Even a few hours later, the truth is still settling into me. My heart is cracking in half.

Connor isn’t late because he’s putting in long hours at work. He’s on a date with one of them—a statuesque, fancy top model goddess who earns oodles of money based on her looks alone.

Even though I wasn’t hired to go out in public with him, I can’t help thinking that I wasn’t good enough to be his date tonight. I’m not anything near Connor’s league, and she is.

My jealousy forces me to look up everything about her: all her shoots in exotic places I haven’t traveled, all the hot and famous men she’s been with—which obviously includes the guy who’s supposed to be in this penthouse showering his attentions on me. It looks like this is the first time they’ve gone out, but as I dwell on the throngs of women he’s rumored to have screwed, all of them start to blend together into an exclusive club that I’ll never belong to.

And they’re all prettier, richer, and cooler than I’ll ever be.

As my phone finally dies, I sit in the penthouse’s darkness, the blue glow of the screensaver on the huge TV the only light in the living room. Then I realize something: Am I Connor’s dirty little secret? Is that why I’m here at his home, hidden from the public, while that model is on his arm?

It feels as if I have a big L for Loser branded into my forehead. What else could I possibly be after getting so drunk in front of Connor last night? And look at me now, slumped on the couch and staring at a TV that’s not playing anything.

Such a loser.

At least at my home I was with people who didn’t make me feel this way. My friends were always loving, and so was my family. I’m suddenly homesick for everyone in Buffalo except for Robbie, even though maybe he’s the kind of safe choice I should return to, just like my family keeps telling me.

I’m still slumped on the sofa when I hear a chime that tells me someone has accessed the private penthouse elevator.

I don’t move, even when I feel him enter the living room. I might as well be one of the expensive works of art on the walls as I hear him toss something that sounds like clothing on a chair. I open my eyes, and in my peripheral vision, I see his tall, wide shadow blocking the entry as he undoes his tie. His tux jacket is hanging over a modern chrome and leather chair. He must think I’m sleeping as I sit here in front of the TV, because he slowly walks toward me like he owns much more than this penthouse.

He comes to the sofa and looks down at me, and my cells scramble, magnetized and drawn by his very presence. My nearly see-through baby doll skirt rides up my thighs, and I angrily tug it back down.

With a quiet, amused laugh, he pulls off his tie and unbuttons the top of his collar. “When I suggested you watch movies, I figured you could find something more interesting than a blue screen.”

I try not to look at the golden boy with his ruffled dark blond hair, his demigod physique, his casually undone tuxedo. I merely shrug at his comment and watch the screen.

He tosses his tie on the sofa where I’ve pulled my bare feet close to my hip. When I don’t react, he keeps looking at me with that distant gaze. Then he speaks.

“I had an event I needed to attend, so I’ve already eaten. Did you have dinner?”

“I’m fine.”

He pauses, then loosely puts his hands in his pockets. “Clearly.”

As he eases down to the sofa, he languidly moves my feet onto his lap. Anger crackles in my veins along with the need I’ve been suppressing all night. There’s a lot of remaining jealousy mixed in with all of it.

Even so, when he traces his fingertips over my calf, electricity streaks up my leg, and my sex tightens. I flinch away from him.

He merely leans back, resting his arm on top of the sofa. I hate him for being so unemotional when my temper is flaring, so I lash out.

“The least you could’ve done was warn me about how long I’d be waiting around for you. Maybe you could’ve taken five seconds to send a text?”

“Is that why you’re sulking?” He raises an eyebrow. “I think I like you like this.”

“And how is that?”

“Responsive.” He reaches down to draw my feet back onto his lap. “Fierce.”

I start to pull away again, but he encircles one of my ankles with his fingers, and I suck in a breath.

“I think you like being that way,” he says.

Now his voice is the low, seductive growl that I heard in his office before he worked me crazy with his mouth and tongue. My lungs press together, cutting off more air, especially as he drags his other hand up my leg. He stops at the hem of my skirt, rubbing the gauze between his fingers.

“You know exactly what I wanted you to be wearing when I got home,” he murmurs. “Seeing you in this dress already gets me hard.”

His blunt admission rocks me like a wave of heat. “Oh. Ummm…thanks,” I say lamely.

“Looks like you found the right closet, Goldilocks,” he says.

“Good for me.” I pull my feet all the way from him and plant them on the floor, sitting up and crossing my arms over my chest as if that’ll keep him from seeing through the light pink material of the dress to get a glimpse of my underwear.

“Is there an issue?” he says drily.

“I don’t know. I’m starting to wonder how many women have worn this outfit besides me. Who knows how many women come through this house on a constant basis.”

“Allyson,” he says, a warning in his tone.

In spite of my fit, I find myself looking over at him. It seems as if he doesn’t have a care in the world as he sits there like the coolest customer imaginable. But why should he worry when he rules everything?

I’m too hurt to give into his charms, and I strike again. “Don’t ‘Allyson’ me. I know where you were, and it was with a supermodel, someone you weren’t ashamed to be seen with.”

If he’s surprised, the only thing that gives it away is a flicker in his gaze. “You’re angry.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“Don’t play games.” He begins to undo his fancy cufflinks, never breaking gazes with me. “Were you online, biding your time until I got home, researching my whereabouts?”

“I happened to stumble over the information.”

“Jesus, I was at a charity event with a date.” He discards the silver links on a nearby table and starts to roll his sleeves up his muscled forearms. “It sounds to me as if you don’t remember our deal. You wait for me until I’m ready, then I take what I want, when I want it. That’s what you agreed to back at the office, even before I got your pussy so wet that you were crying for more.”

My pulse is spinning, sending sparks to my clit. He’s got me out of sorts, out of control, and I’ve never been that way before. His power over me scares me, and I stand from the sofa.

“Allyson.” Now there’s a command in his deep tone.

As if chained, I don’t go anywhere. I only close my eyes before opening them again. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“You did it in the office.”

“That was…” Damn him. “Different. I’m talking about…” I gesture around the lavish room. “I’ve never been in this kind of setting. I feel like I’m not good enough, especially when I look at the kind of woman you’re usually with. The kind you were with tonight instead of me.” I calm myself down, then add, “I don’t like feeling this uncertain and confused. It’s not me.”

“And I don’t do relationships that require me to give a damn. That’s why we have a contract.”

I freeze him out with silence. The TV’s screensaver stares back at the two of us as our impasse chills the room.

Then his words finally sink in. He doesn’t get close to anyone? I understand why he wouldn’t do that with his website girls, but what about those higher-profile women he dates in public? Doesn’t he ever get close to them, either?

Finally, he curses under his breath, although I’m not sure what he says. All I know is that he’s clearly frustrated with me. But if I thought Connor was a master at hiding what’s really going on with himself before, I’m sure of it now as he fixes an intense gaze on me. It’s as if that gaze has the power to pull me closer—or maybe we’re both being drawn into something crazy.

In the next instant, his chilliness completely turns to heat. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his demanding voice.

“Do you or do you not want to continue this agreement?”

Yes. God yes. And maybe he can read that in me now.

“If you’re staying,” he says, “I think you know what to do.” He grips the armrest of the sofa with one hand, resting his other arm on the back of the furniture again. He jerks his chin slightly at me. “Take off that bra.”

My heartbeat clamors at my chest as I hesitate.

That cruel smile returns to his mouth. “And do it without taking off your dress.”

I must look bewildered, but I think I know what he means. And my sex tells me that I’m ready and willing for it as it pulses in damp agreement. My fingers also admit to how much I want this, because I’ve already reached up to the cap of a sleeve, easing below the gauze to pull down one bra strap.

Connor watches raptly as I bring the satin down my arm and shrug out of it. As I do the same with the other strap, the light from the TV plays over his face—every moment of need, every hint that he wants me as much as I want him.

I can’t shake the desire to have him and only him, the obsession.

I reach into the low front of my dress with both hands, slowly undoing the clasp of my bra. I pull it out of my bodice from one side, bunching the satin in my hands, not knowing what to do next.

Try to breathe again, I think. But it’s so hard with my head reeling, with my blood pounding in my temples.

All it takes for my nipples to get aroused is a long look from Connor. His wide chest is rising and falling in a shallow rhythm, as if he’s struggling to control himself. My breasts show through the wispy material, and suddenly I feel as beautiful as any of Connor’s women. I’m the one who has him here with me. Right now, no matter how ordinary I am, I’m the temporary goddess he can’t tear his gaze away from.

“What am I going to tell you to do next?” he says in a strained voice.

“Take off my panties.”

“Then do it.”

I drop the bra. My legs shake, but somehow I manage to push my undies down. They pool around my feet until I step out of them. My pussy is thoroughly juiced, because I know he can see the shadow of my slit through the thin dress, and I know he likes it.

“Stand in front of the TV,” he commands.

I do, and I revel in the thought that the light from the screen is silhouetting every curve of me. I see the same hunger in Connor’s gaze from this afternoon, and even through the haze of my vision, I realize something earthshattering.

He might own me in some hot, inexplicable way, but I own him, too. At least I do right now.

Shyly testing how far I can push him, I take a step to the side so that my legs are apart. Connor grits his jaw, and I push him further, inching up the hem of my baby doll dress. At the sight of my pussy, his gaze goes unfocused, a little mad with a banked desire that he would probably rather die before admitting to.

But the anger and hurt I felt only a few breathless minutes ago is still there, and at the certainty of this small power I have over him, the need for revenge overcomes me.

I drop my skirt, and as Connor’s gaze clears, I walk away just as coolly as the billionaire himself would.

“I think that’s quite enough for tonight, Mr. Kenyon.”

I don’t get two steps away before he stops me by grabbing my dress. The fabric tears as he hauls me close enough to see the fire in his eyes and the lust that nearly takes me out at the knees.

“What kind of game are you playing?” he rasps.