As I hurriedly, furiously went through my closet to pick out enough clothes for… however long I might be staying with Angel, I felt the tears that I’d been struggling to hold back finally start falling down my cheeks.

I was scared.

And angry.

And… maybe a little excited, even though I never would’ve admitted that out loud—could barely even admit it to myself.

I threw a bundle of clothes into the suitcase that was sitting open on my bed and flopped down next to it, brushing away the tears with my palms.

God, why had my dad borrowed money from Angel? Seriously? Of all people… Angel?

Surely dad had known the guy was in the Mafia or… or something. Everything about the man oozed danger and mystery and pure sex.

And now I had volunteered to step right into the viper’s pit. What had I been thinking?

Oh, right. I’d been keeping my promise to my mom, trying to save my dad’s damn life. That’s all.

I looked over at the clock on the nightstand next to my bed. Angel had given me ten minutes to get my things together, and I had no idea how long it had been, but I didn’t want to keep him waiting for too long.

More importantly, I didn’t want to give him or my dad enough time to reconsider the deal they’d made—or worse, to start arguing again.

There was no doubt in my mind that if I hadn’t gone downstairs when I did, that Angel would’ve killed him. I didn’t know if I’d be able to stop him twice in one day, if it came to that.

I grabbed another armful of clothes and dumped them into the suitcase, hoping that the truce they’d agreed on downstairs would hold for at least a few more minutes, until I could get back down there and get Angel out of the house.

My ten minutes had to be up, and I had to get the hell out of there. But as I zipped my suitcase and took a last look around for anything I might have missed, I couldn’t help but start crying again.

Shit.

I had to be strong. I damn sure wasn’t gonna let either of the men downstairs see me cry. I’d volunteered for what I was about to do, after all. It was time to just suck it up and get on with it.

It would be for the best.

And I knew damn good and well that it wouldn’t take long before I had Angel wrapped around my finger. With a little bit of luck—and a little bit of ass—I could probably even get him to go easy on my dad.

That thought at least made me feel a little better. I knew my father wasn’t the best guy around. He wasn’t the best husband to my mom and he sure as hell wasn’t the best dad to me, but he was all I had left, and he was counting on me.

I wasn’t going to let him down.

With my mind made up, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of my bedroom, turning the light off and shutting the door behind me. I didn’t know when I’d be back or what I was even getting myself into, but I was done being scared. I was done second-guessing myself.

I was strong enough to face anything Angel could throw my way, and I knew that for a fact.

By the time I made it to the staircase and saw Angel and my dad looking up at me, I’d wiped away the tears and replaced them with a smile.

A fucking smile.

If Angel wanted to play hardball, I could do that.

Head games? Yeah, I could do that, too.

Whatever it took to get my family—or what was left of it, at least—back on track.

“Are you ready?” He asked, his voice low and serious.

I didn’t answer him, instead choosing to keep my head up as I walked down the stairs and gave my dad a kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Daddy. I’ll be home soon.”

He nodded but we both knew that when or if I could go home really would depend on how soon he paid off his debt. Still, we had to hope it would be soon, right?

Finally, I turned to face Angel, my suitcase firmly in hand and the little smile I’d forced myself to fake back on my face. “I’m ready now.”

Without another word, Angel took my free hand and ushered me out the front door—out my front door—and into his world.

For better or worse, I was at his mercy now.

It would be the most intense, and the most dangerous game we’d ever played.

* * *

For all the times over the years I’d seen Angel in my living room playing cards or watching TV with the guys, I’d never really thought about how his condo might look. I’d certainly never been there.

It just wasn’t a thought that had crossed my mind.

So when he unlocked the door and opened it to let me in, I was completely unprepared for what I just assumed would’ve been a mirror image of my family’s condo just across the courtyard.

It definitely wasn’t that, though.

Angel had clearly spent a lot of time and money remodeling from the original floor plan, because the space he lived in was light and bright and modern, with an open floor plan that flowed from the front door to the back wall, with nothing but modern lines and monochromatic whites, blacks, and grays to complement the view.

“You’ve got a nice place,” I said, setting my suitcase down in the middle of the living room and just taking a look around. “It’s… definitely not what I had expected.”

He laughed, a short little burst of air that seemed too loud and completely at odds with our calm, spacious surroundings. “What were you expecting? A dungeon?”

I gave a half-shrug. “Maybe not a dungeon…”

“I’m not that bad, Bella.” Angel’s voice was back to low and serious. “I hope you know that.”

His eyes searched mine, but I didn’t know what he expected me to say. Just a little while ago, I’d walked in on him with a gun drawn on my dad.

So… yeah. Dungeon wasn’t too far off the mark, in my opinion.

Still, I needed to stay on his good side if any of this was going to work, and calling him an asshole or a mobster or a monster probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Actions speak louder than words, Angel,” I said. My mouth apparently hadn’t received the memo about staying on his good side. But whatever. Fuck it. I was pretty sure he wasn’t gonna kill me. Not for that, anyway.

“You’re right,” he said, surprising me. “And I don’t expect you to understand or to approve of what was going on earlier between me and your father. But I’m a man of my word, and I meant it when I said you’d be safe here.” He opened his arms to take in the entire space around us. “For now, I want you to make yourself comfortable. Make yourself at home. It doesn’t have to be all bad.”

I nodded. Maybe he was right. Or at least a little bit right. Maybe it didn’t have to be the prison that I’d imagined. Maybe I could at least end up feeling comfortable there. “Is there somewhere I can change clothes?” I asked, looking around. “And where should I put my things?”

“Of course.” He nodded toward the short hallway. “Follow me.”

He led me to a room that could have easily held two of my old bedrooms with space left over on each side. I sucked in a sharp breath as I took it all in.

The room was dominated by a four-poster king-size bed that was so tall I would’ve had to take a running jump to get into, and the rest of the bedroom furniture was just as big and bold and masculine. If the living room and the front part of the condo had been sleek and sophisticated, this part was big and heavy, old world and all man.

It didn’t take much to picture Angel lying in the middle of that big-ass bed, just like a king.

“There’s just the one bedroom,” he said, interrupting my little vision of royalty. “But you can put your things in the closet, and I can promise you there’s plenty of room in that bed.”

I wasn’t expecting that. Sure, I’d thought that I’d have sex with him at some point—that was a given. But to sleep with him? In the same bed… every night?

That hadn’t been part of my plan.

I could feel my face heating up from the direction my thoughts had taken, and I busied myself with opening my suitcase and rearranging the haphazard piles of clothes inside to keep from making eye contact with him again.

“That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

His voice made me jump and I fumbled with the clothes in front of me as I half-turned to answer him. “No,” I lied. “No problem. Could I just have a couple of minutes to change clothes, please?”

“No.”

It took a couple of seconds for my brain to register that he’d answered. Even though I had technically asked—had even said please—the fact that I needed a couple of minutes of privacy wasn’t really up for debate. It certainly wasn’t a request I’d expected him to deny.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, not sure if I’d missed something. Surely he wasn’t telling me I couldn’t change clothes…

“You can do whatever you’d like,” he said, indirectly answering my unasked question. “But I’m not going anywhere. If you want to change clothes, you can do it here. Now. In front of me.”

I felt my eyes widen for a second as I realized where he was going with his explanation, and then I nodded. If that’s how he wanted to play, that was fine. I’d take my clothes off for him, if that’s what he wanted.

Hell, I’d give him the best strip-tease of his damn life.

“Fine,” I said simply, shrugging out of the skimpy cropped shirt I’d been wearing and tossing my hair back as if that was what I’d been meaning to do all along. Then, remembering to smile, I added, “That won’t be a problem.”

I could feel his eyes roaming over my body, making me feel like I was completely naked even though I was only just getting started with what was supposed to be a sexy strip-tease.

What I hadn’t expected was the way that hungry look in his eyes would make me feel, and my fingers fumbled with the buttons on my jeans as I tried to remind myself that I was in control. This was my show, and I was just letting him watch it.

Angel leaned against the doorframe, his eyes tracking every move I made. His face was expressionless, like a statue made of stone, but his eyes. I could see in his eyes all the things he wanted to do to me, to my body. And if that wasn’t enough, I could tell from the growing bulge in the front of his dark slacks.

He wanted me. He always had. There was no point in either of us trying to deny it.

With that thought in mind, I felt more confident, almost one hundred percent back in control as I finished unzipping my jeans and shimmied them down past my hips until they were pooled in a heap at my feet. Resting one hand on the oversized bed frame, I carefully stepped out of those jeans and kicked them aside.

He licked his lips and I felt a jolt go through my body, as if his lips—and his tongue—had made contact with me. “Keep going,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

I was already reaching back to unfasten my bra, though. I didn’t need any encouragement from him—not verbally, anyway. His body had already told me what he wanted.

The black lace bra—my favorite one—fell away and I resisted the sudden urge to cover myself. Stripping in front of him felt more intimate, more real than I had expected, but there was no point in being modest now, and it was too late to do anything besides just keep going.

So that’s what I did.

I did my best to ignore the heat in his eyes, to ignore the way my already-sensitive nipples tightened and stood up under his hot stare, to ignore the warmth that was already beginning to radiate from my core as I hooked my thumbs in my panties and began sliding them down.

Only when my panties finally hit the floor and I was standing completely nude in front of him did I meet his gaze again. He was looking at me like I was fucking candy, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning out loud from what that look was doing to me.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and then I did moan, wishing instead that he’d put those big, solid hands on my body, that he’d let them roam over my breasts and down my stomach the way his eyes had. That he’d take those fingers and—

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice just a hoarse whisper. “I could look at you all night if you’d let me.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t speak. My mouth had gone dry, and all I could do was move closer to him, to hope that he’d read my mind and take pity on me, that he’d just touch me.

He didn’t reach out, though. He kept his hands firmly in his pockets. He didn’t move a muscle, in fact, until I was just a few inches away from him, ready to press myself against him, ready for whatever he wanted to do.

“Stop,” he said, his voice still quiet but firm.

I froze, unsure of what was going to happen next. As much as I wanted him to touch me, he wanted it more. I was sure of that.

“I only said I wanted to watch,” he said. “Not touch.”

I blinked. What? Had he gone crazy? Ever since the day I’d turned eighteen, Angel had been looking at me like he was down to fuck—whenever and wherever—if I’d give him half a chance. And now, here I was naked and trembling and my pussy practically reaching for him… and he was saying no?

“I don’t understand,” I said, simply. It was the easiest version of the truth, and the most direct. “What do you want me to do?”

“It’s not about what I want,” he said, shrugging. “But I can tell that you’re not ready. Not tonight.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a step back and finally reaching up to cover myself. “How do you know that? What if I am ready?”

He didn’t answer me. Instead, he gave me a hard, long look and shook his head slightly, then turned on his heel and walked back into the living room.

I let my arms fall back to my sides as I watched him go, wondering what in the hell had just happened, wondering—again—if I was really ready for what I’d gotten myself into.

Wondering if he just might break me before I could break him.