No, actually, she’d never felt this good. No man had ever managed to satisfy her so thoroughly. Sex had been boring with her vanilla exes and kink had been hollow with random play partners.

But Ambrose . . . He blew her mind.

He took his time soaping her up, gently and carefully, like he was taking care of an injured kitten. When his hands ran over the welts on her ass, she gritted her teeth and moaned. He frowned and she wondered if he regretted hitting her so hard. She didn’t.

His words from a minute ago finally registered.

Now I’m just your boyfriend.

“So you’re my boyfriend, are you?” she asked, trying to sound cocky and indifferent, but wondering if it came out vulnerable, like she felt. Rejection was still a risk, and it knotted her stomach.

He looked up from where he was kneeling while washing her legs. “I think it’s time to label it that way, don’t you?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Sure.”

With a satisfied look, he stood up then pointed the nozzle so it rinsed the soap off her body. Each time it hit her ass, it reminded her how well he’d managed her. How he didn’t take shit, but didn’t try to squash her fun either. That she could expect laughter with him but also the stern disciplinarian she needed.

She was starting to think that falling for someone wasn’t so bad. Sure, she felt a little out of control, but maybe that’s what love was. Free-falling and hoping someone would be there to catch you.

*   *   *

It was a little late to have Ambrose over, but he was coming anyway. She had to work tomorrow morning, so it was a good thing she wasn’t in the mood for sex. PMS did that to her. But Ambrose had practically been text-begging to see her. He’d sounded a little off, so she’d agreed.

Nerves made her already sore stomach worse. What was so urgent that he had to come over at ten at night on a Friday? She knew he had a work holiday party that night, and that dates weren’t allowed, much to her disappointment, but now she was worried something had happened.

Trying to resist pacing a hole in her living room floor, instead she poured herself a glass of wine to settle her anxiety. When a knock sounded at the door, she jumped and almost spilled it all over herself.

She opened the door, knowing it was Ambrose, and he stumbled in. Far from looking like a blue-collar guy gussied up for an uncomfortable office party, his tailored black designer suit made him look like a high-priced hitman, or a celebrity. His style was too staid for GQ, but, hell, the sight of him was enough to make a girl sit up and beg.

Too bad he was hammered.

“Um,” she said, watching him sway a little. “Hi.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked her over slowly. “You’re hot.”

She’d purposely worn oversized pajamas so she didn’t give him any ideas. “Uhh. Thanks.”

Something weird was definitely going on. He leaned in and hugged her, then sniffed her hair loudly. “Mmm. You smell like I remember.”

Yeah, she could smell him too. Alcohol. “You’re drunk.” She pushed away.

“A little.”

“Did you drive yourself here?”

“Of course not.” As if he owned the place, he plopped down onto her couch and threw his arms over the back of it. Clearly, he planned to stay awhile. “My friend dropped me off after the party.”

She watched him a minute, wondering what the hell was going on. He gave her a heated look. Was this a booty call? “Look, Ambrose. I have work tomorrow. I’m not interested in having sex with a drunk-off-his-ass idiot.”

“No sex. Just sit with me a minute. I’ve missed you.”

“I just saw you two days ago.” Still, she walked to the couch and sat carefully next to him, hoping to avoid being puked on, if he was that far gone. “How drunk are you?”

“I’ve been worse.”

He was barely slurring, but she had no idea what to do with him now.

Leaning back, he pulled her so she was up against his chest, then he ran his fingers through her hair. She was worried he’d be too rough, but he was so gentle she could barely feel it—as if he knew he wasn’t totally in control, so he was compensating.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“You said that already.”

“My brother brought his girlfriend, and it made me jealous as fuck.” He sighed. “He’s always bragging about shit.”

Brother? He never said he worked with his brother.

“So I had to come see you. My fragile male ego was at stake.” Chuckling, he buried his nose into her hair again.

Wait a minute. His brother was allowed to bring a date to the party and Ambrose wasn’t? “You said nobody was allowed to bring their significant others.”

“Hmm?” he hummed sleepily. “Oh. It’s . . . complicated.”

Ringing started in her ears. Her heart twinged with pain then felt like it sank down to her stomach. Tears pricked her eyes.

He hadn’t wanted to bring her.

Her chest hurt. Past rejections went spinning into her mind. All of them hurt, but this was the worst. Was he embarrassed of her? Was she too loud or forward or something? She could behave. Didn’t he trust that?

“Is . . . is there someone else?”

That seemed to perk him up. “What?” His body shifted under her. “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

If not that, was it her hair or the way she dressed? She’d have covered the pink if that’s what he wanted. All he had to do was ask.

That thought made her freeze. Would she really pretend she was something she wasn’t for him? Was she that hooked? She’d give up her wild hair and brightly colored nails to please him and not embarrass him? She’d sworn she’d never change for a man. Why was he different?

He wasn’t. He’d lied to her.

A painful lump got stuck in her throat, making it hard to get words out. “Are you . . . embarrassed of me?”

She felt him twitch underneath her. “No.” He grunted, sounding irritated. “Of course not.”

To her humiliation, a few tears leaked from her eyes, but he couldn’t see it as long as she kept her face down. “Is it my hair? Because I would change it for you, if it was really a problem.”

He chuckled. “No. I love your hair. It’s nothing like that. It’s not you.”

“Then why . . .” Her voice hitched, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

“Does it look like I give a fuck what people think of me? You could dye your head green and tattoo your face, and I would still be smitten with you.”

Smitten? Was he giving her a line? Still trying to get action?

He wasn’t pawing at her or anything. In fact, he seemed content just to lie there and hold her. But she needed answers. Lying wasn’t acceptable, especially with someone she was falling for so quickly. He was drunk and seemed pretty loose with his feelings. Maybe she could learn a few things about him while she had the chance.

It seemed a little underhanded, but whatever. He’d lied to her, so that justified the means to get answers. Maybe the work party thing was part of his weird hot/cold routine. Was this a commitment issue? Was keeping her away from his friends a way to hold himself back from getting too deep?

Maybe she should start there.

But first, more wine. “Here,” she said, grabbing her glass off the coffee table, where she’d left it. “Finish this for me. It’s too good to toss out, and I’m not feeling great.”

He took the glass. “Poor thing. Do you need me to do anything for you?” The question made her laugh inside. As if he were in any condition to do much for her.

In control of her emotions now, she turned to see his face. It’d be easier to sense a lie that way. “Let’s play a game. I’m going to ask you a question, and if you answer it, I’ll take a piece of clothing off. If you choose to pass, you have to drink.”

He arched a brow. “And what do I get out of this game?”

“To see me naked. Duh.” She wasn’t really in the mood to be ogled, but she’d deal with it to finally get to the bottom of things. Besides, she was hoping he’d pass out before she had to take everything off.