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Avenge Me
Maisey Yates


TEN YEARS AGO ONE DEVASTATING NIGHT CHANGED EVERYTHING FOR AUSTIN, HUNTER AND ALEX. NOW THEY MUST EACH PLAY THEIR PART IN THE REVENGE AGAINST THE ONE MAN WHO RUINED IT ALL.Austin Treffen was born into a world of privilege, but behind its gilded doors lies a corruption so sordid New York's elite would never believe it–especially as his infamous philanthropic father is at its core! With everything he believed in shattered, how can Austin take down his father–risking his family name and those he loves–without any proof?Until one earth-shattering night with Katy Michaels unlocks not only their deepest, most passionate desires but also the key to bringing Jason Treffen's reign to an end. But with an intense sexual attraction that combines a heady mix of exquisite pleasure and sublime pain, will they satiate their thirst for revenge and each other…or lose themselves forever in the darkness?







MAISEY YATES knew she wanted to be a writer even before she knew what it was she wanted to write.

At her very first job she was fortunate enough to meet her very own tall, dark and handsome hero, who happened to be her boss, and promptly married him and started a family. It wasn’t until she was pregnant with her second child that she found her very first Mills & Boon® book in a local charity shop. By the time she’d reached the happily-ever-after, she had fallen in love. She devoured as many as she could get her hands on after that and she knew that these were the books she wanted to write!

She started submitting and nearly two years later, while pregnant with her third child, she received The Call from her editor. At the age of twenty-three, she sold her first manuscript to Mills & Boon and she was very glad that the good news didn’t send her into labour! She still can’t quite believe she’s blessed enough to see her name on not just any book, but on her favourite books.

Maisey lives with her supportive, handsome, wonderful, nappy-changing husband and three small children across the street from her parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of southern Oregon. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch, then walk into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic, urban locales.








Praise for MAISEY YATES (#ulink_a33c0a55-7b10-5f06-a61c-34ba76932234)

‘Yates’ visually powerful narrative tells a timely, heart-breaking story starring an unforgettable couple.’

—RT Book Reviews on The Couple Who Fooled the World

‘Yates’ tale of loss, pain and love’s salvation is simply incredible.’

—RT Book Reviews on Heir to a Dark Inheritance

‘This enticing storyline keeps pages turning and her words flow; Yates’ hero and heroine entertain with their sarcasm, endear when masks come off and sear with their lovemaking.’

—RT Book Reviews on His Ring Is Not Enough

‘Yates skilfully creates an improbable duo whose cultural and professional differences are no match for love, in a story that is compassionate, heart-breaking and hot.’

—RT Book Reviews on Heir to a Desert Legacy


Avenge Me

Maisey Yates






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Contents

Cover (#ufcff9042-d407-5c5f-a5ff-51a49a18bfcc)

About the Author (#u416cc541-d876-51fe-a4f4-75aac9532f1c)

Praise for MAISEY YATES (#ulink_02ac8958-b468-50b7-9dca-5f2124aef9c9)

Title Page (#u3f191f2a-e3ca-553e-af07-74a3d711fb05)

Prologue (#ulink_f893b4da-3f16-5ffa-ada3-e9624bcfa450)

Chapter One (#ulink_9398684e-1e57-526f-9c8a-6ef1e632e805)

Chapter Two (#ulink_1c2596a5-af4a-508d-927e-659ad60ac56a)

Chapter Three (#ulink_820b4d36-081d-56d9-8469-ec984229f111)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#ulink_0ac96c1c-1eaa-528a-aa1b-ccd2d15faf04)

It was supposed to be an evening of bland conversation. That was what Alex, Hunter and he did every year. Drinks and bland conversation. The kind of conversation that skirted around anything of interest or meaning. That lay thick like graveyard dirt over the skeletons of the past.

Buried beneath talk of 401(k)s, football statistics and current events. So deep that it was easy to forget they were all dining over a coffin.

Unfortunately, the letter he had in his hand was the damned shovel.

It was going to unearth everything. He didn’t think there would be a bland enough topic in existence to ever put the ghosts to rest again.

Austin looked at the two men sitting across from him. The men he’d once called his best friends. Men who had become little more than distant strangers over the past ten years.

Hunter was throwing out some sort of B.S. line about how much more action he’d get now that he’d been ousted from the NFL, and Alex was nodding along. All a bunch of shallow nothing, but then, what else would they talk about?

They were barely acquaintances now. Acquaintances who met every year on the grimmest of anniversaries and never once spoke of why they’d gathered. Acquaintances who could barely look each other in the eye.

But then, that was what bland conversation did, he supposed. It kept bad memories at bay and old friends at a distance. A distance that wasn’t an accident. Not in the least.

But they didn’t have time for distance now. Didn’t have time for circular talk that meant less than nothing. Not now. Not when he had the letter burning a hole straight through to his skin.

Austin reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and ran his fingers over the folded document. He pulled it out and put it on the table, white paper blending into the pristine white cloth.

Strange. He’d half expected it to leave a crimson stain.

“I’m afraid the usual dinner of denial and quiet regret will not be served tonight,” he said.

“What the hell?” Hunter said, deadpan, not making a move for the letter, waiting for an explanation. Austin found that he didn’t have the words.

It was Alex who picked it up and opened it. He skimmed it then handed it to Hunter. “What the hell is this?” he asked, reframing Hunter’s question with more intensity.

“The truth. At least, I believe it is.” Austin sat down, wrapping his fingers around the fork to his left and resting his thumb on the tines, gradually increasing the pressure until he nearly broke the skin. “My father, Jason Treffen, sainted advocate for women in the workplace, tireless defender of the downtrodden and harassed, did in fact cause a woman to commit suicide because of his unwanted advances. Because of his actions.” He released his hold on the fork and let it drop onto the table. “I’m afraid of what he might have done to her. I mean...I knew it was bad. I knew...because of what she did. What she felt she had to do. But I didn’t really believe that he’d touched her. Now...”

“This is why she did it.” The statement came from Hunter. His voice was rough, his eyes unfocused. Alex’s dark eyes were glued to Hunter, as if waiting to see what the other man might do.

Austin knew they were all thinking the same thing. Of the same night.

And the same woman.

Sarah.

“I think so,” he said.

“Where did you get the info?” Alex asked.

“Anonymously provided. Naturally.”

“Naturally,” said Hunter.

“It didn’t come to me,” he said, his voice rough. “It came to the pro bono office. Publicly it’s not very well connected with me, and I doubt whoever sent it knew that I would end up with it. Since I’m rarely in the office I might not have seen it.... But it was passed on to me by Travis Beringer, an old classmate of ours who volunteers at the place on occasion. It’s from a woman asking for help. Because my damned father has been getting so much media attention. Since he and all his good works are about to be profiled on the largest talk show in the country. Given the nature of the contents, and knowing something about Sarah, Travis thought I should see it.”

“And someone has evidence that he...that he drove Sarah to her death by harassing her? Assaulting her?” Hunter asked.

“It’s not evidence. Not real evidence. It’s wild accusation. Assumption that what he did to her caused her to kill herself.”

“You believe it, Austin?” Alex asked.

“Hell yeah.” Not that he was happy about it. He’d been sick to his stomach since he’d gotten the damn thing two days ago. But he believed it.

The suspicion had always been there, along with the guilt. Along with a call that had gone unanswered and a voice mail he hadn’t listened to until it was too late.

But there had been no proof. Still, it had been enough for him to cut ties with his father. For him to relegate his family to holiday visits. Lunches with his mother and sister at hotels rather than at the Treffen estate.

Now the suspicion was turning into certainty. Truth gnawed through his last remaining shreds of doubt. For two days now, he’d been replaying his last conversation with Sarah. Over and over again. The last time he ever saw her alive.

She’d looked so brittle. So sad and tired...

“This job is much more demanding than I ever could have imagined, Austin. I’m just so...tired. And I don’t like the kinds of things I have to do.”

“That’s being a lawyer, honey,” he said, laughing. “Sometimes you have to defend things that seem indefensible. But in the end, you trust the court system.”

“I’m not sure I trust anything anymore.”

“You’ll get more jaded. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t think I will. I need your help, Austin. It’s about...it’s about your father.”

He hadn’t bothered to listen. Not really. He’d been buzzing over his admittance into an incredible law program. Over his father’s promise to secure him a position at his firm, to make him a partner. He’d been too intoxicated by all the power to care. To truly hear her. The weight behind her words. The sadness. No, he was too focused on himself. And why not? Life had always been there to serve him. He had it all; he had it easy.

His family name was everything, and he traded on it.

Like father like son and all.

Then Sarah had thrown herself off a building. And the rumors had begun. The first hint that Jason Treffen might not be the saint that others imagined him to be, but Austin hadn’t listened. He had ignored it all for too long.

Until that final confrontation. When he’d walked away from his father’s firm for good.

The family got more money than they deserved. She was taken care of. A misunderstanding.

All these excuses. So like the men his father had pretended to disdain for all those years. He was one of them. One of those men who assumed he could take whatever he wanted from women simply because he was a man. Because he held power over them.

And now this. So much more than he’d ever imagined. That he had harassed her so badly she’d killed herself.

But history gave him no reason to doubt it.

“And he’s still getting his This Is Your Life B.S. all over the news?” Hunter asked.

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

“Well. Screw that.”

“I agree,” said Alex.

“I do, too, but what the hell do we do about it?”

“You’re the lawyer, Austin. It seems like you should be able to think of something. Something legal and shit,” Hunter said.

“That’s the problem. I have nothing legal. Nothing that will stand up in court.”

Alex leaned in. “Then we’ll have to find something.”

“For what purpose?”

Hunter looked down at his knuckles, and Austin’s eyes followed his line of sight and noticed the faint purple bruises that colored the skin there. Hunter tightened his hand into a fist. “If he had anything to do with Sarah’s death, and I think we’ve all suspected it, always, then I’ll do whatever I have to do in order to bring him down.” He looked back up, his eyes meeting Austin’s. “I mean it. I’ll end him. Run him off the top of a building. Just like he did to her.”

The violence in Hunter’s tone left little doubt in Austin’s mind that his friend wasn’t speaking figuratively.

Part of him rejected the thought. Because no matter how evil, Jason was his father. Because his blood was in Austin’s veins. The same blood that kept his heart pumping. It was hard to hate it entirely, even when he should.

“To the bloody end, then?” Austin asked. “Even if it means destroying my family?”

Alex put his palms flat on the table. Spread the paper out flat. “She killed herself, Austin. Because of him. How many more women has he touched like he did her? How many more? If we don’t stop it, it keeps going.” He looked up at Austin. “And then we’re just as guilty. Then we’re no different.”

No different.

Austin had privately feared that very thing for a long time.

But it wouldn’t be true. He’d make sure it ended up not being true.

“Well, then,” Austin said, standing. “Let’s end it.”


Chapter One (#ulink_e0df18b3-fd20-592a-a132-5a2a4ab1a2c6)

Treffen Christmas Ball Set To Be As Glittering As Ever!



With a national honor for his good works on the horizon, celebrated women’s advocate Jason Treffen is preparing to host his annual Holiday Ball. Though once overshadowed by a tragedy that occurred during the festivities a decade ago, Treffen has never canceled the event, and Manhattan’s elite all clamor for an invitation. It’s even rumored that Jason’s son, New York’s other premier attorney, will be in attendance.

The younger Treffen has skipped the event since the unpleasantness ten years ago, which seemed to have caused a rift between father and son—the only tarnish on an otherwise glossy legacy. Could this finally be the reconciliation that the public has long hoped to see?



Reconciliation. There was no chance for it, and yet his father had bought into his reason for coming to the office Christmas party without blinking. But then, the public had bought it as well, so why wouldn’t his father?

He really hated these types of events. Because they were reminders. This one especially. Ten years ago was the last time he’d been to a Treffen Christmas party. His father enjoyed the holidays, not because of any sort of religious fervor or sense of merriment, but because it gave him a chance to do what he loved best.

Showing off his wealth, his excess. Making a show of his name, his fortune. His goodwill. There was a silent auction happening tonight, the proceeds of which would go to benefit a shelter for battered women.

The irony burned. Because if Austin’s suspicions were correct, very few people had left more emotionally battered women in their wake than Jason Treffen.

Of course, the media would never believe it. Jason was so high-profile. On every late-night news show, commenting on sexual harassment and abuse cases in the news. Spitting fire and brimstone on any man who dared to harm a woman. On misogynists and their power games.

But Austin knew Jason was the wolf condemning foxes for being predators.

Still, here he was, wrapped up in his brilliant, shining lie. People fawning over him, his achievements, his goodness.

And this year was no different. The largest of his three holiday parties, this one included past clients, current clients and anyone who was anyone in New York’s social circle.

Everything was pristine, glittering, dipped in his father’s wealth and left to sparkle before the magpies who were attracted to it all without having any idea just how tarnished it was underneath.

The same as it had always been. The same as it had been ten years ago.

Oh, yes, Austin well remembered the last time he’d been to this party. It had ended with a dear friend throwing herself to her death. And it had been his own father’s fault.

No, he wasn’t here for reconciliation. He was here for blood. But before he could have his revenge, he would have to get closer to his old man again. Keep your enemies close, and all that.

He wondered what Jason’s reaction would be. Hell, he might kill the fatted calf. The prodigal son, returned to the old law firm.

That was the reaction he dreaded most, though it was the one he should want.

What he really wanted was alcohol.

He walked over to the bar and leaned on the counter. “Scotch. Neat.” The whole bottle would be nice.

The bartender poured a measured amount and Austin knocked it back then set the glass back down. “More.”

He took another hit and let the burn wash through him. He’d never thought of himself as the kind of man who needed liquid courage. And maybe it wasn’t courage he needed, not really. He needed to blunt the memories. Of what it had been like to be in this building with Christmas carols playing when, suddenly, screams had risen over the band.

When people had gone running. To the balcony. To the street. He’d stopped at the window, frozen, transfixed by the broken figure below.

And he had known. In his gut, without having to be told, who it was.

He hadn’t had the strength to go down. Hadn’t been able to face seeing her like that. With no life in her. Her skin cold. Her body crushed. Nothing of Sarah there anymore except for her shell.

He hadn’t been able to face it then. He could scarcely stand to recall what little he’d seen now. This was where the alcohol came into play. Blessed alcohol. It helped hold back some of the cold.

Ten years ago, at this very party, his life had been going perfectly.

Two weeks until Christmas, an end-of-term party that had been filled with toasts and slaps on the back. And then he’d come to the Treffen party. He’d stood next to his father, a proud Treffen, basking in the promise of a partnership in the prestigious firm, in the position he’d gotten in law school because of that name. The name that had opened every door to him for all of his life. That had seen him educated in the finest private schools, had given to him the very best connections.

A name he now had to see was destroyed.

His father’s. And his along with it, because it would be inextricably linked.

That was how it worked. That was how the media worked. It was how society worked.

The silver spoon that had gotten him through life would damn well choke him now. It only seemed fair, really.

Everything felt out of control. For the first time, things felt well and truly beyond him.

Which called for another drink.

He tapped the top of his tumbler and the bartender filled it again. Austin held it up and looked through the faceted glass and amber liquid. And he saw her.

Nothing more than an impressionistic vision at first. Obscured by the glass and the unsteady golden line.

Even then, he could tell she was beautiful.

He lowered his drink and stared past the crowd of people at the woman. Dark hair twisted into a neat bun, her skin pale, flawless, her lips a deep crimson.

It was her hair that had him truly transfixed. He wondered how long it was. What it would be like to unwind it. Wrap it around his hand and draw her to him.

Damn. That was the alcohol. He had more control than that. He knew better than to let his mind wander down dark alleys. Every so often, in the privacy of his own room, he indulged in a bout of shameful, illicit fantasy. But never with a woman.

Never.

He wasn’t the type of man to treat women that way. Because he knew better than to ever let the monster out of its cage.

And he knew there was a monster in him. In his blood, wrapped around his genes. He was a Treffen, and to most of the world, that meant something good.

He knew that name should only ever be synonymous with evil.

And once he, Hunter and Alex had their way, it would be.

He would go down with the ship. It was unavoidable. He was a Treffen, after all. In name, and in every other way that counted.

But right now, he was just a man, transfixed by a woman.

He set the glass back down on the bar and started across the room before he could think his next action through. He wanted to meet her.

She was something new in this stale, horrific memory. She hadn’t been there that night. She was a stranger. Separate from all of the insidious darkness that surrounded this building. That surrounded his family.

She looked up for a moment, her eyes meeting his. They were electric blue, a shocking contrast with her dark hair. It made him wonder if her hair or eyes were artificial. It was so unusual. So enticing.

She turned away and headed toward the other side of the room, her stride purposeful. Then Austin saw just whom she was headed toward.

His father. Jason Treffen.

She smiled, crimson lips parting and revealing straight white teeth. She looked down, then back up, the move demure and flirtatious. It made his blood boil. Just imagining the bastard’s hands on her...

He started toward them, then stopped. Reconciliation. Oh, yes, that was the name of the game tonight. He was supposed to be reconciling with the bastard, not introducing his face to the marble floors.

But he did not like the smile his father gave to the woman in return. He didn’t like the way she ducked her head again, like a child expecting a pat.

Maybe she was already one of his creatures.

He breathed in deeply, rage pouring through him. He couldn’t handle this. It was too much on a night like tonight. At the party where Sarah had died.

Why had he left his drink back at the counter? He needed more alcohol.

The woman turned away from his father and he saw something pass across her face. Anger. Sadness. Grief. He recognized the emotions because they echoed inside of him. Because they were with him, always. Amplified now as the truth about Jason’s treachery became clearer.

Files and files of women who were being paid for vague “services.” Interior design. Catering. Event planning.

Austin was still turning over the implications.

None of the possibilities made him happy. Except for the possibility that his father had used the design services of a couple of young women more than six times in a fiscal year. But he highly doubted that was the case.

Highly.

It was taken care of. They were compensated.

That last conversation played again in his mind.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to get his head together. He was drowning in air. His tie strangling him. Icy fingers wrapping around his neck.

Sarah’s, maybe. He deserved it. God knew he did.

He pictured the dark-haired beauty again, scanned the crowd for her and couldn’t see her. Where was she now? Was she waiting to meet his father? Would she end up as a name on one of Jason Treffen’s invoices? Payment for services rendered.

No. Not if he could do anything to stop it.

He’d let it happen once. He’d be damned if he ever let it happen again.

He started back across the room and swung by the bar, grabbing his scotch and knocking it back.

Hell, he was damned either way. But she didn’t have to be.

* * *

Katy Michaels sent up a silent prayer and hoped that, for once, someone was listening. She didn’t want to get caught, not now. All she wanted to do was verify that the invoices existed. She was armed with a tip and a key from Jason Treffen’s front desk attendant, Stephanie, a bright young girl with brown eyes that had permanent shadows beneath them.

Just looking at her made Katy’s skin crawl.

Her eyes reminded her of Sarah’s eyes. Haunted. Tired. Hollow, as if the hope had been carved out of her and an endless black hole was left behind instead.

She went into the office and stared down at the dark wood file cabinets. What an asshole. With his defunct filing system, all old and stately. It was like a big middle finger to everyone, to her, to the women he hurt, that he didn’t even bother to keep this information in cryptic folders. That he kept records at all.

Had to get his damned tax write-off. Even when he was paying for sex.

He was lucky she was pursuing legal action rather than going Batman on his ass and seeking a little vigilante justice.

“I am the night,” she muttered, going toward the third cabinet to the left, as instructed, and putting the key in the lock. She turned it and it gave, a small click in the silence of the room.

She pulled the drawer open and went for the folder marked “special services,” then she opened it and rifled through. It was one year. Just one year and it was filled with names.

Sarah’s name would have been in it ten years ago. So many women.

“Binders full of them,” she said, trying to smile at her own frail joke as she snapped a shot of the first invoice with her phone’s scanner. Humor was all she had left to get her through this crap. She’d taken her other crutches away from herself.

Her parents’ drug use. Her sister’s death. Raising a younger brother—Trey—who was angry at the world. And it was much better to laugh when she was beating back her own demons with a stick.

And she definitely had her own.

Scanning invoice after invoice that represented a woman who had been abused by Jason Treffen.

She had to laugh or curl into a ball and give up on humanity. Or go back down the deep dark rabbit holes she used to hide in. Soothe her pain in the other ways she knew how to soothe it.

No. She wasn’t going back there. Not again.

She scanned every doc, then put them back in the folder, and back in the drawer, which she locked. Then she stuck her phone back in her handbag and made her way out of Jason’s office, dropping the key beneath a little potted flower on Stephanie’s desk, as she’d requested.

Katy let out a long breath and started walking back down the empty corridor, back to the party.

Back toward Jason Treffen.

Talking to that scumbag had just about made her lose her mind. It had taken everything in her not to grab his glass from his hand and pour it over his head. Then break the glass on his face.

She considered the man as good as her sister’s murderer, so she was short on charitable feelings where he was concerned.

The door to the ballroom opened and she froze, trying to affect an “I’m just coming back from the bathroom” demeanor. Whatever the hell that was.

Oh. Her breath left her in a rush, a current of electricity washing over her skin.

It was him.

The man who’d been drinking scotch. The man whose eyes were like an endless black hole, drawing her in, a force she couldn’t deny or control.

The man who had looked at her for a moment.

Someone looking at her wasn’t really that significant. It happened every day. Except when this man had looked at her, she’d felt as if she were grounded to the spot. She’d felt like he had looked and seen her.

Seen everything. More than that, she’d looked back and she’d seen him.

Had seen a grief in him. An anger.

It had been, in some ways, like looking into a mirror.

And in just a second, it had been over. She’d gone to find Jason, to put herself in his vicinity. Just because she’d promised herself she would. Because she’d promised herself she would look him dead in the eye one day, knowing she was going to destroy him, while he didn’t have a clue.

And so she had.

But it had been a sacrifice, because she’d had to look away from the man. It was a moment that summed up her entire life, really. Deny, deny, repress. Push on through. Don’t let the pain touch you. Don’t let the pleasure touch you, either.

“It’s you,” he said, his voice deep, smooth. Like really good chocolate.

“Yes, it’s me. I was...in the bathroom.” Oh, nice, Katy. That was very good.

He arched a brow. “Fascinating.”

“Not so much, I know.”

“I’ll let it slide because I was hoping to run into you.”

“Were you?”

“Yes,” he said, walking closer to her, his eyes burning into hers.

She’d never seen anything like his eyes. They were so intense she couldn’t look away.

And his body...perfectly showcased by his custom-made suit. Broad shoulders, trim waist and slim hips. Very expensive shoes.

Then there was his face. He was arresting. Dark brows, chiseled jaw, Roman nose. His lips were perfection. She couldn’t remember ever being fascinated by a man’s lips before. Even the men’s mouths she’d come into direct physical contact with hadn’t fascinated her.

His mouth was shaped perfectly. She found herself utterly obsessed by the thought of tracing his top lip with her tongue. Of letting the tip of it slide into the little V just beneath his nose.

Jeez. She needed help. A good night’s sleep. Something. This wasn’t normal. Not for her.

“Wh-why were you hoping to run into me?” she asked.

“Because you’re the most beautiful woman here. Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”

“I call B.S.,” she said. “There are models here.”

“So? You were the one who caught my attention.”

“You’re a flirt.”

“That’s the thing—I’m not really. So if I’m doing a poor job of it, it’s only because I lack practice.” He put his hands in his pockets, a wicked half smile curling that sinful mouth.

“Again, I call bull.”

“Again, you’re wrong.”

“You’re drunk.”

“A little.”

“Honest,” she said. “But I have to get back.”

She started to walk past him and he took her arm, stopped her progress. Her breath left her lungs in a rush, his grip shockingly tight. She looked up and met cold, dark eyes. “To who?” he asked, his voice gentle, an opposing force to the hold he had on her.

Her heart was thundering hard. But it wasn’t with fear. There was something about his grip, so tight, so certain, that made her feel...

She blinked. Oh, no, she was not getting turned on by a strange man in the corridor of a party she was technically coordinating.

But there was something about that grip. Commanding. Hard. It spoke to every secret fantasy that lived in the dark shadows inside of her. The parts of her that didn’t want a sweet kiss at midnight from Prince Charming. The parts that had always craved things she’d never quite understood.

The parts of herself that had looked at every man she’d even tried to date and found them lacking.

But not him. He wouldn’t be lacking. Something shivered inside of her, a whisper.

He would know what you wanted.

“None of your business,” she growled.

“Jason Treffen?” he asked, a tinge of bitterness to his tone.

“Why?”

“I saw you speaking with him earlier.”

“Guilty,” she said. “Now will you let go of me?”

“Will you stay for a moment?”

“What if I say no?”

His gaze flickered over her. “I’m not sure.”

Part of her wanted to dare him. Wanted to say no. Wanted to see if the grip would tighten. If he would take the control. “I’ll stay for a moment.”

He released his hold on her. “Good. Then I’ll work on being more interesting than whatever’s in that party.”

“Oooh,” she said, affecting a regretful smile, “they have cocktail shrimp.”

“I’m losing out to shellfish?”

“It’s prime. I hear they brought all the seafood from Maine.”

“Well, I’m not from Maine, so I’m not sure I can compete.”

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“Upstate.”

“Hmm. Vague.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Where are you from?”

“Originally? Somewhere in the Eastern Seaboard.”

“Also vague,” he said.

“Vague is okay. We’re just talking in the hall.”

“Are we?” he asked. He put his hand back on her arm, his fingertips hot against her skin.

She’d never really flirted much, either. Her last date had been long enough ago that she didn’t want to count. And her sex life? That was nonexistent. A younger brother and parents who were usually passed out somewhere made a sex life impossible. Plus, dating someone implied letting someone in. Bringing them into that hellhole she called a life.

Anyway, there was no man she found overly appealing in that deadbeat town. All she’d ever wanted to do was leave it behind.

And since she’d left, she’d been working. Tirelessly toward the moment she’d just had. Toward getting herself in a position where she could be in this social circle. Toward looking Jason Treffen in the eye. Gathering evidence against him.

Suddenly she felt exhausted. She felt every missed opportunity in her life, every emotion she’d dulled or ruthlessly cut from herself, every moment she’d sacrificed, including that moment of eye contact in the ballroom with this man, so that she could have this revenge.

So that she could see justice done.

And suddenly, she didn’t want to go back into the ballroom. She wanted to stay in the hall, with him. With the man who carried a matching darkness inside of him. A man who she knew, instinctively, would want what she did.

She felt like he was the one. The one to tear the lid off all those fantasies that she kept down deep. Like he was the first one to offer real, serious temptation.

“Maybe it’s more than that,” she said. “If we’re being honest, I’m not especially up on the flirting game, either.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Why did you find it hard to believe I wasn’t?”

“Because you’re so forward.”

He shifted his weight, drew closer to her. “Oh, don’t mistake me. I might not be a flirt, but when I want something, I get it. When I want someone,” he said, lifting his hand and drawing it over her cheek, “I make sure I have her.”

She should hate this. She should shove him back. She should tell him to go to hell with all his proprietary male garbage. But she didn’t.

Because she didn’t hate it.

Because this wasn’t the game she’d been taught to loathe so much. This wasn’t the thing that Sarah had been caught up in. There was no artifice here. There was an edge of honesty to this man’s words. A rawness.

This was her fantasy. This was why no other man had ever tempted her. Why she’d never gone out of her way to pursue more than a kiss.

“And you want me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Damn. You are drunk.”

“I am,” he said, “but not so much that I don’t know what I want. Who I want.”

“We don’t know each other,” she said.

“I know. But in some ways, doesn’t that make it better?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never...” She started to say she’d never been with a man, one she knew or not, but she let it trail off. A twenty-six-year-old virgin was a bit of a joke and she wasn’t exactly in the mood to confess that.

Besides, it might scare him off. And she hadn’t decided if she wanted to do that or not.

One thing was for sure: she didn’t want him to think that because she’d never been with a man, she needed some sort of gentle, soothing seduction.

That was the last thing she wanted. She wanted those strong hands on her. Rough. In control.

“Me neither,” he said.

“You haven’t what?” she asked. Because he wasn’t a virgin. That was for sure.

“I don’t do this kind of thing. Pick up women I meet in corridors. I have relationships. I take a woman out to dinner at least three times before I make a move toward the bedroom.”

“That’s very courteous of you.”

“Isn’t it?”

“And what about right now?”

“Right now? I’m thinking I don’t want to take you out to dinner three times. I want to take you against the wall. Now.”

His words hit those dark places inside of her. Called to needs she had that she’d never given voice to. Something in her sensed that he could give her what she wanted. Sensed that he would know what it was she wanted, everything she’d never given voice to. Things she’d never even let herself think.

“That would be...” Incredible. And she didn’t know why she was sure about that, only that she was. “Well, it would be a bad idea because anyone could walk by.”

“Danger doesn’t get you off?” he asked, leaning in, his lips a whisper from hers.

Apparently, a certain kind of danger did get her off. But not the idea of getting caught having sex for the first time in a hallway. No, that didn’t turn her on so much.

Lies.

“Danger, maybe,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Voyeurism, not so much.”

“Not really my thing, either, I have to confess. But...I haven’t even kissed you yet and I’m not sure I can wait to get you to a hotel room.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Not of myself. Of this. You have to feel it, too. You have to.”

She did. She nodded slowly. “I think anyone who came within three feet of us would be able to feel it.”

Like the heavy lid of a well had just been moved and she suddenly had access to all of these things she’d kept in the deep darkness of her soul. Things she’d been hiding from.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was just because her world felt rocked. Because life seemed dirtier and uglier than it ever had, with those invoices scanned into her phone. With the weight of her reality, Sarah’s reality, pressing down on her.

With the realization of what her life had become. An endless sea of numbness.

Maybe that was why this stranger suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world. Maybe it was why he seemed to be rooting her to the earth.

Or maybe it was just lust. Base, dirty lust. Lust that had gone unpursued for the past twenty-six years. Lust that wanted something her body had decided only he could give.

But then, in the end she wasn’t sure the reason mattered.

“Probably,” he said.

“Why don’t you kiss me?” she asked, desperate for something she’d at least done before. “Just to test it. We could be wrong, you know. We could kiss and decide it’s really not worth the trouble.”

He touched her lip with his thumb and she shivered. “If I kiss you now, I guarantee you, you will find yourself shoved up against a hard surface or bent over a piece of furniture with your dress over your hips and your panties at your ankles. Is that what you want?”

Yes. Heaven help her, yes.

For your first time? Really?

Why not? He knew what he was doing. If he told her what to do she was damn sure it would feel good.

He was what she wanted. What she craved.

“If I say yes,” she said, “will you judge me?”

“No. But I might fuck you.”

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “Is that a promise?”

“Do you still want to go back inside and have cocktail shrimp?”

She thought of Jason Treffen. Of the party she was meant to be coordinating.

Well, it was late yet and everything was working just fine without her in there holding everyone’s hand. Because she’d already done a lot of coordinating and so it was all going smoothly and...and they really didn’t need her.

And she wanted. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she wanted. For her. Not for Trey. Not for Sarah.

“I’ve never wanted shrimp less in my life.”

“I’m glad I have your attention.”

“You do.”

“Do you still want that kiss?”

Her heart started thundering harder. “I really do think that we should do...things...in private.”

“What if I promise to behave?”

“Can you keep the promise?”

“One kiss,” he said. “That’s all you can have. No more.”

“What if I want two?” she asked.

He cupped her chin, held her steady, his eyes intent on hers. “One,” he repeated. “Or I walk away. You have to obey, or I stop now.”

She nodded slowly. “One kiss.”

“Good girl.” He leaned in, his breath hot as it skimmed over her lips.

He didn’t press his mouth to hers, not at first. He waited. Waited until she thought she would die with how much she wanted it. With how much she wanted him.

And then he kissed her.

It was firm. Hot. He tasted like alcohol and spices, like something completely new and unfamiliar. She wanted more. Wanted to explore his mouth, drown in his flavor.

But before she could, he’d moved away.

He stood back, assessing her, his eyes so dark they were nearly black. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I don’t know.... What do you think?”

“I think we need that hotel room. Now.”


Chapter Two (#ulink_53e57dc6-d44d-59c6-8db7-b4e6360702f9)

Forget letting his mind wander down dark alleys. He was committed now. Not just his mind—his body and soul, as well.

One night. It wouldn’t matter later.

He’d never see this woman again. And he could...he could grab ahold of something just for the night. For one night he could have the control back. Everything was falling apart. Falling away, and once he dropped the bomb on his family, once the scandal broke over the Treffen name, all the control would be gone. Wrenched from his hands.

This might make things feel all right, if only for a few hours.

To have someone at his command. To have something that was his.

He thought of the way she’d been talking to his father and a knot lodged in his throat. If she needed money...

Put some money on the dresser?

Well, why not? If she needed it. It would be better if it was him and not his father she was going to for security through sex. Because the other man couldn’t have her. No one else could. He wanted her.

The things he wanted her for...

He closed his hand into a fist and tried to stave off the surge of lust that shot through his veins. He needed to get a grip.

Or not.

He was tired. Tired of always fighting everything. Everyone’s demons and his own.

He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed a hotel downtown that a business acquaintance owned. He’d been telling the truth when he’d told her he wasn’t a one-night-stand sort of man.

But he had his connections.

“I need a room for tonight,” he said. “Account number four fifty-three. The penthouse suite.” He didn’t want this woman to know his connection to Jason, not if she was ignorant of it. And he didn’t know why she should know who he was. Ten years he’d spent separate from Jason, and he wasn’t the media whore his father was.

Austin preferred to keep his head down and do his work. He preferred to stay away from the spotlight. Passion, lust, greed, a desire for fame. It all corrupted.

He looked over his date for the night. Well, tonight he would be indulging two of those infamous corrupters.

And he couldn’t find any regret for it.

“I have a guest,” he said, the words heavy with meaning. “I shall need the appropriate amenities.”

“Of course, sir. A code will be texted to your phone,” the man on the other end said. “It will grant you admittance to your room. No need to check in at the desk. All supplies you might need for yourself and your guest will be waiting.”

“Perfect,” he said, hanging up. “We’re set for the night. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

He looked at her, blue eyes wide, a slight tremble in her full lower lip. That little bit of sass and confidence he’d seen in her earlier had waned a bit. She looked vulnerable. She made him feel a bit like a predator.

And damned if he couldn’t muster up any remorse for that. Damned if it didn’t make him a little bit harder.

She met his eyes. “No. I haven’t changed my mind. Only...the shrimp. I didn’t get any.”

“I can order you shrimp. Room service.”

“From Maine?”

“From any damn place you want.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “How can a girl say no to that?”

“I don’t know, but if you’re going to say no,” he said, his voice rough, everything in him feeling rough, “do it now.”

She looked down, and she seemed to be seriously considering it. He didn’t think he could handle her refusal now. He was too far gone.

One kiss, and he was too far gone.

“I’m not going to say no.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her up against his body. And he didn’t care if anyone else walked out into the hall. He didn’t care about a damn thing except for the feeling of her breasts against his chest, the harsh, rapid pattern of her breathing bringing them up tighter against him, before giving him a brief reprieve, then repeating.

He felt as if he were on the edge of breaking completely. The world was splintering around him; his self-control was shattering inside of him.

He wanted to seize it. Take it back with both hands. Claim it. Over her bare body, and if that was wrong, he couldn’t muster up the energy to care. Not now.

But she had to agree. Because now that he’d given himself permission to do this, to act on it...he wasn’t sure how far it might go.

“Be sure,” he said. “I am short on self-control tonight, if what I’ve said to you here wasn’t enough of an indicator. I don’t want to hurt you. But once we’re in the hotel room? I’m in charge. I will have what I want. So while we’re out here, you have the chance to tell me you don’t want that. If you want a sweet night of making love, then, darling, you need to find another man. That’s not what I want tonight. I don’t want to hold you, and go slow and tender. Tonight? I want you hard. I want you fast. I want you every time I ask. I want you on your knees. Tonight, you’re mine. If that’s not what you want? Get another guy to go home with you. You won’t have any trouble finding one. If that’s okay with you...don’t act like you weren’t warned.”

“You’re in charge?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

“Yes.”

“You’ll tell me what to do?” she asked, the black in her eyes expanding, the blue turning to a little sliver of color.

“Yes. Because once we’re in that suite, you’re mine.” He’d never said things like this to a woman in his life. He was polite. Courteous. Respectful.

Never once had he given in to that desire to ask a woman to get on her knees in front of him and do what she was told.

Never once had he spoken with such absolute honesty about what he wanted. Because he’d never been this honest with himself about what he wanted. Because he spent his life in denial of those ugly things, the twisted shadows in his soul, the dirty blood that he couldn’t escape.

“Then let’s go,” she said.

“This is what you want?”

“Do I have to say it again?”

“Do I have to tell you what I want again?”

“Only if you want me to push you up against the wall and have you here and now,” she said. “Because I’ve never had a man say anything like that to me before, and I have to tell you, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Then I suppose we better get to our room.”

She swallowed hard, the motion of her throat fascinating. He wanted to press his lips to it. He wanted to scrape her skin with his teeth and listen to the sound she would make.

He wanted to feel her shiver beneath his touch.

“Yes,” he said again. “We need to go. Now.”

“You going to call us a car?”

“I have a car.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, a driver.”

“That makes more sense. Kind of.”

He held his hand out and she took it, delicate fingers curling around his. “I assume you want to get out without being seen?”

“I’d rather not parade back through the ballroom, now that you mention it.”

“You don’t want to advertise that you’re leaving with me?”

“Not so much. Can we keep it clandestine? That’s pretty sexy, really.”

“You’re ashamed,” he said.

A slash of color faded into her cheeks. “Maybe a little.”

“Because you want me so much.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s bad to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said. “I think having sex with a stranger is pretty bad.”

“But you sort of like the idea of being a bad girl, don’t you?”

The color in her cheeks deepened. “Seriously, let’s go.”

“We’re going to have fun,” he said, tugging her down the empty hall. Fun was the wrong word for it, though. He could already sense that.

But it would be a release.

And he needed one. More than he’d realized.

When they got into the elevator and the doors closed, he felt the tension wrap around them like a cloak. Thick and heavy. He thought it might suffocate him. He could have her. Push the stop button and push her against the wall. Work it out in five minutes. Take the edge off the intense need.

But it wasn’t what he wanted. Not really.

He wanted to make them both wait.

Wanted to have her to himself. A whole night. A night to play with his demons instead of shoving them down deep. He would feel worse if he didn’t get the sense that she was doing the same. That she was about to perform an exorcism, using his body as holy water.

That suited him just fine.

But the wait didn’t.

“These elevators are effing slow,” she said, letting out a long breath as a five flashed across the light board at the top of the wall.

“They are a bit. I hadn’t noticed until now.”

“Me either. They seemed normal until tonight.”

Four, three, two, L. Thank God.

The doors opened and he walked out ahead of her. He didn’t touch her. Not again. Because it would be too tempting. It would be too much. He was on the edge as it was, and one more brush of her soft skin on his and he would lose it completely.

He picked up his phone. “Car. Up front. Now.”

The lobby doors opened just as his black town car pulled up to the front of the building.

He opened the door and waited. “Get in,” he said when she approached and paused.

She obeyed, lowering her head, the lights from the building shimmering over that hair, still contained in the tight bun. Heat burst through him, starting in his gut and spreading outward, pooling in his groin.

He got in and closed the door. “The Black Book Hotel,” he said to his driver before leaning back in the seat and pressing a button that put up a black divider between them and the man in front.

They hadn’t exchanged names. And that suited him just fine. He didn’t need a name to know that tonight she was his. Though, she might feel differently.

“Did you want to exchange names?” he asked, not sure, if she did, if he would be honest or not.

“I sort of like it like this.”

“Do you?”

“Not being me for the night? It works.”

He’d been right about the demons. Maybe she had a husband or boyfriend. Or it was related to what she felt she owed Jason. He didn’t care. Didn’t care if she loved someone else, as long as tonight, she didn’t think of anyone else.

None of that would come between them tonight. Nothing existed tonight but the fantasy. But a few blessed moments of feeling like there was something in his life that wasn’t beyond him.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he said. “Come here.”

She was across the car from him, her seat belt buckled. She pressed the button slowly and then put her hands on the seat, crawling to him slowly, on her hands and knees.

Everything in him tightened to the point where he thought he might break. It was the practical way to move across the car; he knew that. But there was something about it that grabbed him by the throat and shook him hard.

His eyes dropped to her breasts, emphasized by the motion, pale and round, spilling over the top of her black dress. Her red lips were parted slightly and it was so easy to imagine them wrapped around his cock. And her hair loose, wrapped around his hand...

Not yet.

He captured her face and leaned in, kissing her firmly, his tongue sliding along the seam of her mouth, delving in deeply when she parted for him. A muffled sound escaped her and he captured it, kissing her harder.

Lust, need, fired through him. All heat and desire, the kind he’d never known had existed before. He’d tasted it. On the edge of dreams, with fantasy women, when he woke up, sweaty and wrapped in his sheets, slick with shame and release.

But never in reality. Because he’d always held a part of himself back. And he’d imagined he always would.

Not tonight.

He kept kissing her, their bodies separate, need roaring through him. He wanted to tug her up against him, to feel those delicious curves pressed against his body, but he was determined to wait.

Determined to prolong the torture because there was something about it—this lust that bordered on pain—that appealed to him in a way that was beyond description. Beyond comprehension.

It wasn’t even his own deprivation that mattered. It was hers. She wanted more. And he wasn’t allowing her to have it. He had her on the brink with just a kiss, and he knew it. And he had the power to deny her pleasure, and right now he was using that power.

The car stopped and he pulled away from her. “Ready?”

She nodded slowly.

“You get out first,” he said.

She did, as she slid past him and opened the car door. She got out and stood on the sidewalk, waiting for him as people walked past, her breath a cloud in the cold air.

He got out, shutting the door behind him. “Walk ahead of me,” he said. “I want to watch you.”

She did, and he followed, his eyes on the elegant curve of her neck, the delicate line of her spine. And her ass. So round and perfect.

She went through the revolving door of the hotel and into the lobby, and he continued in behind her. He liked this. Liked the feeling that she was putting on a show, in public, meant only for him.

Her legs demanded at least an hour devoted to a fantasy starring them exclusively. Sky-high black pumps emphasized the length and the sleek muscles. The seams of her stockings—damn, he hoped they were stay-ups—centered so perfectly in the backs of her calves, a tease, a hint that she was some sort of sweet old-fashioned girl. Which made him want to do bad things to her even more.

He could picture her now, without the dress, stockings and shoes on, bent over a piece of furniture, just waiting for him to take her....

That was going to happen. At some point tonight, he would be sure that it did.

Another damned elevator.

She got inside and leaned back against the walls. The doors started to close and he had to jog to make it in time. He stuck his arm in between them, then slipped inside, letting the doors slide shut behind him.

“That was naughty,” he said.

Her cheeks colored and she met his gaze. “Sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do that?”

She lifted one shoulder. “I’m not sure.”

“Are you going out of your way to misbehave?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“It’s almost like you want some consequences,” he said, his voice tight, making it almost impossible to breathe. He wasn’t sure what he was saying anymore. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking.

Except that it was hard to think with all of his blood just south of his belt.

But fantasies, erotic images, didn’t require much thought. He could think of so many ways to punish her....

No. He had to have a limit.

“If I did?” she asked, sounding breathless. Excited. Aroused.

Damn. This woman was a lit match against a pool of gasoline inside of him. Sitting there, dormant and under control for so many years.

Yeah, he’d known it was there, but he’d done his best to ignore it.

But with her, he was on the verge of exploding. And it was too late to go back.

“I can give them to you, baby, but I’m not sure exactly what you expect.”

“I’m not sure, either. Only that...you make me want things... I don’t know what I want,” she said, her eyes never leaving his. “You’ll have to show me.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. He took her hand in his again, her fingers icy now. Nerves. It made him feel like the asshole he very likely was.

He was a stranger. Much larger than her. And here he was, taking her back to a hotel to play power games that not even he knew the boundaries to.

He might just have a spot in hell next to his father yet. The kind of man who said he only wanted to protect women, while he used and manipulated them.

No. This isn’t the same.

Isn’t it?

He shut down that thought and held her more firmly, walking toward the room and checking his phone before keying in the code on the ornate door.

“Ladies first,” he said.

Katy shivered as she walked into the hotel room. There was nothing restrained or modern about their surroundings. It was like a vampire whorehouse. Black fleur-de-lis wallpaper gilded with ornate sconces. A sumptuous bed with deep purple velvet pillows and a black bedspread. Everything about it screamed dark seduction, which was appropriate, since that was what she was in the middle of.

And she didn’t know what she’d been thinking. Not in the car when she’d crawled over to him, not in the elevator when she’d tried to... Had she been trying to make him angry?

No. Because she hadn’t really thought it would make him angry. But she’d thought it might provoke a reaction.

Earn her the threat of punishment.

And there was something about it that she liked. Something about the edge of danger that was wrapped in gauzy sensuality that she found irresistible.

Something that made it feel real and present. It was a desire she’d always known she’d had, but had never, ever been brave enough to go and get.

Until him.

This moment, this man, was like coming up to the surface for air after years of being held underwater. And all she could do was gasp for breath. Take in everything she possibly could.

Because it wouldn’t last. This feeling, this moment, wouldn’t—couldn’t—last.

He closed the door behind them, the sound so final. Strangely arousing. Because this was it. The point of no return.

And she didn’t want to stop anyway.

She turned to face him, his eyes dark. In that moment, she felt she saw this man, this stranger, in a more honest light than she’d ever seen anyone else in her life.

Her parents were always lost in a drug haze. Sarah wrapped up in her ambitions, working to make a life for them, away from the hellhole they lived in. Trey in the safety net of anger that kept him from having to feel just what a horrible life they had.

And as for her? She hid everything. Even from herself.

But this man was looking at her, stark and hungry, in pain. He was stripped bare, standing there in his custom suit. All the expensive fabric and elegant tailoring couldn’t conceal the fact that he was a man on the edge.

And everything in her responded to that fact.

Maybe because it forced her into honesty. Because it made her have to break through the glass case she surrounded herself in. Keeping everyone and everything at a distance so that she could simply make it through life. So that she could make it through to the end without falling into the dark places she used to be.

Because she had no choice but to make it to the end.

To her revenge. To her justice.

Her entire life was lived for someone else. All of her desires sealed away safely.

Until now. Until this moment.

That was why she wanted it all. Every emotion in this one experience. Why she wanted it intense and dark and everything she’d ever wanted sex to be.

Because this was all she would get. This night. This man. And then it was back to living for other people.

Back inside her glass case.

Not tonight. Tonight she was simply going to follow his orders. And whatever it made her feel would be for her. Not anyone else.

Confessing ignorance. Asking for help. They were two things she never did. Normally she would rather chew glass. But this...game. Whatever it was. This thing with him made it okay. It made it feel right. It made it feel okay.

More than that, it felt like a release in and of itself. The slow removal of a weight she hadn’t known she’d been carrying.

“Stand against the wall,” he said.

She did, because obeying him gave her a sort of illicit thrill. “Now what?”

“I want to see you without that dress.”

“You don’t want to kiss me first?” she asked, feeling nervous.

“No.”

“But—”

“Take off your dress for me. Now.”

She put her arm behind her back and gripped her zipper with shaking fingers, drawing it down slowly, her breathing harsh and unsteady, her heart thundering in her ears.

The bodice went slack, sliding down and revealing her breasts, covered by a black satin push-up bra that was doing her a whole lot of favors.

His nostrils flared, his jaw clenched tight as his hand drifted to the bulge at the front of his slacks. His fingers drifted along the ridge there and she had to squeeze her thighs together to try to assuage the answering ache between her legs.

“The rest,” he said, his voice rough.

She pushed the dress down her hips on her exhalation, and let it pool at her feet. She kicked the dress aside, leaning against the wall. The velvet fleur-de-lis and satin that covered the wall was both warm and cool against her skin.

She lifted her hands to the front clasp of her bra.

“No,” he said, his hand pausing over his clothed erection. “Leave it. Everything else stays for now.”

He approached her slowly, a predator stalking his prey. His movements liquid and powerful. He extended his hand and brushed his thumb over her cheek.

“I think I first saw you two hours ago,” he said. “It feels like I’ve been waiting for you for a lot longer than that.”

“Forever, even,” she said, her heart pounding hard, virginal nerves starting to get the better of her.

What had she gotten herself into? This was a situation, a man, way above her pay grade.

But he’s the man you deserve. After waiting so long. After working so hard for everyone else. You haven’t felt anything for so long. And he’ll make you feel it all.

Her inner selfish heathen was determined to have her way tonight, and damn the consequences.

He moved to her, pressing his body against hers, her back firm against the wall. He leaned in, kissing her hard, his mouth savage, demanding. He cupped her face, blunt fingertips digging into her skin as he took possession of her with his lips, teeth and tongue.

She kissed him back, helpless to do anything but answer his every demand.

She’d never even conceived of a kiss like this. Filled with so much desperation. So much need.

The need to control, the need to submit. The need to possess and the need to yield.

It was everything, and it all blended together. His needs and hers. It was a perfect storm, and it was happening around them. In them.

He lowered his head, lips on her neck, her collarbone. He cupped her breasts, lowered his head and slid the flat of his tongue down between the valley of her breasts.

She arched into him, her shoulder blades still against the wall, a hoarse cry rising in her throat.

“How should I punish you?” he asked, scraping his teeth along the plump curve of her breast before soothing it with his tongue. “With pleasure? With pain? Or do you like both?” He bit her again, harder this time, the shaft of pure, undiluted lust it sent through her far more shocking than the sting he left behind.

“I like whatever you want to give me,” she said, shocked by the huskiness in her tone. By the confidence in the statement.

“That’s what I want to hear.” He grabbed the cup of her bra and tugged it down. “You are beautiful.” He rubbed his thumb over the tip of her nipple, drawing it into a point so tight it hurt in the best way possible.

Yes. She liked whatever he wanted to give.

And it made all of this so easy.

He tugged the other side of her bra down and squeezed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, increasing the pressure until she had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering from the pain.

“You like it,” he said, not a question.

She nodded.

“Good. I like it, too,” he said. “I like that I can push it to the edge with you. That you want me enough that it all feels good. That’s it, isn’t it?”

A rush of warmth burst through her. “Yes.”

“I bet I know what you want,” he said.

“Do you?”

“You want to come.”

His words sent a shaft of heat—embarrassed and aroused—through her. “Well, doesn’t everyone?”

He chuckled, low and sexy. “I suppose. But that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I want to...” She’d never said anything like this out loud before. “I want to c-come.”

“Have I mentioned,” he said, not addressing what she said at all, “that I was dying to see you in these stockings and heels?”

“No...”

“I was.” He slid his finger along the lace top of her stay-ups. “So sexy. And these...” He moved his index finger to the top of her panties and dipped it beneath the thin black fabric. She could hardly breathe. Her body felt like it was going to burst into flame at any moment. “These are perfect. But—” he slipped his hand down inside, his palm barely skimming the most intimate part of her as he pushed her underwear down her legs “—I don’t think you’ll need them for a while.”

He cupped her then, sliding his fingers across her slick flesh, one pressing inside of her. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

He rocked his palm against her clitoris as he pushed his finger in deep, sending a shock wave of sensation through her.

He dropped down to his knees and kissed her stomach, leaning in then and removing his hand, flicking his tongue over her clit while his finger worked in time with the strokes.

“Oh...” She laced her fingers through his hair and held her to him, her head back against the wall as she warred between trying to figure out how she’d gotten here tonight, mostly naked, with a man on his knees in front of her, and just trying not to black out.

She held him tight to her, flexing her hips and chasing her release. She was close...so close...

“Enough,” he said. “Not yet.”

“No,” she said, tightening her hold on his hair.

“You aren’t in any position to give orders,” he said, moving away from her and standing. She wanted to cry with frustration now.

“I need...”

“I know what you need,” he said. He started to loosen his tie, undoing the knot and letting it drape over his shoulder. Then he shrugged his coat off. Undid his cuffs. It was maddening to watch. Each detail meticulous, far too slow and utterly arousing.

She didn’t want to watch him do the world’s slowest striptease. She wanted him to touch her again. Taste her again.

“We do need some rules,” he said. “Because I want control, but I don’t want to hurt you. Not really. If you need me to stop, you tell me to stop. Just say the word. Don’t think it. Don’t hope it. Say it. I want control, but not force. Do you promise to tell me to stop?” There was something in his eyes when he said that, something that tugged at her. And there was a strand of fear in his voice.

As if he were truly afraid she would let him go too far.

And she realized something. He wanted control, but only the control she would give him.

That was her power. He needed this from her, but she had to be willing to give it. She had to trust him enough that she believed he would stop if she asked.

She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said, the word rough. “Now, on the bed.”

“What...now?”

“On the bed,” he said. “Don’t talk unless I tell you to. Get on the bed, in your high heels and stockings, and spread your legs for me.”

She kept her eyes on his, because she had a feeling she wasn’t permitted to look away, as she got onto the massive bed. She lay back, breathing difficult now as she put her feet as flat as she could.

Her sky-high shoes almost lifted her rear up off the mattress, leaving her feeling extra exposed. Exceedingly vulnerable.

She’d never been naked in front of a man before. Ever. And this didn’t follow any guidebook she’d read for sex. Didn’t evoke any of the random novels she’d thumbed through looking for the good stuff.

But what she wanted never had. But that hadn’t stopped her from wanting it.

She had no idea what he would do next. No idea what to expect.

He slid his tie from his shoulders, the stretch of black silk held taut between both of his hands. “You aren’t allowed to come until I say you can,” he said. “And you can’t touch me,” he said, his voice lowering, “until I allow it.”

“But...”

“Shhh,” he said, leaning forward, touching the stretch of black silk to her lips, like he meant to gag her with it. “No talking.” Then he moved the tie, laying it over her eyes. “I like that idea,” he said. “But I need to be able to hear you if you need me to.” He lifted the tie higher, to where her hands were resting above her head. The position had seemed natural to her. And now she understood why.

He slipped the expanse of silk behind her wrists and then wrapped it around one, then the other, before binding them together. She knew that if she told him no, he would stop. So she said nothing. Because she wanted it. Because she liked the element of feeling as though he’d done it without her permission.

He rose up above her. “So beautiful. And mine,” he said. He put his hands on her legs and pushed them even farther apart, his gaze roaming over her. “All mine.” He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the tender skin on her inner thigh before moving on to more intimate territory.

He began to pleasure her with his mouth again, pushing one finger inside of her, then another, pushing her higher, closer to the edge before stopping, pulling back.

She wanted to tell him to stop. That it was too much. But then he would stop, like he’d promised, and she didn’t want that, either.

She bit her lip, flexed her hips, tried to force herself closer to him.

“No,” he said, sliding his tongue over her clit. “You aren’t in charge here, sweetheart. I am. Stop trying to break the rules.”

He withdrew his fingers from her body and slid them upward, white-hot pleasure spiking through her as he did. “Open,” he said, and she did. “Suck on them for me.”

This was a test. To see if she would obey. And she wouldn’t fail his test. She opened for him and he slipped his fingers between her lips and she could taste her own pleasure on them. Could taste the evidence of what he’d done to her.

She ran her tongue along his fingers as he pushed them in her mouth and out again and she felt him shudder, the muscles in his body tensing.

He reached around behind her head, braced one hand on her neck, grabbed the end of his tie with the other and brought her into a sitting position, with her hands neatly in her lap. Still bound.

“On your knees,” he said, drawing back and getting off of the bed, his hands working at the belt on his slacks.

He placed the belt on the edge of the mattress, his movements just as controlled and methodical now as they’d been when he undid his cuffs and tie.

He moved to unbutton his shirt, working silently as he released the buttons, exposing a wedge of tan skin. He shrugged the shirt from his broad shoulders, muscles shifting with the motion.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Off of each sharply defined line. How each movement sent off a ripple effect through his torso. He straightened and her eyes locked on to the dark hair that covered his chest and ran in a line down the center of his perfectly defined abs. Just enough to remind her that he was a man, not enough to conceal up all those gorgeous muscles.

She wanted to touch him. But she was still tied.

“I said on your knees,” he repeated.

She repositioned herself, her hands in front of her, her heels beneath her butt, her knees denting the mattress.

He put his hand behind her head and started releasing her hair from its pins. It fell around her in a dark, silken wave, moving over her shoulders, covering her breasts.

“I’ve been having fantasies about your hair,” he said, his expression tense. Hard. Like a man carved from stone. Like a man trying, so very hard, to hold everything—his emotions, his desires—at bay.

She watched as his hands went to the closure on his slacks. Her throat went dry and she swallowed hard, finding breathing difficult.

She’d never seen a naked man in person before. And here she was, about to be confronted with her first, her hands tied.

You could tell him to stop....

No. She didn’t want that.

He shrugged his underwear and pants down, exposing himself to her for the first time. She’d had a fair idea, judging from the bulge, that he was not a small man. But that was a bit of an understatement.

He wrapped his hand around his shaft and she watched, mesmerized, as he stroked himself once. Twice. Closing his eyes as he did, muttering something. A curse, a prayer. She wasn’t sure.

He kept one hand on his erection, and cupped her cheek with the other, before moving it to her hair, sifting the strands through his fingers.

He pushed her hair back, gathering it in his fist and twisting it around his hand, his hold firm. He didn’t pull; he simply held her. Captive. At his mercy.

Pleasure and excitement shivered along her spine as she waited to see what he would do next. What he would demand next.

She bit her lip, her eyes on his arousal.

“You want that?” he asked.

She nodded slowly, waiting for his order.

He moved closer to her and she tried to lean in but he held her fast, pain tingling around her scalp as he held her hair tight, keeping her in place.

“I didn’t say you could do that yet,” he said.

He tugged her hair again, forcing her head back. She looked up at him, their eyes locking. “Please,” she said, breaking his rule.

She was hungry. For him. For every experience he could give. Everything she’d missed.

She parted her lips and waited for him to come to her. He moved closer and she touched the tip of his shaft with her tongue, her eyes on his face. She could see the tension there, could see how much he wanted it. That he was denying them both for some reason.

She opened wider and took more of him in. He held her tight, guiding her, setting the pace. She watched him, watched to see if he was getting the same pleasure from this that she’d gotten when he’d done it for her.

And it was her turn to deny him. To push him to the edge. To feel him shake, even while he held her in his iron grip.

He pushed his hips toward her and guided her head down and she took him in deep, her tongue moving along the hard ridge of him.

He swore and pulled her back. “Not yet. Not like that,” he said.

He released his hold on her hair and stepped back, sweat making his chest and shoulders glisten. She just wanted to stare at him for a moment. At that hard flat stomach, the lines that framed the part of his body she was enjoying so much.

“I’m not waiting anymore,” he said, opening the drawer by the bed and pulling out a condom. The amenities he’d requested in his phone call earlier, no doubt. “Turn around,” he said. “Face the headboard.”

She turned away from him reluctantly. She wanted to keep staring at him. She wanted to memorize this moment. This night. No, it wasn’t sweet lovemaking. But it was what she needed.

And she had no idea when she would have the chance to do something like this ever again. Hell, it would never be like this again.

Because she’d never had a connection like this with anyone else. This raw, visceral understanding that went beneath their social veneers and touched on something real.

She hadn’t made the choice to be honest with him. She’d had no other option. She suspected it was the same for him.

This man who was clearly from a life so obviously different from hers. A guest at the party, not the help. And yet he knew her. And she knew him.

She felt the mattress depress behind her, his hand on her hip, the other on her arm.

He swept her hair to the side and kissed her neck, the action surprisingly gentle. He slid his fingertips along her elbows, then gripped her wrists, lifting them slightly and looping them over the thick, black bedpost.

He let his hand drift from there, over her breasts, down to her stomach, between her legs. He repositioned her, bringing her ass up against him. He was hot and hard behind her, his fingers teasing her now, ramping up her arousal, keeping her nerves at bay.

She gasped as he pushed two fingers inside of her again, testing her slickness, testing her readiness.

She wasn’t sure how much it would hurt. But tonight, there had already been some pain, and he’d made it okay. More than okay—he made it good. He would make this good, too.

He knew her body. Knew how to keep her walking that fine line between pleasure and pain. Knew when to pull back, when to push for more.

So she trusted him to do this, too.

He withdrew his fingers and repositioned them both. Then he was pressed against the entrance to her body, sliding in slowly, his grip tight on her hip.

She bit her lip, trying to keep from whimpering. It was the burning pain she hadn’t expected. Pain, yes, but not quite this kind. It made her eyes water, made her shake.

“Stop?” he asked, his voice hard.

“No,” she said, pulling down hard on her restraints, the bedpost biting into her wrists.

He tugged back on her hip and thrust hard, driving himself in to the hilt. He cursed again and started moving inside of her, the pain gradually decreasing, pleasure slowly blooming in her stomach and spreading outward.

All of the fire, the need, from every touch, every tease, every glance since she’d first seen him came roaring through her, the heat threatening to consume her completely.

He moved his hand between her legs, his fingers teasing her in time with his thrusts. “Come for me,” he said. “Come for me now.”

His words hit just as his fingertip brushed against her clit, just as he filled her with another hard thrust, and pushed her over the edge.

Her release was hard. Bursting inside of her, leaving shock waves of heat behind. Leaving her shaking, her shoulders aching.

He let out a harsh growl, both of his hands tight on her hips, fingertips digging into her skin, his hold so hard she thought it might leave a bruise. And in the wake of her orgasm, she prayed it did.

That there would be a physical brand of what he’d done to her. How he’d changed her.

There was no sound in the room beyond their splintered breathing. Until his voice broke the silence.

“Damn,” he said, his forehead resting on her shoulder blade, his breath hot on her skin. “You should have said something.”

“I wasn’t allowed to talk,” she said.

He swore again, reaching over and tugging her hand from around the bedpost. He moved away from her and started to untie her hands. “You should have told me.”

“What exactly?”

“You have blood on your legs,” he said, his tone grim.

“Oh. That.”

“The fact that you were a virgin should have come up,” he growled. “How the hell were you a virgin?”

“You’re so sure I was?” she asked, feeling shaken. Unsure of what to do with herself.

“Yes,” he said, though he didn’t sound sure now.

“You an expert?”

“I’m not. That’s the thing. Never done that before, but then, that’s why it seemed different.” He turned away from her and discarded the condom in a wastebasket by the bed.

“Or maybe I just feel different. Maybe I’m just different,” she said, only realizing after that the statement sounded just a little needy.

“Are you going to tell me you weren’t a virgin?”

“I don’t get why you’re angry,” she said.

“Because!” he shouted, turning back around, his chest pitching sharply. “You let that be your first time? What the hell is wrong with you? Didn’t I warn you?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and rubbed her wrist, where the tie had left red marks on her skin. “You don’t even know my name. Why would I tell you how many men I’ve been with?”

“Or haven’t been with.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “I got what I wanted.”

He curled his lip. “How could that have given you anything you wanted?”

“It just did. Also not something I need to share with you. My reasons are mine. And I’m sure your reasons for getting off on telling a woman to get on her knees and suck your dick are yours. But you know what? It’s none of my business.”

“You should go,” he said.

“Actually,” she said, getting off the bed, her ankle rolling thanks to her damn four-inch heels, “I should. I... Thanks for the sex, or whatever it is you people of sophistication say in situations like this. I am just a poor, hapless virgin, so I’m at a loss.”

“Get your clothes.”

“I’m not taking orders from you right now,” she spat, bending down to get her dress. “If you’re in the mood to give orders, though, order me a car. How about that?”

“No problem.” He bent down and picked his pants up, tugging his phone out of his pocket. “Send the car up front. You’re just picking up my friend for now.”

He hung up and she stood there, her dress crushed against her breasts. He was still naked. Still beautiful beyond reason.

And still bleeding emotion. It was hemorrhaging between them. Their needs mixing, mingling into one giant pool of regret.

“I have a feeling we’re both a bit too many levels of screwed up to be able to deal with each other,” she said, looking down at the ground. At her feet, still clad in those patent-leather black high heels.

“I imagine you’re right.”

She stepped into her dress and zipped it up. And they stood there. Like two strangers. Like he hadn’t been inside of her only a few moments ago.

Like he hadn’t left marks on her. Inside and out.

His phone buzzed. “That would be your car.”

“Spiffy.” She turned, and the moment she couldn’t see him anymore, her heart squeezed so tight she thought she would suffocate. “Hey, before I go,” she said, turning partially, “did you want my name?”

He shook his head. “I don’t need it.”

More than that, he didn’t want it. She could see it. That he was almost afraid of it. Afraid to put a name to the virgin he’d just violated, or whatever the hell issue he was having. Afraid to have a name for the woman he was throwing out only minutes after having sex with her.

“Katy,” she said, her hand on the doorknob. “My name is Katy Michaels. It was nice to have met you.”


Chapter Three (#ulink_56d42c0b-209b-5fe9-b4f2-0c0945060e79)

My name is Katy Michaels.

Those words kept echoing in his ears. They had been for three days.

Because he knew that name.

Sarah had talked about Katy. Her younger sister. One of her inspirations for working so hard. One of the reasons, in the end, why she’d put up with Jason’s abuse instead of leaving the firm.

Because there weren’t a lot of ways out of the pit of poverty. Not easy ways. Many needed a hand-up, that was for sure. But there were very few people willing to give one without strings attached.

Which had been the situation Sarah had found herself bound up in, and he hadn’t even realized it.

She’d been sending money to her younger sister. To her younger brother.

Katy had been in school; he knew that much.

He was a dick. There was no way this could be worse. None at all. He’d used her to feel in control of his own miserable life, a life that he was in the process of exploding so that he could make right what had been done to her sister.

He’d chosen to, for the first time ever, unleash his domination fantasies on a woman and it turned out to be Sarah’s younger sister. The sister Sarah had protected with everything in her.

Sarah had died, in all likelihood, under a stress she never would have endured if she hadn’t had Katy and their brother to take care of.

And he had debauched her. Holy hell, it was like he was destined to screw up everything. Like he was destined to be the villain no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

One slipup with regards to his self-control and he’d done the worst thing imaginable.

“Stephanie,” he said, approaching the reception desk in the front of his father’s office, “is my father in?”

“Yes, he is, Mr. Treffen, but he’s in a meeting.” The woman looked down and Austin noticed that she seemed dull. Tired. It made his chest ache. “I can let him know you’re here and see if he wants to interrupt?”

She lifted her hand to brush her hair behind her ear and he noticed finger-shaped bruises curving around her wrist.

And he saw a flash of his hands on Katy’s hips. He wondered if he’d left bruises behind, too. If he were any different from his father, a man who used others to his own ends. For his own pleasure.

Even if it left them damaged beyond repair.

Then he saw red.

“I’ll be interrupting the meeting, thank you, Stephanie. I find I’m not in the mood to wait.” He strode past reception. If Stephanie were arguing, he couldn’t hear her over the roar of the blood in his head.

He kept seeing flashes of his night with Katy.

And he wondered now if Sarah had gone through something similar. But he wondered if she’d ever been told she could say stop. Or if his father had unleashed all of that on her without ever giving her a choice.

It made him sick to think about it.

He walked down the long, bland corridor, the walls closing in on him as he went. Then he heard a familiar voice and stopped cold outside his father’s door.

It was cracked slightly, and he couldn’t see the speaker, but he could hear her.

My name is Katy Michaels....

What was she doing here?

“Thank you, Mr. Treffen, that will be all. I’ll be handing over my case to another events coordinator. I’m sorry that the party of the other night wasn’t to your specifications.” Her tone was tight, stiff.

“Not at all, Ms. Michaels. I apologize that the complaint found you in trouble with your firm.”

A sliver of ice wound down Austin’s spine.

Jason wasn’t sorry at all. He had that tone in his voice, when he spoke to a victim. A woman he intended to draw in. Austin recognized it now, and he had no idea how he hadn’t seen it before.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Treffen. I’ll do other accounts.”

“Of course it’s not nothing,” his father responded, his tone cajoling. “I know that Treffen, Smith and Howell is a big account. Losing it would be difficult for anyone. I imagine you receive a commission per event?”

“In addition to my regular salary, yes.”

“So you’ll be suffering financially.”

“A bit,” she said, her voice clipped. “But I’ll soldier on.”

“If there’s anything I can do, let me know. I have other work.”

Austin tightened his hand into a fist. What the hell was this? What was her game? What was his father’s? Did he know who she was? It wouldn’t be hard to place her. Michaels was a common enough last name, but Austin had figured out the connection easily.

And as for Katy...had she been using him to get to his father? Was that why she’d given him her virginity? So that she could maneuver her way into a better position?

Of course, their night together had gone to hell, so it hadn’t worked that way, but he could see the logic in it.

“Thank you,” she said. His father was seemingly unaware of the edge in her voice. Sharp and cutting, and, Austin had the feeling, prepared to verbally castrate him at a moment’s notice. “Mr. Treffen, perhaps we’ll see each other again soon?”

“I hope so, my dear.”

Austin curled his hands into fists. To keep himself from pushing the door open. To keep himself from storming into his father’s office and committing acts of violence he would regret later.

He moved back in the corridor before she opened the door and closed it tightly behind her.

Then she froze, her eyes round as she looked up at him. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I might ask you the same thing. But I realize that both of us never asked why exactly we were attending the Treffen, Smith and Howell Christmas party the other night. We forgot, I think, that we have someone in common between us.”

He watched as her face changed. Horror lighting her eyes, her top lip curving upward into something like a snarl. “We do, don’t we?” she said. Her voice was monotone, not reflecting any of the war of emotion raging behind those blue eyes.

But she couldn’t hide it from him.

“I suggest we take this elsewhere.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I have to go back to work,” she said.

“And do what? You’ve lost a major account.” Which he suspected was by design. One of his father’s sick, sadistic designs. “And we need to talk.”

“I don’t think we do.”

He reached out and took her arm, held her there, and hated himself for doing it. But he had to hold on to her. She was Sarah’s sister and she’d walked right into the lion’s den. And he didn’t even know if she knew it.

She was stupid enough to come back to his hotel room, either by design or by accident. She was stupid enough to come into his father’s office today. Alone.

Or maybe naive was the better word.

He thought about how tight she’d been when they’d been together. The fact that she’d never been with another man...

Yes, perhaps naive was the word.

“You will speak to me now, or I will march you in there and we can have this conversation in front of Treffen. Which do you prefer?”

“What’s your connection with him?” she asked, her voice breathless.

“It’s genetic, I’m afraid. Now, let’s go outside.”

She didn’t argue this time. She let him lead her. Past reception—and a wide-eyed Stephanie—and into the elevator.

The doors slid shut behind them and she rounded on him. “We seem to spend a lot of time in elevators,” she said crisply.

“We’ve spent a vast amount more time in bed, but yes, some time in elevators. But what we haven’t done is talk.”

“We talked. About shrimp, and you told me to get on my knees.”

“So we did,” he said, his tone clipped. “But I think we skimmed over something very important. Katy Michaels.”

“You remembered. I would have thought it would have sunk down into the annals of your memory by now. Just one of the many women you’ve deflowered in that ridiculous hotel room. It looked like a vampire brothel, by the way.”

“One, I have never used that particular connection before. But a man would have to be an idiot not to keep said offer in his back pocket. Because he never knows when he might need a vampire brothel, as you called it. Two, I’ve never been with a virgin before, and I never do one-night stands.”

“I have one nightstand but that’s completely different.”

“Entirely.”

The doors opened to the lobby and he waited for her to go first. Like he had that night. Except he didn’t own the right to do that now. He never had. To give her orders. To make her his.

He shook his head and continued behind her, out the front door and to where his driver was waiting. “Get in.”

“This is like bad déjà vu.”

“Would it be so bad?” he asked, and then he closed the door and took a deep breath of the cold air before rounding to the other side of the car and getting in.

When he closed the door and settled in, she looked at him. “I think, after the way things ended between us, yes, it would be so bad now that you mention it.”

“You like bad, though,” he said, his eyes fixed firmly ahead, on the divider that kept his driver out of the conversation. “I remember.” And so did he. A slug of desire hit him in the gut. Wrong time. Wrong place.




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