“I have a job.”

  “Go to work. Then come back here.”

  “For what? Kink and sex…or something more?”

  “All of the above. Why not?”

  She stared at him, not believing what she was hearing. “Why not? You’re asking me why not?”

  “Yes, why not? What are your reasons why not?”

  Sheridan sat up, pulling the covers up to her chest. This conversation wasn’t one she should be having naked in bed with a man who was also naked. “Where’s your bathroom?”

  He pointed at a door. Sheridan grabbed his discarded T-shirt off the floor and took it into the bathroom with her. If she wasn’t so flustered, she might have appreciated the nice white bath with the enormous tub. After using the bathroom, she pulled his t-shirt on and washed her face. When she was ready to face him, she opened the door and went back into the bedroom.

  Brad was sitting in bed, pillows stacked behind him, looking casual and comfortable, like a man who had all night to talk this out with her.

  “I can’t,” she said, just to get it over with.

  The covers were only pulled up to his hips which meant she could see his muscular, broad chest. Did he think she was that easy to impress? Maybe. She wasn’t, though, which he was about to learn.

  “You just gave me the best night of my life,” she said. “And I’ve had some good ones.”

  “Then let’s do it again tomorrow.”

  “You also just told me, not half an hour ago, how much it hurt you that your fiancée wanted to keep you a secret.”

  “From her kids, yes.”

  “Okay, did you miss the part about me being on TV? Nobody can know I am what I am.”

  “They can know. You don’t want them to know. There is a difference.”

  “If they know—I hope you’re listening to this part—if they know, I could lose my job.”

  ”And that’s important to you? Being on TV? I am asking that as a serious question, not being a smartass. Is it important to you?”

  “It’s important to a lot of people. My manager. My agent. My castmates. A lot of people depend on me financially.”

  “That isn’t what I asked. I asked, Is it important to you? Is being a TV actress important to you? You told me you’re lonely and have to lie all the time, which you don’t enjoy. And when you made up your ‘elaborate backstory’ for the bride whose bridal shower you’re supposedly attending, she’s a depressed TV actress sick of the grind who quit the business the minute she found someone. Tell me that’s not a fair question, kitten.”

  It was a fair question, but she wouldn’t admit that.

  “You’re just lonely, too. You were going to get married this month, and your fiancée chickened out, so now you’re looking for someone to take her place. Obviously.” She unbuckled her collar. “This isn’t mine. It’s hers.”

  He shook his head. “It was never hers because I never gave it to her. I gave it to you, and I don’t want it back unless you come with it.” His tone was calm and understanding which made her even angrier. Did he not understand what he was asking of her?

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know enough about you to want to know you more. That’s how all relationships begin, Sheridan.”

  She ignored how good that made her feel. She wasn’t going to be seduced by sweet words that meant nothing.

  “And I know enough about you to know you don’t want to be with someone like me. I can’t tell people about you. I can’t get caught with you. I can’t be seen with you. It’ll be the same situation like with your ex all over again.”

  “Unless we get serious and you feel safe enough to be honest about who you are.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t hold your breath. I get paid a lot for lying.”

  “Everybody in our community has to lie sometimes, but there’s no amount of money in the world you should accept for being so fucking lonely you cry during sex.”

  “I’m successful. I have fifteen million dollars to my name. I get recognized wherever I go.”

  “But are you happy? Because if you aren’t, maybe try something that pays less but gives you more.”

  “You make it sound so easy. I can’t change who I am because of one amazing night with you.”

  “How about two nights, then? What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Flying to LA for a New Year’s party at a famous producer’s house.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “It won’t be. I’d rather eat glass, but my agent wants me to go.”

  “Pretend you’re sick and stay with me.”

  “My agent took me on when no other agent believed in me. She gave me my career.”

  “Your agent should kiss your feet for the money you’ve made her. She owes you, not the other way around.”

  Sheridan opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off before she could say a word.

  “When you went into the bathroom, did you wash my come off?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer, but no answer was her answer.

  “Thought so,” he said. “Now put the collar back on and come to bed.”

  He leaned forward and held out his hand, beckoning her to come to him.

  She didn’t. She remained right where she was, standing on the rug in front of the bed, a good ten feet from him. He smiled.

  “Don’t laugh at me, you big jerk,” she said and stamped her foot. “We’re fighting.”

  “You’re fighting. I’m talking. Pit bulls don’t fight kittens. We know who wins that fight and who ends up with puncture wounds. Now come here and let me take care of you for five fucking minutes, please. All right?”

  She couldn’t resist that offer. She spent every waking hour taking care of herself and her career. She couldn’t say no to five minutes of someone else taking care of her.

  She walked over and let him pull her down to him. He took the collar out of her hand and buckled it around her neck again. Then he held her against his chest where she could have stayed for the rest of her life.

  ”Better?” he asked.

  “Worse.” She rested her chin against his collarbone. “I never want to leave, but I have to leave. I wish I never met you so I wouldn’t know what I was missing.”

  He kissed the top of her head. She sighed in pleasure. If only she didn’t have to think about the tabloids and social media every time she liked someone…

  “Ready to sleep?” he asked.

  “Very, very ready.”

  Brad reached for his phone on the bedside table. “Do you want any lights on? Music?”

  “Dark is good,” she said. “But I like sleeping with music. Christmas music, maybe?”

  “I can handle that.” He tapped phones. The lights went off in the bedroom. Then music came on, loud and raucous.

  “That is not Christmas music,” she said, giggling against his chest as “Sweet Child o’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses erupted from hidden speakers around the room.

  “No? Guns N’ Roses isn’t Christmasy?”

  “They are many things, but they are not Christmasy.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over Axl Rose’s famous wail. And maybe it was because she was so sleepy that it made her punch-drunk, but before he turned off the music, just when it hit the chorus, she started to sing along…

  Whoa…oh-oh… Sweet child o’ mine…

  Brad leaned back and looked at her. “You got some pipes, kitten. I can’t even believe you know this song.”

  “Know it. Love it. I can do Axl’s snake hips dance, too.”

  “Don’t tell me that unless you can prove it.”

  “Tomorrow. If I can move after everything you did to me tonight.” She yawned and wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

  “All right, since you insist GNR isn’t Christmas music—news to me—how about…”

  He tapped his phone again. N’Sync’s “Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays” started.

  “Don’t insult me,” she said. “I’m young but not that young.”

  He laughed softly. “How about this?” he asked, then started playing The Pretenders’ “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

  “Closer, but it makes me want to sing, not sleep.”

  “Suggestions?”

  “The Carpenters,” Sheridan said at once.

  “Good choice,” he said, nodding. “Excellent choice. The soundtrack of my childhood Christmases.”

  “Mine, too.”

  He looked at her, eyebrow raised.

  “My mom’s favorite record,” she said by way of explanation. “But also mine.”

  For the second time that night, Karen Carpenter’s glorious contralto crooned from the speakers, and Sheridan felt that intense longing again that her voice brought out of her.

  In the dark, Brad undressed her, tossing the T-shirt onto the floor. Then he lay down on his side and drew her against him. She wished she could stay there in his arms forever. But the world wouldn’t let her.

  “She has the prettiest voice,” Sheridan said.

  “Had,” he said pointedly.

  Had. Yes—had. Because Karen Carpenter died when she was only thirty-two from complications of anorexia. Sheridan knew the whole story. Being in the public eye preyed on Karen’s insecurities. And her reputation was spotless, so squeaky clean, that it made it impossible to ask for the help she needed. Nobody wanted sweet, lovely, wholesome Karen Carpenter to be anything but sweet, lovely, and wholesome.

  “I’m fine,” Sheridan said.

  “I don’t want you to be fine. I want you to be happy.”

  She looked up at him, his brown eyes bright in the dark.

  She pressed her breasts into his chest, her mouth to his mouth. He was so warm, almost hot against her skin. She would never be cold with this man. He was a living fire. His fingers found the wet cleft between her thighs and went deep inside her.

  “I’m happy tonight,” she whispered as he filled her.

  “But what about tomorrow?”

  TWELVE

  Morning came too early. Brad woke up to find Sheridan sitting on the edge of his bed, sunlight streaming in the windows. She was dressed. Fully dressed in the clothes she’d arrived in last night. She’d managed to tame her hair, a feat considering the rough hungry sex they’d had before falling asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms.

  “You’re up early.” He checked his phone. 7:52.

  “My driver called. He’s on his way. I couldn’t…” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I couldn’t think of an excuse to tell him not to come.”

  “You don’t need an excuse.”

  “Brad.”

  She looked at him, and the expression in her pretty blue eyes broke his heart. She didn’t want this any more than he did, but she felt she had no choice. She did. Of course she did. A tough choice but it was still her choice. But until she figured that out for herself, there was nothing to say. He couldn’t keep her here by force.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll make coffee.”

  He got out of bed and pulled on his pajama pants. As he dressed, he saw the pink collar and cuffs lying neatly on top of his dresser.

  “You can keep those,” he said. “I want you to have them.”

  “No, I can’t.” She wasn’t looking at him, just staring at the bay window, at the rising winter sun.

  He gave up. She’d left him no other choice.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, he made coffee. Sheridan stood at the counter, her coat over the back of a chair and her handbag. She would leave the minute her driver arrived, and there was a good chance he’d never see her again. Unless he caught her TV series.

  He poured a mug of coffee for her. She took it with a tired smile.

  “You want to know something interesting about wolves?” he asked.

  That coaxed a slight smile from her. “Sure.”

  “Years ago, a biologist studying wolves saw that male wolves fought for dominance over females. He coined the term ‘alpha wolf’ to describe the wolf who won the role of leader.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of alpha wolves.”

  “Turns out…he was wrong. The wolf population he studied were captive wolves out of their natural habitat—they were stressed, scared, and angry. Only scared wolves fight each other for dominance. In the wild, where wolves belong, a wolf pack is just a family. The pack leaders are the mother and father. There’s no fighting for dominance. They work together to raise their pups. If you want to be a real alpha wolf, you don’t fight other wolves. Find a partner, build a pack together, and take care of them.”

  Sheridan didn’t know what to say. She could only stare at him, this strong, handsome man, this lone wolf aching for the pack he lost or maybe never had…

  A car horn beeped discreetly outside.

  Sheridan took a deep breath and set her half-empty mug on the counter. “That’s my cue.”

  He walked her to the door and helped her with her coat. She turned to face him.

  “You’ll forget about me in two days,” she said.

  Brad took the belt of her coat in his hands and tied it for her, knotting it around her waist. “Will you forget about me in two days?”

  Very softly she said, “No.”

  The car horn beeped again. Sheridan blinked back tears.

  “Sheridan,” he said, one last try. “Kitten, please—”

  “I know something about wolves, too,” she said.

  “What do you know about wolves?”

  “A wolf in winter is a hungry wolf. A starving wolf. He’ll eat just about anything he can find,” she said.

  She was right. Brad would be the first to admit he’d been struggling with being single after his engagement ended.

  “So maybe come back and see me in summer or fall when you know I’m not starving.”

  “October, then?”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  She gave him a shaky smile and started to open the door. But he didn’t let her go, not without one more kiss. One more long, hot, hungry, starving, ravenous-as-a-wolf-in-winter kiss.

  Then he let her go.

  Then she was gone.

  PART 2

  A KITTEN IN FALL

  THIRTEEN

  Sheridan exhaled with relief when the wheels of her plane touched down at Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport. She wasn’t afraid of flying. The opposite. Before every trip down to New Orleans, she panicked for a day or two, worried something would come up and force her to cancel. She needed this trip, and now that she was here, wheels on the ground, she felt safe again.

  Perks of first-row first-class, Sheridan was the first to leave the plane. It was easy for her to hide in plain sight when she wanted to. On her TV show, she always wore frilly feminine dresses, blond hair down, and lots of make-up. As she strode through the airport, she wore a Mets cap Mistress Nora had given her, ratty jeans, a T-shirt, and an oversized cardigan. In the bathroom mirror, she looked like any college student coming home for the holidays. Except it was October 30th, and college kids didn’t usually go home for Halloween.

  At the arrivals area, she looked around, expecting Mistress Nora to be waiting for her like always. No black hair and oversized sunglasses in sight. Delayed? Sheridan got out her phone but didn’t have any messages.

  “Bad news, beautiful. She sent me instead.”

  Sheridan recognized that voice at once. She turned around and launched herself into the gorgeous tattooed arms of Master Griffin Fiske.

  “Griffin!” She laughed as he spun her once before setting her on her feet again. “Are you here for the party too?”

  “Sort of,” he said. “Been crashing at Nora’s. How long can you stay?”

  “Just a couple of days. Busy, busy, busy.”

  “If you’re too busy to party with Nora and the crew, you are too busy.”

  “True. Very true.” She grinned at him, then gave him another hug. “Oh, you are a sight for sore eyes.”

  She’d always adored Griffin. Yeah, he was a trust fund baby, spoiled and pampered all his life. But he’d also overcome a drug problem and turned his life around, which wasn’t easy. Didn’t hurt that he was pretty, too. But very taken.

  “I’m a sore sight for all eyes, to be honest,” he said with a half-hearted grin. He picked up her overstuffed weekender bag like it weighed nothing and, with a hand on her back, steered her toward the exit.

  “What’s wrong?” Sheridan asked. Then it hit her. He was alone. Griffin was never alone. He always had Michael by his side. And if he was crashing at Mistress Nora’s, as he said… “Wait, where’s Michael?”

  He told her the whole story on the drive to the Garden District. Sheridan listened in shocked silence as he related the end to one of the few D/s couples she was sure would last forever. But no, Michael had broken up with him. He couldn’t handle Griffin’s smothering anymore. He wanted a chance to be an ordinary college student, not a “trophy boyfriend.”

  “I keep trying to blame the age difference,” Griffin said as he took a right onto Magazine Street. “I mean, he’d just graduated high school when we met, and I was twenty-freaking-nine. But let’s be real, he is definitely the mature one in the relationship. I mean, he was.”

  Sheridan didn’t know what to say. She reached out and squeezed Griffin’s shoulder. It felt like solid steel, he was so tense and stressed.

  “So really,” he went on, “I kind of just have to accept I fucked everything up. The best thing that ever happened to me, and I destroyed it. Like…I’m like some stupid kid who catches this gorgeous butterfly and pets its perfect fucking wings off. Right?”

  “You’re not a dumbass kid,” she said. “But then again…”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  He waved his hand, trying to get her to keep talking. “Say it, Sher. Trust me, there’s nothing shitty you can say to me that I haven’t said to myself.”

  “I was just going to say you’re not stupid, but Michael’s not a thing or a pet either. He’s a person.”

  “I know he’s a person.”

  “Yes, I know that you know. But sometimes, when you talk like that, submissives feel a little…objectified? I mean, I know you don’t mean it like that. And a lot of subs like feeling objectified. Just not all the time. That’s all. I didn’t mean—”