"I don't understand," he says, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. "When did you post these?"The candid shots I've posted to Richard's Instagram since yesterday — him stolid and suited in front of the dark, rainy window; him bent over his laptop, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, expression bare and stern and surprisingly vulnerable; and one of him almost, almost visibly anxious, hand in his dark curls, eyes narrowed on a video call just out of focus — have absolutely blown up."You have six hundred new followers," I say, showing him and ignoring the question. Sea water still drips from his hair and mine, and we're huddled (far, far too close) under the sailboat awning, wind whipping over the little vessel as the assistant pilot steers us back toward Villa Bijou."And far fewer hate comments than usual. And a dozen unsolicited nudes from variously attractive models." This last bit I say with humor, but feel the barest pinch of something like embarrassment, or worse — envy."This is the kin

"You've got to be kidding me."I sigh as I look into the sleek, white cardboard box. The fabric inside is midnight black, glowing faintly red when I turn it toward the light. "He bought me a dress?"But even as I express my discontent, my mind is wandering, wondering, what would it feel like to let him take it off?No. Way. In. Hell. I shake myself, but I don't have time to dawdle. I quickly change, tying up my hair and applying a scant amount of makeup. When I see my reflection, my breath hitches.The girl in the mirror, she actually, impossibly, looks beautiful. The dress is stunning and tasteful, likely outrageously expensive. It falls above the knee, and the straps are thin as wires.It makes me look younger than I've felt in years. Suddenly, all I can think about is what Richard will say when he sees me in it.People have already started arriving, It's a (reasonably) small party, only fifty people, every last one of them flown discreetly to the island on private jets. Just about

He takes my face in his hands and pulls me roughly against him, conquering my mouth with his. My gasp is swallowed by his lips, his velvet, practiced, perfect lips — his impossible lips. I can't be kissing him!Electricity floods my body, slashing through the haze of too many whiskeys and a foolish tumble into the pool. Richard's shadowed face when he caught me shivering with Blake — I thought it was outrage, or indignance, or shame, or annoyance. But it wasn't, was it?It was something far more impossible.It was jealousy.Richard's hands drag down my body, halting briefly to cup my breasts in a firm, over-confident way that makes me groan, desperate and weak, against his mouth. His palms leave lines of fire down my sides, my hips, my thighs. Then his dexterous, slender hands catch the hem of my dress and wrench it up."Richard," I gasp, and he bites my lip, hard. Pain and pleasure pull inside of me like a trigger — I could melt. Okay, my mind and body say suddenly. Just once, just o

The days after the party pass without conflict. Slowly, Richard's guests begin to leave the island, after stopping in throughout the week for meals, drinks, tennis, beach visits and sailing excursions. Richard is slick with all of them, a monolith of unshakeable wealth, taste, and power.But he's not without cause.Slowly, he incorporates my advice and direction into his conversation with the rich and famous. He's been keeping a finger on the pulse of the markets, cushioning blows to his own stocks while prowling for new investments. He's born for it, with an arsenal of knowledge that leaves me stunned, and a keen instinct that continues to justify his unimaginable wealth.But understanding that caring for the public will help his image, he's gotten loads of his fancy friends to direct funding to areas in need. I think it's all about the good press — but maybe, just maybe, deep down Richard Platton does care about others. It's far too early to tell, but the benefit of his donations do

His room seems even bigger than it did that drunken night. I hover in the doorway in my dress and cheap heels, trying not to tremble. He paces out of the bathroom, loosening his tie, casting it onto a chaise longue in the corner."Come," he repeats, gesturing for me to go to him.I know I'm insane. I've lost my mind. Out of control — something I know I have never been.But I go to him.He stands before me, unbuttoning his shirt, expression shadowed and controlled, eyes blazing. "Lie on the bed."My heart lurches. "Mr. Platton — ""The bed."Pulse vibrating in every vein, I do as he says, retreating to the expansive bed, set with beautiful cream-colored linen fabrics, and sit."Good." He slides the collared shirt off, revealing that glowing, impossibly flawless body. I bite my cheek hard, but with nothing else to do or say or look at, I can't help but drink him in. Ripped chest, stacked abs, a prominent V curving... "Go on."I look up at his face, startled, as he approaches me. He take