She bit her lip, preparing for the worst. Maybe he wanted to take a break from that until other things were sorted out. Maybe he thought she wasn’t ready to be his slave again. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. Why wasn’t he answering?

“Well,” he finally said, looking thoughtful. “Are you my slave?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”

He arched a brow in that regal look she loved. Regal with a hint of hoodlum. Or maybe it was the other way around. “Yes what?”

She couldn’t keep back a grin. “Yes, Master.”

“Good.” Without warning, he jumped up from the couch with her in his arms. Ignoring her yelp, he strode toward the stairwell. “Then I demand sex, slave.”

“Hmph.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “You should ask nicely.”

He barked a laugh. “Still a brat, I see.”

“Quite a contradiction,” she teased. “A brat and a slave. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

At the bottom of the stairs, he set her on her feet then gazed down at her.

“My bratty slave is perfect for me.” Then he spun her toward the first step and smacked her ass. “Upstairs, girl. My cock missed you almost as much as the rest of me did.”

She walked up the stairs with deliberate slowness, hips swaying, throwing sulky looks over her shoulder.

“Mercy,” he drawled appreciatively, ogling her ass.

He grabbed hold of the track pants she was wearing and gave them a yank, and they puddled at her feet on the landing. The T-shirt she’d borrowed barely covered her bottom, and she widened her eyes at him and bit the tip of one finger.

“You’re such a hot little piece of ass, Everly mine.” He crowded her against the wall and slid his hand up the back of her thigh, picking up the edge of the shirt and holding her in place so he could admire her. “Now give me that look again.”

She complied, but this time she was less cocky and more shy.

At this rate they weren’t going to make it all the way to the bedroom.

Everly giggled then bolted up the stairs, and he growled and swatted her ass before she got completely out of range.

She ran to the master suite and ducked around the corner, then slipped into the closet.

Ambrose’s footsteps sounded in the hall, and she had to cover her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her snickering. She crouched down, peeking through the crack in the door, breathing hard.

Oh fuck. She was in so much trouble.

The very idea of how annoyed he probably was turned her on. She shook her head at herself. Sick puppy.

He walked into the room and stripped off his shirt. Good Lord, he’d been working out more? Like he needed to. He was fucking huge! She licked her lips and let her gaze follow the muscles that defined his arms and chest, the sexy vee that pointed into his jeans—like she needed directions to his dick? He was hard as hell, too, the outline of his cock obvious, the tip poking above the waistband of his jeans. Maybe if she crawled out to him and sucked his cock, he’d forgive her instinctual bratty behavior.

“Come out here, bad girl. Do you really want to be in trouble the first night we’re back together?”

Silently, she nodded, grinning like a lunatic.

“I know where you are.”

A thrill of fear and exhilaration zinged through her. He was bluffing. He couldn’t know.

Ambrose sat on the edge of the bed and looked directly at the closet door. She crept backward, but didn’t stop watching. He unzipped his jeans, and freed his dick. He leaned back on one elbow and wrapped his hand around his cock, and started to stroke himself. Oh God, it was her own personal porn reel. The fact that she was hiding in the closet watching made it seem so much more perverted.

Soundlessly, she whimpered. She pressed a hand between her legs, trying to resist the temptation of letting him win.

“Come here, little slave. Let me give you what you want.”

He was staring right at her. There was no way he couldn’t see her, the way his gaze locked onto hers. Unable to stop herself, she nudged the door open with her fingertips, then watched the play of his hand stroking up and down his monster cock, while she fingered her clit.

“Come on,” he coaxed, his seductive smile luring her closer.

She crawled to him, not stopping until she was between his feet.

“That’s my good girl.” He edged closer to her, then wrapped a firm hand around her hair and tugged her closer. She gasped and closed her eyes, anticipating the feel of the head of his cock brushing her lips. He let go of her hair.

“Everly.”

She opened her eyes and looked up, but he’d tucked his cock away. In his hands was the prettiest collar she’d ever seen. It was feather-shaped, and purple and black, with each detail carved precisely into the leather. It was delicate and whimsical and she was delighted that he’d thought of her when he’d seen it. Ambrose held it like he was offering her a piece of his soul.

Reverently, she reached out and ran a finger over the ridges and buckle. “Is it for me?”

He nodded. “If you’ll have me. I had it made for you, just before . . .” His words trailed off, and a flash of hurt flickered behind his blue eyes.

She was such a bitch. Oh God. He really had loved her all along. She’d almost lost him, because she was offended that he loved her too much to tell her the truth. When they were apart, she tried to convince herself she hadn’t really known him. But even if his finances had been a mystery, she’d known him, like this, the whole time.

Ambrose fiddled with the collar, rubbing his thumb over the edge of it as though he’d held it in his hands many times. Had he held it and thought of her when they were apart?

Yes. He probably had. She felt humbled by the idea. The infatuation hadn’t been one-sided at all. She’d never been a joke to him, or just a challenge, like she’d feared.

“Does this mean . . . ?” she began. What if it was just a play collar? It was presumptuous to think he’d take such a big step so fast after they patched things up.

“It means I want you to be mine, Everly. Only mine. I want to protect you and treasure you, love you and laugh with you. I want to punish you when you’re bad, and hold you while you sleep. I want to build my entire life around you.”

“And you would be my Master?” she whispered. “Not just for role-playing?” He hadn’t said so, but that seemed to be the way things had been going between them, before they’d been derailed.

“Yes.” His eyes were alight with an eerie intensity that made her squirm where she knelt.

“And I would be your . . . slave.” It was more real to say it now, in a tranquil moment, than when it had been said before, as a joke, or in lust. The word “slave” echoed through her, and she felt it down deep in her bones.

“Yes.”

Her heart ached, and she leaned her head against his knee, loving the feel of his hand stroking her hair, and the calm understanding between them. The bond that she’d felt rooting them to each other healed and started to grow strong again.

This was where she was meant to be.

As recently as this morning she’d thought she was over him, but she’d been a damned fool. It was like declaring she could live without oxygen, and holding her breath to prove it. All she’d proven was that she was a fool about him, just like he was about her. That sounded pretty perfect, in the scheme of things. As perfect as people could get, with real lives and real flaws.

“Then yes, Master. I want to be yours, and I’ll proudly wear your collar.”

Ambrose beamed at her and urged her to kneel up. She held her hair up out of his way, and he buckled it around her throat. With a light finger he stroked the skin directly above and below it.

“You’re mine now, Ev. Even when this collar is off, you’ll feel it here around your neck.”

Under his touch, she trembled.

“Tomorrow we’re going to pick out something for you to wear in public, that you’ll never take off.” He leaned down and kissed her sweetly, but left no doubt as to who was in charge of the kiss.