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  "I guess she told you," Damien says, amusement lacing his voice.

  "At least she looks well fed." Jamie told me she left Kevin, our cute but spacey neighbor, in charge of feeding the cat. Considering I sometimes wonder how Kevin makes it through the day, I can't say that I fully endorsed her choice of pet sitter.

  I drop my bag on the floor and toss the mail onto the bed. "I can't believe she left it here," I say, though of course I can. If left up to Jamie, the bed will become a permanent fixture, much like the pile of clothes at the bottom of her closet or the science project that is undoubtedly growing in the fridge since I wasn't around to detox the condo every few days.

  Damien has left the suitcase by my bag, and now I unzip it, then rock back on my heels with a frown. This is the part about traveling I really don't like. It's crammed full, and I am not looking forward to sorting through everything--to wash, to hang, to iron. I fall back on the time-honored ploy of procrastination, ignoring my luggage while I sort through the mail. Bills, bills, junk, magazines. While I'm doing that, Damien stalks my apartment, checking out the newly installed motion sensors and other gizmos that his team has hooked up throughout the place.

  As he returns from my bedroom, I notice one letter that stands out from the pile. Its return address catches my attention--Stark International. I smile and glance up at Damien, expecting a knowing grin. He is focused on his phone, however, tapping out a response to yet another text message that has recently pinged.

  Since I'm not inclined to wait, I slide my finger under the flap, unsealing the envelope. As I do, I notice that Damien is returning his phone to his pocket, which I take as a sign that he's finally done. Ryan, I think, must be relieved.

  I tug the single sheet of paper from the envelope and unfold it. I expect sensual words and decadent language. What I find makes my blood run cold.

  HIS PAST WILL ALWAYS HURT YOU

  I gasp and drop the paper to the floor.

  "Nikki?" Damien is at my side immediately, but he has approached from the opposite side of the bed, climbing on and clutching my shoulders. "What is it?"

  I take a deep breath and force myself to get my shit together. Someone is playing with me--the text, my car, now this. But it's only a piece of paper. Just a goddamn piece of paper. A frisson of fear snakes through me, but I force it under. I can deal with this. I can handle it.

  "Nikki."

  "There." I point to the floor, then slide off the bed to retrieve it, but Damien is too fast, and he snatches it up before I am able.

  He holds the paper between two fingers, his fingertips and nails turning white from the pressure of his grip. I look more closely at the message, maybe expecting some sort of clue to leap out at me. But there is nothing on the sheet but those words, which look like they were actually typed by an old-fashioned manual machine.

  "Where did you get this?" His voice is calm and even. I point to the envelope that is still on the bed, and Damien uses a nearby catalog to flip it over. I see his expression and know he's seen the return address. "Son of a bitch," he snarls, then lashes out against the bedpost so hard the whole thing shakes.

  I wait a moment, then keep my voice even as I ask, "Someone got hold of your stationery?"

  "No," he says. "The motherfucker just wanted you to think it was from me. Look closely--don't touch," he adds as I lean in. "It's printed with a regular laser printer. Our envelopes are professionally embossed. Shit." He runs his fingers through his hair and takes a breath, then he focuses his attention on me. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," I say truthfully. "I was freaked at first, but that was just shock. Really," I say, because he is still looking hard at me, and I can see the concern in his eyes. "I'm okay now. Honest. I'm more pissed than scared."

  He nods slowly, as if weighing the veracity of my words. "All right," he says. "Get me a freezer bag. I'll get this to Ryan in the morning."

  I hurry to the kitchen, a bit surprised he isn't summoning Ryan right then. But considering the note came through the mail, I suppose time isn't of the essence.

  When I return with the bag, I find him pacing the room. He comes to meet me, takes the bag, and then uses his shirttail to slide the note and the envelope inside. He drops it on the bed, and then turns to pull me into his arms. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment.

  I pull back enough to face him. "What the hell for? You're not the one sending me nasty notes or dumping fish in my car."

  "I'm not," he says. "But it would appear that I'm the reason."

  "That's hardly breaking news." We both know that without Damien, I'm not interesting enough to attract the attention of either the media or a stalker. But if that's the price of being with Damien, then I'm willing to pay it.

  "No. I suppose it's not." He is silent for a moment, then, "I want you to move in with me."

  Oh. I take a step backward and sit on the edge of the bed again. I can't deny that I've wanted to hear those words for a while. Yes, I know that there are still shadows clinging to this man--that there are secrets that he may never reveal. But we have overcome so much already, and being with him feels so right. Already I wake up in his arms most mornings, and on the days when we sleep apart, I feel bereft.

  There have been hints before that he wants me to move in, but this is the first time he has spoken it outright. Under different circumstances, my heart would be fluttering with glee. But as I glance at the plastic bag with that vile letter, all I feel is a chill.

  Slowly, I lift my head and look at Damien. His expression is firm and business like. This is the face of an executive, not a lover, and my answer comes quickly to my tongue. "No."

  "What?"

  I stand. It's hard enough to win a battle of wills with Damien Stark; I sure as hell can't do it on my ass. "I said no."

  "No?" His voice is very low and as sharp as a knife. "Goddammit, Nikki, why the hell not?"

  I force myself to remain resolute. Because the truth is that I do want to live with him. Hell, I never want to leave his side. But not like this. "Do you want me to live with you because you love me or because you want to protect me?"

  He studies me for a moment, then shakes his head as if in exasperation, which, frankly, pisses me off. "I want you with me, Nikki. And dammit, you want it, too."

  Since I can't deny that, I stay quiet. Sometimes silence is the best policy.

  "Shit," he says, more to himself than to me.

  I point to the letter. "As much as I hate that, the bottom line is that mail can't hurt me, Damien, and the condo is safe. Your own team scoped it out. Or should I assume that the security team at Stark International does subpar work?"

  "I have certain expectations regarding everything I own." He's striding toward me as he speaks, the power seeming to come off him in waves. I swear if I look closely, I could see the electrons shimmer in response to his passing.

  I cock my head. "Am I one of your possessions, Mr. Stark?"

  He stops right in front of me, and even though I am determined to hold my ground, I find that I am having a hard time breathing. "I believe we had an arrangement," he says as he traces a fingertip lightly along my collarbone. My lips part and my legs feel weak. He knows the effect he has on me, damn him, and I close my eyes and succumb to the sensation. The trill of tiny sparks that seem to radiate through my body. That heavy, demanding longing between my thighs. I draw in a breath, and murmur a single word: "Damien."

  "There are rules, remember?" I think I hear a smile in his voice. The confidence of a man who thinks that he has won. "You're mine, Nikki. Whenever and however I want. And wherever," he adds, cupping my breast in his hand and squeezing my nipple between his thumb and forefinger so hard that it makes me gasp as pain mixes with pleasure and rockets through me all the way to my sex. "And where I want you is with me."

  "I am always with you," I say, though I have to fight to form words. I open my eyes, my body on fire and desperate for his touch. I want his hands on me. I want his cock inside me. I am his and I want to surrende
r to him right there, to let him have me however he wants.

  I want all that--but I also want to win this battle. And so I draw in a breath and say, slowly and firmly, "But I'm not moving in with you."

  He grabs my arms and pulls me to him. "Dammit, Nikki, this isn't a game."

  I raise a brow. "Isn't it, sir?"

  I see him flinch, then the jerk of his arms as he releases me, pushing back so that he can stalk away from me.

  I exhale, regretting my moment of bitchiness. "Damien, I'm fine." My voice is gentle but firm. "That letter gives me jitters, too, but it's just mail and bullshit. No one's in the condo. I mean, Jesus, you've turned this place into a fortress. Just give it a rest, okay?"

  "The hell I will," he snaps. "I want you safe. Nothing is going to happen to you. I'm not losing you the way--" He cuts himself off and I'm left gaping at him.

  "What? Dammit, Damien, is this about Sofia? You think her having gone missing has something to do with you?"

  "I don't have a clue why she's gone missing," he says.

  "And it's driving you crazy. And you aren't telling me a goddamn thing." I want to be understanding, really I do. I get that the situation is eating at him. His friend has disappeared. Some asshole is stalking me. And some potentially malevolent benefactor arranged for the dismissal of the charges against him in the worst way possible. He's trying to grab control of all that, and it's just slipping through his fingers. I get it; I do.

  But at the end of the day that doesn't change a thing.

  "Do not fight me on this, Nikki."

  "Hell yes, I'm fighting. Why bother to put the gate around my apartment if you're not going to trust that it will do its job? I mean, I don't like getting nasty mail any more than you do, but for all we know it was mailed from Antarctica."

  He strides to me, all power and control and cool masculinity. He reaches out and his finger brushes my cheek, the shock of his touch sending sparks through me. "I don't like being defied," he says.

  I suck in air, determined not to melt or back down. "I don't like being bossed around." I shift my feet, mentally planting my stance along with my posture. "You're not winning this one, Damien. Deal with it."

  His finger trails down my neck to the collar of my T-shirt. "Do you have any idea how frustrated I am right now?"

  I shudder, the light pressure of his touch sending all sorts of decadent promises swirling through me. "I know what you're doing." My words tremble. "It won't work."

  "Won't it?"

  I close my eyes, shivering as his fingertip follows the curve of my breast. "I'm not giving in."

  He fists his hand around the collar of my shirt and tugs me close. "I'll have you safe," he murmurs. As he holds me in place with one hand, with the other he captures my waist.

  He eases me backward, and I feel the bed press against the back of my thighs. My body tingles with awareness, but also with something new. This is the Damien I know so well, but there's a quality to his touch I haven't felt before. A take-no-prisoners attitude that excites me, making my inner thighs tingle and my cunt throb for his touch.

  "I want to cup my hand around you," he murmurs, sliding his hand over my sex as if in illustration, and then making me gasp when he uses that grip to lift me up onto the bed, the pressure from his thumb on my pubis and his palm over my sex so intense it send tremors though me, like portents of an explosion to come.

  He lays me out on the bed, one hand stroking circles on my sex and the other cupping my breast. I moan, my hips gyrating to meet him, my back arching up to increase the pressure of his hand against my painfully sensitive nipple. "That protective bubble you mentioned? I want to keep you locked inside. Whatever it takes," he says. "You can't possibly know how much I need you."

  "I do." I am not entirely sure how I manage to form words. Whatever game we are playing, I have conceded long ago. Whatever he wants from me, he can take. All I want right now is his touch.

  Despite the heat in his eyes, the small shake of his head is almost playful. "It's too big, too powerful. There is no start and no end, nothing with which I can measure the length and breadth of what I feel for you. I look at you and wonder how I can possibly survive the riot of emotions within me."

  "You make it sound almost painful." My words are soft, gently teasing.

  "You and I know better than anyone how pain and pleasure walk hand in hand. Passion, Nikki, remember? And with you, it fills me."

  I swallow, undone by both his words and by the intensity with which he is speaking them.

  "I want to hold you close. To cherish and protect you. To draw you in until we are so close that I am lost within you. I want to take you to bed, to watch the way your skin tightens beneath my fingers, the way your body awakens under my touch. I want to trail kisses over you until you are lost in so much pleasure that you don't know where you end and I begin. I want to tie you up and fuck you until there is no doubt that you are mine. I want to dress you up and take you out, and show you off, this beautiful, vibrant, brilliant woman. Everything I've built? All my companies? All my billions? They have no value compared to you."

  I open my mouth to speak, but he hushes me with a gentle finger to my lips. "So no, Nikki. I will not take chances with your safety. I will not fight. I will not be defied. You don't want to move in with me. That's fine. I'll move in with you."

  "Wait." I shift, trying to prop myself up on my elbows. I'm still floating in a sensual haze and not at all sure I heard him right. "What?"

  "You heard me. End of subject."

  "Damien, I--"

  His hand is still on my cunt, and he slides a finger under my thong and inside me. I throw my head back and moan, only to be silenced by his firm, hard kiss. "I'm going to tie you up now, Nikki, and there will be no argument, no retraction. Are we clear?"

  I nod helplessly. Liquid desire pools between my legs, making me hot and needy. My nipples tighten and my skin seems to vibrate simply from the pressure of the air against it.

  "But first, I need you naked." He slides his hand out from between my legs, and I mourn the loss of contact. Then he takes the hem of my T-shirt in his hands and skins it off me. He runs his finger over my bra, and I sigh from the delicious sensation of his fingertip gliding under the edge where my breast is bursting against the cup. "I like this," he says, his voice soft. "I think we'll keep this on. Now turn over," he adds, making a circle with his fingers. "On your hands and knees."

  I lift an eyebrow, and he swats my ass.

  "Over," he repeats.

  I'm tempted to defy him again, just for the pleasure of another swat, but I'm afraid that he might see through that ruse and shift the nature of the punishment to something less physical. Like not touching me. And that isn't something I think I can stand. So I comply, and then he unzips my skirt and skims it over my hips, taking the wisp of a thong with him.

  "Beautiful," he says, rubbing his palm over my rear. "Now put your head on the mattress, but keep your ass up." He brushes my thighs, urging my legs apart as my arms rest against my inner thighs. "Oh, yes, baby." I hear the heat of desire in his voice and it makes me even more wet.

  "I want your ass in the air and your cunt open to me. I'm going to fuck you, Nikki. I'm going to fuck you until we lose ourselves in each other. Until the universe swallows us whole. I'm going to make you come harder and longer than you ever have before, baby, and I'm going to feel every shudder, every ripple of that orgasm as it rips through you because I am going to be right here holding tight to you, buried deep inside you. And, Nikki, I'm not ever letting go."

  His jeans brush my bare ass, and I can feel his erection straining against the denim. He leans over me, his hands stroking my back, then his lips brush the curve of my ear. "You can either be quiet, or you can say 'Yes, sir.' There aren't any other choices."

  My body is on fire, my cunt throbbing, muscles clenching in anticipation of being filled. I know he needs this. Needs to feel me beneath him, warm and solid and safe. And, yes, submitting. Giving myself to him
. Completely. Willingly. Hell, even desperately.

  "Yes, sir," I say. It is all that I can manage.

  I can't see his face, but I hear the smugness in his voice when he says simply. "Good."

  I expect his touch, but he leaves me on the bed with an order not to move, then slides off and kneels down by my suitcase. My face is turned that direction, but from this angle, I cannot see what he is doing. I consider moving, but once again I don't want to risk punishment. Or, rather, I don't want to risk the wrong kind of punishment.

  He stands soon enough, and when he does I see that he has pulled out two of the new thigh-high stockings that we bought from Marilyn's Lounge.

  "What are you doing with those?" I ask, but he doesn't answer, just slides one under my leg and arm, then binds my forearm to my calf. He circles the bed and repeats the process on the other side of me as I protest that he's ruining a perfectly good pair of stockings.

  He chuckles. "For a good cause," he says. "Trust me. This view is amazing."

  I can only imagine what he sees. I am on the bed with my shoulders and cheek pressed to the soft bedding. My arms are splayed back and bound to my calves. My rear end is high in the air and my legs are spread, undoubtedly giving Damien quite the view of my very wet, very needy sex.

  "I want to see you," I beg. "Please, Damien. I want you naked, too."

  "Do you?" He moves to stand in my field of vision, then tortures me a little by removing his clothing so painfully slowly. His chest is well-muscled and dusted by a sexy smattering of chest hair that I like to tease with my fingers. My fingers twitch now, thinking about the feel of him against my hand, the hot skin and hard muscle of his abdomen. He may not have played tennis professionally in years, but there is nothing soft about Damien, and whether he's in a thousand dollar suit or a fifty dollar pair of jeans, he is sex and power and sensuality personified.

  As if he realizes that he's driving me crazy, he hooks his thumb into the band of his jeans. I can see his erection bulging against the denim, and my body throbs simply from the knowledge that he is as turned on as I am. My nipples are hard and erect, rubbing almost painfully against the rough lace of my bra. My sex is drenched. And when I breathe in deep, I catch the scent of my own arousal.