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was going to do.
After five minutes, she realized: he wasn’t coming back.
She rubbed her arms, feeling goose bumps beneath her fingertips. She was supposed to be seducing him , not the other way around. And why was he bothering, anyway, when he’d made it quite clear he owned her? And if he wanted to seduce her, why hadn’t he taken it all the way? Why had he turned her on like a blowtorch, then left her to smolder alone?
She was staring around the kitchen, trying to make sense of what had happened, when her eyes lit on an object on the counter that he’d forgotten to put away.
There, on the cutting board, was a small, sharp knife.

Chapter Three

Several hours later Dominic walked toward the guest suite, nerves jangling. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman. He paused, his hand on the doorknob.
Before last night, he corrected, it had been a while since he’d been with a woman.
He hadn’t meant to sleep with her when he brought her home. He was surprised that he’d even gotten her into his car, and he’d berated himself the whole way back, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and return her and extract his vengeance—probably because it would have been in front of her.
She really believed it, the whole nine yards: she was a noble sacrifice. She was saving her family. She was embracing the beast in order to rescue the ones she loved. In the old Greek plays, she’d be Iphigenia, the daughter of the king, going bravely to her death to save the world.
He hated that fucking play.
But once she’d gotten naked, his body had reacted. She was perfection. Not the plastic, Las Vegas fabricated version of perfection: she was beautiful, subtle, innocent. She wasn’t acting out the drama. She had a job to do: she was doing it.
Part of him wanted to break her for it, he knew that. But that wasn’t the part that had been released when he’d touched her. When he’d touched her, he felt a sort of reverence he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever.
She was genuinely good, and he had no rights to her.
So why are you doing this?
He pulled away from the door, frowning at himself. Second-guesses weren’t in his repertoire. Neither were regrets, come to that. And then there was his little seduction scene in the kitchen. He knew that she was going to try and play him—act like a coy mistress, drive him crazy. But he wasn’t always this misshapen monster. He hadn’t used those skills in years. It was amazing that they’d come back at all, much less as easily—he found himself falling into the old role.
Why was he doing this anyway?
Because he wanted her. Because she’d made this deal, not he. If you made a bargain, you paid for it with your soul. One way or another.
He stepped inside the room.
It was dark already, and from the light spilling in from the hallway, he could see that she was already in bed. Was she that eager, he wondered? Even as a touch of smug satisfaction pulsed through him, his subconscious was already sensing something amiss.
He took her for more of a fighter than that. Even if she did like having sex with him—and he got the feeling she’d had precious little enjoyable sex in her life—would she really be waiting for him like this?
He took off his clothes, quickly, methodically, trying to temper his impatience. He slid between the cool sheets, reaching for her. His hands grazed over the silky softness of her bare skin. For a moment, he explored her with his fingertips, enjoying the curves and plains of her body with a silent sigh. She felt incredible. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were round and high, full enough to meet his cupped palms. Her waist was small, flaring out into delightfully curved hips and that sweet ass that begged for the touch of his hands. Even her limbs were long and lithe, dancer’s limbs. His cock tightened painfully.
“Let’s consider this dinner,” he murmured, pressing hot, random kisses across her torso. She didn’t answer. Her body was tense,