Jesus, I’m going to come.

  “Princess…” I pant. “We’ve gotta stop.”

  She shakes her head, trembling when my exhalations fall on her straining nipple. “We don’t. Please. I want you. I want all of you.”

  Whitney doesn’t give me time to think, just wraps herself around me—arms, legs, lips—and wordlessly begs me for more.

  I shake. The thought of being inside her nearly sends me over the edge.

  Sure, I’ve had sex. Hurried-high-school sex. Drunken-frat-party sex. We-just-met-in-a-bar sex. Friends-with-benefits sex. Even screwing-an-ex-girlfriend’s-mother sex. But I’ve never wanted any woman the way I want Whitney.

  I’m in love with her. I think I have been half the summer.

  “Princess…”

  But what am I saying? I know what I should do, should say.

  With Whitney, none of that seems to make much difference.

  “Please don’t say no.”

  I filter through all my arguments. Vance, her age, what’s right and wrong… I’ve already hit those. They don’t matter to her. I’m not even sure how much they really matter to me.

  “You’re a virgin,” I finally say.

  “So?” She blinks up at me, looking somewhere between earnest and tearful. “I love you.”

  “Oh, fuck.” I hold her tighter. In all my wildest dreams, I never imagined she was feeling what I was. “I love you, too.”

  Whitney’s smile lights up my world. Then she tosses off her bikini top. “That’s all that matters. Make love to me.”

  “I can’t give you anything.”

  “All I want is you.” She clings to me and presses a kiss to my lips. “Please.”

  “I have to go back to college in a few weeks.”

  She nods. “I know. But I’ll still be waiting here for you next summer. And I get that you’re worried about Vance, but—”

  “He’s my best friend. He’d kill me for touching you.”

  She presses a finger over my lips. “It will be our secret.”

  There’s a no perched on the tip of my tongue, but she muzzles it by lifting her hips to me and closing her eyes with a moan.

  Shit. I’ve got to stop this.

  Soon.

  Just one more minute…

  Then I lose myself in her kiss again, in the feel of her slender body undulating beneath me, in the way her gaze clings to me with love when I take her nipple in my mouth. She’s all cotton-candy sweetness and sweet-sixteen perfection. I want her so badly, every fucking part of my body hurts.

  Is going behind everyone’s backs and rushing into this good for her?

  No. I’ve got to stop this now.

  I sigh. “Whitney—”

  Behind me, the door to her bedroom slams open. “You son of a bitch. Get the fuck off my sister!”

  Vance.

  I jump to my feet and block his view of Whitney with my body. “It’s—”

  “Not what I think?” he sneers.

  No, it’s exactly what he thinks.

  “Get out!” Whitney screams at her brother.

  Neither of us budges. I won’t leave her alone to endure her brother’s wrath, and he won’t leave me alone with temptation.

  “I would never hurt her,” I promise.

  He snorts, silently admonishing me that it’s too late. “When did you start fucking her?”

  I hold up both hands. “Dude, I didn’t—”

  Vance silences me with a cross to the jaw.

  “What are you doing?” Whitney screeches. “Stop!”

  “Don’t touch my sister again.” He points a finger in my face. “Ever. I fucking trusted you…”

  He did. He invited me into his house and let me stay with him so I would have all summer to write code instead of heading back to my hometown in Nowhere, Colorado, to make minimum wage shoveling horse shit or whatever my dad says “builds character.” Don’t get me wrong; I need the money. But if this app takes off like I think it will, money won’t be a problem anymore.

  “I can’t believe this is how you repay me!” Vance gestures to Whitney, who’s got her arms crossed over her bare breasts.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Vance grunts. “You will be, asshole, once I take it out of your hide.”

  At the time, I thought he was just lashing out. I thought he’d get over his anger and we’d go back to normal. I thought Whitney would believe me when I told her at the end of the summer that none of my feelings for her had changed, to give her brother time, and we’d work things out between the two of us somehow. I believed her when she kissed me one last time and said she’d be waiting.

  But I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I learned that weeks later when Vance, with an LLC he created alone, launched our app without me. My idea, everything I’d spent months innovating and coding, my one chance at being someone and crawling out of the blue-collar middle class I’ve always despised—all stolen from me. My best friend left me with nothing.

  And when push came to shove, Whitney backed him up by taking his side in my lawsuit.

  She ripped out my heart, too. I’ve never been the same.

  After that humiliation, I launched my own creation the following spring. Over the next half a decade, I amassed a tech empire that far surpasses anything Vance has accomplished. But I’ve spent eight long, terrible years waiting for the day I could finally have my revenge. I waited for this day.

  I smile coldly. Now, it’s here.

  And this time, when she’s broken, when I’ve fucked her out of my system, it will end on my terms.

  Chapter Two

  Present day

  * * *

  Whitney

  * * *

  As I watch the hands of the clock tick away the last of my freedom, I wonder if I’ve gone insane. That’s the only answer that makes sense.

  I should have refused Jett’s insulting proposition. I should have spit in his face.

  I don’t have that luxury. While I can criticize my brother for this financial mess, I was away at school when he needed me. Some of the blame rests on my shoulders.

  For the next seven days, I have to let Jett Dean use me in whatever way he wants and hope he doesn’t destroy me.

  Bitterly, I laugh. Every time he touches my life, it explodes into a fiery, horrific inferno, then leaves me standing in a heap of ash.

  It took me years to pick myself up after he left the first time. How much harder will it be this time after I share his bed? After I take him into my body?

  And what about the secret I’m keeping from him?

  A glance at the clock on my mantel tells me it’s eight fifty-eight. A pair of headlights slow, turn into my driveway, and stop. The driver doesn’t honk. I don’t walk out right away. I have two minutes to decide what to do. On the table in front of me is my phone. Beside it sits the burner device.

  Which am I going to pick up?

  But I already know the answer.

  With a trembling hand, I grab my phone and hit the button to reach the person I call most.

  “Whit,” my brother answers. “What’s going on?”

  I look at the clock. Eight fifty-nine. I have less than sixty seconds to give Vance an excuse. It’s too late to explain the truth.

  “I’ll be gone for the next week. I’ll call you when I get home next Saturday night.”

  “Where are you going?” He sounds confused.

  “I can’t say.”

  “Who are you going with?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “What the fuck is happening?” Now he sounds alarmed. “I’m coming over there.”

  “Don’t. I won’t be here. Just…trust me.”

  “I do, but this isn’t like you.”

  “I’m doing what’s best for both of us. Please try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone. Please. Don’t do anything. Don’t sign anything. Don’t—”

  “Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to hound me.”

  Yes, I do, and we both know it.

  “I’m sorry,” I say finally. “I’ll talk to you in a week.”

  “Can’t you call me while you’re away?” Now he sounds downright worried.

  “No.”

  Even if I was allowed to bring my phone, I’m sure Jett will keep me too busy under his thumb—and in his bed—to even try.

  Outside, the headlights in my driveway flash off and on again. That’s my cue.

  “I have to go.”

  “Are you going to be all right? You’re not doing anything dangerous, are you?”

  I don’t lie to him, at least not any more than I already am. “I’ll talk to you next week. I love you.” That’s something I never say because sentiment annoys him, but I need to get the words out…just in case. “Bye.”

  Then I hang up. I don’t reach out to my fiancé. He won’t miss me; he doesn’t care. He’s probably spending his weekend with strippers and drugs. We both know I’m aware of his coping mechanisms. I’ll deal with that mess when I get back.

  Resolved, I power down my phone, leaving it on the table. Vance will come over while I’m gone. He’ll try to figure out where I went. He’ll see my phone right away and realize that attempting to contact me is pointless.

  I grab the burner phone Jett foisted on me and rise on shaking legs. Outside, I lock my front door, tuck my house key into the flowerpot on my porch, and make my way to the sleek black Mercedes sedan. It reminds me vaguely of a car my grandmother drove as a kid. But the warm fuzzy ends there.

  As I approach, a tall stranger unfolds from the driver’s seat and makes his way to me wordlessly, holding the back door open. I nod as I climb into the car. There’s a partition between the driver and me. I hear him slide into the idling vehicle, but I can’t see where he’s taking me. I have no idea what’s going on.

  I must be crazy.

  After a few turns, I lose track of where we’re going. North, I think. We’re on the highway now. The car is no longer starting and stopping with the traffic. So now this stranger behind the wheel is simply whisking me with no impediments toward my doom.

  I swallow and peer out the window, into the night. Nothing. I see nothing but fields. Nothing is familiar. Nothing to use as a landmark to tell people where to find me if I’m in danger. I don’t think Jett would hurt me.

  But I’ve been wrong about him before.

  I turn the phone he gave me over in my hands. It’s not too late. I could still call him and tell him I’ve changed my mind.

  But why? Vance needs his cash, and we have no new prospects.

  That’s not the only reason, the seditious part of my brain whispers.

  If I’m being completely honest, I’ve waited eight horrible years to set eyes—and anything else I could—on Jett Dean. If this is the only way I can have him, I’m willing to take my chances.

  But when I glance down at the device, digital numbers flash the time at me. Nine forty-seven. I’m two minutes late to text him. I don’t hurry to rectify my lapse. Instead, I set the device in my lap and wait.

  I’m going to surrender to him; that’s a given. And despite the fact I’m baiting the bull, I’m not going to make it easy.

  Suddenly, the phone in my hand vibrates.

  With a bracing breath, I answer. “Yes, Jett.”

  “You didn’t text.”

  “You made it clear that I would be at your beck and call once I was under your roof and in your bed. Until then, I’m still my own woman. Fuck off.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “You know there are consequences for your defiance?”

  Of course. I’m looking forward to it. “I’m in your car with your driver, on the way to your location so I can be your sex slave for the week. I’d say you’ve already won and that you shouldn’t bother sweating the small stuff.”

  “That’s not how I operate,” he grates out, teeth obviously clenched.

  He’s on edge. Where I want him.

  “It never has been.” But learning a little give-and-take would be good for Jett. And it might be fun for me.

  Or it would if I wasn’t risking everything to be with him.

  “Listen, princess—”

  “Good-bye.” I hang up. A smile curls my mouth because I know I’m playing with fire.

  And I hope very much I’m going to enjoy getting burned.

  The car exits the highway and veers right, traveling down a winding two-lane road that seemingly leads nowhere. I have to be patient. It’s not as if I can ask the driver anything, much less plead for information.

  At exactly ten, the sedan rolls to a smooth stop. The engine goes silent. The driver exits and shuts his door. I hear boots crunch the gravel outside. Then my door opens, and the driver holds out a broad hand.

  With a nod, I take it. He assists me to my feet, then gestures me toward the house.

  But it’s not a house, really. It’s a massive white French Country estate in the middle of nowhere with a breathtaking fountain, perfectly trimmed evergreens, and ornate wrought-iron front doors.

  I turn to the driver. “What is this place?”

  “Ya ne govoryu po-angliyski,” he says with a shrug of his wide shoulders.

  He’s speaking Russian, I think. Not that I know the language, but I can only imagine he’s telling me he doesn’t speak English. Leave it to Jett to think of everything. Even if I’d managed to sucker this guy into talking, we’d run straight into a language barrier.

  His ploy should probably scare me more, but he’s always paid attention to detail, so I’m hardly surprised.

  Just slightly terrified.

  “I understand.” I lay a soft hand on his forearm.

  He nods and pulls away, casting a nervous glance back to the house.

  Does he suspect Jett is watching?

  He probably is.

  I don’t bother the driver again. This is between Jett and me.

  My journey to the front door seems to last a thousand steps. Not because it’s long, but because I take it slow. I want to make him wait. And suffer.

  Like I did.

  Finally, I push the grand front door open. The white marble floor gleams by the light of an elegant chandelier hanging from the barrel ceiling above. On an exquisite hall table to my right rests a glass of red wine, clearly for me. I pick it up and walk another few steps. I find a white wicker hamper with the lid open. An empty acrylic shoe storage box sits beside it.

  He wants me to undress for him. Kneel for him. Suck his cock. Spread my legs. Surrender.

  I sip my wine. He can wait.

  His stare is all over me. I can feel it. Somewhere, somehow, he’s watching. And he’s impatient.

  Ignoring the receptacles for my clothes, I wander through the house. It’s devoid of humanity now, but it has life. I feel the echoes of happiness here. I can almost hear laughter. Once, someone lived a charmed existence under this roof. But not the current occupant. Not at this moment. Jett’s brooding seethes through the silence.

  He wants me naked—now.

  There must be something wrong with me. I’m impatient to give in to him.

  “Hi, Jett,” I call, my voice echoing across the tile.

  No reply.

  But I’m not fooled. He’s here. He simply won’t speak to me until I’ve stripped myself bare for him. I know that instinctively.

  I continue scoping the downstairs, winding past a staircase on the left, then into a beautiful white kitchen with hand-painted tile, a rough-hewn island, and dark rustic beams overhead. Through an arch, I find myself in a cozy family room with a massive stone hearth and simple furnishings, dressed up with colorful accents and an unassuming chandelier. I sink onto a footstool and look out the wall of glass to the backyard beyond.

  The swimming pool shimmers. The sound of cicadas singing lulls me. The twinkling summer stars lure me outside.

  Not even sure where I’m going or why, I walk out, leaving the door open as a clue for Jett. Not that he needs it; I still feel his eyes on me. But I want this last moment of freedom.

  I know he’ll snatch it quickly and trap me under him for the next seven days. That’s a given. Stalling is both foolish and reckless, but I can’t stop. If this is all the rebellion he’ll allow me while we’re together, I’m taking it. I want him to understand I’m not without my devices.

  By the pool, the breeze picks up and whips through my hair. I set my wine aside and pluck the elastic band from around my wrist, using it to wind my long hair on top of my head. Then I tread to the side of the crystal-blue water and start shedding my clothes—shoes, dress, bra, underwear. In a blink, it’s all gone, and I’m bare.

  I still don’t know where Jett is, but his stare has intensified. There’s no escape.

  I drag in a deep breath and walk into the warm water. It envelops me like a soothing blanket. Shutting my eyes, I sigh.

  “Are you incapable of following instructions?”

  I start at the sound of Jett’s voice. Suddenly, he’s standing at the edge of the pool, mere feet away. How did he sneak up on me so quickly?

  Never mind that. Will he give me another stitch to wear for the next seven days?

  Turning, I cock my head at him to see he’s still wearing the same designer suit. “Not at all.”

  “So you’re merely choosing not to.”

  My smile is nothing short of mocking. “Something like that.”

  “You understand I’m going to make you regret that?”

  Excitement flips in my belly. “I’m sure you’ll try.”

  Jett doesn’t merely smile at my snarky reply; he actually laughs like there’s a joke—and it’s on me. “Out of the water.”

  “Or?”

  “I’ll make you suffer.”

  Thrill rushes through me. It dips low. I feel my sex swell and my womb clench.

  He won’t actually hurt me. I know him well enough to know that. I’ve heard the whispers about who and what he is in bed.