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each other in ways no one else did.
    It was a lonely girl’s fantasy. A fantasy as much about the need for human contact as it was about a teenager’s crush.
    Sarah stopped pacing. She found herself in front of a deep leather armchair, and she sank down into it with her feet tucked under her.
    She had friends now—good friends. People she’d met in college, or through her writing. She still struggled with social anxiety but she’d fought through it to the point where she was capable of making real friendships.
    She didn’t need to visualize Keith in that role anymore. But that wasn’t the only thing she’d imagined about him, in her bed at night with the lights off. She’d also lusted after him. She still did. So how did she see him, sexually speaking?
    She leaned back into the butter soft leather as she replayed the events of last night.
    Beneath the layers of nervousness and embarrassment, she’d been turned on.
    Really, really turned on.
    Be honest with yourself, her therapist liked to say. Life’s too short not to know your own heart.
    She closed her eyes and let her mind sift through her sexual fantasies, past and present. The truth was, she’d always imagined Keith taking charge like he had last night. So it seemed that her idea of him had some root in reality. Maybe she’d always known that side of him was there, and some equivalent part of her responded to it.
    So why did she feel so unsatisfied now? He’d taken charge, hadn’t he? He’d blindfolded her and chained her up, for God’s sakes.
    While he hadn’t even gotten naked.
    That night at dinner, she’d imagined Keith staying cool while he made a woman lose control. And that’s exactly what had happened.
    Another rush of anger swept through her. Why should Keith get to stay safe while she was so vulnerable?
    Well...maybe because he was the one who’d set this whole thing up. He was the one who’d made the rules. He assumed that what she wanted was the painting, and in exchange, what happened between them at night would be on his terms.
    Suddenly restless, Sarah pushed herself up from the chair and started to pace again.
    She didn’t have to stay. She could go. She could pack up and leave right now. That was the control he’d given her—the ability to end their arrangement at any time. The one thing she couldn’t do was try to change the rules, or control anything that happened between them at night. So she couldn’t demand that he have sex with her or anything like that.
    The absurdity of that notion made her laugh out loud. Imagine the girl with social anxiety disorder saying to the billionaire, “I insist that you fuck me immediately.”
    No. That would never happen. Even if she could find the metaphorical balls to say such a thing—which was, in itself, impossible—it would violate the agreement between them. She could do whatever she wanted during the day, as long as she did whatever he wanted at night.
    At night.
    She glanced at the windows, hung with drapes to protect the rare books from direct sunlight. But the sunlight was out there. It was daytime.
    Nighttime was off-limits—and, by extension, whatever happened between them sexually. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t call him right now. She wouldn’t talk about their bargain or anything sexual. But she could reach out to him.
    * * *
    Maybe he should just take the week off. Tell his assistant he was unavailable for board meetings and conference calls and business lunches.
    Because as long as Sarah Harper was under his roof, he was going to be useless. Completely fucking useless.
    She was all he could think about.
    Last night, after he’d left her, he’d gone to his suite and straight into the bathroom, where he’d stripped off his pajama bottoms and stepped into the shower to jerk off. Later in bed he’d jerked off again, but he still couldn’t get to sleep. He wanted Sarah so much it felt like his blood was on fire. He wanted to go back to her room and fuck her