entertain the idea of grabbing her face and kissing her right here and now. My body screams at me to do it.

But then she reaches out and puts a hand on the notebook, and the moment is gone.

"This what you're looking for?" I say.

"Yes."

"Then you can stop staring at my lips, now."

She laughs and blushes. "I was not!"

"Well, damn. Because I was staring at yours," I say.

She looks down, shyly, and bites her lip again. "Thank you for the notebook, Luke. I should really be going now."

I grin. "You'll be back. Sooner or later."

She gives me a shy smile.