Rayne seems to collect a shitload of grief wherever she goes. Everything about her screams, “Run for the hills.” Yet here I am, about to be her bed buddy. She intrigues me. She’s unequivocally the strongest and most conflicted person I’ve ever met.

I’ve met abused women, women hiding their brokenness under a mantle of victim-itis. Women who scatter neuroses like grain in a field. But Rayne’s a fighter. Some blend of genetics and determination make her come out swinging, taking no prisoners. But she’s going to have to learn to trust me. I take slow, deliberate steps on my way out the door.

“Okay, okay. Jesus Christ. Give me a minute.”

I stop but don’t turn. Seconds tick by.

Rayne heaves a huge sigh. “I want you to teach me how to be good at sex.”

She sits, dissolving in a puddle of misery. It is the cutest thing.

I slide back down beside her. Her eyes remain fastened on the floor.

“Go on.”

She bristles, then subsides. I watch in amazement and amusement as energy surges, her transformer browns, and sanity flickers back to status quo. Fascinating.

“Look, if I knew what I wanted, I wouldn’t need you, now would I?” Always on the offensive.

Time to see whether she’s playing some sort of game. Most are, in my experience. If so, she’s in for a surprise. No one plays with the master.

“If you’re serious about this, let’s get down to business.”

It’s like watching the sunrise on a calm, clear day. She leaps up and hurries into the living room. I watch in amazement as she opens and slams drawers until she finds paper and two pens. Triumphantly, she hands me a pen and paper. She sits at the table, spine straight, pen and pad at the ready.

For some reason, all this eagerness makes me testy. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

The joy simply leaks from her. There was no other way to put it. One second she’s animated, breathtaking, the next the defeated shell of a young woman, old before her time. You shit, Jay. I take a deep breath. Okay. Okay.

“What does this look like to you?”

She gives another loud, dramatic sigh. “I keep telling you I have no idea. Are you just trying to make me feel stupid, or what?”

Time for a different tactic. “What are some of the things you’d like to try?”

She opens that beautiful mouth, rolls the tip of her exquisite tongue around her top lip, then clamps her lips shut. The tips of her ears turn bright red. She’s blushing. Finally, we’re getting somewhere.

She does that cute baby dragon mouth thing a couple more times. “More of what we’ve been doing,” she blurts as if I forced it out with the Heimlich maneuver.

She really is guileless; it isn’t an act. My Man down south does a little happy dance. Something that I, being in my logical, non-emotional right mind, wouldn’t dream of doing. Part of my brain screams for me to run . . . far and fast. This beautiful little waif, this exotic little dragon who dropped into my life is getting past my defenses and under my skin. My Man wins the battle, if not the war.

Rayne still sits in her stenographer’s perch, ready to capture my superior sexual knowledge. Hah! Right. That’s what she would have me believe. I stupidly open myself to her. Her loneliness and desolation tears through me. Her need for release almost cripples me. I fight the urge to pull her into my arms. To fuck her right here. To show her not all men are evil. Go easy, Jay.

I clear my throat. “How about if you tell me some of the stuff you aren’t willing to do?”

Just like that, she relaxes. She lights the remaining joint, taking a huge haul, before leaning back against the arm of the sofa. “That’s easy. I don’t do oral sex. I don’t do anal sex. I won’t have anything to do with bodily fluids, and I’m not a pain junkie.” She looks at me in challenge. “Your turn.”

Yes, indeed, this woman scares me to death, and I want more of her.

“I love oral sex. I can take or leave anal sex. What I can promise you is that I’ll never do anything against your will.”

“I would try restraints if I could get out of them. But no handcuffs for this girl. I read Gerald’s Game. I can’t get rid of the idea. I mean, really, can you imagine? What the fuck would I do if you, like, you know, keeled over in the middle of doing the deed? I sure as fuck don’t want to knaw my hand off. No siree, no handcuffs for this woman.”

I put my finger to her lips. “I got it. No handcuffs.”

I pull her up, drinking in the scent of her curiosity, her nervousness, her lust. We stand so close, I feel her breath tickle the hair on my chest. I let her heat loosen the cage around my heart. My cock sprints miles ahead.

“Meet me in the private dining room in an hour. Wear something black.” I can’t keep the husk of longing out of my voice.

She smiles up at me while hesitation and anticipation waltz across her face. “Okay,” she mumbles. Then, she flees into her bedroom.

I dress with the evening’s festivities in mind. Tonight will be all about building trust and finding out more about my little dragon. Tonight we’ll start erasing old memories and storing new ones. My Dracaena’s refusal to be broken by her past amazes me. If they catch her, they’ll kill her. Viper may be out of the picture but the rest of the network roamed free out there.

The thought almost brings me to my knees. I can’t stand the emotional turmoil of having someone close to me die. Savannah. But Rayne is no Savannah. Rayne survived childhood abuse—emotional, physical, and sexual—and just keeps swinging. Viper meant to break her. I know with utmost certainty she would die first. Not on my watch!

I catch myself humming. Another sign Rayne is melting the barrier around my heart like a hot needle piercing an ice cube. She’s unsure of her triggers except anal and handcuffs—an image of her licking her lips while she watched me flashes through my mind—oh, and oral. Right.

Best to take it slow. I smile as I cinch my belt. I haven’t taken the time to explore a woman and really find out what makes her tick since Savanah. For the first time in three years, I look forward to enjoying time with a woman. With Rayne. With Rayne. For now. I decide not to dwell on the transient nature of our relationship. Stay in the moment. That way, my heart won’t be broken when she leaves.

I shake the thought away. Not going to think about that now. What matters is she gets me on a cellular level. Like she sees right through all my bullshit straight through to my core. Like she’s okay with what she sees there. She’s smart as a whip. Sure, I can use my age and experience to dance around her naïveté, but I suspect that won’t fool her for long . . . and that time is running out with each encounter.

Rayne enters my private dining room looking every bit the scared child trying to behave like a sophisticated woman. I pour two glasses of wine and move toward her. She steps slowly, weaving slightly in black heels, giving me time to study her. Rayne looks absolutely stunning in a dark navy sheath, cut on the bias with a Mandarin collar. I swear I catch a peek of a garter as the front panel swings while she moves. My Man pokes his head out of his cave. I keep my breathing steady, something I pride myself on. Only my hard-on can give me away, but this little one doesn’t seem to notice.

I almost laugh as I see the pad and pen she holds at her side.

I put the paper and pen on the table and cross back to Rayne with a glass of wine. Her hand shakes a little as she wraps a tiny hand around the bowl of the glass. The intensity of those dark eyes is a little disconcerting. This woman makes me feel self-aware . . . and aware of my shortcomings . . . like no one else ever has.

I hold my glass by the stem and examine the color and legs of the Ornellaia Archivio Storico wine watching Rayne surreptitiously through my peripheral vision. She watches intently and mimics my every move. There will be time enough later for a wine tasting and many other lessons.

Tonight, we are here for one purpose. To cement our agreement. Much as I won’t admit it, the thought that nothing is holding her to me unsettles me. People make commitments like throwing confetti at weddings, with just as much intention of cleaning up after themselves. Somehow I know with her it’s different. Somehow I know her word is her bond.

Our server delivers something called love dumplings. I pause for an inward smile as I remember the discussion Kat and I had about the menu. As always, Kat won the day. According to her, Rayne loves shrimp and would get a kick out of the name. Sure enough, she oohs and aahs over the smell, an instant saliva trigger, then pops one in her mouth.

“These are amazing, Jaden. You’ve really got to try one. Sit.”

I sit obediently and let her pop one in my mouth, mesmerized by her careful movements. She drapes a linen napkin over her left hand and dips a dumpling in the sauce. She licks her index finger and wipes a small drop of sauce from my lip. My Man goes rock hard. She seems oblivious to the effect she has on me as she chatters on about food.

One thing I love about the Masquerade Club—they follow instructions to the letter. No one will disturb us unless I signal. I’ve ordered a leisurely four-course meal. It hasn’t taken long to learn Rayne’s a foodie who elevates some foods to the level of aphrodisiac. Who am I to argue?

I let her get a bit tipsy; I want her relaxed. Time enough to teach her the rules of BDSM play. I’m not as righteous as some about mixing alcohol and play, but I do like my women fully engaged with all senses on high alert.

By the time our server brings our salad, Rayne’s nervous motormouth has slowed down to just below the speed of sound. I punch up the gas by asking—demanding—she tell me about her best sexual encounters. Mortified is the only word to describe how she’s looking at me. I’m resolute. If we can’t build trust, we can’t move forward.

As she starts to talk, I put my hand on her thigh and slide upward. As I suspect, she wears silk stockings—one of my weaknesses—and garters. She stutters and chokes her way through the beginnings of a story whose vanilla level reaches tedium levels. Basically, it’s a rendition of what she’s been telling me all along. He climbed on; he thrashed away; he climbed off; he left.

“That’s the best sex experience you’ve had?” I keep my tone even. Certainly, she must be joking, or I blush at the stupidity of my brethren.

She juts that defiant little chin in the air. “I told you my sex life wasn’t very interesting.”

“Given what you’ve told me, I’m wondering why you’re interested in sex at all?”

Her eyes focus inward as if examining an insect she can’t decide whether to free or kill. One sure thing, Rayne doesn’t take much at face value. Her intensity matches my own. Sometimes, she takes a concept, examines every corner, then looks for sharp edges and alternatives. Other times, she makes a snap judgment with the speed of lightning.

“Exit to Eden.”

The book?