I take my second shower of the day, washing his cum off my body, standing under the hot water and luxuriating in the teasing pressure from the multiple heads. Steam rises around me, and I can still taste the slight saltiness of him in my mouth.

Eager to get back to him, I rinse the jasmine bath gel from my skin then turn off the water. I rub one of the thick, soft towels from the rack over my skin to dry off. In the end, I ease in to a designer shift dress that’s silky and the color of sunshine. It tumbles down to my ankles, and I don’t wear anything underneath, which makes me feel sexy and free.

After applying a little pink lipstick and mascara, then brushing out my hair, I go to the kitchen, following the delicious aromas. I find Connor among the high-tech appliances. He’s cooking what looks to be French toast at the stove.

I take a moment to bask in the afterglow that’s still flitting over my skin. He’s got on a white button down that does nothing to hide the muscles in his back that flex every time he moves. His charcoal pants are obviously part of a suit, and it’s a shame that his jacket will soon cover up that gorgeous ass. God, as I remember everything I saw and everything we did it’s as if a shimmer of memory is balling into something hot and beautiful in the very center of me.

But even if we had some kind of breakthrough, that’s as far as my feelings for him can go. I’ll need to keep reminding myself that we’ll have just one amazing week together. I won’t get attached.

It’s as if he feels me behind him, and he looks over his shoulder. His smile is genuine, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen, and my heart kicks.

He intensely surveys me from head to toe, making that ball inside of me pulse with heat.

“You like this dress on me?” In the mood to flirt, I model the shift for him.

“I like it on you, but I’ve got no doubt I’d like it off even more.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You’re greedy, Allyson.”

Okay, so we’re back to calling me by my full name. No big deal.

He turns around to flip the French toast in its pan. I see a French coffee press on the counter as well as different fruits on a cutting board—bananas, honeydew melon, raspberries. Two glasses of orange juice also wait to be brought to the table. My phone is nearby, and he sees that I’ve noticed, because I didn’t leave it there.

He takes it in hand as the food sizzles. “What’s your password? You’ll need my number in your contacts.”

All right, so he wants to enter it himself. I indulge him, figuring that he’s indulged me enough so I should return the favor. I give my password to him, and after he finishes entering it, he hands the phone back to me.

Without being asked, I take the juice to the table and sit. Connor’s already brought out a bottle of fancy salt caramel syrup, plus butter and crystal cups full of yogurt.

“Don’t you have a personal chef?” I ask.

“He’s on call.” He turns off the stove and deftly moves the toast to the waiting plates that he’s already arranged fruit on. “Otherwise I do what I can around here as far as cooking goes.”

“You seem to know your way around a kitchen.”

“I’ve made more than a few breakfasts.”

As he opens a jar of Nutella then spreads the treat over the French toast, I try not to shrink back from the question I want to ask. Does he cook for his other women? This temporary girlfriend would like to know.

I frown. Am I actually a girlfriend for the remainder of the week while Connor takes me out in public? Huh.

I take a sip of juice then say, “From the cut of your clothing, I’m going to guess that you’re going into work. Better late than never, huh?”

“I’m usually in the office when the sun rises, but I had other business to attend to this morning.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

He sprinkles powdered sugar on the French toast, and I nearly slide down my chair to the floor in a puddle of sighs. This is going to be such a great week.

He brings over the plates of toast and fruit and sets them down on the marble table.

I drink some more juice then say, “I’m sure no one questions the boss at Kenyon Motors, even if he comes in a little late some mornings. How often do you—?”

“Stay home in the morning longer than I should with a Highest Bidder woman? Do you really want to know that?”

“Why not?” It’s not like I’ll get jealous or anything. I’ll make sure of it.

“As I said, you’re greedy, and not just for sex. For information.”

“As if you didn’t know that already.”

He goes back to the counter and pours the coffee from the French press in mugs before delivering those, too. He takes a seat opposite me, his gaze lingering on me a moment more than I expect it to, as if he’s trying to see into me to measure how many questions I’ve got in my mental queue.

I fidget with my juice glass until he finally speaks.

“I don’t usually linger with the Highest Bidder women in the mornings at home, or anywhere else for that matter. I put them up in a hotel.” His gaze is fixed on his plate as he cuts into the toast. “And the suites I book don’t normally have kitchens.”

He’s confirming what I suspected—that I somehow graduated from being a hotel bunny to a pet who languishes in his penthouse. I’m still not sure why I’ve been given such an opportunity, and I open my mouth to ask, but he’s already speaking again.

“I use Highest Bidder because it allows me to be with women on my own terms.”

“Imagine that.”

His mouth tightens a little. “It’s the closest thing I have to a pressure valve. No one sticks their noses in my business, and normally I can come and go with them as I please.”

“Normally?” I send him an innocent look, acknowledging that he’s talking about this one little itty bitty time I’m holding his feet to the fire with the public date thing.

“Yes, normally.” He eats the toast while watching me.

I tilt my head. “I can’t imagine a life where shareholders and my family check in with my dating habits, the way you told me yours do.”

He finishes off what he’s eating. “I explained to you why that is.”

“Because you have an image to project for your family, etcetera. And using the Highest Bidder service allows you to have a good time without expectations or obligations. Don’t you ever think that’s kind of cold, Connor?”

He sets down his silverware. “Is it any colder than staying with a guy you dated since high school just because your family wants you to?”

I widen my eyes. He’s right. I even used the same service Connor did to find someone who’d be low-pressure and expect no strings to be attached while I recover from Robbie.

Connor nudges his plate away, even though there’s still a lot of food on it. I haven’t touched mine yet.

“Never mind,” he says. “You’re different. You’re young and idealistic, and you’ll eventually find someone better than that asshole you used to date.”

“You’re also young, and—”

“Shit, don’t give me the ‘you’ll find true love, too’ line. It’s not out there. I only said you’d find someone better than Reggie or Robbie or whatever the hell his name is.”

He doesn’t believe in love?

Wow. I might’ve gotten slammed by Robbie, but I still believe in the possibilities. But Connor?

I think he means it about there being no true love.

I must be looking at him with something like sorrow in my gaze, because he shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he says, but he’s not angry. Not exactly. He’s just on guard, and I’d better learn when to stop pushing him.

I like this new easy way between us too much to ruin it. At least for the time being.

I lighten my voice. “I was only going to say that, in any case, I’m happy you invited me here to your home. And I like that you made me breakfast.”

“If you’re so happy about it, then start eating it, Allyson.”

With a smile, I dig into the food. The French toast melts in my mouth with the Nutella, and I close my eyes then open them to find Connor leaning back in his seat, his gaze on my mouth. I tentatively suck the Nutella from my bottom lip, and he abruptly stands from the table, taking his coffee with him. I’m pretty sure he’s rethinking the conversation we’ve just had; now I’ve seen a part of him that doesn’t come out often, if at all. And even if his demons have just jumped out of their hiding places to take him over again, a sense of victory dances through me.

It’s as if I have a little bit of a hold on him, the same way he does on me.

As I watch Connor toss his coffee into the sink, I picture what could be if we could just both let go of our pasts, our preconceived ideas, and actually give in to our feelings.

He moves toward the kitchen’s exit. “You can eat later.”

Does he want another round of sex before he leaves? I’m game.

But after he walks ahead of me through the hall and into a room near his bedroom that I know is a huge walk-in closet, I get the feeling that he’s put me at a distance again, his walls back up as he regains control of the situation.

I follow him, and when I enter the closet it’s as if I’ve wandered into a forest of elegant, monotone designer suits. He’s in front of a tie rack, and every single muted color is solid. No patterns, no silly joke ties, only the starkness I noticed yesterday in his modern office.

Standing nearby, he puts his hands in his pockets, armed and ready. “What’s your choice for me today, Goldilocks?”

Yup, once again I’m the clueless girl who wandered into the woods and had to choose between something that was too-this or too-that and finally settled on just right.

I look over his selection, and after I find the most colorful tie—maroon silk—I fetch it from the rack and hold it out to him.

“Do you know how to do a four-in-hand knot?” he asks.

“Robbie used to come to either me or his mom for that.”

Is it bad that I mentioned Robbie? Because Connor is tenser than ever.

Not daring to ask him why he suddenly got that way, I move close to him, then stand on my tiptoes to slip the tie around his neck. He watches me as I fold and wind the length of silk. It almost feels as if I’m putting the finishing touch on this man’s armor before he goes out there to face the public.

“Tonight, after work,” he says, “we’ll go out, just like you want to. A gown will be delivered, along with accessories.”

I feel a surge of adrenaline coupled with terror wash over me.

“Do you want me to help you shop?” I figure since I demanded my way into being his date for the week, it’s the least I can do.

As I ease the tie into a perfect knot, Connor looks at my mouth again, as if he’s obsessing about the pleasures it brought him this morning. Heat washes over me in a naughty flood.

“I’ve got shopping covered,” he says.

Then he leaves.

I stand in the closet until the penthouse hums with silence, because now that I’ve gotten what I wished for by persuading Connor to take me out in public tonight, reality is setting in.

And so is panic as I wonder if a sweet little Goldilocks can match up to all his supermodels and goddesses.