Rayne is absolutely stunning, decked out in black. Appealing. I drink her in. Even more attractive is her subtle sense of unease—she’s not at all used to dressing for a man. I watch, fascinated as she alternates between hugging herself and trying to be sexy. Which makes her sexy as hell.

She’s all sorts of awkward as if she has no idea how to act. But there she sits, facing me down like she’s Angelina Jolie or somebody. There’s no agenda as there is with most of the women I’ve hooked up with. My little dragon seems quite devoid of subterfuge. Whenever she fibs, the tips of her ears go beet red. Her bravado makes me want to strip her naked and fuck her right here on the table. I picture her, legs spread wide . . .

“Excuse me a moment. Time for a pit stop.” She’s all kinds of sexy with those tiny bare feet and a slight limp as she favors her healing leg. My cock hardens as I imagine a tiny, delicate foot sliding up my leg, toes massaging my inner thigh. But we have business to attend to first. My little dragon is practically blackmailing me into working together. Now, she wants to know about us.

I turn the gas fireplace up a notch. Another thing I’ve learned about Rayne—she craves warmth. She isn’t a sun worshipper like me, but cool temperatures make her cower and run for a tower of blankets.

She stops by the sideboard for a few tokes before returning to the table. She seems to need more than a few tokes and alcohol to let down the thick mantle of tension and intensity she wears.

“So, like I asked, where do I fit into all this?”

I steeple my hands again and let my gaze blaze through her. I manage to keep still but have trouble not fidgeting as I examine her face for crafty subterfuge. Her beauty shines through without the swelling and bruising. Exotic beauty is the only word I have for it. With her high cheekbones and large wide eyes, she reminds me of an Egyptian princess.

“It’s not like I’m asking to have a ‘thing’ with you or anything like that.”

“What exactly are you asking, then?”

“Do you even like me? Do you even want to spend time with me?”

Her tone jumps half an octave. Her eyes flash with insecurity and longing before she lowers her gaze. I love spending time with her. Something from deep within her pulls me. No one has elicited such a reaction from me. Not even Savannah. I shove that idea back where it belongs. I have no fucking idea what I want. I have no promises to make.

“I’m no good for you. I don’t do love, and people near me get hurt.” A stab of pain jolts through me. I study the remains of the steak dinner sitting before me. Savannah. Her name screams through my thoughts. I lift my wine glass and study its contents. Rayne leans forward, as if to reach out to me, then leans back. Thank God for that. I’m not ready for her affection or pity. It feels too much like making a promise.

What the hell do you say to someone who’s been treated like shit all her life and only wants a break? Only wants someone to treat her like the beautiful creature she is.

She does the only thing she knows how to do . . . gets straight to the point.

“I know you loved her, but you need to get one thing straight.”

My heart fills with the shadow of grief before I can stop it. This time she does touch my hand.

“I’m so sorry, Jaden. I don’t mean to hurt you. I can be such a shit sometimes.”

The edges of the sexual tension between us soften as her eyes fill with empathy. I feel her under my skin, searching, feeling my loss. I haven’t decided if this is a gift or a curse. I don’t know whether to yank my hand back or pull her into my arms. I stay still and let her warmth nourish me in the silence. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t keep her safe. The litany goes round and round in my head. Until Rayne’s throaty voice blows me into the next stratosphere.

“I’m not Savannah. I can look after myself.”

One of the chains locking my heart bursts free. Could it be? Time to dwell on that later. “Why do you do that?” I can’t let her self-debasement go this time, not if we’re going to go forward together.

She grabs the base of her neck. “Do what?” She seems genuinely baffled.

“Put yourself down. Just about every time you talk about yourself, you say something negative.”

She juts that chin out, defiant. “That’s not true. For example, I’ve told you how good I am with computers.” She gives her “so there” nod.

“You really are an argumentative one.” I expect her to deflate. Instead, she seems vindicated.

“See, even you can’t find anything good to say about me.”

“That’s untrue.” I throw the sentence in the air, letting it collect her wishful thinking. Her eyebrows fly toward the ceiling. She shoots me a questioning glance. I refuse to bite. Let her chew on that for a while.

“So, what exactly is it that I need to get straight?”

She looks startled like she’s lost her train of thought. She walks over to the sideboard and lights up another joint. Buying time. She sits back down and takes a few hauls before passing the doobie to me. Her face lights up.

“I’m not Savannah, and you’re not the boss of me.” She sits back, triumphant.

“Then, who will be? We’re going on a mission. Someone has to be in charge, make sure we don’t get killed. It makes sense that it’s me. I’ve done this before and know the rules. You haven’t.”

Now she sits forward, animated. She positively glows with intensity when she forgets herself. As if every neuron in her body lights up. As if any moment she’ll morph into something ethereal. But I see the submission beneath that bold exterior. Lots to discover.

“Doesn’t matter. I learn fast.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

“That we’re partners, pure and simple. We make the decisions together. We keep each other informed about all parts of the mission.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’ve seen the movies. One guy always hides something from the others because he thinks it’s his God-given right. Next thing you know, his partner gets kidnapped or killed because he refused to be forthcoming.”

“This isn’t a movie. Hiding things can get you killed.”

She nods, sagely. “Exactly my point. We need to be partners. So, do I have your word?”

Her persistence drills through my defenses. What will it hurt to give it a try? After all, she knows what she’s getting into.

I give it a moment, then nod. “Equal partners for everything but one.”

There go those eyebrows. “Which is?”

“When it comes to our . . . your exploration of sexuality, I call the shots.”

Red suffuses her face, and she makes a careful study of the remnants of wine in her glass. “What exactly does that mean?”

Now it’s time to play. I take a few tokes of my own while I figure out just how I’m going to approach this. I turn back to face her. She’s watching me. On edge. Ready to run for the hills. I settle myself on the chaise longue and crook my finger. She takes her time crossing the room and perches on the edge of the chair. She’s stiff, muscles pulled tight. I can almost feel her mind spinning.

“What do you think it means?”

I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she stiffens even more and jerks her body to glare at me. “You know how much I hate you answering a question with a question.”

“Well then, I guess we’re at a standstill.” I brush aside the split fabric on her dress and run my finger up her thigh. She shivers. Glares again. Huffs.

“It probably means you get to say when, where, and how we have sex. It probably means I have no say. It probably means you’re going to treat me like a piece of masturbation meat. It—”

Now it’s my turn to be indignant. “Whoa, Nelly. Since when have I ever asked you to do something against your will? I have never forced or even nudged a woman toward sex. Never have and never will. I don’t need to. Plenty of willing recipients at the Masquerade.”

“Then why aren’t you with one of them? Why me?”

Good question. There she goes again, edging me toward commitment, just like most do. It’s my turn to be pissy. “I’ve told you I like you, and I’m here. What more do you need?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Talk about pissy.

She huddles in misery for a few beats. I let my affront lower a notch or two. Maybe all she craves is friendship. Maybe I’m being an asshole. Maybe?

She sighs, long and deep, then turns fully to look at me.

“Connor says you saved my life. I never thanked you. I don’t know how to repay you.” She reaches a tiny, tentative hand toward my chest. I grab her wrist.

“Never do that again.” I jerk hard on her wrist . . . harder than I intend. She falls to the floor. I leap from the chaise. Shit. She looks up at me, nine-tenths the wounded animal, but one-tenth of that ferocity burns behind her eyes. I kneel beside her.

“Don’t ever use sex as a commodity with me. Either do it because you want it, or don’t do it at all. I’m not interested in women who use their bodies as currency.”

Her eyes simply blaze with indignation. “I was just going to ask you about your arm.”

I study her. Is she trying to distract me? Change the subject? She’s got to know I can see through her bullshit. “It’s just fine. Healing nicely, thank you. And how’s your leg?”

“Just fine, thank you,” she says, echoing the cultured English tone right back at me.

She gets up from the floor and moves to the sideboard. Shoulders hunch over as she pulls on the Sensi, inhaling deeply. I lean against the wall, watching. Waiting. She has the next move. Good bloody thing I like stillness.

At long last, she squares her shoulders and turns to face me. Comes to within a foot of me and stops dead. Puts those hands I’d love to have wrapped around my cock on her hips.

“Look, Jaden. I don’t know what you expect of me.” She takes a deep breath. “Hell, I don’t know what to expect of me. I don’t know what’s normal, all right. I’ve been abused since I was eleven or so. I’ve had to work. I’ve had to be a mother to Summer. I’ve had—”

I put my index finger across her lips. She startles.

“I’m aware of your story. Is there a point in there somewhere?”

Those eyes throw sparks my way. “So give me a break if I don’t know what normal is.”

My gut clenches, and I quickly clamp down on my feelings. I want to kill each and every man who used my little dragon. Who made her think her body is worthless except as a bargaining chip. But I can’t let her inside this part of my head.

She tilts her head to the side, then she crosses to the chaise longue, perching on the edge. Totally closed off.

“What?” I have no fucking clue what set her off now.

“You put your shields up. I get it. You don’t want me. That’s okay.” She waves a hand through the air as if she’s the Ethiopian queen Makeda. Like she’s the one blowing me off. The one in charge. Another finger of delight worms its way through my heart. I would show my little dragon what it means to be wanted and cherished. Sexually. I can do this without losing my heart. I’ll show her the path to freedom and untether her. I will die when she spreads her wings and flies away. I shake the thought away.

I sit beside her. Slide my index finger from the tip of her shoulder down her bare arm. She shivers. My cock lengthens.

“Oh, I want you, little dragon. And I think you want me. We never did finish with the rules.”