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  Except everything was going smoothly. Sure, nothing was perfect, but any bumps were the sort of things management could take care of on their own. It was one of the reasons I'd insisted on overseeing the hiring for key positions. As much as I enjoyed being in control, it wasn't a good business practice – or practical if I wanted a life outside of my office – not to delegate at least some things.

  The problem with having all the I's dotted and T's crossed was that it left me with too much time on my hands. I'd been trying to find hobbies, ways to occupy my time, but nothing had held my attention for long, not even sex. Earlier this week, I'd had the sort of scene with a gorgeous Sub that should have left me satiated for days.

  Instead, I'd been tense again by the time I'd gotten home. And it wasn't the first time that'd happened over the last few months either. I'd gone to Gilded Cage with my friends, and on my own, sometimes drinking and watching, sometimes taking a willing partner to one of the back rooms.

  And then I'd wake up just as bored and frustrated as before.

  I had two more meetings today that might yield something new. I always kept my eyes open for new propositions, and I'd been looking into purchasing a shipping company. This one was facing serious cutbacks and probably bankruptcy within the year. If the meeting gave me the numbers I wanted, I'd present the idea to the board, then get started.

  The prospect of building my company, of using my skills the way I had in the past, should have made me edgy in a good way. Anticipatory. I should have been full of new ideas, eager to get started. But I couldn't manage to care. Not the way I had in the past.

  But maybe that was the problem. I wasn't in the past, and doing the same things over and over had made them lose their appeal.

  I needed something new and fresh. Unique.

  Like my other afternoon prospect could be. I felt a flicker of excitement, an emotion that had only been present lately as I worked on this one particular project. It was a risk, I knew, but I was starting to think that it might be the only chance I had at getting out of this rut.

  I glanced at the clock again and pushed back from my desk. I'd made reservations at one of my favorite restaurants for lunch, hoping it would help me get in the right mindset to change things.

  The hostess took me straight to my usual table, a quiet corner booth where I could observe each person who came in. It'd kept me from being caught off guard more than once. I wouldn't say that I had enemies, exactly, but there'd been a disgruntled employee or two who'd decided that my position meant firings were all on me. And I'd had one former sexual partner who'd come here with a date and made a beeline for me. Because I had a heads up both times, I'd been able to get someone to intervene before scenes were made.

  I kept an eye on the door, waiting for my lunch companion, and that's when she walked in.

  Average height. Blonde hair so light it was almost silver. Smooth, fair skin. And even though her clothes were a bit on the plain, modest side, they only enhanced her luscious curves. As she approached the hostess, I couldn't understand why every man in the place wasn't staring at her.

  A stab of something went through me at the thought of anyone else looking at her. Not while she was standing there alone like any man could approach her. She didn't deserve to have just any random guy hitting on her, asking her out.

  She needed someone who would take the time to learn every inch of that exquisite body, who'd bring her to the heights of pleasure, coax out more orgasms than she could handle.

  I could almost see it.

  Her spread out on a bed, ankles and arms restrained. Those gorgeous breasts heaving as she gasped for breath. Her tight pussy clamping down on my fingers. Hips coming up to meet each stroke.

  She wouldn't be a quick fuck. No, she was the sort of woman I'd want to take to and over the edge for hours. Make her come on my tongue until she sobbed for more. Then fuck her in every possible position until she forgot her name.

  I shifted in my seat, cock pressing against my zipper. I'd never had an issue getting hard when I was having sex, but this was the first time in a long time that I'd gotten an erection simply from watching a woman walk across a room.

  I mentally cursed my luck as I realized I couldn't act on my instincts and go speak with her. I had someone coming for lunch, and if I approached the stranger, I wouldn't want to be interrupted until I was certain I'd have the opportunity to see her again. Normally, if I saw a woman I wanted that badly, I would've taken her back to a hotel for a whole different sort of lunch, but I didn't have the time for it now.

  But unless I was done with lunch before she left, I wouldn't be spending time with her at all.

  Six

  Tanya

  I'd never heard of the restaurant where Erika Summers wanted to have lunch, and as soon as I walked inside, I knew why.

  I'd dressed in my best professional outfit, and a look around the dining room told me that I just barely made the cut in the dress code department. The men all wore suits that probably cost a couple thousand easy, definitely tailor-made. I had no doubt that the women were dressed by some of the most expensive names in the business. A single shoe probably cost more than a month's rent.

  I'd be lucky if I could afford a water here.

  Sometimes you have to spend money to make money.

  A man's voice echoed in my head, and even though it had been twelve years since I'd last heard it out loud, it often whispered through my mind.

  After my mom walked out when I was barely a toddler, Dad had raised me on his own. It'd been just the two of us until I was ten, and even though there were times I'd wished I had a mother, they were few and far between. My dad hadn't been the sort of single father who'd only cared for my basic needs and left my emotional ones to the care of others. He'd been everything to me.

  But he was gone now. Had been for a dozen years. Just after my birthday, he'd taken me to visit my aunt...and then he'd vanished. Aunt Lolly had been furious, never wasting an opportunity to tell me how useless and unimportant I was, how neither of my parents had wanted me. The needling about my mom hadn't ever really bothered me. I'd accepted my mother's absence in my life without too much of a problem because my dad had always made sure I knew that Mom’s decision to leave wasn't my fault.

  Dad leaving...that had devastated me. I'd told myself over and over that he hadn't done it voluntarily, that it must have been something beyond his control that had taken him away from me. Then, a few months into staying with Aunt Lolly, she had a little too much to drink one night, and I found out the truth.

  Dad hadn't been working at a factory to make ends meet. He'd been gambling. And not like going to Vegas or Atlantic City gambling. He'd been into the backroom, illegal shit that got people's legs broken...or worse. Apparently, things kept getting worse until he found himself in too deep with the wrong people. Aunt Lolly said that was all my fault too, but all I'd cared about was the fact that Dad had been trying to protect me.

  And I knew he'd be back. Aunt Lolly said not to get my hopes up, but I'd waited for him every day until living with her had become so unbearable that I wasn’t able to take it anymore. That was when I ran away.

  Aunt Lolly hadn't wanted me in the first place, and she'd wanted me even less after that. She only kept me at first out of obligation. Once I'd shown her how ungrateful I was, she handed me over to the state without a second look.

  “Can I help you?”

  I smiled at the hostess as I pulled my mind from the past. She looked a few years older than me, her dress classy, though not as expensive as what the patrons were wearing.

  “Yes, I'm here with Erika Summers.”

  Something flickered across her face as she smiled, like there was something amusing about what I said. She wasn't mocking me, of that I was nearly certain. I'd had enough experience with hateful people that I knew what it felt like. This was more like she knew something I didn't.

  “Follow me, please.”

  I kept my head up, eyes fixed right ahead, but
I hadn't gone more than a couple feet when I felt eyes on me. Heat crept up my neck, and I mentally cursed. The last thing I needed was to show up to this meeting looking like some flustered child. I already knew I would have to work to sell myself. I was young and new to the publishing world, which meant Ms. Summers would be taking a chance on me as much as Branch Publishing would be taking on her.

  My heart thudded against my ribs, and my stomach churned. I could do this, I told myself. This wasn't me trying to make friends. This was business, and I knew business. I didn't need to make her like me as a person or want to spend time with me. I only needed to convince her that I was the best person to represent her work. Miss Foxe might not look too fondly on the way I'd gone about things, but if I made the connection here, there was a chance I could make an argument to be the one to follow through.

  A waiter stepped out in front of me, and I took a step back, stumbling. My cheeks burned, hands curling into fists. I muttered an apology even though I hadn't done anything wrong, and hurried after the hostess. I forced myself not to duck my head, but my gaze stayed down. I didn't trust my feet not to turn on me.

  “Here you are.”

  I glanced at the hostess and gave her a tight smile. “Thank you.”

  She had a strange look on her face as I sat down, but I didn't realize why until I raised my head...and found myself staring into the most beautiful bright blue eyes I'd ever seen...on a man.

  Oh shit.

  “I – sorry – dammit!”

  He smiled, revealing a pair of dimples to go with his rugged features and sandy hair. “I'm not sure what you're apologizing for, but I'm sure it's all right.”

  I looked around, wondering why the hostess had run off if she knew I'd sat down in the wrong place. Had I read her wrong, and she wanted to humiliate me after all? I couldn't see her, and I couldn't see a woman sitting alone, trying to figure out where her lunch meeting had gone.

  “I'm sorry,” I repeated, starting to get to my feet. “I was supposed to meet someone here.”

  “Erika Summers, right?”

  I looked at him, startled. “Yes, that's right. Are you her agent?”

  He chuckled, his gaze sliding down my body in a way that made my skin heat up for an entirely different reason than embarrassment.

  “No, Miss, I'm not an agent. My name's Erik Sanders.”

  Erik Sanders. I frowned. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't figure out why. It's not like I would've had the opportunity to see someone like him while I was studying my ass off at NYU. Men like him generally didn't matriculate in the library. At least, none that I'd seen.

  My confusion only lasted a few seconds though, because I suddenly remembered where I'd heard the name. Erik Sanders had been on a Times magazine cover I'd seen a couple weeks ago.

  I blurted out the words as soon as the memory came to me. “Are you the same Erik Sanders who Times called the most eligible bachelor under thirty?”

  I didn't add Wall Street billionaire. It seemed crass to mention that part of things.

  He rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his lips as if he knew what I was thinking but not saying. “I hate that title.”

  But he didn't deny it was him.

  Now I was really confused.

  How in the world did a billionaire on Wall Street know the name of the erotica author I was meeting with? It didn't make sense.

  He leaned back in his seat. “It's one of the reasons I prefer to use the name Erika Summers when I write.”

  Seven

  Erik

  Her eyes were the same color as dark, bittersweet chocolate, I decided. The sort of chocolate I'd always preferred over other kinds. With her fair skin and hair, they were a startling contrast. And they drew me in, captivated me in a way that nothing had in a long time.

  I watched the realization dawn as my identity sunk in.

  “You're Erika Summers?” The question came out choked.

  I shrugged, unable to hold back a grin. “And you're Tanya Lacey, from Branch Publishing.”

  She nodded, sliding her gaze away from mine. “Yes, that's me. Mr. Sanders, I apologize. You caught me off guard.”

  “Erik, please.” I let my eyes trace across her features.

  She was pretty, but not the sort of drop-dead gorgeous that would cause men to stop in their tracks and stare. No, her appeal came from inside, from her depth. I'd barely spoken to her, and already I could tell that there was much more to this woman than what I could see, no matter how appealing I found her.

  I watched as a mask slipped into place. All of her nerves vanished, and her eyes met mine again. This was the Tanya who'd sent me an email, I realized. The professional who would handle work with confidence.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

  She gave me the sort of polite smile I easily recognized. I'd offered it to plenty of fellow businessmen over the years. A flare of annoyance went through me. I wanted something real, something without artifice. And I wanted to be the one to make her smile like that.

  I pushed the thought away. She was interesting, attractive, and I planned on feeling her out, seeing if the chemistry I suspected we'd have truly lurked beneath the surface. If she felt it too, I'd negotiate an encounter that we'd both enjoy. If not, I'd keep things business between us and turn my attentions elsewhere.

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and arousal tightened my stomach almost painfully. That one little movement and all I could think about was what it would look like to have those full lips wrapped around my cock. Images flashed through my mind, one right after the other.

  Long, silky hair in my fist as I took her from behind.

  Her face contorting in ecstasy as she came.

  Filling my hands with those gorgeous tits.

  Watching that pink flesh creep over every inch of her body.

  “The first thing I need to know is if you've submitted Heat of the Sun to any other publishers for consideration.”

  I jerked my attention back to her and to business. I'd have time for fantasies later. “No, I followed the company's guidelines regarding simultaneous submissions.”

  “Good.” She nodded, then looked up as a waiter approached.

  I ordered the chef's special and a bottle of wine. She asked for a Caesar salad and water. I held back a frown. I really hoped she wasn't one of those women who starved herself. Or just as bad, one who didn't eat in front of men because of some bizarre idea of what it meant to be ladylike.

  She turned back to me as the waiter walked away. “May I ask why you chose Branch Publishing rather than one of the big five?”

  “I like to think I'm a good judge of whether or not a business is a solid investment,” I said. “I wanted a publisher big enough to handle real marketing, but small enough that I wouldn't get lost in the masses.”

  “So you did your research.” She made it a statement rather than a question.

  “It's what I do.” I couldn't resist the opportunity to add, “I research everything.”

  Her eyes widened, but only for a moment. The waiter was back again with our drinks, and that gave her the time she needed to compose herself again. I liked having her off balance though.

  “I'm curious, did you read my book, or did you have someone else do it for you?”

  Something passed across her face before disappearing. It looked like annoyance. “I read it.”

  “What did you think?” I asked as I leaned forward.

  Pink tinged her cheeks. “It was well-written. The characters compelling. I believe it will sell well, especially in today's market.”

  “What about the...content?”

  Her fingers curled into a fist, and more color flooded her face. She didn't look away though. She thought for a moment before answering, “Your...subject matter rides a fine line. Too many erotica authors rely on the sensationalism of graphic sex – or whatever kinks they put into the story – and lose sight of writing a good story. Characters become flat, plots trite. But the
n there's the opposite problem as well. People who try to incorporate sex scenes into an otherwise decent story, but there's no sizzle. It's clinical, dry.”

  I reached across the table and let my fingers brush against her hand before I picked up the salt and set it down next to my plate.

  “Are you saying that you don't find my writing dry?”

  She grabbed her glass and took a gulp of water. Her skin was flushed a wonderful shade of pink, and I really wanted to know if her entire body was that color now.

  “I'm curious,” I continued, “what did you think of it? Not as an editor. I appreciate that insight, but I'd like to know your opinion as a reader. After all, that's why I write.”

  “You definitely don't need the money,” she muttered. She closed her eyes almost as soon as the words left her mouth. “Dammit. I didn't – I shouldn't have said that.”

  “It's quite all right, Ms. Lacey.” Fuck me. She was cute when she was off-kilter. A part of me wanted to see just how flustered I could make her. “Or may I call you Tanya?”

  She swallowed hard, looking like one of those proverbial deer caught in headlights. I could almost hear her sigh of relief when the waiter reappeared with our meals.

  I let the silence sit between us for a couple minutes as we ate. At least she actually ate her salad, instead of picking it apart like even the thought of lettuce calories were too much. I caught myself staring at her mouth more than once, thinking about what she would taste like, the sounds she'd make if I caught her lower lip between my teeth.

  “You didn't answer my question,” I said finally. “As a reader, what did you think of my book?”

  She took her time, eating a few more bites of her salad before answering. “It was...interesting.”

  I raised an eyebrow, and her blush returned. “What exactly did you find interesting? Was there a particular passage that...spoke to you? Something that maybe brought up some good memories?” I let my gaze drop, moving my eyes over her body in a slow, deliberate manner. “Or maybe something you'd want to try?”