It’s New Year's Eve. I haven't heard from Daniel in a couple of days, and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or whether I’m expecting too much. My introduction into genuine bondage down in his basement playroom in his secret house left me tingling for an entire day. He dropped me off at the hotel like I asked, but I didn't really have any errands to run. I just didn't want him taking me to my apartment. I didn't want him to see where I lived. Didn't want him to realize that I wasn't his type after all.

I wasn't embarrassed, as I like my apartment, but compared to that house of his? It’s like comparing peanut butter to caviar. Face it. I’m a simple girl. Not typically impressed by wealth or material things, I felt myself rendered somewhat speechless while Daniel gave me a tour of his home. Well, not really his home, because I do believe he spends most of the time in his penthouse apartment downtown.

Still, I’ve crushed on the man for such a long time. Being given a glimpse into his world, aboveground and then to his basement playroom, gave me a deeper glimpse into this person that I’ve admired secretly and from afar for so long. I admire and respect him as a publisher, but until a couple of days ago, I didn’t even imagine the various facets of who Daniel Stone really, truly is.

I like him even more for it. Dammit, I can't allow myself to get any more emotionally involved with him than I already am, and that’s entirely one-sided as it is. I have to know where to draw the line between the fantasy I developed within the pages of my manuscript to the reality of life.

"Did you hear me, Ashley?"

I’m jolted from my reverie, the steady beat of the party music once again pounding inside my brain. I’m at Tory's, at her annual New Year's Eve party. It’s crowded, almost claustrophobic in her packed apartment. Does she really know all these people? It seems like it. While I’m not much for partying, I need a distraction. Usually, I spend New Year's Eve alone, preferring to watch the shows on TV, and sometimes even to go to bed before the ball drops. This year, no. I need to be surrounded by people, by the music, the dancing, and yes, even some harmless flirting.

I know I’m allowing myself to get too wrapped up in Daniel. The past couple of days, I’ve barely gone ten minutes without thinking of him. I can't do that. Not only is it not part of our "deal", but I can't allow myself to go falling in love with him. It would be so incredibly easy. I’ve admired him for so long, secretly created this fantasy life with him, that after the basement, those feelings burgeoned even deeper. Without even trying, he hooked me. I want to continue exploring his world, to spend time with him, but I can't get clingy. If I do, I don't doubt for a moment that he’ll cut me loose.

"Ashley!"

"What?" I finally reply.

"Here comes Stewart!" Tory says, pointing.

I see Stewart enter the apartment, doing his impersonation of John Travolta in Grease. It used to be funny, but now it’s just embarrassing. He looks like he's already had a few. His gaze sweeping the crowded room, he finally sees me, lifts a hand, and begins pushing his way through the crowd in my direction.

I smile politely as he approaches, wraps his arms around me, and plants a wet kiss on my lips. His breath smells of beer and whiskey. I responds only slightly, thinking that at some point, I have to break this thing off with him. It isn't going anywhere. Not where I want to go, anyway. I know he wants a more serious relationship, but the thought of spending a life with Stewart is just… sad.

At some point, I need to make it clear to him that not only am I not interested in marriage, but we aren't in an exclusive relationship either. He has no idea how I feel about Daniel, and I’m not about to tell him.

It’s impossible not to compare the two now. Different as night and day, not only in the sex department, but in persona. Stewart is a nice guy. He really is. There’s only one way I can think to put it. Stewart is vanilla, and I want Rocky Road. Stewart is plain and boring; at least that's how I feel at this point in my life. I want texture, adventure, and never knowing when I’ll bite into a marshmallow or a nut, or just enjoy the silky smoothness and flavor of smooth chocolate.

I sigh. I don't want to hurt Stewart, but I also feel that stringing him along isn't fair to him nor myself. But not right now. I can't tell him tonight. The countdown has started. Less than two minutes until midnight. At the minute mark, Tory turns off the music.

"Watch the clock, everyone!"

Everyone in the room turns and begins to count down. I join in, feigning exuberant joy over a new year, Stewart beside me. One arm draped over my shoulder, his other hand reaches for mine. He squeezes, but I don't squeeze back.

Thirty seconds until the new year. A new year. New adventures. New hopes and dreams. A fresh start. Letting go of the baggage, I can think of a million ways to express how I feel at this moment, but all I can do is watch the second hand count down on the clock. I feel Stewart's eyes on me, but I refuse to look at him, pretending that I’m enraptured by that second hand, slowly clicking down to the ten-second mark.

The room bursts with excitement as everyone begins to count down the last ten seconds of the old year, preparing to ring in the new. At the stroke of midnight, everyone cheers, laughs, and claps. Stewart turns me toward him and wraps me in his arms, kissing me. I kiss him back, but my heart just isn't in it.

"Come home with me," he says, practically having to shout to be heard over the revelry. "Let's ring in the new year together!"

I shake my head and decline. "I'm sorry, Stewart, but not tonight." I should tell him the truth, but I can't, not right now. Instead, I lie. "I promised my dad I'd drop by."

"I'll go with you—"

"Thanks, Stewart, but no. I'm just going to stay for a minute, and then I'm going to go home and crash. I'm exhausted."

I see his disappointment, but I stick to my guns. I have to start breaking away, and the longer I draw this out, the worse it will be for both of us.