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I reach out and place my hand on her shoulder. She flinches as if afraid of my touch. That means I’ve got to take this slowly and be cautious. Something tells me this woman has experienced some terrible things in her life, the sort of stuff nightmares feed on.
I can’t ignore the heat pressing through her hoodie, the instant doubling of the aching in my balls. My seed is desperate to burn up my shaft and erupt into her to make her pregnant.
“You’ve got a place to stay,” I tell her, “and you don’t need to worry about a job.”
“W-what?”
“I have…” What do I have? A sudden, roaring desire to hold her gently and tell her everything will be okay. I also have a sudden, roaring desire to lay her on her back, strip off her clothes, and drive between her succulent thighs as her features twitch in lust, all just for me.
“A project,” I go on, “for aspiring programmers. It’s a prelude to our internship program. You’ll get an apartment and a stipend and be free to work on your programming skills.”
“There must be a long waiting list,” she says softly.
My hand is still on her shoulder. I can feel her nervousness but also her hope. Can I, really, though? Can I feel all that just by touching her shoulder? It feels like I can.
“You’ve just jumped to the front of the list.” Truthfully, there’s no list. I just made it up. “If you’re interested,” I go on.
She looks around the café. “Is this actually happening? I’m starting to think I might’ve fallen and hit my head.”
“Something brought us together, Jane,” I say fiercely, knowing I need to slow down. “At just the right time, here you are. Say yes. Tell me you’re interested.”
She nods shortly, biting her lip and letting it go. That brief moment when her teeth clasped her lower lip sends more tension surging into my dick. It’s how I imagine she’ll look when I’m driving her close to a release.
“I’m interested,” she murmurs, “but I haven’t got all my stuff, just the valuables, no clothes or anything. I had to leave quickly. Axel was… well, doing what he always does.”
“That’s fine. We’ll swing by your place before I take you to the apartment. How does that sound?”
“Are you sure?” she says. “It’s so much to ask.”
“Do you want to be a programmer or not?”
“More than anything.”
“Then don’t question this. You deserve it.”
She looks at me as if to say, How can you possibly know what I deserve? We only just met, but then she smiles, sunrays pushing aside dark clouds. More than lust, my soul—a concept I’ve never given much credit to—bursts when I see her smile. I wonder if our children will have the same one.
“Okay, but I should warn you. Axel might still be mad.”
“The man who threw your laptop at you?” I growl. “The man who kicked you out of your own home? He can be as mad as he wants. It won’t change anything.”
CHAPTER THREE
Jane
Before, when I was a shivering, terrified little kid, I pinched myself to see if it was really happening. I’d heard the idea in a movie and thought I’d try it, praying there was no pain. Now, I do the same, pinching my thigh as I sit in the back of the chauffeured vehicle, but this time, I want the pain, and it’s there. This is real.
Luke Hart sits across from me, fiercer than his photos, his jaw tight. My shoulder still throbs from where he touched me. He’s being a Good Samaritan, that’s all.
Sure, an apartment and a stipend are life-changing to me, but he’s worth over three billion dollars. He does this all the time. He has an entire program for it.
“Thanks for jumping me to the front of the list,” I murmur.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“How many people will I be sharing the apartment with?” I ask. I quickly add, “I don’t mind. If it’s a bunk bed deal, that’s fine with me. Programming and not have to work that cruddy cleaning job is a dream come true.”
I feel so small when he looks at me but in a good sense. Like this massive, muscled, intensely serious man will protect me.
“Nobody,” he says. “You’ll have your own place.”
I gasp, “Seriously?”
“You’ve never had your own place before?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Well, you’re young…”
He leaves this hanging as if wanting me to fill in my age. Maybe there’s an age limit to this project or something.
“I’m nineteen. Is that okay?”
Judging from how he stares at me—his jaw clenching tighter, his eyes blazing intensely—I’m sure he will say no. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, simply holding me in his gaze. I’m a prisoner here, but that’s not quite right because I want to be locked up.
