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single alarm bell she had, blaring. She wasn’t afraid of him, or what he might do; she was afraid of herself.
    Jesus Christ, get it together. For Lydia.
    There was a couch, a desk. Someone’s office. Molly moved to the other side of the couch, as far away from him as she could get.
    “Why am I here?” she asked. Her voice was choked.
    Declan stared at her. Not confused. Not thinking.
    Wanting.
    Finally, he said, “You’re supposed to write a book.”
    A beat.
    Then Molly laughed out loud, relief spilling over her as Declan gave her a big, wicked smile. She’d forgotten his reputation as a funny guy, the wild kind, the kind of guy who gets away with outrageous pranks because he’s famous.
    “I forgot you were supposed to be funny,” she said, breathing hard.
    Shit, she really felt drunk. What this man did to her hormones…
    “That’s fair. I forgot you were supposed to be writing a book,” he said, and his look told her what he’d been thinking about instead. Just like that, she was whipped right back to the edge of self-control.
    “Oh shit,” she murmured. “No, really, why am I here tonight?”
    “You didn’t like the show?”
    “I loved the show.”
    “I know you did.”
    He said it so simply. So knowingly. She blushed, hot and fast.
    “It was a good show,” she said, maybe a touch defensively.
    Declan grinned again. “Yeah, I owe you.”
    Before she could ask what the hell that meant, he walked over to the desk and opened one of the drawers. Suddenly Molly was indescribably irritated with the man. She’d never been this turned on and confused and, frankly, intoxicated in her entire life, and all while she was trying to nail her first real writing job, and it was entirely his fault. And he was enjoying it.
    And she would rather be irritated and angry than have to deal with the ache of wanting to feel him inside her. It would pass. Of course it would. It was just the fucking show.
    “Why am I here?” she snapped.
    He looked up. He was amused , damn him.
    “So we can negotiate our terms,” he said.
    “What?” Molly was dumbfounded. “I already signed a contract.”
    “You signed a contract with Volare and with my holding company,” Declan said calmly. There had been a shift. He sat behind the desk, and something about his demeanor was…different.
    Still larger than life. Still with that burning fire in him, but contained now, burning tighter and brighter, like a laser. Controlled.
    It didn’t help. She wanted him just as badly, bare-chested and still slick with sweat. It might have even made it worse.
    “You still need to sign a contract with me,” he said.
    Molly shook herself out of her apparent trance. “What? What are you talking about? For what?”
    “Right now, as a precaution. Later it might be something more. Then we’ll renegotiate.”
    There was something about his level stare that was driving her nuts. The way he had all the information and wielded it, taking control of the conversation. The way she was completely lost, clinging to him for guidance. She knew it wasn’t an accident. It was a demonstration. And it was turning her on while he watched.
    Fuck.
    Fight it. Be a badass.
    She met his eye and said, “So are you going to tell me what it is, or are we going to play twenty questions?”
    Declan just smiled again. Nothing she said could get to him. Infuriating.
    “Are you on birth control?” he asked.
    “Of course I’m on birth control!” she sputtered, before she realized that she had actually answered that question . She’d freaking answered him , again, like he had a right to that information. Well, she wasn’t going to tell him the rest. She wasn’t going to tell him the reasons why she’d never even consider risking it again.
    Molly opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, taken completely by surprise. This was a pattern now, Declan Donovan getting her to do things automatically. Telling her to do things, and her doing them.
    “What about you?” she