Closing my eyes, I brace my palm on the wall above her, rub her rhythmically with my fingers, and saturate my senses in her.

  “Princess…” I breathe against her skin, huffing and working to slide deeper inside her with every thrust.

  She grips my fingers against the wall and mewls, moving with me, tightening until I swear I’m going to explode. “I’m on fire.”

  “Yes… Burn with me.”

  “I’m dying.”

  “We’ll go down together.”

  “Why?” she sobs out.

  Is it always so intense? Because there’s something between us. There must be, and she has to be feeling it, too. Something. At least a twinge. That makes her mine on some level, right?

  “Just feel it.”

  She squeezes my hand. “I can’t stop it.”

  Perfect. “Come with me.”

  Her strangled whimper pours into my ears, driving me higher. Her head falls back. Her body goes taut. Need flares lava hot through my body. Even my skin is ablaze.

  She’s going to kill me.

  “Fuck, princess.” I surge deeper inside her. “Baby…”

  “Yes. Oh, my… Yes!” she roars, her voice a low rattle that ecstasy rips from her chest.

  Then she’s bucking, squeezing me, tripping me over into the kind of satisfaction that blows off the top of my head and destroys any semblance of control. I ride her through climax, pumping furiously until she runs out of breath and voice. Until her legs give out from under her. Until she melts into me.

  Until she trembles all over. “Xavian…what’s happening with us?”

  I did more than rock her world. I knocked her off her axis. As I mentally grope for a reply other than I love you, the emergency chime on my phone peals. It’s the ringtone I’ve assigned Bethany.

  It’s after one in the morning. If the mom of two kids under age three is calling me now, shit has hit the fan.

  She’s seen social media.

  Still, I hold Corinne tight. “You okay?”

  “I…don’t think so.” She sounds shell-shocked.

  That means no. I have to hold her. If everyone in her life has left her, I have to be the one who stays and puts her first.

  “Come here.” Slowly, I withdraw from her swollen clasp and ready myself to discard the condom.

  Then I realize I never donned one.

  My breath abandons my lungs. The world spins around me. I brace myself against the wall as time stands still.

  Shit. How did I lose my head? What if Corinne gets pregnant?

  Would a baby really be a bad thing?

  In the next room, the phone stops ringing, then starts again. Corinne turns to face me, then gasps when semen drips down her inner thigh. Her stare bounces up to me, her mouth stunned open.

  “I’m sorry. I lost my head.”

  She sinks to the bench, shaken, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I’m in the middle of my cycle.”

  That news actually sparks hope, but it’s obvious she doesn’t feel the same.

  Fuck.

  The phone stops ringing a second time.

  “It’s going to be fine.” That’s a promise. I’ll make everything all right…somehow.

  She gathers her knees to her chest. Clearly, my words don’t reassure her.

  The phone trills again, now sounding more insistent.

  “You going to answer that?” she asks.

  Does she want me to because she wants space between us? Or because she suspects it’s urgent?

  The timing couldn’t be worse.

  “I’ll be right back.” I jerk away, clean up, and grab a towel, shoving my way out of the enclosure. Corinne stands slowly, still trembling as I fish out another towel and wrap it around her. “Then we’ll talk this out.”

  “How?”

  The phone stops ringing, then promptly starts again. I know Bethany. She’s determined. She’ll call all night until I answer.

  Since I don’t know what to say to Corinne, I march into my bedroom and I grab the device from the charger. “What’s the matter?”

  “You’re actually asking me that? After what you did tonight? I’ve been calling for thirty minutes. The business is melting down, and what the hell are you doing? My guess is getting laid.”

  Admitting she’s right would be like setting off a bomb. “Melting down? That’s got to be hyperbolic.”

  “It isn’t. Our two biggest clients have already called to ask why you’re making a spectacle and how they’re supposed to take us seriously.”

  “What the fuck?” No matter how much of a manwhore I was in the past, they never seemed to care. Then again, I’ve never been this public about my sex life.

  “Our name isn’t the best in the financial world, so we have to do everything better, cleaner, and smarter. You all but fucked your fiancée in public!”

  Corinne wanders into the room, shivering in her skimpy towel, purse and clothes in hand. Her wince tells me she heard every word Bethany yelled. Damn it.

  Unfortunately, my sister isn’t wrong. Despite the strikes against us, Bethany founded our firm to compete against the world’s most venerable financial institutions. She’s trying to project an image of exclusivity and prestige. I shouldn’t have been so reckless.

  “But I didn’t,” I assure Bethany. “I’m sorry it affected the firm. I’ll write a formal apology.”

  “I’m not convinced that will make any difference. I have three more voicemails from other clients I’m afraid to listen to…”

  As my sister recites the damage I’ve done to our brokerage, which we’ve all busted our asses to make a success, I feel horrible. I never wanted to jeopardize the firm, just help Corinne.

  Well, and stake my claim on her.

  Across the room, she fishes her phone from her little clutch. Within seconds, her face dissolves into pale, blanching horror.

  She’s looking at social media. It must be catastrophic. Goddamn it, I have to do damage control. I just don’t know what.

  “How can I fix this, Bethany? Should I take a three-month leave?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  Holy shit. My sister wants more penance than that? “You want me to call off the partnership?”

  She sighs.

  Then I get the picture. “You want me to fucking resign?”

  “You’re my brother, and I love you, but that might have to be something we consider.”

  Inside, I turn volcanic. Everything I’ve worked for and helped her build… “You seriously want me gone from the firm?”

  Bethany is usually ice-cold when it comes to business. She’s practical, highly intelligent, and rock-solid. Tonight, I hear her voice warble. “It’s not what I want. You saved this business almost singlehandedly when I was a new mom and drowning. I know you and your fiancée love each other, and I don’t care what you two do. But the rest of the world does. Have you even looked online?”

  On cue, Corinne gasps. I look up to find her gripping her phone and swallowing hard like she’s going to be sick. “Oh, my gosh.”

  Tears fall down her cheeks. The sight crushes me. I’ve got a firm about to go down in flames, a boss-slash-sister who might cut me loose, and the future I’ve craved is slipping through my fingers.

  But Corinne needs me more.

  “I have to go,” I tell Bethany.

  “Right now? Seriously?”

  “Sorry. We’ll talk soon.” I don’t wait for her reply, just hang up and toss my phone on the bed, then dash for Corinne.

  I take the device from her hand and glance down. Riley texted her screen shots from all over the internet, nasty posts calling her every manner of slut while demanding I be fired and that my CFP be revoked.

  That son of a bitch.

  “Let’s sit down and talk.”

  My voice snaps Corinne out of her stupor. She snatches her phone back just as Riley sends another message.

  What the fuck does he want?

  To make your woman his again.

  Corinne shakes her head, backing away. “I…I can’t do this anymore. I came to you for a favor, but I never thought it would ruin your life. I’m so, so sorry. You tried everything to help me…”

  And she thinks leaving me is the answer?

  “It’s all right, princess. I’ll smooth things over with Bethany and our clients.” At least I’ll try. “You and I can still see this through. This brouhaha will die down in a few days. Your brother will crack if you stay strong. We’re close—”

  “No. Xavian, we have to stop.” She presses a hand to her chest, her face twisting with guilt. “I’m ruining your life. That partnership you want so badly is all but gone, and if they take your CFP—”

  “They can’t. Someone’s interpretation of public indecency isn’t cause to yank my certification.” Riley, the motherfucker, knows that. He’s using the threat to scare her.

  It’s working.

  Corinne gapes at me like I’ve gone insane. “Does it matter if you lose all your clients? Revenge can’t possibly be worth all this to you. I know you hate my brother, but stop and think—”

  “I don’t give a shit about your brother anymore.”

  “That’s probably healthier, but if you’re trying to get your reputation back, this isn’t the way.” She straightens her shoulders with a resolution that sends a chill down my spine, then heads toward her suitcase. She grabs a couple of garments she’s strewn on the nearby chair, tossing them in before slamming the lid. “I’m going to go.”

  “In the middle of the night? The hell you will. None of this is your fault. I’m a big boy who went into this with my eyes wide open. You’re not ruining anything. I’ll recover. Stay.” I’ve never begged for anything in my life, but I’m begging her now. “Please.”

  “I can’t,” she chokes as more tears fall. “I’m ruining my life, too. Since we started this charade, I’ve felt like I’m on a carnival ride. Dizzying highs and terrifying lows. Every day, I’m being jerked, spun, and flipped around on a ride with no seat belts and no end. I can’t hang on anymore.”

  “I’ll do a better job protecting you. I’ll get the heat off you.”

  “You can’t. And I can’t pretend anymore.” She taps out a message—to Riley?—then tosses her phone on the bed. “I’ll get the rest of my things later.”

  Pretend what?

  When she turns for the bathroom, clean clothes in hand, I grab her arm. “If this is about the condom, I’m sorry. It’s never happened before. I’ll be more careful next time. And if you get pregnant—”

  “There can’t be a next time.” She jerks away. “We’re turning each other inside out. Less than a week ago, I was just Parker Emerson’s fairly anonymous sister sitting at home, making jewelry for people on the internet. You were Barclay Reed’s financial wizard son doing such amazing things with portfolios that investors ignored your personal exploits. But now we’re plastered all over TMZ. I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t let you ruin yourself.”

  Corinne disappears into the bathroom and locks it. Since I fucking left the key on the counter beside the sink, I sag against the door, resisting the urge to break the damn thing down, and curse.

  Maybe if I give her a minute or two alone, she’ll calm down.

  But I’m kidding myself. She won’t. What the hell do I do now?

  Across the room, her phone chimes. That asshole Riley. I’m going to fucking let him have it with both barrels.

  I snag the device. Since the screen hasn’t gone dark yet, I see their string of texts. I would feel guilty about invading Corinne’s privacy if I wasn’t trying to protect her. This douche hurt her once. He doesn’t deserve a second chance.

  But when I read his message, my heart stops.

  I’ve sent a car for you. It will pick you up in ten minutes. Call me when you’re safely inside. I’ll be waiting.

  Rage skyrockets. It’s all I can do not to throw her phone across the room. Sadly, that won’t do any good. Neither will hunting down this bastard and beating the hell out of him. But it sure would make me feel better.

  From my nightstand, my phone rings. It’s Bethany again. If I ignore her, I can kiss any remote chance of this partnership coming to fruition goodbye.

  Since Corinne is still in the bathroom, I lunge for the phone just as Riley sends her another text. It’s another mention from the gossip mongering press.

  Parker Emerson’s Sister Turns Slut for Nemesis.

  Fuck, is that how they’re spinning this? Not that we’re a loving couple who want to get married, despite her brother’s objection. Instead of being a modern-day Romeo and Juliet, the press has shamed and blamed her for expressing her passion for her “fiancé.” I’m just a footnote in the incident, only noteworthy because I’m Barclay Reed’s bastard offspring and Parker’s enemy—and I got her off in public.

  No wonder she’s horrified.

  To the backdrop of my still-jangling cell, I scroll up the message string and find similar damning headlines. A few excoriate me, sure. But those that aim their vitriol at Corinne are demeaning, vicious, and beyond any public censure I foresaw. Beyond anything aimed at me. Talk about a double standard.

  I close my eyes as a thousand-pound boulder of guilt sinks to my gut. Her phone slips from my hand and falls to the bed.

  What the fuck have I done?

  A moment later, she emerges from the bathroom, eyes haunted and red-rimmed. Since I’m wearing nothing but a towel around my waist, she’ll hardly look at me.

  “Don’t you need to answer that?” She glances toward my phone, but it’s a distraction from what’s happening.

  I’ve crossed too many lines, said and done too much. No apology is going to fix that.

  “That’s it? You’re leaving?” I won’t beg again. Her expression tells me it won’t do any good.

  But the thought of her walking out, of never holding her again, hurts more than I imagined. More than almost anything I’ve ever felt.

  Still, she’s trying to protect herself, her future. I can’t be a selfish shit and stop her when I’ve done so much damage.

  “It’s for the best.” A tear slides down her cheek.

  It nearly destroys me. “How do we spin this? How do we explain our breakup?”

  She shakes her head, eyes closing. “I can’t think about that right now. Talk to Bethany, come up with a story. It’s okay if you need to throw me under the bus. I understand.” Her smile turns cynical. “Since Parker has done that to you already, it’s my turn.”

  I grip her shoulders. “I would never do that to you. Ever.”

  “You should.” She backs away, out of my reach. “I’m incredibly sorry. For everything.”

  Then she scoops up her phone and her suitcase and heads to the front door. Nothing I can think to say will undo the damage I’ve caused. I can’t keep dragging her through my mud and hurting her. Even though it goes against my instinct not to fight, I let her go—and take my goddamn heart with her.

  The night feels like the longest of my life. I can’t stand to even be inside the house, much less sleep in my bed. In fact, my place, where I’ve never brought women in the past, is now a never-ending reminder of Corinne and the fact she’s gone.

  Since I have no reason to go to the office—another call with a tearfully regretful Bethany made that clear—I camp out through the wee hours of the morning on an oversized chaise lounge on my lanai and stare at the starry black sky.

  I hate feeling impotent. At heart, I’m a doer. I make things happen. I strategize. I hustle. But there’s nothing I can do now. Any action I take, whether that’s punching back at Riley or confronting Parker, will only deflect onto Corinne. She’s endured enough without me heaping more on her.

  When the sun finally rises in a burst of vivid yellows, oranges, and pinks, I schlep to the kitchen for coffee. My gaze snags on the mug Corinne used each morning. And I can’t look at my sink without remembering her washing dishes, bopping to Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky”—a hysterically appropriate song considering we fucked all night. If I close my eyes, I can still see her there, sunlight streaming onto her dark hair, illuminating the reds embedded in the rich, dark strands, bouncing as she scrubbed plates and sang under her breath.

  Now she’s like a ghost haunting my kitchen.

  Fuck the coffee.

  Stifling an exhausted sigh, I yank my phone from my pocket. Maybe I should text Corinne. Check on her. No, that’s too impersonal. Maybe I should call instead. At six thirty in the morning? What are the odds she’ll answer?

  What if she’s finally decided to get busy with Riley to prove I’m wrong about her feelings?

  My gritty, sleep-deprived eyes slide shut. I keep torturing myself with that question. Stabbing myself would hurt less.

  Should I have told her I love her? Maybe it would have made a difference…but probably not. She has feelings for me, but love? More than likely, I would have startled her. Or scared the fuck out of her. She came to me for help, not devotion.

  So now what? I probably need a new job. And who’s going to hire me after my public sexcapades? But I’m not even concerned about that. Thanks to my ambitions for the future, which I can probably flush down the toilet—though I haven’t talked to Maxon and Griff yet—I have a lot of cash in reserve. My bigger problem is that I need a new heart. The one beating in my chest belongs to Corinne.

  Worse, my cock is on the same bandwagon. A glance at my social media over the last few hours proved that some people will do any guy for a thrill. I’ve had propositions from all kinds, offering me everything from a hard fuck to the blow job of a lifetime. That bastard between my legs wasn’t interested in the least, no matter how attractive or salacious the pictures accompanying the messages were.

  I have no idea how I’ll recover.

  The sudden sound of the key in the lock has my head whipping around. Slowly, the door opens. A figure walks into the shadows of my foyer and pauses. The familiar curves and curls in silhouette stop my heart.

  “Corinne?”

  “You’re up?” Her voice sounds scratchy and subdued. “If I woke you, I’m sorry.”

  Hardly daring to breathe, I approach. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  She shuts the door behind her. “Neither could I.”