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extreme nervousness. “I doubt it.”
    Damian’s chuckle sent a bolt of anxiety through him. “Oh, I think you know I do. Let’s finish this lame-ass charade of a parent-administered party. Tomorrow night we will discover something new. You have no idea what you’re missing, Evan. Yet.”
    Evan shuddered as Damian walked away, knowing he’d turned a corner, one he’d have a tough time reversing. He had tasted the power. And knew Damian held the key to the Pandora’s box he’d been toying with for so long, turning it over in his hands, until tonight when he’d peeked inside and located what he’d been craving. That key to the particular fetish he’d sampled was one his enemy grasped close to his heart.
    He did want more. So he followed Damian’s retreating back, grabbing and downing the cup of vodka someone held out to him.

Chapter Five

    The summer began, but Evan barely noticed. A dark hole had widened, but he no longer teetered on the edge. He’d jumped in with both feet, immersed himself, and every morning swore he’d stop; but by the time he’d staggered home from his summer job each day, his skin crawled with need. A need that had found an outlet, thanks to Damian, nearly every night at a makeshift BDSM club near downtown Detroit.
    The forty-hour-a-week warehouse job helped. It focused his mind, working so hard for nearly eight hours straight. Of course, the fact his nemesis and dealer of his drug of choice, worked with him – or pretended to work – riled him no end. But his father had procured the jobs, which meant Damian had to be included.
    “Evan!” A voice echoed through the giant expanse of concrete and cardboard, a distinctly female one. One he’d been trying to ignore for a few weeks. “Where in the hell…?”
    He winced and stepped into her line of sight when he heard the click-clack of heels on the concrete floor. The stacks of beer and wine loomed around them as he watched her approach. The tall, slender woman was sales manager for the large distributor and had lately decided to exert an annoying level of control over inventory. Which put her in direct contact with the back-of-the-house staff, and that made Evan a nervous wreck every time she was around.
    “Yes, Caroline?” He pulled his gloves off and leaned on the nearest stack of nameless California wine, attempting to arrange his face into something resembling non-ogling.
    She stopped about a foot from him and crossed her arms over her silk-clad chest. Evan forced himself to keep gazing into her eyes and not let his eyes crawl up and down the hottest female form he’d yet encountered in his eighteen years. It was good practice, he convinced himself. Besides, he’d checked her out plenty. He had every inch of her five-foot-six power-suited frame memorized. It fueled every fantasy he sustained lately during the sessions of power he exerted over complete strangers at the club.
    “Listen, Evan, I need your help with this. No one else will listen to me.” She glanced down at the spreadsheet that seemed permanently attached to her well-manicured hand. “I need more reliable reporting from back here, you know?” She looked up at him, brushing a strand of long blond hair out of her eyes.
    He tried not to stumble when he took the report from her. Goddamn, Adams… get a grip. But she was too close. And when he sucked in a breath, not realizing his mistake until it was too late, he leapt back from her, embarrassed.
    Her eyes darkened, and the chemistry in the room shifted, making him stand up straighter. “Uh, sure, okay. So how can I help?” He looked at the rows of numbers and it all clicked into place for him then. He glanced at her. She took a full step away as if intimidated, or shocked. And Evan knew damn good and well nothing set this woman back on her heels. He put a hand on her arm, relishing the spark that passed between them.

    * * * *

    An hour or so later, she sat at the conference room table creating a new inventory