As I approached the sprawling estate, my grip on the steering wheel tightened until my fingertips grew numb. Under my breath, I cursed my father for sending me to do his dirty work. I couldn't stop glancing at the passenger seat, where a plain manila envelope, stuffed full, was hidden under one of my jackets.

"Take this to him," Dad had told me earlier that afternoon. "He'll know what it's for."

I started to shake my head. "Whatever you're into, I don't want any part of it—"

"Goddamn it, Dreama, if you don't want me to throw you out on the street, you'll do as I say!" my father roared.

So I took the envelope and drove two hours to a rural area on the outskirts of a large city. The man my dad worked for lived in the scenic countryside, among gently sloping hills. I'd never had reason to come here, but I was aware he owned several hundred acres, and his house was like a fortified palace. Despite my skyrocketing anxiety, I couldn't help but admire the beautiful surroundings. For the countless time, I wished the air conditioning in my ancient car worked. The breeze drifting through my rolled-down window did little to stop my nervous sweating.

When I finally pulled up in front of the security gate, I was certain I was being monitored. Sure enough, several ginormous men approached my car before I had a chance to cut the engine. Though I tried to explain my reason for showing up like this, the largest of the armed guards ordered me out of the car. I was immediately searched, as if my ratty tank top and shorts could conceal some kind of dangerous weapon. At least the guard patting me down wasn't a creep about it. He carried on the procedure in a professional manner, not once trying to grope me, but I still felt dirty afterward.

Two of the men escorted me to the house's front entrance. The place was absolutely huge, reeking of money. Clutching the envelope to my chest, I could feel the bundled stacks of cash inside it.

"I just need to deliver this package," I told the guards in a wheedling voice. One of them had already inspected the envelope's contents. If I weren't so terrified, I would have been tempted to laugh at the situation. I weighed one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, and these guys were treating me like I posed an actual threat.

Thank God my father's boss was expecting me. Well, not me, exactly, but certainly the money I'd brought. Only one guard accompanied me inside the house. I didn't allow myself to gawk at the obscene luxury all around me. Instead, I kept my head down and prayed I'd get out of here in one piece. I suddenly felt like a slab of fresh meat being thrown to lions. Good old Dad, I thought. Bitterness lingered on the back of my tongue like bile. He sure as shit wouldn't be winning any award for Father of the Year.

The guard led me to what I guessed was a sitting room or parlor. Far too fancy to be a living room, it didn't appear at all lived in. I was afraid to sit down on any of the furniture, but the guard curtly nodded toward a nearby chair.

"Wait here." His voice was gruff, a sharp contrast to the classical music playing softly from the built-in sound system. I perched on the edge of my seat, trying to keep my knee from bouncing furiously. The envelope I clutched had grown damp from my clammy hands. When I glanced to my left, a mirror with a gilded frame held my reflection. My shoulder-length blonde hair, so pale it was almost white, appeared disheveled from the many times I'd run my fingers through it during the drive. My large eyes, a washed-out blue, looked panic-stricken.

It was then that a tall man strode into the room, accompanied by the same guard. I knew by the way he carried himself that he owned this place, and all these people did his bidding. This was the man my father was too chickenshit to face. When his stare settled on me, I found his expression hard to read. His eyes, however, were calculating.

I guessed he was in his early forties. If I'd seen him on the street without knowing who he was, I would have allowed myself to admit I found him gorgeous. But right now, I was too sick with fear to appreciate his looks. All my clothes were either second-hand or dirt cheap when bought new, yet even I could recognize that the man's suit cost a fortune. With perfect tailoring, it had literally been made for him.

He was clean-shaven, and his chestnut-brown hair was thick. When he closed the distance between us, I discovered his eyes were a much deeper shade of blue than my own. Immediately, I jumped to my feet.

His handshake was firm but not intimidatingly so. The faintest smile played on his lips. "I'm Oliver," he said in a deep, rich voice. "And you are?"

"Dreama," I blurted out.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl." His mild tone led me to believe he was merely being polite and making an effort to put me at ease. He had an accent, so subtle that I couldn't possibly identify it.

After telling him who my father was, I held out the envelope. It trembled from the force of my nervous quaking. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my father wanted me to deliver this personally."

Oliver looked down at my offering for a few seconds. Then his stare met the guard's. "Count it."

"Yes, sir." The guard stepped forward to take the envelope from me. As I watched him leave the room, I struggled to breathe.

"Have a seat," Oliver said once we were alone.

More than anything, I wanted that guard to return and escort me right back outside. But I knew better than to argue. Tears threatened to flood my eyes, and I quickly blinked them away. I should have known this wouldn't be easy. After all, my father had good reason to send me in his place.

Reluctantly, I sank back down. Oliver sat in a chair across from mine. His gaze moved over my body, never lingering on one particular part. "How old are you, Dreama?"

"Eighteen."

He raised an eyebrow. "And this is how you dress for an important meeting?"

My face burned with shame as I looked down at my outfit. "I'm so sorry, Mr.—"

"Oliver," he corrected, his faint smile reappearing.

It felt really weird to call this man by his first name, but again, I wasn't about to argue. "I'm really sorry, Oliver. My father insisted that I bring the package to you right away, and he didn't give me time to make myself presentable." I didn't bother adding that nothing in my wardrobe would make me presentable for a place like this.

Oliver stroked his chin while regarding me. "Your father is a coward," he said. I merely nodded in emphatic agreement. "He's also bad for my business. If you hadn't made this... delivery today, my men would have paid your dear old dad a visit."

I felt as though an invisible droplet of ice water was trickling down my spine. Oliver reached into his suit coat and withdrew a silver cigarette case. When he offered me one, I stammered, "No, thank you. I don't smoke."

"Smart girl." He lit the cigarette with the case's built-in lighter. Trying not to fidget, I watched as he took a deep drag. "You know what your father does for me, don't you, Dreama?"

I held up my hands as if to ward off a blow. "I don't know, and I don't want to. I don't want to be involved in any of this."

His eyes narrowed through a haze of smoke. "And yet, here you are." Again, he lifted the cigarette to his lips, and I focused my stare on its glowing cherry. "What if I told you that your father has been quite an inconvenience to me, and that I might still decide he needs... sorting out?"

"Then I'd say—" I began, but my voice broke. Clearing my throat, I tried again. "I'd say that's between you and my dad. It's none of my business."

Oliver lifted his eyebrows, feigning surprise. "What a disloyal daughter you are."

"Loyalty has to be earned, " I shot back. Did this man expect me to get on my knees and beg for my father's safety? I wouldn't.

Instead of growing angry at my retort, Oliver flashed a pleased smile. At that moment, he seemed almost amused. "Oh, I wholeheartedly agree. And where's your mother?"

"She left a few years ago and refused to take me with her."

He leaned to put out his cigarette in an ashtray on the table beside his chair. All the while, soothing classical music continued playing in the background. My neck and shoulders grew painfully tight, for I knew the end of that cigarette signified the end of our conversation. Now, he would let me go, or he'd decide to punish me for my father's sins.

Oliver leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "The money you brought—it's a substantial amount."

"I wouldn't know; I have no idea how much it is." Of course, I understood it was a shitload of money. A man like Oliver wouldn't make a big deal over a few hundred bucks. Probably not even a few thousand.

"If the cash were yours, what would you do with it?" His face was expectant, revealing his interest in my answer.

Staring at him in confusion, I managed to say, "I'd get away from my dad and rent my own place, maybe try to go to college." I shrugged, overwhelmed by the possibilities. "It would be the start of a new life for me."

He nodded slowly, considering my words. "And if I offered you all that money?"

"What?!" Along with my obvious shock, I couldn't disguise the wariness growing inside me. "What would you want in return?"

Oliver's smile widened to a grin. "Ah, you are indeed a clever girl." Crooking his finger, he beckoned to me. "Come here."

When I stood, my knees threatened to buckle. My approach was slow and careful, as though he were a wild animal that might pounce. I stopped before his chair, so close that he had to tilt his head back to meet my gaze.

What I saw in his eyes made my heart pound so hard that I feared it would beat its way out of my chest. This man, who could have anything and anyone he wanted, was now looking at me with blatant desire.

"I'd like the pleasure of your company for the next few hours." Extending a hand, he grazed a fingertip along the length of my bare thigh.

The sound of my shallow breathing grew louder, competing with the music. "What do you want me to do?" I forced myself to ask.

Again, that amused smile. "We've already established that you're a smart girl. You know what I want you to do." As if I had any doubt, his hand strayed to his crotch. He stroked himself almost absently while his attention remained fixed on me. "I promise I won't require anything too far out of the ordinary."

Could he see how violently I'd begun trembling? I folded my arms over my chest, feeling like I was already naked and needed to hide. "I'm afraid that..." My voice trailed off as I struggled to both explain the problem and hold onto the scrap of dignity I had left. "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you because I, um, don't have any experience."

"You're a virgin?" His expression was again impossible to read.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Instead, I waited for him to rescind his offer and then send me on my way.

Oliver climbed to his feet, and I instinctively took a step back. He didn't allow me to retreat far. With surprising gentleness, he caressed my cheek. Why did I get the feeling he'd already figured this out about me? Was that part of my appeal? Maybe he thought my virginity made me a blank slate on which he could write all the ways he wanted me to please him.

"My offer still stands," he now said. "It isn't a demand I'm making, and if you're not interested, you're free to leave. I promise that any future dealings I have with your father won't involve you."

Staring up at Oliver, I grew dangerously lightheaded. As I took a deep, calming breath, I inhaled the scent of lingering cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. And though it was more subtle, I also caught a trace of his masculine scent. Maybe my body was responding to his pheromones, for I suddenly felt like I had a molten core. A surge of lust, hot and insistent, rose from deep within me even as I balked at the idea of telling this man yes.

Of course, Oliver sensed my struggle. "How about we try something?" His tone was cajoling, yet I tensed when he took my face in his hands. "Relax. I won't hurt you."

I made no effort to resist the kiss he planted on my mouth. It was my first ever, and its tenderness was completely unexpected. Closing my eyes, I relished the feel of his lips. They were so warm and soft! Before I could stop myself, I imagined those lips traveling all over my body.

Oliver broke the kiss to give me a pleased smile. "Did you enjoy that, Dreama?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good, because if you hadn't, I'd call for someone to escort you out right now. There'd be no need for us to go any further." Oliver's gaze dropped to my breasts. As excited as I already was, I figured my nipples were hard beneath my tank top. Still, I was too embarrassed to look. My breasts were small, and though I could have easily gone without a bra, I never felt comfortable doing so.

When Oliver cupped my left breast in his palm, I gasped. He searched my face, and my wordless nod encouraged him to gently squeeze my flesh. The sweep of his thumb over my nipple drew a pleasured moan from my throat.

"Do you enjoy that?" he murmured.

"So much!"

Even as Oliver's stare grew hotter, he remained careful. Again, he kissed me, and I allowed him to coax my lips apart. The feel of his tongue grazing mine started a fierce throbbing between my thighs. Though a warning blared in the back of my mind, ordering me to flee, my body craved more of Oliver's touch.

I let him slip a hand into my shorts and panties. He released his own satisfied groan at finding me sopping wet. "Oh, you're so ready for this, Dreama!" While making himself intimately familiar with my pussy, he asked, "Do you enjoy that?"

A blush of arousal heated my cheeks. "Yes! Please..." I wanted him to rub my clit; I was literally aching for that stimulation. Instead, he withdrew his hand and reached for mine. I could feel my juices coating his fingers.

A startled cry escaped me when Oliver pressed my hand firmly to his groin. He was hard and ready, and the feel of his erection made me understand that this gentle teasing wouldn't last forever. If I stayed in this house, he would eventually drive every inch of his cock inside me. I was both terrified and thrilled imagining it.

"And do you enjoy that?" he asked in a husky voice. His quickened breathing let me know how much he did.

"Yes." I stroked him of my own accord, exploring his length and girth.

He took obvious pleasure in my naïve fumbling. Beneath my hand, his cock pulsed. "While we've enjoyed each other, you've considered my offer." He wasn't asking a question, but I still nodded. "And what's your answer, Dreama?"

The warning siren in my mind faded into silence; its alarm had done nothing to rescue me from the spell this man had cast. Locking eyes with Oliver, I replied, "My answer is yes."