Among the long and varied list of reasons Cassandra Carmichael is the biblical idea of Satan brought to life and given a vagina, she made me do terrible things when we were together—like watch The Bachelor with her.

My initial response was a sensible “fuck no,” but within a couple episodes (and with enough alcohol), I warmed to the parade of bikini-clad dipshits. The show itself was human carnage, just an absolute train wreck—I assume that’s why Cassandra liked it. Watching the character dynamics got boring fast—it was too easy to predict who would be sent home, even taking into account the fact that some of it was obviously scripted and decided by producers who needed to consider ratings.

One thing I found surprising, though, was how none of the women ever seemed to pick up on the fact that becoming a tattler gets you sent home. It didn’t matter if that season’s evil bitch killed your dog and fucked your father, telling the uncaring bachelor asshole how evil she was would definitely result in someone going home—but always you, never her.

People always shoot the messenger. They like positivity and fun when they’re trying to fall in love, not the person who tells them their favorite eye candy is made of pure evil. Doesn’t matter if it’s the truth—the truth is irrelevant. It’s all about the experience. Given the right environment, the right level of arousal (even if it has nothing to do with the man, and is more because they’re bungee jumping off a fucking bridge somewhere), any single one of the women on these shows can be so convinced they love this man they’ve spent approximately five hours with, that they will blubber all over the place when he sends them home.

Sure, some of them are faking, but I’ve seduced enough real women to know the same principles apply to women who aren’t trying to score their own reality show.

When I left Sin’s house last night, my initial reaction was that I wanted to take his ass down. I wanted to dredge up his past and throw it right in Laurel’s face so she’d see that he’s not whatever he has convinced her he is, and she would run back to my bed.

That would not have worked. I realized it by the time I got home. Once I got my kneejerk reactions in check, I ditched that idea and set about planning something much better. I took into account Laurel’s interests. I don’t know a lot of them, but I was able to cobble together a pretty nice day with what I do know—and over the course of it, I plan to learn more.

As far as sabotaging Sin, I’ll have to be more under-handed in that regard. If it even comes to that. I seduced Laurel once, and it was effortless. Granted, I had no competition then, but I’m not afraid of a little competition. Sin isn’t even charming, so if she goes for my shtick, he should be easy to shake. Personality-wise, Sin and I are nothing alike. I like to have fun, and he doesn’t. If Laurel is drawn to me, simply putting myself back on the table and showing her I’m capable of not being an asshole should do the trick.

If not, I’ll break out some dirtier tricks. I’ll leak information about him to her without getting my own hands dirty. I’ve already started greasing those wheels just in case, but I don’t think I’ll need to. I’m pretty confident in my own ability to win Laurel back.

Step one is already done; I sent Sin out early and made sure he’s busy as hell all day long. That leaves Laurel home alone and without anything to do when I show up on her doorstep this morning.

At least, that was the idea. I’m standing here like an asshole after knocking for a third time, and she still has not come to the door. I haven’t had to pick a lock in quite some time, and Sin’s door is more secure than mine, so this is going to be a hassle. I think back to last night and recall the door from inside. It has three locks, and the deadbolt he has on this door is a real fucking headache. Shit, that’s a lot of work. I don’t want to do all that.

I wait one more minute, then I trip the lock on his gate and walk around to the back door. That one has reinforced glass and a bar lock, but I’ll be able to see into the house and see if Laurel is creeping around, trying to hide from me. She has to be in there; maybe she just doesn’t want to answer the door.

Sure enough, when I get to the back door, I can see straight into the kitchen, where Laurel’s little ass is standing, peeking through the doorway at the front door. Smirking, I tap on the glass and watch as she jumps out of her skin and turns around to look at me.

I cock an expectant eyebrow, and I can see her face flush from here.

There are four steps from the kitchen down to the room where the back door is. Laurel approaches the glass, but then she looks at the barred lock like she’s not completely sure how to work it.

Pointing to the front door, I tell her, “I’m going to go back around front. Open the damn door this time.”

When I get to the front door, she already has it open. That seems all fine and good until I’m about to say hello and the alarm starts squealing.

Ah, fuck. Gently moving Laurel out of the way, I head up the stairs toward the keypad mounted on the living room wall. “Do you know the alarm code?” I ask her.

“Definitely not,” she answers, unhelpfully.

Neither do I, but I’m down to seconds before this thing sends an alert to Sin. I think I get three tries. That’s fine. I only have two guesses.

I push in the first—Paula’s birthday.

Nope.

Fuck, what was Ellie’s birthday? I close my eyes, picturing the party. Summer. July? Or was it June? Well, I have two tries left, so I try July first, but no luck. I try again with June.

Nope.

Fuck. I thought for sure it would be one of those. Then again, that’s probably why it isn’t.

“Well, this is going a little differently than I expected,” I tell Laurel.

Now that I look at her, I can’t help noticing she is much more alarmed than I expect. Sure, it’s annoying that the alarm is going off, but her sheer panic seems an overreaction. “Is this going to notify Sin?” she demands. “He’ll think I’m trying to leave. Text him and tell him you’re here.”

She no more than gets that out and her phone starts ringing. Laurel looks around frantically like she doesn’t know where to find it. The sound is coming from the kitchen, which she realizes and runs in there. She grabs it and quickly taps the screen.

“Sin?” Her stress seems to ease at the sound of his voice. That’s annoying. As she goes on, her tone softens in the way that a woman’s does when she’s talking to the man she’s involved with, and it aggravates the fuck out of me. “Hi. No, everything is fine; I only opened the door because Rafe is here. I…” Her gaze flits to me, somewhat apologetic, but she goes on anyway. “I didn’t answer at first, but he saw me through the back door. I was just doing laundry, definitely not trying to leave the house.” She pauses again. “I’m not sure, hang on.”

Now I get her attention back as she asks what I’m doing here. I hold out my hand to take the phone, but she doesn’t hand it over. “Laurel, give me the phone.”

She wrinkles her nose up at me, but mutters, “Rafe wants to talk to you,” into the phone and hands it over, however reluctantly.

“You changed your alarm code,” I say.

“No shit,” Sin answers. “What are you doing at my house?”

“I came to see Laurel. I figured you were busy today, might as well see if she wanted to get out of the house, grab some lunch.”

His tone is dry and knowing. “Aren’t you thoughtful?”

“Yes, well, I didn’t realize you had her on lockdown over here,” I remark, watching Laurel’s face. Her expression shutters in a weird way and my eyes narrow. What is that all about? To Sin, I go on, “Is Laurel your guest, or your prisoner?”

With a low chuckle, he taunts, “She’s the warm, wet hole I sink my dick in before I go to sleep each night. Feel free to ask if stays because she likes my cock, or because I won’t let her leave. Go ahead, I’ll wait.”

I barely bite back the “fuck you” I’d love to deliver. Keeping my tone pleasant and my face clear for Laurel’s sake, I say, “Great. Then you won’t mind if I take Laurel out today while you’re working.”

“Be my guest,” he replies.

“Wonderful. Want to help me turn this fucking alarm off?”

“Give the phone to Laurel. I’ll give her the code.”

I don’t bother responding. He’d like that too much. Instead, I hand the phone back to Laurel and despise the conciliatory tone of her voice as she starts talking to him again. As she asks if he’s sure it’s okay if she goes with me, like he’s her fucking boss.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I would fucking love that—for me. If her submissive side came out for me. Not Sin. I really want to punch Sin in the face, but since the cocky bastard just gave Laurel permission to go out with me, I shut off my annoyance at him and refocus my attention on Laurel. I already wanted to take her out and give her a nice day, but now I want to give her an even nicer fucking day. Just to piss Sin off.

Well, you know, and so Laurel enjoys herself, but if I’m being honest, right now I’m eyeing Laurel more like a prize. I want to rub it in Sin’s face at the end of all this when she’s back on my arm and he has to watch her with me, the way I have to watch her with him now.

Sin tells her how to disarm the alarm and talks to her for another couple minutes, probably just to annoy me. Once Laurel finishes telling Sin she’ll see him later, she hangs up and turns back to face me.

Although she appears to lack confidence in her words, she says, “I guess Sin is okay with it.”

“Wonderful,” I say, dryly.

She flashes me a smile. “Be nice.”

“I’m being nice,” I insist, my gaze raking over the thin pink robe wrapped around her body. “That what you’re wearing?”

Seeming to just realize she’s barely dressed, Laurel pulls the satin closer to her body. “I should probably put clothes on, huh? Where are we going? I need to know what to wear.”

Instead of answering her, I head upstairs to her bedroom.

“Um, where are you going?” she asks, trailing behind me.

“To pick out an outfit for you to wear,” I say, simply.

“You’re picking out my clothes?” she demands.

“Yes, I am,” I reply.

I wait for her objections—which I’ll ignore—but she just frowns at me as I open the closet and turn on the light.

“Do you need to shower before we leave?” I ask.

“No. I showered after Sin left this morning.”

I flip through a few hangers, disregarding the pants, briefly considering the dresses. A white sleeveless knit sweater catches my eye. I drape the hanger over my arm and look for a matching skirt. A pretty cream-colored skirt with a metallic design seems to work, so I grab it and hand both to Laurel.

“These fit you?” I ask, indicating the heels lined up on the floor.

“They do, but I’m kind of married to the white boots Sin gave me.”

I shake my head, squatting down and grabbing a pair of nude heels with a bunch of straps that will look good around her dainty ankles. “Here you go.”

Laurel huffs at me, but she hauls her little ass into the bathroom to change anyway.

Finally, something is easy. I turn off the closet light and close the door, but then I find my gaze drawn to the bed she and Sin clearly slept in last night. Sin doesn’t have a housekeeper, and apparently Laurel doesn’t make beds, because the sheets are wrinkled, the blankets a tangled mess. Sin’s words about sinking his dick inside Laurel come back to haunt me. It’s impossible not to envision her in that bed with her legs spread, Sin thrusting between them.

Fuck, I hate that. I hate that he’s fucking her. I tell myself it won’t be much longer, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. For all Laurel—and the state of this fucking bed—tells me she isn’t mine, it doesn’t feel that way to me. I remember her soft skin snuggled against my side as we lay naked in bed, and I want to feel it again.

That’s a much nicer thought. Laurel gazing up at me with those big blue eyes, so full of affection. I’ll push my fingers through her hair and cradle her head, pulling her close and kissing her.

Now I can stop thinking about the bed, so I leave Sin’s room and go out to the hall, leaning against the wall outside the bathroom to wait for Laurel.

She doesn’t take long. She emerges with her long dark hair in a messy bun on top of her head, dressed up in the outfit I picked out for her. She’s only wearing a little bit of make-up, but to be honest, she doesn’t need even that much. Laurel is a natural beauty, with those perfect lips dominating most of my attention anyway. Her clear blue eyes are the perfect shade. It’s all I can do not to catch her around the waist and tug her against me.

Too soon.

Maybe later.

“All right, we have plans this afternoon, but I thought you might take a little longer to get ready, so we have some time to kill first. I’ll let you choose that part—would you rather hit the bookstore, or—?”

Her eyes light up and she doesn’t even let me finish. “Bookstore!”

“I figured.”

“I’m dead broke, but I could window shop at a bookstore for hours. You do not know what you have just signed up for, Rafe Morelli.”

* * *

I did guess what I was signing up for, the only tricky part was determining which bookstore would make Laurel happier—the pricey, rare bookstore tucked away in the shops at The Venetian, or a regular bookstore with a far better selection, but far less wow-factor.

Then I thought, hell, why make her choose? I take her to The Venetian first, trying not to notice how fucking adorable she is, bouncing with excitement in the passenger seat. I should have picked a shorter, tighter skirt so I’d get a peek at some thigh, but otherwise, this is exactly what I envisioned when I offered to take this nerd to a bookstore. Laurel Price does not disappoint.

She’s such a fucking tourist, though. I figured she would be, so I take her the long way, letting her check out the exterior before hauling her inside where she’ll really be impressed.

She’s talking my ear off about everything she has ever heard about The Venetian as we head inside. I nod politely and slow down when we get to the gleaming pillars outside the bookstore, waiting for her to notice.

She finally ceases talking and slows to a stop, following my lead. Laurel gasps when she sees it, staring ahead at the shelves of old books inside the store. Then she drifts forward like there’s a magnet inside, pulling her across the threshold.

Her voice lowers like we’re in a library. “Rafe, look at these books. Have you ever seen so many beautiful bindings?” She looks down at the display, her fingers reaching out like she wants to touch them, but she walks around, too tempted by the rows of colorful spines in the bookcase behind it.

I follow her, moving up behind her and murmuring, “I have, actually. I have a pretty impressive library in my house.”

She looks back at me, eyes wide. “You do? Why didn’t you show it to me?”

I rest a hand lightly on her waist, reaching past her to pluck a dark green book off the shelf behind her. “I only had you at my house for one night, kitten. I didn’t get to show you everything.”

Her cheeks flush, and I can practically see her remembering the other room I told her about, but didn’t get to show her.

“I want to get married here,” she informs me.

I crack a smile as I replace the book on the shelf. “I don’t think they host weddings.”

Her attention has already moved on. She gasps, running her fingers across a lovely set of leather bound Brontë books. “Look at these. Oh, my God, this place is exquisitely torturous. Look at the price tag for me. I can’t bear it.”

I grab Jane Eyre and open the cover, checking for a price tag. Oftentimes the price will be listed right on the shelf, but this one is on a slip of paper inside. “They’re not bad, actually. Only thirteen for the whole set.”

Laurel blinks. “I don’t suppose there’s some reality where you mean thirteen dollars?”

I shake my head, handing her the book to look at. “Add a few zeroes.”

Sighing, she flips a few pages. “They’re so pretty. Does your library have any Brontë?”

“I’m sure it does.”

Raising an eyebrow at me, unimpressed, she asks, “You don’t know?”

“There are a lot of books. I don’t keep a running inventory in my head. You can check next time you’re at my house, I’ll show it to you.”

Still unimpressed with me, she mutters, “If you have them, I’m going to steal them and you won’t even know. Clearly, you don’t love them adequately and you don’t deserve them.”

Laurel turns her back to me so she can replace the book on the shelf, and I take advantage, placing my hands on her hips and moving close. “I would love for you to steal something from me, kitten. I have so many punishments lined up for you already, but I’ll gladly come up with a few more if you’re so inclined.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she murmurs, attempting to ignore my hands on her as she peruses books. Landing on one called The Professor, she says, “I haven’t read this one. Have you?”

I’m close enough to smell her shampoo. I tip my head so she feels my breath on her neck. “I have not.”

I hear her swallow, and it makes me smile. “Have you heard about personal space? It’s a thing some people really appreciate.”

“I have. I give it to plenty of people. Just not women I’ve been buried balls deep inside,” I inform her.

“Really?” she asks, mildly. “Then I’m surprised you’re not crowding half the city. You’ve fucked nearly all of them, right?”

“Only the pretty ones,” I assure her.

She groans like I’m killing her. “You’re the worst.”

I can’t help grinning. “That’s not what you were saying a few nights ago when you were straddling my lap and grinding your pussy against me.”

Turning her head to glare at me, she says, “What are you, an animal? Don’t talk like that in front of the books.”

Keeping my hand on her hip and my mouth close to her face, I tell her, “I’ll talk however I damned well please.”

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” she complains.

“No one is going to kick me out,” I assure her. “Do you like Dr. Seuss?”

She frowns at my abrupt subject change. “What?”

I release her hips and walk ahead of her, nodding for her to follow me over to the selection of children’s books. They’re enclosed in a glass case, but I point out the big, blue first edition of The Cat in the Hat.

“This was my favorite book when I was a kid,” I tell her.

“Yeah?” she asks, peering into the case. “I actually never liked that one. I liked a lot of Seuss books, but this one lost me at the end. I was like, how do you not tell your mom something like that happened? If I tried to keep something like that to myself as a kid, I would have developed an ulcer from the guilt.”

My lips curve up in a faint smile. “You were a good girl, weren’t you?”

Her cheeks flush prettily and she focuses her attention on the book in the case. At least, that’s how it looks, but she bites down on her bottom lip. No one bites down on their bottom lip looking at children’s books—at least, no one without some serious perversions.

No, her mind isn’t on the books, so it went somewhere else. What did I say?

Good girl.

My gaze snaps to her flushed cheeks and her plump lip. I can’t remember if I called her that. It’s possible; I’ve certainly said it before. I just can’t remember if I said it to her. I can’t ask. She would be highly unimpressed to realize I can’t keep straight who I’ve said that to. On a different, less pleasant hunch, I ask, “Does he call you that?”

She doesn’t answer me with her words, but the flush climbs up her neck and she steadfastly ignores me. “My favorite book was Goodnight Moon,” she tells me, blocking out my attempt to pry. “Carly used to read it to me all the time when I was little.”

I guess he does.

Bastard.

I hope she’s keeping track of every single time, because I am going to punish her little ass when it’s mine again. Every orgasm she’s given or received, I expect repayment for.

“Tell me something,” I begin. Laurel braces her hands on the edge of the display case and peers inside, pointedly not looking at me. “After Easter, why didn’t you fuck anyone else? I’d shown you what good sex was like; didn’t you want more of it?”

Appearing mildly annoyed, Laurel looks at me. “There’s not a ‘good sex’ store you go to, you know. I realize you live an entirely different lifestyle, but that’s not how it works for me. I can’t just go out and pick someone up, and… and…”

“Fuck them?” I suggest, since she’s struggling to finish her sentence. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she says, mildly irritated. “It just isn’t that simple.”

“It can be,” I point out. “Look how simple it was with me.”

“That’s because you’re you,” she says, pointing an accusing finger in my direction.

“And it was that simple with Sin,” I add.

Now she shakes her head, though I get the impression she’s reluctant to talk about this with me. “That wasn’t simple.”

“Well, you fell into bed with him the same night you met him, so it must not have been too complicated,” I tell her.

Laurel doesn’t answer me, but she does drift away from the children’s display, like she can’t stomach talking about sex in front of their innocent little pages.

“Did you find Mateo attractive?” I ask her, out of curiosity. She does seem to have a type—dangerous, powerful, and dominant.

Her cheeks flush again. “I found Mateo married,” she informs me.

That’s a yes. “What about Vince?”

“No. And he’s my brother-in-law, so you shouldn’t even ask that.”

That matches up. Vince is too hot-headed, he doesn’t fit the profile. I recall her acting a little strangely around Mateo’s brother Alec, but before I can ask her about him, Laurel falls in love with another book.

“Oh, Rafe, look at this,” she says, waving me over.

I shove my hands into my pockets and approach her side. This one is also enclosed in a glass case, but the pages are fanned out so you can glimpse the illustrations. It’s really quite a beautiful edition of The Odyssey.

Shooting me a rueful look, she says, “I don’t suppose you know if you have any Homer in your library?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Not this edition, but I have my own rare copies of both The Odyssey and The Iliad. I did read those ones.”

“Not the rare editions?” she asks, wide-eyed.

“Of course not; I’m not a lunatic.”

Placing a hand to her heart, she sighs with relief, then flashes me a smile. “Good. You scared me for a minute.”

“When you get done lusting after the books here, what do you say we go to another bookstore? One where you can actually buy and read the books without owing me a week’s worth of sexual favors?”

“Only a week? Are we talking for the Homer, or the Brontë books?” she jokes.

“Hell, make it two weeks, I’ll buy you both.”

Laurel grins, but shakes her head and drifts toward the door. “We should leave this beautiful, horrible place. The fate of my immortal soul hangs in the balance.”

“I mean, we could stay a little longer,” I say, lightly.

“Technically, I paid up-front over Easter. If I had realized there were rare books on the table…”

“You would whore yourself out for books?”

Laurel shrugs with exaggerated lightness. “Hey, it’s as good a reason as any.”

I shake my head, draping a hand around her waist and dragging her close as we walk out of the book shop. “You’re such a nerd.”