A text comes in while I’m driving there, but responsible me doesn’t check it until I’ve parked. Go to the back entrance. One of the guys will let you in.

There’s a huge line waiting out front, so I’m glad I don’t have to deal with the bouncers. I move the car so it’s right next to the alley that runs behind the club, and then I pick my way along the rutted pavement, past the garbage bins, stepping carefully in my high heels.

When I tap on the door marked Kosta’s, it opens immediately. I don’t know the man standing there; he doesn’t look like an Adamo to me, but who knows? Maybe some of them skip the genetic imprinting. He doesn’t wait for me to explain myself, just jerks his head for me to come in.

We go along a dim hallway, then up the same stairs I climbed when I was here before, ending at the same door. The man knocks, and again the door opens at once.

Kosta’s in his usual attire: black pants, black jacket, white shirt open at the collar. Expensive fabrics, tailored cut. Simple, classic, devastatingly effective.

His eyes take me in at a glance, and the heat that flares in them ignites a matching fire in my core. He steps back, I go in, and the door closes behind us. We’re in Kosta’s private lair, a sleek, stylish hideaway with a bird’s-eye view of everything in the club. The windows are tinted glass; we can see out, but nobody can see in.

I turn to him. Before I can get a word out, he yanks me against him, one hand at the back of my head, the other clamped over my ass, and his mouth comes down on mine. The kiss is raw and wild and leaves my panties soaked.

“I like your outfit, Blondie,” he says when he lifts his head. “More than I like you wearing it for other men, which is not at all.”

No point explaining that I dressed this way for myself, not anyone at In the Frame. “The club was full of teenagers,” I tell him. “A bunch of skinny boys. Not a man in the place.”

His hand flexes on my ass, and I press closer to him. “Skinny boys still got eyes,” he says.

My eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to dress like a nun when I’m not with you?”

“That’d be good, yeah.”

He’s not smiling, but I snort anyway. “Well, I’m here now.” My hands wind around his neck. “What did you want to talk about?”

Instead of answering, he kisses me again, this time slowly and thoroughly. My blood thickens and heats, swimming through my veins like ambrosia. “Kosta,” I moan when he breaks off.

He touches his forehead to mine for a moment, then reluctantly sets me away from him. “I don’t want to talk at all when I’m touching you,” he says. “But we gotta have words before we take this any further.”

I swallow. “What words?” My head is fuzzy with lust, my stomach tight with nerves. On the one hand, he’s talking about us like he’s serious; but on the other, this sounds ominous, and now I can’t help but wonder about the rumors.

“How old are you?” he says out of nowhere.

I feel instantly defensive, but try to keep my tone matter-of-fact. “Twenty. Twenty-one in a few weeks.” When he doesn’t respond right away, I say, “How old are you?”

“Thirty-eight.”

My shrug is instinctive. “Just numbers,” I say. “But if you’ve got a problem—”

His hands go to my hips and pull me close again. “I’m not the one with the problem, babe.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“There it is again,” he says. “I like your sass. It makes me hard.” His lips graze the side of my neck, and I get quivers in several strategic locations. “Everything about you makes me hard.”

He brings me fully against him, and I feel the confirmation of his words against my belly. My hands grip his shoulders, trying to cling to my last shreds of sanity. “Kosta. What problem?”

He pulls back a little. “I don’t want to give you an out.” His whiskey eyes are almost glowing, warming me deep inside. “But I will.”

Releasing me, he steps back, out of my reach. “You gotta decide if you can handle being with me, and you gotta decide it now. Because once you say yes, and I claim you, I’m not letting you go.”

Shock rushes through me, widening my eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

My hands go to my hips. “We’re not animals.” His mouth quirks. “Well, okay, we are. But you can’t just claim me like I’m a female in heat.”

Kosta doesn’t apologize, doesn’t explain, doesn’t try to soften the blow. “Deal with it or not, babe. I am who I am.”

“Is this why you’re still single?” His eyes go to slits, but it’s too late to take the words back.

He hauls me against him again. “I’m thinking it’s about time for that spanking, Blondie.” His hands tighten on my hips, and lust and temper combust inside me.

I put my hands on his chest and shove. It’s like pushing a brick wall. Not only does he not budge, his arms come around me, crushing me against him.

When his mouth crashes down on mine, I’m angry enough to give as good as I’m getting. Our tongues battle furiously until I bite his — not nearly hard enough, in my opinion. But it snaps the edge of his control, and I find out just how much he’s been holding back.