“Don’t try to pretty it up for me.” I kept my voice low and dangerous. “You told me flat out there were things that you wanted in your bed.” I met his eyes. “Things you were more than willing to take. And, Tyler, you did try to take them.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “And no.”

“I’m tired,” I said. “I’m not interested in games or in riddles.”

“Neither am I.” He moved toward me, then dropped to his knees so that we were almost eye to eye. “It wasn’t me you were afraid of, was it?” he asked gently. “You weren’t even seeing me.”

I looked away, not wanting him to see the truth in my eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he said, and I understood that he wasn’t apologizing for what had happened between us, but for what had happened to me all those years ago.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he said. “I thought at first that you—” He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. “I thought you were playing the game. A little fear mixed with sex can be an aphrodisiac, Sloane, especially with two people like us.”

I blinked up at him, confused. “Like us?”

“I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Not really. And yet I’ve touched you, so very intimately. You’ve gone further with me than with anyone, Sloane. We both know it.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“And I intended to take you further. There’s always fear at the precipice. Always terror before you fall off into the unknown.” He reached forward, cupped my face in both of his hands. “I thought that’s where you were, standing at the edge of something new and terrifying and thrilling—I thought that was where we were.” Gently, he used his thumb to brush away an errant tear. “I was wrong.”

He drew his hands away, then stood, moving slowly back to the corner of the car to stand by the doors.

I drew in a shuddering breath, realizing as I did that I missed the comfort of his hand upon my cheek.

“Tyler.”

“Wait.” He held up a hand. “Let me finish. I meant everything I said to you. And I won’t lie to you now. I do want to tie you down. I want the freedom to touch you. I want you completely open to me. I want to look at you, bound to my bed, and have complete power over you. I want you in a position where I could do anything to you. Pain. Pleasure. Even a little fear. But of the moment—of the unknown. Not of me. And certainly not of a ghost from your past.”

My breath hitched and I blinked twice to quell the sting of unshed tears.

“I want to know that you trust me to know how far to go. That you trust me not to exceed your boundaries. I want that—but I won’t push you. Not if you’re not ready. Not if you don’t want it, too.”

I managed a tiny smile. “The couch? The waiter? Wasn’t that pushing me?”

He simply stared at me. I felt my color rise, because I understood. He hadn’t pushed me on that—not really. Instead, he’d seen deep enough inside me to know that I wanted it, too.

What he was saying now was that he wouldn’t push me over the precipice. Not, at least, until I was ready to jump.

“Stay,” he said. “Come back to my room and stay with me tonight.”

I licked my dry lips. “Because you feel bad? Or because you want me?”

Instead of answering, he turned to the control box and hit the switch to put the car back in motion. Then he came to me and took my hand. He pulled me to my feet, and I didn’t even have time to think before his mouth closed gently over mine. The kiss was soft and I thought I might melt simply from the sweetness of it.

When he pulled back, his eyes were warm. “Because I want you.”

I nodded, breathless, my lips still tingling. “You didn’t make me beg for a kiss.”

The corner of his eyes crinkled. “I’ll beg if you don’t kiss me again.”

“Tempting,” I said. “But I’ll be kind.” I rose onto my tiptoes and brushed a chaste kiss over the corner of his mouth.

He laughed. “Fuck that,” he said, then gripped my shoulders and pressed me back against the wall. I gasped, not expecting the motion, and he closed his mouth brutally over mine. Gone was the sweetness of that first kiss. This was hard and wild and demanding. Teeth and tongue and the violence of possession, the cacophony of passion. Relief swept through me even as wild thoughts clanged about in my head, unable to form into anything more coherent than a vague plea of more, more, oh yes, more.

We broke apart when the doors opened, and Tyler took my hand, then drew me down the hall to another elevator, this one with a plain metal interior, covered on two sides with moving blankets.

“It will take us to the service entrance,” he said, and I nodded.

I felt giddy. Light. A small part of me tried to argue that my giddiness was because my operation was back on track, but that was bullshit. This was all about me. About the way he’d made my body tingle and thrum. About the heat he’d sent coursing through me and the way he’d pushed my boundaries. Even to the point of breaking.

He’d made me feel things I had never experienced, and for better or worse, I wanted to walk with him to that precipice. I wouldn’t go over with him—how the hell could I ever trust a man like Tyler Sharp that intimately?—but I could damn sure enjoy the ride.

I had no idea where this was going, but for this night, I was his. Tomorrow, I would think about the job.

We were back in the penthouse, moving through the hallway by his office to the living room. Neither of us spoke, and though the silence was a comfortable one, I couldn’t deny the flutter of nerves in my stomach. I knew he wouldn’t bind me—but beyond that, I didn’t have a clue.

“Tyler?” I began, when I couldn’t take it anymore.

We’d reached the living room, and he paused near the huge window that looked out over Michigan Avenue. “Yes?”

“What are you going to do with me?”

His lips twitched. “Nervous?”

“And excited.”

“I like your honesty, so I’ll tell you that I’m planning something we’re both going to enjoy.” He moved to stand behind me, then pushed me gently forward so that I was closer to the window, and I could see both our reflections in the glass. “I’m going to fuck you, Sloane. Very hard, and very thoroughly.” His eyes met mine in the glass. “If that’s all right with you?”

“Yeah,” I said breathlessly. “Yeah, I think that’ll be just fine.” I swallowed, kept my eyes on his. “Is that all?”

He laughed, and the sound made my smile bloom wide.

“No,” he said. “No, it’s not.”

I waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, I frowned. I saw my own brow furrowed in the reflection, and saw his expression grow more amused in turn.

“Shall I give you a clue?” he asked as the fingertips of his right hand trailed feather light over my arm. The sensation was both sweet and erotic, and it was all I could do not to turn in his arms and claim his mouth with my own.

“I could entice you with words,” he said. “Someday, I want to touch you only with my voice and tease you only with my words. I want to watch as you quiver with longing, as your body goes soft and slick. I want to watch the fire build inside you, and I want to make you explode before I even brush a finger over your skin.”

I trembled, knowing with full and humbling certainty that he could do exactly that.

“But not tonight,” he whispered as he gently brushed his hands over my shoulder blades. “I don’t have the strength tonight. Tonight, I need to touch you.”

As if in illustration, he slid his hands forward so that his fingers brushed the edge of my halter. I gasped, then stopped breathing when his hands continued to ease beneath the material and over my bare skin. Then his fingers found my nipples, hard and tight and so damn sensitive. “Yes,” I breathed. “Oh, god, yes.”

He pinched my nipple, and I gasped as hot wires of pleasure shot from my breast all the way down to my sex.

I had to bite my lower lip as I watched our reflection in the window, and the image of us standing like that—of his fingers inside my clothes, of me leaning back against him, of the soft and sensual expression on my face—just about pushed me over the edge.