“I already am. I’m giving up my work, my life, and my fiancé for a week. And I’m stuck with you.”

  He rubs his palms together like they burn. “I’m going to count to five. If I have to come in after you, I’ll end our arrangement. You can go home. I’ll take my forty million and disappear. Your call.”

  Damn it. I pushed him. I don’t think too hard, but he clearly wants some show of obedience. He wants proof I’m still choosing to be here. And he wants to know this week won’t be a constant tug-of-war. I can’t promise that. But I also can’t risk calling his bluff.

  With a sigh, I wade back to the steps and slowly ascend. My shoulders break the surface of the pool, then my breasts, my hips, my thighs. Water clings and drips as I meet his gaze and make my way across the deck to him, one swaying step at a time.

  Possessive hunger blazes in his dark eyes. He wants me. Just to fuck…or for something more? I can’t tell, but it’s obvious he craves every inch of skin he sees. He’s not even trying to hide it.

  Less than two feet from him, I bow my head. Mostly because I can’t stand the triumph on his face…but I’ve also heard the expectations he has of his lovers. I’ve wondered so many times if the whispers are true.

  “There were three parts of my command,” he points out.

  You will strip. And you will kneel. Then you will wait for me.

  I shiver. “I remember.”

  “Are you cold?”

  “No.”

  I can almost feel his smile. “You’re finally naked. Part two now, please.”

  My head rebels against this, but something far lower flutters with thrill. What does that say about me?

  “If I don’t?” I ask.

  “I won’t keep fighting you. And I refuse to spend the next seven days threatening you, Whitney. You agreed to my terms and you got in my car. If you can’t comply with these exceedingly simple commands, I’ll turn around and leave. I doubt our paths will cross again.”

  He’s right. I haven’t seen Jett Dean, except in tabloid rags, since that summer all the promise between us burned away in a fiery blaze of betrayal.

  I nibble my bottom lip.

  Tick-tock. In my head, I hear time ticking away. I said yes in the bar because my only other choice is far less palatable.

  Now I just have to find the courage to surrender to the man I’ve considered both my first love and my enemy since sixteen.

  I swallow, steel myself, then kneel at his feet. The hard concrete beneath my knees presses unforgivingly into my skin. I’m still dripping, and the hot wind blows. Nothing about this is comfortable. But I don’t move as Jett scrutinizes me. I feel every second of his stare.

  He grabs my left hand. “Take it off.”

  My engagement ring.

  I nod. It’s always been a bit tight. At times, I would have sworn the diamond-encrusted band wrapped around my finger was somehow strangling me.

  “What will you do with it?”

  “Keep it with your clothing for the next seven days. At the end of that time, if you want to return to him, slip it back on.” He shrugs. “I won’t stop you.”

  I don’t entirely believe he’ll let me off that easily. Or is that wishful thinking? “Then why not let me wear it? Wouldn’t the reminder that you’re temporarily screwing my fiancé out of his bride-to-be give you a thrill?”

  “No.” His black eyes flash as he snatches my clothes from the table and into his grip. “I said naked. I meant naked. That means everything goes.”

  I’ve asked myself a hundred times why Jett wants me for the next week. Certainly, if he was going to bail Vance out, the arrangement could have been done through lawyers, brokers, and bankers. Instead, he came to me with this indecent proposal. From the moment I read his note, I could only think of two possible reasons why he would contact me directly. First, he could be eager to humiliate me. I’ve known all along that he’d likely want to repay me for the ignominy he suffered that summer. I’m sure he’s even thought a time or two that I’m partially to blame. The second—and much slimmer—possibility is that he’s never forgotten me and he now wants all the pleasure stolen from him that summer.

  Still, I don’t hesitate another moment. I simply slide the rock off my finger. “Does that please you”—I hold it out to him—“Sir?”

  In the middle of pocketing the jewelry with a scowl, Jett freezes. “Yes. You’ve heard the gossip, I take it.”

  “I have.” I want to ask if it’s true, but I don’t.

  He rests his palm on my crown and threads his fingers through my hair before closing them under the elastic band holding my loose bun in place, tugging until I meet his gaze. “Everything goes, Whitney.”

  “It’s just a ponytail holder,” I argue.

  “It’s in my way.”

  As if his words settle the matter, he plucks the round elastic band from my hair deftly but inexorably. The skeins come tumbling down past my shoulders, clinging to my back, and curling in at my waist.

  As he pockets my elastic band, heat flares in his inky eyes. “Wait here. Don’t move.”

  Command rings in his voice. I don’t dare cross him, even when he pivots around, turning his back on me utterly, and stalks back inside the house once more.

  My knees ache, and the wind grazes my damp nipples again. Still, I don’t move, partly because I fear he’ll leave if I do…and partly because I’m desperate to know what he’ll do if I don’t.

  So I’m alone with the night and my thoughts. With my regrets and worries.

  He’s going to realize the truth quickly. Then what will you say? What defense can you possibly muster?

  The voice in my head is right, but I don’t have any answers except the obvious. Jett Dean will know very quickly that I never got over him.

  On the one hand, I want the truth between us because I’m dying to know if the knowledge will make a difference. On the other hand, once he realizes…I’ll be so vulnerable it’s terrifying.

  It only takes him a minute to reappear. My clothes are gone, but he’s slung a fluffy white robe over one thick arm.

  His eyes are full of approval. “Excellent. I half expected to find you’d disobeyed me and retreated to some other corner of the house.”

  “No.”

  He holds out his hand to me. I hate the way I tremble as I take it and he helps me to my feet. “Smart. Hold your arms out at your sides.”

  I do, and he slides the robe around me, then belts it at my waist. “Until nine o’clock next Saturday night, you will not wear anything I don’t provide. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  Jett sends me a quelling stare. “You know what I am. Respond properly.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He pockets my elastic band, then tucks my hand in his. “Come with me.”

  I don’t say a word as I trail behind him and into the house. He locks the French doors behind us and leads me through the interior, all the way back to the grand foyer. The hamper and the clear shoebox are still sitting, open and waiting. I see he’s tossed the garments I came in on the hall table. My engagement ring sparkles in the shadows beside the heap of my clothes. Then he releases my hand, gestures to the receptacles, and steps back.

  I have to be the one to tuck my clothes away. It’s symbolic. I’m shedding all my outward skin for him and coming to him naked, both literally and figuratively. That’s doubly true of my engagement ring.

  “I’m waiting,” he growls behind me.

  I chose to be here. I took a chance.

  There’s no escape. And once I comply, there’s no going back.

  Sucking in a steadying breath, I reach for my clothes and toss them into the hamper, then I tuck my shoes into the box, putting the ring inside between them.

  “Close them both,” he insists.

  He’s mind-fucking me before he ever fucks me at all. He’s making me give up my one barrier between us, to willingly tuck it out of my reach before he commences with debauching me.

  It’s agonizing. It’s awful. It’s dirty. And I love the way Jett’s mind works.

  I do exactly what he says, closing the hamper and settling the lid on the shoebox. Then I turn to him expectantly. “Done.”

  He gives my effort a cursory glance, then nods and grabs my hand again. “Do you understand?”

  The significance of his gesture? Yes. What’s to come? Not exactly. We’ll have sex, I’m sure. Beyond that…I have no idea what he’ll demand for his forty million dollars. But since the price is so steep, I’m sure he won’t make anything about this week easy.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Very good. Upstairs with you.”

  He leads me up a slightly curved staircase with an ornate wrought-iron railing. At the top, we reach the landing. His hand at the small of my back guides me to the end of the hall without a word.

  My breath catches when I take in the room.

  A massive bed dominates the space, topped with soft white cotton and gray velvet. Pillows of all shapes, sizes, and textures are propped against a mirrored headboard and take up half the mattress. Above, a chandelier that’s a balance between light-refracting crystals and elemental iron hangs. It’s anchored to a ceiling covered in mirrors, too. There are a pair of nightstands flanking the bed and a plush white chair in the corner. A shaggy gray throw rug warms up the milkwashed planks of the floor. There’s a cheerful hearth opposite the bed. Open French doors overlook the backyard, blowing gauzy sheers in with the summery breeze.

  It’s all warm and sensual and so perfect for a romantic seduction.

  Except the thick black leather restraints dangling from each corner of the bed.

  I can’t help it. When I see them, I gasp.

  Beside me, Jett smiles and points to an open door tucked into a corner. “Use the restroom.”

  “I don’t need to go.” The protest slips out automatically. I’m not trying to be argumentative.

  His face tightens as he closes in. “Go now. You won’t have another chance to use it for a while.”

  Because I’ll be restrained to his bed. Right.

  With a nervous bob of my head, I hustle across the floor and duck inside, turning to shut the door behind me. As I do, I see Jett watching me with an unwavering stare until the second the door clicks shut between us.

  Dear God, what am I doing?

  I flip on the overhead lights and blink. I look flushed and aroused, pupils dilated, cheeks rosy. What will happen when he actually kisses me? Touches me? Fucks me?

  I swallow. I can’t come apart yet. I need to hold myself together until I understand what he’s really after.

  Then, I’ll have to make another life-altering decision.

  After I peek at my lipstick, I take care of business, flushing the toilet and washing my hands. Then I fluff my hair again and sigh. I’m nervous and I’m wasting time. I just need to face Jett. I need to give him whatever he wants and let the chips fall.

  Otherwise, I’ll be marrying Michael Crawley in three weeks. And I’ll never see Jett again.

  Bracing myself, I pull the door open and step into the bedroom for what I’m sure will either be the best or the worst night of my life.

  Chapter Three

  Jett

  * * *

  When Whitney finally pads out of the bathroom and into the room I brightly lit, I clench my fists for two reasons. First, it stops me from tapping my thigh impatiently. Second, if I don’t, I fear I’ll grab her, kiss her, throw her on the bed…and forget about every plan I have.

  Breathe. Stay calm, logical, and measured.

  When I see the stare she cuts my way and the uncertainty in her hazel eyes, it’s hard not to comfort her. It’s almost impossible to feel nothing.

  I have to try. Unemotional was the way she treated me last time I saw her—in court. I do nothing except give her my power if I reveal everything in an unguarded moment.

  “Are you ready?”

  She shrugs. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Maybe, but she looks nervous. That should please me. After all, I need the upper hand if I’m going to win my way. But there’s that part of me that remembers the innocent girl I once kissed breathless, who so softly and sweetly offered me her innocence. That girl didn’t seem capable of giving me a knife in the back, just her heart. The me then would have punched the me now for my plans.

  But the me now is more practical.

  “Excellent. Take off your robe and hand it to me.” I hold my palm up between us.

  She hesitates, seems to gather herself to unknot the belt around her small waist, then slides the robe off her shoulders.

  I stop breathing as she exposes her naked body to me again. No, I didn’t imagine how sexy she looked by the pool, under the moonlight. Her breasts, like the rest of her body, have matured. They are definitely more than a handful now, topped with dusky nipples I can’t wait to slide my tongue across. She’s built like an hourglass with a small waist that’s exaggerated by the lingering shadows in the room. Her hips have widened. They’re not a girl’s now, but a woman’s. She’s got long, sleek thighs for someone so petite. But it’s her pussy I can’t stop staring at. Under the sparse dusting of downy, dark hair, it’s puffy and pink.

  I know where I’m going to expend most of my effort and energy tonight.

  Finally, she drops the robe onto my palm. I toss it on the back of the nearby chair, then sit.

  “Come here, Whitney.” I point to the floor in front of me.

  Wordlessly, she does. I’d think she was calm—except for the pulse beating wildly at her neck. When we’re sharing breath and space, she stops.

  I nod my approval. “Kneel.”

  She hesitates, then descends gracefully to her knees, looking up at me with big, beseeching eyes that threaten to turn me inside out.

  I can’t let her.

  Instead, I fist a handful of hair at her crown and jerk her head back before inching forward in my seat, leaving her no doubt I mean to kiss her, rob her thoughts, obliterate her resistance.

  Make her beg.

  God, how many fantasies have I had about that?

  “Jett?” Her voice shakes.

  She’s incredibly brave to put herself completely in the hands of a wealthy, powerful enemy for a week who has an unending hard-on and an ax to grind. I have to give her points for that. The question is, what am I going to do next? Punish her for the choice she made as a girl that ripped out my heart? Or forget revenge for one night and give in to every urge I’ve ever had to make her scream my name?

  “Whitney.”

  “What am I doing here? What are you hoping to gain?”

  She’s always been insightful. Then again, she’s smart, poised, assured as only someone raised with money and surrounded by a family full of sharks can be.

  “I want what you promised me eight years ago. But since I can’t have your virginity”—or your heart—“I’ll settle for my pound of flesh.”

  Whitney opens her mouth to say something. I don’t want to hear it. I’m done talking.

  To silence her, I grab her face with one hand, thumb and fingers pressing in just above her jaw with the right pressure to force her to open for me.

  Her lips part. Her pink tongue perches on her upper lip as her eyes widen with uncertainty. My heart shudders. My skin is on fire. My cock aches.

  God, everything about this woman turns me on.

  It’s my last thought before I swoop down, seize her mouth, and force her lips even farther apart with my own.

  The moment our kiss connects, I jerk. She’s like a jolt of pure electricity screaming fire through my body, especially when she stills against me…then suddenly softens with a little cry and throws her arms around my neck.

  That’s all the green light I need.

  I release her jaw, clutch my greedy fingers around her nape, and deepen the kiss by sliding my tongue against hers. Fuck, I can’t stop myself from inhaling her. She’s every bit as delectable as I remember—but more. She’s no longer cotton-candy sweet. Now, she’s a complex flavor, like a perfectly balanced dessert, some combination of sugary and salty that lingers and makes me crave more.

  I fall into her. I lose myself in her. And even though she’s killing my good intentions and self-control, I let myself drown in her.

  A groan slips free as I pull her up. She clambers onto my lap. I barely have to encourage her to get closer before she melts against me, angling her head to allow me even deeper into her hot, honeyed mouth.

  I drop a palm to her hip and use it to drag her closer. With the corner of my brain still functioning, I realize she doesn’t kiss like a woman who’s been satisfied well and often by her fiancé. She kisses with the desperate hunger of someone lonely, who’s been craving touch. I can use that against her, to make her putty in my hands. But I can also use that to pleasure and sate her, to make her sigh with the kind of bliss she’s never known. I’ll make it my mission to be her fucking best.

  And if she still walks away at the end…well, I really will know what she values hasn’t changed.

  I’m distracted when her fingers find their way under my tie, to the buttons of my dress shirt beneath. She plucks them open and slides her fingers under the fabric, smoothing the tips over my skin. I start sweating. Then she eats at my lips and makes these seductive little sounds that spark an even hotter desire in my gut. She climbs all over my lap, changing positions, trying to get even closer. It’s all I can do not to plaster her against me and forget about everything but the pleasure.

  As much as I’m curious to see what Whitney would do and how far she would go if I gave her free rein tonight, I can’t forfeit that kind of control. I need her under my hand, under my command, under my body.

  When she tosses my necktie over my shoulder and attacks the rest of my shirt buttons, I grab her wrists to stay her. “Don’t.”

  Her breathing is labored, her eyes wide and excited. “Jett…”

  I shake my head coolly. But my expression is a lie. Inside, I’m thrilled that she’s so unabashed and eager. That she’s already begging.

  “Who’s in control?”