He didn’t answer my question about why he had said he might be ruining his voice for opera work. Instead he met my gaze, his eyes alight with flaming intensity.

He didn’t speak. He simply rose, took the wineglass from my hand, set it on the table, and then pulled me out of my chair and into his arms. He laid me gently on his bed and released me from the towel covering my middle. He discarded his own towel as well and joined me on the bed.

I lay on my back, and he lay next to me on his side, supported on his shoulder, still gazing down at me with burning passion. He trailed his finger over my forehead, pushing my hair out of my eyes and then gliding it down my cheek and over my swollen lips.

“Jett—”

“Jeremy,” he said, his voice a rasp.

“Jeremy, I love your touch.” I fought the desire to tear up. This truly would be the last time we were together. I’d had more time with him than I’d ever dreamed of when Janet had suggested her scheme. It had turned out better than I ever expected.

But now it would be even harder to let go.

“I love your touch too, baby.” He brushed his lips softly against my cheek.

He had kissed my forehead, the top of my head, and now my cheek. Those were a lover’s kisses, not the lustful kisses of someone who just wanted to fuck.

Perhaps he felt as much as I did.

I forced that thought out of my head. I couldn’t go there. Not when I knew it couldn’t possibly be. He was just attracted to me. We had this intense physical thing on both of our parts. He was getting me out of his system, and I should be doing the same.

It wasn’t working, though. The more time I spent with Jett—Jeremy—the more time I wanted to spend with him. He had already taught me so much about following my dreams. All this time, I could’ve been flexing my artistic muscles by doing something other than what my ultimate dream was.

“Jeremy, I need to tell you something.”

“No, you don’t.”

Hmm. That was strange. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a moment. Then, “I don’t mean anything. What do you want to tell me?”

“Well…you changed my life. Really.”

He opened his mouth, but I placed two fingers over his lips.

“Let me finish. I’m not going to say anything to freak you out. I promise. What I mean is, you taught me that it’s not selling out to take a different path to your dream. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to give my two weeks’ notice at the diner tomorrow.”

Those last words actually surprised me. I hadn’t made that decision until just that moment. But it was the right decision. I would find a way to make money from my writing. People were always looking for freelance writers and editors. I would find something, and I would make it work, while still holding on to my ultimate dream of writing for the big screen. Plus, I had the contact with Laney for the paranormal TV series. Sure, nothing could come of it, but maybe something would.

“You should know, Heather, that I did have help on my way up.” His voice cracked a little, as though he was nervous.

“No one gets to the top on his own. I know that.”

“But I had…” He paused a moment. “I don’t want to talk about that now, not when I have a beautiful woman in my bed.” Again he ran his finger down my cheek and this time down my neck, my shoulder, over the swell of my breasts, and to my nipple. “I want to make love to you, Heather.”

Make love. That was just a euphemism for fucking, as far as he was concerned, but I liked the words nonetheless.

“Please, Jeremy,” I said, a note of pleading in my voice. “Please make love to me.”

He rolled on top of me, bracing his weight on his arms and legs, and lowered his lips to mine. He teased me at first, licking my lips, nibbling them. When I stuck my tongue out, hoping he would take the hint, he sucked on the tip of it for a moment and then went back to tiny kisses on my lips, cheeks, and neck.

My nipples hardened instantly, and I strained forward, aching for him to kiss me deeply.

But he seemed determined to go slowly. So I would savor it. After all, this would be the last time with Jett Draconis.

The only time with Jeremy Gustafson.

I closed my eyes, forcing the tears not to form. Crying wouldn’t let me savor this experience. I vowed to concentrate on what was happening now, to be in the moment. The tears could come later, when I would never see Jett again.

He was still raining tiny kisses all over my face. When his lips softly pressed against my closed eyelids, I let out a soft sigh.

Another thing no man had ever done to me. It was so sweetly sexy, so endearing yet such a turn-on at the same time.

When he had covered my face with kisses, he moved to my left earlobe and tugged on it. “My lips are going to touch every inch of your flesh, baby. Every fucking inch.”

I exhaled softly. This would be torture. Blissful torture. I would be so ripe by the time he got to my pussy that I would be ready to fall off the vine.

His lips traveled over my forehead to my other ear, where he tugged on the lobe again and then ran his tongue over the outer edge, making me shiver. He darted his tongue inside, and a tickle landed between my legs. He thrust his tongue in and out of my ear, as if emulating what he would do to my pussy later.

I’d had no idea the inside of my ear was so sensitive. I squirmed beneath him, moaning, sighing, saying his name.

Jeremy. Jeremy. Jeremy.

When he was done torturing my ear, he slid his lips over my neck to my shoulder. Sweet Jesus, such sensitivity. He left goosebumps in his wake, repositioning himself on my side so he could kiss down my arm all the way to my hands and then my fingertips. He turned a hand over and planted several wet kisses against an area of my palm that was more sensitive than I had known. He kissed each finger, sucking the tips into his mouth as he went.

My body quaked on the bed. With my free hand, I reached across my body and stroked his forearm, relishing the muscle, the sinew, the warmth of his skin. I trailed my fingers over the lines of his Celtic lion tattoo. I had meant to ask him the story behind it, but I’d gotten sidetracked.

His stage name meant dragon. His surname was Swedish. But he had said his mother was German and Irish. Irish… Perhaps there was a story behind his tattoo, one that had to do with his heritage.

But then those thoughts fled my head as he kissed up my arm again, over my chest, and took one hard nipple between his lips. He sucked and tugged, and I squirmed beneath him, wanting more, needing more.

When he dropped my nipple, I whimpered.

“I want to continue kissing you all over, Heather,” he said, his voice low and husky. “But I want to tie you down. I want to tie your wrists and ankles to my bed. Do you trust me? May I do that?”

My heartbeat surged. He wanted to…

“What?” The words left my lips and seemed to echo throughout the room.

“It will be good for you, baby. I promise. But if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll just keep kissing you the way I am, moving my lips up and down your hot body, tasting every part of you that you have to offer me.”

“What?” I said again.

“Have you ever been bound before? Bound for your own pleasure?”

I bit my lip and shook my head.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you,” he said. “I’m asking anyway. I’m asking because it will be amazing for you, and I want you to remember this night. I want it imprinted on your memory so that you’ll never be able to forget what we shared together.”

I would never forget it anyway. I didn’t need some extrasensory device to make me remember this. But maybe he thought I did. Maybe he really thought this would make it better for me.

The idea of being bound frightened me…but also intrigued me. Intrigued me to the point that the throbbing between my legs intensified.

Could I trust this man? I hardly knew him, yet in a way I felt like we were old souls who had known each other for millennia. Not that I believed in that bullshit, and in my head, I knew we would never be together long-term.

Agreeing to this didn’t make any sense. Just as agreeing to the little show with Janet hadn’t made any sense. I’d agreed to it anyway.

So I wasn’t completely surprised when I said, “All right, Jeremy. I trust you.”