Rafe was in his father’s massive office—or rather his massive office—on the hundredth floor of DS Tower, having a meeting with a less-than-impressed Lorenzo and their very grumpy half brother, Nero.

They were discussing the management structure of the company now that their father had stepped down. All three men had very different ideas about how it should be done, and none of them were remotely interested in agreeing with one another.

It was making for a rather difficult discussion.

Rafe didn’t want to start laying down the law quite yet, not until he was more firmly in command of the company, but given both brothers’ intransigence, it was looking like that was the only way forward.

They were, of course, starting to get an inkling that he wasn’t simply their father’s puppet and never had been—no matter how it looked on the outside—but he wasn’t ready for them to to know the full extent of his manipulations quite yet. Which meant he had to take the softly, softly approach.

Sadly, it wasn’t proving to be at all successful, not up against Nero’s impatience and his oldest brother’s less-than-tolerant approach.

The text from Ella that popped up on his phone was just the diversion he needed.

When he read it, all thoughts of his company, not to mention his brothers, went out of his head entirely, and he was getting up from the meeting table and striding to the windows, hitting Ella’s number to call her.

The call connected but he didn’t wait for her to speak. “Don’t move. I’m coming.” Disconnecting Ella, he put another call through to one of his personal assistants requesting some information, texted Clive to get his car ready, then he turned and headed straight for the door, ignoring the looks of surprise his brothers sent him.

“Where the hell are you going?” Nero growled.

“To see a man about a dog,” Rafe replied and strode out without another word.

Clive was right on time, the limo already at the curb by the time he got out of the building, his personal assistant texting him the address of the hospital Aurora was at before he’d even gotten into the car.

Which was as it should be. When he’d said it was urgent, he’d meant it was urgent.

Ella had contacted him. Ella had contacted him.

It was the very first time she’d initiated things and sure, it had only been a text telling him that her grandmother was sick and in the hospital, but it was still contact. She didn’t have to do that, she could have let him find out through other means. But she hadn’t. She’d reached out to him and, even though it wasn’t much, he was taking it.

He wanted to help her. He wanted to prove to her that she could trust him, and this was his opportunity.

That’s cold.

So? He didn’t know Aurora Hart. In fact, she was the mother of the man who’d kept Ella away from him, so why he should feel any sympathy for her he had no idea. Anyway, besides all of that, he was a cold man. He had no sympathy for anyone.

Ella was in the waiting room when he arrived, a small, slender figure sitting hunched over on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. She looked up when he came in and there was a moment when he thought she was going to slip off the chair and come to him, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest at the thought.

But she didn’t move, her hands clasped together tightly, her knuckles white. “You didn’t have to come.”

Shoving away the disappointment he wasn’t going to let himself feel, he gave her a stern look. “Of course I had to come. Why else did you text me?”

“I just wanted you to know what was happening. You didn’t need to race down here and—”

“What’s the update on her condition?” He wasn’t going to let her try to make that text mean nothing. She’d contacted him for a reason and whether she knew it herself yet or not, that reason was because she needed him. And now he was here, she didn’t have to worry about anything anymore.

“I . . . I don’t know. No one’s told me anything.” There were dark circles under her eyes and she was very pale. Clearly she hadn’t been sleeping.

Well, that was going to stop. Today.

“Wait here.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll find out.”

Ella began to say something, but he was out of the room before she had a chance to finish. Finding a nurse wasn’t difficult, neither was charming the pants off her, and pretty soon he was talking to one of the doctors, who was also extremely easy to charm. She managed to get the doctor who’d actually worked on Aurora to come out to the waiting room to talk to Ella about Aurora’s condition.

She blinked when he came in with the doctor, but made no protest when he reached for her hand as the doctor began to tell her about strokes and how it was still early, but it looked like Aurora wasn’t going to be able to go home any time soon.

Her fingers were cold so he enclosed them in his to warm them and she didn’t pull away. But her face had gone bone white and she kept shaking her head, as if disagreeing with what the doctor was saying.

It wasn’t until after the man had left that she belatedly tried to pull her hand away from his, but he merely tightened his fingers and, without a word, led her from the waiting room.

She didn’t protest, as if all the fight had gone out of her, which he didn’t like at all. It was good that he was around. She desperately needed someone to take care of her, and that would be his job from now on.

Out on the chilly sidewalk, he pulled open the door to the limo and ushered her inside before following her in, catching Clive’s eye to let him know they’d be heading back to the house, then sitting on the seat opposite her.

Ella was still shaking her head. “I need to go home.”

“No, you don’t,” Rafe said flatly. “You’re coming with me.”

Her head shook more violently. “No. I can’t. I have a performance tonight and I need to get a little bit of sleep.”

“Out of the question.”

She went even paler than she was already. “You don’t understand. I haven’t slept in two days. And that’s probably why Aurora was sick. I wasn’t paying enough attention to her.” Her voice had begun to rise, a panicked note in it. “It’s all your fault. If you hadn’t touched me in the dressing room, I would have slept. I would have known to check on her. But I didn’t and now I can’t sleep and I—”

Rafe leaned forward and took her face between his hands, staring into her frightened gray eyes. “We’re going back to my place. And do you know what I’m going to do when I get there? I’m going to push you down onto the carpet and fuck you senseless.”

“What?” She blinked a couple of times and the glazed look in her eyes cleared, a spark of anger entering them. “Are you crazy?” Jerking her head away, she glared at him. “Take me home. Now.”

Excellent, that’s what he liked to see. Anger was far better than panic.

Ignoring the order, he reached into the drinks cabinet that had been built into the seat and took out a small bottle of expensive brandy and a crystal tumbler, pouring out a measure. Then he pushed the tumbler into her hands. “Drink that.”

“But I don’t—”

“Drink it.”

She blinked again, looking down at the alcohol in her hands. Then quite suddenly she let out a breath and lifted the tumbler, taking a deep swallow before choking slightly on it.

“Not all at once,” he murmured, amused.

Ignoring him, she took another, less-deep swallow. Color began to appear in her cheeks, and she slowly leaned back against the seat, cradling the tumbler in her hands. “I don’t like brandy.”

“Uh-huh.”

She kept hold of the tumbler. “Take me home.”

“No.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Why not?”

“Because you look exhausted. Because you need someone to look after you right now. And since I’m your guardian, that’s my job.”

“But I have a performance tonight.”

“You will not be performing tonight,” he said, flat and hard. “I will be calling the artistic director as soon as we get home to tell her that your grandmother has been taken to the hospital and that you need to be by her side.”

Ella looked incensed. “But you can’t—”

“Yes, I can. And I will. Like I told you, you’re exhausted. Do you really want your performances to suffer?”

Her gaze flickered at that. “They’re not suffering.”

“Yes, they are. The past couple of nights your form has been off. Don’t think it hasn’t been noticed.”

Her mouth opened then shut. Then she took another sip of her brandy, gazing at him from over the rim of the tumbler. “How do you know my form has been off?”

“Because I go to all your performances. And I do mean all of them.” There wasn’t any need for her not to know. After all, he had been there every night for the past three nights, and had seen that she wasn’t quite as on point as she should have been.

Ella’s gray eyes went very wide. “What do you mean ‘all of them’?”

“Every one of the fairy tale production so far.” He sat back against the seat, propping one foot onto the opposite knee. “In fact, pretty much every one of your performances since I first saw you dance four years ago.”

She looked shocked. “But that was . . . I was sixteen.”

“Yes. I know. My father dragged me along to see one and I didn’t want to go. But because it was you, I thought I’d better. And I watched you and . . .” He stopped, suddenly aware that if he went on, he was going to reveal far more than he’d meant to. “Anyway, I thought you were amazing. So I went to another and another, and pretty soon I found I couldn’t miss even one performance.”

She stared at him like he’d suddenly dropped in from Mars. “I don’t . . . Why? Why on earth would you come to see me?”

Because you were beautiful and skillful. Because you calmed me, helped me focus. Because watching you dance made me feel more at peace than I ever have in my entire life.

No, he couldn’t say that. Couldn’t reveal himself so completely.

“Because I found I liked ballet more than I thought. Anyway, that’s not important. What’s important is that if you don’t get some rest, your dancing will suffer. And I don’t think you want that, do you, Little Red?”

She looked out the window abruptly, lifting her glass and swallowing the rest of the brandy. “I can rest at home.”

“You could,” he agreed. “But that’s not what’s going to be happening. Like I said, I’ll be taking you back to my house and I’ll be—”

“F-Fucking me on the floor,” she finished, much to his surprise.

He tilted his head, gazing at her, noting how her color had come back and that the spark in her eyes made her seem much less exhausted and scared.

Better, much better.

“Actually, I said that to make you mad. Because you were panicking.”

Her chin jutted. “I wasn’t. I was just . . .”

“Panicking,” he finished with gentle insistence. “And blaming me for Aurora’s condition, which isn’t fair to either of us.”

She flushed and looked down at the empty glass in her hands, fiddling with it. “Gran is . . . all I have left in the world. So yes, you’ll forgive me if I panicked just a little bit.”

The words slid inside him, squeezing around his heart, making it feel tight.

Perhaps it wasn’t any wonder she’d been scared then. Because it was true, her grandmother was all she’d had left of her family. But all that she had left in the world? No, that wasn’t true. Because she had him. He’d already decided that years ago.

Rafe leaned forward and took the glass out of her hands, putting it back in the drinks cabinet. “You don’t need to panic now. I’m going to take care of you, understand me?”

“And if I don’t want you to?”

“Too bad. You’re stuck with me.” He reached into his pocket and extracted his phone. “Now you sit tight. I have to deal with a few work things.”

Even though he was more than happy to argue with her, he thought she could probably do with sitting quietly for a while, so he ignored her, looking down at his phone and checking on the texts and voicemail messages he’d missed. And when he next glanced at her, he saw that she’d fallen asleep, her head lolling to one side, a curtain of golden hair hiding her face.

It satisfied him on some deep level that for all her mistrust, she’d still fallen asleep in his presence, though to be fair, that might have been due to her complete exhaustion, helped along by the brandy.

He preferred to think that she trusted him more than she thought, and his presence was a reassurance rather than a source of fear.

Ella stayed asleep the whole way back to his West Village loft conversion and didn’t move even when the limo stopped and Clive opened the doors for them to get out. So Rafe gathered her up into his arms and carried her inside himself.

She stirred briefly, but only to snuggle against his chest, and he found himself reluctant to let her go once he’d gotten her inside and up to his bedroom. But he forced himself to put her down on the bed and throw the soft black velvet quilt over her, making sure she was covered and warm.

Then he had to make himself leave the room, because lingering was not a good idea. Seeing her in his bed, fast asleep, made him think all kinds of hot, possessive thoughts. Impatient thoughts . . .

But no, he was determined not to rush things, and especially not now that she was finally here in his house, in his bed.

He left her to sleep, going out and down the stairs to the huge living area with its bank of windows that ran the length of the walls on two sides. There was a long, low sectional couch that faced the glass, and Rafe moved over to it, throwing his overcoat over the back before sitting himself down on the cushions. In front of him was a heavy wooden coffee table with a sleek laptop sitting on top it, yet for the first time since he could remember, he didn’t actually want to work. What he wanted was to go back upstairs and watch his Little Red while she slept in his bed.

Ridiculous. There would be plenty of time for that later.

Because now she was here, he was going to make sure that she stayed.

* * *

Ella opened her eyes with a start, not quite sure what had woken her.

She lay there for a long moment, blinking in the darkness, trying to figure it out, but she felt too groggy with sleep. And besides, it was warm and comfortable, and maybe she should just close her eyes and try to forget about it.

But then she slowly became aware of two things: The bed she was lying in wasn’t her bed. And the room she was in wasn’t her room.

Memory tumbled in at that moment. Of Aurora unmoving, of the ambulance ride, of the hospital waiting room and the fear that wound itself tighter and tighter. And then . . .

Don’t move. I’m coming.

Rafael.

Air rushed into her lungs and she sat up quickly, her heartbeat beginning to race.

She’d been overwhelmed both emotionally and physically by everything that had happened, and he’d given her brandy in his limo. And then he’d told her he was going to take care of things and she’d tried to argue and then . . .

She’d fallen asleep. In his car. With him, right there.

Ella put her head in her hands briefly, rubbing her eyes. Why had she done that? God, what had she been thinking? He’d swept in and basically taken over, and she’d simply . . . let him.

Her throat closed. She didn’t want to examine the reasons why that might be. Why she’d obediently finished the brandy he’d given her then fallen asleep like a good little girl. Why something tense and anxious inside her had relaxed the moment he’d arrived at the hospital, striding into the waiting room like he owned the place and everyone in it.

As if a part of her had known that now that he was here, everything would be okay.

So ridiculous. So stupid. He was manipulative. He’d done those things to her in the dressing room, made her able to think of nothing else but him, and because of that Aurora had been sick, and . . . and . . .

Tears pricked against her lids and she didn’t even know why she was crying, only that she felt overwhelmed by everything. By tiredness and worry and grief. By the strange, conflicting nature of her feelings for Rafael.

It made her want to lie down, curl up, and sleep, but she couldn’t do that, not quite yet. Now that she was awake and slightly less out of her mind with worry, she wanted to know what was happening with Aurora, not to mention the production tonight. Which she’d probably missed.

A memory caught at her, of him telling her that he’d been to every single one of her performances. It made something twist hard inside her, but she didn’t want to examine it now, just like she hadn’t wanted to examine it in the car, so she slipped out of the bed instead.

She wouldn’t have been surprised to find herself naked since he was the kind of guy who seemed to take advantage of every occasion, but she was still dressed, so maybe not every occasion.

Shoving her hair back from her face, she went over to the door and pushed it open, stepping out into the hallway.

Down one end were some stairs, and when she peered cautiously down them, she could see they led to a much larger, expansive-looking living area. She took the first couple of steps then stopped, scanning the massive space below her to see if she could see him.

There were big windows the lined two sides of the room, and small pools of light from elegant floor lamps illuminated the space and made it look much smaller and more intimate than it actually was.

On a long sectional sofa upholstered in pale linen, Rafael sat bent over, staring at the laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He wore dark suit pants and a pristine white shirt, open at the neck with no tie. His black hair was disordered, as if he’d run his hand through it a few too many times, and the lines of his perfectly sculpted face were drawn tight with focus.

Ella stilled, breathing very slowly and quietly, taking the opportunity to study him without him knowing she was there.

Even sitting on the sofa, his attention focused on his computer, she could feel the strange pull she had toward him. The pull she’d once found so uncomfortable and frightening, and yet now knew for what it was.

Intense, physical attraction.

Her throat felt dry, a nervous kind of excitement kicking hard down low in her gut.

He was so . . . hot. And it wasn’t simply because of his looks, though they were pretty amazing in their own right. There was something about the way he sat, so still yet giving the impression of tightly coiled strength, like a predator about to pounce. She was attracted to his strength, to his certainty, and yes, to the way he took control. But not simply because those qualities reassured her, they also challenged her too. They made her want to match her will to his, to fight against him, which made no sense at all given what an anxious basket case she was. Nevertheless it was true. With him she felt afraid and yet brave at the same time.

How did that even work?

His dark brows drew down as he typed something, long fingers moving fast over the keys, a restless, vibrating energy humming in every line of him. Any minute she expected him to get up and start pacing around like a caged animal, but he didn’t. He simply sat there, staring at the screen, that energy very clearly under tight control.

It made an inexplicable shiver race down her spine.

He’d been like that the night in the dressing room. When he’d held her hands behind her back, so full of restlessness and heat, and looking at her like he’d wanted to eat her alive. Yet when he’d finally touched her, he’d been so very gentle and careful, almost as if he was holding himself back . . .

What would it be like if he didn’t?

I’m going to push you down on the floor and fuck you senseless . . .

He’d told her he’d said that to make her angry, to distract her from her panic, and it had worked. Very well indeed.

Why are you thinking about him when you should be thinking of Aurora?

Because she didn’t want to think about Aurora. Not quite yet. She wanted, just for a moment, to think about something that excited her, that made her feel powerful, not scared and anxious. And thinking about Rafael and what he wanted to do to her . . . yes, that made her feel powerful. And excited. And . . . other things.

Maybe it was the soft, sharp breath she took, or maybe the involuntary movement she made, she didn’t know. But all of a sudden Rafael looked up from his computer and turned his head, and his silver blue eyes met hers.

And the impact was almost physical, knocking the breath clean out of her.

He moved suddenly, rising to his feet and coming toward the stairs, not taking his eyes off her, and she had the oddest urge to turn and run. Not because she was scared, but because she wanted him to chase her.

Why did she want him to chase her?

The thought was fleeting, her body turning around without her conscious consent, already beginning to move up the stairs and away from him. Her pulse began to race as she reached the top, and then her heart climbed into her throat as a muscular arm wound around her waist and she was pulled back against a hard, hot and very powerful male body.

“Caught you, Little Red,” he whispered in her ear.

Ella turned around, in the grip of something she couldn’t control, something that was deep and instinctive, urgent and raw and demanding. She didn’t know if it because she wanted distraction or whether it was simply that she wanted him, but she didn’t think about what she was doing. She simply lifted her arms and slid them up and around his neck, rising up on her toes and bringing her mouth to his.

He made a growling sound deep in his throat as his arms came around her, crushing her to him, then took her mouth like he owned it.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a conquering. Like it had been that first time in the dressing room, it was hard and savage and fierce. He completely and utterly devoured her, and she could do nothing but hold on tight and hope she didn’t get swept away.

A vain hope.

He tasted like the brandy she’d had in the car, a hot burn with a kick to it that made her dizzy. That made her tremble and shiver. She wanted to kiss him back, but he didn’t let her, licking her, biting her lip, sucking on her tongue, kissing her with such perfect, ruthless savagery that all she could was try to withstand it.

Then things changed. One minute she was standing at the top of the stairs, her head bent back under the pressure of his kiss, the next she was on her back on the hard wooden floor with him kneeling on the step below her, one hand wrapped around her throat, the other by her head, his long, lean body stretched over hers as he continued the soul-stealing kiss.

It should have terrified her having those long, strong fingers around the base of her neck, but for some reason it didn’t. He wasn’t holding her hard—light enough for her to breathe but strong enough for her to feel it. To know he was there. A dominant hold. One that told her he was in charge and he was going to do whatever the hell he liked.

And she simply relaxed. Like that was what she’d wanted all along. Someone strong enough to take over, so she could stop fighting. So she didn’t have to be afraid anymore and didn’t have to worry. Someone she could trust to take care of her.

Maybe it was a stupid move to trust this man, but she did anyway. And she wasn’t taking it back now. She was tired of pretending she was okay. Tired of pretending she was strong. Of trying to protect herself and keep herself safe, and all on her own. She didn’t want to do it anymore.

She wanted someone else to do it for her.

She wanted him to do it.

So when he shoved his lean hips between her thighs, she let him. And when he pressed the hard length of the erection straining the wool of his suit pants against the zipper of her jeans, she trembled. Then he began a slow grind, the ridge of his cock rubbing on the seam of her jeans, hitting her clit, making her groan and rock instinctively against him.

“Yes, Red, yes.” His rich, dark voice had gone harsh and ragged. “Rub that pussy all over my cock, darling. Get yourself nice and wet for me. Because remember when I said I was going to fuck you senseless?” His gaze was deep and blue and electric, all the gray completely gone. “I meant it.”

The words hit her some place deep inside, sending a hot flush rippling all over her skin.

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing, simply looking up into his beautiful face, into the fierce blue of his eyes, shaking a little at the hunger she saw there. Because it was for her, wasn’t it? All that ferocity, all that savagery. It was all for her.

He laughed, a rough sound. “Fuck, you have no idea what you’ve done to me, do you?” His hand moved to the fastening of her jeans and he casually flicked the button open and took hold of the zipper tab. “No, you have no fucking idea at all.” He jerked down the zipper then shifted back on his knees and reached to slide his fingers into her waistband, holding on tight. “I’ll show you though. I’ll show you exactly what you’ve done to me. And you know what else?” He pulled hard, wrenching the denim down her thighs, taking her panties with them. “I’m going to do it back to you.” Sliding the rest of the fabric off her legs, he tossed it carelessly aside. “And I’m going to do it harder.” His hands were on the insides of her thighs, spreading her legs wide, his gaze dipping down to what lay between them. “Oh yes, Little Red, I’m going make you scream so loud.”

She was panting and she didn’t understand how she’d gotten to this point so quickly, laying half naked at the top of the stairs, with him kneeling between her legs, looking down at her, his eyes almost glowing with hunger.

It should be scary. It should be frightening. And on some level, she was frightened. But it was a delicious, thrilling kind of fear. The kind that made the ache in her sex even worse, that made her want his touch as much as she feared it.

Then he did touch her, his fingers sliding over the slick flesh between her legs, rubbing gently before spreading her open, as if he wanted to see every part of her.

Heat swept over her, a combination of embarrassment and deep pleasure, making a groan escape her and her thighs tremble. His touch was insanely light, a deliberate tease, and when he brushed one finger over her clit, she jerked helplessly, feeling like she’d been struck by lightning.

He laughed again, an impossibly erotic sound. “If I was a good guy I’d play with you for longer, little virgin. But as you already know, I’m not a good guy. And I’m not waiting any fucking longer for you.” His gaze flicked up to hers and held it, the color of his eyes luminous, his mouth curving. “I’m the big bad wolf, Little Red Riding Hood. And I’m going to eat you right up.”

Then he reached into his back pocket, took out his wallet and extracted a silver packet, tossing the wallet away as carelessly as he’d tossed aside her jeans. He flicked open the button of his pants and jerked the zipper down, then pushed down the fabric of his underwear, releasing his cock.

Ella blinked. She’d seen naked men before—dancers weren’t shy—but certainly not like . . . this. Long. Thick. Hard. Her hand had reached out to touch him before she’d realized what she’d done, making the hungry smile on his face widen with very male satisfaction. But he knocked her hand away before she could get close.

“Uh-uh, darling,” he purred. “You don’t get to touch me yet. You have to earn that.”

Earn that? What did he mean?

Her thoughts reeled, bouncing from one weird thing to another. She felt dizzy, desperate, vulnerable. Lying there with her legs spread wide while he ripped open the condom packet and took out the latex, rolling it down that enormous cock of his with a skillful lazy movement that made her breathing get even faster.

God. This was going to happen, wasn’t it? Now. On the stairs.

She made a strange sound as he reached down and spread her wide again, turned it into a gasp as his hips flexed and he pressed the head of his cock against her entrance. Pushing harder.

She panted, feeling herself begin to stretch to accommodate him. It burned, the sensation becoming more intense as he pushed harder, pain clenching tight as he slid even deeper.

A gasp of shock tore from her, but he didn’t stop, the smile on his face becoming a snarl. He slid his hands beneath her butt, lifting her, angling her hips to take him even deeper.

“It hurts,” she groaned helplessly, twisting to try to find some way to ease it, but finding nothing. Because he was inside her and he was too much, too big. Too overwhelming. It hurt and there was no room for air in her lungs because he’d taken it. He’d taken everything.

She lifted her hands to push him away, but he grabbed them, crossing her wrists in one powerful hand and holding them, forcing them up and over her head, pinning them to the floor. Then he was stretched out over her, stretched out inside her, pinning her everywhere. Holding her down and making her surrender.

She was shaking, sweat breaking out all over her, in pain and panicking.

“Look at me,” he ordered, low and dark.

And she did, and she was caught. Held by that shockingly intense blue gaze.

“Stop panicking,” he went on the same tone. “Stop being a bunny, Red. That’s not you. That’s not why you’re here. I’m not fucking you because you’re easy prey, I’m fucking you because you’re not. Because you’re a fighter. So fight me, darling. Fight for what you want.”

Anger flared inside her, as if all it had been waiting for was his summons. Making her lift her head and kiss that cruel, sensual mouth of his, stopping his words. Making her sink her teeth into his bottom lip.

He growled again, and she felt him draw his hips back then shove deep and hard inside her. And again. And again. Each thrust violent, making no allowances for her inexperience, or the fact that she was smaller than he was.

And all of a sudden the pain and the panic fell away. He wasn’t treating her as fragile or scared. He was treating her as the was strong, iron-disciplined dancer she was on stage, not the scared little girl she’d become off it.

She loved it.

She bit him again, harder this time, straining to pull her hands away from his imprisoning grip. He only gave another of those impossibly sexy, dark laughs and held her tighter, his thrusts getting faster, harder. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed around them, but Ella had lost any embarrassment she’d had earlier.

Pleasure was coiling inside her and the more she struggled against him, the more intense it became. She licked at his mouth, bit him again, pulling and tugging against his hold, at the same time as she moved her hips, relishing the thick slide and push of his cock as it slammed into her.

So good. So impossibly good.

Her world had become nothing but the feel of his fingers around her wrists, his mouth on hers, the brush of his pants against her sensitive inner thighs, the rough sounds he made with each thrust inside her, the thick musky/spicy scent of him.

She struggled harder, wanting more, the pleasure leaping higher, like a fire, burning her up on the inside. Somehow she’d clamped her legs around his waist, angling her hips for the best possible friction, and she could hear herself begging him. It didn’t matter. She wanted to beg. She wanted to come more than she wanted her next breath.

“Greedy,” he murmured thickly against her mouth. “Greedy, Little Red.” Then he moved his free hand between her thighs and pressed hard on her clit, and she was coming, the orgasm rolling over her like a freight train, immense and inescapable, making her scream in his ear and shake like an earthquake was wrenching her apart.

Then he was moving even faster, even harder, chasing his own release, his free hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave bruises. He gave a low, guttural roar as it hit, his thrusts getting wild and jerky, before he turned his head into her neck, his teeth closing on the delicate tendons there, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make her tremble, her muscles tensing.

There was a moment’s silence, their combined breathing harsh and echoing. He was hot and heavy between her thighs, the pressure of him enough to make her catch her breath and arch against him, as if she hadn’t had the most intense orgasm of her life.

Abruptly, Rafael released her wrists and eased himself out of her. Then he got to his feet and without a word, stepped over her prone body and walked off down the hallway.

Ella blinked at the ceiling. Was that . . . it? He’d taken her on the stairs and now he’d just left?

She didn’t know what to do. Her thighs ached like she’d danced for two hours straight, and she felt tender and slightly sore. Her limbs were all heavy too, aftershocks of that orgasm pulsing through her, making her simply want to lie there and not move.

God, what had he done to her? He’d told her he was going to fuck her senseless and he had, and now she felt wrecked, destroyed. Yet in a good way, if that was even possible. But . . . was he coming back? Or was he going to leave her here without a word?

Yet before she could push herself to her feet to find out, Rafael returned.

And this time he was naked.

Her breath caught, all thoughts of moving vanishing from her head. He was just . . . so beautiful. Lean and long, wide shoulders and broad chest, sculpted abs and narrow hips. His skin was smooth and tanned, sprinkled with curling chest hair and a glory trail that led straight to that beautiful cock, semi-hard between his legs. There was also a scattering of white scars on his torso and some on his arms that made her curiosity flicker to life.

She pushed herself up as he came to stand where he’d been kneeling before, on the step below her, opening her mouth to ask him about them.

But then he bent and before she could speak, pulled her top up and off her, getting rid of her bra with the same efficiency so she was left sitting on the floor as naked as he was.

Ella blinked up at him as he bent down again, this time gathering her into his arms, making all the questions she’d been going to ask go completely out of her head as the heat of his bare skin touched hers. She thought he was going to bear her off back to the bedroom, but he didn’t. Instead he turned around and took her down into the huge expanse of the living room. Pausing near the coffee table to let a couple of the condom packets he’d been holding in one hand drop onto it, he continued on toward the looming banks of windows, where the night pressed against the glass.

“What are you doing?” she asked, puzzled.

“You’ll see.” He put her down in front of one of the windows, nudging her gently forward so she was standing only bare inches from the darkness outside.

They were high up, she couldn’t help but see, the street a good ten floors down. She felt a bit dizzy and tried to step back, only to come up against the hot length of his naked body standing behind her.

“Oh no,” he murmured, his hands coming to rest on her hips. “No backing away, Little Red. I have a fantasy I want to enact, and you’re going to help me.”

Her heartbeat had begun to race, familiar anxiety gathering inside her. She didn’t want to look down, see how high up they were, not to mention the fact that standing there, both of them naked and with the light behind them, they were very, very visible. “Someone might see,” she said breathlessly, disturbed to realize that despite all of the things that made her scared, she was kind of excited too.

“Yes, they might.” He urged her forward a little more, so the tips of her nipples were touching the cold glass, making them harden into stiff points. “So let’s give them a performance they’ll never forget, hmmm?”

Oh . . . God. He couldn’t be serious could he?

“Rafael . . .” She sounded unsteady. “I don’t . . . like heights. Or . . . or being watched.”

“Well, I know you don’t like heights. Which is why you’re not going to be looking down, you’ll be looking up. You’re going to be looking at the lights and the stars, because, Little Red, I’m going to make you see the entire fucking Milky Way.” His warm breath chased over her shoulder. “And as for being watched, that’s a straight-out lie. I’ve seen you perform. You fucking love it.”

She was shivering, the cold glass pressing against her front, Rafael’s hard, hot body pressed against her back. He was kissing her now, the side of her neck and her shoulder, biting gently, and at the same time, he moved his hand from her hip and over her stomach, stroking down between her thighs.

That dark, dirty pleasure began to tighten inside her again, making her breath catch as his fingers found her clit, circling and teasing.

“This was what I wanted to do at the restaurant,” he murmured against her skin. “Fuck you against the window. Give you pleasure instead of fear. Would you like me to do that now? Show you all the stars in the sky?” His hand dipped further, one finger sliding into her, making her moan helplessly. “Tell me, Red. Beg me. Beg me to fuck you against this window.”

She didn’t want to, because she was scared, yet the part of her that did want to was getting larger, braver. Hotter. Wetter. “Y-Yes,” she whispered unsteadily, the glass pressing against her hard nipples only adding to the intense sensations. “I want you to.”

“Want me to what?” He pushed her harder against the window, every inch of that magnificent body of his pressed to hers, a raging furnace lying along her spine. The hand between her thighs didn’t stop moving, his fingers sliding in deep then pulling back out, while he moved his other hand around to cup her breast, pinching her nipple. “I need to hear the words, Ella.”

She stared into the darkness behind the glass, seeing the reflection of him behind her, looming over her, that hungry, taut look on his face again. So hot . . .

“F-Fuck me,” she heard herself say. “Please, Rafael.”

“Rafe.” His gaze found hers in the reflection, held it. “My name is Rafe.”

She sucked in a breath. “Fuck me, Rafe.” And this time she didn’t stutter.

He gave another of those dark laughs, all sexy and lazy. “Hands on the glass. It’s time to star gaze.”

So she did as she was told, excitement winding tight inside her, and his hands slipped from her body and there was cold air at her back. She heard the sound of foil tearing and a second later, his heat was right behind her again, and his hands were once more between her thighs, spreading her open. Then she was pressed forward against the glass as he found his way inside her, the brutal stretch of him making her groan, making her pant until he was seated as deep as he could get.

“Don’t close your eyes.” He bit her shoulder gently. “Look at the lights. See the stars.”

He moved, slow and lazy, plastering her body against the window, the heat making the glass fog, and she didn’t close her eyes and she didn’t look away. Watching the darkness outside and the glow of the city, feeling the pleasure began to build, so intense, so perfect. He was right, there were lights. Lights outside and stars behind her eyes. Pulsing in time with each thrust, galaxies unreeling, meteors streaming, and she was gasping, moving with him, shoving herself back against him, writhing against the windowpane.

He put one hand over hers, pulling it off the glass and guiding her own fingers between her thighs, to her clit, showing her how to touch herself in time with his thrusts to give herself the most pleasure. And very soon all the stars behind her eyes were going nova, and her head went back against his shoulder, gasping his name as the climax hit.

But he didn’t stop, keeping his movements slow and lazy, as if he could do this all night, taking her down from that high only to build her up to another, even stronger, even deeper. She sobbed, clawing at the glass as a second orgasm came like a swelling tide, overwhelming her, tearing another hoarse scream from her throat.

She barely heard him growl her name as it took him too, her cheek pressed to the window, the cool feel of it welcome against her hot skin. For a second he rested against her, his breathing harsh in her ear, then he was pulling out of her and gathering her up in his arms again. Probably a good thing since after three orgasms, she didn’t think she could actually walk. She was conscious of being carried over to the long sectional sofa and put gently down on it before being covered with a soft woolen throw. There was a moment of silence and peace as Rafe left the room briefly, then was back, joining her on the sofa, wrapping his long, hot muscular body around hers and nuzzling her neck, possessive and territorial.

She found herself relaxing into his arms, her eyes slowly falling closed, letting his mouth trail from her neck and across one shoulder. One big palm cupped her left breast, his thumb moving back and forth on her nipple in an idle caress. It was an undemanding touch, yet made involuntary shivers chase themselves over her skin.

“My performance tonight?” she mumbled, her thoughts drifting.

“Taken care of.”

“Aurora?”

“Her condition hasn’t changed. I’ve notified the doctors to let me know if it does.”

“I should go home.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” His hand tightened possessively on her breast. “Are you hungry? Should I get you something to eat?”

“I’m fine.” She felt so tired. Exhausted. Like she could sleep for an entire week. Her body felt heavy and boneless, and so warm. And he was right up against her, hot as a furnace, his arms around her, holding her close. Keeping her safe.

She didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But she did.

* * *

Rafe didn’t move. He debated picking her up and carrying her to his bed, but he didn’t want to wake her because she needed the sleep, so he decided they could both take the couch for the night. He didn’t sleep immediately.

She was warm and soft and finally, after so long, naked in his arms, and he wanted to savor the moment. He wasn’t done with her, of course, as his aching cock reminded him, but he ignored it, happy to stroke her gently and hold her against him, leaving her to sleep.

He slept eventually, only to wake the next morning to find her turned toward him, her head tucked under his chin, her cheek against his chest.

Burying his fingers in her hair, he let one hand wander off over her soft, slight curves. Her skin was so delicate and yet the muscles beneath . . . iron hard. Fragility and strength, such an intoxicating combination.

Maybe that had been what had tripped the switch in him the night before.

He hadn’t known what had made him look up from the work he’d been doing on his laptop, since he’d been totally involved in it. Yet something had. And then he’d caught sight of her, standing on the stairs, watching him.

Her cheeks had been flushed and in her eyes was a certain gleam that told him it wasn’t fear she was feeling now. Oh no, it was something very different and a hell of a lot hotter.

An invitation. And he’d never been one to pass up an invitation.

She’d been . . . Christ. She’d been everything he could have wanted and more. Yes, he’d demanded a lot, been utterly selfish, doing what he’d wanted with her both on the stairs and up against that window. But she’d risen to the challenge like he’d always known she would.

He could feel her teeth nipping his bottom lip even now, and the pressure of her legs as they’d clamped around his waist. The tight squeeze of her pussy around his dick, and her breathless cries, her sobs, the way she’d screamed his name . . .

His fingers tightened in her hair and it was all he could do not to wrench her head back and cover her mouth, kiss her again, because he was starting to get hungry, starting to get desperate.

No, no. He didn’t need to be desperate now. She was right here, sleeping peacefully in his arms.

Rafe pressed his face against the softness of her hair, taking a long, slow, deep breath. The scent of her calmed him, though the way she was lying all pressed up against him, was not making his cock any less hard.

He could wake her, of course. Slide his hand between her thighs and stroke her, kiss her eyes open, get her good and wet and ready for him. But then she needed her sleep, especially after the past couple of days, and besides, now she was here, there would be plenty of time to explore that gorgeous body of hers. Not everything needed to be right here, right now.

Patience.

After a couple of eons—at least they felt like eons, though were probably only minutes—she stirred, her hands resting lightly on his chest, her head slowly tipping back as her eyes opened. She blinked sleepily at him and smiled. “Good morning. I mean, it is morning, right?”

That smile. Jesus. It made something inside him hurt.

“Yes, it’s morning.” He lifted his hand to push an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “And I’ve been waiting for you to wake up since forever.”

“Oh really?” She blinked again, her fingers absently stroking his chest in a way that was vaguely maddening. “Why?”

He reached down, sliding his hand behind her thigh, urging her to lift it up and over his hip, bringing her groin into contact with his. “This is why.” He flexed slightly, his cock pressing against the slick heat of her pussy.

Her mouth opened on a little sigh, color creeping into her cheeks. “Oh, I see. You have a bit of a situation.”

He gave her a grin. “Is that that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Ella blushed and looked down, her mouth curving in another delicious smile, making him want to bend his head and taste it for himself.

“Oh no,” he said softly. “No embarrassment this morning, surely? Not after last night.”

She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “Hey, this is new for me. First time I’ve ever woken up with a guy after . . . well, you know.”

“A night of hot fucking?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Oh, was she mimicking him? Certainly sounded like it. Minx.

He laughed and ran a hand down her side, coming to rest on her hip, gripping her lightly. “I don’t know what the kids are calling it, but that’s certainly what I call it. In fact, while we’re on the subject . . .” He flexed again, sliding his cock against her, loving the slick feel of her flesh against his.

She gave a shiver, her hands spreading out on his chest. “Sure, but there’s actually a question I want to ask you.”

A question. Shit. He didn’t know if he liked the sound of that. “What question?”

She glanced up at him again, gray glinting underneath gold lashes. “You told me yesterday that you came to all my performances. Every one. Since I was sixteen. I just . . . wanted to know why. And I mean the real reason, not just because you like ballet. Why did you come to see me?”

He didn’t miss the emphasis. “Why you, you mean?”

“Yes.” Her thumbs stroked over his skin, the effect oddly calming. “What did you see, Rafe? What did you see when you watched me?”

He hadn’t liked the question when she’d asked him the day before in the limo and he didn’t like it any better now. Because the truth would mean revealing too much of what he wanted—needed—to keep hidden.

“Why do you want to know?” He was prevaricating yes, but still. He’d like to know the answer.

“Because it’s important to me.”

He didn’t want to tell her, didn’t want to expose himself like that. It would be better to lie. Then again a lie didn’t feel right. Not now, not here. Not with her naked in his arms. And especially not after last night.

Fuck. It was going to have to be the truth.

For some reason he found he couldn’t look her in the eye, easier to focus on the pale silky skin of her shoulder, left bare where the blanket had slipped from it. Moving his hand from her hip, he trailed his fingers lightly over her collarbones before caressing the curve of that shoulder. “When you were small, you were the only person who wasn’t afraid of me,” he began. “Every time your parents visited and brought you with them, you’d run to find me and put up your little arms, wanting to be picked up. I never knew why that was. Why a little two-year-old wasn’t frightened when just about everyone else was. But . . . I liked it. It made me feel good. Made me feel like I wasn’t . . . as broken as my family thought I was.”

Ella said nothing, but he could tell she was looking at him. He kept his gaze on her shoulder, tracing circles on her skin with a fingertip.

“I had difficulty controlling my emotions, that was the problem. I got angry very easily and when I got older, I got more violent with it. I’m not sure what kind of condition it was—Dad refused to acknowledge it was a problem so I was never diagnosed, but I do know it affected my little brother Xavier to a certain extent as well.” He drew another circle that curved over her upper arm. “Anyway, my moods made people afraid, but you never were. You just seemed to like me and since you were about the only person who did, I liked seeing you.”

Her thumbs moved across his chest, stroking his skin, and part of him wanted her to stop and part of him wanted her to keep touching him forever, because he could remember the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness.

“Then I had a meltdown on my fourteenth birthday,” he went on. “I can’t even remember why. I got angry, threw some chairs, punched a wall. You were there and started crying, and your parents thought I’d hurt you. Of course, I’d have slit my own throat before I’d have done anything like that to you, but they didn’t know that. They told me I couldn’t see you again, which only made things worse.”

Her caressing fingers paused. “I don’t remember.” She sounded almost angry about it. “I don’t remember a thing.”

“You were so small. Not much older than two, so there’s no reason that you’d remember.”

“I want to though.”

Again he felt the pressure of her gaze, but he didn’t meet it. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I was sent to live with my grandfather not long after that.”

“Why?”

He gave a short laugh. “Because my father was sick of having to deal with me. He didn’t have the time to manage me, and my mother was emotionally fragile and couldn’t. So they sent me to someone who had the time and who was strong enough to fix me.” No, he wasn’t bitter about that. Bitterness was something else his grandfather had taught him was an unnecessary emotion. Only action counted.

There was another brief silence.

“Fix you?” She sounded puzzled. “Because you got angry a lot?”

“I was unmanageable.” His tone had become shorter and he let it. He didn’t really want to talk about this. “Having one of your sons punch holes in walls and scare small children isn’t quite what being a de Santis is all about. Anyway, do you want to hear about why I watch you dance or not?”

The soft movements of her fingers on his skin resumed. “Go on.”

“My grandfather taught me how to manage myself, and by the time I came back to New York, I was better. It had been a few years, and I wanted to see you. Wanted to see how you’d grown and if you remembered me. But every time I asked about visiting you, I was given all kinds of reasons why you weren’t able to see me. I let it go then. You were a kid and I had other things to think about.” Such as laying the groundwork for his father’s eventual fall. “But I never forgot about you. It wasn’t until your parents died that I met you again and . . .” He stopped, for some reason finding it hard to say. It had been a long time ago, that moment when he’d first laid eyes on her after all those years. Hoping for that smile, the way her face had lit up whenever she’d seen him. Yet there had been nothing in her face this time but fear. He’d told himself that it hadn’t hurt. Except it had. Terribly.

“I was scared of you,” she finished for him.

“Yes. You were.” He drew his thumb across the curve of her shoulder, concentrating on the feel of her satiny skin. “And nothing I could do or say made any difference. So I left you alone. Until I came with Dad to one of your performances. And I saw you on stage and you were . . . amazing. You had the same look on your face that I remembered from when you were small—just bright with joy and happiness. And I knew it wasn’t for me, that it was because you were dancing, but I felt . . . at peace. That’s the best I can describe it. So I went the next night without Dad. And the next, and the one after that, and the one after that . . .” He stopped again, conscious that he’d said too much, revealed far more of himself than he’d meant to. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I thought if I could simply watch you dance, that would be enough for me. And it was, it really was. Until you were eighteen and I saw you in Romeo and Juliet, and I decided I wanted more.”

She shifted against him at that and this time he couldn’t help himself from looking down, to find her staring back, her eyes wide with surprise. “But you never said anything.” Her hands were still once more on his chest. “I mean, you didn’t—”

“You were too young.” He gave a short, slightly bitter laugh. “Hell, you’re still too young.”

A spark glinted in her eyes. “I’m twenty. That’s not young.”

“Yeah and I’m not twenty and haven’t been for a long time, and whether you like it or not, it is young.”

“So what are you saying? I magically became old enough for you a couple of weeks ago even though I’m apparently still too young?”

Shit. He didn’t want to reveal the extent of his machinations to her, certainly not about her guardianship. She didn’t need to know just how manipulative he truly was.

Why not? Afraid she might not like you anymore?

The thought unsettled him. It seemed ridiculous to be afraid of one woman’s negative opinion of him, nevertheless, he didn’t like the idea. Then again, he’d always cared what she’d thought of him, no matter how often he’d told himself that he didn’t.

“Circumstances with my father changed,” he said evasively. “And you became my ward and I thought it was a good opportunity to reconnect.”

She glanced down at his chest, her fingers resuming their caresses, slow and easy. “Ah, so is that what we’re doing here? Reconnecting?”

Wait. Was that . . . disappointment in her voice?

He took her chin in his hand and tipped her head back so her gaze met his. It was wide and dark, the anger gone. “You don’t like that idea?”

“That wasn’t what I said.”

“But what else did you want?”

“I didn’t say I wanted anything else.”

“But you sounded disappointed.”

“I’m not.” She tried to pull away.

He tightened his grip. “I’ve been honest with you, Ella. More honest than I’ve been with anyone in my entire life. Can’t you be honest with me?”

Her gaze flickered at that, her lashes lowering. She was silent a long moment. “So now that we’ve ‘reconnected,’ I guess you’ll want me to leave, right?” There was an edge to the words. “I mean, you’ve gotten what you wanted. You don’t need anything else from me.”

He stared down into her pale, delicate face, for a second not understanding why she was sounding so angry. And then it hit him. Christ, did she actually . . . want to stay with him? Was that why she sounded upset? Was she afraid that sex was all he wanted and that now he’d gotten it, she was afraid he was going to kick her out?

“Ella,” he ordered. “Look at me.”

With a very obvious show of reluctance, she did so. “What?”

“Do you want to go?” Not that he would let her leave, but he wanted to hear it from her all the same. “Is that what you’re saying?”

Again, her gaze flickered, as if she was deeply uncomfortable. “I just . . .”

“Tell me. Now.”

“No.” Her eyes met his all of a sudden, angry and defiant. “No, I don’t want to go. You wanted me, Rafael. You went out of your way to seduce me and it worked. So now you have me. And if you think that now you’ve gotten what you wanted, you can get rid of me just as easily, then you picked the wrong girl.”

Rafe stared at her, at the glittering sparks of fury and challenge in her eyes, daring him to disagree with her. And half of him was tempted to try and get rid of her simply to see what she’d do.

She would fight, he could read it in that magnificent gray gaze of hers.

Desire rose inside him, thick and hot and overwhelming, and he pushed her onto her back, sliding himself between her thighs before he’d even had a chance to think straight.

“The question isn’t whether I can get rid of you,” he murmured, putting his hands down on the couch cushions on either side of her head. “It’s whether you can get away from me. And if you don’t know the answer to that, here’s a hint.” He lowered his head so his face was bare inches from hers and whispered, “Never.”

She didn’t look away.

She lifted her hands, pushed her fingers into his hair, and pulled his mouth down on hers.