She begins to tremble. I pay no attention. Instead I watch my fingers slip a button out of its hole and then another. I spread apart the joined material so that her throat, chest, and the lacy tops of her bra are exposed. The desire to rip her clothes is so strong I have to physically fight it. I frown. Yes, she is very beautiful, but I have had other very beautiful women—why does this woman alone have such an effect on me? Even knowing what I know about her doesn’t change a thing. Not having total control over my own impulses makes me feel vulnerable and defenseless. It is like falling backwards into nothing. I hate the sensation. I can never let her see my weakness. I turn coldly furious. The breaths that escape her lips are suddenly shallow and quick. I smile possessively. So nothing has changed on that front.

‘You were, by far, more when you squeezed into that little orange dress and your fuck me shoes, and went looking for money,’ I taunt. ‘Look at you now; you’re flapping around inside a man’s jacket. Two hundred thousand and you don’t even buy yourself a nice suit.’

I tut. ‘And this…’  I raise my hand to her hair. ‘This ugly bun. What were you thinking of?’ I ask softly, as I pluck the pins out of her hair and drop them on the ground. I return her hair to its silk curtain. Beautiful. I reach back, pull a tissue out of its box and start wiping away her lipstick, a horrid plum. I am unhurried—let her stew from the outside in.

I toss the stained tissue on the ground. ‘That’s better.’

She stares at me helplessly, and guess what? It turns me on to have her at my mercy.

‘Lick your lips,’ I order.

‘What?’ She looks horrified by the cold command, and yet electrified by the sexual heat that my order obviously arouses. Like a beautifully tuned guitar, the tension in her body matches mine. I feel the same desire rippling through her.

We have played this game before. We both know where it leads.

My jaw hardens. ‘You heard me.’

The tip of her small, pink tongue protrudes and I eye its sweet journey avidly. ‘That’s more like it. That’s the mercenary bitch I know,’ I say, thrusting a rough hand into her hair. It is exactly as I remember it. Soft and silky. A year of waiting. Bitch!  I tug and pull her head back. She gasps with shock, but her eyes are wide, unafraid, and innocent. Fuck you, Lana. You’re no innocent. We had a deal and you cheated me. And that fucking Dear John letter? You didn’t even have the decency to wait until I got out of hospital. I could have been dead for all she cared. I expect better from a two bit whore. But the thing that hurt the most: she didn’t care.

Now I will have my revenge. Another part of my brain is sneering—you’re fighting a losing battle here, dude.

The thought powers me to kiss her. This kiss means nothing to me. It is only a way of gauging her reaction. I will not allow myself to get sucked into it. I descend on her roughly, painfully, violently, purposely bruising her soft lips, my mouth so savage that she utters a strangled, soundless cry. That sound wakes up an uncivilized beast. I make room for it. The intense desire to hurt and have my revenge is greater than me. Let her understand that I am not the same man that I was then. Before she betrayed me.

I taste the fury in my kiss: blood!

Really, Blake? But I cannot stop. Cannot control my emotions. Cannot resist her. Cannot live without her. I don’t allow myself to feel.

A moan escapes her. And it affects me—in a way I could never have guessed. It almost makes me forget my carefully laid plans. It almost makes me take her on the floor of this drab office. The effect this woman has on me is incredible. I feel raw and starved. No matter what she does or what she is, I want her. All I want is to be buried deep inside her, but I am not a Barrington for nothing. Years of iron control come to my rescue. One of us is going to get hurt this time, and it will not be me.

Her hands reach up to push me away, but her palms meet the solidity of my chest, and as if with minds of their own, they push aside the lapels of my jacket, and her fingers splay open on my shirt. Oh, I know that sign. Pure submission. She’s mine. I can do anything with her now. But I want more, more than just sexual surrender. I’ve got a plan. And I’m sticking to it.

I change the kiss, gentle it. Instantly her body scents victory and tries to burrow closer to me, but I keep my grip on her hair, relentless and tinged with hurting force. I cannot let her get nearer. I am in dangerous territory. One wrong move and I will fall into her honey trap again. She tries pushing her hips toward my crotch. Can’t have that. That would give me away.

I end the kiss nonchalantly, as if I have just participated in a meaningless encounter, or a polite social interaction. With the same feigned lack of emotion I put her away and casually prop myself against the desk. I fold my arms across my chest, and watch her with great satisfaction. This is my territory. Here I am boss. This time, Lana honey…

She stands before me aroused, breasts heaving and hands clenched at her sides as she tries to regain some measure of composure.

I smile. Round one—me.

Silently she takes two steps forward, reaches a hand out and puts a finger on my throat. I freeze. I can feel her skin on my frantically beating pulse. And just like that we are connected. We never break eye contact. Fuck her.

Round two—is not over yet.

‘Is it sex when I want to see you come apart?’ I ask bitterly.

Her face crumples. This woman deserves an Oscar. She takes her finger away from my throat. ‘What do you want, Blake?’

‘I want you to finish your contract.’

She drops her face into her hands. ‘I can’t,’ she whispers.

‘Why not? Because you took the money and ran while I lay in a hospital bed?’

She takes a deep breath, but does not look up. Guilty as charged.

‘I was cut up to start with,’ I say as coldly as I can. I don’t want to give her any more power than she already holds.

She looks up. Butter wouldn’t melt in that sweet O. ‘You were cut up?’

‘Funny thing that, but yes.’

‘I thought it was just a sex thing for you,’ she murmurs.

‘If you wanted money why didn’t you ask me?’ My voice is harsh.

‘I…’  She shakes her head.

‘You made a serious miscalculation, didn’t you, Lana, my love? The honey pot is here.’ I pat the middle of my chest.

She simply gazes at my hand.

‘But not to worry,’ I say sarcastically. ‘All is not lost. There’s money in the pot.’

How predictable. Her gaze lifts up to my mouth.

‘You did me a favor.’ I try to sound detached, but my voice comes out bitter and pained. ‘You opened my eyes. I see you now for what you were…  Are. I was blinded by you. I made the classic mistake. I fell in love with an illusion of purity.’

She carries on looking at me blankly.

‘If I had not bought you that night you would have gone with anyone, wouldn’t you? You are not admirable. You are despicable.’

‘So why do you want me to finish the contract?’ she asks breathily.

‘I am like the drug addict who knows his drug is poison. He despises it, but he cannot help himself. So that we are totally clear—I detest myself. I am ashamed of my need for you.’

‘The…  The…people who paid me—’

‘They can do nothing to you. My family—‘

She interrupts. ‘What about Victoria?’

And suddenly I feel very angry. What the fuck has Victoria to do with this? This is between me and her. Besides, I am fond of Victoria and hide a measure of guilt for the pain I have caused her. Her shock when I tried to break off our engagement surprised me. I had imagined that she was marrying me for the same reasons I was—consolidation, security, and continuity—but in fact she is in love with me. If anything, the extent of her possessive passion worried me a little. A marriage of convenience only works when both parties exhibit similar detachment. I don’t want to think of it now, but the truth is that I do not want Victoria. At that moment I realize that I can never marry Victoria. But for now I will deal with the most pressing problem I have: I cannot think of being with anyone other than the witch standing in front of me.