For a moment, I forgot Holt only took me out tonight because he won this date at a charity auction.

Now, though, I remember.

He’s staring at me across the table while I’m cursing my pussy for getting wet at the sight of him and the stupid way he sticks his tongue out slowly before swiping it across his bottom lip. Or the way he works his fingers across his chin, scratching at the small shadow of stubble lining his sharp jaw. Or the way his voice is like weighted velvet, floating through the air before shooting straight for my heart, making it feel like I’ve been struck by Cupid’s arrow.

“So, what do you think?” he asks, shoving the last bite of chocolate cake into his mouth.

I watch him chew, working the food in his mouth before he swallows it. His thick neck bobs with the motion, and I cross my legs under the table, squeezing my thighs together until they ache.

Blinking away my thoughts, I force myself to take another drink of wine. We’ve nearly killed two bottles between us. “Think of what?”

His eyes darken as he points his fork at the plate. “Of the cake?”

“Oh.” I shiver, shaking my head. I need to snap out of this. “It’s good.” I quickly shove another bite of cake into my mouth and force myself to eat it.

Holt’s eyes fall to my mouth, watching me chew.

When I’m finished, I lick my lips and lift my napkin to wipe my mouth. “What do you think of it?”

He averts his gaze and smirks.

“What?” I ask.

He frowns as he drops his fork, sits back in his seat, and takes a deep breath, running his hands over his thighs under the table. Then he’s looking back up at me. “I’m not a fan of chocolate flavored things. Chocolate on its own is good, but brownies or cake? Not so much.”

“So, you don’t like chocolate cake?”

“Not really.” He scrunches his nose.

I laugh under my breath, realizing he only agreed after I’d suggested ordering it. I tip my head to the side. “What type of cake is your favorite, then?”

“Coconut.”

I grin. Then I start laughing out loud. It feels good.

“Is that funny?” he asks, staring at me with those shining blue eyes of his.

My world spins the longer I stare at them and my laughter fades. The longer we’ve been sitting here, the more comfortable I’ve become. I’m enjoying Holt’s company.

“It isn’t funny. There’s nothing wrong with coconut cake.” I shake my head and shrug. “Just surprising.”

“Well, I just shared something personal about me. Your turn.”

A familiar ache builds between us, and I reach up, touching my necklace again. “I’m really not that interesting. There’s nothing to tell.”

“That’s a lie but, here, I’ll make it easier for you.” Holt pauses. “What’s the story with Adam?”

“Easy, huh?” I relax with a sigh. “There is no story.”

He tips his head forward as if he doesn’t believe me. He must know its bullshit after I practically begged him to get himself into a bidding war with Adam.

Holt’s brown strands of hair hang just above his eyebrows, and I want to run my fingers through them. I imagine tugging on them with his face between my legs, relieving the constant ache I’ve felt since he stepped out of his car to pick me up outside the flower shop.

I relax in my seat and tuck my hair behind my ear, working out the best way to navigate this conversation.

“Adam was the first guy I’d dated in years.”

I wait for Holt to react, but he doesn’t say or do anything.

Sighing, I continue. “Being with him was like trying to date that boyfriend from high school, only to realize he never grew up. Nothing changed. He reminded me why I swore off dating all together.”

“Why have you sworn off dating?”

The four walls of the restaurant close in on me. Panic sets in, forcing my breathing to hitch. Then there’s an echo of not only one gun shot, but two. I close my eyes and bite back the tears threatening to form.

Memories are weapons. Weapons used against you in the future to keep you from moving on with life. That’s what this one has done time and time again.

“Doesn’t matter, really,” I murmur, shaking the chill from my body.

Thankfully, Holt seems to accept my answer with no further interrogation.

“My turn.” I clear my throat.

“I’m all ears.” I feel his foot inching towards mine under the table.

The tip of his shoe meets the tip of my heel, and my pulse ticks up. No, it practically leaps so hard I think it might tear straight through my flesh and fall onto my chocolate cake, crumb-coated plate.

“How are you…” I swallow thickly. “How are you, um, feeling after the news of Rome’s lawsuit broke?”

“Oh.” He visibly deflates but considers my question. “It’s been a shitshow at the magazine, but I have my team tasked with figuring out who wrote the article.”

“I thought it was anonymous?”

“It is, but there’s always a paper trail,” he says, coolly. “I’ll find out who wrote it.”

“What will you do?”

Holt shrugs. “I plan on showing it to Rome in the hopes it will get him to drop the lawsuit. Hopefully, I can convince the author to own up to it.”

“Are you sure that will work?” I ask, the reality of this lawsuit hitting me. I can see the turmoil it’s causing Holt just by having this conversation.

“It’s my only hope.” A small smile appears. “The Capuletis and Montgomerys may be sworn enemies, but I still know how to handle a crisis situation.”

“Confident, huh?” I smirk and raise my wine glass, only to realize it’s empty. Holt catches on and pours what’s left of our second bottle into my glass.

“Always,” Holt says, lifting his gaze up to mine as he sets the empty bottle down, then relaxes back in his chair. “My turn. Tell me I was right.”

His words are like a bolt of lightning. “Right about what?”

“I was right about our kiss. You enjoyed it.” There his voice goes again, slipping over me like weighted velvet.

“Holt…” I avert my gaze. I can’t look at him. The longer I do, the more I feel like he can see too much.

“If you did – and I know you did – it’s okay to admit it.”

I dart my attention back to him. He’s leaning closer, shoving his empty plate forward. It clinks against the tiny votive candle at the end of its life. His foot has now found its way next to mine, the toe of his shiny black shoe slipping along the inside of my arch.

“But knowing you did makes this all the easier to ask.”

“Ask me what?” I gulp.

“I know you’ve sworn off dating but… why not date me?”

I gasp. “What?”

My heart is racing a million miles a minute. I’m almost certain it’s about to be stripped from my chest at this point. I nervously look down at my plate, expecting to see my heart sitting in front of me, taking its last few beats before flatlining and becoming nothing more than a dead organ.

“Date you?”

“Well…” Holt tosses his head side to side, his eyes shifting to the side. “Help me keep up the appearance of dating me.”

My world collapses around me.

I’ve been so busy paying attention to Holt and this bubble we’ve made for ourselves, I haven’t taken the time to notice the rest of the world around me.

More eyes have turned toward us. The restaurant is packed, and I get the feeling it isn’t unusual for a place as famous as this. But what isn’t usual is the amount of phones pointed in our direction, followed by quick clicking sounds.

Heat radiates across my body, and I feel like I’m standing on stage again with all the hushed murmurs and peering eyes directed at Holt and me.

“You want me to fake date you?” I whisper, bitterness quickly filling me mouth.

Why am I crushed by this idea?

I’ve spent the past ten years holding onto one rule: I will never date. I will never allow myself to fall in love or to even feel a tinge of it. Adam was a test. But now, here I am, sitting in front of Holt, crushed because he’s asking me to fake date him.

“The lawsuit has tarnished my reputation in the worst way. It’s a PR disaster, and I’m working on getting that ironed out,” he explains, matter-of-factly. “But ever since the other night at the auction, being with you…”

I glance around us again. “Everyone is looking at us.”

“Yeah.”

I pull my foot away from his, slinking back into my chair. Disappointment consumes me, and I don’t have the energy to hide it. “You want to use me for a PR boost?”

“Wallflower…” He presses his lips together. The mood has shifted. We’ve gone from hot to cold in a matter of seconds.

“Why do you call me that?” I can’t think straight. Fire simmers under my skin, and I can’t tell if it’s from the sudden shift between us or if I’m angry with myself for feeling like this. I shouldn’t care what Holt thinks of me. I shouldn’t care that he’s only using me to restore his reputation.

I don’t fall for anyone. I won’t allow myself.

“Why do you keep calling me Wallflower?” I repeat through gritted teeth.

Ten seconds of silence pass between us before he’s rolling his eyes dramatically and groaning as he scoots down in his seat a little farther to dig his phone from the pocket of his pants. He flicks his thumb across the screen, then freezes. His eyes widen, and he lifts his hand to massage his mouth. I have no idea what message he’s reading, but I can tell it isn’t something he was expecting.

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I need to go.”

He won’t even look in my direction. Even as he waves to our server for the check, who barely has a chance to drop the bill before Holt’s whipping out a slate-black credit card.

Then he’s swiftly escorting us out of the restaurant and back to the roof.

This time when we step into the elevator, we aren’t alone. There are already four others in the lift. Holt escorts me in first as he orders the attendant to press the button for the roof level. The three others eye us before turning their attention back to the phones in their hands.

Once we’re inside, I stop and turn as Holt moves to stay behind me. His back is pressed against the mirrored wall, and I stay at least a foot in front of him. There is distance between us, but I can still feel his heated stare burning my back.

My mind is swimming with wine and the conversation we left at the table.

I can’t piece together what I’m feeling. No matter how hard I try, my mind is too scattered. It feels like the first time I looked at my blank document, unable to put the words that were in my mind to fruition.

I inhale a shaky breath when the elevator suddenly stops on the second floor, then I dart my attention to the panel of buttons and see more than half of them are lit.

This is going to be a long elevator ride.

On the second level, two of the four get off, but another group of five joins us. The elevator fills, and a hand grips my hip from behind, tugging me backward. My back hits Holt’s chest, and I’m gasping for air from the jolt of electricity. I’m frozen as his finger dips between the space of my vest and the top of my skirt. His mouth hits the shell of my ear.

“I call you Wallflower,” he whispers, “because that’s what you are, Selene. A wallflower.”

A shiver slivers down the back of my neck, wrapping around my stomach, then dipping to the point where his fingers touch the curve of my hip.

My eyes flutter before they pop back open, remembering where we are. A man stands in front of me, too close. It’s as if I’m in on a secret no one else knows other than Holt and me, but he’s touching me as if we’re alone.

I inhale an unsteady breath.

“But I see you. I’ve always seen you. You pretend to live in the shadows, quiet as a mouse, never making a show of yourself. But I see the fire inside you begging to be break free,” he whispers, his breath hitting my ear again. “Don’t make a sound, Wallflower.”

I breathe in as his hand slips farther into the front of my skirt. His entire palm is pressed against me, the tips of his fingers teasing my delicate flesh.

“If you want me to stop, I will,” he whispers, his fingers grazing over the front of my lacy thong.

I tilt my head, leaning into his mouth. It feels as if I’m caught under a spell. His voice and touch have done something to me. His explanation of my nickname, too. It feels as if I’m no longer in control of my thoughts or my heart. All I know is I don’t want him to stop.

This feels too fucking good.

I place my hand over his under my skirt and push it farther down.

I feel his mouth curving into a smirk against my ear.

“Good girl.” Then his fingers are shoving my thong aside and plunging inside me.

My jaw drops, and I slam back into Holt. He grunts as I press my ass against him, feeling his reaction to me. His cock swells, straining under his designer pants. He seems to relish in me being forward, countering him when he tries to push me, like two opposite ends of a magnet trying to come together.

His palm presses against me, adding pressure to my aching clit. I gasp again.

“Shh,” he breathes into my ear, stopping his hand. “We have thirty more levels before we make it to the top. If you so much as make a single peep, alerting anyone in this lift to what a naughty girl you are, there’ll be consequences. And because I know you’re thinking it, yes, it’ll be the same consequence I promised earlier. The second I have you alone, I’ll spank your ass until you’re begging me to relieve you of that tension you’ve kept to yourself for years.”

“Holt…” His name falls from my mouth, barely at a whisper.

“If you think dating me for appearances won’t come with its perks, I’ll tell you right now, you’re wrong.” He sinks his teeth into my ear before moving his hand. He uses his other to turn me slightly away from the people beside and in front of us. I’m terrified their eyes will drop and see that I’m being finger fucked inside this tight elevator.

As if Holt is reading my mind, he whispers, “Shit, Wallflower. Your pussy is as tight as this elevator.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, silently begging myself to calm down as I tuck my bottom lip under my teeth, biting down on it until it stings. His touch is lighting me from the inside out. It feels as if there’s been this ball of energy I’ve been carrying around, and every day that’s passed has made it heavier than the day before. But with one kiss and one touch, Holt has burst it wide open. I’m unraveling, and it’s terrifying.

The elevator continues to rise higher, and so do I. Holt’s fingers hook inside me, reaching a spot that even I haven’t been able to touch in God knows how long. I was with Adam only once in the weeks we were together, and I didn’t feel anything remotely close to what I’m feeling with Holt. He’s standing behind me, but I feel him all around me. His scent. His breath. His touch.

My lower stomach tightens, the strands weaving into a tense ball. I want to come. I’m fully aware of where we are, but I don’t want this to stop. I don’t want him to stop.

Rolling my hips, I grind against Holt’s hand, wanting more pressure. He catches on, riding my orgasm out until we’ve reached the top.

I’m wet as his fingers move in and out of me in slow, torturous strokes. I want him to move faster, wilder. I want him to work my clit expertly in time with his fingers, bringing me sweet relief. I need it. But I also know that if he does, the sound will be too loud. I’m dripping. My wetness coats his fingers and the entire space between my legs, covering my inner thighs.

Throughout the course of the ride up to the roof, the elevator has stopped and started too many times for me to count. As if I would be able to keep track anyway. But even through the transfer of people getting in and out, we always manage to stay concealed. We’re moved farther into the back corner, and when Holt pulls his fingers out of me long enough to pinch my clit, I slap my palm against the wall.

The group of people in the elevator turn their heads in our direction, but I’ve already turned my hips to the side where they can’t see Holt’s hand plunged down the front of my skirt. My chest stills, and I freeze, but Holt’s chest still moves against me, forcing me to stay upright. I’m practically boneless, melting under his touch.

Slowly, one by one, everyone turns back to their phones or to face forward, a few clearing their voices. Someone even sneezes. I chew on the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to act normal. As if having a man’s fingers plunged so deep inside you in a packed elevator is completely normal.

Once everyone has diverted their attention away from the two of us, Holt slips his fingers over my clit and back inside me. He slowly starts working me in and out again. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. And his hand. His back. Even his mouth still resting against the shell of my ear.

He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Close call, Wallflower. You almost risked getting us caught.”

God, his voice.

His voice has the heat quickly returning to my stomach. I curl my toes against the toe of my heels, pressing my hand to the wall to steady me.

I’m close to coming. I’m going to come all over Holt’s hand. I start to panic, wondering if I’ll be able to stifle my cries once it comes. I feel it cresting. I’m at the top of the peak. I’m toe to toe with the edge of a cliff. All I need to do is step out and I’ll be falling. I’m practically there when Holt abruptly tears his hand away from me. My eyes snap open, and the elevator doors open with them, the group surrounding us leaving quickly. We’re one level from the roof now, and the only ones left aside from the elevator attendant.

I feel the absence of Holt immediately, silently cursing the universe for denying me an orgasm. Or was it Holt?

I’m left gasping for air when he brings his mouth to my ear again and whispers, “There’ll be punishment for your indiscretion later, Wallflower. Don’t worry.”

I want to tell him he’s already punished me. He pulled me toward the edge of the cliff but jerked me back at the last second. My body is screaming at me, weeping for not getting the gratification of release.

Once we reach the roof, Holt reaches for my hand and gives a courtesy nod to the elevator attendant before leading us to his helicopter waiting. He helps me get buckled in as he did on the way here, but this time is different. He doesn’t offer up jokes on my fear of flying. He doesn’t offer me reassurances, either. We don’t speak about what happened in the elevator. In fact, we don’t speak another word the entire flight. It’s as if his mind is somewhere else, not completely tethered to me in the here and now.

Sensing his shift, I don’t press him. He simply stares out the window in silence until we land back at his place.

After stepping out, Holt asks his driver to take me home.

I crumble when he wraps his arm around my waist, his hand resting on the base of my spine. He pulls me toward him and places a gentle kiss to my forehead. He lingers for a few seconds, his lips causing electricity to crackle along my skin before he’s bringing his mouth to the shell of my ear and whispering, “I’ll text you later, Wallflower.”

Then he breaks our connection.

He doesn’t come with me. He doesn’t give me a proper kiss goodbye. He doesn’t even give me the punishment he promised when we were alone.

Once I’m finally home, lying in my bed, staring at the ever-growing crack in the ceiling, I toss and turn. I turn so much, I end up tangled in the sheets.

Disappointment over how the night ended eats me up inside. It shouldn’t. I don’t do love. I don’t fall for anyone. Ever.

But if that’s true, then why can I not stop thinking about Holt’s touch and how him calling me Wallflower made me feel like this? Why did I allow myself to cross this invisible line? What would Julianna think if she knew how far her brother and I went tonight? Is Holt feeling the same disappointment?

Probably not, because even if he did, I could never trust it to be true.

Everything has changed. Or maybe nothing has at all.

Maybe it was all a dream, and when I wake up in the morning, the echo of his touch across my skin will have finally disappeared.