I don’t understand a word he just said, but that might be due to the fact that my brain is still discombobulated by his blatant sexiness. I watch as he steps back and inclines his head in a gesture that tells me he wants me to come inside the apartment.

“Come in.”

I’m already stepping into the foyer before I wake up from the effects of his voice. I stop and frown at him. What does he mean ‘I’ll do?’

“Um…” I start, looking for words. What will I say? I don’t know who you think I am, but I was just hiding in the elevator while trying to repair the damage to my makeup from crying over a guy who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me, and I ended up in front of your apartment. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to… I hesitate. What exactly do I want to do?

I don’t want to leave, that’s for sure. There’s something dreamy about being ushered into a million-dollar luxury apartment by a man who looks as if he just stepped out of a ‘sexiest man alive’ photo-shoot. He thinks I’ll do? For what exactly? I want to know, and somewhere in a shameless part of me, I desperately hope I don’t disappoint him.

He sees my hesitation. “Come in,” he repeats in that mesmerizing voice. “I won’t bite.” There’s a short pause. “Unless you want me to.”

There’s suddenly a weird, achy feeling low in my stomach. I pull in a gulp of air, my legs propelling me into the dimly lit foyer. He clearly thinks I’m someone else, but whoever it is, I’m more than ready to play the part, at least for now.

He leads the way through the foyer into a large living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the city. As he walks, he shrugs off his jacket, dropping it carelessly on a sofa to join a discarded tie. “Have a seat,” he says, turning back to look at me. Without the jacket, his broad shoulders, narrow waist, slim hips, and the hard muscles beneath his shirt are obvious—too obvious.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks.

It takes a moment for me to tear my mind from thoughts of his body. “Um…”

“Brandy, water, wine…?’

“Brandy,” I tell him.

He gives me a small nod then walks across the living room to a bar by the side, where he pours two glasses then adds ice cubes. I manage to tear my eyes from his body so I can look around my surroundings. The room is tastefully furnished, the classic architecture complemented by a décor that’s luxurious without ostentation. It feels like a home, a place you expect a family to live.

I wonder if he’s married.

Well, it’s not as if I’m planning to sleep with him, I tell myself, continuing my admiration of the room. Some of the furniture are classic antique pieces, and the walls are covered in some sort of textured finish. Paintings and pictures hang here and there. There’s a family portrait featuring a couple that’s obviously his parents, based on his resemblance to the man in the picture, and two children, boys.

He’s clearly the older one of the boys. It’s the same perfect face, only younger. Next to the portrait, there’s a large black and white original of a beautiful ballerina, her posture graceful as she leaps through the air. It’s the same woman in the family portrait, his mother apparently. At the bottom of the frame, I recognize the Andrew Marvell quote “A hundred years should go to praise thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze.”

“Here.” I turn away from the image as that soft raspy voice pours over me again, making me shiver. He sounds like temptation, and I cannot imagine any woman who wouldn’t agree to any suggestion made in that voice.

He hands me the drink, his eyes on my face, and I do my best to hold my hand steady when I take the glass from him. I almost fail when his warm fingers brush mine. It’s just a tiny touch, but I feel it everywhere, from my fingers to my thighs.

Still watching me, he drops gracefully beside me on the sofa. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I feel almost as if I can look at him forever.

“You like ballet?”

“Hmm.” I’m so lost in staring at him that it takes a while for his words to register.

He gestures at the print of the ballerina. “You seemed interested in the picture.”

“I like ballet as much as any little girl who ever wanted to wear a tutu.” I laugh nervously. Both Laurie and I attended classes, but I stopped only after a few months. I preferred to read, even then. “But I was looking at the quote in the picture,” I continue. “It’s from one of my favorite poems.”

An eyebrow goes up, only a little, but it draws my attention to his eyes again. They look like sapphires, I decide, dark and rich, with an irresistible glitter in their depths. “Had we but world enough and time,” he quotes, “this coyness, lady, were no crime.” The corners of his sculpted lips lift in a small smile. “But you’re not coy, are you? That would be inconsistent with your profession.”

I frown, not sure what he means. He’s doing a slow perusal of my body again, almost as if he’s undressing me with his eyes. I should be annoyed that this stranger is ogling me so openly, but I’m not. Instead, I can feel my body responding. Heat unfurls in my belly, spreading until I can feel the insistent need all over.

What am I doing? A few minutes ago I was devastated because I found out that I’d been waiting in vain for Jack to decide I was the girl for him. Now here I am, letting another man turn me on, which, to his credit, he is doing just by looking at me.

I should explain that I’m not whoever he thinks I am and leave, but not yet. I want…

I want him to keep looking at me with that sensual, smoldering gaze. I want to keep hearing that sinful voice. I want to feel his hands on me.

I take a quick sip of the drink he gave me, breaking the contact with his eyes. I can’t be considering casual sex with a total stranger.

Even if it is an insanely hot, sexy stranger who has me aching for him without even touching me at all.

I drag my eyes back to the print on the wall and the line of poetry, even though I’d much rather be looking at him. “The woman in the poem,” I say, “was she being coy, or careful? Many people have tossed caution to the wind and surrendered to passion then come to regret it later.” I’m rambling, but I can’t stop—it’s the only way to escape the spellbinding effect of being so close to him.

He doesn’t reply, so I turn back to look at him. His eyes are on my face, a curious, speculative gleam in their blue depths. How can his lashes be so long? I wonder, half in admiration and half in jealousy.

“You’re absolutely right,” he says finally, with a small chuckle. “Though only my brother would find a hooker who talks about poetry on the job.”

A what! I swallow a mouthful of brandy, and the hot fiery liquid goes down all the wrong places. I sputter, almost dropping the glass as I try to get my throat under control.

He’s at the bar and back in what seems like milliseconds. “Here.” He takes my brandy and hands me a glass of water. “Drink this.”

I take the water from him and take a huge gulp. He thinks I’m a whore!

No wonder! He’d been expecting a hooker. I give the water back to him, unable to meet his eyes. I should tell him now that he’s wrong, but his fingers close over mine. They’re firm and warm and hard, and even from that slight touch I can feel the heated pulsing intensify between my thighs.

He thinks I’m a whore!

“Are you all right?” he asks softly.

His fingers are still on mine, distracting me, making me think of all the other places where I want him to touch me. It’s only sex, I tell myself, and heaven knows that after two years of being stuck in the friend zone with Jack, I could do with some of that, if only to get my mind to move on to other things.

I lick my lips, nervous at the thought of what I’m about to do. He thinks you’re a prostitute! An inner voice of reason screams, but I don’t listen. I can only feel the growing excitement in the pit of my stomach, and the aching need in my body.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, venturing a small smile. “I just drank it too fast, but I’m fine.”

“Good.” His fingers are still around mine, and I wonder if he can tell that my heart is beating like a freaking drum. I’m going to sleep with this stranger, I think almost incredulously. I’m going to let him fuck me any way he wants because he thinks he’s paid for that right, and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.

He takes the water from me and sets it on the coffee table, his eyes never leaving mine. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. Why am I doing this? I could tell him he made a mistake and walk out of here. I could tell him the hooker his brother sent is probably still on her way. I could go home to my empty bed and spend the rest of the night crying over Jack…

…or I can just let him fulfill the promise of toe-curling sex I can see clearly in his eyes.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Rachel.” My voice is barely more than a whisper.

“I’m Landon.”

I’m doing this, I decide resolutely, smiling at him. What happens now? How do we go from exchanging names to entwined bodies and clawing sheets?

“Did Aidan tell you it was my birthday?”

Who? “Yes,” I lie, guessing that Aidan is probably the brother.

He nods. “What are your rates?”

For a moment, I have no idea what to say. “It’s already been taken care of,” I murmur.

“Of course, but tell me anyway.”

I pick a number off the top of my head that I think is exorbitant enough for a high-class hooker.

He looks impressed. “My brother is being very generous,” he says with a small chuckle. He studies me for a moment. “So…what do I get for that?”

I pause. “The whole night.”

“Anything I want?”

I take a lungful of air, pushing the small sliver of panic out of my mind. “Anything you want,” I whisper.

His lips quirk. “Follow me,” he says.

He leads me out of the living room into a wide hallway then up a flight of stairs to the upper floor. He walks gracefully, his obvious strength held firmly under control. He moves quickly, so I don’t have time to admire the apartment or do more than be awed by the sheer size.

Upstairs, he opens the door to a large bedroom with soft grayish walls, large windows half hidden by long, heavy-looking curtains, and a perfectly made bed. A light from the bedside lamp on one of the nightstands casts a soft glow around the room, giving it an intimate ambiance. There’s a lounge chair close to the windows, a writing desk and chair, and closer to the bed, there’s a soft-looking armchair. I step inside the room, and Landon closes the door behind us.

“You have condoms?” he asks.

It’s really not a question—what self-respecting hooker wouldn’t have condoms? I start to panic, then I remember Laurie’s present. Thank the stars for Laurie, I think silently, opening my purse to retrieve the roll of condoms before handing them to him.

He tosses them on the edge of the bed before going to sit on the armchair. I’m still standing by the door, and he motions for me to come farther into the room.

I walk toward him, suddenly very nervous. There’s something incredibly sexy about the way he’s leaning back on the chair with his body relaxed and his long legs splayed out.

He raises a hand to stop me before I get to him. “Take off your clothes,” he says.

My fingers are trembling. Why are my fingers trembling? It’s been a while, but it’s not as if I’m inexperienced. I fumble with my zipper, trying clumsily to get it to go down. Finally, the dress falls at my feet, and I’m standing in front of this sexy man dressed only in high heels and my black lace panties and bra.

His face is unreadable. What should I do now? Go to him? Remain standing and wait for him to come and take what, as far as he knows, has been paid for? While all the thoughts are running through my mind, he arches a brow at me.

“All your clothes.”

God, that voice! I take a deep breath and reach behind me to unhook my bra, freeing my breasts as I pull it off my shoulders before dropping it on the ground. His eyes drop from my face to my exposed breasts, and as if he’s actually touching them, my nipples respond to his gaze, the pink tips tightening and extending. I hook my fingers into the elastic band of my panties and pull them down far enough so they can fall on their own, and then I step out of them.

His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes don’t leave me. I watch as they move from my breasts down the length of my body.

“Get on the bed,” he orders, his voice a little rougher than before.

The bed is a king-sized beauty. I imagine us, bodies entwined, rolling around on it. Swallowing nervously, I walk over to the edge, turning around to face Landon before I lower myself onto the soft sheets.

Suddenly, he gets up from the armchair, towering over me as he starts to first undo his cuffs, and then the buttons of his shirt. “Take off your shoes, Rachel,” he says. “Pull up your legs and spread them. I want to see you touch yourself.”

My lips part almost involuntarily, and nervously, I wet them with my tongue. This should feel weird, but as I watch him undo his buttons to reveal the perfectly defined muscles of his chest, I can only feel the insistent pulsing increase between my legs, making me eager to do as he says. I kick off my shoes and lift my feet to the edge of the bed, lying back and spreading my legs slowly, relishing the fact that his eyes are focused on me. My fingers reach between my wet folds, slipping easily over the most sensitive parts of me, and I close my eyes, letting out a small moan.

“Open your eyes.” The words are a command. “Don’t close them. Don’t do anything unless I tell you to.”

I obey. His shirt is off now, and the sight of the hard muscles and the flat board that’s his stomach totally takes my breath away. His body is perfectly sculpted, not bulky, just lean, strong, and flawless.

His trousers soon follow the path of the shirt. At the sight of the hard, straining ridge in his briefs, I lick my lips again, transfixed. I want to see him. I want to touch him. I want to run my tongue over his nipples and lick the taut skin over his muscles. I feel unlike myself, as if the girl I am has disappeared, leaving a hedonistic alter ego to take over. I want him in my mouth, inside me. I want him to grab hold of my legs and hold me still while he plunges deep into me. The thought itself is almost enough to make me come. I release a soft, helpless moan and rub myself harder. My insides are throbbing with desire. I want to beg him to hurry. I move a finger down to the wet pulsing entrance to my body then slip it inside. My body clenches sweetly. I want more.

My eyes follow his movements as he pulls down his briefs to reveal the full length of his throbbing erection, and I moan again, begging him with my eyes to hurry. He reaches for the condoms, and I watch as he rolls one onto his hard, swollen length.

My breathing is coming in pants now, and I can’t take my eyes off him. He advances towards me, his erection fisted in his hand. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him inside me at this moment.

Kneeling on the bed between my legs, he reaches for my hand, stilling the movement of my fingers. Then he takes over, palming me while he slips two fingers inside me.

My body clenches eagerly and I groan, spreading my legs wider as his fingers slide in and out, stroking the sensitive places inside me. His thumb finds my clit, and he plays leisurely with the swollen mass of nerves, driving me crazy. I grab hold of the sheets, my hips moving shamelessly to meet his fingers.

“Don’t stop.” I moan, feeling the beginning of an orgasm. I need this so much. “Oh, please don’t stop.”

In reply, he inserts another finger and my brain shuts down. I cry out as my body tightens then shatters in a massive explosion of pure pleasure.

I don’t even have time to catch my breath before he grabs hold of my legs and pulls me toward him, plunging into me with one swift movement. I cry out helplessly, surrendering myself to the pleasure as he fills me, thrusting deep with every rock-hard stroke.

I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper. My whole body feels warm and sweet. I can already feel another climax coming as heat spreads from my core. He picks up his pace, his chest tightening as he pumps harder and faster. He grunts softly with each sure thrust, his eyes closed, his lips slightly open as he grinds his hips into me. I come with a loud moan, my body spasming as the waves of pleasure wash over me. He plunges deeper, a loud groan escaping his lips as his climax seizes him and leaves him panting, his chest heaving as he releases my legs.