They told me Noah Pearson was gorgeous. Sinful. A successful venture capitalist. A Hollywood playboy. The kind of man I can usually spend the night with, then walk away from, no strings attached. No one told me I'd become addicted. Noah is all wrong for me. He's charming and scandalous. He tears down all the careful walls I live behind. But when he talks dirty to me in that voice as smooth as whiskey, it isn't long before I'm throwing out my rule book and agreeing to a sexy, no-emotions-allowed fling. It shouldn't mean anything to either of us. We should be able to walk away. Why, then, do I feel like our white-hot affair is the only thing worth fighting for?