It’s the champagne talking, I know it.

Also, Rhys’s voice. Definitely that voice. It’s even more lusciously rich than this chocolate my tongue is playing around with.

Also, this daring dress, which I’ve noticed still has surreptitious glances darting my way.

Also, the champagne.

It’s all so thrilling and new and exciting that it has me giddy.

I remember when I first moved to New York, suitcases and boxes filled with the remnants of my life back in Missouri, and Bluett, which was in some ways even more stifling. I had wandered the city and somehow found myself staring at the front entrance of a Victoria’s Secret (everyone back home would be horrified!). I’d walked in (scandalous!) and bought a pair of shorts that day (the horror!). Flanders females did not wear shorts. They didn’t even wear dresses or skirts that fell above the knee. But these were pajama shorts, like the label said. Only to be worn in bed. Perfectly safe. Still, a far cry from the ankle-length nightgowns I grew up wearing.

That day, my brain had forced me to scan right past the black, lacy things and brightly-colored, cotton things and sparkly, rhinestone-covered things, not daring to focus on them for too long. But my eyes couldn’t help themselves. Everything was in shapes I couldn’t quite work out in my brain. How in the world would they even fit, at least in any comfortable way? Two months later I’d walked right back into that very same store with its sassy decor and pretty colors and glittery rhinestones and PINK! everywhere. And I’d bought one of those black lacy things and one of those technicolor cotton things and one of those sparkly, rhinestone-covered things. And I’d loved all of them, or at least the secretively sinful way they felt underneath my perfectly modest clothes.

Being with Rhys has had my mind revisiting our initial meeting all throughout dinner. The pajama shorts, which had suddenly become perfectly acceptable to wear when knocking on strange men’s doors. The way Rhys’s eyes had scanned everything those only-for-bed shorts had revealed. The way he so confidently met me at the door completely naked. The way I’d felt when I’d dabbled in my own bit of flashing before the windows.

Now, I want a taste of something more sinful.

“You’re drunk,” Rhys says with a smirk, sipping his champagne and shaking his head with amusement.

“No, just loosened up,” I retort. I know I would have never suggested such a thing without this buzz of champagne bubbles dancing around in my head.

“In other words, drunk,” he says, still with the smirk on his lips.

“I’ve already done it, you know,” I confess.

He raises one eyebrow in surprise. “Really?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” I say nodding. “Last weekend. I mean, it was only in the dark and I kept my shorts on.”

“That doesn’t count,” he scoffs.

“It does!”

He laughs. “Okay, maybe in your case I’ll count it as…pre-school.”

“So what do I have to do to graduate?” I tease, leaning in on my elbows with a smile.

He laughs again and shakes his head in disbelief. “Convince me that you deserve to.”

“Need I remind you that it’s my birthday? You’re the one who was so hot to trot to get me to do it last weekend. Now that I want to try it, you’re getting cold feet?”

He brings the glass down to consider me, a touch of solemnity muting his amusement. “Ever heard the phrase, be careful what you wish for?”

I lean in with a silly grin. “Does this mean you’re gonna make my birthday wish come true?”

“I should, just to teach you a lesson,” he says, the smirk back on his face as he picks up his champagne glass again.

“So teach me, professor,” I taunt.

He swallows and considers me for a long moment before a grin appears again. “You know what? I think I actually might.”

My heart pounds a bit faster. I’m not sure if it’s from excitement or sudden reconsideration. I pick up the glass of champagne to drown those doubts back into submission.

“Okay then,” I challenge, feeling my confidence come roaring back.

Rhys laughs and finishes his champagne. “I was going to take you to a nightclub. I thought that would be daring enough for you. But this? This should be much more…interesting.”

That’s one word for it.

Not a word is spoken on the taxi ride to the Sexton Hotel. That doesn’t mean we ride in stoic silence. There are a hundred meaningful looks between Rhys and me, interspersed with giggles on my part and grins or shakes of the head on his.

His arm is firmly around my waist, guiding me into the lobby once we arrive. The mixture of champagne and these heels—how the hell does Shiloh manage to walk in these things?—would otherwise have me falling face first on the floor.

“Rhys—er, Mr. Connors,” says the man at the reception desk, who seems to know him personally. He casts a wary, but amused, look my way.

“I’ll take my usual room,” he says.

My brow wrinkles as I try to wrap my head around that one. How often is he at this hotel? At $1100 a night, to boot! Somewhere in the back of my mind I think about how lucrative his writing must be. I’ll definitely have to pick his brain…once mine is a bit less fuzzy.

The credit card and key exchange happens and Rhys guides me to the elevators. Once we’re in the car, the doors slowly closing on us, I feel a bit of sobriety come back to my system.

“Just so you know, I’m not having sex with you,” I announce.

Rhys laughs, a bit too heartily, which fills me with indignation. “Oh Prynne, I’m definitely not fucking you tonight.”

“Why not?” I ask stupidly. Good grief, I seriously need to stop poking the dog. What I’m doing is bad enough, I certainly don’t need to start leading him down this road.

He looks down at me with one eyebrow raised. “Just how much trouble are you trying to get me into?”

“None,” I say with a frown.

He pulls me in closer, bending his head down so that his lips glance across the edge of my ear. “Baby steps, my dear.”

I giggle, mostly at the feel of his lips, which send a shiver down my spine. His voice, even in a whisper, creates another sensation in me and I realize I’m feeling more than a little amorous.

The doors open and I blink in surprise, staring at them as though they are the gates to hell. I think about what I’m doing with a sudden burst of lucidity.

“Change your mind?” Rhys asks, only half-joking.

I shake my head in fierce denial. It’s terrifying and oh so wrong. But I’m more certain than ever. I lead the charge, grabbing his hand and strutting out of the car before the doors close on us.

I hear Rhys chuckle behind me before he takes the lead once again to guide the way. When we get to the last door, he taps the keycard to the pad and opens it wide for me.

“After you,” he says with a teasing smirk.

The curtains are already open, giving me a vivid preview of what awaits me beyond those windows. My body is frozen in place, but I’m filled with a sudden heat. It has my insides simmering, even as my nipples go frigid.

“You can always change your mind.”

I turn to face Rhys who is staring hard at me with a serious look on his face. I can see it all over his face, if I wanted to, he’d close the door and take me right back down to the lobby to cancel the room for the night.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. I walk in before he can try to persuade me to rethink what I’m doing.

I feel my breath with every step I take, until I’m almost breathless by the time I reach the window. After a moment, I hear Rhys’s steps approach me from behind. The door closes, turning the darkened room pitch-black.

I press my palms against the glass, steadying myself. Rhys’s body comes up behind me and instead of the surprise and unease I should feel, a sense of reassurance and comfort fills me. Every part of him is larger than me, so he forms a perfect shield, firm and hard and solid behind me. I settle back into him and his hands slide up my arms until his palms rest atop mine on the glass.

“This is your audience, Prynne. Eight million people outside that window, waiting to see what you have to offer.”

I exhale as a sharp feeling of pleasure seizes my body.

His chest vibrates against me as he chuckles. “Still want to do this?”

I nod against him, feeling my hair slide up and down his chest. “Yes,” I breathe.

“Don’t worry, we’ll go slow,” he murmurs above me, his tone serious again. “Just follow my lead.”

I nod once again, happy to have him take charge. Teach me a lesson, as he so teasingly put it back at the restaurant.

“Let’s start like this, with the lights off.”

I nod once again, too breathless to vocalize a response. The lights of the city taunt me, each tiny, glowing dot a prospective observer. My eyes drop down to the streets below us, wondering what piercing eyes are squinting up to this particular window, waiting for the show to happen.

Rhys’s hands slide back down my arms and across my back. I press mine even harder into the glass. When I feel his fingers grip the pull to my zipper and begin sliding it down my side, I instinctively curl my fingers into the window, seeking some purchase. They hopelessly slide across the hard, unforgiving surface, as though it’s also teaching me a lesson.

Be careful what you wish for.

The cool air of the room seeps into the opening that the loosened zipper leaves in its wake, causing goosebumps to rise on the exposed skin.

“Your turn,” Rhys whispers, once the zipper is completely open.

The dress that once clung to my skin like a glove now hangs by a single shoulder strap. All I have to do is lower my arms and give it one little flick. My hands press harder into the glass which is no longer cool underneath my palms. Rhys is patient behind me, his breath steady and calm.

I close my eyes and release my hold on the window, my skin peeling away like a vinyl sticker. As it turns out, the flick is unnecessary. That single shoulder strap slides down on its own as careless and laconic as a leaf idly floating down a lazy river. The dress slithers down my body, turning into a black puddle around my heels.

“Oh!” I exclaim in a breath that’s so high pitched, it’s almost silent.

My body isn’t quite as nonchalant about the ordeal as my dress was. A hard shudder runs through me, turning my legs to jelly. Ironically enough, it’s the heels that keep me in place. My stomach clenches, forcing my spine to straighten. My nipples are so painfully hard it feels like someone is twisting them.

When the initial shock wears off, I wait for the lightning to strike. Instead, I’m met with silence. Just that familiar pattern of white lights outside, twinkling on as always, completely unconcerned about this daring adventure of Prynne Dawson.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Rhys says behind me. I can hear the laughter in his voice.

My only response is a small smile I know he can’t see. It really isn’t so bad, especially since I’m still cloaked in the darkness surrounding us. Even Rhys can only see a hint of my bare shoulders and upper back in this minimal light.

“Now for the fun part,” he says, this time with a hint of wickedness in his voice.

I feel his absence and quickly spin my head to see what he’s going to do, even though I already know what’s coming. He’s just a shadow in the dark, moving like a predator toward the floor lamp by the table.

“Wait!” I exclaim.

I’m just met with a soft chuckle in the dark.

“Rhys!”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything until you’re ready.”

I feel my body relax. Why am I being so timid about this? It is what I wanted after all. I’m Prynne Dawson, a.k.a. Faith Flanders, the daring one of the family. The only one to break free. The one who didn’t hesitate when it came to swinging off that tire to cannonball right into the lake. The one who stupidly stuck her hand into that beehive, like Winnie the Pooh, on a dare from her younger brother when she was only eight years old. The one who cut all ties and moved to New York. The one who didn’t play it safe by staying in Missouri, getting engaged at nineteen, getting married as soon as my fiancé graduated college, getting pregnant right before my twenty-fourth birthday.

“I’m ready,” I say without thinking.