He simply shrugs. “Maybe I was overbooked. Maybe the terms were unacceptable.”

“Or maybe you told Stark you didn’t want to work on a Stark International project. That he casts too long a shadow.”

“True,” he says. “But don’t you think it’s reasonable that now I want to show Mr. Stark that I spoke too hastily? Because the truth is that I cast a long shadow, too, and if I do this, it will ultimately be known as a Jackson Steele project.” He meets my eyes, his expression flat, but the corner of his mouth curves up just enough so that his amusement is plain. “Don’t you agree?”

Since he has just tossed my words back in my face, I can hardly disagree.

“I’m ready, willing, and able to perform,” Jackson says. “Stark needed to know that. The only question is whether the specific terms of the deal are acceptable, and I believe that’s what Stark told you to work out with me.”

It’s true. Damien had originally left it to me to put together the deal points with Glau, and now I’m supposed to do the same with Steele.

How uncanny that I already know what our sticking point will be. Me.

His smile is wide and smug. “If it turns out that we can’t come to terms, then you can relay that to him. But at least I’ll leave here knowing that Damien Stark is aware that I was, at least for a time, ready to work on his resort. Enthusiastic, even,” he adds as he looks me up and down.

I feel a rush of sensual pleasure that, God help me, I do not want to feel. I don’t want to surrender. All I want to do is run.

I force myself to stand taller. Straighter. To speak cleanly and crisply despite my frayed nerves. And, yes, despite my own damnable desire. “Why are you doing this?”

“You know why,” he says as he strides to me. I hold my ground, resisting the urge to move backward and clutch the credenza behind me. “Because I want you, Sylvia.”

He reaches out, then traces his fingertip along my collarbone as I stand stock-still, trying very hard not to shiver from the thrill of his touch.

“I want you naked,” he whispers in a voice as tempting as sin. “I want you exposed. I want you open to me. And I think,” he adds in the kind of voice that will broach no argument, “that you want me, too.”

I exhale slowly and force myself to look at him. “Goddamn you, Jackson Steele.”

“I once told you that I’m a man who goes after what he wants, and that’s still true. But here’s a question for you, Sylvia. Are you a woman who does the same? You say you want this project, this resort. Prove it. It’s here for the taking. Right now, the only obstacle is you.”

I say nothing, because if I speak, I’m afraid of what I’ll say.

His eyes, like blue fire, meet mine. “Tonight. Eight o’clock. Be ready for me.”

I pull open the glass door to Totally Tattoo and am immediately accosted by both loud colors and equally loud music.

“Sylvia!” Joy high-fives me as I step up to the glass case that doubles as a cash register stand and a display for the shop’s various rings and bars. Cass doesn’t do piercings herself, but she hired Joy just shy of a year ago, and the arrangement has worked out well for both of them. “When are you getting your tongue pierced, girlfriend?” she asks, just as she does every time I come in.

“This side of never,” I reply, just as I always do.

In theory, I have nothing against tongue piercings. In practice, I lean far too much toward the wimp side of things.

“You are seriously early, but I’m just about done!” Cass calls from the back.

Joy cocks her head as she looks at me. “Cass is just about done. She says you can go on back.”

“You can come on back!” Cass’s voice rings out from her table near the back of the shop.

I exchange a grin with Joy and head back.

Cass is standing now, pulling off latex gloves as her client—a tall, bald man with arms the size of most men’s calves—stands shirtless, admiring the huge colored dragon she’s inked on his back.

“Looks great,” I say.

“Fucking awesome,” the guy agrees.

“Looks great so far,” Cass corrects. “See you in two weeks, Gar, and you’ll really see that bird pop.”

“You got it, Cass,” he says, then pulls on a T-shirt with a logo that I don’t recognize, but assume is either a heavy metal band or a motorcycle.

“He’s a sweetheart,” Cass says, as soon as the guy’s out the door. “Wants the tat done before he gets married in January. Guess they’re going to Cozumel for the honeymoon and he wants to rock the look if he’s going to be shirtless ninety percent of the time.”