It was true to say that Josh had given into my needs for intimacy way too easily. Now I wasn't sure that his need for dominance was nothing but cosmetic play. He liked to test and play the games but although he said he didn't date and never let a woman get close, he'd allowed me in without ever making me feel truly united with him.

Although Valentine had never allowed me any closer than a home-cooked dinner at his penthouse, after which he went to bed alone without so much as a spanking, I felt more connected to him with every passing day. I couldn't fathom how he was managing it, but gradually his control was breaking down all my resistance, all my assumptions and opening me to the reality of who I wanted to be.

“You discovered how much power you have over a room full of men,” he said. “Anyone can walk into a room naked. The tough part is becoming naked in front of another person.”

“How would you know,” I snapped, picturing the punishment in store for speaking so directly, with such direct force. “When have you ever been naked in front of someone? When have you ever let another human being touch you? Or see who you are?”

“Stop talking now,” he snapped, his patrician nostrils flaring in controlled rage.

“And what about Delilah?” I continued, ignoring his order. “You allowed her to touch me, to beat me and let me believe that was you,” I cried out, refusing to shut my mouth

“You should have known who was touching you. If you thought that was me, what difference does it make who it was? Your pleasure was the same because you created your own emotional response.”

“Okay now you're getting all esoteric as an excuse for your mean control,” I shouted. “You knew I’d be furious at her domination of me and you set me up anyway.”

“Did I? Or did I expose you to another side of your desire? You've never been touched by a woman before have you?”

“Arrgghh.” I could have whipped him senseless I was so bristling with frustration. “What is she to you anyway? Secretary, dominatrix, lover?”

“And now you've been exposed to your own jealous nature,” he continued, ignoring my inquisition. “I told you to stop talking.”

My desire to feel his mouth on mine was suddenly overwhelming, surging around my veins like famine. If only I could pull him to me, feel his powerful arms encircle me and crush me to him, I’d never want another thing in all the world. The illusion of that imperious mouth smashing over mine with libertine assault put me into a rupture of need. His lips pressed into my lips, his tongue swirling a dance of seduction around mine. The more he held himself aloof from me, the more I wanted to possess him totally – the way he possessed me.

“I want you to know who you really are. Only then will you know who you really desire,” he gruffed.

“Oh, like you do,” I said, before he raised his hand to remind me he'd ordered silence.

“I saw you across a packed room at a New York event and knew who you were immediately. I also saw that you had repressed all of that, probably your entire life and putting on active being a good girl, in order to be loved.”

“Why did you leave me on the yacht?” I had to hear him tell me one way or other what he felt for me.

“Shhh.”

“Please just tell me.”

I was amazed how much he was indulging me, allowing me to continue questioning him even though he told me to be quiet.

“So you would finally stop wavering back and forth in your desires and decide who you really want.”

Who. He said who, not what. Like I had the choice to choose – who.

Another psychological slip that indicated he had feelings for me. Was he dropping hints on purpose or were his feelings finally breaking free? He wanted me to commit to wanting him, before he allowed his vulnerability to leak. That was why he hated Josh but stood aloof while I ran to him. He was waiting for me to decide who. Maybe.

The silence that fell across Valentine's office was squeezed out by the sexual tension rampaging through the space between us. I couldn't decipher what the hell was going on in my mind or body. Whether I hated him more than I loved him. At the same time I battled the frustration of trying to unravel what he felt for me.

Was I an interlude? Someone to crack and mold to his will? Or did he truly see something more for us?

If only he would let go of whatever suffering he kept close that was preventing his ability to love. His hints had to be indicators, a subtle evaluation of what in the name of all things unholy was going on between us. All the trouble he went to, to get me out here from New York, to separate me from my erstwhile boyfriend, had to mean something.

Or else he was a raging sociopath. There was still no way to tell for sure but all doubt been eradicated from my own mind. If he intended to prove to me that I wanted him more than anyone else, he'd succeeded.

“I've had a request for you,” he finally said, breaking our eye-lock silence.

The desire battle was crashing between us like light sabers. He sat back in his black leather and wood chair, strictly business.

“You've had one for me or you have one for me?” I asked, confusion all over my features.

“I doubt you had the opportunity to meet and chat with any of the guests on the yacht."

No shit.

"Well Gianni GianCarlo, the Italian billionaire CEO was quite taken with you. I hear you did exceptionally well last night, beyond what even I would've expected of you. He’d like you to join him for dinner before he returns to Venice.”

Double Arrgh. I was flabbergasted and whatever else was more off the charts than complete disbelief. What the fuck. He was right I had not been introduced to a single gentleman although most of them had the pleasure of meet me, in the flesh. Did this bastard really think he was going to get me to sleep with him just because he’d played a part in my punishment? Did he think he’d take a turn at trying to break me?

“So you're pimping me now?” I said, the fury rising and making my face set hard, my lips pursed with rage against the disappointment of what I should never have allowed myself to expect. “Is that part of our contract?”

“It's just dinner, Andie. If you aren’t happy here with me, then maybe a contract with Gianni would be more to your liking. This man is exceptionally handsome and beyond wealthy, I’m told. He's planning to run for the presidency next election, using his own funds.”

“You are joking.”

“Wouldn’t you like to be First Lady? You’d be perfect, a queen.”

“I mean about the date. Have you always run a sideline in human trafficking?”

“I'm trying to make you happy. But if I were a pimp, Gianni would be my choice of client for you. He offered me $100,000 for dinner with you. If you enjoy his company, choose to leave me and go home to his palazzo on the Grand Canal, he suggests a fee of three point five.”

“Three point five what?” I snipped, fighting a losing battle with my outrage. “Acres, goats, camels?”

“Million of course,” Valentine said like it was chump change.

“Three. Point. Five. Freaking. Million. You do not possess me. I am not living real estate in your portfolio Mr. Valentine, Sir."

"I know that and I declined his offer. It's up to you what you do and I don't need his dirty money. I'm only concerned that you find a situation you’re happy with.”

“I'm a frigging interior designer, not a sex toy.”

“No one is suggesting you’re a sex toy. Gianni needs an interior designer to work on his crumbling palazzo. He wants the exquisite juxtaposition of old and new architecture you’re great at. The same as mine. Imagine the great publicity for you in all the magazines.”

“I don't believe it,” I said, misery tugging all through me at the fact that Valentine was done with me.

Whatever had been my initiation, if the punishment on the yacht had indeed been a test, I failed. He was auctioning me off or happy to let me go without taking any payment.

But I was not his position to sell off even if he wasn't taking any money. Who did he think he was? The arrogant prick. All these billionaires behaved like Greek gods, or Roman Emperors, tossing around the peons like playthings. But I would dearly love to post to the world, a very public post, that someone was willing to pay 3.5 freaking million for me. And 100,000 just to have dinner.

“So do you want to go to dinner tomorrow night?” He inquired his eyes burrowing hard and intense into me.

There it was – the challenge. He takes me up, he brings me down. I was finally starting to learn who Jay Valentine really was, but not why. Never why.

He lets me into his private apartment so I believe he's letting go. Finally he's the one in the position of submission, then he submits me to public humiliation. Still not satisfied he tosses me off onto some other rich disciplinarian, letting me know I don't matter to him in the slightest. That he frankly couldn't give a damn. Fine, we could both play games.

“Actually that sounds intriguing,” I said staring straight back at him with the same testing glare. “Tell old – I mean – inform Signor GianCarlo that I would be absolutely delighted to submit to his invitation.