There’s no Zen without her.

  I go inside, take the elevator, and walk down the hallway, banging my fist on room 302. When she answers, I pose a question I’ve been dying to ask for a long, long time.

  12

  JILLIAN

  His right arm rests against the doorframe. His big body fills the doorway.

  Nerves skate over my skin. My throat is dry. I want to tell him he behaved like a jerk tonight at the pool, grunting out words like a caveman.

  But I also want to know why he’s come calling at nine at night.

  I try to manage a hi, what can I do for you, except he gets the first words in.

  “What would it be like if we didn’t work together?”

  His words hang in the air like sweet smoke.

  Like possibility.

  Inside, I’m shaking—with want, with hope, with an anticipation that thrills and scares me. He’s here at my hotel room, and his blue eyes are blazing. There’s a fire in them, a heat I haven’t seen before. Briefly, I glance down, trying to see me as he does—I’m wearing only a tank top and pajama shorts. My hair is blow-dried, since I just took a shower. I had to wash off the chlorine, along with my frustration over how he behaved at the pool.

  I should still be annoyed with him, but it’s hard to stay that way since curiosity is eating at me. Carefully, in a low voice, I ask, “What do you mean?”

  Blue lights along the floorboards glow faintly in the stylish room behind me, as Sam Smith plays from my phone. “Stay with Me” floats in the air like a call to him, a request for Jones to spend the night.

  He leans a few inches closer, making me dizzy.

  “What I mean is . . .” He takes his time answering, his voice full of a need I’ve never heard from him before. “What would things be like with you and me if we didn’t work together?”

  My voice is breathless as I answer, and I’m sure it betrays my heart. “What do you think they’d be like?” I ask quietly, but my wariness over prying eyes runs strong, so I shake my head. “Don’t answer.” I peer down the hall. No one’s around, but whatever he’s going to utter is best said behind closed doors. “Come inside.” I open the door wider, and he enters. When the door slides closed with a thunk, the sound reverberates.

  It feels like a line in the sand.

  A line I shouldn’t cross.

  But I want to know what comes next.

  He runs a hand through his hair and sighs heavily. His voice is vulnerable when he speaks. “Why don’t you look at me, Jillian?”

  A spark of anger burns in me. “Why were you a jerk at the pool?”

  He huffs. “Because I thought that guy was with you.”

  “So you were dismissive and barely said a word?”

  He nods. “Yes. And then when I talked to you, you just stared straight at me, but you didn’t look at me.” He takes a beat, breathes hard, then seems to let go of his anger. “And all I want is to look at you.”

  I’m burning, everywhere. I’m hot and wet and electric. Heat flares low in my belly, settling between my legs.

  “I do look at you.” I wind my hands behind my back and lace my fingers together to keep from launching myself at him.

  “Do you look at me the way I look at you?”

  “How do you look at me?”

  He steps closer. He’s a foot away. I’ve never been so aware of space in my life. “Like it drove me crazy you were with that guy. Like it made me act like a jerk, and I’m sorry.”

  A wild thrill rushes through me at his admission. I’ve never experienced this sensation, this absolute intoxication from knowing the person you long for is longing for you, too. My friends and family have told me he feels this way, but I hunted for every reason to disavow what they said. Now, I’m floating on this cloud of disbelief, and it feels so good to fly this high. I don’t want the real world. I don’t want consequences. I just want him.

  “You’re not a jerk. But I told you—he’s a friend, and that’s all.”

  His shoulders rise and fall. “It drove me crazy to see you laughing with him. To see him hugging you.”

  Since honesty seems to be the theme tonight, I toss out another kernel of truth. “It drove me crazy that you didn’t have dinner with me.” It’s a relief to finally give voice to my own jealousy, and taking the first step frees me to say more. Emboldened, I add softly, “I wanted to have dinner with you.”

  He steps closer. Inches separate us—that’s all. “I was trying like hell to stay away from you.”

  I should tell him to go, but his words are everything I’ve longed for. Everything that’s a terrible risk. I swallow harshly as my bones buzz. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to mess things up for you or for me. I don’t want to ruin anything. But when I saw Liam chatting you up at the winery, and then your friend Andre tonight . . . it was too hard to keep this all inside. It was too hard to act like I don’t totally fucking want you.”

  A gasp dares to escape my lips. I’m crackling everywhere as he continues, “I know you’re beautiful, I know you’re smart as a whip, but I want them to look at you and feel like they can’t have you.”

  He lifts his hand and lightly, ever so gently, runs his fingers across my shoulder. I spark from that touch. I’m a live wire, and I could power whole cities tonight.

  “Because you’re mine.”

  I’m flying through the stars. The man I want is laying bare his desire, shedding all his pretenses, and I can hardly believe it’s happening. He’s making his intentions clear. I want to hear every word, imprint them on my memory so I can replay them when I’m on the other side of this, so I can remember why I’m about to do something foolish. Why I’m going to take a risk.

  Somehow, I manage to speak. “What would you do if I was yours?”

  He erases the distance, the inches, and lines his body up with mine. This is the point of no return, and I’ve passed it.

  Willingly.

  Gladly.

  “Let me show you.” Cupping my cheeks in his big hands, he dips his mouth to mine, and he kisses me fiercely with everything he has.

  That’s how he kisses, and it’s like a hot, dirty dream. His mouth slides over mine with lips that are soft, yet determined. The press of his hard body is delicious. Even though I’m taller than the average woman, I’m tiny next to him. Jones is so much larger than me, broader, bigger, and I love it.

  I love everything about how he kisses me, most of all that he’s not quiet. As his big hands grip my face, he makes the sexiest sounds—moans and groans and murmurs that all add up to sheer masculine desire. For me.

  It’s shocking to be wanted like this after all the time I thought the opposite. But it’s a shock I crave. I want him to shock my system with his lust.

  He kisses me as if I’m what he’s fantasized about for days, for weeks, for months. As if he wants to kiss me everywhere, every inch of my body, and that thought sends a shudder through me, a wave of obscene pleasure that crashes between my legs where I’m hot and wet and needy for him.

  It should be criminal to feel this good, to be this aroused.

  If it is, I’m guilty and loving it.

  A restless energy claws at me, a desperate desire to get closer to him, to climb him. I rub my pelvis against the outline of his erection. He’s hard and long, and I’m dying to feel him fill me up.

  “Ohh,” I moan as the full awareness of his length dawns on me. The man is big everywhere.

  I feel him laugh a little against my lips, then he separates from me, pressing his forehead to mine and whispering, “Are you trying to climb me?”

  I laugh, too, answering breathlessly, “Yes.”

  “Let me help you out.”

  In a split second, he lifts me, wraps my legs around him, and carries me to the king-size bed. Low to the floor with a white lacquered platform, it screams fuck me on this. Or maybe I have a one-track mind tonight. I’m an open book right now, and I can’t pretend any longer that I don’t want him with every fiber of my body.

  “Jones,” I whisper as he lays me down under him. “This is just between us tonight.”

  He nods. “It’ll always be between us.”

  There it is—the admission that we are secret. That we are illicit and lawless. But the risk won’t stop us. I feel bold, brazen, like my mouth has been unlocked by his touch. “I want you tonight. I want all of you.” It’s such an awesome relief to say those words.

  “I want you, Jillian. All of you. Don’t you know how much?”

  I kind of do, but I want to hear. “How much?”

  He groans, hiking my legs tighter around his back. With one swift move he grinds against me, letting me feel the outline of his hard cock through my flimsy clothes. The sound I make is animalistic, like a tiger in heat.

  “You make me so fucking hard. So fucking crazy. I want you under me, writhing and moaning and calling my name,” he says as he pushes against me, a tease of what’s to come.

  “I don’t think that’ll be an issue.” Arching up into him, I revel in the feeling of his hard-on between my legs, knowing that soon there won’t be any layers between us. I murmur in pleasure, breathing out his name. “Jones.”

  He curses and thrusts against me. “Do you have any idea how attracted I am to you? I think about you constantly.” His words come out in a rush, thick with emotion, brimming with heat and need.

  I blink then swallow, trying to make sense of what he’s just said. It feels like more than sex. More than lust. “You do?”

  He nods vigorously. “So much, for so long.”

  Something bursts inside me, everything I’ve held back, and words spill free. “It’s the same for me. It’s exactly the same for me.”

  He grins. “Yeah?”

  “That’s why it was so much harder not to look at you. I never stare at the guys anyway, but you—I wanted to see all of you, and I had to resist.”

  He crushes his mouth to mine, kissing me like it’s a claiming, hot and fevered, sending me into a frenzy. My hips rock up against him, and we have to get naked soon or I will die.

  He knows it, too, because he pulls away from me and stands, kicking off his flip-flops. He’s only wearing a T-shirt and swim trunks that don’t hide how aroused he is. “You can look at me now. I’m fair game.”

  “Take your clothes off, please. I’m begging you.” I scoot back on the bed, resting on my elbows, gawking happily.

  He grips the bottom of his shirt with crossed hands then strips it off in one quick move.

  “Oh God,” I gasp. “You’re beautiful.”

  I’ve seen him shirtless before, but this is brand-new. It feels like an unveiling, a private show. I have the one and only seat, and it’s front and center. I gaze at him with ravenous eyes, memorizing the firm shape of his pecs, the muscles in his arms, the grooves of his abs.

  The V.

  Dear God, the V. My mouth waters. “Take your shorts off,” I tell him, my voice like a feather as my eyes roam over him, finally free to enjoy the view. And, oh hell, do I enjoy him.

  He cocks a brow. “Are you sure?”

  I howl with frustration. “So sure. Please. Just please take your clothes off.”

  I’m begging, and I don’t care. I want him naked. Every glorious inch.

  He hooks his thumbs into his shorts and waggles his eyebrows. “More?”

  “All. The. Way.”

  He laughs and pushes them down.

  My mouth waters. His dick should be illegal. “Oh my God,” I mutter in admiration as I stare at his hard, impressive length. Long, thick, and proud. It points at me.

  Jones grips his length, stroking slowly, squeezing the head.

  I spin around and crawl to him, a wild woman on her knees for the man she wants. Like that, I wrap a hand around him, and he growls. The skin is hot and smooth, like steel and velvet. The sound he makes when I touch him seems to reverberate in the room. I waste no time. I lower my head and take him in my mouth.

  “Fuck, baby,” he groans, threading his fingers in my hair.

  I flick my tongue over the head, sucking him, savoring the salty, delicious taste of his cock.

  “Jillian.” My name is a warning. I don’t heed it. I suck harder and tighter, trying to bring him deeper. But his hands push my shoulders, gently shoving me off him. “If you keep doing that, I’ll come too soon.”

  “I want to taste you coming.”

  “I want that.” He dips his face to mine. “More than you can know. And I want to taste you, too. I want to eat you, spread you open, and devour you. But I need to be patently honest right now.”

  I tense. “Yes?”

  “I have wanted to fuck you for so long that what I want more than anything is to slide inside you and make you come like that.”

  Somehow, I’m even wetter. That heavy aching pulse throbs between my legs. I wrap my hands around his neck, yanking him close as I whisper my deepest wish, “Please fuck me.”

  13

  JONES

  My three favorite words ever.

  Jillian begging me. Jillian asking me to take her. The woman I’m crazy for is wildly aroused.

  Everything about her turns me on to an insane degree. But I find it incredibly problematic that she’s still dressed, so I solve the clothing issue in seconds, stripping off her shorts and her panties as she takes off her top.

  Then she’s spread out and naked before me on the bed. “Jesus Christ, you’re gorgeous. Hotter than I ever imagined.” I savor the view of her perky tits, her trim, tight belly, her long, lean legs, and that thatch of dark hair that points home. My whole body is buzzed, bursting with adrenaline.

  Faster than I can run a forty, I grab a condom from my wallet on the floor, roll it on my eager dick, and kneel between her thighs. “Spread your legs, baby.”

  There’s no shyness in her. None at all as she lets her knees fall open for me. She’s bold and confident, and it makes my skin sizzle. What makes me even hotter is how she stares at me—but now it’s all of me, with wide eyes and permission. It’s fucking awesome, not because I’m so vain I need the confirmation, but because it’s her. There’s nothing sexier than the woman you want admiring you as if you’re the object of her fantasies. She can objectify me all night long if she wants.

  I love what I’m seeing, too. A groan rumbles up my chest as I learn how wet she is, how slippery she feels when I glide two fingers over her pussy. She rocks up into my hand and parts her lips. Please, please, please.

  I do as I’m begged, rubbing the head of my dick against her slick opening.

  “Yes,” she moans, and it’s as if the word lasts for days.

  I sink inside a few inches, shuddering as sparks tear through me from the first touch. This is better than all my dirty dreams of her, and I’ve had thousands. Hell, it’s eons better than every time I’ve jacked off while imagining how it would feel to bury myself in her.

  There is nothing, nothing at all, like the real thing.

  She ropes her arms around my back, looks up into my eyes, and whispers, “All of you. I want all of you.”

  An obliterating wave of lust rolls over me as I sink into her, savoring the heat of her pussy, filling her completely. Sensations fire off in my body, like fireworks every-fucking-where. She’s so warm, so tight, and I can’t believe I’m finally having her.

  This is where I want to be, and it’s tremendous. Our eyes lock for a few seconds, and we’re silent, but it feels like we say everything—Finally. At last. I’ve wanted this. I've wanted you.

  The last unspoken word echoes between us. You, you, you.

  Then, we fuck.

  We don’t go slow. We don’t ease into it. We’re off to the races, and she goes wild beneath me, arching and thrusting. She drags her nails down my back, scratching me.

  It makes my blood run hotter. “Leave marks, baby,” I urge.

  She scratches harder, and I love the wildcat in her. Love that she wants to claim me in her own way.

  I love, too, how she gives herself to me so openly. How she has no hang-ups now that we’re finally tangled together. Swiveling my hips, I push deeper into her. She moans her approval. I do it again. She moans even louder. Her nails dig into me.

  “Like that,” she pants.

  “Just like that.” That’s the pace I keep up, the rhythm she seems to need, the angle that sends her pitch rising.

  And it makes my name rush from her lips in a filthy moan.

  I hear my name said all the time. It’s announced during games. It’s uttered on TV. It’s mentioned constantly on sports radio.

  Never has my name sounded as good as it does tonight. “Jones . . . so close . . . I’m so close.”

  The fact that she’s nearly there already triggers a fresh round of lust in my veins. Unleashing several hard, fast pumps, I drive into her, and she cries out, louder each time.

  Raising her knees higher, she opens herself more. I wrap a hand around one knee, pushing up her leg, making even more room. She quivers, her shoulders trembling, her eyes squeezing shut. Her mouth, her lips, her beautiful face—I can’t stop watching as the beginning of her orgasm radiates through her.

  Another gasp. Another groan.

  Then, the barest whisper from her—coming—and it sends a bolt of heat to my groin as I give her everything she needs, taking her to the edge.

  The sound of her climax is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s hotter when she digs her nails in as she keens. That trips the switch in me. Pleasure barrels down my spine, and I don’t hold back. There’s no need to anymore. My vision blurs, and my world spins out of orbit as everything turns white-hot.

  I come hard, my orgasm reverberating with an intensity that feels like the end of time. Ecstatic oblivion, and worth every goddamn second. I collapse onto her, her arms still banded around me as we both breathe as if we’ve run a race.

  Her hands move up my back with gentle strokes. She runs her fingers through my hair. She dusts a kiss to my sweaty forehead, whispering my name once more, a quiet murmur in the night.