“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I tell Laurie over the phone the next day. She’s working late. I, on the other hand, am packing for my trip. After exchanging notes from our meeting and discussing a little more about the article, Tony Gillies informed me that I would be leaving for San Francisco with Landon in the evening.

“Don’t overthink it,” Laurie replies. “Personally, I think it’s exciting. You’ll have your affair and get to write your article at the same time.”

“Affair.” I grimace. “That’s such an old-fashioned word.”

“Just like ‘lover.’” I hear her snicker. “You’re going to San Francisco with your lover,” she says in her best Downton Abbey accent.

“All my dreams are coming true,” I say sarcastically.

“Don’t be so negative. You know you’re creaming your panties at the thought of being with him for a whole week.” She ignores my protest. “Just make sure you pack some good lingerie and condoms. You don’t want to be caught unprepared.”

I look at the box on my bed, which arrived at the same time I got home from the office. It contains a blouse, very much like the one Landon ripped off me yesterday but with a label that makes it much more expensive than my regular wardrobe, as well as two sets of matching lingerie to replace the panties he ripped. “Laurie,” I say patiently, “it’s still, first and foremost, a work trip.”

“Yeah, tell yourself that.” Laurie scoffs. “Just like it was a work thing when you ended up having sex in his office.”

“Jeez, Laurie! I knew I should never have told you about that.”

“Like you could keep it to yourself.” I can almost hear the smirk in her voice.

Later, in the luxurious interior of the car Landon’s office sends for me, my mind goes to the items of lingerie in my suitcase and I blush in the darkness. Luckily, aside from the driver, the same guy who took me home after my night at the Insomnia Lounge and who hasn’t said anything after introducing himself as Joe, I’m alone in the car.

At the airport, Joe drives straight to the hangar where a uniformed steward retrieves my suitcase from the trunk and leads me to a sleek aircraft waiting on the runway. Following the steward, I climb into the plane. A blonde stewardess with a bouncy ponytail welcomes me with a smile and points me in the direction of the main cabin.

I step inside, and pause at the entrance. It is grand, no argument about that. The décor is muted yet luxurious and comfortable, with leather seats and low tables. On one of the seats, a leather sofa with space for two, Landon is sitting with one ankle placed jauntily on the knee of his other leg while he flicks a finger across the screen of a tablet. His striped shirt is open at the collar and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the light dusting of golden hairs on his arms.

I swallow, once again unable to process how good-looking he is. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since he left me outside my apartment yesterday, but just looking at him, my body stirs with lust. I want this man, again and again, and I’m suddenly aware that a week will not be enough.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he looks up at me and smiles.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I reply, stepping into the cabin.

“Come sit.” He pats the seat beside him. “We should be leaving in a few minutes, so buckle up.”

I do as he says. Moments later, the stewardess comes to warn us to prepare for takeoff then disappears as quietly as she appeared. The plane starts to move, the engines whirring softly. The takeoff is smooth and in almost no time, we’re cruising.

Landon sits back on his chair and closes his eyes. I noticed that he looked a little tired before, and I wonder if he has fallen asleep. His hair is tousled, and his perfect face oddly relaxed, making me want to reach out and stroke it. The thought is so ridiculous, I look away and chuckle silently.

“What’s funny?”

His voice startles me and I turn back to him. Unlike a few seconds ago, he looks awake and alert.

“Nothing.”

He gives me a skeptical look then reaches for his tablet again. His movements are strong and graceful, and I wonder if it’s possible to be around him without finding reasons to lust after him any time he moves or says something.

“I thought Tony would be here,” I mention, wondering where his efficient assistant is as I retrieve my MacBook from my bag. I know that the photographers, a husband and wife team with a photography firm named Litte and Parker, have been in San Francisco documenting the stages of the refurbishment for weeks.

“Tony will arrive tomorrow,” Landon replies without looking up from whatever he’s reading on the tablet.

I start to go over my notes on the article. I had a meeting with Mark Willis earlier in the day to discuss the outline, and now I type in new ideas in addition to the ones I’ve already put down. I’ve been doing my research and learning more about the history of the hotel, from the high-profile people who’ve stayed there over the years, including presidents and movie stars, to the mismanagement by the previous owner, a career playboy named Evans Sinclair. I’ve read about the coup in which the members of the board, all of whom were members of the extended Sinclair family, forced him to agree to sell the hotel to Landon.

After a few minutes of working, I look up to see Landon looking at me. Our eyes meet and my stomach twists. I look away quickly, concentrating on the screen of my computer.

He interrupts the nervous silence. “If you need anything, a drink, food, there’s a button right there.” He points to a yellow button on the arm of my seat. “If you’d like to lie down, there’s a bedroom through the doors at the back.” I look from the doors back to him, my mind already full of images of the bed that’s in there and the things we could do on it.

“You’re the one who looks in need of a bed,” I say lightly, doing my best to disguise my carnal thoughts.

“Yes, but I have no intention of going in there without you.” His eyes cut a sensual path from my face down my body. “And if I get you in there, neither of us will be getting any sleep.”

Oh boy. My thighs clench and I tear my eyes away from him, fixing them on my screen and forcing my mind to thoughts of the article. I can feel his eyes on me, but he doesn’t make any move toward me.

“I have some questions,” I say, breaking the silence.

“Shoot.”

I ask him about his reasons for acquiring the Gold Dust and his inspiration for the refurbishment. He answers my questions, displaying a love for the hospitality industry he was born into and the hotel brand he successfully expanded in such a short time.

“I’ve learned to see past appearances, to look at something and see its potential. I could see the possibilities in the Gold Dust even at the height of its mismanagement when the standards kept falling, and I know exactly how to ensure it reaches its full potential.”

“Why are you keeping the old name?” I ask. “Why not Swanson Court San Francisco? Wouldn’t that be more decisive in announcing that the hotel is entering a new era in its management?”

“It was an agreement I made with the Sinclair family.”

I ask some more questions, and after I’m done, he calls the stewardess and orders two glasses of orange juice then goes back to reading whatever he has on his tablet.

I must have fallen asleep after drinking my juice. When I wake up, my head is resting on Landon’s shoulder and I’m curled against his side. I straighten, blinking the sleep away from my eyes.

“I fell asleep,” I say unnecessarily, embarrassed and sure I look disheveled.

“So you did.” Landon’s voice is strangely gentle. “I hope you enjoyed using me as a pillow.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He shrugs. “I didn’t mind. I think we’ve established that my body is here for you any time you want it.”

I ignore his teasing grin as color floods my face. “Are we almost there?” I ask, eager to change the subject before I make a fool of myself and jump on the part of his body I really want.

“We’re about to land.” He leans over me to fasten my seatbelt before he does his.

It’s still dark when we land in San Francisco. A car comes to take us from the airport to the hotel where we’re staying. I’ve never been to the city, so even though I’m tired, I keep my eyes focused out the windows, taking in the sights.

The hotel is an eight-story establishment with turn-of-the-century architecture. Set back from the street, it has a black awning over the entrance with the name, Rosemont Royal, written in flowing script. It’s the early hours of the morning when we arrive, but there’s a crisp-looking man in a suit waiting to greet us.

“Good morning Mr. Court,” he says cheerfully. “Welcome back to San Francisco. How was your flight?”

Landon’s voice is brisk. “Good Ralph, thanks.”

The man turns to me. “Welcome to the Rosemont Royal, Miss Foster. I’m Ralph Groff, the manager. Should you need anything during your stay, I am entirely at your service.”

I nod my thanks, admiring the lobby with its thick carpeting, richly ornamented walls and columns, and plush waiting areas. “Your suite has been prepared,” Ralph is saying as he leads us to a private elevator. A few steps behind us, a bellboy wheels the cart containing our luggage away from the lobby.

Ralph follows us up to the top floor, all the way to a spacious suite that reminds me of Landon’s apartment at the Swanson Court in New York. The foyer has a gleaming black and white diamond marble tile finish, dark-colored walls, and an elaborately framed mirror over a carved side table. The living room is large and richly furnished with thick carpets, heavy curtains, and elegant furniture. There’s a grand piano in one corner, and through an archway, a formal dining room boasting about ten seats. A gorgeous sparkling crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling.

“I imagine you’re tired from your journey,” Ralph continues in his courteous voice, “but if there’s anything you would like, we’ll send a chef up.”

“No nothing, thank you,” I say, enjoying the solicitous service.

Ralph nods. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe your luggage has arrived.” He disappears through a door leading out of the living room.

“Service elevator and fire escape are through that door,” Landon explains. He’s watching me with a small frown. “Do you like it?” he asks.

For a second, I wonder if he’s serious. “I think it’s gorgeous,” I tell him.

He smiles. “There’s a library too. I’m sure you’ll find a poetry book or two.”

“Thanks.” I return his smile. “So, I take it you’ve stayed here before.”

“Whenever I’m in the city, yes.” He turns away from me and walks to the edge of the living room, opening the double doors that lead out to the terrace and letting in a cool breeze that ruffles his hair. He looks perfect standing there, like a gorgeous actor in an old Hollywood movie.

I join him at the terrace, enjoying the view of the bay and the fascinating lights on the Bay Bridge, which I’ve read about but have never seen outside of pictures. “It’s a lovely view,” I comment.

He turns around, facing me. “Yes, it is,” he says slowly, making me think he’s talking about me. He moves toward me, only stopping when he’s almost touching me, and runs a finger lightly over my cheek. His eyes are burning with a familiar intensity, and I know if I close the distance between us, I’ll feel his erection hard against my thigh. Sweet tension takes hold of my belly as I wait for him to do something, kiss me maybe, and complete the magic of our surroundings with his expert touch.

“I’m sure they’re done unpacking,” I hear him say. “Let me show you to your room.”

My room? I try to hide my confusion. The last thing I want is to be shown to my room—unless he’s going to join me there. I look at him from beneath my lashes, wondering what he’s planning.

Ralph is nowhere to be seen as Landon leads me through the living room, along a short hallway, to a door that opens into a beautiful bedroom. There’s a perfectly made four-poster bed dominating the room, with curtains that match those hanging from the windows. A lounge chair rests at the foot of the bed with a long cylindrical cushion. Beside the window, there’s a desk with an impressionist landscape hanging above it. There’s also a dressing table with a large mirror, a hanging bookshelf filled with books, and a door that probably leads to the bathroom and dressing room.

“Wow,” I say softly, stepping past Landon into the room. I walk to the bed, running my fingers over the soft sheets before turning around to face him. He’s still at the door, leaning on the doorframe and watching me.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” I ask, cocking my head to the side and giving him an inviting look.

He straightens and walks into the room, right to where I’m standing, and with his hand around my waist, he places a soft kiss on my lips. I can feel the steely control beneath his kiss, almost as if he’s determined not to let things go any further.

I have no idea why.

“You must be tired,” he says softly, leaving me puzzled. “And you have a lot of work to do tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning, Rachel. Goodnight.”

With that, he walks out of the room, unbuttoning his cuff as he leaves. I stand there watching him, aroused and confused, wondering if there’s something I’m not getting.