I wake up missing Landon. The feeling is acute, real, and sad, almost as if I’ve gone forward in time to when our arrangement is completed and he’s no longer a part of my life. It makes no sense, because for one, our arrangement isn’t over, and two, even when it ends, there should be no reason for me to be sad. It’s not as if we’re in a real relationship.

Still, I can’t shake the feelings of depression and emptiness. Confused by the intensity of what I’m feeling and my inability to rationalize it, I get up from the bed, wondering if Landon is still working in the library. Wrapping myself in one of the sheets, I walk over to the bathroom.

The dressing room and bathroom are combined in one large suite, and as I step in through the door, Landon emerges from the shower, totally naked. His hair is wet, plastered to his face and neck. His body is glistening with moisture as little drops of water run down his skin. A cloud of steam comes out with him, carrying the tangy scent of his body wash.

He stops when he notices me standing by the door, and his eyes linger on me for a moment. “Good morning,” he says, going to a carved wooden shelf next to the shower and picking up one of the hotel towels. He goes to sit on a low bench that runs along the wall by the marble bath and starts to dry his hair. I watch the bunching of his muscles as his arms move, my body responding almost immediately. This part I get, the wanting him. It’s only normal; no woman could see him and not want him. It’s the other part I don’t get, the way my feelings have started to become a mess that even I don’t understand.

“Are you going to stand there staring at me all day?”

He’s teasing, and it makes me smile. “Would you mind?”

He grins. “Not at all.” For someone who has had so little sleep, he doesn’t look tired at all. How does he do it?

“You hardly slept last night.”

He shrugs. “I was working.” Something in his face tells me he doesn’t want to talk about it, and I drop the topic. He drops the towel beside him on the bench and combs his hair with his fingers. I could watch him all day, I realize. Everything about his body is amazing.

I’m staring, and from the smirk on his face, he knows why.

“I know I said I didn’t mind you staring at me,” he says, “but it seems I mind if that’s all you do.”

“Really?” I chew on my lower lip. “What else would you like me to do?”

“What would you like to do?” he asks. “I’m entirely at your service.”

My eyes travel over his body, from his tousled hair to his naked cock, lying thick and hard on his lap and growing harder by the second. I lick my lips and free the sheet I’m holding around my body, letting it drop to the floor before walking over to him. Dropping to my knees in front of him, I run my hands along his thighs then look up at him before I take him in my hand, stroking up and down his length.

His breath deepens and his hips move forward. I bend my head and lick around the head of his cock while still stroking him up and down. He groans and throws his head back.

“Fuck!” The word comes out as a low, harsh whisper. His fingers thread in my hair, flexing over my scalp, and I respond by taking him into my mouth and flicking my tongue around the head of his cock before taking him all the way in, until I can feel him at the back of my throat.

His hands tighten in my hair and I hollow my cheeks, sucking deeply as I pull my lips back up then do a deep suck on the head of his cock.

“Rachel!” he groans, removing one hand from my hair to brace it on the bench while the other remains to help him move my head to match the movements of his hips as he strokes his cock in and out of my mouth.

It’s so blatantly erotic, what we’re doing. I feel as if I could come just from sucking on him. My eyes rise to meet his and he groans again, throwing his head back as his hips continue to move.

I cup his balls with one hand, the other busy exploring the tense muscles in his thighs. I love the sounds he’s making, the way his muscles flex as his hips thrust. I love the heady feeling of feminine power I get from seeing how aroused he is. I want him to lose control, and I want to be the reason why.

I tighten my lips around him, my tongue licking at the underside of his cock. His fingers flex in my hair and a tortured sigh escapes him, followed by hoarse words. “I’m coming,” he says breathlessly. “Fuck! I’m coming.”

I respond with a moan, taking him deeper inside my mouth. His hips thrust forward, his muscles stiffening and his whole body shuddering as he comes into my mouth in a warm rush.

I swallow, milking him for every last drop. When I’m done, he leans down and kisses me deeply, his chest still heaving.

He releases me and I start to get up, but he grabs me and pulls me onto his lap. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, “not until I make you scream.”

His lips cover mine again and his hands cup my breasts, but I take hold of his wrists and pull away from his kiss. “You don’t have to,” I tell him. “I sucked you off because I wanted to, not because I want you to return the favor. Anyway,” I continue, “you should be resting. I’m sure you need to recover your strength, and I want to take a shower.”

I start to get off his lap, but he doesn’t release me. “I wasn’t trying to return the favor,” he says. “I happen to like making you come. I’m very fond of the way your face looks when you lose control, and the sounds you make are addictive.” He gets up, still carrying me, and moves like that to the shower stall.

“What are you doing?” I ask when he sets me down.

He gives me a look. “You wanted to shower.”

“Yes…”

“Shh.” He turns on the water, testing it to get the right temperature, and then he reaches for the bottle of body wash. Even in the steamy enclosure, I notice that he’s hard again. How on earth does he do it?

He pours some of the soapy liquid on his palm. “Turn around,” he orders.

I do as he says, already aroused. He spreads the soap on my back then my arms, his hands snaking in front of my body to soap my breasts, and then my stomach. By the time he starts working on my buttocks, my legs are weak, and my sex is pulsing with desire.

He rubs the soapy liquid across my ass and my hips, spreading my cheeks with each repeated motion. Hooking an arm around my waist, he pulls my butt back toward him. I steady myself by placing my hands on the glass wall of the stall and gasp when he parts my butt cheeks with his free hand, one finger coming to rest on the puckered opening between them.

As he moves his finger, massaging the tight ring, the feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I don’t want him to stop. At the same time, I can feel his erection pressing against the back of my thighs, intensifying my need to have him inside me.

The hand on my stomach slides down between my legs. It slips between my folds and finds my clit, and a loud moan escapes me when he starts to stroke it.

“What was it you said about recovering my strength?” he asks.

My only response is another moan, which intensifies when the finger at my rear dips inside the entrance. My hips roll of their own accord, my body taken over by need verging on desperation.

“I don’t need to recover my strength when it comes to you,” Landon whispers. “I could fuck you all day long.”

I want him to fuck me now. I reach behind me, wanting to touch him at least, to feel his thick hardness in my hands, but he doesn’t let me. He pushes my hand away and leaves me hanging for a couple seconds before I feel the head of his cock pushing into me from behind. Even as he slides fully inside me, his finger is still playing with my puckered rear opening, sending unbearable sensation through me as he rocks his hips, using his cock to drive me to an explosive dimension of pleasure.

With only a few strokes, my entire body is shaking, the pleasure nearly overwhelming me. My skin is covered with sweat and water and steam, and my whole body is pulsing, suffused with pleasure so intense, I can’t stand it. My hands flex against the glass wall of the stall, a scream tearing from my throat as I come so hard my legs give out.

Landon holds me up, his own climax coming at the end of mine. He slams into me and comes in a hot surge, his growl full of ecstasy that mirrors what I feel.

Later, after he has washed me all over and shampooed my hair, he wraps me in a towel and carries me over to his bed.

I snuggle against him, happy and contented. “What’s the plan for today?”

“I already said I was going to spend all day fucking you.”

“Ha!” I laugh softly. “I’d probably be dead by lunchtime—though it wouldn’t be so bad, dying of pleasure.”

His chest rumbles as he joins in my laughter. “I’d probably be the one dying from trying to keep up with you.” He nuzzles my ear. “After breakfast, I have a few calls to make, then we’re going out.”

I raise a questioning brow. “Out to where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” I declare with a pout.

“I’m sure you’ll like this one,” he says, getting off the bed, his tight muscles flexing as he walks toward the dressing room.

I leave his bed, retrieving my clothes from the floor before going to my room, where I get dressed and make myself presentable. By the time I come back to the living room, Landon is already dressed. He asks what I’d like for breakfast, and then places the order. When he’s done, we go outside to the terrace, where he reads his newspaper while I check my phone for emails and messages.

I had a great time yesterday, a text from Jack reads. Looking forward to hanging out when I get back.

There’s no mention of Landon at all, but somehow, he’s there between Jack and me, even in the message. In a moment of clarity, I realize that whatever my feelings for Jack were before, after Landon, they’re almost certainly gone.

Acting on a suspicion I’ve had since yesterday, I do a search on Claudia Sever. The first few results are news articles from entertainment sites, and they confirm my suspicions. According to the sites, Claudia Sever has rekindled her on-again, off-again relationship with billionaire Reese Fletcher after ending a short engagement with American writer and TV personality Jack Weyland.

I’m glad I don’t even care enough to be disappointed in Jack. Why would he tell me he was dumped? It didn’t gel with his image—he was usually the one doing the dumping.

There’s a message from my mother, asking how I am, and as I type my reply, an email from Laurie pops up with the subject line FAMOUS.

The email contains a screenshot. There’s Landon, opening the car door for me outside Jack’s hotel last night, and below it, part of an article.

New York hotelier and real estate mogul Landon Court spotted in a passionate clinch with a mystery lady in San Francisco.

All over New York, hearts are breaking as Landon Court is spotted with this woman for the second time. We’re still trying to find out who she is, and how she managed to get the elusive bachelor on lockdown.

The screenshot is cropped after that last sentence. I glance up at Landon, who’s frowning at something he’s reading. I don’t have him on lockdown, although at the moment, I kind of wish I did.

He catches me staring at him. “You want to tell me something?”

I shake my head. “No.”

He smiles. “Then stop looking at me like that, or else I won’t be able to get anything done this morning.”

I pull in a sharp breath, helpless against the way even those simple words affect me. I turn back to my phone, finishing the reply to my mom and starting a messenger chat with Laurie.

Breakfast arrives, and right after we eat, Landon disappears to the library. I finish my chat with Laurie, giving her the latest updates while purposely neglecting to tell her anything about Jack’s visit. Then I get my Mac and start on a couple revisions to the article, getting lost in my work and not looking up until Landon emerges from the library some hours later.

I feel him looking at me, and when my eyes meet his, I briefly forget what I’m doing. It’s not just that he’s attractive; it’s that there’s a power that radiates from him that gets me every time. It’s obvious just from looking at him that he’s a powerful man, a rich one, someone who controls a lot more than almost all of his peers. It’s obvious in his carriage, in everything about him.

And he wants me.

It’s in the way he’s looking at me right now. My stomach tightens as his gaze warms my skin. It’s never going to be like this with anyone else, I realize. It’s just not possible.

I swallow. “Are you going to say something? Or are you going to keep looking at me like that?”

He folds his arms across his chest and leans back on the wall. “Looking at you like how?”

Like you’re a hypnotist and I’m your willing victim? Like you’re a vortex sucking me in? I shrug. “I don’t know, like you can see inside me?”

“Believe me, I wish I could.”

I frown at the cryptic words, my eyes following him as he leaves his position by the wall to approach me. He comes to stand behind the sofa and leans over me. I can feel him behind me even before he touches me, his hand gently stroking my hair.

I set my Mac down beside me on the sofa, my eyes fluttering closed as I relax into his touch.

“I love your hair,” I hear him say, the words soft and slightly rough. “Sometimes it’s red, sometimes gold, and sometimes it’s both.” He lifts a few strands in his fingers and lets them fall back down.

I shift in my seat, turning around to face him. Resting my chin on the back of the sofa, I look up at him. “Is that the only thing you love?”

His eyes darken. “You have no idea,” he says, straightening suddenly and pushing his hands into his pockets. “You should pack an overnight bag,” he tells me. “We’re leaving in about an hour.”

“You still won’t tell me where we’re going?”

He shakes his head. “You’ll see soon enough.”

I do as he says and pack a change of clothes and fresh underwear before changing into a pair of cream pants and a white linen blouse. I leave my hair down, joining him for the trip downstairs after applying mascara and lip gloss. He’s dressed casually too in pants and a short-sleeved cotton shirt that leaves his forearms exposed.

His hand curls possessively around my waist from the moment we leave the suite to when we get into the car. During the short ride, he’s busy talking on the phone. I try to find something else to interest me other than the easy sexiness he exudes, something other than the overwhelming desire to do something about how much I want him, even now, in the car.

After a few minutes, we arrive at what looks like a private estate or a club, and the car drops us off at the dock where a long, gleaming white boat is waiting in the water.

Landon is standing beside me, watching as the chauffeur carries our overnight bags onto the boat. “Do you like sailing?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I’ve never done it.”

He takes my hand, the small contact sending a small shock of excitement through me. “Well, come on then.”

The boat has a captain and a steward, and they welcome us pleasantly before showing us around. In the stateroom, there’s a box on the bed containing a bikini that’s exactly my size.

“You didn’t have to rent a whole boat just because you want to see me in my bikini,” I tease.

“I’ve seen you in a lot less,” he reminds me, eyeing my curves in the small white bikini. He’s changed—faster than me—into a pair of shorts appropriate for a day of relaxing the deck of a luxury boat. His bare chest is a study in perfection, hard slabs of muscle that continue all the way over his flat stomach to end below his navel in a hard V that disappears into his shorts.

“Yes you have,” I agree.

His eyes fix on mine, then he sighs. “Come on. They’re laying out our lunch. If we don’t leave this cabin now, I probably won’t let you out all day.”

On the deck, we have lunch as the boat sails across the bay, and Landon points out the sights from the water. I’m more impressed by Alcatraz Island than anything else, especially when Landon starts to tell me about a famous escape from the former high-security prison. His face is animated as he tells me about a movie about the escape that was made in the seventies.

“In the seventies?” I tease. “You weren’t even born.”

He shrugs. “I have a thing for old movies. The Maltese Falcon, Citizen Kane.” He looks at me and smiles. “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.”

“Ugh.” I do an exaggerated shudder. “I have a thing for Disney movies, Michael Bay type action-fests, and anything with Ralph Fiennes.”

He gives me a look. “Well, at least there’s hope that you’ll find me attractive when I’m that age.”

“I’ll always find you attractive,” I say softly, looking at him. It’s almost as if we’re both pretending this thing we have isn’t going to end in only two days.

I disguise the sad direction of my thought with a cheerful smile and a funny comment. He responds in kind, and we spend the rest of the afternoon just talking. As evening arrives, the boat docks close to a rocky island where a wooden berth connects the dock to a flight of stairs that leads up to a small but exquisite house with wide sunny patios, a sparkling blue swimming pool, and inside, the most amazing mixture of both homey and classy décor.

“Wow!” is all I can say. “How do you even find places like this?”

“You build them.” He ignores my look of surprise. “Sometimes, I need to get away, you know, watch old movies and forget about my phone.”

“That totally explains it.” I laugh, going from room to room to look at the mesmerizing views.

He follows me, seeming to take pleasure in my almost childish enjoyment of the house. In the kitchen, he checks the fridge, his eyes scanning over all the contents.

“I’m famished,” I tell him, realizing even as I say it just how hungry I really am.

“Hmm.” He closes the fridge. “I asked the retainer to get some food items. Why don’t you go change, explore, whatever, and I’ll make dinner.”

My mouth hangs open. “You cook?”

“I practically grew up in a hotel,” he says. “Sometimes I hung out in the kitchen with the chefs.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, pulling out one of the stools at the kitchen island. “I have to watch this.”

I watch him cook, helping only a little, since my culinary skills are severely limited. After we’ve polished off the tender steak with a delicious sauce and a crisp tomato salad, I relax with my head on his lap while we watch one of his old movies in a den with a very large widescreen TV.

The movie, a tragic story about an aging actress and a struggling writer, is surprisingly good, even though it’s in black and white. When it’s over, we go to the master bedroom, another beautiful room with a tremendous view, and before we go to sleep, we make love with an intensity that brings tears to my eyes. He falls asleep before I do, his breaths slowing as his chest rises and falls. I listen to him breathe, my head on his chest as exhaustion from his lovemaking competes with my desire to enjoy the sound of his heartbeat for a little while longer. When I finally fall asleep with my arm around his waist, I know without a doubt that I never want to let him go.