She moans, leaning back against the tile. “Yes.”

  “I should prepare you more,” I warn her. “You will feel this later.”

  “Make yourself feel good,” she whispers, her eyes an unfathomable sea. She has depths I’ve never explored. Depths I never will explore, because I won’t be here that long.

  I’m here now, so I make it count, lifting her up against the tile wall, spreading her thighs wide, and notching my cock against her. My voice comes out as a growl. “Say it again.”

  Her head falls back, exposing her throat. “Whatever you want.”

  I thrust home, clenching my teeth against the ecstasy of her. She pulses around me, and it feels so good I want to make her do it again. “That’s right,” I say, my lids heavy. “Touch yourself, Bea. Come around my cock. I want to feel you.”

  She reaches down, whimpering as she finds her clit. It’s too direct, I think. A little too harsh, touching herself while she’s spread open and slick but I don’t tell her to stop. It feels too good when her pussy grasps my cock like a fist. “Oh my God,” she whispers.

  Whatever you want. The words swirl around me in the hot steam, and for the first time I’m free. “Bite me,” I gasp, because that’s something I would not have asked for. I want it now.

  She turns her head, making a delicate bite on my arm where I support us against the tile. Her hand moves faster on her clit, and I know she’s close. Close, but I want more. Always more.

  “Harder,” I say, my teeth gritted.

  She comes with a keening cry, biting down hard enough I see stars. I ride out her climax while her pussy squeezes my cock, and then I lose myself in her. I thrust into her, relentless and burning hot, turning her climax into a second and a third, until they string together in an endless litany, her voice echoing off the tile, her body wet and welcoming around mine.

  I take her again and again, long after I should let her rest, only because I want to. Whatever you want, she says, so I pretend we have forever.

  Chapter Twenty

  We spend the rest of the day making love. I have had plenty of sex in my life—the passionate kind, the animalistic kind. The paid kind. There has been sex in my life but never love.

  Which is why I force myself to leave the bed while she sleeps, to dress quietly, to write a note explaining that the deed will be hers. For such a large property it will require a visit to the lawyer to finalize the transfer, but I make it clear—it will be hers, outright. She owes me nothing. In fact, she most likely won’t ever see me again.

  Perhaps I could have been gone. I should have been.

  Instead I find myself digging through the pantry for a can of tuna. I open it for the cat, who gobbles it almost faster than seems healthy, swallowing whole chunks of fish.

  “Where are you going?” Bea stands in the doorway from the bedroom, holding the lace-trimmed sheet around herself like a toga. I suppose she could look nothing less than glorious, her body well-used, her hair even wilder than ever before.

  “Home,” I say, though the word is rather generous considering the emptiness of the loft.

  She moves farther into the living area. “Oh.”

  “It’s for the best,” I say, managing a small smile for her. “I wrote out the details here, but you will be able to stay at L’Etoile. I made sure of that.”

  Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

  It’s only here that I realize the note was an act of cowardice. This woman has the strength to confront her worst fears. I can find some to tell her it won’t be as bad as that. “I hope you continue to push your boundaries. To visit the rooftop garden or other places in Tanglewood. There are pianos all around the city for you. But you won’t be forced to leave.”

  “You talked to Edward,” she says, speaking cautiously because I’m sure she knows that if I confronted him a second time there would be no talking.

  “I had a third party do it for me. He was convinced it would be in his best interest to sell the hotel. Which means you’re free. You don’t have to leave, except on your own terms.”

  A sense of peace flows out from her. “You did that for me?”

  “I would do anything for you.” Even leave.

  Her gaze turns to the stack of papers. “Is that from Edward, then?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Actually I purchased the property from him, because I had to make sure he would go through with it. I’ll transfer the deed into your name as soon as the lawyer can arrange it. Then it will be yours.”

  “You mean I’m going to buy it from you?”

  “No, Bea. It’s a gift. There are no strings attached.”

  Her mouth drops open. “I could never accept a gift that big.”

  It has to be this way. For her, so she is never coerced into anything she doesn’t want, never fearful of it. And for me, because I don’t know how to offer anything but this. “It’s already yours in all but name, Bea. The title is only to make sure you’re safe.”

  She takes a step closer, standing right in front of me now. “I’m already safe. If you own L’Etoile then I’m safe here, with you.”

  I’m moved that she has such confidence in me. “I never want you to doubt it.”

  “I’ll take the hotel from you if that’s what you want. I would be happy to do that. The building may be old and kind of, you know, gaudy, but I love it. And I love the people here.”

  “Good.”

  “But it will be a purchase. Not a gift.”

  I open my mouth to object, but to be fair, the woman probably has more money than God. Then why does it make me feel like I’m crawling out of my skin to accept? Like I’m losing far more than the woman I care about. “Non.”

  “Oui,” she says, implacable.

  I’m not above pleading, at least not with her. “Bea, you must understand how much I’ve come to care about you. It’s not like the other women. They aren’t even—”

  For maybe the first time since I moved here I struggle for words.

  She smiles a little. “I know.”

  That makes me pause. “You know?”

  “You make your own kind of music. Not with your fingers on the keys. With your whole body. I thought I was just imagining it. After all, what did I know? I was a virgin. I don’t know how it usually is between a man and a woman. But I know about music. You can’t fake that kind of passion.”

  I breathe out in relief, that she understands what I could not find the words to say. There is too much in my past to love easily, or lightly, the grooves run too deep. I speak with my body instead, and in that language, Bea is an unexpected prodigy.

  I give her a small bow. “In that case I accept your terms. You will buy the hotel.”

  “And I hope you will come visit me here.”

  My throat becomes tight. I would give almost anything to be with Bea, but I’m not sure I could handle being paid for the honor. Not anymore. “In a professional capacity?”

  “If that’s the only way I can have you, yes.” She swallows hard. “But I’m going to be honest with you, even though it terrifies me. It terrifies me more than taking a cab to your loft, which was a lot. I want more than that. I want everything.”

  “Everything?” It seems impossible that I could have this. For so long I lived only for revenge. And for pleasure. I thought that would be enough until I met Bea.

  She made me realize I want more than that. “What you said in the shower,” I say, gruff.

  Her lips twist into a secret feminine smile, and for the first time in my life I feel my skin flush hot. Am I blushing? Mon Dieu. She really has ruined me for anyone else. “I think I asked you to be rough with me.”

  “Something else,” I say, though I’m dangerously close to being rough with her on the dining table. There is only one thing I want more than sex with her right now.

  “That you should make yourself feel good,” she says, letting the sheet fall away from her body.

  “Minx,” I say on a groan. “Witch. Siren. You said something else to me.”

  “Whatever you want,” she whispers.

  And then I take her in my arms. “Everything. Mon Dieu, I want everything with you.”

  She wraps her arms around my neck and gives me all of that and more. The fire in her wild hair, the freckles scattered across her body. The acceptance in her beautiful moss eyes. There is a whole universe waiting for us, and we find it one star at a time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The night sky stretches to infinity, but the moment is almost unbearably intimate. We are lying on the rooftop, naked but for a lace-edged sheet we stole from her bed. Bea’s body is slung over mine, her hair a pleasant cloud of sensation against my neck. Her hand plays idly over my chest, tugging lightly at the springy hair, tracing down the muscles of my abs.

  “Are you sad?” she asks. “About Edward?”

  “He lost his hold on you. That’s enough.” It’s more than whatever wealth he has in the world, actually. More precious than gold. Though nothing will ever be punishment enough for what he did to my mother. So I suppose it’s fitting he gave up something priceless. “The truth is I feel more guilty than anything.”

  “About Melissande. Has she called you again?”

  “No.” I stare at the sky, which feels heavier when I think about her. “Not since I gave her a few thousand to start over somewhere else.”

  “What she did was wrong, Hugo. Selling children. You were a child, too, Hugo, when she took advantage of you. She didn’t deserve your loyalty.”

  “Loyalty is a strange thing. It doesn’t always need an excuse. In the case of Melissande, she took me from a place where I had no future and turned me into something women paid thousands of dollars to spend time with.”

  Anger flashes through Bea’s green eyes, which are usually so calm. “She has no idea what you’re worth. She never did.”

  Bemusement is a warm fire in my chest. “You are kind, mon ami.”

  “Yes, that’s me. Kind and so incredibly selfless that I’m willing to spend my nights with the most sought-after man in Tanglewood, that I’m willing to have this body—” She walks her fingers down my abdomen. My cock is a predictable creature. It becomes hard beneath the blanket, despite the number of times I’ve taken her this night. “—bring me pleasure.”

  A small laugh. “If there’s one thing I’ve taught you it’s to appreciate pleasure.”

  “You taught me more than that,” she says suggestively, and I know she’s thinking of the rather athletic round of sex we had after our picnic of grapes and manchego.

  I touch my finger to the bronze of her eyebrows, tracing them. “While you have learned your lessons well, there is still plenty more to teach.”

  “Oh?” she asks, her lips forming a perfect peach circle.

  “I expect we will spend many nights on the rooftop.”

  She laughs. “I thought you were the one who wanted me to leave the hotel.”

  “Oui, but you have taught me things as well. For example, you taught me to appreciate staying between these four walls.” It has been three days since I signed over L’Etoile to her. Since that time I have not left. There has been only sex and talking and the occasional break for delicious food. “Perhaps we will leave next week. Where would you like to go?’

  She draws swirling circles on my skin. “There is an exhibit at the Tanglewood Art Museum I’ve had my eye on.”

  I think of the traveling exhibits. “The one with mummies?”

  “No.”

  “The one about bugs in gemstones.”

  “No.”

  And then I groan. “It’s the instruments of the Middle Ages, isn’t it? That’s a permanent exhibit, mon ami. Part of the original collection, I believe. It hurts my heart that you have not seen it.”

  “I know,” she says, hiding her face against my chest.

  “We will work up to it,” I promise.

  Naturally I don’t mention that I know the director of the museum on an intimate level, that she was a regular client who was rather peeved when I told her I would no longer be working. Perhaps I could even arrange a private show of the instruments for Bea…if I made it worth the director’s time. But no, we will attend the museum the old-fashioned way, with a ticket of admissions.

  She shivers in my arms, still not quite ready to venture out. “Okay.”

  “I must tell you one of the most wonderful things about leaving your bed. It’s thinking of all the delicious things to do to you when I return.”

  Her hand slips under the blanket. “Delicious?”

  My breath catches when she touches somewhere particularly sensitive. “Yes.”

  My innocent ex-virgin has turned into a sex goddess. Her fist closes around my cock while her lips hover near my ear. “I do love the way you taste,” she whispers.

  I groan and press my hips up toward the night. “Please.”

  She moves down my body and takes me to heaven with her mouth, her hands. Her eyes, full of reckless confidence. This is how I want her—unafraid. The climax hits me, almost violent in its strength, making me choke out her name in a litany, “Bea Bea Bea.”

  It feels incredible, but nowhere near as good as it does to flip her onto her back. To turn the sly grin into an O of shocked bliss. We dine on the best food available in the city, in the world, but none of the flavors compare to the sweet salt of her arousal. The essence of this woman, which has become like sustenance. The taste that made me come awake, after so long spent in the dark.

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  I spent many evenings at the Den before I met Bea, but none of them were a Saturday night.

  Those were reserved for work.

  Now I’m no longer a male escort. I suppose you could say I’m an investor now, though that word is rather boring. My modest fortune was restored when Bea purchased L’Etoile from me, and so I’m free to play with money like the Monopoly game. Though I consider my true profession to be pleasing Bea. That’s something I find far more satisfying.

  At first I thought we would focus on the museum, but then I realized another place would hold a far greater intellectual curiosity for her with its ever-changing population, its unique cross-section of the city. The Den. It also had a built-in support system. And so we visited a month after I moved into the penthouse, leaving quickly before she could succumb to panic.

  And then we went again. And again.

  The members of the Thieves Club were fascinated to meet the woman who had tied me down, but it was Penny who accepted Bea into her fold. For her part, Bea has flourished among a new group of people, like a flower that has survived in brittle, almost desert-like conditions, which has finally been given water.

  I’m standing behind the curtain on the small stage set up in the ballroom. The Bluthner grand piano has been restored by craftsmen and expertly tuned, ready for Bea to play for the small crowd of the city’s elite.

  If she doesn’t hyperventilate first.

  She leans over a potted plant, heaving like she might throw up. It would be a waste of a beautiful roasted lamb I prepared for her, and it would not taste nearly as good on the way back up.

  “Mon ami,” I say softly, a little coaxing. “Come here.”

  She moans her refusal. “I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this?”

  “Because you can do anything. This small show is only one small thing in a very large list.”

  “There’s a stage,” she says. “I’ve never been on a stage before.”

  “You have played for millions of viewers instead. You will do very well up there. And I’ll be waiting in the eaves for you to return, to congratulate you.” My tone makes it clear this congratulation would take a sexy form.

  “Can we do that now?” she asks, hopeful.

  Always ready, this one.

  “But no, they are about to begin.” I glance between the two heavy velvet curtains at the chairs filled with men in tuxes and women in glittering gowns. “Did you know that there was once a virginity auction on this very stage?”

  “What?” Bea looks scandalized—and also curious, which I had hoped for.

  “Yes, and now she returns as a guest.” Tickets to this event were extremely sought after. The debut of the internet phenomenon Bea Sharp. “There she is on the front row. Next to Harper.”

  Avery James looks beautiful and composed, though the growling animal of a man beside her probably has something to do with it. No one in attendance would dare make even the smallest remark to shame her. Gabriel Miller would rip their head off.

  “You know her?” Bea narrows her eyes. “Did you attend the auction?”

  “Of course not. It was a Saturday.”

  She laughs softly, shaking her head. “Well done. You’ve successfully distracted me. Now all I can do is picture those two having sex.”

  “Very beautiful people, those two. I’m sure they are pleasant pictures. However, they’re nothing compared to what you and I will look like after your show.”

  The corner of her lips turns up. “What will we look like?”

  “This will be new. And impossible to describe. Much better if I show you.”

  She looks skeptical. “Something new?”

  Our nights have been passionate and inventive. I have many tricks up my sleeve. That has less to do with my previous profession. It’s Bea herself. Her body, her smile. Her music. She makes me dream up new ways to make love to her every night.

  “Something new,” I repeat, pointing to the curtains where Damon Scott appeared.

  “Is the star ready to go on?” he says, but it’s not really a question. I don’t think he would look very kindly on her if he had to refund all of these people’s money. So it’s a good thing I don’t doubt her.

  Bea takes a deep breath and nods. “Let’s do this.”

  I stand with her in silence, my arms around her, my lips against her temple, while Damon gives a stirring and awe-inspiring introduction. It includes her video-watched stats and the incredible artists who have praised her work. He finishes with, “Please welcome the luminous Bea Sharp to the Den tonight.”