Spencer drove Brooke’s car, and as far as he was concerned, it was the longest ride anywhere. He’d made the journey with his hand on her bare thigh, thanking God and the universe that she’d worn a simple cotton skirt tonight, and not the jeans she wore when they were knee-deep in lumber and paint.

He’d tried once during the drive to ease his hand even higher up that firm thigh. To move slowly, inch by delicious inch, until he reached the band of her panties. And then he’d fully intended to slip his finger under the smooth satin and stroke her waxed pussy until she pressed her hands hard against the roof of the car, arched her body up, and cried his name while surrendering to one hell of a massive orgasm.

As far as he was concerned, that was an A-one fantasy. But a fantasy it had remained, because at the first sign that he was inching his fingers toward heaven, Brooke had smacked her own hand on top of his, stalling his progress.

“If you think that I’m going to risk death on these city streets just so you can cop a feel, you are very sadly mistaken.”

It wasn’t the most romantic sentiment, but he took her point. And he’d contented himself with simply caressing her thigh and telling her in very specific detail how he intended to fuck her so hard when they got home that she was going to scream for mercy.

To his satisfaction, she’d closed her eyes and surrendered to his comparatively tame touch. And as for the effect of his words ... well, from the way she bit her lower lip and the prominence of her nipples against her cotton blouse, he was certain he’d hit the mark.

Now, he turned into her driveway and killed the engine. Finally, they’d arrived.

He glanced sideways at her. “You know you’re a cruel woman.”

She didn’t open her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. “Maybe it wasn’t really about car safety. Maybe I just like tormenting you.”

“Oh, no. We both know who was tormenting who.”

She turned her head and peered at him through narrowed eyes. “Is that so?”

“You’re wet, Angel. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“You think?”

“I’m certain of it.”

Her eyes danced with mirth. “I guess there’s only one way for you to find out if you’re right.” She lifted his hand off her thigh, then drew his forefinger into her mouth, laving it with her tongue. “Why don’t you check and see?”

His cock twitched in response to her teasing tone as much as to the sensual invitation that he eagerly accepted. Moving slowly, he did in the driveway what he’d been thinking about ever since they left the bar. He eased his hand up her skirt to her panty line, then slipped his finger under the soft material.

He heard her gasp as he stroked her, her sex smooth and so damn slick with desire that he felt himself grow harder still, just from the evidence of how much she wanted him.

“Inside,” he said, the word bursting out with the force of his desire. He started to push open his door. “Now.”

“Wait.” She reached over, her hand on his thigh stilling him. “Stay.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Stay?”

She nodded, and his brows lifted.

“What exactly do you want?”

“You know,” she said.

“You want me to touch you?”

“Yes.” Her voice was like breath.

“You want me to make you come?”

“God, yes.”

He looked pointedly around. “Could have sworn you said you weren’t into exhibitionism.”

She reached for his hand, then slid it back inside her panties, making a whimpering sound as she did. “Maybe I’m desperate. Maybe the thought tempted me as we drove home.”

“Interesting.”

“And it’s dark. And there aren’t any streetlights, and barely any light from my front porch. And it’s after two in the morning.”

“My Angel has a bit of the devil in her.”

“And if she does?” With a flick of a lever, she dropped her seat back, putting her almost flat on her back beside him. “What are you prepared to do about that?”

He hooked a finger under the hem of her shirt. “Oh, I think I can come up with something.” He tugged up her shirt, then with equal deftness, tugged down her bra, so that her breasts spilled out of the cups.

“Mostly, I want to watch you,” he said as he slipped his hand back inside her panties. “The way the dim light from the porch dances on your skin. The way your skin prickles as I stroke you. The way your nipples tighten when I brush the tip of my tongue over them,” which he did right then in demonstration.

As he’d anticipated, she drew in a shuddering breath that set her entire body trembling. A trembling that only increased when he teased small circles around her clit, taking her close, but never quite over.

“I want to watch,” he repeated. “And I want you to beg.”

“Please.” Her voice was a whimper. “Spencer, please.”

“What do you want?”

“You. This. Make me come.” She turned her head and opened her eyes. “Please make me come for you.”

Her words sank straight to his cock, hardening it like steel. “Come for me, Angel,” he murmured as he teased her pussy. “I want to feel you explode. I want to watch you break apart. I want to see you shatter. And I want to know that I was the one who took you there.”

And then, as if his command had been the final piece of a puzzle, she arched up, crying out his name as her hand squeezed his with bone crushing strength. Then, when her trembling had stopped and her breath came easy, she turned to him, her features soft and a satisfied smile playing at her mouth. “Your turn,” she murmured. And in that moment, he felt a rush of tenderness that was at least as potent as his desire.

“Damn right it is. But I think I’ll take my turn inside. I’m not sure this little car would take the kind of rocking that what I have in mind would put it through.”

She laughed. “In that case, let’s hurry.”

He didn’t argue, and they were at the door and inside in less than a minute. There was a coatrack by the small table in the hallway, and she glanced at it, then back at him.

“What?” he asked as she moved to pull off a black, silk scarf.

“You had scarves tied to bed posts when you took me to the hotel.” She pressed her lips together, then continued. “Is that—is that something you’d like?”

Hell yes.

He tilted his head. “Is it something you want?”

“With you?” She drew in a breath and nodded. “Yes.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’m damn sure not letting anybody else tie you up. But only if you’re sure.”

She nodded, though she looked a little hesitant. “I trust you, Spence,” she said, her eyes locked on his. “I’m sure.”

* * *

Bondage wasn’t terrifying, Brooke thought. It was sensual, exciting, and deliciously exhilarating.

Of course, the key to that assessment was Spencer. Because if anyone else had rummaged in her top dresser drawer for more scarves and then told her that he was going to tie her down and have his way with her—well, she would have either passed out or run like the wind.

With Spencer, she’d trembled. But it had been a good feeling. Anticipation rather than apprehension.

And when he’d told her to strip for him, she’d done so slowly, knowing that his eyes were on her, and that with each bit of skin she exposed, she was driving him a little bit crazy.

Once she was naked, he’d told her to get on the bed, where the four scarves were tied to the head and footboard of her antique, wrought-iron bedframe. She’d hesitated for just an instant, and he’d kissed her bare shoulder and whispered, “Pumpernickel.”

The word was so absurd that she’d laughed, but he told her he was serious. That was the word to use if she freaked out. Say that, and he’d have her loose in a heartbeat.

She believed him, and that sudden rush of absolute trust wiped away the tendrils of fear. She’d climbed on the bed and let him tie down her wrists and ankles.

Once bound, she’d closed her eyes, assessing how she felt, and was surprised to realize that the dominant emotion was anticipation. She didn’t know what was coming next—not exactly, anyway—and she knew perfectly well that she was tied fast to the bed—and yet her heart pounded with a wild excitement and her body burned with need. Her breasts felt heavy, as if begging to be touched. Her legs were wide, leaving her exposed, and the thought that Spencer would see her open and ready for him didn’t make her shy. On the contrary, she felt oddly powerful.

Yeah. Definitely exhilarating.

And wonderful, too. Because after Brian, any movie or book with any sort of bondage scene had made her stomach curdle. And, honestly, she knew that hadn’t really changed. Because it wasn’t the idea of being tied down that she was now open to. It was the idea of being tied down by Spencer.

“I’m going to blindfold you,” he said now, which added an entirely new layer to the situation. For a moment she hesitated, but this was all about trust, and so she nodded as he tied one more scarf, this one a deep purple, over her eyes.

“Do you know why bondage is so powerful? It’s more than just being about submission. It’s about experiencing pleasure to the maximum.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“You will,” he told her, and a few short minutes later, she realized he was right.

He’d started slowly, his fingertips tracing patterns on her skin. His mouth trailing kisses over her body. But then he stepped up the sensual torment. Teasing her erogenous zones. Sucking hard on her nipples, nibbling at her earlobe, licking the back of her knee. And, yes, teasing her clit mercilessly.

And with each stroke and each tease, the pleasure built and built until she twisted away, trying to escape it for just a little while, trying to bring a pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain back to a level that didn’t have her body trembling and craving.

Trying, in other words, to gain back a modicum of control.

Bound, it was impossible. She didn’t just experience pleasure, she endured it. And as that pleasure built and grew and rose and climbed, she couldn’t deny that it was probably the most erotic experience of her life.

“Please,” she begged, when she couldn’t take it any more. When his teasing her in one spot and then moving to another had her body so on edge that it felt like every cell was on fire. “Please, Spencer, take me over.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, oh, please yes.”

He used his mouth and expert tongue to take her the rest of the way, his hands holding her hips as she tried to squirm and twist under the unrelenting onslaught of pleasure. But it was no use, and she felt the power of a massive orgasm building inside of her, drawing her higher and higher until, finally, the intensity of sensations knocked her over the edge, sending her hurtling wildly into a maelstrom that rivaled the most violent of thunderstorms.

When, finally, she was breathing regularly again, Spencer untied her, then held her gently as she sighed with complete satisfaction. “Amazing,” she said. “Wanna do it again?”

As she’d hoped, he laughed. “Yes, but let’s wait for a night when it’s not past three in the morning. Right now, I just want to hold you.”

Since she was perfectly fine with that plan, she didn’t protest. But she also wasn’t sleepy, and her mind was spinning.

"Why didn't you do the final season of Spencer's Place?” she asked, snuggled up close to him. “Was it because of Brian?"

"Mostly," he said. "My money was still tied up with him. So I'd be working, and he'd be stealing. Seemed like a bad deal all around for me."

"I'd say."

He stroked a lazy pattern on her arm, and she sighed with bliss.

"On top of that," he continued, "the bloom had worn off. Back when I pitched it, I'd wanted the show for the work."

"I remember. You wanted to show people how to make repairs on their own place and flip a few properties at the same time. Don't stop that," she added, when he started to move his hand away.

He chuckled, but complied. "It was all Hollywood bullshit. Or it felt like it. It just..." He trailed off with a shrug. "It wasn't fun."

She shifted out from under his touch, suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of a fresh guilt. "I'm sorry to pull you back into all that. I wouldn't have if—"

"No." He pressed a finger to her lips. "I didn't want to at first for a whole hell of a lot of reasons. But those reasons are gone. And now I'm having one of the best times of my life."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

She snuggled close. "I'm glad."

"In fact, I was thinking that maybe we should try this again."

"This? You mean the show?"

"I've got another one waiting in the wings, remember? Would be a hell of a lot more fun fixing up the mansion with you."

"Oh." For a second, Brooke wasn't sure she could breathe. She told herself he wasn't proposing marriage. All he wanted was to work with her installing drywall, laying tile, fixing plumbing, and the other eight million things the Drysdale Mansion needed. But that didn't change the fact that it was their place. That they'd be doing it together.

"Brooke? If you don't want to, it's okay."

"No," she blurted. "I do. But are you sure? We'll be on television. That whole celebrity thing, only this time we'll be under the microscope as a couple. Won't that drive you crazy?"

He squeezed her hand. "Why should it?" he asked. "After all, isn't that what we are?"