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“High praise from the promotional guru.” Dalton leans closer to see the photos better. He still smells of cedar and sandalwood from the spa. It’s intoxicating. “My mom was a photographer, so I dabble. I’m nowhere near as good as her, but it’s a nice bond between us. She taught me a lot.”

“She must have been amazing if you consider these dabbling.” I stall, landing on pictures I hadn’t seen him take.

A woman in silhouette leans out over the city, her mouth open, arms spread wide like she’s ready to embrace whatever life throws her way.

I have to remind myself it’s me. The next is of Dalton, a selfie in the mirror of our dressing rooms at Haute House.

He’s wearing the suit I picked and looking so utterly breathtaking, I almost missed the reflection in the mirror over his shoulder.

The curtain between us was cracked open, showing a sliver of a woman’s bare back in a skintight teal dress.

Then one of me at the spa, hair wrapped in a towel, face slathered in mud, and eyes covered in cucumbers.

Me leading him to the helicopter, arm trailing behind as I tug him under the blades.

Our hands clinking drinks over the exquisite meal.

Each photo is a perfect representation of our day, and not a single one reveals my identity.

“Dalton, these are…” I stall, unsure of the right word. Amazing, perfect, unreal? But they are real. I was there.

“Going to break your boss’s mind.” Dalton’s fingers catch my jaw, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. “Every woman will want to be you when they see these.”

A sudden selfish compulsion washes over to keep them for myself.

To make sure they’re never shared with anyone else.

To keep all these moments for us. Dalton’s eyes lock on the movement of his thumb.

I open my lips, nipping the tip. His breath catches and then his lips are on mine, warm and wine sweet.

Before I can lean in, the phone buzzes in my hand, causing me to jerk back in surprise. Dalton’s forehead falls to mine.

“Remind me to turn on do not disturb.” He mutters, reaching for the phone to read the message that’s popped up.

I disentangle from him as he types out a message.

I glance at the apartment, surprised to find it empty.

The glow of Dalton’s phone reflects his face back in the enormous windows.

From the up light of the phone screen, the cut line of his jaw is thrown into the extreme.

The sight steals my breath. He’s so beautiful it hurts.

The ache growing in my chest is a mix of admiration, longing and loss that he will never be mine.

In that moment, I realize the one photo that’s missing to sell the auction to every woman in the city.

“Good news.” Dalton taps out a code on the phone before looking up. “The chefs are done and headed out. The elevator is officially locked down, so no more interruptions.” Dalton sets his phone next to him, reaching out to sweep a loose hair behind my ear. “I’ve finally got you to myself.”

I nuzzle into his warm hand, but catch his wrist. “Can I take one more photo?”

Dalton’s eyebrow lifts, but he nods, offering me his phone.

“I need your watch, too.”

The corner of his lip curls as he offers his wrist. I let my fingers linger as I remove the band, kissing the bare skin.

“Stay right there.” Grabbing the phone, I head to the opposite side of the fire pit. Careful not to melt Dalton’s’ phone, I set it on the tile edge, angling it to catch the flames and Dalton’s upper torso and head.

“Getting artsy again, forty-eight?”

“Maybe,” I say with a wicked grin. “I can’t have all the photos you took showing mine up. I check the camera app on his watch to make sure it’s connected to the phone. Dalton smiles back at me from the small screen. Perfect.

Moving back around the table, I gesture to his lap. “May I?”

Dalton spreads his arms in invitation. Pulling the lengths of my dress to the sides, I slide onto his lap, placing a knee on either side of his thighs.

Dalton shifts under me, accommodating for the shapes of our bodies before pulling me closer.

I wind my arms behind his neck, hiding the watch from the camera’s view while using the image on the screen to pose us.

I nuzzle in, running my nose over the shell of his ear, then my lips.

Dalton turns into the touch, but I correct him.

“Look straight at the camera.”

He obeys. “Yes, ma’am.”

Dropping my chin, I allow only a slip of my jawline to be seen by the camera’s lens, then snap a few photos, using his watch as the trigger.

I adjust myself between each shot, encouraged by the way Dalton’s hands grow tighter on my thighs.

I rock my hips once against him and can feel him hardening under me.

A sound escapes him somewhere between a hiss and a groan.

Tongue darting out, I catch his earlobe, pulling it between my teeth.

Dalton’s right hand is tracing up my spine, catching the nape of my neck, and then he’s twisting, lips on mine, kissing me like I’m the oxygen he needs to breathe. And God, I need to breathe him too.

Our tongues dance together, hungry and exploring.

“I crave you, Jenna. Every inch of you.” Dalton murmurs against my lips before deepening the kiss.

I slip a hand between our bodies, rubbing the thick length of him over his pants.

Dalton’s moan vibrates deep in his chest, hardening my nipples that are pressed against him.

I want him, all of him. Want to take everything he has to give, to be greedy, and then give in to his desires in return.

Hand still knotted in my hair, Dalton’s eyes go wild as they meet mine.

There’s a hint of fear, like he’s been waiting for me to say stop, to put an end to this.

But the words perched on the tip of my tongue are anything but rejection.

“Take me to your bed.” I plead, and the fear melts to liquid emeralds.

“Hold tight.” He says in a husky voice.

Sliding us to the edge of the sofa, Dalton grips under my thighs and then stands as if I weigh nothing.

An involuntary squeak slips out. Eyes widening in surprise, I wrap my legs around him, locking ankles at his low back.

Dalton smiles like a boy who just won his first hockey game. “Daily squats are for so much more than just training.”

Kissing me again, he tries to walk back into the apartment, but after stubbing his toe twice and bumping my ass into the door frame, Dalton breaks the kiss and focuses on getting us upstairs.

I do little to help, trailing my lips over his jawline, then back to the sensitive spot behind his ear, relishing each shiver, each jump of his dick.

I have half the buttons on his dress shirt undone by the time we’re midway up the stairs.

Then wait until Dalton’s feet are safely on the landing before slipping my hand between us again, this time gaining just enough space to work my hand under his belt and into his boxers.

Dalton jolts as I wrap my fingers around his hard cock.

It twitches in anticipation and I feel myself growing wetter in response.

His mouth is back on mine as I stroke him, and I don’t notice when he stops walking.

“Let go so I can set you down and get this fucking dress off.” It sounds less like a command and more like a desperate plea.

As soon as I release him and unlatch my legs, Dalton lowers me to the ground.

We both sway, energy clawing between us like an electrical storm.

His suit jacket hits the floor, and I have his dress shirt untucked, the last buttons free seconds later, exposing those sculpted abs I want to run my tongue over.

The bed bumps against my calves, but I hardly notice the room.

I can only see the gorgeous man standing before me, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.

My fingers are on his belt when his hands fall over mine, stalling them.

In one breath, the fevered rush that had us pawing at each other moments ago slows.

Cupping my neck, thumbs tilting my jaw up, Dalton kisses me, deep and slow.

Once sure I won’t break away, Dalton’s hands roam, blazing a trail across my body, teasing and patient.

One slides down to my low back, holding me steady, while the other moves first to tease my breast, then finds my hip.

With the slightest of pressure, he guides me to turn around.

I’m facing a wall of windows like the ones downstairs.

A glittering view of the city, blurred by our reflection.

The king sized bed sprawls before us, cutting off my shaking knees in the windows’ reflection, but the position is so similar to the dressing room I widen my stance as Dalton’s hips press against my ass.

He must feel me tense as I stare out, hands flexing on the arm that’s wrapped around me.

“Don’t worry. They’re mirrored. No one can see us. Just you and me.” Dalton whispers against the back of my neck, growling when I rock back against him. His hand catches my hip. “I want to make this last. To make up for every man who left you unsatisfied.”

“You already made me come today.” I remind. Still, my body quivers at the thought of coming apart at his touch again.

“Let’s go for at least six. I can’t have Anders showing me up.

” Dalton’s hand slips from my waist, through the dress’s slit at my hip and between my thighs.

The light touch coaxes me to the edge. His fingers pause, finding my bare clit.

The shock in his voice is satisfying. “Are you not wearing any underwear, forty-eight?”

The moment I had put the dress on back at the spa, all I could think about was Dalton’s hands on me, touching, stroking me over the edge.

And on a whim of adrenaline similar to scaling that building, I decided not to put on the silk underwear provided by Haute House.

It had been a scandalous secret I had been harboring just for a moment like this.

The decision was just as much for me as it was for him, a little risk that had kept my nerves on edge.

Reaching back, I run my fingers through his hair. “I figured you’ve had enough panties handed to you for a lifetime. You didn’t need a pair of mine, too.”

“You weren’t going to tell me?” He growls against my ear.

I shrug. “If we never got to this point, then you would never need to know. It would be my sexy little secret.”

“That is so much hotter than a girl stuffing panties in my pocket.” Dalton’s forehead presses against the back of my head. “Thank you for not telling me earlier. I would have had a raging boner all night. It was hard enough just seeing you in this dress, thinking about earlier…”

Slowly, methodically, he slips a finger inside me. I grip his hair tighter.

Dalton groans, pressing into me further, stretching me. “You’re so wet. You feel amazing, Jenna.”

Pulling away, his other hand finds the zipper at the base of my skull. He tugs it down a few teeth. “May I?”

I nod, lost in the movement of his fingers still inside me. A whimper of disappointment escapes when his fingers slide out to help ease the dress over my hips. It hits the floor in a whoosh of satin, pooling at my feet.

“You’re fucking breathtaking.” Dalton rasps, and I don’t need to look up at the windows to know he’s looking at my naked body. I have to suppress the urge to wrap my arms around myself. Instead, I turn to face him, pressing my breasts against his bare chest.

Dalton shivers when my fingertips find his abs.

Lord help me, they feel even better than I imagined.

These abs belong on the cover of one of the spicy romance novels I’m ever grateful my Kindle helps keep discreet.

It feels like a sin to touch him, but I can’t stop.

Dalton’s gaze locks on mine as I map every inch of his warm skin up to his broad shoulders.

With the slow precision he used to unzip my dress, I push the dress shirt off, letting it fall to the ground with my dress.

The skin to clothing ratio still feels horribly unbalanced, but when his palm rests gently between my breasts, urging me to lie back on the bed, I do.

I start to pull myself to the center, but Dalton’s not having it.

Snagging my calves, he yanks me toward him so my ass is right on the edge of the plush bed.

Before I can protest, he’s on his knees, lips pressing against my core.

I fall back, hands tangling in his hair, as I try not to smash his head when the muscle in my thighs spasm with pleasure.

His tongue alternates between quick teasing flicks and languid pressure, sending me reeling. He slips a finger inside, hooking to hit that perfect spot, stroking me closer toward release.

“Dalton.” His name comes out in a rasp as I buck.

The coil inside me ratcheting so tight it teeters on that fine edge of ecstasy and torture.

Dalton moans against me, the vibration pushing me over the edge, and I unwind, crying out at a volume that would make Anders and Mrs. Donner proud.

He moves with the waves, letting me ride them out as my body quakes.

Dalton kisses the inside of my thigh, hand cupping me as I come down from the pleasure still rippling through my body.

“That’s two.” His eyes sparkle. “Want to try for three?”

“I guess sleep is not on the agenda for the night?” I sit up on my elbows, riding the high and thoroughly enjoying the view as Dalton stands and begins working his belt free.

In less than eight hours, the man has given me more orgasms than any other guy in the last year.

And instead of feeling satiated, I want more.

If we only have the next few hours, I want all of him.

Dalton strips to his boxers before prowling over me, coaxing us further onto the center of his bed. “With no one to interrupt us tonight and no need to keep quiet, sleep is the last thing on my mind, forty-eight. I want to spend the rest of the night worshiping every inch of your body. Deal?”

“Deal,” I say, pulling his mouth to mine.