Hand holding? Smiling? Babe? Who was this man and what had he done with Jack Willis? And how could I keep him around?

When Jack smiled at him, my knees went weak, my heart went ba-boom and my lucky thong got wet. It was almost as intoxicating as the look we had shared earlier, the one that had been full of very dirty, very exciting promises.

I couldn’t figure him out. One minute he was cold and closed off, the next he was taking my hand and calling me by sweet endearments in front of clients. Was this just an act? Was he just trying to impress the Sinclairs? Trying to get them to invest in the company? Or did he mean it?

His hand was rough against mine. Somehow, I hadn’t noticed it in the few times we had shaken hands, but Jack’s palm was calloused, not at all how I would have expected a millionaire’s palm to feel. The thought of him putting that palm – both palms and all ten fingers – all over me, made me even hotter.

Jack cleared his throat and I realized that I had been staring at him with my mouth open. And that I hadn’t responded to his comment. He gave my hand a squeeze and nodded towards the Sinclairs who were looking at me with a slightly concerned expression on their faces.

I smiled broadly – maybe too broadly – and nodded.

“That’s right, darling,” I said. “It hasn’t been very long, but we just clicked.”

“How lovely,” Nancy sighed, clearly eating all of this up.

I felt a little guilty. Even though I had just met her and Richard, I didn’t like lying to them. Especially if it was in service of manipulating them.

But even that didn’t really make sense. It seemed that they had arrived at dinner already excited about Jack and the company and the Celero. They didn’t need us faking a relationship to convince them to invest.

I had to assume that Jack just didn’t want them to know who I really was. That he didn’t want to broadcast the fact that he had hired a ghostwriter – which made sense to me. But he could have said I was someone else – anyone else. I could have been an employee, an assistant, anything but a fake girlfriend.

Instead, I was sitting at one of the most expensive restaurants in Manhattan, holding hands with one of the wealthiest men in the country. A man that every single woman in the restaurant couldn’t stop staring at. And I didn’t hate it. Nope, I liked it. A little more than I should. Which is why I didn’t pull away.

Because a part of me was pretty sure that this was more than just an act. That whatever had sparked between us, that heat, that need that I had seen in Jack’s eyes, that was real. That he was still holding my hand because he liked the way my hand felt just as much as I liked the way his hand felt. That he wanted my hands on his body just as much as I wanted his on mine.

Then he pulled away, and my sexy little fantasy burst.

Dammit. Maybe it was just all business. Maybe it was all one-sided.

I couldn’t figure it out. Couldn’t figure him out. I spent the rest of the evening watching his expressions, looking for any sign that he was interested in more than just my writing skills and quick fake girlfriend-ing ability.

“It was so lovely to meet you,” Nancy told me as we got our coats at the end of the evening. “I’d love to get together some time and hear more about the craft books you’ve worked on.”

“That would be nice,” I told her, surprised that this elegant woman was interested in my silly little craft books. Then again, macramé knew no bounds, it seemed.

The Sinclairs left first, leaving Jack and me standing on the curb together, waiting for the town car. An awkward silence settled between us, and I rocked back and forth on my heels, not sure what to say. Or do.

“I can just get a cab,” I offered, even though I was mentally wincing at the cost.

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk more about the book,” Jack had his hands in his pockets, looking too handsome for his own good. No wonder every single head in the restaurant had turned when we headed out. God, he was nice to look at. The wind ruffled his hair a little, and it made me want to touch it. Touch him. Smell him. Lick him. All over.

“You want to talk more about it tonight?” I asked. I hadn’t looked at my phone recently, but it had to be after 11:00pm.

“Unless you have somewhere you need to be,” his eyebrow was raised as if he didn’t think there was anywhere else I needed to be.

For that arrogance alone, I knew I should have said no. Instead, I pressed my knees together, my entire body craving his touch.

“I’m free,” I told him.

“Good,” he said as the town car pulled up. “We’ll go to my place.”

It was an amazing apartment. Of course, it was. He was filthy, stinking rich. He was going to have a nice apartment, I told myself. Still, even knowing that hadn’t prepared me for how beautiful it was.

Like his skyscraper, the place was modern, steel and glass. The floor in the entryway was black marble, the walls a pale gray. Everything looked sleek, professional and very high tech. His front door had been unlocked with his handprint, the lights turned on when we entered, and I was pretty sure I could hear classical music start to play in the other room.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Jack asked me, taking my coat.

“Um, sure,” I said, still taking it all in.

“Wine?”

My eyebrows went up. I still had a slight buzz from all the wine we’d had at dinner – three bottles between the four of us – but the look he gave me made me nod. It was a knowing look, one that promised things. Or so I thought.

I still didn’t know. There were moments when it felt like I could read him, like we were on the same page, but then his face would go blank and I would be uncertain if I had just imagined the seductive glances and hot looks.

I followed him into the kitchen which was full of stainless steel appliances and more black marble. It should have felt cold, but somehow it didn’t. Maybe it was the brightly colored dishes that lined the open shelves, or the unexpectedly playful hexagonal backsplash tiles. Jack had removed his coat and jacket when he hung up my coat, and now the sleeves of his shirt were rolled back giving me a great view of his extremely attractive forearms.

Next to the fridge was a smaller fridge. It wasn’t until he opened it that I realized it was a wine refrigerator. Of course it was. I stored my wine in boxes on my counter. He had a whole appliance dedicated to it. Probably proper matching wine glasses instead of my mismatched thrift store finds.

“Hope this is ok.” He offered me a glass of what I was certain cost more than the eventual cab ride I was going to need to take home.

“It’s great,” I said before even taking a sip.

He smiled. A real smile. One that made me heat up from the inside.

Suddenly his spacious kitchen seemed tiny and hot. I moved past him into the rest of the apartment, holding tight to my wine glass, feeling totally out of my element. The living room was enormous, with floor to ceiling windows that gave me an incredible view of Central Park.

There were little details that made it seem like a home, an actual home. I was especially surprised by his furniture choices. I had assumed he would have favored streamlined modern designs in neutral tones. Instead there was a giant sectional – a giant red sectional – that looked unbelievably plush and comfy. It looked like the kind of sofa you crawled into for a movie night, only I didn’t see any TV.

There were plants everywhere – ferns and bonsai plants. I smiled when I passed a shelf with impeccably trimmed tiny trees. I could totally see Jack messing around with a couple of those to blow off steam. The perfect activity for a designer and a control freak, especially one as creative as he was.

The whole place looked state of the art, which made sense considering how tech-savvy Jack was. I looked around wondering how many things Jack had programmed or personalized on his own.

“Do you approve?” Jack asked.

I turned, to find him standing there watching me, his arms crossed, his glass of wine dangling from his fingertips.

“It’s beautiful,” I told him. “I really like your couch.” I put my hand on the back of it and gave the cushions a squeeze. It felt as soft as it looked.

“You’re welcome to test it out,” he offered, that inscrutable look still fixed to his face.

I took a sip of wine, adding to the warm, happy buzz that was coursing through me. Fuck it, I told myself. Embrace the weirdness of this moment. Embrace the unknown. Decision made, I put my wine down on the coffee table and flopped – face first – onto the couch.

It was incredible.

“Wow,” I managed, my voice muffled by the cushions. “It’s so squishy.”

I felt the couch shift and I flipped over to find that Jack had joined me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone test out my sofa like that,” he observed.

“Clearly you’re inviting the wrong people to test it,” I told him. Now I was really feeling the effects of dinner’s wine.

“Clearly.”

I sat up, certain that my hair looked absolutely insane.

“This is a great TV couch,” I said. “But you don’t have a TV.”

“TVs are becoming obsolete,” he informed me.

I groaned, flopping back against the pillows. “Are you one of those people who are too good for TV and movies?” I sighed. “Because I can’t understand the point of living if I can’t do it while watching The Bachelorette.”

He laughed. A real laugh. The sound sent a thrill through me. He was damn sexy when he smiled. When he laughed. When he breathed.

“I’m definitely not too good for TV,” he said, reaching behind him and pulling a remote off the side table. “But I am a snob about how I watch it.”

He pressed a button and I heard a soft whirring noise. The lights dimmed, and shades on the windows began to lower, along with something else. A screen. An enormous screen. The room got dark, the atmosphere becoming much more intimate and romantic.

“You have your own projector?” I asked, wide eyed.

“Yep.”

“And it’s controlled by that remote?” I crawled over to his side of the couch to get a better look. “That’s incredible.”

“Uh huh.” Jack’s voice sounded strained.

When I glanced up at him, I realized his eyes were focused downward. Following his gaze, I realized that not only was I on my hands and knees, but the position had caused my skirt to bunch up at the top of my thighs, exposing most of my legs. But that’s not what Jack was staring at. No. He was staring at the buttons that had come undone, leaving my blouse gaping open. My black lace bra and generous cleavage was on full display.

I sat back immediately, my hands going to my chest, my cheeks growing hot.

“I am so sorry,” I fumbled with the buttons, my fingers somehow forgetting how to make them work. “Dammit,” I muttered.

“Stop,” Jack’s voice was low. Raspy.

Like he had done at the restaurant, he placed his hand over mine, but this time his fingers brushed against the swell of my breast. Before I could stop myself, a breathy sigh escaped my lips.

Jack froze. I froze. I was pretty sure all of Manhattan could hear my heartbeat. Then, slowly, Jack’s calloused thumb caressed the soft skin above my bra. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes fluttering closed. I was afraid this was all a dream.

“You’re driving me insane,” he murmured, his touch tantalizingly light.

“I am?” my voice sounded high pitched.

“Fuck yes.”

And before I could say anything else, Jack pressed a hot, opened mouthed kiss against my cleavage.

Oh my god, his mouth felt so good. My head fell back as he kissed his way up my throat, his hand sliding up the back of my neck, cradling my head.

“Libby,” he said huskily. “Open your eyes.”

I did. And he kissed me.