Time passes, seconds…minutes. You can hear a pin drop as Cage finally pulls away from me, his breathing ragged.

I feel as if those pins are prickling over the skin of my bottom, which is tender, still stinging from the burn of the carpet from when he fucked me. I’m also aching between my legs with the intimate, raw sensation of having him inside me again tonight, stretching me to my limits, making my pussy’s muscles tremor in the aftermath.

Cage remains silent as he unbinds my wrists, then my ankles, then reaches up to tug one of my nightdresses down from its place on a rack. The sound of disturbed hangers clatters through the closet as he hands the fabric to me.

As I sit up and hold the nightie in disbelief, I’m burning with what I think is embarrassment…or maybe it’s desperation to have him do to me again what he just did.

He stands, still ignoring me as he zips himself into his trousers. All I can do is gape at him. It’s not because of his tanned, muscled, beautiful torso either. It’s because he’s more withdrawn than ever before, and I don’t get it.

“That was…” I start to say.

“I didn’t intend it to go that far.”

His words are so unfiltered that I flinch. But then I shake my head. “You didn’t go too far. I…I liked it. In case you couldn’t tell.”

“Okay,” he mumbles.

He’s still acting strange, and when he begins to walk away, I stop him by asking, “What’s going on, Cage?”

There’s a hopeful second when I think he might want to tell me, that he’s merely restraining himself and all it’ll take for him to break is one more touch from me.

But then he says, “You’ll want to get some sleep. I’ll be going in to work early tomorrow, and I’ll be texting you with links about conversational topics that Igor Vasiliev might enjoy during dinner. You’ll want to be prepared to talk about them during our next rehearsal.”

And with that he walks out, our odd afterglow thudding to an end.

I sit on the floor, baffled, my body still wishing he were here with every lonely heartbeat. One of the stockings he used to bind me is draped over my wrist, and I pull it tight, as if testing it. The pressure makes me close my eyes as I remember the heights Cage took me to.

But right here, right now? This is a low.

Did he basically just toss me aside because he’s still angry with me about being too much of a girlfriend in the art gallery?

Talk about intimacy issues. What exactly is this man’s deal?

It has to have something to do with those shadows I always see in him, the past he never talks about. But who am I to fault him for that when I won’t even talk about my own awful past?

When I finally clean up and go to bed, it’s another sleepless night. I have to wonder how many of those I’m going to have before I finish this job, pay my debts, wipe away all my secrets, and finally get back to the Karini I used to know.

If she even exists anymore.

* * *

I’m rubbing my eyes with one hand and holding my phone with the other as I come out of my room in the morning. My hair is a rat’s nest, and I’ve pulled a flowing robe over the nightie I put on after the fierce sexual bout with Cage last night. There’s a pleasant ache between my legs, but I look like I’ve been ridden hard and put away wet—which I almost was except for my crashing orgasm.

But why do I care what I look like? Cage said he was going in to work early again, so I don’t give a turd about appearances. Truthfully, I don’t know how much he’d even care as long as I continue to put out the goods for him and show up at that dinner with Mr. Vasiliev tomorrow night, ready to rock that business deal.

As I walk down the long hallway to the kitchen, there’s a delicious bacon-and-egg aroma in the air. Cage probably called in his personal chef to cook me breakfast—no doubt he’ll be regimenting every calorie, my every move until tomorrow night’s big event.

I almost dread tonight’s dress rehearsal, because I wonder what I’ll inadvertently do to screw that up. Then again, if a screw up gets me the kind of earth-shattering sex last night did…

Sick, Karini, I think as I round the corner into the state-of-the-art kitchen. You’re one warped kitty, and you’d better be careful. Think about what happened the last time you were a wild girl…

As a shiver wracks me, I get ready to greet Daphne. Then I stop short, because the chef isn’t in the kitchen.

Cage is there, sliding a plate of food in front of an empty seat at the sun-dappled table by the window. He doesn’t have on his suit jacket or tie, but he looks like a boss, wearing his perfect white button down that’s tucked into his belted, creased gray trousers. His Italian leather shoes are shined, his cufflinks gleaming, his brown hair combed back.

As he looks up to find me, those shadows darken his penetrating eyes, but then he steps back from the table, his gaze clearing as if everything is cool and he never left me hanging last night.

“Karini,” he says, greeting me.

Formal. Distant.

Folks, meet Cage Bryant.

And guess what? I look like a tornado picked me up and spit me out right here in front of him. Great!

But he doesn’t seem to mind that I haven’t put myself together yet, so I stop minding so much myself.

“Good morning.” I nod toward the plate, which has three loaded pieces of toast on it. Nearby there’s a porcelain pot and what I take to be a steaming cup of tea, plus a smaller plate of pineapple and grapes. “Did you cook for me?”

“I had some extra time this morning.”

That means yes, and it’s as if a burner has been turned on in my chest, suffusing me with warmth.

“Avocado toast, three ways,” he says. “One with a poached egg, one with bacon, one with an heirloom tomato.”

I’m confused all over again. Is this the same Cage who acted as if I didn’t exist after he owned my body last night? Is this the one who was supremely uncomfortable when I showed him affection at the art gallery?

Tentatively, I go to take a seat at the marble table and set my phone on my lap, never removing my gaze from him. He stays standing, almost as if he can’t bring himself to give in to this moment entirely.

I realize this just might be his version of an apology. Wow, he sure works in mysterious ways.

“Aren’t you going to stay a while?” I ask. “Eat with me?”

“I’m due at the office.”

I smile a little, unable to resist a bit of teasing. “What were you going to do if I was still asleep when you left? Surely you weren’t just going to leave this masterpiece here to get cold.”

He reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out his phone.

“You were going to text me?” I ask.

When he bites back a smile, I’m not sure whether he’s teasing me right back. Who knows with this enigmatic man?

Just when I think things have gone back to normal between us—whatever normal is—the clouds return to his blue gaze. He slides the phone back into his pocket.

“In addition to the links I’ll be texting you today,” he says, “I’d like you to think about some things Igor will inevitably ask you during dinner tomorrow night.”

He’s not demanding it. Interesting.

“I’ll keep my eye out for your text.” Then I take a bite of the bacon and avocado toast and... Oh my god, this man knows what I like, and not just with sex. This toast is sex.

He continues. “In addition to his asking about how the two of us met—”

“Which you’ll handle,” I say with a full mouth.

“You should be prepared to answer him when he asks you what you want out of life. When I first met him, he was curious about that, and he grilled me about my ambitions and plans for an hour.”

“It’ll be easy to answer. I know exactly what I want.” I grin. “More toast.”

He’s lifting his eyebrow at me, and okay, so I’ve gone too far with the kidding. He’s hiding his stress pretty well, but I don’t want to push him by being too flip.

After I swallow the food, I say, “I’m really not that complicated with my ambitions. First, I want to graduate from college with a 3.8 GPA after my next semester. I also want a steady, stable job as an accountant for a place that—here’s the irony—treats its employees like more than a number. And I want…”

Cage is watching me closely. “Go on.”

A blush takes me over. “I want to find a man who’ll love me and have a family with me.”

As silence descends once again, I push a piece of toast to another spot on my plate.

“Well,” Cage says, “Igor will be happy to hear all of that.”

But how about you? I want to ask. What do you want besides this business deal with Igor and a life screwing one woman after the other?

I look up at Cage to see if I can read an answer in his expression, but he’s already turned his back on me, moving toward the kitchen’s island, clearing a pan and spatula from the counter and taking them to the sink.

“Someday,” he says without emotion, “you’re going to find that man, Karini, and he’s going to be a lucky bastard.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me with that as well as everything he didn’t say.

That man sure as hell won’t be Cage Bryant.

I shouldn’t be surprised, and I force myself to go back to eating. There’s no use paying attention to the way my heart is cracking, because there wasn’t ever supposed to be anything between Cage and me anyway.

I just wish it didn’t feel as if there is something growing and taking root, at least with me.

I’m drinking my tea and staring out the window at the view of Central Park when I hear my phone ding with a text.

Is it Cage? Is there something else he wanted to say to me that he couldn’t say before?

My pulse bounces, and I put down my cup. Then I realize that maybe he’s only texting me those links so I can start studying for the Vasiliev dinner. Whatever the case, I have to see now.

When I access the text, my stomach roils.

When the fuck is the next payment coming?

I drop the phone and fold my arms over my stomach, feeling my world turn upside down, spinning in a sickening, inevitable direction.