“I don’t think I’ve noticed any of these people,” I say, flipping through the printouts that Riley handed me as soon as we got into his rented BMW. He’d insisted we take my car in to have the hood repainted. And, frankly, I was fine with erasing that particular memory. “You really think one of these men is my stalker?”

“I think the odds are good, but honestly the position of the security camera makes it hard to compare guests across the course of days. Zac agrees that the setup is lame—he didn’t install the system and only started working there a few months ago.”

“So now that he knows, he’ll fix it.” I lift a shoulder. “Too late for me, but that should help someone else.”

“Not necessarily too late for you,” Riley says. “Zac’s going to try to get me names, and we’ll see what we see. Oh, I do know that we can rule our gray-haired suspect out. The one with the younger woman on his arm.”

“Yeah? How do you know that?”

“Zac texted as I was setting up the house earlier. He visits the club at least four times each week, often brings a guest, and left yesterday about an hour after he arrived because he got a call that his daughter was in labor. The girl who works the door said he was positively beaming when he left, and I checked with the hospital. He went straight to Cedars and was there through the night until his grandson was born this morning.”

“A happy ending, at least,” I say, my mind shifting to Aly as I make a mental note to call and update her. After all, a lot’s happened in a short time.

I lean back in the leather seat, then frown as I recall our conversation. “What do you mean by setting up the house? My house?” I turn to face him. “What did you do?”

“Hopefully something you’ll like. Don’t worry. Nothing too invasive. Just one trip to Home Depot and I was good to go.”

I narrow my eyes. He’s teasing me, of course. I’m guessing he either installed an alarm system or he bought me flowers. Either way, I’m good.

As it turns out, though, I’m not good enough. Because when we get home, I realize I’m completely off the mark. There is no alarm system—although he tells me that he did talk to Ryan Hunter about finding someone to install one at cost—and my living and dining areas are entirely lacking in flowers.

“You were just pulling my chain,” I say. “You haven’t done a thing to my house. Unless…” I trail off, looking toward the kitchen. “Are you cooking me dinner?”

“Not exactly,” he says.

“Hmmm.” I’m still trying to get it out of him when he grabs me from behind and spins me around, catching me in the circle of his arms. “Is this the surprise?” I murmur. “Because I like this very much.”

“Kissing you shouldn’t be a surprise,” he says. “It should be an everyday occurrence.”

As if to prove it, he presses me against the wall, cages me in his arms, and kisses me so thoroughly my legs barely manage to keep me upright.

“No, the surprise has more to do with something you saw at the club. Something that intrigued you.”

“Oh.” My body fires simply from the mention of the club, but the truth is that I still haven’t got a clue. Because, frankly, the whole damn place intrigued me. “So are we going back tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I think one day away is a good policy. We’ll see if there’s any incidents tonight or tomorrow. If not, that only helps establish the connection to the club.”

“I get that,” I say. “But you said—”

He cuts me off with a chuckle. “I never said we were going to the club. Doesn’t mean the club can’t come to you.”

Now I’m more confused than ever, but I decide to just give up and let him lead.

“So you trust me,” he says, and I nod. Because I do. I trust this man with all of me. My heart. My body. Hell, I’d even trust him with my life.

“Good,” he says, then looks me up and down. When his eyes meet mine again, I see the change in him. As if he’s taking on a persona and is gathering power around him. There’s command in his posture and control in his eyes, and just looking at him makes me weak with desire and wet with longing.

“Take off your clothes, Natasha.”

We’re still in the entrance hall, but I don’t even hesitate. I step out of my shoes, then strip off my blouse and bra, then my slacks and underwear. Then I stand naked in front of him, not shy this time, but aroused and curious, my entire body humming with anticipation.

“Oh, baby,” he says, his eyes dipping to my nipples, already painfully tight from my arousal. “You want me. More than that, you want whatever I have planned for you.”

“Yes,” I say.

“Even without knowing what it is.”

“Yes.”

He steps in front of me, then takes my hand and presses it over his erection, straining against his jeans. “Do you have any idea how hard that makes me?”

I meet his eyes, then glance down to my hand. “I do now.”

He chuckles, then leads me to the far side of the living room where there is a sliding glass door that looks out over my lush, plant-filled backyard.

The curtains are open, but I know that the odds are slim that someone is looking in. Still, it’s a possibility, and I have to force myself not to ask him to close the drapes.

The thought sends my eyes darting to the track, and that’s when I notice the hardware on the ceiling. Two giant hooks. And when I look down, I see more on the ground.

I look to Riley in confusion.

“The cross,” he said. “You wanted to try it. But not where everyone could see you.”

I gasp as a wave of red hot desire crashes over me, making me so wet I feel the slickness on my thighs. And it’s not just the thought of being bound like that, teased like that. It’s the realization that he remembered—and that he took the time to bring me this experience in a way that stayed inside my comfort zone.

“Riley…”

He presses a finger over my lips, then leads me to the glass door. It takes some machinations, but soon I’m standing with my arms and legs spread, as if forming an X. He has soft cuffs on my ankles and wrists and they are each attached to the hooks with a mechanism that he assures me provides for a quick release. My back is to the glass, and the drapes are open. And though I really, really don’t think anyone is looking, some small part of me has to acknowledge that the possibility adds to the excitement.

When he comes forward, he has a single ostrich feather in his hand. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and when I comply, he strokes my body with the feather, paying special attention to my nipples, my neck, my inner thighs, and my sex.

The teasing is merciless, the sensations as wild as he is relentless, and without thinking about it, I realize that I’m gyrating in my bindings, my hips moving as if that will provide some release.

“Christ, that’s hot, baby. Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

A memory rolls over me. The first time I saw him in the FBI office when I’d come to visit my dad. My certainty that one day he’d be mine. And then later—the morning of that horrible day—when he’d asked me out with those words. Tasha, he’d said. Do you know what you do to me?

I didn’t then, but I do now. It’s fire between us. It’s heat and fire and life. It’s passion.

And right now, it’s driving me crazy.

When I hear the low thrum of the vibrator, I know it’s about to get even crazier, and though I don’t mean to, I actually whimper.

“You are so fucking sexy, Nat,” he says, his palm caressing my ass. And before I even realize I’ve spoken, I say, “Call me Tasha.”

His hand stills. “Are you sure?”

“It’s who I am,” I say. “Please, Riley. Call me Tasha, and make me come.”

“Tasha.” My name is like a prayer. A curse. An incantation, and as if the name has conjured it, he brushes the vibrator lightly over my clit, playing me expertly until I’m bucking and begging, unable to truly escape this brutal, beautiful torment.

He doesn’t, however, give me release. Just takes me to the edge and then pulls me back, so that by the time he releases me from the bindings and carries me to bed, I’m so wet, ready, and desperate that I don’t even let him finish undressing. Instead, I take his hand and tug him onto the bed with me. Then I shove his jeans down just enough to free his beautiful cock, straddle him, and take him so fast and so deep that I not only forget my own name, I swear I glimpse heaven.

He clutches my hips, and I ride him hard, a second orgasm rolling through me when he comes hard and fast inside me. I cry out his name, then collapse, sated and satisfied, beside him.

“Dear God, Tasha.” He’s breathing hard, his voice raspy with passion. “You break me like no other woman.”

I turn in his arms, my own breath ragged as I look deep into his eyes, wanting to see his soul. His secrets. “No,” I say. “Not broken. I think we make each other whole.”