Turn around. Leave! Run! Now! Before you get knocked out, dragged into a windowless van, driven across the border, and sold into human bondage somewhere in the dark heart of Honduras.

Ignoring the voice of panic, I tuck the daisy into my ponytail, square my shoulders, and push through the gate into the beer garden. It’s a gorgeous early autumn afternoon in Portland, and throngs of beer-loving hipsters are already sidled up to the fifty-foot bar to my left, lounging at the picnic tables scattered throughout the open space, or tossing horseshoes with one hand while juggling a giant, salted, soft pretzel with the other.

There are far too many witnesses for there to be any risk of getting knocked out or dragged into Discreet Gentleman’s van, and my gut says the man I’ve been emailing for weeks truly is the decent Dom he seems to be.

And if he’s not, I’ve got a black belt in karate, ten years of kickboxing experience, and four years as a self-defense teacher who drills disabling attackers bigger and stronger than I am on a daily basis. If D.G.’s looking for an easy mark, he picked the wrong Curious Cat.

Though, you know what curiosity did to the cat, right?

It killed it, Hailey.

Dead.

The curious cat is now a dead cat.

“Oh, shut up,” I mutter, wishing the inner voice would give it a rest already. She hasn’t been this chatty since I was an angsty twelve-year-old who grew six inches the summer before seventh grade and was certain everyone in my new middle school was talking about what a Sasquatch freak I was every time I slunk down the hall.

That was the last time I had the luxury of being a normal pre-teen with normal problems. Less than a year later, I was diagnosed with leukemia and swapped fighting to fit in for fighting for my life. Once I’d won that fight—two years and three rounds of chemo later—I’d learned not to sweat the small stuff.

And really, even though experimenting with sexual submission sounds kinky and a little scary, it’s still decidedly in the “small stuff” category.

If I decide I don’t like what I learn from Discreet Gentleman, then I can thank him for his time and walk away. That’s it. No one dies or suffers from severe trauma or has to deal with chronic mental or emotional pain.

And then I’ll finally know if I can be what Will needs me to be.

If the submissive shoe fits, I can go back to the man I love prepared to truly be the woman of his dreams. And if I can’t, I’ll be forced to admit that reconciliation is impossible, finish grieving the good thing I’ve lost, stop obsessing about my ex-boyfriend, and move on.

Of course, if the latter happens, it will be a death of sorts. My dreams of a life shared with my best friend will die. And my belief that love can conquer all—as long as you’re willing to fight hard enough—will take a fatal beating.

But that’s why I’m here tonight. To fight. To fight for Will and for myself and for the future I still, after nearly a year apart, can’t imagine without him.

I amble around the perimeter of the garden, boots crunching in the pea gravel as I discreetly scan the crowd. There are a number of skinny college boys near the horseshoes working on adding a beer belly to their lanky frames, but none of them are wearing a watch—let alone two—and my Discreet Gentleman said that he was thirty-one. Though, of course, he could be lying. My sister Sabrina insists men live to pathologically lie on dating apps and via email—especially about things like age, being employed, and how much hair they’ve got left.

Discreet could be in his late thirties or even his forties for all I know.

I’ve never dated anyone that much older—I’ve never dated anyone but Will; a few low-key relationships my senior year of high school hardly count—but even if Discreet is older than he claimed, I’m not worried about the age difference. This isn’t a date, after all. It’s a meeting between a student and a professor. Yes, Discreet got a little flirty in his messages once or twice, but on the whole, he truly seemed to respect the fact that I’m on a hunt for knowledge, not experience.

If I decide I’m ready to experience any of the things I learn about, I only want to experience them with Will. He’s the only man I’ve ever been with and the only one I want to be with.

But I have to be sure I can be what he needs.

I’ll never forget the way he sounded the night I overheard him talking to that stranger in the slick gray suit, the one who looked far too refined to be drinking beer at a Portland Badger’s season opener party…

---

“Are you sure marriage is the right choice, Will?” The man’s voice is low, but his words carry to where I’m tucked into an alcove around the corner from where he and Will stand at the edge of the rooftop deck, looking out at the city. I’d sought shelter here when a cool breeze picked up a few minutes ago, and now I’m stuck—torn between the urge to reveal myself, and the temptation to eavesdrop on this unexpected conversation.

“She seems like a lovely girl,” the man continues, “but you were never a dabbler. Dominance is part of who you are. I know you’ve taken a break from the scene, but are you really ready to make a permanent departure? To put that part of yourself on the shelf for good?”

“I love her, Sterling,” Will says without hesitation, making my throat tight.

I love him, too. So much.

I’ve done a lot of things I’m proud of in my life—beating cancer, beating the devastating anxiety that came after, finishing college in three years, and starting my own business—but what I’ve built with Will is the thing that means the most to me. We work hard and play hard at this love, each of us committed to making our relationship more beautiful and sexy and fun with every passing day.

There is no doubt in my mind that we’re meant to be, but I can’t deny that the “Dominance” thing this Sterling person is talking about is coming out of left field for me. Since when is Will into that?

And what is that really? I mean, I saw the trailers for those kinky movies that came out a few years ago, but I was never curious enough to buy a ticket. I’ve never been intrigued by whips or chains or the idea of calling a man “sir” while we were naked. I’m way too self-sufficient for that.

“I know you do,” Sterling says. “And she clearly adores you. But is it going to work until death do you part if you’re not honest with her? If you deny something you need in order to feel complete?”

Will is quiet for a long moment.

I lean forward, ears straining as my pulse speeds faster.

“I don’t know, but I…” He sighs, a weary, resigned sound that makes a sour taste fill my mouth. “But I can’t go there with Hailey. She was a virgin when we got together, and she’s completely inexperienced in anything but the most vanilla stuff in the bedroom.”

My cheeks heat as irritation and embarrassment rush through my chest. I can’t believe Will’s talking about our sex life with a stranger!

Worse, I can’t believe he considers our lovemaking “vanilla.” I’ve always thought we had an amazing sex life—hot and heavy, but tender and connected at the same time. I’ve always treasured the time we spend in bed together and felt so lucky that my first lover was going to be my last.

Now, I feel like a naïve, ridiculous little girl—which I guess is what I deserve for eavesdropping. But now I’m trapped. I can’t make a run for it without Will knowing that I was spying on him and realizing exactly why I’m upset.

“Then maybe you simply need to take the lead,” Sterling says. “She might be more open to experimentation than you think.”

My nose wrinkles and my jaw clenches as I fight the urge to tell this stranger to kindly stop talking about my sex life, but my anger fades as Will responds.

“No. She isn’t submissive, Sterling. Not even a little bit. She’s a sweetheart, but she’s also a powerhouse, one of the toughest, most fearless people I’ve ever met. And I love that about her. I don’t want her to change, so…” He trails off, and when he speaks again, he sounds so defeated it makes the backs of my eyes sting. “So I have to let the rest of it go, no matter how much I miss it sometimes.”

My ribs lock down around my heart, and its all I can do not to burst into tears.

It’s all a lie. My perfect love isn’t so perfect, after all, and the man I adore above all else isn’t happy in my bed.

A part of me insists that he didn’t say he was unhappy—he said he had to let some things go—but the hurt swelling inside me is bigger than the voice of reason. The hurt and the shame hound me as I sneak back into the main part of the restaurant and rejoin the party. Their voices grow louder and louder as I force myself to smile and chat and dance with Will to a slow song, then louder still as he pulls me back outside and drops down onto one knee.

And even though his eyes are shining with love and hope, all I can see when I look into them is the reflection of a silly little girl who isn’t enough for the man she loves so much it hurts.

I can’t see the future anymore. I can’t see that happy present I’ve taken for granted for so long.

All that’s left is the lie and the knowledge of how much I’ve let Will down.

And so I run.

I run, and I keep running for a long, long time.

By the time I finally stop running from the pain—stop numbing it with too much exercise, too many long hours at work, too many late nights spent reading dark, dreary suspense novels until my eyes ache—it’s been six months and Will has stopped calling and texting. He doesn’t swing by the gym we co-own, he lets his financial advisor communicate the latest news on budgets and insurance for our business, and I realize that he’s well and truly gone.

And that I’m well and truly not over him.

Not even a little bit.

And so I open up my laptop and type “Dominance and submission” into the search engine. Five months—and a crap load of reading later—I place my personal ad.

---

And now I’m here, scanning a bar for a man wearing two watches on his left arm, feeling increasingly anxious with every passing second.

And increasingly…scrutinized.

The skin at the back of my neck prickles, and the hair on my arms lifts. That place between my shoulders I can never quite reach begins to itch, and my fingers flutter anxiously at my sides. Someone is watching me—I can feel it. My Discreet Gentleman is here, concealed somewhere in the crowd.

No sooner has the thought zipped through my head than a deep, sexy voice behind me says, “Curious Cat, I presume?”

My throat locks, and my eyes go wide. That voice isn’t just sexy as hell—it’s also familiar. Insanely familiar.

But surely it can’t be…

What are the odds?

A thousand to one?

A million?

But when I turn and look up at the man standing in the shadows at the end of the bar, where a metallic awning provides cover from the setting sun, I find Will’s familiar hazel eyes staring down into mine, his familiar sandy-brown hair falling over his forehead on one side, his familiar lips curved in a sexy smirk, his familiar broad shoulders straining the fabric of his soft gray T-shirt.

My heart skips a beat, but before I can speak, he lifts his left arm—showcasing the two watches encircling his wrist, eliminating the last shred of doubt. “I’m sure this isn’t what you expected. It isn’t what I expected, either.”

I swallow hard and nod, still too stunned to make a meaningful contribution to the conversation.

“I confess I’m not thrilled to learn that you’re placing personal ads in the Portland Alternative,” he continues. “Especially not ads of this nature. I almost left when I saw the daisy in your hair. I was halfway across the parking lot to my truck when I turned around.” He pauses, holding my gaze as he slides his hands into the pockets of his perfectly pressed black slacks. “Do you know why I turned around?”

I shake my head slightly, suffering from the worst case of cat-got-your-tongue-itis in recent memory.

Will steps closer, sending his spice, soap, and wood-smoke scent swirling through my head, making my mouth water. He must have come straight from practice. His hair is still damp, his square jaw is shaven, and the clean smell of his skin summons a sharp curl of arousal low in my body.

All I want to do is lean into him, wrap my arms around his waist, and drag the tip of my tongue up his neck until his pulse beats faster. I want to nip his jaw with my teeth as he palms my bottom in his hands, squeezing my ass as he draws me close to where he’s hard for me. I want him to pull me into the bathroom and take me against the wall—the way we did that summer in Vancouver when we were too early to check into our hotel room and couldn’t wait two more hours to be naked and as close as two people can get.

But all of those things—things I once thought were sexy and a little wild—are child’s play to Will.

The knowledge helps me stand my ground as he tips his face closer to mine and says in a husky voice, “Because if anyone is going to teach you about these things, it’s going to be me. Not a creep you hook up with via a personal ad, and not some stranger who won’t be satisfied with talk, no matter how many times he’ll assure you he doesn’t want you down on your knees ready to suck his cock.”

I pull in a sharp breath, but when Will leans even closer—so close his lips brush my ear when he speaks again—I stand my ground.

“So I will teach you what you want to know,” he continues softly, “help you decide if you want to submit to this new man in your life, on one condition. You don’t speak his name, you don’t mention what he does for a living, you don’t do anything that might make it possible for me to figure out this dickweed’s identity. Because if I find out who he is, I will be tempted to beat the shit out of him, Hailey, and I know you don’t support unprovoked physical violence.”

Pressing my lips together, I close my eyes for a moment, fighting to think clearly through the arousal buzzing through my veins. There is no other man—there’s only Will, there will only ever be Will—but I can’t tell him that. Not now, not until I know for sure that I can be that girl, the one ready to get down on her knees for him and enjoy submitting to her man.

This has to be as authentic for me as it is for him or it’s never going to work. And until I know for sure, I have to stand behind the shield of my lie, for both our sakes.

So I simply nod my agreement, though I can’t resist asking the question that’s been plaguing me since that overheard conversation last September, “Why didn’t you tell me? About this part of you?”

He sighs, and some of the tension eases from his broad shoulders. “Good question. But it’s not really relevant now, is it?”

Yes, it is, Will. It’s completely relevant because I’m doing this for you. I want to be what you need me to be, and I could have tried so much sooner if you’d only been honest with me.

But I can’t say those things, so I give a noncommittal roll of my shoulder. “I guess not.”

“First lesson tomorrow night,” he says, his voice harder than it was before. “I’ll come over to your place after the game. Somewhere between eight and ten o’clock, depending on overtime.”

“All right, sounds good,” I say, but it doesn’t sound good. It sounds terrifying and dangerous and like something that could get out of control very quickly.

“See you then, Curious.” He leans in, pressing a whisper-soft kiss to my forehead that sends a wave of longing rushing through me, so sharp and sudden it nearly brings me to my knees.

I remain upright, but it takes all my strength to keep my legs steady and my face from crumpling as Will steps back, salutes me with his two-watch arm, and turns to walk away.

The man I love is back in my life so much sooner than I expected.

I’m not ready, not even close, but I’ve learned that the universe doesn’t always wait until you’re ready to send the next obstacle crashing through your door. I’ve also learned that obstacles aren’t always bad things. Sometimes they’re necessary challenges, mountains you have to climb in order to prove to yourself that you’re ready to tackle anything that stands in your way.

As I sidle up to the bar and order a Grapefruit Hefeweizen to calm my nerves, I send out a silent prayer that I’m up to the challenge of Lesson One and everything that might come after.