Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

THUNDER ON A STORMY NIGHT

I 'm dying to tell him the truth. Of course I am. Lying to this guy is like peeling off my skin, layer by layer. But if I tell him? It will be the end. Not just of ‘us', but of the delicate tightrope I must walk. Maybe even the end of me. The secret I carry is not just my own: all the people I love most are wrapped up in its silence and so I hold onto it earnestly, even when I would wish to divulge the truth of who and what I am.

But I don't.

I sit across from him, watching the way his hair flops forward a little over his brow as he reaches for his coffee, already his fourth despite the fact it's still early in the day; the way his symmetrical, determined face scans The Guardian on his Tablet, taking in the facts printed and those that aren't. The way his lips curl with that particularly derisive scowl of his as he sees one of his business rivals appear on the pages.

And I imagine how it would feel if he looked at me like that. If his eyes filled with that legendary coldness and he turned that famously ruthless disdain on me.

Alex isn't an ordinary man. He didn't get to own one of the biggest tech companies in the world by being compassionate and patient. He's rough. And he's demanding. Impossibly determined to get what he wants, and from the minute he saw me, he made it obvious he wanted me. I was his latest obsession and he hunted me mercilessly, in that way he has that makes it almost impossible to say no.

I could have though, and a part of me wanted to. I saw danger in Alex from the first moment I met him, and I'm usually very good at avoiding danger (I've learned to be, naturally). It's not his darkness that terrifies me though, but how much I crave it—how much I crave him.

He knows nothing about me beyond the construct I have allowed him to see and now I find I want him to know all of me. The real me. It defies logic and it breaks every rule we've agreed to. Sex and no-strings is the promise we've made and there are so many strings around the truth of my being that I am tied into a thousand knots.

Could he unravel me? Would he want to?

A curse fills my mind, tearing through me like thunder on a stormy night.

"You're frowning."

As far as I can tell, he hasn't even looked my way, but I make an effort to rearrange my features. I purse my lips, lifting the corners into a smile he once told me was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. "Wrong."

"Really?" He flicks his eyes to mine, and his scepticism sears me. "What is it?"

I shake my head and a curl of dark brown hair drops in front of my eyes. I push it away, tucking it behind my ear at the same time he reaches for it. Our fingers brush and it's there. Zap. Electricity and awareness. It scorches me. Does he feel it? It's hard to tell. In the privacy of his apartment he's a veritable sex-god. But he can fold that side of himself away when we're out, presenting a cool, untouchable fa?ade to the world even when he's so not like that. Passion runs deep with Alex and it is his passion that drives me to the point of distraction.

I tap my fingers against my knee, wondering at the charge of desire that's making my stomach churn.

"What's what?"

It's an infinitesimal change in body language but I'm attuned to every single detail of his. He shifts his weight forward slightly and his shoulders are tense beneath his custom ten-thousand pound-suit. "If you're worried about something, I want to fix it."

But haven't I had enough of that in my life? People reaching in and rearranging the pieces of my existence because they think I can't look after myself? "Fine. Take me to bed."

His eyes flicker just enough to show that I've hit a nerve. "That's on my agenda, believe me."

"Now."

His laugh pours over me like warm caramel. "You are impossible."

I am. I didn't used to be, but meeting Alex LaMar has shown me that I am desirable and powerful. I guess I'm a little high on that power, even though I inherently understand how fleeting it is in nature. I am his latest obsession, but I am not foolish enough to think I will obsess him for long—we've agreed as much. This is temporary. But right here and now, I have him, and I love that.

"Impossible to resist?" I tease, flexing that power, feeling it spread through me as beneath the table I let my toe shuffle over his calf, inching it higher and higher until it's between his legs. He doesn't betray so much as a flicker of response, except in the depths of his eyes, where he can't quite control his reactions, there is a darkening of colour, a flash of recognition.

His hand curls around my ankle and I'm reminded for the millionth time of how strong he is. Half-man, half-beast, I often think to myself, barely contained by the stitching of his suit. Broad shouldered, a chest that ripples with bulked muscles and dark eyes that see so much more than I show anyone else. He removes my foot easily, but instead of dropping it to the floor like I expect, he lifts it higher into his lap. He removes my shoe and beneath the table, he rubs the sole of my foot, his eyes snatched to mine with a slightly mocking air.

His skin on mine feels so good that I shudder in my seat. "Let's go back to your place."

His lips twist with regret. "Not possible. I have to work."

"Don't you own the company?"

"Yes. And over thirty-thousand people around the world count on me doing my job so they can keep doing theirs."

I pull my foot away but his fingers don't release me. Instead, they travel higher along my leg, teasing my calf now and then the sensitive flesh behind my knee.

"What about me?" I ask breathily.

"You'll wait."

"What if I won't?" I whisper, dropping my eyes so he won't see the desperation gathering there, like storm clouds on the horizon. Power is fleeting; one minute I am high and the next I am waiting for the wave to crash. Frustration gnaws at me.

He doesn't pretend to misunderstand and I'm glad. He's not like other guys I've known, or dated. Not that we're dating, I guess. We're sleeping together. That's about the most he's promised me, and even though I agreed with his terms, because they suited me too, you'll probably have guessed by now that I'm in way over my head. I never knew it would be like this. He is intoxicating. "Then that's your choice."

Non-committal. Putting the ball back in my court, as he is so talented at doing. I should be gratified, but I'm not.

I swallow back my frustration.

Four weeks this has been going on. Four weeks since we met, since he fundamentally changed a part of me, four weeks since I first learned the pleasure of life with Alex LaMar in it. On the one hand, that doesn't seem like long, on the other, I cannot remember ever not knowing him.

I know that soon my life will swallow me back into it, making it almost impossible to accommodate the demands of this relationship. University is back, and though it's early in the term, I can already feel the risks of inattention. My focus isn't where it should be and my grades will suffer if I don't take care.

"Meet me in the back," he says, placing his tablet and phone into a small leather bag he carries.

My stomach is filled with butterflies; that's what he does to me. I weave through the tables and no longer see the other diners. It's just him and me and the ravishing I hope he's about to give me. I slip through the doors to the back corridor of this cafe and I watch as he pays the bill and strides across the room, oblivious to the way heads turn in his direction—Alex never notices that, but I do. I'm someone who's spent a lifetime learning how not to be noticed, and he's the opposite—so meteoric and blindingly handsome and yet he barely realises what kind of impression he makes. Or perhaps he simply doesn't care.

He doesn't waste a second. Away from prying eyes at last, his body crushes me to the cold, tiled wall and his mouth possesses mine; his tongue is punishing me and pleading with me and I know then that he's as desperate as I am. He's hard against my gut but he's too disciplined to do more than kiss me. My knees are weak and my shoulders sag; without the strength of his body holding me to the wall I know I'll slip to the floor.

And when I moan a little into his mouth he grinds his cock against me. "It's an IOU," he explains, breaking the kiss and putting horrible, aching distance between us.

I nod, completely torn apart by fire and flame.

The bathroom door bangs shut and a woman emerges. She looks at us quizzically and Alex instantly changes. He's cool and calm, his smile perfectly banal as he reaches into his pocket. I've seen him do this enough times to know what the gesture means. He slips his key into my hand. "Text and let me know when you get there."

Frustration spirals inside me. "One of these days I'll get sick of waiting for you, you know."

His laugh is like melted butter over my spine. "We'll see."

I roll my eyes, but smile, because I can't help it. "You're an arrogant bastard, you know?"

"I have been told."

And he's right to be so cocky, pardon the pun. Maybe if I'd lived a normal life, I'd have had some idea how to deal with a man like Alex. But I'm flying blind. I've dated a couple of guys, neither of them anything special. The truth is, until meeting Alex, I had no idea I was even a sexual person, really. But I am hooked on him and the way he makes me feel, and I can't imagine myself closing the door on this in a million years. But at some point I must. To protect my secret, I keep people away, and Alex isn't someone who will be happy knowing only part of me. Eventually, he'll ask. He'll see the way I evade questions, he'll realise there are whole chunks of me I keep buried, and he'll want to know, because that's just who he is.

I sense his gaze burning into me, watching me, all the way to the front of the restaurant. But I don't feel the other set of eyes, though they follow me with exactly the same degree of interest. They're still watching me when I pull the heavy glass door inwards and emerge onto the blustery Soho street. They watch me as I clip away, and I have no clue. I don't find out about them until much, much later. But for now? I still believe the biggest danger that faces me is the total cluster-fuck of lust I feel for a guy who may disappear from my life any day now.

He arrives late. It's almost midnight when I hear him open the door. And I'm a little bit pissed off. The anger lasts precisely as long as it takes my eyes to settle on the details of his face. So handsome, so rugged, and so tired. I ache to run my hands over his shoulders and kiss him tenderly, pressing away the fatigue. But that's not who we are.

"You're still up."

"Yeah." And I walk towards him so slowly that I'm practically pausing between each step. The lights are off except for the lamp near him. As I draw closer, he realises I'm only wearing a skimpy negligee, and that my fingers are toying with the spaghetti straps. When I'm close, but not so close that he can touch me, I slide them down my arms.

I'm naked beneath. The silk pools at my feet. I step out of it. "You wrote me an IOU, remember?"

His lip twists like a coil. "I've been thinking about little else all day."

I make a tsk-ing sound. "What a shame you weren't here sooner then. I'm a little tired now."

His eyes probe mine. "Too tired?"

A small smirk tilts my lips because so much is revealed in his question. His concern for my welfare—if I say ‘yes', he'll tuck me into bed with a chaste kiss, because he is caring like that. But I hear his desperation too, that I say ‘no', and allow him to fulfil his promise.

"Not too tired," I offer after silence has stretched for about as long as I can let it.

His breath expels in a soft whoosh of relief, and his hands are reverent as they run along my sides, cupping breasts I weeks ago ceased to think of as mine. They are his, as is all of me.

"Where the hell did you come from, Sash?" He mutters, and for a second I freeze. Fear trickles down my spine as one of the questions I most fear comes out of his beautiful mouth. But he doesn't mean anything by it, I'm almost sure of it. Not in the way I worry about. This is just one of those things; a question intended to flatter. My past holds little interest to him—there's no danger here.

"Your imagination?" My heart beats fast against my ribs for a plethora of reasons.

"My imagination isn't this good," he denies, dropping his hands to grip my wrist. He pulls me hard, so that I jerk against him and my breath snatches loudly across the empty room.

"What does this say?" He strokes the word tattooed across my inner forearm. It has been written in a curling script, making it difficult to distinguish the individual letters. "Monachopsis."

His laugh is loud in the sensually charged silence of the room. "Mona-what?"

I shake my head. "Long story." I want him so badly I feel a little bit nauseous. Having never known desire like this, I have no concept if this is normal, but I do know I'm not willing to give it up.

His fingers drop to his belt. His eyes are burning through my soul as he pulls it quickly from his pants then undoes the button and zip. He steps out of them and grabs my wrists; his fingers are firm around my flesh and I suck a breath in that shakes with pleasure. It's going to happen. And soon. "All day I've thought of you. Of this. All day."

He wraps the belt around my wrists, curling it in and out of my skin until almost the whole belt has been used. He buckles it and pulls it tight so that breaking free is impossible for anyone but Houdini. I'm not Houdini; nor do I want to escape. "Where?" I say breathlessly, ignoring the fact I should be worried by the depth of need I feel for this man.

And now he scoops down and picks me up, and though I've had years knowing just how well I can take care of myself, I'm not ashamed to say how good it feels to be held by him like this; how safe I feel with him.

He's big and I'm small and still I wonder at the way he lifts me so easily. He carries me through the apartment to the guest room we always use. His room I've only seen occasionally—when he's not in the apartment and I'm free to roam around and wonder at the parts of his life he keeps completely separate to me. You'd spy too, wouldn't you?

He shoulders the door and then puts me on my feet near the foot of the bed. There's a hook low down on the frame; I've seen it before and always presumed it was something decorative. But he pulls on the belt around my wrists and clips a thick velvet chord through them. I'm tied to the bed and because of where the loop is, I'm bent over at more than a ninety degree angle.

His hands spread my legs from behind and I imagine what my arse must look like, pale and round in the milky moonlight that slices through the window.

I can't see him but I can hear the whisper of clothes as he undresses and I'm so wet that I can already feel myself coming a little. I'm on the brink of begging when he reaches down and runs his touch over my long hair. He pushes it aside so that his hands can stroke my neck. "I will never get over how beautiful you are."

I shake my head, ready to push aside the compliment as form rather than fact. He doesn't give me a chance. His dick, sheathed in a condom and huge and hard pushes to the core of my being. I writhe in surprise and relief and gratitude. His fingers dig into my hips, holding me steady as he thrusts into me hard, so hard that my head hits the bed frame at one point and I laugh a little. He swears and issues a gruff apology but I shake my head. I don't care. I love it when he's desperate for me. I don't want him to stop.

He understands and even though I feel him throbbing he slows down, refusing to own his climax yet. But me? Oh, I'm there. I sail over the edge, screaming into the room as my whole body begins to shake and I pull at my hands. And when I think I can't handle anymore, he leans forward, cupping my breasts and moving deeper inside me. He's twisting my nipples—he knows I love it.

I want all of him, more than this. I want to feel his weight on me. I want his kisses. And I know that will come, because Alex is never satisfied with just once.

This is the necessity of our relationship. The first coming together that is mandated by a day's distance. It's no-frills sex.

Sure enough, he feels me come apart and he holds me, waiting for the frantic breathing to subside before pulling out of me.

"Untie me," I moan, wanting so much more.

I don't see him shake his head. "No way."

I angle my head to meet his eyes but he nods towards the bed. "Lie down."

I frown. "I can't …"

"Yes, you can."

And he's right, but there's nothing elegant about the way I scramble onto the bed and my cheeks are pink when finally, I'm lying on my stomach on the thick mattress. I stare at him mutinously, wondering if he gets a kick out of my awkward ministrations, but he doesn't notice apparently.

"No, no," he murmurs. "On your back."

"I'm not a contortionist," I snap.

With a grunt, he rolls me over, and my wrists form an X that I can't unravel. "I have had a shit of a day, Sasha. I could do without the smartassery."

"You don't think my arse is smart?" I grumble and his lips flicker in a tight smile.

"I think your arse is heaven," he contradicts. "And that I want you a thousand times tonight."

"Even you don't have that kind of stamina."

"Where you're concerned, I wouldn't be so sure." And finally he's kissing me, and thrusting into me, his body weight on mine and everything is perfect, just as I knew it would be. It's perfect as I orgasm again and he kisses me and whispers in my ear, platitudes that I don't even know I need to hear.

He pushes into me and he's coming, every muscle in his body flinches as he crosses his threshold and explodes. And I smile, because he's mine. Not forever. Maybe not even for much longer. But for tonight.

I'm not going to waste a moment thinking about the future, even though it scares the hell out of me.