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front of Chas’s brownstone and looked up at the building, recognizing that this beautiful estate was to be her battleground. She was a bit drunk, yes, but well aware of what she had done. Leveled the playing field. Given herself a night to remember. Thrown caution to the wind. And opened herself to possibility. Of what, exactly? she wondered. Of romance? Of sex? Neither. Or both. It reminded her of something her French great-aunt had said to her, shortly before she died. In broken English she had said, “You must to take ze pleasure of life.” Then she grabbed Susannah’s hand, her own hand shriveled like a claw. “Say it wis me, my sweet fille . You must to take ze pleasure of life. Promise me.” Susannah had smiled, tears in her eyes, until finally she said, “I promise, Aunt Geneviève. I promise to take the pleasure of life.”
    And here it was, suddenly laid out before her. The pleasure of life . Chas Palmer. His town house. His eyes. His biceps, for godsakes. Fuck it , she thought. Just once in my life, I want to throw caution to the wind and do whatever I want. But just to be safe, as well as loyal and honorable to her company, she sent a text to Jackson as Chas spoke to his driver.
    Enabling phone for tracking and audio. Don’t listen too close. Don’t worry. L
    And in a moment, she received the quick reply:
    Legs. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. That means you can do ALMOST anything. J
    She smiled, threw her phone in her purse, and followed Chas inside. The brownstone was almost as she remembered, except now it felt different, like a museum after hours. Quiet. Like a mausoleum, or a Buddhist temple. And startlingly beautiful in its veil of silence. Chas closed the door behind her with a satisfying click. She could feel him, walking up behind her as she stared up the stairs, felt him standing inches behind her, felt his hot gaze all over her as she almost imperceptibly arched toward him. And then, in the span of a heartbeat, he closed the space between them, fisting his hands in her hair and putting his mouth on the tender spot on her neck. She let out a startled moan. . . . How had he learned her so quickly? But he hadn’t learned everything yet, no, not yet. He was just off to a promising start.
    “I’ve wanted my hands on you since that first instant,” he breathed, “and now I want to taste each inch of you.”
    She moved just a hairsbreadth away and leaned over onto the marble stairs, giving him ample view of her rear. “When I fell on the stairs, I was envisioning all sorts of things. . . .”
    ‡‡‡
    CHAS’S BREATH CAUGHT in his throat. He was ready for her, or so he thought. But this was almost too much for him to bear. He was so hard he felt like his pants might rip in two. But he calmed himself and took her up on the challenge, sliding himself against her, gently, just enough to tease her, just enough to let her feel the tip of his erection. He was in control, but only just—he could feel, with every fiber of his being, that he had met his match. Something primal and deep was boiling in his blood, and he relished the moment, taking his time with her. He was more excited than he’d been in years, and every part of his mind, body, and soul was focused on the woman in front of him.
    Susannah laughed with pleasure, allowing him to rub up against her, loving the feel of him. And there was clearly plenty of him to go around. From top to bottom, Chas was every inch the consummate man, and she hoped all those inches added up to being the lover she desired: the one she dreamed of, the one she prayed for, the one she dared to believe existed. Few men could possibly fit the fantasy she had conjured all these years. And so far, the only man to even come close was Charles Oakley Palmer III.
    She pulled away from him, sat on the stairs, and took her heels off. “You know,” she said, slurring ever so slightly, “I hate wearing heels. I only wore them for you. My boss said you liked the