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me.
    We’ve both made mistakes in our time together, but this—making love with Sebastian—isn’t a mistake. It never could be. But after the way I freaked out last time, I need to prove it to him.
    Maybe I need to prove it to myself, too. That I’m not afraid. That I’m not weak. That I’m strong enough to love Sebastian—to let him love me.
    His hand is shaking when it reaches out to cup my cheek. “You don’t have to do this.”
    I give him the most sultry smile I can muster—which probably isn’t much, considering how afraid I am that he’ll reject me. “You keep assuming I’m doing this for you.”
    “Aren’t you?”
    “No. I’m doing it for us.”
    For long seconds, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Hell, I don’t even think he breathes. I’m about to give up—about to push to my feet and try to find another way around the mess I made the last time we were together—when he reaches for his belt.
    I nearly sag in relief. Thank God. Maybe we can salvage this yet.
    I expect him to rush. It’s been four days and even after two orgasms, I’m so hungry for him that I can barely stay still. But Sebastian seems intent on drawing things out—on torturing me—his fingers slow and deliberate as they unbuckle his belt. Pull the two ends apart. Slide the fine Italian leather through the belt loops.
    I watch him, spellbound, my heart beating just a little faster with each belt loop he passes. Finally he’s pulled it all the way out, but instead of dropping it on the floor like I expect him to, he stretches the leather between his two hands. Tugs a few times as if testing the integrity of it.
    I don’t know why, but my sex grows wet at the sight. I don’t want him to hit me with it—I’ve had enough pain at the hands of men to last me a lifetime—but something about the way the brown leather looks against his tanned and calloused hands…It gets me hot. Really, really hot.
    “Stand up,” he tells me, and I do, pushing eagerly to my feet.
    “Take off your clothes.”
    I pause for a moment, a little uncertain at the coolness in his voice. I’ve never stripped for a man before, let alone one who sounds so dispassionate, so removed from what’s going on right in front of him. But then I look at his eyes and they’re a hot, laser-bright green and I can see he’s as aroused as I am. Can see that he’s hanging on to his own control by a thread.
    Somehow that gives me the impetus I need to lift my hands to the buttons of my blouse. To slip them through the buttonholes, slowly, carefully. When they are all undone, I shrug the shirt off my shoulders, letting it slip down my arms and to the floor behind me.
    Sebastian’s eyes follow the movement before coming back to rest on my lace-covered breasts.
    If I was a different woman, I’d probably be able to tease him here. To put on a show that would make him burn even hotter. But I’m not that kind of woman, and though I think I’d like to be, for now all I can do is unfasten my bra and let it slip to the thick carpet as well.
    He still doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reach for me, though his hands tighten on the belt, drawing it even tauter. My sex clenches at the sight and I want to reach for him, for the belt.
    The knowledge throws me off and my hands falter at the waistband of my skirt. Suddenly it’s like my fingers don’t work—like they’ve forgotten how to work a button, how to lower a zipper.
    “Leave it,” Sebastian tells me, his voice all smoky gravel and midnight promises.
    The tone has my hands dropping instantly to my side, even as I nervously pleat my skirt between my fingers.
    And then Sebastian is there, prying my fingers from the material. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning down so his breath is hot against my cheek.
    It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to moan at the contact. And when his hand—with the belt still wrapped around it—skims lightly over my breast, my knees actually tremble.
    He smiles at