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ONE

KENJI

“Do you have any soup?” Landry demanded. “I’m starving, but I shouldn’t have solids until after tomorrow’s shoot.”

“No. But there’s a ramen place on the corner. You should go there,” I said, emphasizing the word go so there was no confusion.

Landry ignored me, stretching his long, lean body on my bed. “What about lemon? Why don’t you ever have fresh lemons when you know I need lemon in my water to chug down as much as I have to drink.”

I tried my hardest not to look at the miles of bare skin on offer. He was preening. The man didn’t know how to be any other way than arrogant about his body, but then again, if I’d had a body like that—one people paid millions to display their clothing on—I might preen, too. Unfortunately, on Landry, the preening was not only insufferable but also irresistible.

Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. To anyone. Even on pain of death.

“I’m not your valet…” My words trailed off because while I wasn’t his valet, technically, I was his executive assistant. And an argument could be made—for other people, not Landry—that an executive assistant should, in fact, consider supplying the things a man needed for his job.

He turned onto his side and propped his head on his hand. His long, blond hair was enticingly tangled, as if the man had just had the hungry fingers of a lover in it.

I cleared my throat. “You need to leave.”

He kicked off the sheet and ran his fingers down his thigh and back up the inside of his thigh while giving me a familiar look.

I pressed the button on my mindfulness app and asked, “What does Chaska Inira say about staying calm when provoked?”

“When emotions rise like stormy seas, seek the still waters beneath. A provocation is but a test—a mirror reflecting the mastery of your own peace. Do not wrestle with the storm; instead, anchor yourself in understanding and let the tempest pass.”

Chaska’s melodious voice soothed me as I finished folding my pajama pants and placed them into the suitcase. Even though I’d had the Louis Vuitton bag for over two years now, I still treated it like a spoiled princess. Who paid this much for a Rollaboard? No one rational, that was who. People with more money than sense.

“Told you you’d like it,” Landry said knowingly, nodding toward the suitcase.

“And I told you I didn’t want Louis Vuitton. I wanted a Samsonite just like the one you ruined,” I muttered. I wasn’t lying, per se. It was true that I had wanted a simple replacement for my old, trusty carry-on. But when he’d given me this one anyway… well, I hadn’t cried about it.

Landry sat up and peered into the suitcase. “Did you iron those? Who the fuck irons pajama pants? Wait. Is that a cummerbund? And what kind of retreat is this? I thought you were staying in a yurt with yaks and ringing metal bowls or something.”

I ignored Landry’s voice and tried to focus on the one in my head that was actively counseling me against murder.

I was still waters, and Landry was the damned tempest.

“I don’t see why you have to go halfway around the world to listen to more of that ‘live, laugh, love’ nonsense. You should stay here,” Landry continued. He reached into the suitcase for my bow tie, but I slapped his hand before flicking it away.

“Sex is over. Our time together has come to a not-regrettable end,” I informed him.

He settled back onto the pillows and put his hands behind his head. This had the—probably intended—effect of popping out his defined biceps. I bit back a sigh. While I didn’t necessarily like the man himself most days, Landry was fucking incredible in bed. His body was a very fine specimen, and he was particularly talented with his tongue.

I’d also discovered a few years ago, when we’d made the unfortunate decision to hook up “just this once,” that Landry Davis happened to be the world’s most generous lover.

I wasn’t sure what Chaska would say about fate taking a glorious talent like Landry’s and wrapping it in an immature, self-absorbed package, but I doubted the answer would help me find lasting peace. Dwelling on Landry never did.

As if he could hear my thoughts, the man in question ran his hand down his chest to his cock, which was still flaccid against his thigh after he’d orgasmed while balls-deep inside of me.

I cleared my throat. “I’m flying to San Cordova in six hours. I will be gone for four weeks. And to answer your question, it’s a mindfulness retreat at a luxury island resort… as I’ve already told you.”

Not that he’d listened. Not that he’d actually heard me or cared.

His face widened into a knowing grin. “Ha! You can’t give up your Apple Watch and charging station. Or your daily lattes. Admit it. You had to pick a retreat with amenities.”

I shot him a look while pressing the button on my app again. “What does Chaska say about self-care?”

“To nurture yourself is not selfish; it is sacred. Your body, mind, and spirit are vessels for your journey, and they must be tended with care. Just as the sun does not apologize for shining or the river for flowing, you must not hesitate to honor your needs. Rest when you are weary, nourish yourself with kindness, and seek joy without guilt. Only when your own cup is full can you truly pour into the lives of others.”

“See? I’m going to fill my cup, asshole,” I said before closing my suitcase and yanking the zipper.

Landry sat up again. “Take me with you. I’m good at filling cups. Pretty sure I filled your cup a few minutes ago, and I don’t recall any complaints.”

To my extreme horror, I felt my face heat.

This was unacceptable. He needed to go.

“Absolutely not. The retreat’s been sold out for weeks, and San Cordova is a small place where you’d be bored to tears anyway. Not a single dance club on the whole island,” I told him solemnly. “Nothing but the resort, a British historical something-or-other, a copper mine, and a very large number of coffee plants.”

“What if… what if you’re my scene?”

It took me a moment to comprehend what he was saying. I blinked up from my carry-on bag. “Me? How do you mean? Surely you can find someone else to wet your dick.” The idea of him having sex with someone else made my stomach revolt the same way eating brussels sprouts did. Or the idea of beans on toast.

“Not for that. I mean…” He stopped and flared his nostrils. “Never mind. Wait. What happened to our monogamy rule?”

I glared at him. “Don’t use that word.”

“Which word? Monogamy?” He flicked his hair back. “It wasn’t my idea, if you recall. When we first got together?—”

“No, rule . Calling it a rule implies that this is… that we are…” I pressed my lips together. “There are no expectations here, Landry. You can fuck anyone you want, whenever you want.” I clutched the packing cube in my hands tighter than absolutely necessary. “We’re not together.”

He’d suggested it before, most recently at Christmas, but I’d made it very clear I was not interested. It was purely physical or nothing at all.

Landry’s gaze, when it met mine, was unexpectedly heated. “When we first fucked , you said there wouldn’t be a repeat. Then, when there was a repeat, you said it was only because I hadn’t slept with anyone else in between and you needed to ensure I wasn’t carrying… what was the exact phrase you used? Ah, yes, ‘ Manky ho germs .’ You said if I ever wanted to touch you again, I needed to keep my dick to myself.”

“That… doesn’t sound like a phrase I would use,” I lied, packing the few remaining items that needed to go in my carry-on.

In truth, I remembered the whole exchange—my flash flood of jealousy at the idea of Landry putting his hands and mouth on anyone else and the equally violent flare of relief when he’d shrugged and agreed—but a man couldn’t be held responsible for what he’d said or thought before he became enlightened.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore,” I continued. “I’m leaving. You’ll have to find someone else to… meet your needs.”

I almost added the words “while I’m gone,” but that would have been self-defeating. One of the biggest draws of spending four weeks in mindful meditation with very limited outside contact was the promise that it would help me realign my priorities and re-center my goals and dreams.

In other words, it would help me focus on the things I actually wanted out of life… and stop being distracted by the man I couldn’t seem to stop wanting in my bed.

He stood up and stretched, making an entire meal out of the thing. Acres of golden skin took up too much space in my small bedroom, and I nearly groaned.

I focused instead on the painting of Three Daughters I’d splurged on during my first trip to Majestic, Wyoming, and let out a slow breath. The mountain range wasn’t as breathtaking as Landry’s body, but it was a close second. The artist had captured the mountains in the golden hour just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm, amber light over its jagged peaks and the peaceful river in the foreground.

I’d spent a lot of time in Majestic over the last few years as most of the men I worked for—Landry’s best friends—had found a home there, but I’d never found the particular spot depicted in the painting. Someday, though, I liked to imagine building myself a fortress of solitude there?—

“Is that what you really want, Kenji?”

The sound of my name in Landry’s voice made something inside me whimper.

Something dreadful inside me.

Something unnecessary and unwanted.

And stupid.

It took me several long seconds to remember we’d been talking about Landry getting his needs met, and when I did, my voice came out snippier than usual. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

He threw up his long arms. “Oh, I don’t know… maybe because we’ve been together for three fucking years?”

“We’re not together!” I cried. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Have you been with anyone else since that first time?” he demanded, though he knew the answer.

I jabbed the button on my app. “What would Chaska say about getting rid of unwanted pests?” I gritted out.

“Every creature has its purpose, but not every purpose belongs in your space. Approach with respect, for even the smallest intruder has its role in the great web of life. Seek balance first: understand what draws them, and gently remove what invades. If they persist, guide them away with firmness but without cruelty. Harmony is not in the destruction of others, but in creating boundaries that protect your peace.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed at him. “Boundaries.”

Landry pulled his jogging tights off the floor and began tugging them on. He’d been in the middle of a run last night when I’d texted him to ask how he wanted to RSVP for the Baxter-Hicks gala. Instead of responding with the answer, he’d asked if he could stop in to take a leak and get a drink of water.

I should have known it would end up with the two of us naked and spent. It always did.

“It’s only four weeks. I can self-service for that long. Unless…” Landry gave me a piercing look. “Are you planning on sleeping with other people on your retreat? Is that it?”

My heart gave an annoyingly wonky thump . “That… is none of your business.”

“Chaska Inira,” he said in that stupid, singsong way he always said the man’s name. “I’ll bet you want to get into his ceremonial robes, don’t you? Who wouldn’t? I’ve seen pictures, you know. He’s an attractive man.”

“He’s married to his purpose,” I said loftily.

“So are you,” Landry pointed out. “Doesn’t keep you from getting some on the side.”

I took in a deep breath. “I do not have plans to sleep with my guiding light, no. And looking after the five of you could hardly be considered ‘purpose.’ More like ‘circus.’”

When I’d accepted the role of executive assistant to five billionaires who called themselves “brothers,” I’d assumed they’d settle down with age. That my job might even— gasp —become boring. Now, between babies, horses, business and recording contracts, and watching each of those idiots fall in love, my days were busier than ever.

Landry reached for his shirt. I took one last appreciative look at his chest, shoulders, and abs before the fabric separated me from them.

“Why can’t you give me a straight answer?” Landry’s voice was tight with frustration. “You’re so fucking cagey.”

“I’m going to San Cordova to focus, Landry. To anchor myself for the year ahead. To learn new techniques in mindfulness and meditation. No, I do not plan on asking the faith healer—or anyone else for that matter—to put his dick in my person while I’m trying to focus on myself.”

Landry made a little growling noise in his throat. If my dick hadn’t been spent already, it might have perked up at the sound.

I walked around the bed and poked the center of his chest with my finger. “But I’m also not making any promises to you about who I am or am not sleeping with. That wasn’t the deal.”

“It was literally the deal.”

“No. I said I wouldn’t sleep with you again if you had slept with other people. I didn’t ask for promises, and I didn’t give any.”

I started to pull my hand away, but Landry grabbed my wrist and held on. The warm strength of his grip made my stomach tighten. “Don’t go,” he said softly. “Please don’t go.”

Oxygen suddenly became scarce in the room while red alert beacons flashed in my hindbrain. Do not let a man keep you from following your dreams , I reminded myself. What do you want?

Him , my stupid fucking heart cried.

Peace , my hindbrain insisted. Focus. Success. Growth. Mindfulness.

Dick , my still-sore ass added helpfully.

Our eyes met and held. Landry leaned in.

For a split second, I thought about it. Thought about giving in, agreeing to stay with him, and trying to turn this enemies-with-benefits thing into something real and good.

But then I remembered why that would be the worst idea ever: I knew Landry Davis. Knew everything there was to know about him.

He was a professional supermodel and un professional playboy. He was charming and intelligent. He loved his friends.

But he was also allergic to taking things seriously, being responsible, or following through on anything, as evidenced by the number of times he’d begged me to rebook his missed flights, post his bail, or fly across the world to solve whatever international incident he’d stumbled into that week. “I was bored,” he’d say with a shrug, back when I bothered asking why.

He also happened to be competitive as fuck… which was why I couldn’t trust his sad eyes or any of the stuff he’d said to me at Christmas about wanting a relationship.

Landry wanted to win. And there was no way on earth he was going to win me. Once he did, he’d just get bored of me, too.

“I’m going,” I said, trying to soften my response to a less antagonized, more neutral tone. “This is important to me.”

He let go of my wrist and moved his hand up to cup the side of my face. “I know it is. I’m sorry.”

I blinked at him in surprise. Landry Davis didn’t do sorries. Or serious. “O-okay then.”

“Can I at least kiss you goodbye?”

Again with the not-enough-oxygen thing. Maybe while I was gone, I could put in a maintenance request.

“We don’t do kissing,” I said, turning around and looking for my shoes.

I found them on my feet.

“Just this once?” The teasing tone was back in his voice, putting us back on much firmer footing.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Do you ever stop provoking people?”

“Not if they’re this fun to provoke, no.”

“Put on your shoes and grab your things. My Uber is going to be here in three minutes.”

He pulled on his running shoes and grabbed his keys and phone off the nightstand, shoving them in the pocket of his high-tech running jacket. “You’re going to be at the airport five hours before your flight?”

I shouldered my carry-on and extended the handle of my rolling suitcase. “Lounge access for the win. I have a lot of work to do before I land in San Cordova and put my electronics away.”

He reached for my suitcase and wheeled it out of the bedroom and to the apartment door, giving me a chance to double-check the thermostat and lights before locking up.

We made our way to the half staircase and up to the street. The Uber was already waiting in the gray shadows of late afternoon.

“This is me,” I said, reaching for the suitcase handle. Instead of handing it over, Landry moved to the trunk of the vehicle and loaded it up. I swung my carry-on into the back seat of the car and turned to say goodbye.

Before I knew what was happening, Landry had pulled me into his arms and kissed me. One of his hands was on my face, fingertips tangled in my hair. His other arm was banded around my back possessively as if I were the only thing standing between him and salvation.

And his lips…

My head swam from the unfamiliar taste of his mouth. The sheer strength of his kiss. The nearness of his face. The way he moved my face and my body exactly where he wanted it while he completely devoured my mouth.

I whimpered and clung onto him, seeking more—much, much more—until some vague memory suggested this was against the rules and I should stop.

I wanted to laugh. Stop? Stop this? Who in their right mind would stop this? This was a world-ending kiss. The kind of kiss that sent soldiers off to war and welcomed them home again. The kind of kiss that sunk ships and invaded cities.

The kind of kiss that changed absolutely everything and crumbled walls that had been built meticulously, brick by brick, over three years.

The kind of kiss that drew a deep line in the sand between the Before time and the After.

The kind of kiss that couldn’t in its right mind be possible between enemies with benefits.

I whimpered again. Landry’s hold on me tightened.

And then it was gone. I reached out and slammed a hand on the car to keep from falling over.

“Safe travels,” Landry said in a strangely gruff voice before turning around and walking away.

I stared after him in shock.

There was a reason I’d never allowed myself to kiss Landry on the mouth. And now, after three years and countless hookups, I finally felt pretty damned clear about what that reason was.

Because kissing him even just once would have devastating consequences.