I sit in my Lotus, letting the purr of the engine work its magic before I pull out of the garage and into the street. The traffic is slightly lighter this late, but what little there is, I’m able to dodge as I eat up the road and the minutes until I can see Elle again.

Of course I checked on where Elle lives, and it surprised me when I traced the address from her file.

Her flat is in a reasonable, middle-class part of town. But that’s just it. Daniel Stryker’s an executive for Fox and the man dotes on his daughter, from what I hear.

So why is his daughter living in a little one-bedroom flat?

The only reason I can think of is that Elle’s so fierce, so independent minded, that all she wants is to not accept her father’s help. And that fascinates me, especially given my own family’s tendencies to use their trust funds as fluffy cushions against being even as lowly as the upper class.

All thoughts of Elle’s living situation evaporate as I pull into the carpark at her complex and see her standing outside, waiting on me. Any disappointment I might have at not seeing her personal space is washed away by her sheer beauty as she takes my breath away.

The ‘little black dress’ might be a bit cliché, but it’s cliché because it works. Especially on a woman like Elle, whose curves become even more accentuated by the clingy hug of the fabric.

She’s let her hair down too, still with those sexy curled strands framing her face, but now the rest of her blonde hair hangs loose and sexy down her back, perfect for burying my hands in as I hold her close while driving myself deep inside her.

She looks calm, cool, and collected, the quintessential bland socialite good girl. But she’s nothing of the sort. She’s reckless, wild, and clumsy, prone to outbursts of coarse language and brutal honesty. Surprisingly, I prefer her just the way she is. Her unexpectedness is refreshingly attractive.

In fact, it’s hard not to just jump out of the car, snatch her up in my arms, and haul her upstairs for some wild and crazy, tear the clothes and damn the consequences rompery . . . because I think she’d be amenable to that. Instead, I do the responsible thing and park, getting out and going around to open the door for her.

“Good evening,” I greet her, taking a moment to let my eyes wander over the long length of leg she shows getting in. She flashes me thigh-high stockings with no garters, my favorite, and in my trousers, I feel another twinge. I’m second guessing my decision to hold off on wanking one out.

Getting through dinner is going to be difficult.

“Hi,” Elle says, buckling in as I get back in the driver’s seat.

Silence descends, and I put the car into first and hit the road. The growl of the engine fills the space between us. It almost seems as if she wants me to be quiet so she can enjoy the motor running as we take off and gather speed.

“Did you get the figures crunched for the potential sites?” Elle asks, though her eyes are roving along the dash hungrily. I want her to look at me the way she’s appreciating my car.

“No work tonight, Elle.” Her eyes jump to me, and it’s my turn to focus elsewhere, keeping my eyes on the road and the small amount of traffic. “I dare you . . . to not let work interfere with our fun tonight. Let’s let it be just you and me.”

“You’re really getting into this dare thing, aren’t you?” she challenges.

I tilt my head thoughtfully. “It seems to be the impetus for you to have fun, so I’m simply following suit.”

She laughs, loud guffaws bursting from her. She points a finger my way, “First, stop talking like that. Repeat after me . . . YOLO.”

I mime her exuberance, sounding out the word. “Yoe-loe.” The road clears in front of me, and I glance over to see her watching me closely, a wide smile on her face. “What’s that mean?” I ask.

“You Only Live Once. It’s basically my motto. Live big, live loud, and with no regrets. Or at least if you have regrets, make it for things you’ve done, not for things you didn’t have the balls to do.”

I consider that. It’s actually quite profound for what, on the surface, could amount to choices that might be mistaken as immature and unthoughtful. But she’s not. She’s just willing to be bold and daring. She’s actually living, not just existing as so many people do.

“I like it,” I decide. “YOLO!” I yell out, feeling a bit ridiculous, but perhaps that’s the point. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

She laughs along, yelling out with me, both of us wild and free as we repeat the motto several times, trying to outdo the other’s volume.

“Where are we going?” she asks after we settle comfortably.

I spontaneously decide not to tell her even though we have reservations for eight thirty. “It’s a surprise.”

She clasps her hands, her eyes bright in the dim glow from the dashboard lights. “Yes! I love surprises.”

I’m not the least bit surprised that this woman loves a good surprise.

We soon reach the restaurant, one of the best Japanese restaurants in the state. Yamashiro might not be the most famous nightspot, but what it does have is small, intimate tables and a delicious menu. Both are essential for what I want tonight.

After ordering our appetizers, I pour Elle some wine. “Japanese custom. You never pour your own drink unless alone.”

“Then how do you get refills?” Elle asks, smiling as she pours my drink in return. “Ask?”

“That’d defeat the purpose!” I tease. “No, you’re supposed to keep an eye on your partner’s glass and refill it for them when it’s empty. Builds camaraderie, you know.”

“Sounds like a good way to get the other person hammered.”

I chuckle, nodding. “You’re on to my evil plan,” I deadpan, pleased when she smiles. “So, is this your first time here?”

“Yeah . . . so be warned, I’m going to want to try everything.”

She means the food, but my brain hears something much dirtier, though both ideas grab my attention. I find her openness inspiring, her lack of a rut refreshing.

I sip my sake, simply looking at her, and she stares back shamelessly. She gives in first, though it’s with a tough question. “I feel like I’m at a major disadvantage here. You basically know all about me, and I know nothing about you other than that you have a sister named Lizzie who’s important to you because you keep her picture on your desk. Tell me . . . things.”

“What do you want to know?” I stall.

She’s not fooled in the slightest. “Tell me three things, two truths and one lie, and I’ll see if I can guess the lie.”

“A game?” I shouldn’t be taken aback, but I find that she surprises me at every turn. I think for a moment, blinking as I search through the file cabinets of my past in my mind. “I have a sister and a brother, but the most important person in my life is my Nan. I am not wondering what type of knickers you have on under that dress, or if there is a God listening to my prayers, perhaps there are none at all. I am the black sheep of my family, near banished to America.”

Elle’s eyes narrow, and she takes a large gulp of sake before sputtering slightly. “I don’t think you quite get the gist of this game.”

“No?” I ask. “Two truths, one lie.”