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asked, feeling desperate to claw something back. She crossed her arms, as if that could help, and then closed her eyes briefly when she realized she’d just asked a man if he was on birth control.
    Then Declan surprised her.
    “Me, too,” he said, with that evil grin again. “Got ‘em snipped, ages ago.”
    “So…nice to meet you, I guess?” she ventured. This was a weird conversation to be having. Not many men got vasectomies that young. “Is this how you get to know people?”
    Declan laughed, a deep, musical sound that reminded her of what he’d been like on stage. Don’t think about it.
    “No, just you,” he said.
    “I told you I’m not sleeping with you,” Molly said.
    He ignored her, smiling, leaning back in his chair like some kind of lord of the manor. “This contract requires you to get tested before we go on tour, and gives you access to my test results. I pay for the rush test, of course.”
    He was unbelievable. It was like she’d never said anything at all. Molly thought about what Adra had said: if she wanted to him to stop, if she asked him to stop, he would.
    So why wasn’t she asking?
    “Are you out of your mind?” she demanded. “Why on earth would you think that’s something you can require ?”
    Declan locked eyes with her and stood up, slowly, letting her get the full effect of his contracting abs and striated pecs as he lifted himself from the chair. His eyes burned and his lips were pressed into a tight, serious line, and oh holy fuck was it hot.
    “Because we are going to have sex,” he said. He came around the desk and she was suddenly very aware of the fact there were no longer any physical barriers between them. That she could, if she wanted to, touch him. That she could let him touch her.
    And he was walking toward her.
    She told her legs to move, and they wouldn’t. Stupid legs. Stupid body, fixated on what it might feel like to just say, “Yes.”
    Too late. He was inches away—inches. Molly felt her lips part, and the thudding, driving pulse in her core reached a fever pitch. Maybe she should just…
    Declan took her hand and turned it up, palm facing him.
    “Because,” he went on, tracing the lines in her palm, as though he were completely oblivious to the fact that she was practically hyperventilating, “You’re going to be spending a lot of time in the Clubs Volare, because that’s where I like to be. And you’re going to see things there that you like. You’re going to see things you want to try. And those tests will be required there, too.”
    The geek part of her brain thought, He used the proper plural of ‘Clubs Volare.’
    The rest of her was a little slow on the uptake.
    Then: He’s saying you’re into BDSM. He’s saying you’re a submissive.
    HE KNOWS.
    Molly tried to yank her hand away, but Declan caught it. The look he gave her stripped her of all pretense. It had been four years since Molly had been naked with a man, and even then she’d always covered up, always had a sheet, a shirt nearby, something. Always some layer, something to protect herself with. She had never, never felt as naked as she did now.
    “You don’t have to hide it from me,” Declan said. “I think it’s fucking beautiful.”
    Molly swallowed. The only other man she’d told about her fantasies had thought she was a slut. She didn’t want Declan’s words to make her feel so good, but they did. They really, really did.
    “This doesn’t change anything,” she said.
    Declan narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Then his grip on her wrist tightened and he dragged her over to the desk. There was a contract, a blank line where her signature would go, and his.
    “Sign it,” he ordered.
    Molly stared at it, already knowing that she would. That she would do what he commanded, again. That she wanted to. As she shakily began to scrawl her name, she told herself that she would do this, she would give in on this one thing, and that holding out on the rest, on her actual body,