THE HECK WITH GETTING HIM naked; she just wanted to get out of here in one piece. “I was reporting in. But I obviously picked a bad time.” Her gaze faltered under the hard assault of those eyes. She bunched the petals more tightly in her fist. “I’ll get going now.”

“You don’t come here,” he said in that same soft, fierce tone.

Her pulse hammered under that merciless gaze.

“You never come here. They could be watching you.”

“But—”

“No buts. That’s an order. I can’t believe you were stupid enough to come waltzing up my front path.”

“You can’t order me—”

“Yes I can. Or I’ll yank you out of Oceanic so fast your hair will change color. Again.”

He was scaring her, but also she was getting the feeling that maybe he didn’t think her job was going to be such a waste of time, after all. “I’m a volunteer. You can’t fire me.”

“I can arrest you.”

Her jaw gaped. “You’d arrest me?”

“If you don’t cooperate, you could jeopardize an operation we’ve been working on for months. If I have to go in and haul your ass out of there, you’re damn right I’ll arrest you.”

“But—”

His finger shot up and pointed at her heart, reminding her uncomfortably of that horrible gun. “Don’t push it, Cyn.”

She felt a little lightheaded and sank to the bottom stair. “I was only going to tell you about my first day.” Her voice sounded like a little kid’s, which infuriated her.

His face softened slightly, along with his voice. “I know you’re new to this stuff, but it’s not a game. You’re working at Oceanic as an accountant. That’s it. If it were me, or another agent, it would be a cover. But the beauty of this whole thing is that you really are an accountant working at Oceanic.” He glanced down at her. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

She nodded miserably.

“If I need information, I’ll find a way to contact you.” He let out a breath and it seemed like he made a conscious effort to cool down. “Want a beer?”

“I thought you were throwing me out.” She didn’t move from the bottom of the stairs, where she could keep the front door in plain view in case she needed to bolt for safety. She couldn’t process that he’d gone from Mr. Fury to Mr. Hospitality in under two minutes.

He shrugged. “Now you’re in, you’ll have to stay until after dark. I’ll give you a number for emergencies. Otherwise, don’t phone me or visit my house.”

“Don’t you want me to report in?”

He regarded her calmly. “I’ll find a way to stay in touch. Don’t come near me unless it’s an emergency. Got it?”

She nodded. “I think I will have a beer.” She followed him to the kitchen, noting the changes he’d already made in the house. He’d kept a lot of the furniture, but still the house looked different. Mostly it was less cluttered. Mrs. Jorgensen hadn’t ever forgotten her Danish and Dutch heritage, and had married the two enthusiastically, filling her house with teak furniture and covering every surface with starched linens and Delft pottery.

Jake walked to the fridge, and Cynthia took a seat at the small rectangular teak table that looked so different without the hand-embroidered blue-and-white cloth on it and the little Dutch boy and girl salt and pepper shakers in the middle. His salt and pepper was a tubular contraption that could have been designed by NASA.

“You cook,” she noted in surprise, eyeing the pans hanging from a wall, copper bottoms blackened from use, the well-stocked fridge she’d glimpsed when he got the beer, and the hefty selection of cookbooks on the shelf.

Passing her a bottle of beer and a glass, he raised his eyebrows and half grinned. “I’m pretty good in the kitchen.”

How did he do that? One minute he scared the pants off her, the next he was sending glances her way that made her knees weak.

He tipped back the bottle and drank, then said, “You want to give my talents a try?”

“Pardon?” Her gaze snapped back to his. Had he read her mind?

A disturbing tilt to his lips made her think he could see right inside her thoughts. “My cooking. How about I make us some dinner, since you’re stuck here for a few hours.”

“Dinner!” Right, the talent he referred to was cooking. “Yes, thank you. I’d love to stay.”

He put water on to boil, started pulling vegetables out of the crisper and took a small brown-paper-wrapped package out of the meat keeper. “You’re lucky, I spent a couple of hours at Pike Place Market this morning. You like scallops?”

“Mmm-hmm. When I cook them they always go rubbery.”

“You’re cooking them too long.”

She blinked bemused eyes and rose. “What can I do to help?”

“Chop the cilantro.”

“Fresh herbs,” she said weakly.

“Like I said, you’re lucky I went marketing today.” He donned a striped denim apron that made him look like a very sexy head chef in some trendy bistro.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“My mom went back to work full-time when we started school. She taught us all how to cook, and we had to take turns cooking for the family. Best thing she could have done.”

They continued to chat while Cynthia cut, chopped or peeled what he put in front of her, according to his instructions. “What did your mother do?”

“She’s a lawyer. Well, she’s semiretired now.”

“And your father?”

“He’s a lawyer, too. In private practice. Mom worked for the DA’s office. Conversation around our dinner table could get pretty interesting.”

“I can imagine.” Cynthia smiled, picturing noisy, argumentative meals in the Wheeler household. She bet they were a lot more stimulating than those in her house, where the no-controversy rule stifled dinner-table conversation. “How about your siblings? You said ‘we.’”

“There are four of us. Molly’s an environmental lawyer, Clay’s a trial lawyer and Pete’s undecided. He’s still in law school.”

Cynthia’s knife stilled in the middle of slicing a lemon. “Your entire family are lawyers?”

He grinned at her across a sizzling skillet. “All but me. I’m the black sheep.”

“Did you ever want to be a lawyer?”

He tossed onion and garlic into the skillet and began to stir. The aroma made her mouth water. “For the first two years of law school I thought so, but it wasn’t my thing. I hate all that sitting around arguing. I like action.”

That sounded like an understatement. “Were your parents disappointed?”

“They got over it.”

JAKE SMILED TO HIMSELF as he opened a bottle of Washington Sauvignon Blanc he’d bought today on impulse. Cynthia was seated at the table gazing at the steaming plate in front of her while he opened the wine. Had his family ever got over his defection. There wasn’t one who hadn’t picked his brains shamelessly on some point of investigative procedure. Of course, he drew just as shamelessly on the combined legal expertise of his family, especially when he was skating close to the edge of the law.

The cork emerged with a quiet sigh. It wasn’t an oversight that he hadn’t asked his siblings or his parents for an opinion on his latest stunt. They’d all yell at once if they found out he was on his own. He doubted he could make them understand. But then, no one in his family had ever caused a friend’s death.

“This is fantastic,” Cynthia told him, licking her lips.

He gazed across the table at her. What was he thinking? He wasn’t completely on his own. He had an untrained volunteer, a kinky wannabe sexpot, as a sidekick. That would help his family sleep at night.

“Tell me about your first day,” he said to Cyn. Although the dumb-assed way she’d wandered down his front path in daylight still rankled, he was interested in what she had to say. He’d had every intention of getting her first impressions, but he’d planned on visiting her after dark.

Her eyes lit up at his question. “Guess what came in a new shipment last night?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess.”

“Chopsticks!”

He faked amazement. “No!”

“It gets better.”

“I hope so.”

“Guess where they were from?”

“China?”

She leaned forward and whispered, “Colombia.”

He kept his face impassive, but he was interested, all right. If it was coffee or fish meal he’d have been more intrigued—it was common practice among smugglers to hide coke inside strong-smelling commodities to put the dogs off. Chopsticks would be a new one on him. “Interesting.”

“So, what do you think is in those crates?”

“I’m guessing chopsticks.”

“Don’t you think it might be drugs?”

“Everything coming into port gets checked. Dogs, random customs checks…you don’t just pack a bunch of drugs in a box and ship it to the U.S. Especially if you’re shipping from Colombia.”

“Darn. I hadn’t thought of that.”

He topped up her wineglass.

They ate at the kitchen table, but even so, the atmosphere was intimate. Jake cursed himself for opening wine. This was looking far too much like a date, rather than a debriefing. He’d wanted her relaxed and open, he just didn’t want anybody getting the wrong idea here.

“Tell me about your coworkers.”

She listed names and physical descriptions until he was convinced she must have a photographic memory. More names and snatches of boring office conversation bombarded him until he lost track and just let her talk while he once more tried to figure out a way to get her to back off from the amateur spy shtick.

She hadn’t told him anything he didn’t know, except that, for some inexplicable reason, Oceanic was importing chopsticks from Colombia. “I thought they made chopsticks around here, from scrap wood chips or something,” he said, as soon as there was a pause.

“Neville says it’s part of a new trade program to try and reduce the country’s dependence on drug income. South America’s climate grows trees much faster than ours. Did you know that cocaine is Colombia’s biggest export? Almost twice as big as coffee? That’s the largest legitimate export.”

“Yeah. I knew that.” He swirled wine in his glass, thinking. “And Percivald told you all this?”

“Yes. I also did a Google search.”

Why would the pantywaist tell her that? It was the sort of thing an innocent businessman would say. Or a very devious one. Jake scowled. “What else did he tell you?”

“Lots of things. Neville gave me a tour personally.” Jake heard the tiny note of pride in her voice.

“Congratulations. Did he try anything?”

Her color heightened. “Not exactly.”

His gut tightened. She wasn’t in Percivald’s league. If she got involved with that pervert, she could end up hurt, or psychologically damaged. “What do you mean, not exactly?”

“He flirted with me, I think.”

Jake let his tightened belly muscles relax. If a little flirting over the coffee machine had her this flustered, an all-out pass would have her racing home faster than her stiletto heels could carry her.

Of course. The obvious strategy to getting her out of Oceanic hit him like a bullet.

“How do you feel about…you know…with Neville Percivald to get more information?”

Her forehead wrinkled. “You don’t mean…”

“I mean, have sex with the guy and pump him for information.”

In an instant her face went from flushed to whiter than his marble rolling pin. “I don’t think so.” She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “He’s really not my type.”

Yes. Jake’s strategy was working. He pushed harder, knowing in his gut he had to get her out of Oceanic, wishing he’d never been fool enough to involve an innocent woman in his personal vendetta. Unfortunately, his common sense had returned a little late. If he couldn’t persuade her to back away from Oceanic, he’d have to trick her into doing it. Deliberately, he hardened his voice. “This isn’t a game, you know. It’s a serious investigation. You’re either in or you’re out. And if you’re in, I do mean all the way.”

He waited for her to throw the wine in his face and storm out. With luck he’d get a chance to explain his behavior when this thing was all over, maybe even pursue this tantalizing attraction between them. But for right now, he’d risk her good opinion to get her safely out of Oceanic.

Instead of throwing the wine or a tantrum, she rose with a polite smile. “I should have brought that welcome-to-the-neighborhood Bundt cake, then we’d have had dessert.”

“Look, Cyn—”

“It’s dark now, Agent Wheeler. May I go home?”

The sky was dark, all right, but not nearly as dark as his mood as he skulked with her down the back alley.

Before she slipped into her house, she gripped his arm. “I am not a quitter,” she whispered.

Somehow, he’d have to find a way to make her become one. If Neville Percivald couldn’t stop her, Jake would have to find a way to do it himself.

A WEEK LATER, he was still trying to figure out a way to get Cynthia Baxter to un-volunteer. He’d stubbornly refused to contact her all week, and despite the fact that he’d kept his cell phone turned on and near him all week, day and night, he hadn’t heard a peep from her.

He hated stubborn women.

He’d have been worried sick if he hadn’t joined the rest of the neighborhood curtain-twitching squad and taken to monitoring her movements in the most low-tech way of all. He peered out his window at her when she left for work in the morning, and he’d become so finely tuned to the sound of her car motor that he was back at his post each evening when she returned, driving past his house with her nose pointed straight ahead and her chin in the air in a little up yours posture that kept his blood perpetually on low simmer.

He had to do something. She was getting in the way of his work. He had to schedule all his appointments, do all his digging, after she’d left for work in the morning, then be home again in time to watch for her safe return.

It was all her fault for pretending to be someone she wasn’t. He never would have asked her to be his informal spy if he hadn’t believed she was tough, street smart and kinkier than the Marquis de Sade.

He felt like a fool. And the worst part was she had him thinking about her at night, too—remembering how she’d looked naked, her naturally slender body gently rounded in all the right places. Then there was the way she’d felt in his arms. Like she belonged there.

Thinking about her made him irritable and edgy as he hovered by the window like an overprotective husband, checking his watch and straining his ears for her engine. It was six-thirty. She was always home by six.

He checked that his phone was fully charged, started to pace. His blood pressure rose as he pictured Cynthia in danger. Being forced onto a fishing boat—

“No!” he said aloud, shoving the ugly vision away.

He heard a car turn onto Rodonda Drive, but his ears told him immediately it wasn’t Cynthia’s. He twitched his curtain and saw a yellow taxi pull up outside Mrs. Lawrence’s place and Mrs. Lawrence get out. He grabbed his keys and wallet, pulled on a jacket and sprinted for his front door.

His elderly neighbor was just starting up her front path.

“Nice evening,” he said by way of greeting.

She smiled at him. “Yes.” Good, she had her hearing aid turned on.

He sauntered to the fence. “I’ve been helping Cynthia with some painting.”

“Yes, I know,” Mrs. Lawrence said, not even blushing at being such a nosy neighbor.

“I said I’d help her tonight, but she’s not home yet.”

“Oh, well. It’s Tuesday, isn’t it?”

“Ye-es.”

She smiled, like she’d just won at bingo. “Deep water aerobics. She’ll be home by half past seven.”

Relief washed through him, while the nagging fear turned to annoyance. That woman had wasted enough of his time and mental energy. He was going to make certain she quit Oceanic once and for all. Tonight.

He didn’t let any of his emotions show on his face, just said, “Well, she gave me a key to her house.” He waved his own key at the elderly woman. “Might as well get started.”

Mrs. Lawrence beamed. “She certainly is a lucky girl.”

Guilt smote him. An old lady would need his help a lot more than a young one. “If there’s anything you want done around the house, Mrs. Lawrence, give me a shout.”

“Why, thank you, dear. I’ll remember that. Good night.”

“‘Night.”

He sauntered to Cynthia’s door in full view of the neighborhood, knowing he’d just been stamped with the Rodonda Drive Seal of Approval. If he’d learned nothing else this week, he’d confirmed that nobody sinister was watching Cynthia’s house—just him and the rest of the neighbors.

Five minutes later, he was inside. With a good forty-five minutes until she returned home, he marshaled his arguments and settled down to wait.

He snapped on a lamp, and had to admit he kind of liked the color of the walls, Grape Kool-Aid or Châteauneuf-du-Pape, or whatever the hell color she called it. The room was an intriguing mixture of old and new. Some of the stuff he remembered from before—fancy antique-store knickknacks and so on—but she’d added some new, ultramodern looking cushions, an abstract picture on the wall and a chunk of rock on the mantel. Maybe it was supposed to be a sculpture. He shrugged. Looked like a hunk of rock to him.

Also new were a few additions to the library. An “inside the FBI” exposé, and a book about money laundering. Great. All he needed was her thinking she was an expert because she’d read a book about the bureau by some guy he’d never heard of, and an academic study on money laundering.

With a groan of frustration, he flopped to the couch and picked up a magazine from the stack on the floor. Her accounting association magazine. He made it through three pages and his eyes started to drift shut.

He flicked through the pile looking for Gourmet or Bon Appétit. Found Accounting Today, Time, Newsweek, Raunch…

Raunch?

He flopped back on the couch, taking the magazine with him. First thing he noted was this magazine was a lot more thumbed through than her accounting periodical. The second thing he noticed was that the saucy dominatrix on the front cover had breasts like twin Hindenburgs. You could hang on to her ankles and float to Australia.

Raunch’s annual fantasy issue pretty much ran the gamut, he noted, from the traditional to the, well, out there. He’d never found space aliens attractive, hmself, but then, he was definitely more of a down-to-earth kind of guy.

Boudoir Beginners? He snorted. Who wrote this stuff?

Somebody, no doubt Cyn, had highlighted a few of the fantasies in yellow marker. Pretty much all of them were in the beginner section.

He paused to read one highlighted passage, then rolled his eyes. What was it with women and sheiks? No way he’d stick a damn towel on his head and dress up his bedroom like a silk tent. Jeez.

He flipped the page to the next fantasy. Not only was this one highlighted, it was starred—triple starred, actually. “Helpless Virgin Ravaged by a Dark Dangerous Stranger.” His mind flipped to the way he’d found her. So that’s what that was all about! She’d been enacting a magazine fantasy. The joke was on her, though. She must have just about had a heart attack when a gun-wielding stranger crashed her private party. She’d got her fantasy, all right—well, he hadn’t ravished her, of course, but to Cynthia he must have looked mighty dangerous. She’d appeared terrified, not a bit turned on by the whole situation. Which just showed why fantasies should remain fantasies.

Wait a minute. He snapped his fingers. That was the answer, staring him right in the face. He knew just what Cynthia would do if a dangerous stranger tried to ravish her. She’d run a mile, that’s what she’d do.

He read the setup more carefully, a slow smile forming.

WITH A SIGH Cynthia stepped into the hallway in her stocking feet and froze, dropping the canvas bag with her swimsuit and towel on the floor. There was a light on in the living room. One she certainly hadn’t left on this morning. Another furtive step forward revealed a lean and dangerous man sprawled on her new floral tapestry couch—one who also hadn’t been there this morning.

“What are you doing here, Jake?”

“Waiting for you.” Those doll-blue eyes with the fringe of impossibly dark, curly lashes set in a face of stone gave her the usual shiver of apprehension, and the same unwanted tug of attraction.

“My security system is supposed to be foolproof.” The way her pulse went all jumpy when he was around annoyed her as much as his casual entry past her defenses.

“But I’m no fool,” he said, both arrogance and amusement dancing in his eyes. He sat up and replaced the accounting magazine he’d been reading on the stack on her mahogany coffee table.

With a start of pure horror she recalled that Raunch Magazine was somewhere in that pile. Too embarrassed to put it in recycling, in case any of her neighbors peeked, she’d planned to burn the thing, but with her new duties as the most boring spy in the world, she hadn’t had time.

The pile of magazines looked undisturbed, and she figured Jake would have chosen Raunch over Accounting Today if he’d come across it.

“What do you want?”

“A status report.”

“It’s a short report,” she said, choosing a wing chair opposite him. “No progress. The only accounting discrepancy I can find is eight cents that won’t balance. And another load of chopsticks arrives in the morning.”

He crossed his arms and lounged back, a gesture that made his biceps bulge and her heart skitter. He was so impossibly male, with an aura of danger that drew her even as it repelled her. His chest was broad and taut with muscle, his belly flat under the navy polo shirt. Her eyes slipped lower, and with a start she jerked her gaze to the colorful arrangement of tulips centered on the coffee table.

“Heard anything interesting around the water cooler?”

“Since we spoke last week? Let’s see.” She’d better not tell him she’d searched Neville’s computer files as well as Lester Dart’s and Doug Ormond’s one afternoon when they’d all gone to a meeting. Jake would have a fit if she told him. Besides, she hadn’t found anything suspicious, certainly not a second set of books.

“Well?”

“Marilyn’s getting married to her personal trainer in September. She’s the front office receptionist. We’re throwing her a shower in two weeks. Eddie from the loading dock’s seeing Suze, Neville’s secretary, on the side. It’s supposed to be a secret, but everybody knows—except Suze’s husband, I hope. And as for Delores—”

His hands jerked up in surrender. “Okay, okay. It was just a thought.”

“That the staff would chitchat about drug money laundering at the water cooler.” Cynthia let the sarcasm drip from her tongue. “I can see why they put you in charge of the operation.”

Her insult didn’t appear to annoy him nearly as much as she’d hoped, but he did sit up straighter, with a gleam in his eye that made her wish she’d kept her mouth shut. “You’d be amazed what people let slip when they get relaxed.” His blue, blue eyes shot her a glance of pure innocence she’d learned to distrust.

“Really.”

“Seduced anybody yet, Cyn?”

“Seduced anybody?” Her voice sounded high and funny. The thought of seducing any of her coworkers made her feel ill. In fact, the only man who caused erotic scenarios in her head was sitting right across from her. “Well, no.”

Jake’s gaze slid slowly down her red dress, making her feel like it was shrink-wrapped to her flesh. “You’re advertising—” his voice taunted her “—but are you selling?”

A flush heated her cheeks. It had been fun pretending, but there was no way she could continue this charade. She wasn’t the sexy siren Mata Hari he believed her. She was boring accountant Cynthia Baxter. “Of course I’m not selling,” she snapped.

“Why not?” Lazy flames seemed to curl the edges of his words.

“Because I’m not—I mean, I’m—” But she couldn’t find the words to tell him she was a complete dud in bed, and that even the most risqué fantasy in Raunch Magazine couldn’t save her last relationship. She could not look into those dangerous, hot blue eyes and humiliate herself. “I don’t usually do the seducing,” she finally managed to say, trying desperately to look worldly and slightly bored.

Jake’s mouth quirked up at that, softening his tough-guy face and etching wonderful little crinkles around his baby doll eyes. “Then I guess you’d better start practicing.”

“Practice what?”

“Seducing men. You can start with me.”

“You want me to seduce you?” He was so far out of her league, they weren’t even in the same stadium.

He was openly grinning now, and what that grin did to her heartbeat could be dangerous to her health. “Let’s call it on-the-job training.”

“But I already put in eight hours on the job,” she complained, grabbing at straws while she tried to compose herself.

“You’ll get paid the overtime rate. Time-and-a-half.”

She rose jerkily. Enough was enough. She’d been stupid to volunteer to go undercover. She knew nothing about drugs, or espionage, or money laundering. And she absolutely, definitely knew nothing about seducing men. She’d just show him the door and tell him she was quitting. No more Oceanic. No more FBI. No more Jake Wheeler throwing her pulse into disarray.

“Well?” he taunted.

She gazed at him, opened her mouth to throw him out, and closed it without a word.

Suddenly she knew. It was now or never. Fate had offered her a chance at exploring all that stuff she’d only read about and fantasized about. The man in front of her was every sheik, every pirate, every bad boy of her dreams, and she could have him. All she had to do was step across the room and seduce him.

Walking toward him was the most courageous action she’d ever taken.

He lounged back on the couch and watched her through gleaming eyes as she approached.

Gingerly she sat beside him and glanced nervously at his mouth. Should she kiss him first or would he expect a woman of her experience to begin undressing him right away?

Seconds ticked by.

She glanced into his eyes and saw a calculating expression. Was he deliberately provoking her? Hoping she’d run a mile? Oh, it was tempting, but if she was really going to change, and take charge of her life, she had to rise to his challenge.

She took a deep breath and leaned forward, assailed by the all-male scent of him, warm and musky, with a hint of the mints he’d filched from her crystal candy dish. Bracing herself against his chest, she felt hard muscles and the steady thud of a heartbeat under her palms.

She licked dry lips and gazed into his face for a moment. His eyes were fiercely focused on her mouth. The very air crackled between them and suddenly she didn’t care if she did everything wrong, she had to kiss him.

She pressed her lips against his, and almost moaned at the heat that arced through her body at that slight touch. She let her tongue trail slowly along his bottom lip, and felt him shudder. Had she done that? Her own power intoxicated her and made her bold enough to do it again. And again. Finally, she worked up the courage to slip her tongue between his lips, and something inside her exploded as she dipped into that hot, wet mouth. It was as though all the rules of her life ceased to matter. She crushed them with her lips, flouted them with her greedy tongue.

Like a starving woman at a banquet table, she wanted to taste and devour everything before her. Her lips left his and began kissing his jaw, his neck, where a steady pulse thrummed—pretty fast for a guy in such good shape.

Her fingers tugged at his navy polo shirt, clawing at it until she’d released it from his jeans and could run her fingers over his warm, taut flesh. As her hands ascended, the smoothness gave way to rough hair. Mmm. She needed to see it, and that gave her the courage to yank his shirt over his head.

He let her coo and touch and kiss his chest for a few minutes, then complained, “Seems to me you’re having all the fun here. How ‘bout we both bare our chests?”

A bucket of cold water couldn’t have doused her libido faster. “Oh.” She glanced down at her chest. “It’s really not all that exciting.”

His voice teased. “Looks pretty good from here.”

“That’s a marvel of modern engineering and underwire. Uncomfortable, too.”

“Then, as a humanitarian gesture, I think we should release you. I can’t enjoy myself knowing you’re uncomfortable.”

“It’s just so bright in here,” she whispered.

“Why don’t we adjourn to the bedroom?” He kissed the back of her exposed neck, and even that simple little caress shivered along all her sex-starved nerve endings.

“No. Really, I can’t—”

“Hey, I’m the one being seduced. Don’t I get a say? I’d feel a lot more comfortable in a bed.” He shot her a sideways glance. “With the lights off.”

Relief scudded through her. “You would?”

“Absolutely.”

She didn’t really believe him. But there was a telltale bulge in his pants that suggested something was going right in her sex life for a change. “Okay.”

“Get ready in the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

She nodded agreement and slipped into her en suite bathroom. What exactly had he meant by “get ready?” She was on the Pill, but she’d still expect him to use a condom.

She brushed her teeth. Then flossed. She popped two vitamin B stress tabs to calm her nerves. Was she supposed to get undressed? It would save all that embarrassing fumbling later. Ooh, but what if it wasn’t dark when she left the bathroom? She slipped out of her dress and the fancy stockings, leaving just her bra and panties on, then took a deep breath, switched off the bathroom light and opened the door.

He hadn’t been kidding about liking things dark. Her bedroom was pitch-black. Eerily so. The curtains were drawn, the door closed. She couldn’t see a thing.

She knew he was there, though. She could feel him. Sense him through her pores; taste him in the air around her. “Jake?”

From out of the darkness a hand brushed her naked belly, and she sucked in her breath, startled.

He stroked her belly, her side, traced her breasts through the lacy bra, then unhooked it and let it fall. Everything inside her came alert, each nerve ending vying for his attention. She felt each separate pad of each separate finger as he stroked and caressed her exposed breasts.

Only his fingertips touched her. Nothing else. Not his mouth. Especially not his mouth. And she wanted his mouth on hers so badly she could taste it. Each time she took a step toward where she thought he was, she met empty air. When she raised her arms, he put them back at her sides.

“I thought I was seducing you,” she groaned.

“You did.” His voice was a husky whisper. “You do.”

Those clever fingers stripped her of her bra and panties, and she barely noticed. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the bed, placing her on her back.

And, at last, he kissed her. Taking firm possession of her mouth with his lips and tongue, delving deep until she was mindless with the pleasure of it. He took her wrists in his hands and lifted them over her head. She felt glorious, as though she could fly on those wide-stretched arms.

Somewhere, dimly, she was aware of the cold shock of metal on the heated flesh of her wrists, but he was kissing her so fiercely she couldn’t concentrate on this new sensation. Not until she heard the ominous tinny snap did she realize what he’d done.

“No!” she cried, pulling frantically, but she was handcuffed securely to the bed. And bitterly did she know how helpless she was. “Jake! Let me go.”

There was no other answer than the shifting of bedsprings as he left the bed.

Next she heard the scrape of a match being lit. She followed the tiny bobbing flame of the match as he lit one candle, then another. She recognized her emergency candle stash, and soon flickering candles added a luminescent glow to the room, and to the man in possession of it—and her. Her fantasy. This was her fantasy.

She glared at him. “You read the magazine.”

He bent to light another candle on her bedside table. He glanced at her and she saw twin candle flames like devil lights reflected in his eyes. “Yep. Personally, my favorite fantasy was ‘Servant Girl Washing her Master’s Plinth.’ But you’d highlighted ‘Helpless Virgin Ravaged by a Dark Dangerous Stranger’ in yellow marker, so I figured it turned your crank.”

“You were wrong.”

“Are you sure?” His voice sent a shiver over her flesh.

“Yes.” She might be helpless, but she’d be damned if she’d be intimidated.

“Well, you’re certainly helpless, and since I’m a gentleman, I’m going to assume you’re a virgin. But, just so it doesn’t get too frightening, I’m going to tell you in advance what I’m going to do, every step of the way.”

“Couldn’t you just let me go?”

He shook his head. “Not until I’ve ravished you.”

Politically correct this wasn’t. But the thrill that shot through her was visceral. He might act the part of the fierce stranger, but she was sure he’d never really hurt or frighten her. Well, pretty sure.

“Now, I’ve gone easy on you, seeing it’s your first time. Your legs aren’t shackled. But you give me one little bit of trouble and you’ll be spread-eagled. Understand?”

She gulped. “Mmm-hmm.”

“First thing I’m going to do is touch those pretty breasts of yours.” He moved toward her as he spoke, still dressed in his jeans, bare chest glowing in candlelight. “I’ll probably play with the nipples quite a bit, too.” At his words, her breasts, and most of all, her nipples, began to throb, longing for his touch, and she felt an echoing throb between her legs.

He put his big, capable hands on her breasts, cupping and kneading the flesh, then pulling on her nipples until she gasped. “I’m going to put my mouth there now,” he told her softly. “I’ll be using my teeth on those little cherries, so brace yourself.”

She moaned. It was as though each caress came twice. When he told her what he was going to do to her, her imagination played it through, while the part of her body he described ached and tingled in anticipation. Then, when he actually touched her, the excitement was almost more than she could bear.

Everything from the palms of her shackled hands to the toes of her feet were subjected to this double caress. Everything except the desperately aching core of her.

She was almost sobbing with need when he stood back, stripped off his jeans and slipped on a condom. The sight of that proudly jutting manhood was too much for her self-control. She whimpered, and the handcuffs rattled against the mahogany four-poster.

He smirked. “Don’t be frightened,” he soothed, knowing damn well she wasn’t scared. “I’ll go slowly and try not to hurt you.”

“Not slowly, no. Please.”

“I understand you want to get this over with. But taking a man into your body can be painful the first time. Now, I want you to spread your legs open for me so I can see if you’re ready to take me yet.”

And she did it. Lord help her, she parted her legs for him eagerly, and watched as well as felt him settle himself at the bottom of the bed and just look.

He was so close his breath stirred the damp curls. She was heavy and swollen with desire, too excited to be embarrassed at the intimate way he stared at her. With his index finger he traced her opening and she hissed in her breath. “I’m going to put just this one finger inside you, to see if you’re ready.”

She would have kicked him upside the head if she wasn’t certain he’d tease her for hours more if she did. Instead, she watched in agonized frustration as he slipped a finger slowly inside her. Unable to help herself, she cried out and bucked against his hand.

The finger was gone in an instant, and with more phony concern he said, “I’m sorry, honey. I guess I hurt you.”

“No. No!”

“Shh. I know I hurt you. I’ll kiss it better.”

Then he touched his tongue to her. Right on that needy little button of pure sensation.

Her head fell back and she cried out as she began to shudder. She closed her eyes and saw stars. Her very blood seemed to sparkle as he played his tongue over and over her most sensitive part, sending her at long last soaring into the light.

Maybe the game was over, or maybe he’d forgotten the rules, but he didn’t tell her what he was going to do this time, just rose above her and plunged. She was still shuddering on the tail end of her climax when he thrust into her, stretching her body and filling her as no one ever had.

“You’re so tight, so soft, so sweet,” he murmured, holding her head in his hands and staring into her eyes as he began to move inside her, long steady thrusts that built her up again toward that impossibly high peak. With her arms cuffed, she could only use her legs to wrap herself around him, arching up even as he thrust down, and this time when she flew off that mountaintop, she wasn’t alone.

Hours later, Jake woke suddenly, his well-developed senses warning him of danger. Instinctively he reached for the Sig 9 mm under his pillow, but his hand wouldn’t move. He jerked awake to the sounds of metal clinking against wood, and soft, feminine laughter.

This time, he was the one handcuffed to the bed.

“If you’re very good, we might get to ‘Concubine Washing her Master’s Plinth,’” Cynthia promised. “Eventually.”

He groaned. His plan to make Cyn quit her job had backfired. Resoundingly. He’d have to think up a new plan.

But her tongue was drawing patterns on his chest, which made it difficult to plan. Then her mouth traveled lower, until thought was completely out of the question.