Temp

I turn the corner at the seaport and start to dig my keys out of my pocket.

Every time I walk down this stretch of cobblestone, the East River blowing my hair around, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for this place I get to live—and I experience that feather stroke of enjoyment now, despite my heavy mood. I love my little place on the river. My duplex consists of a ground floor studio where I create my dollhouses. Upstairs is a small bedroom and bathroom. A kitchenette. It’s tiny and minimalist. Mine. It’s just mine. No one clucking their tongue over what I choose to wear or eat or say. If I want a brownie for breakfast, I just go ahead and eat one. It’s glorious.

Of course, the name on the lease is Sarah Grimm and this place was only rented for me so I could have a convincing backstory to get in the door at Borden Enterprises. But I’m hoping my father will let me keep it after I confess to him that I failed.

Please let me keep it.

I almost slip on the wet sidewalk when I notice someone leaning up against my door.

Thunder booms in the distance, followed by a sizzle of electricity.

There is no one else in the street, except for a few brave joggers picking their way along the edge of the river. I’m alone. Soaked. This part of the city isn’t very high on crime, but men are a danger wherever you go, so I don’t dare venture any closer to the individual whose face is shielded by a black umbrella. Not when the sky is so bleak and dark and the rain shows no signs of letting up. All I can see is his expensive wingtips and black trench…

And somehow I know.

I know what the frenzy in my belly means. It’s Matthew Borden. He’s…here.

Why?

Is he…holding flowers?

Red roses. A dozen sleek ones, all the same length, tied in a white ribbon.

When his head whips toward me and I witness the flare of possession in his eyes, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. You didn’t imagine it. The connection between us startles me, even from this distance. Fifty yards. A moan is building in the back of my throat, brought on by the robust shape of his shoulders and the cut of his jaw. Those eyes pull me in. I’m walking toward him before I realize what’s happening, raindrops rolling down my face, soaking my clothing. I’m just summoned in his direction by an unseen force.

I’m in a trance.

He appears to be in one, too, but all at once, he breaks free of it and strides toward me in that precise, capable way he moves, holding the umbrella above my head and pulling me beneath it, up against his body in a hard collision of softness into muscle—and we both release a rocky exhale against each other’s mouths, his gaze dropping to where my wet breasts are crushed to his chest, my damp cleavage right there, for his eyes to feast on.

And he does.

I’m barely able to stand, his presence is so powerful. So potent and unplanned.

It’s all I can do to exist as he tucks the flowers under one arm, removes the pocket square from the jacket of his suit…and begins to dry off my face. Gently. My neck. And then he’s slowly dragging the white material over the rain-slicked slopes of my breasts, his mouth open as he does it. Breathing hard. Or is that me? Is that both of our harsh inhales and exhales drowning out the rain?

“You’re going to get sick, Sarah.”

Kaylee, I want to respond. Please call me Kaylee.

But I can’t. If he’s here, I might get a second chance at the temp position. I might still have a shot at making my father proud. Being useful to him. Of course, that means betraying this man, but I don’t have to think about that now. Not yet. It’s in the future. Not in the rainy, dreamlike landscape where only Matthew and I exist.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, biting my lip when he delves the pocket square beneath my neckline and it rasps over my nipple, stiffening it into a peak. Oh. Wow. “You really didn’t learn your lesson yesterday, d-did you?” I chatter.

He drags that very memorable tongue across the seam of his mouth. “What lesson was that?”

Lord. His voice is even more compelling than I remember. Dark, saturated velvet. “I left because you assumed I would give you permission with my body.” We both look down at the way he works the linen between the valley of my breasts. Down, down, deeper, until I’m gasping. “Now you’re taking it again without asking.”

Matthew swallows a sound in his throat, peering down at me through the rainy shadows. “Am I insane to feel your permission? Am I insane to act on it without thinking? I analyze everything else. Weigh my words. Second guess everyone’s intentions. But you…my hands just move to touch you like I’ve been given permission a thousand times before. I don’t think. My hands don’t give me a chance. They just want to be on you.”