“Jesus. I’m sorry, Everly.” He glanced around them then gestured to a quieter area in the back. “Can we please sit? Just for a minute?”

Her resolve faded with the apology. She hadn’t expected that. A lot of Doms were too cocky to say sorry when they fucked up. It meant a lot that he had. Nodding, she followed him to a booth and slid in across from him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The honesty in his eyes softened her anger. “I have issues. You rattled me, and I got . . .”

“Scared?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I guess so. Look. I don’t usually do relationships. I stick to superficial stuff. But you got in my head. I tried to shut you out, but then Kon texted me that you were here—”

“What?” Tattletale. She almost laughed.

“And I couldn’t bear the thought of you playing with anyone else.”

“I’m not yours.”

He leaned in and smiled. “You were the other night.”

Hell yeah, she was. Memories surfaced, making her stomach flutter. He was one of the only Doms who could handle her, that could make her eat her bratty words, give her the pain she needed, fuck her until she screamed. God, if he could get over his stupid man issues, she’d like to keep him. “Maybe so, but that arrangement expired the minute you put walls up between us.”

He nodded. “Okay. I hear you. Can we try again? It’s been a while for me. Can we start over?”

She considered it. Normally, she didn’t go for fixer-uppers. The whole girl-saving-the-tortured-soul thing made her want to puke. But she did believe in second chances. And Ambrose seemed sincere. That he’d humbled himself for her, let himself be vulnerable, spoke volumes about his character. Maybe he could get over this issue—lots of people did.

“Maybe. If you promise to keep the lines of communication open.” She gave him a mischievous look. “And if you take me out on a date.”

“A date?” He arched a brow. “What are we, twelve?”

“I demand a date. I’ll pay if you can’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can pay.”

“Okay. But no playing until then.”

He chuckled. “Such a brat. Do you know how badly I want to put you over my knee right now?”

She smirked and loved the way his eyes darkened at the challenge. She almost wanted to dare him. “Date first. Then maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you.”

“Fuck.” He exhaled loudly and shifted in his seat. “You’re killing me, little brat.”

Grinning, she replied, “Not sorry.”

Chapter Six

The smell of the bakery hit him three blocks away. It was the best possible advertising for the place—even better than the TV spots and bus ads Ambrose had taken out as part of his mother’s Christmas gift last year. He’d gotten smacked for that. Although she’d let him loan her the money to open the place, she’d paid him back, and hadn’t accepted any help from him since. Apparently, Christmas gifts weren’t exempt from this rule.

Stubborn.

The happy jingle of the bell was pleasant rather than annoying, and his mother came out of the back immediately. When she saw it was him, she grinned.

“Glenn! There’s a troublemaker out here. You need to come throw him out.”

Jody Langly hugged him hard and stood on her toes to rub a hand over his short hair. “Even when you grow it you look like such a delinquent!”

His father came out of the back, shaking his head, arms crossed.

“Hair, no hair . . . It doesn’t matter. The kid always looks like a goon.” His father shook his hand, and they sized each other up like they did every time they were together. Glenn wasn’t exactly a small man, but he was almost a head shorter than Ambrose. “I could still take you.”

“For now, old wolf. You’re getting a little long in the tooth, there. I’m counting the days.”

His father punched his shoulder and chuckled.

“I can’t believe you left your office! Are you here for a visit or to stock your kick-ass kitchen?” Mom had some serious kitchen envy and made excuses to cook at his place regularly.

“I . . . have a date. I’m just here to pick up fresh bread.”

“Oh my God! Like an actual date?”

Ambrose sighed. “Yes, Mother.”

“But does she know . . .” She made a strange but deliberate gesture, which involved much hand swirling and waggling of eyebrows.

His father facepalmed, then patted her on the back. “I’m sure she knows he’s into kink, dear. Leaving that sort of thing up to chance probably doesn’t turn out well. Unless you meant unicycling? I’m not sure if even he knows whether he’s into that.”

Ambrose snorted at his father’s joke, but thought immediately of Konstantin. Not addressing kink early in a relationship really didn’t turn out well. Maybe he should send Dad over to talk to him and knock some sense into his thick head. Agreeing to marry a stranger? Ridiculous.

“Yes, she knows.” He chuckled. “Is that good enough, or do you want details?” However, she didn’t know about his money. He’d bet his dad would have something to say about that. Guilt crept in. Fuck. Is it hot in here?

His mother put her hands over her ears. “Oh, just get him the bread he wants while I look for the mental bleach. I think I left some under the sink.” Without so much as a good-bye, she bustled into the back.

“There’s bread in the oven.”

“No bun in the oven?”

“Badum-ching. Yeah. Haven’t heard that one before. What do you want, kid?”

“Hm . . . What’s the best right now?”

“French loaf is ready.”

“That works.”

His dad turned to grab two off the shelf. “Well, I’m glad you’re going to have an actual date. Dwelling on your exes is fine for poets and artists, but the rest of us can’t live off of angst.”

“I’m not angsting.”

He smiled grimly. “Not anymore, but you did for a long time.”

“It was a huge loss to me at the time, and I was just finishing school. Too much changed all at once.” Ambrose shrugged. “We all have our moments of weakness.”

“True enough. I guess if your mother left me you’d find me dead in a ditch somewhere. But we’ve been together since high school. I don’t know how to be me without her.”

“Yeah, I want what you and Mom have. Now stop talking like that. You’re freaking me out.”

Glenn shook himself like a dog coming out of the rain. “Yeah, where the hell did that come from? Anyway, I’m just saying that it’s about damn time you put yourself out there again. You’re not happy single, I can tell that. If your brother never married, it wouldn’t surprise me, but I think you’d live half a life with no partner.”

Oh jeez. No pressure. “It’s just a date. Don’t start counting on grandchildren just yet.”

His father smiled mysteriously. “Stranger things have happened.” He waved and walked off, presumably in search of Jody. Damn it. He hadn’t waited for Ambrose to pay him again. They were getting sneaky.

Ambrose fished in his wallet, hoping he had cash on him. He smacked fifty bucks down on the counter, pretending he didn’t have anything smaller, and walked out the door. Served them right.

*   *   *

Ambrose had gone through his ingredients list so many times he was surprised he hadn’t worn a hole in it with his eyes. Why had he decided to cook something that had to be made while she was there? If he’d picked something that took a while in the oven, he could have set a timer and put the food on IGNORE.

It was at times like this that he wished that alcohol and BDSM weren’t such a bad mix. He could use a drink.

The house was spotless. He’d hired a maid service to give the place a once-over, even though he usually did it all himself. He rehearsed his lies one more time then made himself stop. If it sounded too rehearsed, she’d be suspicious. Why was he so nervous about this? They’d already had an interesting D/s dynamic going, and had mind-blowing sex—there was no reason for him to feel like he’d drunk five pots of coffee today.