Lorenzo narrowed his gaze. She sounded angry, and certainly the gleam in her blue eyes wasn’t desire, not this time. Neither was the flush in her cheeks.

He studied her, something twisting inside him that he refused to call curiosity.

She sat there in her white silk dress, with her white curls around her shoulders, everything about her pale except for her eyes and those prettily flushed cheeks.

Yes, she was angry, just like she’d been scared before, when he hadn’t been able to stop himself from cupping her cheek, from asking her what it was she was so afraid of.

He’d let her pull away then, telling himself he wasn’t interested. But naturally enough, he’d been lying.

She’d been scared and now, in another quicksilver change of mood, she was angry, and he wanted to know why.

Had it been the mention of Stacey organizing the lights and candles? Because he’d thought he’d seen hurt cross her face when he’d mentioned it. Or was it simply the fact that she’d accused him of not liking her? And if it was that, why should it bother her what he thought of her?

He didn’t deny the accusation, because she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t like her.

It’s not her. It’s because she gets to you and that’s what you don’t like.

“You don’t like me either.” He met her gaze, ignoring the thought. “What are you so angry about?”

A flash of surprise crossed her face. “I . . . never said I didn’t like you.”

“But you don’t. I’m rude and insensitive. I’m an asshole. Apparently.”

The spark in her gaze intensified. “Yes, well. You are.”

He ignored that, too. “What was it, Kira? You don’t like the lights and candles? Or you don’t like the fact that Stacey organized it?”

Her jaw tightened. “This isn’t a date, Lorenzo. It’s a booty call. Don’t try to make it into something it’s not.”

It was the first time she’d said his name, and he felt desire gather inside him at the sound of it in her mouth. He liked it when she called him Mr. de Santis. He liked it even more when she called him Lorenzo.

“What if I want to make it into a date?” He wasn’t quite sure why he was arguing with her, since a booty call was exactly what this was. “I told you that you were here for me so what if that’s what I want?”

She looked down at her hands again, silent for a couple of moments. Then she said, “I guess I’d have to suck it up, wouldn’t I?”

It wasn’t what he expected her to say, and the passive note in her voice irked him. Then he realized why. He’d expected her to keep arguing with him, keep fighting with him. And she hadn’t.

He was quiet a second, the remains of that adrenaline rush when she’d refused to take her panties off still echoing through him. He couldn’t tell himself that he didn’t like her challenging him, couldn’t tell himself it didn’t turn him on. Why else would he have shoved her up against the door in his office three days ago?

“Is that what you always do, Kira?” he asked. “You always suck it up? Because I think that’s bullshit.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, well, sucking it up is what I do now.”

“Why?” he demanded. Then a thought hit him. “Because of your car accident?”

Her head came up sharply. “It wasn’t just an accident. People died. I killed people. My friends.”

He wasn’t supposed to be getting into this. A nice, easy light conversation over dinner was all it was supposed to be about, yet he couldn’t seem to kick the curiosity that had him in its grip. It was her fault, or so he’d heard, and yet he found himself saying, “You didn’t kill them, Kira.”

“Sure I did. I was driving. I was going too fast and I was distracted. It’s my fault, no one else’s.”

There was pain in her eyes, still bright, still sharp. And even though he’d told himself that her deaths weren’t ones he wanted to get involved in, the sight of her hurt made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

He opened his mouth to say something, what he didn’t know, when the door to the terrace opened and Janet came out with the dinner.

Kira looked away, raising her glass to her lips for another drink as Janet bustled around with plates and laying out dishes.

No, it was probably a good thing. He wanted to build trust between them, but he certainly didn’t want to get into hard, complicated, emotional topics. That wasn’t what this evening was supposed to be about. Pleasure, definitely. Reopening old wounds, no.

He got off the daybed, going over to help Janet with serving, and once that was done and Janet dismissed for the rest of the night, he pulled back a chair and gave Kira a glance. “Come and sit down.”

She put her glass down and came over, the fabric of her dress moving like liquid with the graceful sway of her body, and he wondered just what the hell was wrong with him that he was insisting on things like dinner, when he could be stripping her naked and burying himself inside her instead.

But there were reasons for the dinner. He had to keep in mind the big picture, not get distracted his own needs, by things like desire. By curiosity. By pain.

He’d already done that with one woman. He didn’t want to do it again with another.

Kira moved in front of him, sitting down in the chair and allowing him to push it in. He lingered over that, bending slightly so he could smell her hair and the delicate flower scent of her skin just beneath her ear. He paused, strangely caught by the tracery of veins he could see at her throat, blue beneath the surface of her pale skin.

She seemed so very fragile. So very breakable. Yet she hadn’t died in the accident that had claimed her friends. She hadn’t been injured at all, or at least that was what Ivan had told him. But then he knew that some wounds were invisible and that they went deep, and that just because you couldn’t see them, it didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Kira had wounds like that. He knew because he had his own.

“You made a mistake,” he said quietly, before he could think better of it. “Everyone makes mistakes, and sometimes they’re bad ones. But you can’t keep punishing yourself for it. That’s not the way to make your friends’ lives mean something.”

She stiffened but didn’t turn around. “Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. Not when you know nothing about it.”

“I know.” He stared down at her slender figure sitting in the chair, her pale hair and skin painted in dying streaks of rose and gold by the sunset, not even realizing he was going to say the words until they came out. “I know what it’s like to lose someone. I know what it’s like when it’s your fault.”

He heard the breath go out of her, a soft exhalation rushing under the sounds of the city.

“Your mother?” she asked hesitantly.

Of course, she’d know about his mother. Everyone knew about the suicide of the wife of one New York’s richest businessmen. It had been a scandal that had rocked the headlines for weeks afterward.

But his mother’s death would always be linked to Katie’s. The death that no one knew about, no one but him. And he certainly wasn’t going to talk about that now, not here and not with Kira, so all he said was, “Yes, my mother.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was quiet. “That must have been terrible.”

The gentle sympathy in Kira’s words reached inside him. Touched something in him. It had been terrible, because his mother’s death was yet another to lay at his own door. A death he was trying to atone for by making an example of the man who’d made his mother’s life such hell.

Not that he was going to talk about that either.

“It was a long time ago,” he said dismissively, closing the subject, straightening, and stepping away from her chair. “More champagne?”

Her head turned, and she glanced up at him, and for some reason he knew—he just fucking knew—that she saw straight through him. That she saw exactly what he was doing.

He tensed, ready to tell her that he wasn’t going to be talking about his mother or Katie with her, with anyone, but all she said was, “Yes, please.”

The champagne. She was talking about the champagne.

Air rushed into his lungs, air he hadn’t realized had escaped and he forced himself to turn around and go and get the bottle, act like nothing was wrong and that he didn’t feel as though those blue eyes of hers had just read the contents of his soul.

He didn’t know what was happening. Christ, he needed to take control of this and now.

Grabbing the champagne bottle, he poured them both another glass then sat down, trying to think of another topic of discussion that was reasonably innocuous. He could push her about the fear he’d seen in her eyes earlier, but again, that had caused an uncomfortable response in him, one he didn’t want to revisit.

Then he remembered something.

“This isn’t really dining-table conversation,” he said. “But since I’ve got your panties in my pocket, why don’t you tell me what you meant when you said the beading took you forever to do?”

She blinked at him in surprise, another delicate flush of color staining her cheeks. “It . . . it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“There’s quite a lot of things you shouldn’t say and yet you do anyway, aren’t there?”

Her blush deepened, but she didn’t look away. Instead her chin lifted. “Yes.”

Defiance again, and yet she’d admitted it. Interesting,

He lifted his glass and took a sip. “Why?”

“You already know the answer to that.” She was sitting straight-backed and rigid in her chair, her knuckles white around her glass. “Because I never pay attention, and my behavior is terrible.”

So much for innocuous.

Lorenzo gave up the pretense that he wasn’t curious, studying her intently. Watching her lovely face. That electricity that always surrounded her was humming again, her eyes full of the most fascinating emotional currents. Yet she was sitting so rigidly. Almost as if she was afraid to relax, afraid to let go.

Why? What did she think would happen? She’d let go with him in his office, up against the door, screaming her pleasure against his palm. It had been good, so good that she’d agreed to another night, yet now she was uptight again.

His curiosity deepened, widened. A hunger he couldn’t deny.

You shouldn’t be asking her questions. You shouldn’t be getting interested.

Sure, but this wasn’t for him, was it? It was all in aid of taking his father down.

“But you agreed, when I told you those things,” he murmured. “Are you saying I’m wrong?”

She glanced down at the glass in her hand. “The beading on that thong took me forever to do because I embroidered it myself. I make all my own lingerie. It’s something I’ve been doing for years.”

It didn’t answer his question, but he had a feeling she hadn’t finished, so he remained quiet, watching her.

“I like sewing, embroidery, that kind of thing.” She looked at him suddenly, her stillness so at odds with the vibrant emotion in her eyes. “It gives me something to do with my hands and keeps me focused.”

She was trying to tell him something, he could sense it. Yet there was something else that was holding her back. The wildness in her eyes made it difficult to untangle all the emotional threads, but he thought he saw fear.

“Why do you need to be focused?” he asked carefully.

Emotion crossed her face like a flash of sunlight across still water. Then it was gone and she shut down again. “It doesn’t matter.”

Did she want him to push? Because he would, he had no problem with pushing.

“It matters.” He studied her, not caring now that he wasn’t supposed to be curious, that he wasn’t supposed to give in to the part of himself that always craved more. “Tell me.”

She said nothing, her attention on her glass, her shoulders even more rigid.

“This is an order, Kira.” He let the edge of command bleed into his tone, wanting to see her response to it. “Remember. You have to obey.”

Strangely, the stiffness in her posture eased, her shoulders loosening, as if his order had released some kind of tension inside her.

A feeling swept through him then, one he didn’t recognize, but it deepened his own need, intensified it. Turned his grip on his wine glass, white-knuckled.

She lifted her gaze, looking at him. “I need to have something to focus me because I . . . find it difficult. My brain can’t settle on any one thing for very long, and I have poor impulse control. It’s also hard for me to pay attention to people, and I hate having to sit still. But when I have something to do, something I can do with my hands, then I find I can focus better. The more delicate the fabric, the greater care I have to take and that helps.” She paused. “I don’t know if you remember, but when I was a little girl, you showed me how to make paper cranes. I guess the lingerie is basically the equivalent.”

Lorenzo was conscious of a certain amount of shock. There were many things he’d expected her to say, but that was not one of them. “I remember,” he murmured, thinking of the bouncy little girl who was never still and who was never quiet. Who didn’t listen and who didn’t pay attention. “You reminded me of my brother . . .”

“If your brother had ADHD then I can see why.”

He couldn’t take his gaze from her face. He’d always suspected there was something not quite right with her behavior. “Did your parents—”

“Ever do anything to help me?” she interrupted flatly. “No. They just thought I was . . .” She stopped.

“They thought you were what?” he prompted, his chest clenching suddenly tight. Because he’d made a number of judgments about Kira Constantin and her history, and it looked as if every single one of them was wrong.

She let out a soft breath and when her blue eyes came to his, the storm of emotion in them made him feel like someone had punched him in the gut. “They thought that if they ignored my behavior, it would get better. But it didn’t. They didn’t understand when I tried to tell them why I found things difficult, because they didn’t want to understand. They wanted a perfect girl, and I was as far from perfect as it was possible to get.”

* * *

It was fully dark now, the candlelight flickering over Lorenzo’s stark, uncompromising features. Those sharp-edged cheekbones and hard jaw. That cruelly beautiful mouth. That laser-focused attention that swept like a searchlight into the darkest corners of her soul.

She hadn’t wanted to tell him about her condition. It was a weakness she’d hoped to keep hidden, yet that simple order had dragged it out of her with pathetic ease. Almost as if she’d been waiting all this time to tell him, which made no sense at all.

Sure, he’d once been kind to her when she’d been a child, but he wasn’t kind now, that was for sure. Telling him felt like ripping a layer of skin off, leaving all her nerve endings exposed. And he was standing by, with a whip.

There was a silence now, and the urge to fill it was overwhelming.

“My grades in school were terrible,” she went on, because she couldn’t stop herself, the words pouring out of her whether she wanted them to or not. “And I told Dad I didn’t want to go to college, but he made me. Told me I wasn’t trying hard enough and that I had to try harder. But no matter how hard I tried, I just kept fucking failing.” Without thinking, she picked up her fork and began fiddling with it, a dim part of her brain warning her that she was supposed to sit still, that she was supposed to control herself. But she couldn’t focus on that voice though, the urge to speak too strong. “So I thought, fuck it, you know? Why bother trying? Never worked at school, so what the hell was the point in trying at college? So I didn’t try. I did whatever the hell I wanted to.” She thumped the end of the fork rhythmically against the table, then tried it against the stem of her wineglass to hear the difference in sound.

“Kira.”

Lorenzo’s voice was low and cold, cutting through her mental and physical restlessness like a sword through silk.

Her head jerked up, and she met his gaze, the ice in it an odd kind of relief, like cool water on a painful burn. “What?”

“Be still.”

She didn’t know why that cold order made everything inside her begin to slow down and calm. Perhaps it was just that the command was simple and clear. Enough that even a girl like her, who found following instructions difficult, could manage it.

Her hand stilled, the fork sliding from her fingers and onto the table. She didn’t look away from him. Couldn’t. It was as if his gaze calmed the chaos inside her, made it all make sense somehow, and that if she looked away, everything would get tangled up again.

“Good girl,” he said quietly.

The oddest feeling swept through her, a warmth. Relief and gratitude. “Am I?”

He didn’t even blink. “Do you want to be?”

“Yes.” She said it unhesitatingly, the word vibrating with passion, with desire, and she trembled, because she hadn’t meant to say it, still less make it sound so needy. God, she was slipping. She wasn’t controlling herself like she should be. The therapist had given her exercises, but she couldn’t remember any of them. “I want to be g-good. I really do. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be . . .” She trailed off as his cool gaze swept over her, calming the fever inside her.

“You are good.” The calm authority in his voice made her feel even quieter. “You’ve been good ever since you got here.”

“No, I haven’t. I didn’t take my panties off when you asked.”

“I liked that you didn’t.” He didn’t hesitate, didn’t look away. “I like it when you challenge me.”

“But I didn’t follow orders.”

“You pushed the boundaries, yes. But you like doing that, don’t you? It excites you.”

She blinked in surprise that he’d seen that. “Yes. I suppose it does.”

“Why?”

Good question. She’d never thought too deeply about the reasons her brain urged her to do the things it did. It was enough of a struggle just resisting those urges. “I . . . don’t know.”

He tilted his head. “Perhaps you like testing those boundaries so you know where they are.”

“Why would I do that though?”

“To feel safe maybe?”

Kira blinked again, the thought a striking one. She did like explicit instructions and precise rules, because they made expectations absolutely clear. It was much easier to control her roving brain and focus when she knew what was expected of her.

That’s why you teased him when you first arrived. Because you didn’t know what he wanted from you and that made you anxious. And when you get anxious, it’s harder to control yourself.

She swallowed, part of her disturbed that he’d been able to understand her better than she did herself, while another part of her was strangely relieved. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. What gave you the idea?”

“Because boundaries make it clear what’s expected. And that’s reassuring.”

Had he read her mind? He must have. There wasn’t any other explanation for how he’d lifted her own thought clean out of her head.

She found she’d curled her fingers around her fork and was leaning forward, curiosity overwhelming her. “Did you have lots of things expected of you, too?”

The candlelight made his eyes glitter, and for some reason the usual restlessness she constantly had to battle was gone. She almost felt as relaxed as she did when she had a piece of silk in one hand and a needle and thread in the other. But her focus wasn’t narrowed on sewing beads, it was narrowed on him.

“My father expected . . . certain things.” Lorenzo’s expression turned distant. “And he was very clear about what those things were. Pity I didn’t listen to him.”

Kira clutched her fork tightly, staring at him in helpless fascination. “Why? What did he tell you?”

Lorenzo didn’t move, but she had the feeling that she’d suddenly come up against one of those boundaries, and she was pushing at it. “We’re not here to share secrets,” he said coldly.

“But I told you all about—”

“No.”

A quiver ran through her. She wanted to know his secrets. She suddenly wanted to know them desperately. But how to get him to give them to her? Perhaps if she gave him one of her own, he might reciprocate?

“It was my fault, the car accident,” she said, before she could stop herself. “We were going clubbing and I’d just failed the semester. So I decided I was going to drop out of college. Of course, I couldn’t wait until after I’d finished driving. I had to text Dad right then. So I did and . . .” She stopped, her throat closing.

She couldn’t remember much before the accident, only the words of her text to her father, a big middle finger emoji glowing on the white screen. Then a loud noise and the world turning upside down and blackness.

Lorenzo said nothing, watching her.

“I shouldn’t have been texting. I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off the road. I shouldn’t have been driving while I was so angry.” She was babbling, and she knew it. “But I didn’t even think, because I never did. I was careless. I wasn’t paying attention. If I’d only controlled myself. If I hadn’t let my anger get to me. If I’d only thought and paid attention, my friends might be alive, and I wouldn’t—”

“Stop.”

The rush of words halted like he’d closed a hand around her throat, and she blinked, breathing fast, horrified to find there were tears in her eyes.

Slowly, he pushed his chair back from the table. “Come here.”

She blinked fiercely. Dammit, she didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. She was supposed to be better at controlling her emotions than this. Hadn’t she learned anything? “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions.” The intensity of his gaze was inescapable. “Do as you’re told.”

She didn’t want to. She felt too unstable, the emotions gripping her too raw, and she was afraid of what he might see. Telling herself she didn’t care what he thought of her didn’t seem to work, and she didn’t want to lay herself bare in front of him. Not when she was healing from wounds that went deep enough already.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak this time.

His dark brows drew down and he tilted his head, searching her face. “You’re afraid. Why? And this time, Kira, you will tell me.”

A spark of anger caught, becoming a flame, licking up inside her, wild and hot, and again, she found herself opening her mouth and letting the words spill out. “Why should I? You said we’re not sharing secrets, yet you said it only after you’d gotten all of mine. I don’t see you spilling your guts, so why should I tell you a damn thing?”

“Because I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“Too bad.” It was an admission. She should have said that she wasn’t afraid, but Kira was too angry to notice, too overwhelmed by the toxic mix of disappointment and her own guilt and shame sitting heavy in her gut. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you made such a big deal of how much you despise me.”

A bright emotion flashed in his eyes, her own anger mirrored back. “I never despised you, Kira. Sure, I admit I had an opinion on you based on your past behavior, but I got that wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. Is that what you want to hear?”

She shook her head, hating herself for the tears that kept blurring her vision. “No, too late. You judged me from the minute I walked into your office, and you never even gave me a chance to set the record straight. But that’s okay, that’s pretty much what I’ve come to expect.” She shoved her chair back, barely conscious of what she was doing, knowing only that the storm of emotions inside her was going to break, and she didn’t want to be anywhere near him when it did. “No one else ever listened to a word I say, so why should you?” She stood up jerkily.

Instantly Lorenzo’s expression turned thunderous. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Where do you think? I’m going home.”

“Why?” He came to his feet in one fluid movement, his hands on the table, his eyes gone silver. “Because you’re afraid? Afraid of what? Of me?”

There was no point in trying to control herself now, not when she’d well and truly lost it, so Kira didn’t even bother. “Yes, of course I’m afraid of you, you asshole. You’ve been nothing but cold and mean and cruel. You hurt me, Lorenzo.” She was shaking now, and she couldn’t stop. She was always like this when her emotions overwhelmed her. “And I can’t have people who hurt me in my life right now. I can’t deal with people who mess with my feelings, period.”

His gaze turned fierce, lightning in his eyes, silver and jagged. “Yes, I judged you. Yes, I was wrong. And I’m sorry I hurt you. What more do you want?”

But she couldn’t bear it. She had to get away from him, had to put some distance between them, find her control again. Her emotions were hurricane winds, and she was going to be blown apart if she wasn’t careful.

She turned and started heading for the door to the stairs, her vision blinded by the tears she couldn’t control, hating herself for losing it like this, for making a complete fucking mess of the situation, the way she always did.

But before she’d taken more than a couple of steps, strong hands grabbed her by the hips, and she was jerked back against the hard wall of Lorenzo’s chest. “I didn’t say you could go,” he growled in her ear, his breath warm on her skin.

She tried to pull away, the heat of him making her strangely frantic. “I don’t care what you said. Let me go.”

His hands tightened, turning her to face him. Then one arm slid around her waist, heavy as an iron bar, while his other hand was in her hair, pulling her head back. And then his mouth was on hers, hot and fierce. His tongue pushed into her mouth, stealing any protests, stopping all her arguments, forcing her to focus on one thing and one thing only: him.

His kiss became harder, hotter. Forceful. Demanding. Taking her mouth with a concentrated mastery that gave no quarter, allowed no escape. His hand in her hair tightened while the arm around her waist dropped, his palm sliding over her butt, cupping her through the silk of her dress, pulling her even more firmly against him.

She could feel the hard press of his erection against her groin and the stunning of heat of his body, like a furnace warming her, setting her alight. He was all around her, his hand in her hair and his tongue claiming her mouth, holding her so tightly.

She could taste his passion and something else that she thought was desperation, and all the whirling, bewildering emotions began to stop and slow. Began to draw tight. A shudder went through her. He drew her head back even further, his kiss turning even deeper, ravaging her mouth like a marauder.

The shudder became a shake as the hard knot of emotion changed into something far more recognizable, something she knew she shouldn’t give into, not again. Yet she was powerless to stop it as all that feeling erupted into a blaze of need that incinerated what little control she had left, burning it to ashes.

Kira lifted her hands without a second’s thought, shoved them into Lorenzo’s short black hair and held on, returning the kiss with a ferocity and a demand equal to his own. He made a growling sound in his throat, ramping her desire higher, hotter.

She came up on her toes, clinging to him, pressing herself against him, kissing him wildly, the most intense heat sweeping over her skin. It felt as if she was burning alive and he was a cool mountain lake she wanted to dive into to put out the flames.

It wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing. None of it was. She was supposed to be in control of these emotional storms, to not let them affect her thinking or her decision-making processes. And yet there was no control to be had. It was gone.

He had taken it.

She became frantic, biting at his lower lip, her arms winding around his neck, her body arching against him, searching vainly for relief from the intensity of the feeling, for some way to escape it. But there was no escape. He was everywhere, and she was drowning in him.

He made another rough sound and then she was being lifted into his arms and they were moving, Lorenzo taking a few steps back until his chair was behind him. Then he sat down, carrying her with him so she was sitting in his lap, facing him.

Kira barely noticed. She reached for the buttons of his shirt, pulling at them as she kissed him over and over again, tasting the champagne he’d been drinking, tasting the heat that burned between them. God, she had to touch him, put her hands on his skin.

Something tore as she grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, but she didn’t stop. She wanted him, oh God, she needed his touch, his hands, his cock. Now. Now.

Strong fingers wrapped around her wrists, holding her still. “Kira.” His voice was thick and rough and dark, making her shiver and shake like a tree in a hurricane. “Slow down.”

“No. I need to touch you.” She was panting, breathless, straining against his hold. “Please, Lorenzo. Please, please, please . . .”

The lines of his face had drawn tight, and he made no effort to hide the hunger in his eyes. And yes, there was the lightning, burning silver.

She wanted it to strike her. She wanted to be lit up, electrified.

“And you will get that.” His grip on her wrists tightened. “But I need you to slow down.”

She was shivering so badly she couldn’t stop. He was so damn hot, the heat of him seeping through the fine wool of his suit pants, scorching the bare skin of her inner thighs. He was so hard too, she could feel the flex and release of his muscles as she shifted on top of him, unable to sit still. She wanted to do so many things, to touch, to explore his body, taste him everywhere.

“I can’t.” Her voice was scratchy. “Please, I can’t. I can’t control this. I need you. I have to touch—”

His grip on her altered, one hand taking both her wrists and holding them easily, while he lifted his free hand, his finger pressing down on her mouth, stopping her words.

She froze, looking into the hurricane in his eyes, trembling all over.

“Yes,” he said, his voice flat with command. “You can.”

She was shaking her head before he’d even finished speaking, denial in every part of her, totally at the mercy of the desire that beat inside her and unable to hold onto it.

Lorenzo pulled her crossed wrists close, so she was leaning against his chest, his eyes burning into hers only inches away. “Yes,” he repeated, insistent. “You can.”

She sucked in a breath, feeling like she was on fire. Like if she didn’t move, didn’t get her hands on him, she was going to go up in flames, burn to ashes right here in this chair. “I don’t know how,” she croaked against his finger. “I can’t—”

“It’s very simple.” He lowered his finger, his gaze inescapable. “You give the control to me and I will do it for you.”

The words caught at her, resonated inside her. Lorenzo de Santis was a man who was never at the mercy of his emotions, who was never bewildered or overwhelmed by them. He was never distracted, and he always paid attention. He wouldn’t get blown away by the storm surrounding them. He would remain in control.

You can trust him.

She didn’t question the thought, didn’t even blink at it. She simply nodded her head as if giving him all the control was the most natural thing in the world.

“Good,” he murmured, that faint rough edge in his voice caressing her. “That’s a very good girl. Now, I want you to sit very still for me.”

The trembling hadn’t abated, the fire between her thighs, the hunger gripping her making it difficult to speak. “I can’t,” she forced out, panting. “I have to move. I have to.”

But he was unrelenting. “If you move, you won’t get what you want. So focus for me, Kira. Keep still, and you’ll get your reward.”

Her breathing was coming in short hard gasps, the scratchy wool of his pants pressing against her inner thighs and the sensitive folds of her pussy, driving her insane. But she tried. She held his gaze as she stopped shifting and moving, the shakes becoming more intense the stiller she became.

He didn’t look away as he released her wrists, as if he knew she needed to maintain eye contact. And he didn’t look away as he grasped the neckline of her white silk dress then ripped the entire thing right down the middle.

She gasped as the warm air hit her feverish skin, the sudden violence of the movement and the sound of tearing fabric shocking her, exciting her further. “Lorenzo,” she whispered, her muscles tensing, wanting to move, forgetting what she’d promised him. But he remembered, because of course he did, and before she could do anything, he’d pushed the white silk from her shoulders and with a quick, deft movement, he guided her hands behind her back then wrapped the silk around her wrists, pulling it tight. Binding her.

A soft choked sound escaped her, but it wasn’t because she was scared. No, it was the opposite. The feeling of being constrained, of being contained, made her want to weep with relief. Now she wasn’t going to forget herself and touch him before she was supposed to, because every time she did the binding would pull tight in a subtle reminder. It was going to help her. It was going to make it easier. Boundaries always did.

He gripped her jaw in one hand, holding her still, his gaze pinning her in place. “Is that better?”

Kira couldn’t speak. All she could do was nod and blink back the tears of relief that stung her eyes.

He held her for a second longer, bending to deliver one hard, deep kiss, before letting go of her jaw and leaning back in the chair, watching her. His gaze was as hot as a blow torch as he scanned her body in one long, slow pass. Her skin tightened and prickled, her nipples gathering into hard little points, the throb of desire low and heavy between her thighs.

She could hardly sit still she was so desperate, but the binding around her wrists kept reminding her that she’d promised to, so she remained as still as she could while he took his time looking at her.

“Good girl.” He lifted one hand, his fingers brushing the hollow of her throat before trailing down. “Such a very good girl for me.”

Fire rippled out from his touch, racing over her skin, and she groaned at the sensation, made even more intense by the approval in his voice. It made her determined to do what he asked her. She could do this. She would.

His hand trailed lower, between her breasts and down over her stomach. “Keep very still now.” His gaze never left hers as his fingers moved lower and lower. “This is going to be difficult for you, but you can do this. I know you can.”

She couldn’t tear her gaze from his face, from the certainty in his eyes. Then those wandering fingers slid through the pale curls of her sex, finding the slick flesh that waited for him, and she shuddered, unable to stop from crying out as he stroked a leisurely finger down the center of her pussy and then back up again.

The pleasure was so intense, so overwhelming that her vision blurred, her throat closing up. “Lorenzo . . . Oh God . . .” Apparently, he hadn’t been kidding when he said it was going to be difficult for her. Because it was. Then it became even more difficult as he stroked her again, his finger moving over her, finding the hard nub of her clit and circling around and around.

A groan tore from her throat, every part of her aching to move, to grind herself down on his hand, to rip open his shirt, his pants, find his cock, find his bare skin. Lick him and kiss him and taste him. Gorge herself on him and the pleasure he was giving her.

But she’d promised him she wouldn’t move, and so she stayed as still as she could. “More . . .” The word was a hoarse scrape. “Please . . . I want . . . God, I want . . .”

“I know.” His voice was cool water running over her hot skin. “And I’ll give it to you. Just keep still a bit longer. Can you do that for me? Can you do that, beautiful girl?”

Her thighs were trembling. His touch was so slow, lazy almost. As if he had all the time in the world. And she had to clench her teeth against the vicious grip of pleasure, hold fast to her determination, to the core of stubborn strength that was somehow there inside her. She wasn’t going to move until he said she could. She just fucking wasn’t. She was going to succeed at this one thing even if it killed her.

Lorenzo shifted, moving his free hand into the small of her back, applying a touch of pressure that tilted her hips forward. Then he eased one finger inside her, pushing in deep.

A wail broke from her, her back arching, the silk pulling tight around her wrists as her arms jerked. Then he slid another finger inside her, stretching the delicate tissues of her sex, making her pant his name over and over again.

The pleasure was annihilating, the pressure of having to keep still making it more acute somehow. She felt afraid all of a sudden, of what might happen when this intensity broke, of being crushed beneath it or blown apart by it.

“L-Lorenzo,” she stuttered as his fingers slid in and out of her in a relentless driving movement. “Please . . . I can’t . . . hold on . . .”

And he must have seen her fear, because he sat forward, so his body was right up against hers, the tips of her hard nipples pressing against the cotton of his shirt, his gaze inches from her own. His palm at the small of her back pressed down, his fingers spreading out, holding her, supporting her as the fingers of his other hand thrust up inside her. “It’s okay.” That dark voice, cooling her, calming her. “You can let go now. You can lose control with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

Another moan tore from her throat as she obeyed him without thought, giving in to the devastating pleasure, to the need to move, shifting her hips in time with his hand, riding his fingers. Then his thumb found her clit, and she began to lose touch with reality entirely.

Words spilled out of her, desperate, begging words, and she let them, too far gone to care. “Please . . . Lorenzo. Please. I can’t . . . I need . . . I have to . . .”

His thumb slicked over her clit, again and again. “You need to come? Is that what you need?”

“Yes. Oh God, yes.”

His hand moved faster, his fingers pushing deeper, harder. The sheer ecstasy of it blinded her, crushed her, tore her apart.

She cried out as the unrelenting pressure became too much, feeling herself start to disintegrate, suddenly terrified. But his arm was iron around her waist, his hand in the small of her back an anchor, holding her down, grounding her.

Keeping her safe as the world exploded behind her eyes and the night around them echoed with the sound of her screams.