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request, given in that new voice she’d never heard from him before tonight.
    New voice. She mentally chalked it up as a new addition on a fast-growing list.
    Still with that maddening calm, David stepped to the waste can, throwing in the condom and her ruined panties. He slid his pants back on and zipped up in silence. And yeah, he still stole her breath with every confident movement. Damn him.
    As he got back into his shirt, he tilted a softer look down to her. “I didn’t make the request to torment you, Dasha.”
    “Request?” She huffed. “Is that what you call it?” She balled up, pulling her knees to her chin. But he wasn’t going to let her get away with such an easy retreat. He crouched in front of her, lifting her chin with his finger.
    “I didn’t make you answer me, did I?”
    She nailed him a nice, are-you-fucking-serious glare. “You didn’t make it that easy to take the pass!”
    To her deepening fury, he dropped his hand, rested his elbows on both knees, and chuckled. “If I’d wanted to make you dread your reticence, I would’ve done so. Have no doubt about that.”
    Dasha didn’t give a peep of retort to that. His promise, given with such knowing confidence, actually stopped her heart for a moment, which did the strangest things to the juices still making acquaintance in her pussy. Death by arousal, anyone?
    “Fine,” she finally said. “So you granted me mercy—”
    “Damn straight I did.”
    “But from what?” Now she did look away. “Deliberately pushing me like that… What were you trying to accomplish? We were having a wonderful time—well, at least I thought we were—but then you pushed in with the mind-fuck, and—” She looked back when half a snicker spilled from him. “All right, what? What’s so funny? Is that all part of your domination thing? To screw a girl’s thoughts as you’re screwing other things?”
    David mellowed his humor to a smile, though, oddly, his stare became a cutlass of intensity. When he reached and thumbed some hair off her cheek, she started wishing for his arrogance again. She knew that part of him. Could predict it. And yeah, could somewhat control it.
    “Keep talking,” he encouraged. “I couldn’t be making my point better myself.”
    “Huh?”
    He slid his hand to her nape. “Most women—most people—wouldn’t have considered that a mind-fuck.”
    “What?”
    She jerked, but he held her fast. “As a matter of fact, most people enjoy getting asked to unveil their desires, to voice what they want without restraint. And you?” He tilted his head again. “You, my beautiful thing, are amazing at listening to needs, to fulfilling desires…”
    “But?” She filled in the implied word.
    “But when it comes time to ask for something you want…” His face tightened. “There’s a disconnect button.”
    Again, she attempted to pull back. Again, David held her in place. “Disconnect button?” She snorted. “My ass there is!”
    “Your ass is one of my new obsessions, but let’s leave my plans for it out of the discussion until we talk about your head.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with my—”
    “Oh yeah? Dasha, you almost fell off the stage in the first set of shoes Valentina designed for the tour, and yet you didn’t tell her to alter them for fear of hurting her feelings. You constantly let the dancers have the better suites at hotels. While we’re on that subject, you’d rather freeze in your own room than make a simple call for an extra blanket. Two nights ago, the restaurant brought you salmon instead of chicken, and you refused to send it back.”
    He finally pulled back, looking again like a damn CG hero. Cocky. Sexy. Infuriating. Dasha clung to the last tag to fire her comeback. “Valentina spent three weeks working on those shoes, okay? There are eight dancers on this tour and one of me; do the math on the rooms assignment. As far as the blanket, I haven’t caught pneumonia yet, right? And the salmon was