AMBER'S POV

By the time we landed in Japan, it was after midnight their time. I stretched myself a bit as the flight attendant gathered my things, and I walked behind Simoun to disembark the jet. There was a car already waiting for us, blacked out and sleek as the night sky of Japan back dropped the airport we had descended into. I still felt groggy from the flight, but with each step I took toward the car, I grew excited.

Awake. Alert. I hadn't been in Japan since my days at boarding school in China and I couldn't wait to take in all the familiar sights and smells.

I missed my former life. It enabled me to travel the world in first class at the drop of a hat. I missed having my father around. I missed indulging my sweet tooth with him. I missed watching him and my mother kiss under the Cherry blossoms tree while I'm eating my favorite sushi.

Now, I was lucky if I didn't have to fly coach.

Being on Simoun's private jet was decadent, much like the life I used to live. I hauled my things into the back of the car, watching as he bypassed me with his nose in his phone. Well, I guess I didn't need to expect a gentlemanly demeanor from him during the week. I shut the trunk and slid in beside him, trying to keep up my poise while containing my excitement.

Simoun didn't strike me as the type of man to get excited about anything.

Without a word uttered between anyone, the driver pulled off the tarmac. We traveled through streets I recognized and rushed by shops I used to shop in as a little girl. I smiled as I peered out the window at the darkened world behind the tinted windows of the SUV The partition was rolled down, and Simoun was typing away on his phone, doing whatever it was he did.

I ran through some of the information he had fed me on the plane about himself, trying to piece together who this man might be. I needed to be able to talk intelligently about him and act as if we were in love. If I'd read the file right, I was acting as his supposed fiancée. That came with an entirely different set of parameters for how I needed to address him, appear around him, and act with him.

But I didn't have much to go on. Even after a nine-hour plane ride.

The car pulled into a very old, very expensive hotel I recognized immediately: Amanemu-ishe-shima National Park. I contained my excitement as it bubbled in my gut. I'd only been to this hotel once, and it was by far the best stay I'd ever had in the country.

And even though Simoun was quiet and removed, he really was a looker.

I stole a glance at him as he started talking to the driver.

He had dark blond hair swooped meticulously to the side. He was tall, with long legs that sprawled out and comfortably occupied the space he demanded as his own. His suits were tailored to his body, allowing my eyes a peek of the lean muscle he had underneath the layers of expensive fabrics. He had on thick-framed glasses that hid his emerald-green eyes, and his long, dexterous fingers continuously rolled over his phone screen. His hands were large, his legs were strong, and his wingspan was easily double mine. His jawline looked as if it had been chiseled from marble, and his pouty lower lip jutted out whenever he was deep in concentration.

Maybe making some bonus cash with him wouldn't be as distasteful as it usually was.

I enjoyed sex.

I was an independent woman at the prime of her life. I loved it, actually. I loved experimenting with it and sweating during it. I enjoyed the sounds and the tastes and the memories it created. I considered myself a strong, independent woman, one who owned up to her faculties in life and never once shied away from things many men traditionally expected a woman of my stature to shy away from. But that didn't mean having to pretend to be aroused with random rich men who wanted what they could pay for was enjoyable. In fact, it was the exact opposite And in a lot of ways, it had spoiled sex for me.

After my first three encounters with men who wanted nothing more than to do with me as they wished, I went the other route with my temporary career. Straight arm candy, and nothing else. I enjoyed that line of work. I enjoyed clients who wanted me to be charming, intelligent, and well-mannered without all of the other stuff that came along with the reputation of a "call girl." Of the three men I'd been with throughout my career, they had one equal complaint: that it didn't seem as if I was enjoying myself. And I hadn't. I couldn't. Sex was something to be enjoyed only when one's heart was in it.

And rich men who had diaper fetishes didn't trip my trigger the way it did theirs.

Then again, I was a call girl. So why should my heart be in it? I let out a silent sigh as Simoun climbed out of the car. If he had addressed me, I'd been too deep in my thoughts to notice. I slipped out of the car and pressed my heels into the ground, then wrapped around to the trunk and grabbed my things out of the back.

The driver was grabbing his things, and I had half a mind to tell 'Simoun darling, get your shit here.'

The penthouse suite of the hotel was gorgeous, quite unlike what I remembered from my childhood. Everything had been updated. The walls had been painted a gorgeous cream color-much better than the brown they used to be. The furniture was all new. That terrible leather was gone, and it had been replaced with a microfiber that felt almost like silk. I looked around the room and smiled. Part of me wanted to regale Simoun with the memories I had of this place.

And part of me wanted to go to my room and put space between us.

"I'm going to work for a few hours, then turn in early. If you want, you can order room service. Just charge it to the room. The bar, the fridge, the snack bar-all of it you can use. The spa services as well. I want you to use those. You'll need to be relaxed and look your best this week."

"Of course," I said. "I wouldn't have it any other way. I am very eager to try the tub in the bathroom, however, so I'll make sure to keep it down."

Simoun flickered his gaze up from his phone before he turned his back on me. Without another word, he dipped for his bag and made his way into his room. That man really had a stick up his ass. I rolled my things into my bedroom and headed straight for the bathroom, pouring an insane amount of bubbles into the hot water I had running. The tub was carved deep, made specifically for those with longer legs, like myself. The marble was beautiful, and I stroked it with my fingertips. The feel of luxury underneath my toes was something I'd missed. It reminded me of a time when I was happier. A time when my family was whole.

A time when my life felt complete and not like the chaotic disaster it had become.

I placed my folded clothes into a chair in the corner of the bathroom. Then, I slipped myself underneath the bubbles. They popped along my skin as the hot water took over, and my muscles relaxed with each second that passed. I ran my foot up my smooth leg, sighing as I leaned back.

I tried to ignore the throbbing between my legs as I closed my eyes.

Simoun was good-looking. And obviously, my body thought so as well. I leaned my head back and allowed the water to soak the tendrils of my hair. The bathroom filled with the scent of rose petals, and I smoothed the bubbles over my skin, cleaning myself of that long flight and the grogginess that still lingered upon my mind.

Then, my stomach let out the loudest growl I'd ever heard in my life.

Despite the finger foods I'd had on the jet, my stomach still roared for more. So much for a long, hot bath. I slipped from the bubbles and unplugged the tub, then reached for the fluffy robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I wrapped myself up in its warmth and sighed. I closed my eyes and imagined the arms of my father enveloping me in their comfort. Tears rushed to the back of my eyes, and I shook them away, setting my sights on food. I needed food, not to be stuck in my past.

I headed out of my bedroom and made my way into the living room. I picked up the phone on the table and dialed the kitchen, then ordered a miniature feast fit for a queen: matsutake mushroom, a shrimp cocktail, kujira, a bottle of red wine, ruby roman grapes, and a matcha cake for dessert. I set the phone down and made my way to the couch, falling down onto it, my robe running up my legs. I sighed as

I sank into its softness. It cradled me like a cloud as I propped my heels onto the arm of it. I reached down and wiped away a small trail of bubbles that led up the outside of my thigh, the sensation causing me to giggle. My robe fell down my body even more, exposing my damp skin to the air-conditioning of the room.

Goose bumps puckered against my legs as I reached for the blanket tossed over the back of the couch.

Then, a small movement caught the corner of my eye.

SIMOUN'S POV

For the love of heaven, Amber was fucking beautiful: her skin all flushed from her bath, that little giggle of hers as trace amounts of bubbles still lingered upon her skin, the way her long legs stretched out and rested easily against the damn couch arm. She was driving me insane.

My cock had been hard since she said she was going to take a damn bath. And the second I went into my room, I couldn't stop thinking about her naked body in that warm water. I came out into the living room to enjoy the view of Tokyo from the massive windows that lined the living room, and there she was, ordering an impressive amount of food that made me salivate as well as my cock leak.

Her robe was nothing but a fluffy sheet of fabric. Here I was, trying to get some damn work done at a small table while overlooking Tokyo, and she was out there, waiting on food and exposing her legs to the point where I wanted to bend her over the damn couch and slide my cock right into her body. This fake fiancée shtick had been tempting me the entire flight, and watching her spread her long limbs out on the couch made me ache to be against her, to press her into the couch, to fuck her until she called out my name so the whole of Japan knew who she belonged to.

At least for the week.

Her eyes met mine, and that cute little smile of hers fell into a shocked sort of stare. I wasn't used to having this sort of reaction to a woman. They pursued me, never the other way around. I'd never paid any attention to them. I preferred to concentrate on building my empire and personally vetting all those I surrounded myself with. Plus, I wasn't into the gold-digging type.

Most men enjoyed that. Many men enjoyed women who gladly parted their legs as long as they bought them expensive things. But that wasn't my type of woman.

I wanted to worship a woman who worshipped me. Not my wallet.

Sure, plenty of women threw themselves at me. It happened on a regular basis. But they were always after my money. None of them wanted to know me or what I was about, nor cared a damn about my business or why I traveled. They wanted to travel with me as long as I gave them free reign of my bank account and my credit card. They didn't bother with me, so I didn't bother with them.

Period.

But then again, the sexy vixen known as Amber-whose body was sprawled out onto a couch as the lights of Tokyo twinkled against her skin-was a professional. She didn't have to know me, and I didn't have to know her. Not really. Not truly. I could use her body to satisfy my urges without regret or worry because that was what she had been hired to do. That was her profession. Hell, she was my fiancée for the week, and if I ever got engaged myself, I would most definitely take advantage of the prime situation I found myself in. If Amber was really mine, I'd rip her luscious body off that couch, pin her back against the floor-length windows, and gaze out along the beautiful city while listening to her chant my name. I could possess that beautiful body of hers, and the simple thought caused my cock to leak against my pants.

"Excuse me," I said. "Enjoy your dinner."

I felt her eyes on me as I exited the room. And the second I stripped down, I sighed with relief. My boxers were soiled, and my thighs glistened with the cum that dripped from my cock all the way from fucking Manila. I flipped on the shower and made the water as cold as I could stand it, then stepped into the stream. I let it flow over my body. I allowed it to penetrate me to my core, causing me to shiver. The cold water would help my erection go away, help my body to calm down. Help my urges to recede.

Except it didn't work at all.

I reached down for the warm water and turned it until steam filled the bathroom. Then, I laid my forearm against the wall and pressed my head into it. If I couldn't get my girth to die down, then I had another option at my disposal.

I allowed my mind to wander as I wrapped my hand around my cock. I closed my eyes and imagined myself storming into that living room. I saw myself ripping her off that couch and crashing my lips against hers, listening to her sounds as I slipped that pathetic excuse for a robe off her body. Fuck, I'd lick her from head to toe. Run my tongue around her nipples and drive my cock into her tight pussy until she gasped and cried out for mercy. I'd delay her orgasm, licking her clit and burying my face between her thick thighs until she quaked for me, only to back off and slide my cock in again.

Over and over, interchanging and driving her wild. My cock. My tongue. My fingers. Each one different than the last. I saw myself slamming into her pussy, inching my way into her asshole. Sliding between those pillowy lips of hers that were still clad in a crimson shade of red that made my balls hang low with want. I licked my lips and stroked my cock. I squeezed it as I imagined myself tossing her legs over my shoulders. I'd pin Amber's wrists above her head and pound into her, listening to our sounds of wetness as she arched into me, pressing her tits into my face. She'd explode on me as her juices sprayed from her pussy and soaked my skin...

"Fucking... hell... shit."

My legs pulled taut, and my balls pulled up into my body. I felt Amber's lips against mine as her sighs and giggles of pleasure filled my ears. I fucked my hand, shooting thick threads of cum against the shower wall.

And even as I sank to my knees, heaving for air, my mind still lingered.

What I wouldn't give to trace my fingertips along the outline of her long legs. What I wouldn't give to lick her from head to toe, listening as she gasped my name. What I wouldn't give to taste the sweetness of her juices on the tip of my tongue until she fisted my hair and drew me closer.

I sat on the bottom of the walk-in shower and caught my breath as my mind filled with images of her.

I cleaned myself up and got out of the shower, but my mind still wandered. Even as I sat down in my room and opened the blinds to work, all I could do was surf the internet. I clicked around and filled my mind with the newest updates in my industry.

And of course, that name popped up the second I refreshed my news feed.

Hugo Centrio.

A frown overtook my entire face, and suddenly Amber was the furthest thing from my mind. It looked as if my nemesis had a sharp new startup that had become lucrative. I opened the article and scanned it, growing angrier by the second.

Apparently, the Japanese military had given him a very hefty contract for his work.

I wondered how much of my recycled tech was in Hugo's new software.

Anger bubbled in my veins. I closed my laptop and tossed it off to the side before I closed the blinds. I turned off the light and slid my naked body underneath the covers, figuring I could get some sleep. But all I did was toss and turn the entire rest of the evening. Jet lag. I hated jet lag.

It always threw off my schedule for days. And by the time I got on a decent schedule, it was always time to go home and deal with it again.

At least, I blamed it on jet lag.

For all I knew, my sleeplessness could be because of the wildly sexy woman beyond my bedroom door.

AMBER'S POV

After falling asleep last night with a full stomach right there on the couch, I woke up to the afternoon sun of Tokyo streaming through the window. I got up and went to take a look, marveling at the beauty of the view. It hadn't changed one bit. The surroundings and the colors of the penthouse had changed, but not that. Not the beautiful skyline of the city I loved so dearly.

I drew in a deep breath before I turned to Simoun's door. How long was he going to sleep? I made my way into my room and changed into something more appropriate: slim-fitting jeans and a silk blouse. I fixed up my hair and applied a bit of makeup, then glanced at the clock. It was two in the afternoon. Surely Simoun would be up soon.

But as the hours ticked by, not a sound came from his room.

The penthouse was gorgeous, but I was itching to see the city. Experience the food. Walk among the kindest people I'd ever come into contact with. But I was sort of stuck until my client woke up. I was here on his dime, after all. It wasn't like I could simply leave and explore of my own volition. Taking him on as a client meant I was there to await his pleasure. Abide by his rules.

Play by his game, sensual or otherwise.

I stood at the window and looked out among the bustling city as my mind wandered.

What kind of lover would a man like Simoun be? Obviously a quiet one.

Was he wild? Voracious? Kinky?

Would he be the one-minute kind of man most men were? The three men I'd engaged with at the beginning of my career had been the easiest men to please. A little tweak there, a little nibble on the neck. A few good pumps and they were slumping over me as if they'd run a marathon. Even the few men I had been with outside of my career were that way. I sincerely hoped a handsome man like Simoun wasn't that type of lover.

Not that I'd ever figure that out. It was as if he was avoiding me. Like last night, when he excused himself so quickly after lust flared in his eyes.

I shook the thought away. It didn't matter. I was there to do a job and nothing else. I watched a bit of television and unpacked a few of my nicer things. I made myself a small snack in the kitchen and finished off the red wine I'd ordered last night for my decadent meal. And finally, after almost half past four in the afternoon, Simoun emerged in a trim suit as he fiddled with a cufflink at his wrist.

"We'll be going out to dinner this evening," he said calmly. "Do you have appropriate formal dinner attire?"

"I do."

"Good. Because we don't have time to go shopping. I'll be working until dinner, which will be at eight. I need the time to prepare us for the evening ahead. Get yourself ready. Pamper yourself a bit since there is some time to kill. I'm sure it'll take a woman like yourself some time to prepare."

I wasn't sure what that statement was supposed to mean, but I think it meant he needed me to look my best. But he didn't have to worry; I prided myself in always looking my best. As the daughter of a rich man, I had a few key pieces already in my wardrobe that were always set to stun, and I'd brought most of them along with me.

However, the word "pamper" caught my ear. I was never one to turn down a bit of relaxation.

He looked up at me briefly before disappearing back into his room, then closed the door with a thud.

I made my way downstairs to the eleventh floor where the spa services were located. I signed myself up for a nice massage and a mani-pedi, then sat in one of the plush chairs in the corner. A glass of cucumber-and-kiwi water was delivered to me, and I drew in a deep breath.

Oh, the memories this all brought back. During my mother's prime, she'd taught me the value of self-care. How a woman investing in herself was an investment in those around her. If a mother and a wife couldn't keep herself stress-free, she couldn't possibly help and support those around her, nor could she succeed in anything she set out to do in life. Self-care, she said, was the difference between men and women. Men grew fat and lethargic as they sat at their desks, neglecting themselves and their families for the sake of success. Real success, my mother said, was knowing how to find the balance between personal health and professional health.

I missed those talks with my mother.

"Miss Amber?"

I opened my eyes and looked up at the woman in front of me. "Yes?" I asked.

"Your pedicurist is ready for you. After that is your manicure, and then we'll finish you off with a wonderful hour-and-ahalf mass

e, complete with relaxing aromatherapies. Would you like to add any other services, such as a complimentary facial or a nice painted design on your toes or nails?"

"No, thank you," I said as I stood.

My phone vibrated in my pocket as I settled my feet into the warm water. I pulled it from my pocket and recognized the number instantly. My mother's facility was calling. My heart sped in my chest as the bubbles around my feet kicked on, and I held the phone up to my ear with a trembling hand.

"Hello?" I asked.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Amber. But we wanted to call you the second the mail run got finished up."

"Is something wrong with my mother?" I asked.

"It seems as if someone has sent her a less-than-pleasant letter."

"Define 'less than pleasant.'"

"It's a letter we needed to report to the police, ma'am."

I furrowed my brow as the technician got started on my feet. "Send me a picture of the letter, please. Immediately."

"I've already emailed you a picture of it, but I wanted to follow it up with a phone call. Because of who you are and who your mother is, we've upped the security around the facility until the note can be resolved. I wanted to keep you abreast once the police officers left with everyone's statements."

"And my mother's all right? She's safe?" I asked.

"Physically, yes. On any other charge, let me know after you read that letter," she said.

"Thank you. I'll take a look at it immediately."

I hung up the phone without saying goodbye, my heart pounding in my chest. I navigated to my email and tapped on the newest addition to my inbox, then clicked on the image that downloaded itself straight to my phone. I studied it closely, zooming in and taking in the details.

The cursive writing.

The formal speak.

The lightly browned paper and the signature at the end.

It was identical to a letter I'd received not long after my father had died. My mother and I had still been living in our penthouse apartment on the outskirts of the city. She hadn't quite spiraled as much as she eventually did, so I was doing everything in my power to keep her out of the limelight and rooted to reality.

By myself.

But when the nation caught wind of my father's passing and the circumstances that surrounded it, a note similar to the one that had been delivered to my mother came directly to our complex. Well, not directly to it. The postman delivered it and stuck it in our box at the front of the building.

But still, someone had been stalking us then, and we alerted the police to that fact. Alerted them to the threat on our lives the person boasted of in the letter. But with the controversy that publicly surrounded my family's name at the time the letter was delivered, the police couldn't have cared less.

They told us many more would probably show up just like it, and that we needed to get used to it.

I settled on the fact that the police didn't give a shit about our lives after what my father had done to theirs.

I was taking care of my mother alone at that point. She was spiraling into a depression I couldn't keep up with, and I did the best I could to keep her afloat. But that one threatening letter was enough to force me to change my identity and commit my mother to the private facility she was in now. I lived in fear every day that the person behind that letter would find us. I looked over my shoulder and slept light, trying to keep myself safe after reading some of the disgusting things that letter had in it.

And once again, the monster had found us.

Found my vulnerable mother.

My eyes scanned the note again as my hand began to tremble. Was this really happening? Had someone really been attempting to track us down? The facility's number one goal was the safety, security, and anonymity of their patients beyond what they were forced to provide. And because they were a privately run institution, the information they had to fork over wasn't much. Even though the woman reassured me my mother would be safe, I still found myself swirling with panic. Halfway around the world and I had no way to check in on her. No one to drop in on her. No way to keep track of what was happening with regard to her.

And the worst part of it was I had to pretend to be a happy-go-lucky fiancée at some idiotic business dinner full of billionaires in a little over four hours.

Sometimes, my job sucked.