The nightmares would return in full force. Hell, I could already feel them poking at me, like jabs from behind a dark curtain.

Could I take three weeks of this without needing to break free?

I could if I was in Evan’s arms—I was certain of it.

Without him, though …

Without him, I was terrified of simply crashing.

But that wasn’t the only reason that Kat’s proposal enticed me. The truth was, I simply wanted the man. Wanted him, and was certain that he wanted me, too.

I remembered the way I’d felt when he’d stood close to me in the elevator, the way the air had vibrated between us. The scent of him. The presence of him.

And then I remembered the way he’d shut me down. The way he’d shut us both down.

I shook my head. “I don’t know …”

“What’s not to know? It’s not like you’re going to get arrested—though you may end up on a surveillance tape.”

“Oh, like that’s an enticement?”

She ignored my half-assed protest. “And since he’s already said no once, if he says it again, you’re in the exact same place. And if he says yes, you’re golden, right? I mean, honestly, Angie, what have you got to lose?”

I remembered the feel of his hands upon me in the alley, the way my body had fired and opened to him.

I remembered the smell of cocoa when he handed me the mug, and how the soft glow in his eyes had warmed me even more than the liquid. I remembered the way I’d come awake the next morning, clear and crisp and nightmare free.

What did I have to lose?

That was easy—nothing.

Nothing, that is, except my heart.

It turns out that the whole “go after Evan Black” plan was a little more complicated than I’d anticipated, primarily because I had no idea how to get in touch with him other than through his office. I’d done that, leaving a message with his assistant through the automated voicemail system. Since I didn’t immediately get a call back—and I fully expected him to ignore the message—I decided to scour the entire condo in the hopes of finding his personal cell number. Then I’d cross my fingers and hope he’d answer.

Too bad for me, I found diddly-squat. Not one single number for Evan, Cole, or Tyler. I did find the mother lode of family photo albums in the bottom drawer of Jahn’s bedside table, and I spent two solid hours sitting on his bed and thumbing through them, soaking up the memories and feeling melancholy.

Most of the pictures were of people I vaguely recognized but didn’t know by name. Grandparents who’d passed away before I was born and third cousins I’d met only at various graduations, weddings, and funerals. But two of the albums focused on my little corner of the family. There were pictures of me and Gracie at the Kenilworth house. Me and Gracie on a sailboat in the middle of the lake. Me and Gracie at Disneyland.

My mom and dad were in all of the pictures that featured me and Gracie, but there were earlier pictures, too. Pictures without either of us that looked old enough to be from before even Gracie was born. My mom was in all of those photos, my dad in very few. In some, Jahn stood beside my mother, his arm around her as she leaned against him, smiling and radiant.

I wondered if my father was the one behind the camera, but I had a strange feeling that he wasn’t. Instead, I had the feeling that I was a voyeur. That I’d stumbled on something I wasn’t supposed to know about.

Feeling melancholy, I closed the albums, put them back in the drawer, and made a mental note to mail them to my mom.

I poked around a bit more in Jahn’s bedroom and found a battered address book that included Evan’s name, but when I dialed, I heard only the message that the number had been disconnected. I would have called the office and talked to Jahn’s secretary, but it was Saturday, and this hardly seemed like the kind of thing I should bother her at home for.

I was about to ditch the whole thing and give Flynn or Kat a call, when I realized there was one more place I could check. I reached for my phone, searched the Internet for Destiny, and dialed.

“Destiny,” a woman’s voice crooned. “Where your fantasy is our pleasure.”

“Um, yeah. Hi.”

“How can I help you?” She sounded perfectly polished while I sounded like an idiot.

“I’m looking for Evan Black. Could you tell me if he’s there right now?”

“I’m sorry, we don’t expect Mr. Black for another hour. Can I have him return the call?”

“Oh. Um, no. Thanks, but I’ll just call back.”

I stabbed my thumb on the button to end the call feeling a bit like I’d just done espionage. I did, however, now have a plan.

I glanced down at myself, and realized I was still wearing yoga pants and the Northwestern T-shirt I’d bought my freshman year. Not exactly appropriate attire for a strip club. Then again, I had no idea what one wore to a so-called gentleman’s club, and though I’d had the chance to find out in college, I’d manage to completely blow that opportunity.

My roommate sophomore year had thought it would be a hoot for a group of us to check out a strip club, and she’d set her sights on Destiny, which she’d heard was the biggest, nicest, least sleazy strip club in the area.

I’d been desperately curious, not only because I knew the knights owned the place, but also because I was dying to know what went on inside a club like that. Were the women completely nude? How exactly did a lap dance work? And were there really private rooms where guys went for a three-martini lunch and a blow job?

And, though I hadn’t shared this little tidbit with my friends, I also wanted the kindling to fuel my imagination. Because even though I didn’t really know what went on inside a gentleman’s club, I’d read enough and seen enough movies and TV to know that at the very least there would be girls doing sexy dances and getting guys hot. Teasing and titillating and being rewarded with bills in their G-strings and the high of adrenaline.

I told myself I only wanted to go and watch and stoke my own fantasies. But it’s not easy to lie to yourself, and the truth was I didn’t want the fantasy, I wanted the rush, and I was afraid that with enough coaxing and enough liquor, I might give in if my friends pushed me up on that stage, expecting me to squeal and blush and rush away. I might surprise them with how much I enjoyed gyrating to the music. With how much it turned me on to know that all those men’s eyes were on me, but they weren’t allowed to touch.

The whole idea got my juices flowing just a little too much, and in the end I backed out. I claimed that I had a paper to write. But really, I was simply determined not to do anything to risk my reputation as a girl who had her shit together and played by the rules.

Tonight, though, I was tossing those rules aside. And that opened the door to a lot of interesting possibilities.

I mean, if nothing else, it was time to have a little fun with my wardrobe.

twelve

I ended up dressing in a sheer, white short-sleeved blouse over a blood-red bra. I paired it with a black circle skirt that hit mid-thigh, sexy and flirty and—if I do say so myself—totally hot.

I finished the outfit with strappy black sandals with four inch heels and a small red purse to tie the whole thing together. I’d spent more time than I liked to admit debating about my wild, thick hair—always my nemesis—and ended up piling it on top of my head and letting a few tendrils hang down in what I hoped was a provocative manner.

Finally, I’d kept my makeup simple, highlighting my lips in red and my eyes in a smoky gray.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror and assessed the result of my efforts. I needed to be prepared. Confident. Sexy.

I wanted him to look at me and get hard. I wanted him to look at me and regret walking away.

Most of all, I wanted him to look at me like he didn’t even see the clothes I was wearing, and then I wanted this outfit that I’d so carefully selected to be wrinkled on the floor, tossed negligently there as Evan pulled me down into his bed.