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night in the museum. She reached out and
     stroked a length of red cord, the material soft yet sturdy-feeling beneath her fingertips.
    It reminded her of his sculptures, and her body responded; between her legs a small pulse began to beat as she thought of
     the photograph, of the sculptures in the museum, the one in her desk. Of Ash and his hands, what they were capable of, both
     artistically and physically.
    She felt him behind her, felt his fingers as they moved her hair off her neck, and then his lips softly brushed the top of
     her spine. Her eyes fluttered shut as the heat from his mouth seemed to spread all over her skin.
    “I can’t keep my hands off you,” he whispered, nipping at her earlobe.
    Her knees weak, she turned to face him and met his gaze.
I don’t want you to.
She shook the thought out of her head. It was wrong, so very wrong to want him so badly. She had to resist. She had to remember
     what was at stake. Her job, her honor, and she was way too attached to her home to trade it in for a jail cell.
    But he was making it so very hard to focus on anything but him, touching her, looking at her with those deep green eyes. Cupping
     her cheeks in his palms, he brought his face toward hers, and then he was kissing her, his mouth slanting over hers as he
     slid his tongue inside her mouth. She kissed him back, thinking for a second that she’d never had a kiss quite like this,
     like she was losing herself completely as everything around her faded. Like she was losing herself.
    She pulled back. “Does every girl you meet end up tied up on the first date?”
    “Pretty much.”
    “I’m not every girl.”
    “I see that.” He looked her over in a quick, hot glance. “I like that.”
    “I want to talk about the gallery, about your art.”
    He backed her against the wall, and she felt a length of rope pressing against her upper back. A shudder ripped through her,
     landing right in her sex.
    “Are you sure?” He pressed his mouth to hers, nipped at her bottom lip.
    “Yes…” And then she pushed her tongue into his mouth.
    But soon he took over the kiss, and when he pulled back, her body felt slack.
    “You know you want to be tied, sweetheart. Admit it.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “That’s all I needed to hear.”
    He kissed her as he pressed his hard form against her body. His hands, more roughly now, roamed over the fabric of her knit
     dress. Her waist, her hips, her arms; he seemed to be touching her ubiquitously.
    “Let go, Joy. Don’t think.”
    “Was I thinking?”
    “Trust me.”
    “God…”
    He continued to kiss her; she continued to melt. She felt him take her hands and press her wrists together to bring her arms
     above her head. He was stretching her, and she arched against him, wanting to feel him against her breasts. Wanting to feel
     him everywhere.
    How could she want this? It was too much, too fast.
    “Tell me what you want, Joy.”
    And yet there was no hesitation in her answer. “Whatever you want, Ash. I want you to do whatever you want. To me.”

Chapter Four
    S he saw the corded muscles of his arms loosen, the only sign that he’d been anxious she might say no.
    It took only a couple of minutes, and just the process of him binding her, the feeling of the corded material wrapping around
     her skin, made her pussy go wet, made her entire body hum with lust. When she felt him tie her off, she tested the rope, and
     while it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was secure. Her wrists were bound, like she was his prisoner.
    “You all right?”
    “Yes.” She was more than all right. The act of submission made her pussy ache in a way she’d never experienced and, surprisingly,
     calmed her.
    Smiling, he pulled her arms tight above her, his body stretched against hers, something she was quite sure he did on purpose.
     Against her hips, she felt his erection through his jeans and her dress; goose bumps erupted over her arms.
    He stepped back, and when she tugged her arms, she realized