He slides his hand up and starts unbuttoning my jeans.

"Tell me to stop," he says. "Tell me you don't want this."

I do the exact opposite: I lift my hips and help him peel my jeans down my legs, my body moving like it's in a trance.

"Why?" I squeak.

Why on earth would I do that? Why would anyone feel this man's hands on their skin and tell him to stop? I can't imagine a straight woman alive who's foolish enough to turn this down.

He grips my panties and yanks them down, leaving me naked from the waist down on the small counter. But I'm so fixated watching him unzip his pants and pull out his gloriously thick cock that I can't find the energy to be embarrassed.

"Because if you don't," he says, gripping his length and pressing himself against my entrance, "I'm going to fuck you until you scream so loud that everyone on this plane can hear you."

I can't help gasping and sputtering like a fish on dry land. "I... I... I..."

Distantly, I can feel the plane still trembling. I know that all my problems will still exist when we're back on the ground.

But right now, I'm flying high.

And I want to make the most of it before I land.

I wrap my arms around his neck. "I want this."

In one thrust, Nikolai pushes inside of me. I tip my head back against the mirror and moan.

"I knew you'd be tight," Nikolai grits out.

"I knew you'd be big."

Nikolai pulls back and smiles down at me. "Maybe you do know all the right things to say, after all."

I smile, but then he slides out and thrusts back into me, and just like that, I can't smile anymore. Or talk. Or think.

His massive hands palm my thighs, hooking my legs around his waist as he fills me with one savage thrust after another. Then he slides his hand between us again, his thumb circling over my clit, and a jolt of electricity courses through me.

"Oh my God," I moan.

"You like that?" he asks, his voice rough.

I don't say anything. I'm too busy falling to pieces in his hand. So he asks again.

"Do you like that, Belle?"

The way he says my name, his tongue languishing over the double L... It's the sexiest thing I've ever heard.

"Tell me," he commands. "Tell me what you like. What you want."

"Yes," I gasp. "I like... all of it. You. I like it."

His thumb is moving over me faster now, flicking and massaging until I'm seeing stars.

"That's not good enough. You need to tell me exactly what you want."

The pressure is ratcheting up higher and higher, and all I want is... is...

"I want to come," I gasp.

He thrusts into me to the hilt. "Then do it. Come for me like a good girl."

Oh, for the love of God.

I break.

My orgasm is like the sun coming through the clouds after a rainstorm. It happens suddenly and there's no stopping it, no dimming it.

I moan, my muscles contracting and releasing. Cries of pleasure climb up my throat.

Nikolai clamps his hand over my mouth, swallowing my shouts until I'm limp against him. My body is spent, but when I look down, he's still hard.

I frown. "It... it didn't happen for you?"

"Don't worry." He brushes his thumb-the same thumb that sent me over the edge-across my lower lip. "It will."

Then he tears me off the counter and spins me around so I'm facing the mirror, Nikolai floating like a golden angel over my shoulder. He grips my hips and slides into me again.

The angle is different and my mouth falls open. I lean forward, taking him deeper, wanting more and more and all of him.

Distantly, I'm aware of the plane's vibrations, of the fact that dozens of passengers are sitting mere feet away with just a rickety plastic door between us. But the world has narrowed to encompass only this. Only this room. Only us.

My anxiety and fear are gone, pounded out of me by the man with the silver eyes.

"They'll hear us," I whimper.

"Let them." Nikolai drives into me harder. "I want this whole plane to hear you come again."

"It's never happened for me twice." I'm almost embarrassed to admit it. Then again, I'm bent over a sink in front of a stranger. Maybe nothing is embarrassing anymore.

Nikolai smirks in the mirror. "First time for everything."

He wraps his hand around my leg and lifts my knee up to the corner of the sink. I'm still trying to get situated when he slides all the way out of me and then slams into the hilt.

"Oh my God," I moan. "It's so-"

"Deep," he breathes.

With every thrust, he's touching places inside of me that have never been touched. My thighs start to quiver and before I can properly prepare myself, another orgasm is rocketing through me.

This one is even more powerful than the last. My muscles contract, my body clamping down around Nikolai's length.

And then I feel the handsome stranger pulsing into me.

He grunts as he drives all the way in. His sounds and his thrusts fade little by little until there's just the white noise of the roaring engines and my own panting breath.

When we're done, I hurry to put my leg down and stand up. Warning bells are going off in my head.

What have I done? Who have I done?

He could be married. Or a murderer. He could be a married murderer. Nikolai might not even be his real name!

The same panic that was just sexed out of me starts to creep back in, but I swallow it down.

I feel warmth flowing down the inside of my legs, the evidence of what we've done painted between my thighs.

Nikolai zips his pants and reaches for the door handle. "Get dressed and we'll leave together."

He stares at me while I wipe off my legs and tug on my jeans. Whatever boldness had briefly possessed me, it's gone now. I'm a walking, talking blush.

"Okay," I say softly once I've fixed my lipstick in the mirror and smoothed down my hair. "I'm ready."

Nikolai opens the door without looking at me. The flight attendants are moving about the cabin now. At some point while we were in there, the seatbelt light turned off. An older woman with curly gray hair is waiting outside the bathroom door. If she overheard anything that happened inside, she doesn't make it known.

I follow Nikolai down the center aisle. When he reaches his seat, I nearly follow him, before I remember where I'm supposed to sit.

I hesitate for a second, waiting to see if he'll look up at me and offer a smile or a wave. Some kind of recognition for what we just did together in the bathroom.

But he doesn't look up.

And as pathetic as I may be sometimes, I'm not desperate enough to embarrass myself by begging for his attention.

So I keep walking to my seat.

Before I sit, I glance at the row behind me where Elise is sitting. She has her legs curled up underneath her and her head resting on her folded-up sweatshirt. She's fast asleep. Looks like she has been for a while.

"Figures," I mumble. I shake my head and drop down into my chair.

I can still see Nikolai's squared jaw from back here, but he looks farther away than ever. If it wasn't for the ache between my legs, I could believe it was all a dream.

Maybe it would be better that way. For the Handsome Stranger to fade away like a dream you can barely remember after waking.

Maybe then everything that happened next wouldn't have hurt so bad.

BELLE

If the plane ride was a dream, the hotel is a nightmare.

"You can't expect me to sleep here." Elise draws away from the bed like she's afraid it'll swallow her whole.

I don't entirely blame her. The comforter is threadbare, the pattern faded. The thin carpet looks clean enough, but it feels sticky against my feet. And the porcelain in the bathroom is tinged yellow in a way that makes my skin crawl.

"It's not that bad."

Her eyes bug out. "Belle!"

"What?" I snap. "What do you want me to do about it? This is the place my company booked for us to stay."

"You mean Roger."

"Yes, Roger. My boss. He booked the rooms and this is where we're staying."

Elise crosses her arms. "I don't know why I'm being punished, too. I'm not the one who turned him down."

"I'm not being punished."

That's a lie. It is entirely like Roger to make my life at work hell because I won't sleep with him. Elise is right-I should report him to HR or something.

But fuck, I need this job. I needed it before Elise lived with me, but now, I definitely can't be toeing the poverty line while I'm responsible for a teenager.

Elise deserves something resembling stability for once in her life. I have to be that something.

Which means I have to put up with handsy assholes in order to secure a paycheck. There are worse things in the world. I'm tough; I can survive. I've survived for a long time just to make it here.

Elise spins around and throws open the curtains to the only window. Immediately, we're greeted with a stunning view of... the graffitied, soot-stained brick building next door.

"You're right. This doesn't look like a prison cell at all," she drawls. "This place is great. Ten stars."

I groan and rummage through my suitcase. "I'd love it if you could at least pretend to have a good time while we're here."

Elise studies the bed for a moment before changing her mind and perching on the edge of the armchair in the corner. A puff of dust rises out of the cushions, swirling around in the dingy light coming through the window.

"But I'm not having a good time," she pouts.

"You've made that abundantly clear. That's why I said 'pretend.' I have to be here for work, so let's just get through this and then we can go home, okay?"

"To your apartment, you mean?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Teenagers are people, too. My sister has been through a hard time. It's not her fault. I need to cut her some slack.

Did I really expect her to be excited about having her own room and thank me every day for giving her a warm bed to sleep in? Well, maybe. But I'm wiser and less idealistic now.

I release the breath in a whistle between pursed lips. "Yes. To my apartment. Where you now live. We won't be here long. Maybe a week."

"A week?" Elise exclaims. "I thought it was only three days!"

"Oh, you don't listen when I ask you how your day was, but you listen when I explain our travel itinerary?"

I slip out of my jeans-the jeans that still smell like Handsome Stranger-and pull on a pair of black, high-waisted slacks. If the clock above the television is right, I have twenty minutes to get across town to the offices of Zhukova Incorporated.

"Belle!" Elise cries out. "Answer me!"

I shrug on a pale pink blouse and button it. "Anyway-yes, a week. That original three-day plan was from before Roger bailed on me. Now, I'm doing this on my own. It's for a big company, and things might take longer."

"Call someone to come help," she practically begs. "Like... like Georgia. She's your friend."

"She's my coworker." The admission feels embarrassing. I really need more friends. "And no. I'm doing this alone. Can I trust you to stay here while I'm gone?"

Elise huffs, pouting her lower lip out. She looks so much like our mom when she pouts, but with her dad's reddish blonde hair and green eyes. It makes me shiver every time.

"What am I supposed to do for food?"

I pull a twenty out of my purse and leave it on the TV stand. "You can walk to the bodega on the corner and then back again. No further."

She snatches the money off the table and shoves it in her back pocket.

"Understood?" I ask.

She tosses me a mock salute. "Sir, yes, sir."

I hate leaving things like this. I hate that I have to play the role of her parent. That we can't be normal sisters who fight over clothes and watch movies together.

But there isn't time to sort through any of that. I'm already running late as it is.

"Good. I have to go."

I grab my purse and toss my phone, a water bottle, and my laptop inside. Then I hurry out the door.

Just before I close it, I pop my head back into the room. "I love you, E."

Elise sighs. "Love you, too, B."

For now, that will have to do.

I'm finally standing in front of the building that houses Zhukova Incorporated. Sweaty and panting, but here. No thanks to the New York City Transit Authority or the millions of yellow cabs that drove right past my waving arms.

My phone rings. I answer it in an exhausted daze.

"I can't talk right now, Georgia," I mutter, shoving the phone between my ear and shoulder as I dig through my purse for a napkin or scrap of paper to dab the sweat from my forehead.

"Then why did you answer?"

"Because I... shit, I don't know."

"Is it because you're having a heart attack?" she asks. "Are you delirious?"

I decide a panty liner is as good as anything and mop up my face. "I don't know how subways work. Or how to wave down a taxi."

"Roger has been to New York a million times. Why didn't you ask him for help?"

"Because I don't see how he'd be any help from Aruba." The words come out exactly as bitterly as I feel.

The line goes silent, and I wait. Finally, Georgia hisses into the phone. "That asshat is in Aruba? What the fuck? He's supposed to be on this trip with you!"

"I know. He called this morning and bailed right before I got on the plane."

"Shit," Georgia says. "So you're handling this project alone?"

"Unless you want to hop on a plane and come help me?" I'm joking, but just barely. I'd love Georgia's help.

I was being honest when I told Elise that Georgia is just a coworker. But she's still the closest thing to a friend I have. I've only been in Oklahoma City for eight months, two of which revolved around getting Elise settled in my apartment. My social circle is less of a circle and more of a dot.

Georgia cackles. "I've done my time at Zhukova Inc., thank you very much. That's probably why Roger bailed for an island vacation. The owner is a hardass."

"I wish everyone would stop saying that."

"It's true. Most of these places want to butter up to the accountants, you know? They cater in lunch and stop by to chat, show you pictures of their kids or whatever. But Zhukova is run like a military base."

I look up at the silver building. It gleams like a bullet, disappearing into the bright blue sky above. "Have you met the owner?"

"No. When I was there two years ago, I spoke with the VP. The owner wouldn't deign to see me. He just issues written memos from his office. Like he's a villain in a Bond film or something, lurking in the shadows."

"What kind of memos?"

"Mostly telling me to hurry up," Georgia snorted. "Apparently, I wasn't moving fast enough. He ended up sending down some of the in-house accountants to help out and rush me along."

I frown. "That kind of ruins the integrity of the audit, doesn't it?"

"When you get in there, you'll understand. Whatever it takes to get done fast, do it. Then come back and tell me all about it. When you get home, we'll go out for drinks, okay? You'll need 'em."

"Yeah, definitely." I smile and then hear the church a few blocks down chime the hour. "Shit. It's three o'clock already. I'm so late. I have to go."

"Good luck and godspeed," Georgia says.

I hang up with her and hurry into the building. The first elevator is crammed full, so I wait three more minutes for an open one and then zip up to the thirty-fifth floor.

As soon as the doors open, I'm facing a rounded wooden desk with "Zhukova Incorporated" emblazoned on the side in gold letters. The woman behind the desk has sleek black hair and a long, narrow face with impossibly high cheekbones. She looks like she could have a second career in modeling.

"Appointment?" she asks in a flat voice.

"Oh, um... Yes. Well, no." I smile awkwardly. "I'm here to do the audit. My boss, Roger, was supposed to be with me, but-"

"Belle Dowan," she interrupts. "Follow me."

She stands up, her fitted pencil skirt hugging her skinny waist and closely following the swell of her hips. The woman is stupid gorgeous. I have a hard time keeping up with her as she sashays down the hallway.

Finally, she stops outside of an office door and raps her knuckles against the wood. A second later, she opens the door.

"Arnold? Belle Dowan is here to see you for the audit."

If someone told me the woman was a robot rigged with a library of pre-recorded messages, I'd believe them. She sounds lifeless.

An equally lifeless "Enter" sounds from inside the office. The woman waves me into the room and then closes the door behind me.

I have to blink against the sudden gloom. It's like stepping into a dungeon.

"Sorry," Arnold says. "I'm sensitive to light."

I hear a chair spin and then I'm blinded a second time with piercing white light as he pulls the cord for his window shades.

"You're here for the audit, then," he remarks.

It's a statement, not a question. I stumble into the room, my eyes still trying to adjust.

"Yes." I grab the back of a leather chair and maneuver around it. "I'm Belle. A colleague, Roger, was supposed to be here with me, but due to... unforeseen circumstances, I'll be handling this audit alone."

"Is everything alright?"

Considering Roger is probably sipping on cocktails beachside right now, I'd say yeah, he's fine.

"He is." I force a smile. "Thanks for your concern."

Arnold clears his throat. "You won't suffer the same unforeseen circumstances?"

"I'm sorry?"

"We expect punctuality. Dependability. Loyalty." His eyes seem to glimmer on the last quality, lingering on me for a moment before he turns his attention to a stack of papers in sudden need of straightening on his desk.

I nod. "I understand. Absolutely. I know I'm running late today, but this is not standard for me. My flight got in this morning and then I couldn't get a taxi. I'll be better the rest of the week."

I can't tell whether Arnold is convinced or not, because he refuses to look at me. He grabs the stack from his desk and swivels around to tuck it in the filing cabinet behind him.

"You've worked on the audit prior to arriving here today, correct?"

I nod and then clear my throat. "Yes. I was one of... of many who participated in the early stages of the auditing process."

This isn't entirely true. Actually, it's not even a little bit true. Roger kept all of the files in his office. He let me work on some smaller clients, but he kept Zhukova Incorporated for himself. Today will be my first time seeing any of the paperwork or numbers.

"Great." He rifles through the folders in the file cabinet, pulling some out at random. "Then I'll need the finishing touches on this nonsense completed in three days. No later."

Thankfully, he is no longer looking at me because my jaw drops. "Three days?"

"That was the previously agreed-upon arrangement."

"Yes," I admit. "I know it was. But-"

"You've had six weeks prior to this with our documents," Arnold continues. "Did you do your job or not? I was under the impression that the week spent here was just putting finishing touches on everything."

"We did our job," I rush to explain. "It's just that... the timeline was set when my colleague was going to be here with me. Now, I'm working alone."

Arnold turns around and glowers. "That does not change the parameters of the job we hired you to do. Three days. It's not a negotiation."

I feel overwhelmed tears burning the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of this man. Not on my first day.

"Arnold-sir," I correct, "I may have misspoken slightly. My colleague handled many of the documents related to this audit. I'll need at least a day, maybe two, to review the information he has put together. To familiarize myself. Then I can begin the process."

"And the 'process' will take you...?"

"Three or four days, at least."

"I may not be some hoity-toity accountant like you," he says sarcastically, "but I am the Vice President of Financing. And I'm fairly sure that the two days of familiarizing and three days of processing... Well, that adds up to five days. Is that correct?"

I grit my teeth. "Yes, it is."

"Two days too many," he snarls. "Three is what you get. Like I said, it's not a negotiation."

If I slap this smug man in his face, I'll lose my job. Then again, maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

But as soon as the thought flits through my mind, I see Elise's face. And I take a deep breath.

"I understand you must have a schedule to keep," I tell him, "and I'm sorry if my company is playing a part in making your life more difficult. That's not our objective. But I simply can't do my job properly in three days."

Arnold leans back in his chair. The springs squeal. "Now, we reach the heart of the matter-your job. I'm sure you have your own idea of what that entails, but I think I have a solution that will see this job done in three days. Would you like to hear it?"

No. Double no. Triple no with a side of "fuck you."

But I nod. "Of course."

He smiles. "Our company does a lot of business. Money changes hands. It moves from one account to another. We gain it, we lose it. That's business."

"That's all businesses, as far as I've been able to tell."

Arnold's smile sharpens. "Yes. Well, it's understandable, then, that some of that money might... disappear."

"Disappear?"

"Disappear," he repeats. "Get lost in the shuffle of things. Do you understand?"

Holy shit. Yes, I understand. I understand perfectly.

This man is embezzling from Zhukova Incorporated.

My neck suddenly feels very hot.

Roger never trained me to handle something like this. These kinds of issues would normally be discovered while we're still working on the audit from our own offices. This isn't something that would be uncovered this late in the game.

But I haven't seen Zhukova's files yet. Roger has.

Suddenly, realization dawns. No wonder that asswipe is in Aruba.

He's a coward. He knew.

I paste on a thin smile. "Disappearances like that are the kinds of problems I'm supposed to find and account for. That's my job."

"Of course. You have your job, and I have mine. You're good at your job, I'm sure. And I'm good at mine. Would you agree?" Arnold asks.

I stiffen in the chair. The light from the windows seems like a spotlight now. Maybe that's why Arnold keeps his blinds pulled-so he can do his dirty deeds in the dark.

"That's what I'm going to find out during this audit," I say.

He laughs humorlessly. "Well, there's really no need for it. I'll tell you what I've told every auditor we've ever had: I'm a professional. Nothing happens in this company's accounts that I don't know about. So if you find unaccounted surpluses or losses, you can assume I already know. There's no reason to report any of it. Business can sometimes be messy, as I'm sure you know."

He gave this same speech to Roger? To Georgia?

And they agreed?

I study Arnold's face, trying to decide if this is some sort of test. He's just staring back at me, waiting.

"What you're asking me to do is illegal," I say flatly. "I'm going to do my job exactly as I've been trained. And if you've been doing yours, then there shouldn't be a problem."

He looks surprised I'm pushing back, but not rattled. I have a feeling it takes a lot to rattle a scumbag like this.

"You'll do as I say or you'll be replaced. I will send you home right now."

"You're one of our biggest clients," I blurt, even though I'm sure he already knows.

"And what do you think would happen, Miss Dowan, if you lost your company one of their biggest clients?"

I blink at him. "Are you blackmailing me?"