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  Jordan reached the door, yanked it open and watched as a human form in black jeans and black turtleneck along with a matching black baseball cap stumbled backward, arms flailing, onto the floor. An echo of panic surged inside him before anger took its place.

  “What the hell are you doing in my home?” he roared.

  As the person scooted away from him and farther into the room, her hat fell off and revealed a disheveled, dark ponytail that floated down her back.

  This was not good.

  This was not good.

  Had the door been all the way closed? Had she seen him land and shift into his human form? The look of terror mixed with awe in her eyes told him she had indeed seen him shift.

  Fuck. This was not good at all.

  But Jordan Gaines never showed panic or fear to anyone. Years of practice shielding his emotions and keeping any expression of weakness off his face, hopefully, would pay off this very night. He had to figure a way out of this.

  The future of his entire species depended on it.

  He crossed his arms. “I asked you a question.”

  Fathomless chocolate-brown eyes perused him from head to toe and back up again like a caress, and his dick responded, reminding him he was still naked.

  “What…what…what are you?” she whispered.

  Despite the fact she’d broken into his home, Jordan found himself intrigued by the woman. A female cat burglar? He guessed that fit. She was beautiful, with flawless honey-brown skin devoid of any makeup.

  And the way she was positioned on the floor not ten feet away from him, arms stretched out wide behind her, knees apart, each foot planted on the floor—all sorts of sexually explicit thoughts raced through his mind. Why was he thinking about fucking the woman instead of calling the police?

  Jordan reached for the navy-blue silk robe that hung behind the door and countered her question with a couple of his own. “Who are you and what are you doing in my home?”

  She stood, tugged her lost cap into her hands. “Did I see what I thought I saw? Am I dreaming? What the hell are you?” She shook her head back and forth several times and continued to wring the cap. “I couldn’t possibly have seen what I think I saw. Did I? You were a bird. A bird. Well, a ball of fire and then a bird and then you…you… I have to be dreaming. That’s it. I have to be dreaming. Any minute now I’m going to wake up and realize this was all one big dream.”

  Jordan watched as she closed her eyes for about ten seconds and opened them again.

  “Okay…so it’s not a dream.” She held out her arm. “Do you mind pinching me so I can make sure?”

  Surprisingly amused, Jordan leaned against the doorframe. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  Why he felt entertained, he didn’t know. What was happening definitely wasn’t funny. The secret he’d been able to hide all his life was dissipating fast. What the heck was he going to do with this woman?

  Her gaze shifted around the expansive closet and landed back on him. Was she looking for an escape?

  “My name is Layla Martin. I’m a reporter with the Tattler.”

  Fuck. And. Me.

  Why couldn’t she have been some random woman trying to meet him and have sex with him? Hell, it had happened to him in the past. Not in his home, of course, but in different hotels around the country. He wasn’t conceited but he knew his appeal to women. They flocked to him, ironically like birds, and not just because of his bank account.

  But this woman was a reporter. The reason she was in his home was to get a story. And boy did she get a doozy.

  At that precise instant, he regretted his decision to never grant interviews. That his company was in the top one hundred of Forbes every year garnered him a lot of media attention but the dual life he led, the secrets he had to keep, made him maintain a wide berth between himself and the press.

  He’d decided a long time ago that whatever happened in his personal and private life would remain exactly that. Private. If they wanted to know about his business, well that’s what he had a publicist and a board of directors for. They could handle all the interviews and questions.

  But his personal life was his own. He refused to allow anyone to get too close for fear his secret would be revealed. That was all over now apparently, unless he could figure out a way to convince this reporter, this beautiful woman, to keep his secret.

  Then a thought occurred to him. She had broken into his home. And even though she’d seen him, there was no evidentiary proof she could provide anyone to substantiate what she saw.

  “I’m going to call the police,” he said, interrupting her unending flow of questions, and turned to walk toward the phone on his nightstand. “We’ll let them figure this out.”

  “Wait…wait…you can’t do that.” She followed him out of the room and grabbed his shoulder in an attempt to spin him around.

  And that one touch sent an electric heat of awareness straight down his spine. When he turned, she had a stricken look on her face.

  I cannot go to jail. I cannot go to jail.

  Jordan shook his head and blinked, unwilling to accept the words he’d heard in his head even though Layla didn’t speak them. “If I’m not mistaken, this is my house and you are an uninvited guest.”

  “But if you call the police, I’ll have to tell them…”

  He watched as her mind worked, sifting through the scenarios of various consequences she could face for breaking into his home, what she might say.

  “You’ll have to tell them what?” He concentrated hard but didn’t hear anything this time. She’d been thinking about being taken to jail. Those were his thoughts. Not hers.

  “I’ll…I’ll be forced to tell the police what I saw.”

  Jordan had known it was coming. After all, she was a reporter. The only thing reporters thought about were the lies they told and whatever it took to get their next byline. He’d observed that firsthand. After witnessing his guardian’s downfall, he’d vowed never again.

  “What exactly is it you think you saw, Ms. Martin?”

  “You. I saw you.”

  He lifted a brow, waiting for her to spell it out. “And I’ve seen you. So?”

  “You were a bird.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was so simplistic, so one-dimensional. Something he definitely was not and would never describe himself as.

  “The correct term is phoenix.”

  “But they don’t exist. They’re mythical.”

  Jordan crossed his arms. “So what exactly is it you plan to tell the police? What story have you concocted in your mind to convince the authorities that I’m a…bird?”

  Once more, he saw her work it out in her mind, observing myriad emotions flitter across her face. It was so expressive and open. He wondered what it would look like when she was in the throes of passion, aroused.

  Damn if he didn’t want to find out.

  A determined look came over her. “I’ll tell them what I saw. The ball of light, the fire, how you shifted from a…phoenix to a human.”

  If he was going to work this situation out to his advantage, he had to at least pretend to follow through with his threat. No way in hell would he call the police but he couldn’t let this reporter leave here with the knowledge she had.

  As soon as she could get to a keyboard, her fingers would be spilling his tale. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to keep her here somehow and convince her that his secret didn’t need to be told.

  Hell, he knew what kind of paper the Tattler was, had even picked one up once or twice. There had been stories about him in it a few times as well. But they’d only been rumors about his love life, his business.

  If something like this got out, even a whiff of it, however unbelievable it would be to some people it could be dangerous, the consequences too great. He was accustomed to reporters wanting to interview him. But if Layla’s story got out, they would be relentless. He didn’t need that.

  Jordan walked to the phone. “An
d do you honestly think they’ll believe you?”

  Her mouth opened and closed again.

  “Where’s your proof?” He allowed his eyes to travel a slow path down her body and up again and watched her cheeks redden. “I don’t see a camera, unless you hid it. But I know I would have seen a flash if you’d had enough time to take any pictures. My guess is you were too involved in what you were seeing to think about taking a picture of it.”

  Irritated affirmation slipped into her eyes but she stepped back and reached around to her back pocket. “My camera doesn’t need a flash.”

  He stalked toward her, aware that his silk robe was belted loosely at his waist. He was still completely naked underneath and half-aroused by this woman. He snatched the hat she held, tossed it on the bed and slowly slid his palms up her arms.

  So close to her, Jordan saw her respond to his touch, felt the rush of small goose bumps explode across her smooth skin.

  Oh my God his hands are so warm they make me tingle.

  Jordan froze and released her. Why? Why this woman? The one female in the world he might possibly be…he wouldn’t even say the words. She was a woman who would betray him for her own personal gain and he could be linked to her for the rest of his life.

  Due to her height, probably five-four or five-five, she had to tilt her head up to look at him. As he watched her, he noticed how her rather large breasts rose with the sudden breath she took and the flare of heat in her eyes.

  Her beautiful chocolate orbs lowered to his mouth as she licked a wet trail over her own.

  His cock jumped in response.

  She wanted him.

  Even though she’d broken into his home.

  Even though she’d learned his secret.

  Her reaction to his touch was just as potent to her as hers had been to him.

  But first things first. Jordan warily touched her again and allowed his fingers to trail down her back and over her ass, to slip inside her right back pocket where he swiftly removed the camera before she could protest.

  She gasped and reached for it. “Don’t.”

  But he was able to keep it out of her reach long enough to see the last photo taken was not, thank goodness, of him. He tossed back the camera and moved past her to his nightstand.

  Jordan picked up the phone and began to call the time service, blocking her view so she wouldn’t see he wasn’t actually dialing 9-1-1. “You’re a very bad liar, Layla. There are no pictures.”

  She shook her head and began the absentminded task of twisting the hem of the black shirt between her fingers. It wouldn’t be worth wearing anymore after tonight if she kept that up.

  As he hit the seventh digit, she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Please don’t.”

  Again when she touched him, it was as if a magnetic sexual current washed over him in waves. Her touch got him hard every time her hand moved over his skin? He’d known the woman all of five minutes. This wasn’t possible.

  “Give me one good reason.” His eyes trained on her mouth, noticed that even without the adornment of lipstick, it was a juicy red. When her tongue slid over her lips again, he tracked the movement and instinctively wished her tongue were washing over his dick instead.

  “I…I wanted to…wanted to…”

  He hung up the phone and faced her. “I know what the Tattler publishes. What did you expect to find when you broke into my home? Me, involved in some type of sex fetish or BDSM games?”

  Even in the dim light, he saw a flush coat her cheeks before she lowered her head.

  Jordan laughed as he moved around her and strode to the chest of drawers in the right corner of his room. “But that’s not what you found, is it? Now you have something much more and you expect me to let you walk out of my house and tell the world what I am?”

  He opened the top drawer, pulled out a pair of soft and worn cotton pajama pants. “But if I call the police, tell them I caught you in my house and they arrest you, how credible will your story be then?”

  She looked up and frowned and began to twist and twine the poor little black shirt all over again.

  “They’ll assume you’re either a stalker or one of the many reporters I’ve spurned over the years out for revenge.”

  Not that each and every one of them didn’t deserve it. After his guardian was ruined because of one simple byline, one slipup, he knew he’d never put himself in the same position. He’d never expected one of them to be so bold as to break into his home.

  Now he had to do some damage control. That’s what he paid a publicist for but even she couldn’t get him out of this shit. No, he’d have to take care of this little scandal all by himself.

  “What will your editor say to you? What will he ask?” He pretended to ponder this. “Where’s your proof? Did you get a picture? Did I admit it? Your answer to all those questions will be a resounding…” He paused for effect. Her brow began to narrow and her lips pursed. “No.”

  “But I know what I saw,” she whispered.

  “That may be so but you have no proof, Layla,” he said quietly before stepping in front of her again, towering over her small, voluptuous frame. “Your word against mine? You know who I am? You’re going to tell the world that I’m a shapeshifting phoenix, with absolutely not one shred of proof?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Jordan reached up and caressed her from just below her ear, around her cheek to her pouting lip. Her tongue darted out to lick him and she gasped, stepping back, her eyes widening with disbelief.

  Right then and there, he knew exactly how he was going to play this little game with Ms. Layla Martin. He advanced on her again but when she stepped away, the backs of her legs met his bed.

  Although he hadn’t seen a wedding ring on her finger, he asked anyway. “Are you married?” Not that he gave a damn. But he might as well get it out of the way.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head back and forth as she took short, shallow breaths. Her voice was low and slightly husky and so damn sexy it made his dick jump.

  He could see her pulse thumping in her throat. Being this close to him unnerved her. Her body caused every wicked thought he could conjure to roam around his brain. She was a very beautiful woman, after all. Even though she was dressed completely in black, he could still appreciate her generous curves, the luscious breasts, the very round bottom he’d cupped earlier. One very decadent, sexy package.

  His fingers tingled with the desire to remove the band from around the ponytail she wore and slide through her thick hair before he gripped the back of her head and moved his mouth over hers.

  But that was impossible.

  Her breath caught in her throat at his touch and the answer came to him almost immediately. All he had to do was seduce her. Give her no choice but to spend one night in his bed and he was pretty sure her story would go right up in smoke. Because when morning came, she would have compromised herself by having sex with him.

  Oh yes, he’d satisfy her, and himself for that matter. He had no doubt they’d spend a glorious several hours in bed together, learning everything there was to know about each other’s bodies. Even now he wanted to taste her skin, see if she tasted as good as the cherry blossoms he’d caught a whiff of earlier.

  But he would never forget the real reason she was here. She was a blood-sucking reporter and the story she planned to write about him needed derailed. And right now, he had no choice but to use every weapon in his arsenal to accomplish that goal. Even if it was sex.

  “Do you have a boyfriend at home, waiting for you?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Do you want your story, Ms. Martin?” She’d possibly have a story but not the one brewing around in her head.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding emphatically. “Yes I do.”

  “Then I have a proposition for you.”

  Her eyes, wary now, gazed up at him. “What?”

  Even though his heart was thumping for reasons he couldn’t explain, he was hearing tho
ughts of hers he didn’t want to consider and his dick was pulsing with unfilled need, he stepped forward and exhibited the epitome of control. “Spend the rest of the night with me.”

  “W-what?” she stammered.

  Jordan watched the stunned expression on her face, her widening pupils. He grinned before trailing a single digit from the middle of her neck to between her breasts. A supreme amount of satisfaction went through Jordan when Layla’s nipples beaded under her shirt.

  Oh yeah, he thought. This night was getting better and better.

  Chapter Three

  Layla could not believe what she’d heard. “But…but you’re Jordan Gaines. You can pick up the phone right now and call any woman in a one hundred mile radius and they’d come running.”

  “Maybe.”

  Damn, she wished he’d step back. His sheer nearness was causing her pussy havoc. It was practically drooling, she wanted him so bad.

  He kept touching her.

  And she’d licked his finger.

  His finger, for goodness’ sake, like a lust-starved wanton.

  “You don’t want me.”

  He pressed against her. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Layla felt his arousal and stifled a moan.

  “You do want that story, don’t you?”

  Hell yes, she wanted the story. But now the story was much more than who was having sex with Jordan Gaines. It was now what the hell is Jordan Gaines?

  Not only would she make the front page, hell, she’d probably be the news herself. People would want to know how she found out, what he had confided in her…could she provide proof of what he was.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  She had no proof. He was absolutely right when he said it would be her word against his. Her editor would definitely want undeniable proof that he was a phoenix. Wasn’t that her calling card? She wouldn’t write it unless she did have irrefutable proof. That’s what she always told him.