“Bad girl, Ali,” Luke, or Miles, rumbles the words into my ear. I'm pinned against his breakfast bar counter. He's standing over me, my hair in his fist, staring out the window at the Chicago skyline stretching on forever. “We have a certain corporate culture around here, and there's zero tolerance for espionage. Did you think I wouldn't find out about the snooping you did? That I wouldn't discipline your sweet little ass?”

His hand comes down hard on my bare, rippling ass cheeks. Insta-scream. The impact burns, totally unhinged.

It's a louder and more intense spanking than the script calls for. My moan slips out, just as over-the-top. So much for keeping it together. It was supposed to be a whimper, a virgin girl set to get a very kinky introduction to ecstasy by her billionaire boss.

This is more.

More, because I was that girl with him, once upon a time. Now, I'm stuck pretending love and hate aren't rending me in two with the man I abhor plowing his harsh palm into my ass.

“Mr. Black, please!” I yell, shaking as my fingers grip his desk. “I'll never do it again. I've learned my lesson! I was curious. Worried. I thought the whole company was going down in the D.C. investigation when I saw the Senator's name in your contacts. It's not my place, I know. Forgive me for caring.”

Luke pauses, pacing a neat circle around me. He walks to the corner of the luxurious penthouse, grabs two black cords from a drawer, and walks back to me. Ali Evers stuck her nose too deep where it didn't belong, into Black Corp political contacts, and now she's being confronted. It's my job to pull off the scared, lovestruck virgin girl act seamlessly.

“Caring? You think I need your sympathy more than common sense? When I hired you, I thought you'd know better. Thought you knew to respect my damned privacy!”

My pussy tenses, helplessly excited when I see him from the ground up.

Polished black shoes. Charcoal trousers. A dark jacket with a burgundy tie tucked down the middle, one that's going to be wrapped around my wrists in the near future.

“Seriously, you want to go there? Talk about privacy?!” I spit the last word. “Like I haven't caught you trying to look up my skirt when I'm standing on your glossy marble floor at just the right angle. Like you didn't push me to the wall last week before your meeting, brushed your lips on mine, and told me there's no room for flirting at the office? Like you haven't hit on me every day since I started working with this...this weird dynamic. I don't even know, Mr. Black. You keep going to this dark place, and I swear, you want to bring me with you.”

Funny. If I avoid his face, I swear the emotions are easier to tolerate.

But then his blue eyes appear next to mine again, deep as oceans, and just as unforgiving. “Do you want to see my dark place, Ali? You can't keep your little nose out of places it doesn't belong, so I think you do. Hell, I'll do you one better. I'll make you feel it.”

He starts binding my wrists and ankles to the small leather sofa, stretching my arms and legs to conform to its shape. It's conveniently disguised as household furniture, but it's able to accommodate much more than sitting.

I close my eyes, searching for my happy place. It's safety, where I'm able to pretend Lucus Shaw is just Miles Black, a meaningless name whose emotional appeal is strictly pretend.

I grit my teeth, hoping it doesn't make the muscles on my face twitch for the cameras. It shouldn't be this fucking hard.

Oh, but it is.

I thought the weeks off filming would do me some good. I relaxed, I did yoga, even tried meditation. Every defense fails me now thanks to Pierce insisting on the spanking scene. Weeks of dread and anxiety, replaced by real, up close and personal glances from Luke. Plus the unbearable reality – being stripped bare in front of him yet again.

“Close your eyes, my curious little dove,” he whispers, bringing his lips so close to my ear his breath blows warm against my skin. I tremble. “Secrets are a two way street, and the dark places sometimes swallow you whole. I want you to count for me, love. Once for every sin I'll make your ass pay for.”

It's over the top. It's dangerous. But I do it.

The next time he brings his hand down on my ass, I jerk tight in my restraints. My neck cranes, and I let out a half-moan, something that's not in the script.

“One!” I cry, wondering if this is even acting anymore. I don't have to imagine what Ali feels. I'm as scared, turned on, and vulnerable as she would be, the tense knot deep in my body coming undone as his palm crashes into me again.

“Two!”

Two, you bastard, I count to myself. He's still using a lot more vigor than his part calls for when he's spanking me.

My eyes pinch shut, and I bury my face in the leather beneath me. Three, four, five!

Those numbers are muffled. So is the climax building in me, a slow moving boil seated in my womb, hot and wet and rampant when it comes.

Luke used to hint he'd introduce me to kinky things when we were young and stupid. Neither of us ever thought it would happen like this, lovers-made-enemies following studio instructions, his willing prisoners for the next few minutes, or however many retakes this scene needs.

Oh, God. What if Pierce needs retakes?

I have to get this right.

Luckily, my body doesn't need much extra motivation. It snaps back against his hand during the next few whacks. I'm face down, growling the words into the leather muzzle under me, legs out and spine arched when I call out the numbers.

“Six! Seven! Eight – oh!”

Oh, mercy.

Spittle flies from my lips when he hits me again, leveling his force on the red target he's painted on my right cheek. “Nine!”

It's either great acting on my part, or completely terrible. Worse, I'm dangerously close to coming. Something I never signed up for when I walked in for this scene.

Sure, I'm supposed to pretend Miles Black just gave me the most mind blowing orgasm of my life when it happens in the next thirty seconds.

But I'll never forgive myself if it goes off for real. He's standing over me, taking a small break, studying my aching, red buttocks beneath him. He walks to the front of the bench, pushes his rough fingers through my hair, and pulls my head up just enough to press his lips into my ear.

“Three more, and you're done.” He lets me drop.

My wrists move in the restraints, finding the tension I need to resist.

Resist, damn it. You've spent your adult life trying to resist Lucus Shaw and his terrible memories.

I tell myself I'm not losing control. It'll be over soon. I'm not going to be in a sweaty, tender, post-orgasmic haze when he's done smacking my ass and lifts my head for the famous kiss.

I don't know who I hate more: Isabella Frieze for writing this crap, or my own body, hot and bothered, lurching into total mutiny.

“Ten!” I scream it, bristling when I feel the sting his hand leaves on my left cheek.

“Eleven.” I'm exasperated. The threat of having to re-do this scene can't stop the earthquake rolling through my legs. His crisp palm bites my right cheek, and I'm dying holding it in.

He takes his sweet time. Somewhere behind his character's steely expression, he's smiling. Deep down, he's loving this. It would make me sick to my stomach if it wasn't numb with butterfly wings beating like mad.

My pussy throbs, swells, digs into the thin layer of fabric covering it. The slightest friction will send me over the edge. There's no denying it.

“Twelve,” he says, his voice soft and firm. “Make sure I hear you, Ms. Evers.”

I hear the clap when his hand crashes across my entire ass. But I don't feel it for half a second.

Then there's fire. Dense pleasure reaches up underneath my skin and throttles me, surging up my spine, catching me by the throat.

“Twelve!” I barely choke out before my face hits the bench, colder than ever with this inferno chewing through me.

My eyes are wide, frantic, trying to hold in the chaos threatening to tear me in two. My body lurches in the ropes, tight as can be, before their tension slams me back to earth.

I let out a primal scream of release. I'm writhing for several seconds before I collapse, and then Luke's hand is on my cheek, angling me up to touch his forehead.

We share a look. I hear his voice in my head, his taunting blue eyes given speech. Fuck, that felt good. You still want me, don't you, little bird? Admit it.

Yes. No.

I'm not even sure.

My eyes are confused. They want to go everywhere except his gaze, offering the true release I've barely managed to hold in.

“Keep digging, Ms. Evers,” he says, a satisfied smirk hanging on his lips. “You've got no choice. You're in too deep. I thought you might end up here when I picked you for the job, and I was right. Are you ready to assist me? I'll need your help with more than conference calls and scheduling appointments.”

“What help? How?”

“Senator Bluhd. He's at the top of my private shit list because he's a target. I'm going to bring him down, and it has nothing to do with his investigation into my company.”

“Trafficking,” he says, brushing his bottom lip against mine. His eyes turn dark and serious. “I'll show you the details soon. You've shown me you're not afraid of the dark. The Senator has done some very dark things. So have I, if I'm being honest, but I've never hurt an innocent. This is your chance to back out. Tell me, Ms. Evers, are you up for what I'm asking?”

I pause, let the slow, tense breath I've practiced come, and then drown myself in his eyes. “Only if you start calling me Allison.”

“Deal. One last condition in the fine print, Ali. I will be inside you soon.” His hand crawls down my neck, curling his fingers into it. The perfect hold for guiding me into his kiss.

Christ, what a kiss.

Five years of lost love, pulsing hate, and ruthless confusion break the instant his mouth moves on mine. It's more intense than it ought to be, but hell if I care.

This isn't Ali and Miles savoring each other for the first time.

It's me, Robbi, locking teeth and tongue with the man who's left a greater imprint on my life than he deserves.

It's magnetic. Forced. Inescapable.

Luke growls when his tongue finds mine, sweeps over it, and reminds me how good he is at making me weak in the knees when I least want it. It's a miracle the orgasmic bomb I suppressed just a minute before doesn't reignite.

My breath hitches into his. He pulls my hair. Something soft and sticky sweet leaves my mouth, a moan slipping into his. He devours it, pushes his fingers through my hair one more time, before his fingertips burn a trail down my quivering cheek.

“Cut, cut, cut!” Pierce bellows from the sidelines, entering the set.

I hear him slapping Luke on the back. He's congratulating him.

I'm the one who deserves the accolades for stopping myself from surrendering more lewdly than any screen will tolerate. For not coming for real.

“You okay, Robbi? Hell of a job you did.” The director's hand taps my back. He whistles through his teeth to the production crew. “Hey! Get over here and get this shit off her, if you please.”

I'm still shaking. He crouches down, smiling when we're face-to-face, a boss' pride in his dark brown eyes. “You need anything?”

“Water,” I whisper. My throat is cotton. Dehydrated because it seems like I've lost half the fluid in my body between my legs.

There's a wet spot I quickly cover up when I'm back in my robe, arms and legs freed from the cords, sitting upright on the bench.

“Here's your water.” A big hand that doesn't belong to Pierce or any of the production crew pushes a bottle into my hand.

“Thanks,” I mutter, refusing to meet Luke's eyes. It's too much. I'll blush the second I look at him after what just went down.

He conquered me again, and I despise it. Not Miles Black, but Lucus Shaw, destroyer of hearts and dry panties everywhere.

“Darlings!” A voice squeals behind him, a prelude to Luke being jostled aside by Ms. Frieze's plump hip-check a second later. “I must say, that scene was absolutely glorious. Just how I imagined. You're doing the devil's work, making my wicked dreams come true. Can I get a selfie for my fans?”

I'm really not in the mood, but who am I to deny the author behind our movie's creative spark anything?

We link arms while she fishes out her phone. I force my biggest fake grin while Frieze holds her phone in front of us, her in the middle, grinning like a Cheshire cat who's just doubled its weight in tuna. I see Luke in my peripheral vision, giving her doting fans a more authentic smile than anything I can manage.

“Cheese!” Her flash goes off. Photo over, she turns back to us, reaching up for an affectionate tug on Luke's ear before she looks at me. “My, you're lucky to have him as Miles. I think we're going to have to share, Ali.”

I'm really smiling this time because it's so ludicrous. “He's all yours when the cameras aren't rolling, Ms. Frieze. Thanks for the extra promo.”

Luke shoots me a darker look while she trots away, humming to herself. I think it's the movie trailer's test score, still in the works before it goes out to theaters in a couple more weeks.

“I'm glad we're together again,” he says when we're alone. “I feel at home on this set.”

Pursing my lips, I look away. Frankly, I'm not sure what the hell I feel when I'm in his presence.

“Talk to me, Robbi,” he says, stepping up, palming my cheek. “I think we lit the screen on fire today, and we're going to do it a lot more as long as we keep going like this.”

Twisting away, I stumble backwards. Just who does he think he is, putting his hands on me when there's no reason? We aren't shooting a scene. There's no reason I should tolerate it.

“What?” he snaps, eyes narrowed, crossing his arms.

“I don't have anything to say to you that isn't in the script.” I need to get out of here.

He isn't letting me go that easy. As soon as I turn and start moving, he's next to me, escorting me to the hallway backstage.

He's not coming into my dressing room. I'll slap him across the face and scream bloody murder before he pushes us that far.

“It's the stress, isn't it? That's the trouble with all this time off while they were mucking with the production crew's contract. Causes you to turn things over in your head, and overthink.”

“I'm not overthinking anything, Luke,” I say, quickening my steps. He matches my pace exactly.

“Then what is it? Surely, you're not upset about what went down at the bar last time we saw each other?”

“Of course not. I've gotten over it. You were straight with me, and I appreciate it, even if I didn't like the delivery.” Lies, lies, lies.

“Lighten up, Ali.” He breathes my fictional name, slipping seamlessly into Miles Black mode, stopping next to my dressing room door. “You've got this. I've got this. The whole fucking world is going to see us under control when the teasers start next week.”

As much as he's rattled my nerves, he's right. I've managed to survive another day on the set without a complete meltdown.

Then he says what makes my nerves do more than rattle. “Why can't we be friends?”

Friends? Is he out of his mind?

“Sorry, I don't need more of those. I'll be...amiable,” I say, choosing the word carefully. “Look, I've got to go. They want me back in a few hours to film the scenes with the Senator.”

“Okay, Robbi. We'll do it your way.” He steps closer, puts his arm against the door, over my shoulder. “Big finale's coming up in a few weeks, the one where I make good on my promise. Remember: I will be inside you soon.”

Fuck. There's the familiar lust, the release I suppressed on the set. It's rising up in a hot, wet blush between my legs, resonating through my body.

I hate his words. I hate his smirk. Hate how he still makes my body turn against me, and he knows it.

I'm too stunned to even curse him out, call him a pig, or slap him across the face.

I'm helpless as he turns away, starts walking, and looks over his shoulder to say a few parting words. “Take care of yourself this evening. Senate scenes should be a breeze after what I did to your ass.” His dominant hand twitches at his side, like I need a damned reminder.

I dart inside my dressing room and slam the door shut. There's a small bathroom attached. I head right for it, dropping my robe on the way.

After putting up with his crap all day and getting dirty, a shower sounds divine.

But first, I really, really need to rub one out.

* * *

I will be inside you soon. I can't stop hearing it while the water pours down my neck, steamy and warming. Rivulets crisscross my skin and twine around my nipples, two puckered stones where the throbbing is worst, except for the greedy nub between my legs.

The memories come hardest when I'm fingering myself. I haven't done much with men since the night Luke broke me in.

The flings I've had on campus and in bars were never as good as him, if I'm being brutally honest.

I miss his mouth. I miss his fingers. I miss his enormous cock fucking me senseless.

Inside me soon? The bastard already is.

He's lodged in my brain, my heart, and my soul. I don't know where the line between love and hate blurs, but it's happening while I shove two fingers deep inside my pussy, and frig myself to his furious smirk.

I. Fucking. Hate. You.

Yes, I swore off those lips. I wasn't supposed to taste them again after all these years apart. Craving them definitely wasn't on the agenda.

I can't help it. Just like I can't help the repressed climax welling up inside me with every stroke, one that won't be held in much longer.

Say my name, little bird, I imagine him saying, slamming his hips into mine, shoving me harder against the wall with his strong, focused thrusts. My cunt sucks my fingers. My eyelids flutter shut while more water kisses my lashes. Say my fucking name if you want to fly.

“No!” I shout it, flicking my thumb against my clit. My thighs pinch shut, clenching my hand, and the white hot fire crests higher, sweeping my fight away. Resistance isn't an option anymore. I'm jilling off to the man who's everything wrong for me. “Fuck you, Luke!”

Cursing his name pushes me over the edge. I taste it when it rolls on my tongue.

Taste every nuance in his vile, addicting kiss.

“Luke, Luke, Luke – oh, fuck!” Machine gunning his name isn't easy when pleasure turns my lips into a breathless ring.

I keep chanting it anyway, a twisted mantra. It mirrors the rough desire lashing me from the spot between my legs. No, more than desire, and not just there.

It's the tingle he's left on my ass, the hot wanton power in his impact when he tenderized my flesh with the fury in his palm.

He fucking owned me today.

I'm afraid he might own me still tomorrow – especially if I can't stop coming like a rocket every time I let his stupid, smug face feed the fire between my legs.

I'm later than I should be getting out of the shower. I dry my hair and change clothes, eager to stop by the production place for makeup so they can re-do my face.

I need to look normal for the scenes where I'm spying on the Senator. Not like a woman who's just let her hate fantasy fuck her brains out.

When I open the door, I gasp. There's Luke, standing against the wall, looking like he's just left the world's best rock concert. “What the hell do you want?” I snap, pulling my baby blue skirt tight and low.

God, please. If there's any justice in this world, tell me he didn't just hear me screaming his name in the shower.

“Left your purse and your water on the stage,” he says, stepping toward me with my stuff in his hands. “Thought I'd be a gentleman and hand them off.”

The look he's giving me means one thing: he heard. He knows. And I'm screwed without a goodbye kiss.

“Thanks,” I mutter, snatching them out of his hands and hurrying away. “Sorry, I'm going to be late.”

I don't bother looking back. If I do, I know I'll see him lined up against the wall again, watching my hips bobbing until I'm out of sight.

* * *

“You know the drill around here, doll. This ain't Chicago. Everything comes to light in D.C. sooner or later. Let's save ourselves some time. Tell me the damned truth. Who sent you?” Aaron Harkness is old enough to be my father, a silver fox if there ever was one, and an incredible actor. He's an amazing Senator Bluhd, distinguished and unsettling. My heart swells with pride working with him.

“The agency, Senator,” I say, backing up against the wall as he corners me. “I'm just an intern. They told me I'd get a better shot at an interview if I came to you directly, made the extra effort to get my resume in your face. With all due respect, your record isn't any secret around here. Everyone knows how much you love action.”

“Action? Is that what you call a break-in?” He does a good job flashing me a scary look, and I do my best damsel in distress. “Try harder next time. Nobody who's anyone in politics keeps the important stuff in their filing cabinet since Watergate. You'd better dig if you want to nail me to the wall, or I guaran-fucking-tee I'll do it to whoever you're working for first.”

He does a smart turn, and walks away, back into the hallway flanked with green screens, where they're going to fill in the cavernous government decor later.

“Cut, cut! We'll do a few more takes tomorrow, but I think we've got ourselves a start,” Pierce announces, using his director's megaphone.

It's been a long day. I'm ready to head over to my rental and see about meeting mom for dinner when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

“Robin? Talk about a small ass world.” It's a familiar Shaw voice, but not the one who's made my life a muddled hell.

“Hayden! I'm surprised you remember me.” I smile, extending my hand, noticing the curvy redhead at his side.

“How could I forget your hospitality? You made the summer visits home bearable. I'm sure Grant agrees.” He looks at the woman, his arm around her waist. “Penny, I'd like you to meet one of the servants my father employed, Robin Plomb. And Robin, this is my lovely wife. Soon to be the mother of our little girl in the next six months.”

I nod politely, shaking the woman's hand. She's wearing the biggest diamond ring I think I've ever seen. “Pleasure.”

“All mine,” she says. “I'm hooked on this series. Can't wait to see how it looks on the big screen!”

He's married, kind, and as handsome as I remember. It's a shame Luke can't share his manners – not that he has anything to make up in the looks department. All three of the brothers are hella gorgeous in their own right, and Luke has that extra something causing endless frustration and shameful liaisons with my fingers.

“Say, you're not the female lead, are you?” he asks, eyes narrowing. His are a little brighter than Luke's, but they're nearly a match.

“I am,” I tell him proudly.

“Stars all over the place! Wow. Can I have your autograph, too?” Penny pulls out a pen and a photo from the binder underneath her arm. She smiles sheepishly. “My wonderful husband said I'd be meeting all kinds of famous people today. I really came here to get Mr. Harkness' autograph – he's been my mom's favorite since forever – but I'd love to get your signature just the same. Never know how much it'll be worth some day when you're a household name.”

She winks. I laugh and sign over my spot on the photo of the cast she's holding, one of the promo shots we did the first week.

When I look up, Hayden hasn't stopped staring, stroking his chin with one hand. “Why the hell didn't my brother say you were working together? 'Good looking blonde,' he told me. Figures.”

I freeze. I don't think either of the older brothers who lived outside the home know about the bad blood his father caused with our families, or the summer love I had with Luke.

“Great question, maybe you should ask him!” I offer, hoping my exaggerated grin doesn't look suspicious. “Need me to point you to his dressing room? He's probably back there, if he isn't in the lounge backstage.”

“No big deal. We'll find our way around,” he says. I hold my breath, hoping the billionaire developer will just let it go. “Shame you and your folks disappeared before my dad re-married that year. I never got a chance to thank you for helping out.”

“Oh, that's sweet, Hayden. Don't worry about it. It's been awhile. I've come a long way from being a part-time maid on your family's property.” I flick my hair over my shoulder, doing my best pompous starlet impression.

“Yeah, we all have,” he says, barely any humor in his voice.

Penny laughs. “Good luck with the movie. Come on, let's find Mr. Harkness before we see Luke!”

“Whatever you want, love.” He oozes all over her.

Deep down, I'm jealous. These two have the fairy tale ending I wanted in my younger days.

But that was before his pig of a father ruined everything, and the love of my life covered up the bitter truth. Before sheer coincidence thrust him back into my life, and forced me to gratify myself to his evil allure in what's supposed to be my sanctuary, my place away from filming stress.

This can't go on, Lucus Shaw, I tell myself, heading for the lounge, praying I won't see him there. With my luck, he'll be flirting with one of the servers. If I have to scream your name in the shower one more time with my hand between my legs, you'll ruin me a second time.