A week later, Patrick couldn’t decide which day had been his favorite. Or which night, really. He and Cassie had spent every one together. He was fucking exhausted, but goddamn was it worth it.

He kept waiting to get bored, but his interest only kept growing. Every time she told him something new she wanted to try, he became even more intrigued. Wrestling her until she was flat out beneath him? Sign him up. Making her so wet she cried real tears in embarrassment? He was on board. And he couldn’t wait to tap that sweet virgin rear of hers, with his fingers or whatever else she wanted to try. He had no reservations with any of her requests, and if literal push came to shove, he had to admit he liked what she wanted.

He’d had rough sex before, but not like this, not in a way that was so aggressive and mean.

He hadn’t thought it would come naturally, but as it turned out, he and Cassie were the same in bed as they were out of it. Just as nasty, but…naked. It was fun, and oddly freeing too—not needing to have any filter, taking his pleasure as he liked, objectifying and being cruel to her in ways he’d never imagined. The look she’d gotten when he’d called her a bitch and fucked her mouth against the wall in his apartment had brought on one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

He had a moment’s hesitation wondering why he enjoyed debasing her, but who cared? What he’d wanted was to get inside Cassie’s head—to know what lurked behind those bright eyes of hers—and now he was there. He wasn’t sure where her desires came from, but it wasn’t his job to psychoanalyze. It was to bring her as much pleasure as possible. To satisfy all her depraved little cravings.

And he was doing that. Repeatedly.

God, he loved this arrangement. It was so pristine. So cut and dry. Just sex, smiles, and a see-you-next-time. All escape, no hassle. Why hadn’t he done this with anyone else?

Because not all women were like Cassie.

She was ballsy and sexy, intelligent and beautiful. And she had no problem having incredible sex and then walking out the door.

Damn it, he was starting to like her. Not in the romantic department—having feelings for Cassie wasn’t possible because Patrick didn’t have feelings to feel. But he enjoyed the fire in her, enjoyed being able to tame that flame and bring it to its knees. They were straying into BDSM play, however. He’d wondered if he should talk to Jack about it, but Patrick could always fake it ’til he made it.

He sure as hell had been doing that with his job for the last twenty years.

With a sigh, he returned his attention to the sales forecast he was working on. The information on the screen in front of him was his biggest responsibility at Dunham and Strauss, right after maintaining the budget and developing new business. The house was doing better this quarter than he’d thought, thanks to a few new partnerships he’d made over the summer. That was what made the Global V.P. of Sales important—their knack for building revenue. Not that he’d ever had any natural skill with that.

He’d been taught by Leroy Strauss and the board. They’d started him off easy, assisting him with developing pricing strategies, sitting in on conference calls while he made deals, and looking over action plans with him afterward to evaluate what market to move into next.

He’d spent so much of his life staring at numbers, he’d gone numb from it.

The spreadsheet he’d been working on was swimming in front of his eyes. That was the way it was in publishing though, something even veteran industry professionals felt—you spend too much time looking at it and it starts to blur. The business was changing at near light speed, and the harder he stared at it, the harder it was to tell what was going on. But this report was due Friday whether he was losing focus or not, and he’d had to cancel his tennis match with Jack today because of it. At least he had a good team to fall back on. Patrick took a hands-off management approach with the people who worked under him. It made them think he trusted them, had faith in them. Which he did, but it also avoided having them see how much he hated this place sometimes.

Feeling that familiar tingling in his limbs, Patrick stood and went to the window. Dunham and Strauss was in the heart of Boston’s financial district, a giant of a building with a view of the harbor. A red haze hugged Logan’s tarmac in the distance, and beyond the glittering skyline of the ocean, the dark blue of night was setting in.

The view spoke of freedom, beautiful and distracting, and was the only part of his office that dazzled.

His space was a stark contrast to the gilded chambers of the main lobby. Reid had decorated the massive atrium in gold paint, marble floors and decked it out with a large portrait of himself. If his father loved ornate opulence, Patrick had become the opposite in resistance, from the classic cut of his clothes to the decorations in his executive corner office. His father could look up from beyond the grave and sulk all he wanted. Patrick’s salary might’ve been a consolation prize for being so damn miserable, but he wasn’t going to spend it here. All he had was a few seats across from his simple, polished wood desk, his father’s old nickel banker’s lamp sitting atop it.

He hadn’t known why he’d kept the thing—there was nothing sentimental about it. Every time he shut it off, it was his way of saying fuck you, you fucking prick. I’m here, but you mean nothing to me. Same for the wall of books behind him.

Always behind him, so he didn’t have to look at them.

He didn’t read anymore. Funny, for someone at the rudder of a publishing dynasty, but he wasn’t valued here for his opinion on content. Besides, the last book he’d read had been El Viejo y el Mar. The Spanish edition of Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea had been on Gustavo’s desk, and he’d loaned it to Patrick, telling him there was a lot he could learn from it.

He’d been almost finished when he’d met Sofía.

He hadn’t read a single work of fiction since.

His cell phone rang, the name Brady Archer reading out on the screen. Patrick accepted the call, relieved for the distraction.

“Hey, kid. How’s things?”

“Dude. I’m almost forty. When are you going to stop calling me kid?”

“Never.”

Brady snorted, and Patrick laughed at the sound. It was a nice change from the last time he’d seen him this past Friday night. Samantha had joined Brady at the pub, present even though things between them were noticeably strained.

Patrick’s focus, however, had been on Cassie.

She’d been playing pool with Lilly, sauntering around the table and throwing out wiseass comments between shots, and he’d sat there with a mildly amused grin, enthralled with the way she moved. With her ass as she bent over the table. With the sly grin she’d thrown his way when no one was looking.

He’d enjoyed watching her. Bantering with her. Enjoyed knowing he was going home with her.

He’d been so entranced, he hadn’t noticed Red Sox Girl until she was standing next to him. She’d placed a hand seductively on his shoulder, and Patrick had immediately glanced at Cassie. The lighthearted, easy smile she’d had disappeared, her features drawn tight as if a portcullis had rolled shut over it.

He had two options: entertain his former conquest and make a promise to call her that he’d never follow through on, or do something to ensure Cassie’s trust.

He’d disentangled Red Sox Girl with a gentle but firm, “Not tonight. Sorry.”

When she’d left with a shrug, Patrick had managed to catch Cassie’s eye. A bit of her smile had returned, and the look on her face was one of almost non-belief.

Her doubt wasn’t necessary. Patrick was many things, but a liar he wasn’t. Brady, however, felt the need to point out the obvious.

“Did you turn away fresh blood?” he’d asked, incredulous and uncomfortably loud.

Patrick shrugged. “She wasn’t fresh blood. She’s old news. And you know my rule about dating the same woman twice.”

That same look had momentarily darkened Cassie’s face, but she didn’t say anything. Not then, not on the cab ride to her apartment, and not when he’d spread her across her bed and buried his head between her thighs in a silent apology.

She tasted like candy. If getting drunk was an option for him, he’d have done it on Cassie. He’d gorge himself on her until he’d had his fill and relished in the hangover.

“So,” Brady said, snapping Patrick back into the here and now. “About that festival this weekend.”

“Right. You guys want to go?”

Bringing up the Lit Crawl had been his diversionary tactic after Brady’s comment. The yearly event was a full weekend of readings, performances and literary games. Dunham and Strauss was a sponsor, which meant Patrick had free passes to spare.

“Definitely. Sam seems super into it, and I think Allegra and Hope would love it too.”

Samantha hadn’t seemed that into it, but maybe her point of view had changed, especially if her daughters were involved. Either way, Patrick could hear the desperation in Brady’s voice.

Thank God it would never get that way with him and Cassie. When it was time for things to end, they’d be adults about it, stopping in as businesslike a matter as they’d started.

“Then it looks like I’ll be seeing you all on Saturday morning.”

When they hung up, Patrick kept his phone out. He hadn’t asked Cassie specifically if she wanted to go as well, and wanted to remedy that now.

He pulled up his last text to her and sent her a new one.

“You interested in going to that Lit Crawl on Saturday?”

He should’ve put his phone down, but found himself waiting, staring at the screen until those little dots bounced at the bottom of it. “It’s like a pub crawl, right?”

“Yup. Except with books instead of booze.”

“Hmmm…” More waiting. More watching little bouncing dots. “What’s in it for me?”

A wink emoticon followed her question. Patrick typed back quickly.

“My dazzling company, of course.”

There was a pause before her next reply came through. “Just you?”

His stomach sank. It shouldn’t have, because time alone together outside the bedroom wasn’t part of their agreement.

“No—I think it’s gonna be me and the whole Scooby gang.”

“LOL. Okay, so Lit crawl during the day…and maybe crawling of another type back at your place after it’s over?”

Now Patrick’s stomach tightened with excitement. As did his pants.

“That’s definitely a possibility. See you Saturday at ten.”

The promise of another intense night with her both revved him up and settled his nerves. Patrick sat at his desk, and returned to the sales forecast with a smile.

---

Saturday morning arrived with the kind of brilliant freshness you could only find during the peak of foliage season in New England. Columbus Day weekend brought what F. Scott Fitzgerald would’ve called football weather—crisp air, clouds dappling the sky, the ground littered with leaves the color of fire. And at ten a.m., Copely Square was bustling with people.

Patrick stood by the fountain and waited for the remainder of the group to arrive. Brady and family had already collected their tickets. He’d looked tired as he mumbled a thank-you, his eyes on Sam like she was going to disappear as Allegra and Hope dragged them toward the children’s pavilion.

Lilly and Jack turned up with Nick and Gabe next. They collected their tickets and programs, then walked off in different directions as Patrick continued to hang around. After fifteen minutes, however, he began checking his phone and gazing through the crowd.

Where was she?

A hollow feeling sat in his belly. Maybe Cassie wasn’t coming, which was fine. Things came up. Work. Life. It was an inconvenience, that was all. But she could’ve at least told him.

“Waiting for someone?”

Patrick turned around and was nearly knocked over by the sight of her standing behind him in jeans, a black sweater, scarf and sneakers.

How the hell did she look so sexy in sneakers?

“I am, for someone who was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, as a matter of fact.”

She snapped her ticket from his hand. “The T was running behind, dumbass.”

Patrick laughed. It wasn’t quite relief filling the well in his stomach. Just reassurance that the day was going to go as planned. He gestured toward her shoes. “I thought everything you owned came with a three-inch spike.”

“Almost everything,” she said with a wink. “I knew I’d be walking around all day, so I went with these instead.”

As much as he loved what a pair of heels did for her figure, the faded blue Chucks were completely adorable. Patrick waved a hand toward the green. “Shall we?”

They moved out, looking at the vendors’ tables as they walked. A band was sound-checking on the center stage, and carts of books stretched from one corner of the lawn to the other.

“Does your company sponsor all this?” Cassie asked.

“Not everything. The musicians and the food trucks pay to be here, and a lot of the poets and playwrights contribute. We put a chunk in every year as part of our angel patronage.”

“How philanthropic of you.”

He shrugged. “Nothing benevolent in supporting the arts. If people aren’t reading, we go out of business.”

“Good point.”

He followed Cassie toward a reading in a tent. They stood in the back, and she listened attentively, her lips slightly pursed, her tiny upturned nose dusted with sunlight.

Yeah, he was kidding himself over pretending he wasn’t relieved she was here. She was fucking beautiful, and he wanted to find a quiet corner to drag her into.

She glanced up and caught him staring. Patrick grinned. Guilty as charged.

He made sure none of their crew was around before he moved in close and whispered, “You’re killing me today, by the way.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

Cute sneakers aside, and the jeans that did amazing things for her already amazing ass, she was standing differently—one hand casually tucked into a pocket, her movements unhurried, her breathing even and calm.

“You seem relaxed. It’s nice.”

“I am. It’s nice to be away from the office for a half a second.”

He tried not to be pleased that she’d taken that break to be with him. “I read somewhere that the more successful you are, the more your life is hell.”

“Then I’m heading straight there. My newest client might be my big break, but he’s driving me bat-shit crazy.”

She had to be talking about Hudson. “Why could he be your big break?”

“Because if I successfully restructure his company, I’ll finally make partner at my firm.”

Whoa. That was a bigger deal than he’d thought, and not at all what he’d imagined when he’d sent Hudson her way. He considered telling her he’d been their matchmaker, but it didn’t seem like the time. The reading ended, and they applauded with the rest of the crowd before stepping back into the square.

“How’d you get into law, anyway?” he asked.

“Simple. It’s a job where I get to argue.”

“You? Argue?” he replied dryly.

“Shut up.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s my line.”

Cassie grunted, her cheeks heating with an obvious rush of desire. Yeah, it got him there too. He kept talking to distract himself. “Aside from the arguing, what do you like about it? Would you say it’s your passion?”

It was the kind of question he’d ask when seducing a woman, pretending he cared about her answer. Except this time, he did.

“I suppose. I like the ‘saving the day’ aspect of it. You feel like a superhero when you can fix something that’s gone completely wrong. But I got into it because my grandfather told me when I was a kid that I was going to change the world. That he was counting on me to do it. He meant a lot to me, and I knew pursuing law would make him proud.”

She got a faraway look in her eyes, and she looked up at the sky. For a moment she seemed…softer. Younger.

“Is he still around?”

“No, he passed when I was sixteen.”

Patrick didn’t know what to say. He’d never known his own grandparents, and had little experience with grief. Reid had put a nice roof over Patrick’s head, and Patrick wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him, but other than acknowledging that he certainly hadn’t mourned his father.

So all he said was, “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” She took a breath. “What about you? How’d you get into the sales end of publishing?”

Patrick covered his grimace with a cough as another sponsor walked by. He couldn’t let everyone here see the disdain he had for the job he’d been strong-armed into. “I just…fell into it.”

“You don’t fall into being an Executive Vice President.”

He should’ve known she wouldn’t stop there. “You’re correct, counselor. But it’s a long story.”

Cassie stopped at a vendor’s booth. Books were spread across his table, foreign ones with their native language texts on one side of the page, the English translation on the opposite. It was done by a small local press, and was the kind of thing he’d like to acquire, but the board would never sign on. It simply wouldn’t be considered lucrative enough.

“A long story,” Cassie repeated, touching the delicate texts. “Did your parents read to you when you were a kid? Did you have some kind of huge old-school letterpress where you wrote your papers?”

His parents reading to him? That was a joke. “No giant typewriters in my house, no.”

“Did you get into it for a love of reading?”

“Is this a cross-examination?” Clearly she wasn’t backing down, so he went with a shortened version of the truth. “I got into it because it was the job I needed to take. I actually don’t read much.”

She threw him one of her looks of sarcastic disdain. “You run a publishing house, but you don’t read?”

“It’s not my job to read. It’s my job to make money.”

“Is that what matters to you? Money?”

“It’s what matters when you’re in charge of sales at a huge corporation which bears your name.”

“You don’t enjoy being The Great and Powerful Oz of Dunham and Strauss?”

Of course he didn’t. And he wasn’t great and powerful at all. But it made sense that she’d see him that way. His whole life was smoke and mirrors—everything an act, a show. Even his apartment was one more trick in his magician’s hat, keeping him hidden instead of showing what was behind his curtains.

“Objection, your honor,” he said with a grin. “Leading.”

Cassie rolled her eyes. “What’s your passion, then?”

“Sex.”

That allotted him another eye roll. “What? It’s true.” In a life where his whole function was to chase the almighty dollar, sex was the only enjoyment he had. “Speaking of that, what were we saying about you crawling?”

“Cassie!” Sam’s voice rang out in the crowd. They both turned to see her waving from one of the food trucks.

Cassie waved back and then flashed Patrick a grin. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

He did wait—all day while they sampled food and listened to snippets from memoirs, through roundtable discussions on art history and literary criticism, and a read-aloud from a picture book Allegra and Hope loved. He waited until they’d parted ways with their friends and were on their way back to his apartment. By the time they got inside, a vicious hunger had coiled itself inside him, needing to be turned loose.

He led her to his bedroom and tackled her against the wall. Her grunt was a filthy, satisfying sound.

“Tell me what you want, Cassie,” he growled against her ear. “Tell me now.”

She tried to wrench herself away from him, and grinned when she couldn’t. “I don’t actually want to crawl. But there’s something else I want.”

“What’s that?”

Her breath rushed out on a shuddery exhale. “I want you to slap me.”

He held himself still, even as his heart began to pound. “Slap you?”

She nodded, her arousal clear in the way her body undulated slightly toward his. Patrick felt the ground shift. They were heading into new territory now, moving from rough play to acts of violence. He’d never hit anyone before, nothing more than a playful swat.

“Where?” he asked, because fuck, there were things he didn’t know. Did she bruise easily? Had she had surgery anywhere he could possibly do damage? How hard did she want to be hit?

“Breasts, thighs, if you need some suggestions. And don’t be gentle, either.”

“You want me to do that while I’m touching you, or…?”

He trailed off, desperately needing her to finish his sentence. Slapping alone wasn’t enough to go on, and he was too turned on to think straight.

She huffed out an irritated sigh, like she’d been watching a movie and someone’s cell phone had rung. “Yes, while you’re touching me.”

“You’re sure?”

Something like defiance burned in her eyes. “What, the famous player can’t figure out how to make it hurt so good?” Her eyes sparkled, her chin lifted in a dare. “Come on, Patrick. Don’t tell me you can’t slap me and make me come at the same time.”

There she went, goading him again, and his palm itched to smack. Lord, this was messed up. Seriously erotic and twisted. But he couldn’t deny the twinge of excitement rippling through him, and there was no way he was shutting down Cassie’s unique form of kinky deviance. He was pretty familiar with her body by now, and this was consensual, after all. If she wanted to push both their boundaries like this, then fuck yeah, he’d do it.

And somehow try to be incredibly careful in the process.

Patrick pushed her against the wall, hips grinding against hers. “You know damn well how hard I can make you come. I’ve seen it. Several times. But I’m happy to give you a reminder.”

Cassie shuddered, a sharp fuck dropping from her lips. The name-calling was a flare going off, a burning blaze that hiked her shoulders up and directed him where to go.

Patrick grabbed the bottom of her sweater and dragged it forcefully over her head. He went for her bra next, yanking it down. The sight of her exposed breasts spilling out the top of it sent his pulse hammering. He unzipped her jeans and shoved them down to her ankles, then jammed his hand inside her panties. Parting slick folds, he drove in deep.

“Sopping wet already.” He caught her nipple with his other hand and pinched until she squirmed, then released it and slapped her breast. It was experimental, not terribly hard, but enough to make her skin go pink. Cassie hissed, her teeth clenching as her pussy tightened around his finger.

Narrowing her eyes, she glared at him. “More.”

“More? The little bitch wants more?”

The question tumbled out of him, but it felt right, and Cassie moaned loudly in response. Patrick wasn’t sure if it was the words, the smack, or his finger inside her that made her do it. Regardless, it was a hell of a sight, one he needed to see again. He repeated the motion, a stinging slap to the same spot. He leaned down to suck and bite her nipple, tugging sharply with his teeth and making her skin angrier. Cassie tilted her head back and groaned.

He struck her other breast, giving that nipple the same cruel treatment. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He was half provoking her and half checking in. Not that he couldn’t tell. Her grinding hips was all the proof he needed, but he had to be sure.

She bared her teeth at him like an animal. “No.”

“No?” Was she playing? She hadn’t used her safeword, and her skin was still flushed.

Going on instinct, he curled his fingers upward in faster strokes that once again had her spilling over his palm. She whined and pinched her eyes shut.

“Do you hear yourself? Hear how wet I’ve made you?” Patrick reveled in her wince. “You can lie all you want. Your body is telling me how much you like it.”

“Fuck—” He added another finger. She panted. “—you.”

Patrick worked her harder, just to prove what he could do. She was so wet her panties were drenched. God, he’d never been this hard.

Cassie tried to wriggle away from him. “No,” she moaned. “I can’t.”

“You can’t what? Can’t take any more?”

He smacked her thigh with his other hand. Cassie cried out, her eyes closing as her body started to shake. She was close now, and Patrick wanted inside her so badly he couldn’t stand it.

“Yeah, you can take it. And I don’t like it when you tell me no. So I don’t think I’m going to listen.”

This was dangerous ground, words that strayed against consent, but it got her even wetter. And him even harder. Jesus Christ, was he a closeted masochist? The urge had to have been buried inside him, because here he was, fingering her roughly while slapping her until he saw his handprint on her flesh, saying shit he’d never imagined he’d say.

Mean. He was being mean. And he really. Fucking. Liked it.

She snarled. “You’ll fucking listen to what I—”

He slapped her face. “I will not.”

It had been a smack like all the others, but this one hard against her cheek. Cassie went rigid. Suddenly tipping her hips away, she frowned, blinked and stared at the floor. Patrick froze.

Shit.

“Are you okay?”

She swallowed. Blinked again. “Exit.”

Without thinking, Patrick pulled his hand from her panties and gathered her in his arms, one hand cradling the base of her neck as the other wrapped solidly around her. They’d never hugged before, not like this, and he doubted the move until Cassie burrowed into him. She held on tightly, chin digging into his shoulder.

“The face slap?” he asked. “Was that what did it?”

She nodded and clung to him. “I didn’t like that.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. He rocked her gently. “Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Neither did I.”

Patrick kissed her cheek. The spot he’d struck was warm. For all that he enjoyed taunting her, that was only with the knowledge that she liked it too. He hated knowing he’d actually hurt her.

“Do you want to stop? Go home?”

Please don’t say yes.

“No. But could I have a glass of water?”

He nodded quickly and helped her with her clothes, then walked her to the living room couch. He’d have put her in the bed, but he didn’t want her out of his sight. After wrapping her in a throw blanket, he hurried to the kitchen, keeping an eye on her as he filled a glass. He’d been dying to fuck her less than a minute ago, but now sex was the furthest thing from his mind. He wanted to do whatever it took to make her laugh. To order her favorite delivery food and turn on a TV show she liked. To not let her leave so he could make sure she was all right, and hold her until the sun rose.

Those weren’t feelings he was supposed to have.

Those weren’t feelings he ever had.

And Patrick didn’t know what to do with those feelings at all.