Biker Billionaire Special Boxed Edition

© 2012 - Jasinda Wilder

ORLY Press

www.orlypress.com

Biker Billionaire #1 - A Wild Ride

Biker Billionaire #2 - The Mile High Club

Biker Billionaire #3 - Riding the Heir

Biker Billionaire Bonus Story

More Books by Jasinda Wilder

BIKER BILLIONAIRE #1: A WILD RIDE

"Leo, I'm sorry," John said. "It was just a stupid comment."
I rolled my eyes and huffed. "Whatever, John. You say that, and then what? Okay, you're sorry. I

forgive you. But what does that fix? Nothing. Just leave me alone. Take me home."

"Please, baby. I can do better. I'll change."
"Yeah. Heard that too. Just last week, in fact." I stared out the window of John's VW Golf,

watching the suburban side-streets flicker past, rain-drenched and gray and dull.

Like my life.
"Well what the hell do you want me to do? I said I'll do better, and I will. Why isn't that good

enough for you?"

I didn't want to answer that question, so I didn't. I toyed with the half-carat ring on my finger,

placed there a month ago. Four long, painful weeks, in which we'd argued more than we'd kissed,
fucked in anger more than we'd made love, ignored each other more than we'd gone on dates.

"Come on, baby. Please, talk to me." John put his hand on my leg, and I brushed it off, jerking my

leg away.

"What is there to say? We've gone in circles, John. Yes, you're right. We fight about something,

and I tell you the problem, and you fix it, as best you can. I recognize that, and it's great. The problem
is, there's always problems. If it's not one thing, it's another."

"People have problems, Leo," John said. "Couples have problems. We can work it out."
Again, I didn't want to answer. The only response was one that would lead to more arguing,

another breakup. We'd broken up four times in the three years we'd been together, the last time less
than a week before John proposed. He'd proposed as an apology, and it had been pretty romantic, and
it had led to some pretty spectacular sex. By spectacular, I mean he'd fingered me first, so I'd actually
had an orgasm, and he hadn't fallen asleep right away afterwards. We'd actually gone a second time,
which we hadn't done in months. It was that second time that had me worried.

I was late. Yeah...Aunt Flow was running a few days behind, and I was like clockwork usually, so

I was in a bit of panic. I hadn't taken a test yet, and I certainly hadn't told John. Kids were a hot button
with him; he didn't want a kid for a few years after we'd been married, he maintained. I wanted them
sooner...or at least I had thought I did. Now, with the way things were going with John, the idea of
actually having a baby with him scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I was not ready to be tied to
John forever, and I wasn't ready to be a mother yet. I wasn't sure which of those two was the more
imperative not-ready.

Now, the words were bubbling on my tongue. I owed it to John to tell him. I was cranky and

touchy about everything since I'd first realized I was late, and I was taking it out on him. It wasn't
exactly fair, even though he had been a royal dick earlier, leading to our current argument.

We'd been out on a nice date, all dressed up with reservations to my favorite restaurant, a bottle of

not-the-cheapest-kind wine, some good conversation in which I'd been briefly reminded why I'd
fallen in love with John. He'd been charming and funny, and he was pretty hot, in a boy-next-door way
—which was how I'd met him. He was my next door neighbor at my downtown condo. He was,
literally, the almost-sexy boy next door.

But then, in the midst of an inane patch of conversation, I'd mentioned my latest diet and exercise

regimen, and he'd made some stupid, snarky comment about how it was "actually working this time."

What did that mean? A natural question to ask, of course, I'd think. And I'd gotten the usual

responses: Oh baby, I'm sorry, that just came out wrong, I just meant you were looking thinner and
fitter recently is all...

Which had helped so much of course. I'd slapped him and walked out.
Now, don't get me wrong: I'm not a petite, pixie little thing, all size zero with A-cups that seem

like B's on a toothpick frame. I'm a woman with a body. I'm five-eight and half, size never-you-mind,
but not a zero. I've got an ass that wants to absorb more of my food than I'd like, and a pair of tits that
tends to draw attention even when I wear loose clothing. John always said this was what he loved
about me, that I'm a real woman, not a model-thin girl with no assets. But then that comment drew into
question all those claims.

I'd catch him looking, of course. Men look at the women around them; they're visual creatures. I

get that and allow him some leeway, as long as he's not ogling and doing double takes. But that
comment: "it's actually working this time," God, it just made me think. My brain whirred on overdrive
all the way home, clicking through memories of the girls he tended to look at when we were out. They
were thin, svelte, he'd call them. Little nubbin tits and no booty. Expensive clothes, straight, platinum
blonde hair, all that.

I'm not that girl. I've got curly blonde hair that doesn't like to cooperate, and I don't like a lot of

bling. I wear a tasteful necklaces to offset my outfit, which wasn't expensive since I wasn't exactly
rolling in money working as an ER nurse, and neither was John, managing a bank.

So, yeah, I was questioning John's attraction to me, and thus my own value as an object of

attraction. Plus, it was just a dick remark.

John pulled the car to a stop at a red light, and I felt the words bubbling up. I tried to stop them,

but they came out anyway.

"I think I might be pregnant."
John was silent, but I watched his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, and the corners of his

mouth flatten out and turn down. His pale blue eyes narrowed, and he sighed, almost imperceptibly,
but not quite.

"You think you're pregnant." His voice was carefully neutral.
Which only pissed me off. Okay, yeah, I didn't want me to be pregnant either, but where did he get

off being mad about it? That was how John got mad: quiet, carefully neutral, always in control, just
the narrow eyes and tight knuckles and subtle frown.

"I'm almost a week late. It's not for sure, but it's possible. I haven't taken a test or anything, but I'm

never late."

He didn't look at me, didn't respond, just carefully accelerated through the green light, a practical

man driving a practical car carefully.

"Let's take a test, then, just to make sure." John pulled the gearshifter into second, still looking

straight ahead.

"I guess," I said. "We can stop at CVS on the way home."
He just nodded. And that was when I lost it.
"That's it? No reaction?" I wasn't yelling yet, but I was winding up to it. "You're just gonna be all

practical? Just, keep calm and carry on? Say something, damn it!"

John looked at me, a raised eyebrow his only expression of surprise. "What do you want me to

say? You are or you aren't. We don't know yet, so there's no sense panicking."

"Would you panic, if I was?"
He shrugged; yes, that was his reaction. A shrug.
"You wouldn't, would you?" I was definitely yelling now; my voice was filling the tiny car. "You

would just carry on, practical and calm and...goddamn it, so fucking boring! You wouldn't be happy
about it, you wouldn't be mad. You'd just deal with it and move on. God, I'm so sick of your
motherfucking practicality! Be extreme about something! React, for once!"

"Leo, you know how I feel about you swearing so much," he said, as calm and unflappable as

ever.

I wanted him to be flappable, just once. My mouth opened to swear, or curse, and then something

inside me just stopped. Time went gloopy and I saw us, five years from now. We'd have a little girl,
pleasant-looking and nice, and John would come home from the bank, and we'd be pleasant, and we'd
have our pleasant house, and our pleasant flat-screen TV, not too big, and our little dog, not too big,
not too yappy, just right. Then, in ten years...the girl would be older and joined by one more, a boy,
just as nice and well-behaved, and the TV would be new, but the same. And the dog would be the
same, nice and calm and practical, and John too, through it all, would be nice, and calm, and pleasant,
and he'd have his hair, thinning maybe, gray maybe, and he'd be still trim and slim. We'd have sex
every Saturday, maybe Sunday morning every once in awhile, missionary position, like always, in the
dark, like always.

I nearly vomited.
John carefully pulled the car to a stop at a red light, and I was shaking, my stomach in my throat,

and I couldn't help seeing John as he'd been in ten years, in my mind: the same, just older. And me, the
same, just older. Unexcited. And our life: predictable and pleasant.

I pulled the ring off my finger and tossed it on the dash, grabbed my clutch purse, my precious

Coach bag, the one nice thing I owned, and I got out of the car, in the pouring, sluicing rain. In my
heels. I ran out into traffic as the light turned green, and cars honked, and John yelled calmly for me to
come back.

I swear to fucking god, John is the only man capable of yelling calmly.
I just gave him the finger, thumb out, Detroit-style. I kept running, made it to the sidewalk and kept

going, running blind through the cold, pelting rain. Something snapped beneath my foot and I
stumbled, tripped, and fell to the ground, slapping the rough concrete with my hands, ripping my
dress. I whimpered and sat down on my butt, splashing into a puddle. I looked at my hands and saw
that I'd cut up the heels of my hands on the sidewalk, and my knees were bleeding. The heel of my
shoe had snapped. My purse, my two hundred and fifty dollar Coach purse was lying submerged in a
mud puddle on the grass next to the sidewalk. Rain beat down on my head, my hands and knees
throbbed, and my left wrist started to ache, and my purse was ruined and all my things in it wet,
which meant my cell phone was ruined, my uninsured, one-year old iPhone. I heard a car pull up next
to me, and a window hum open a few inches.

"Get in" John said. "You're hurt and wet. I don't know what got into you. You'll catch pneumonia."
I stood up, expecting John to be next to me, helping me. Was he? Nope. He was sitting in the car,

rummaging in the back seat for a towel to lay down on his leather upholstery. He had shoved the door
open from the inside.

I stared, open-mouthed. He couldn't even get out of the car to help me? Nice.
"Get in! My leather seats are getting wet."
I laughed, shaking my head. "You are unbelievable."
I kicked off my heels and left them in the puddle. I bent down to pick up my purse, slipped in the

mud and fell again, splashing mud all over my face and the rest of my dress, which was now
completely soaked and sticking to my skin. I choked back a sob as I stood up, wobbling on limp
knees, clutching my purse under an arm and holding my now-throbbing wrist.

"Leona, don't be an idiot. Get in."
I started walking, refusing to let the tears burning my eyes fall. Not in front of John. He'd just hand

me a tissue and wait for me stop crying, like he always did.

"Fuck off, John. We're done."
"We're five miles from home, it's raining, you're hurt, and you're walking in the wrong direction.

Be sensible, for once." John wasn't pleading, or getting out to beg me, or forcing me to do the sensible
thing; he just trundled next to me in his little VW Golf and spoke to me, calmly, through the cracked
window. Cracked, so rain didn't ruin his leather.

I turned to him, not stopping my barefoot slapping across the sidewalk. "What do you care? Go

away and leave me the fuck alone!"

"You don't need to curse at me, Leona. Fine, then. Have it your way."
Hadn't I just said I thought I might be pregnant? And he just drove away, leaving me there, in the

rain, hurt, five miles from home.

Dick.
I stomped through the puddles and the mud, getting wetter and wetter, my curly hair flattened

against my scalp, slicked to my cheeks and my forehead. When John was out of sight, I let myself cry.
It was a long, sobbing, eye-burning and vision-blurring bawl, chest heaving, sobs ripping from me. I
kept walking, though, wrong direction or not.

I didn't pay any attention as a gut-rumbling Harley drifted slowly past me, except to wonder what

kind of a lunatic would be riding a Harley in this weather. I didn't pay any attention, just kept
stomping, sobbing, staring at my feet and cursing all men, John in particular. Therefore, I also didn't
notice when the Harley pulled into the apron of a driveway and stopped; I didn't notice as the rider
got off and stood in front of his bike, waiting.

I walked right into him.
He was huge, solid, and sopping wet. He smelled of wet leather, a smell that seemed to have a

tangy taste on the tip of my tongue. I stumbled backward, and he caught me, powerful hands catching
my arms and holding me steady. I looked up and actually gasped as the brightest pair of gray-green
eyes I'd ever seen bored into me, full of sympathy and concern and something awfully like lust. It
couldn't be lust, though, or at least not for me. Not sopping wet, bleeding, sobbing, and angry.

He was wearing a leather biker jacket, sewn with punk rock patches and HOGS chapter patches

and skulls and iron crosses and all the indecipherable things bikers patch onto their jackets. His jeans
were tight, black, and expensive looking, as were his shit-kicker boots, spikes on the toes, all silver
buckles and studs. His ears were pierced mutliple times along the lobes and cartilage, a little studs, a
cross and a tiny diamond in each lobe. He had rings on his fingers, thick metal things with more iron
crosses and skulls and metal band sigils. His hair was thick, black, and plastered to his forehead. His
eyes, though.

Good god. They burned, and they sparkled, and they glinted, and they did things no man's eyes

should do. Not in the rain, and especially not looking at me. Me, a girl who's diet was "actually
working this time."

His hands were warm on my bare skin, and he still hadn't let go, even though I was openly ogling

him. He had tattoos on the backs of his fingers, running across each finger except the thumbs; the
tattoo would have read Semper Fi when he put his fists together.

He was a Marine, then, or an ex-Marine. He certainly looked the part. He was well over six feet

tall, broad as a brick wall, shoulders and arms that looked mammoth even through his leather jacket.
He exuded danger, pure male testosterone and power, coiled strength and deadly confidence.

And all he was doing was standing there, holding me by the arms.
"Are you okay, ma'am?" His voice was deep and smooth, reminding me of Josh Turner when he

crooned the low notes.

Shut up. I like country music, so what?
I shook my head, hair slapping against my neck. "Do I look okay?"
I wasn't sobbing anymore, as he'd startled me out of my tears. I was still gasping in near

hyperventilation though. His mouth quirked and straightened.

"I guess you don't. You look...upset. And wet."
"Very observant of you."
He was still holding my arms, as if I was in danger of falling over still. I might have been,

actually. Especially if he kept those fiery eyes on me much longer. He was meeting my gaze steadily,
but I could tell it took effort. My dress was pressed against my skin all over, and it was nearly
translucent now that it was wet, which was a factor I hadn't considered when I bought it. My body
was clearly displayed, leaving nothing to the imagination except the color of my flesh, and this man
was trying hard, and succeeding, to not look at me.

I appreciated the effort, even as I found myself liking the idea of being ogled for once.
"Well, would you like a ride somewhere?" He asked, jerking a thumb at his bike.
I used the opportunity of his hand releasing my arm to step back, but his other hand was still

clamped down on my right arm, firm and gentle and unrelenting. I stopped pulling away and stood in
front of him. I should have demanded he release me, but I didn't.

Then I wondered what he'd do if I did demand it.
"Let go of my arm, please," I said.
He let go immediately, and I found myself regretting the experiment. His hand had been warm and

felt good on my arm.

"You're gonna get sick, ma'am," the biker said. "Why don't you let me take you somewhere. I'll

behave, I promise. I'll just drop you off and that's it. I won't even ask for your number."

I hesitated. He looked dangerous, even though his eyes belied the notion that he'd hurt me. Plus,

he'd let go as if burned the moment I said 'let go'. He'd released me before I got the word 'please.'

"I probably shouldn't. I've never been on a motorcycle before, and I don't know you," I said. They

were flimsy excuses neither of us believed. "I'll be fine, but thanks."

"Oh, come on," he said, exasperated. "You're bleeding. Your wrist looks swollen, you don't have

any shoes, and it's raining cats and dogs. Let me take you somewhere, please."

"It's not safe," I said, my last excuse to my more cautious nature.
"What's not safe, me or the bike?" He sounded offended.
I sighed, realizing he thought I was judging him by his appearance. And you know what? I was.
"Both," I said. "But you're right. Thank you, I would love a ride."
"You don't think I'm safe, do you?" His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to suddenly exude a sense

of threat. I wasn't afraid, but I got the feeling you didn't want this man mad at you.

"No, I don't," I said. "You're a biker. You have spikes on your boots and tattoos on your fingers.

You might take me to a warehouse and do god knows what to me."

I was moving toward the bike as I spoke, and he was smothering a grin.
"Well, you're mostly right. Except I don't know where any warehouses are." He sat on the Harley

and turned the key but didn't start it yet.

"What about the doing god knows what part?" I asked as I swung my leg over the bike behind him.
He grabbed my wrists and pulled them tight around his waist. He was hard as a mountain and

twice as big. His abs were like ribbed concrete under my hands. I let my fingers splay and my palms
press against him, enjoying far too much the feel of his muscles.

"Well," he said, grinning at me over his shoulder, "I just might do god knows what, but only if you

want me to."

The bike started with a throaty roar, cutting off any response I might have given. He backed the

bike up and twisted the accelerator so we jumped forward, the engine roaring and the tires skidding
on the wet road. The rumble was deafening, vibrating up my legs and to my gut. It made certain
portions of my feminine anatomy tingle in a way that was somewhere between uncomfortable and
delightful.

We passed through the intersection where I'd jumped out of John's car, but we hadn't gotten

another mile when we passed John's Golf coming back toward us. Apparently he'd thought better of
leaving me there. Too liitle, too late for him.

He saw me on the bike and actually jerked the car into a highly impractical and illegal U-turn. He

pulled up next to the bike and pointed a finger at the side of the road, indicating he wanted us to pull
over. My new biker friend turned to look askance at me. I nodded and he pulled into a McDonald's
parking lot.

John squealed to a stop and I found myself amused that he was driving like a maniac all of a

sudden, now that I was with another man. Again, the thought that ran through my mind was too little,
too late.

"What are you doing, Leo?" John asked, slightly hysterical, for John.
He was standing beside me, reaching for my arm. I pulled away and he dropped his arm to his

side.

"Getting a ride," I answered, using the same calm tone he always used on me.
"Getting a ride? Getting a ride where? And with him?"
My friend—whose name I didn't know, I realized—rumbled in his chest like a bear. "Watch it,

punk," he growled.

John paled and backed up against his car. "What are you doing, Leo? What's going on?"
I sighed and wiped rain off my face. Biker-man just sat impassively, listening and not responding.
"John, I told you. We're done. There's nothing you can say or do, not anymore."
John's eyes wavered and he stepped toward me again, grabbed my arm and tried to pull me off the

bike. "We can fix this, honey! Come on, get off this bike and let's go home."

I jerked my arm free, and John grabbed it again, pulling me off balance. Biker growled again and

swung his fist, connecting with John's chin. It was a lazy, slow, almost casual punch, but it sent John
flying to tumble onto his ass.

"Get your hands off the girl," Biker said. "She's not going with you. You had your chance and you

clearly fucked that up. If I see you bothering her again, I'll wreck you."

John nodded his head numbly, fearful. Biker squealed his tire, spinning the back of the bike around

in an arc, splattering John with mud. We pulled out into traffic and Biker guided the bike with a care
and a precision that surprised me. He had done the thing with the tire to scare John, but he was in fact
a very careful driver, if only because I was on the bike and it was raining.

I hadn't told him where to go, but he was riding as if he had a destination in mind. I clutched his

belly and let him ride, content to be taken somewhere. It might have been foolish, but for once I was
making decisions that weren't responsible or careful.

He took us to a condominium building in downtown Royal Oak, parked in the underground garage.

He took my hand as I swung my leg over, and then caught me when I stumbled. My feet hurt suddenly

and my legs were jelly from the vibration of the Harley's engine. He pulled me up and I found myself
leaning against his chest and looking up at his gray-green eyes.

I shivered, whether from being cold and wet or from the heat of his gaze, I wasn't sure.
"God, I'm so sorry," Biker said, ripping his coat off and draping it over my shoulder. "You must be

freezing! I should have given you my coat when you got on."

He seemed truly chagrined, and I felt a little safer yet. His jacket draped down to my thighs, and it

was warm from his body. I huddled into it, grateful, and somewhat turned on by the smell of it around
me: man sweat, wet leather, cologne.

Biker took my hand and tugged me toward the elevator. "Come on, let's get you dry."
I pulled back and he stopped. "Wait a second. Where are we?"
"My condo. I figured since that little punk was saying he wanted to take you home that you lived

with him, and that you wouldn't want to go back there just yet."

"That little punk is my fiance," I said. I wasn't at all sure what my point was, or why I was saying

it.

His mouth quirked up again, and his eyebrow lifted, an arch expression of wry contempt. "Not

anymore," he said.

I shrugged. "That's true. And he is a little punk."
I stepped toward Biker, and he turned into me, looking down at me with an expression that I once

again couldn't read.

"I'll take you somewhere else, if you're not comfortable here," he offered, then ruined the moment

with a sly smile. "I mean, if you're afraid, that is."

I stepped even closer, and now I was nearly pressed against him. My heart was pounding at my

own bravado. I'd seen how strong he was; he'd knocked John flying, and John wasn't a small guy
either. He just wasn't anything like this leather-clad warrior in front of me.

"I'm not afraid. I just don't go home with men when I don't know their name."
"When do you go home with men?"
"With men like you? Never."
His eyes narrowed. "Men like me?"
"Yeah, men like you. In fact, I've never gone home with a man." I inched even closer, and now my

head was level with his shoulders, my eyes tipped up to look at him through my lashes. "But then, I
dumped John because I needed a change. So, here we are."

"Men like me," He said again. He was really hung up on this "men like him" thing.
"Oh relax," I said. "I was teasing."
"Sure you were," he rumbled.
He pulled me into a walk again, leading me toward the elevator. I let him get me in front of the

silver doors before I pulled my hand free.

"You haven't told me your name," I said.
"Shane Sorrenson." He was looking down at me again, and his eyes were boring holes in mine.
"Well, Shane, we can go in now. Thank you." I turned to the elevator and waited.
He hadn't pushed the button yet, which I knew. He grunted in something like amusement mixed

with frustration, and punched the call button with his thumb.

"You haven't told me your name," he said.
"Leona Larkin."
"Leo," Shane said.
"Yep. Leo. I haven't gone by Leona since I was five. I always thought it sounded like a grandma's

name."

Shane chuckled. "Yeah, it kind of does. Leo." He looked down at me as the elevator opened. "Like

a lioness. Are you a lioness, Leo?"

Now that was an unmistakable flirt, if I ever heard one. I still wasn't quite sure why a man like this

would flirt with me, soaking wet, on a diet, plain-Jane me with my frizz-bomb hair.

I summoned my courage and flirted back. "You never know. I just might be. Better watch out,

Shane Sorrenson."

We stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed, leaving us alone in the ascending car. Shane

turned to me, growling like a predator. He grabbed my arms in his thick, callused hands, pushed me
against the back of the elevator and pressed his hard body against me. He had an erection through his
jeans, and it was a hard bulge against my belly. I gasped, suddenly trapped between the man and the
elevator wall.

He kissed me. I expected it when his eyes went hooded and he moved towards me like a predator

slinking through the grass. I wasn't expecting it to be soft, sensual, and slow. He claimed my mouth
with his, not hesitant but giving me a chance to push him away. His lips were moving on mine, and his
tongue was searching for mine, and I couldn't have stopped kissing him for anything.

My knees buckled and I was suddenly wet between my legs, a dampness that had nothing to do

with the rain or my sopping dress. He sensed the trembling in my knees and scooped me up in his
arms, holding me easily, not breaking the kiss for even a moment.

"Put me down," I whispered into his mouth. "I'm too heavy. You'll hurt your back."
He just snorted, an amused breath of air from his nose, smiling against my lips. He didn't answer,

just carried me out of the elevator and down a long hallway toward a door at the end. I wrapped my
arms around his neck and held on, giggling. I'd never in my life been carried like this. I kissed his
jaw, suddenly daring, and then his throat where his T-shirt touched his neck, and then his chin. He
dipped his mouth down to cover mine and I was lost in his arms and his heat and his kiss.

He set me down, dug in the pocket of his jacket for a set of keys. He opened the door, kicked it

open and picked me up again, nudging it closed with his heel. He carried me into the condo, and I
caught glimpses of expansive white walls with tasteful paintings, a leather couch and loveseat, a huge
TV on the wall above a fireplace, and then I was being laid down on a feathersoft bed, his weight on
me, his lips on mine, on my throat and down between my breasts.

I had a moment of shock at my own behavior, but then I pushed it away. I liked this man. I liked

kissing him. I liked the fact that he was dangerous and a complete stranger. I'd never slept with
anyone but John, and I'd certainly never done anything like this. I felt wanton and sensual and reckless
and I loved it.

I wrapped my arms and legs around him and kissed him with all I had, and I felt his erection

bulging against his jeans and into my belly. I felt a crazy impulse to unzip his jeans and touch him.

I hesitated, still kissing him, and then moved my hand between us. He lifted up to give me access.
And then I sneezed. Of course, I never sneeze just once; it's always at least three. This time, it was

four, convulsion after convulsion, and I barely managed to turn my head aside so I didn't sneeze in his
face. And then I started coughing and shivering. I wanted him, though, I wanted to carry through with
my licentious compulsion to touch his penis.

Shane cursed fluently and got off me. "God, I'm such a dick," he said, "You've probably got

pneumonia and here I am groping you."

He scooped me up again, lifting me up with effortless grace and taking me to the en suite

bathroom. Compared to the one in my condo, this was a palace, all shiny marble and stainless steel.

He set me on the bathtub and started the shower.

I watched him, hungry for him. He was in a soaked T-shirt, plain black fabric stretched across a

torso that was totally, ridiculously, absurdly muscular. His jeans were tight around his ass, and he
was still erect against his zipper. I told myself I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be doing this with a man
I knew nothing about.

But why not? Why shouldn't I do this? There was nothing holding me back, was there? A little

niggling thought hit me, reminding me of my late monthly visitor, but I pushed it away, telling myself it
was just stress making me late.

I stood up and unzipped my dress, waiting for him to turn around from adjusting the water

temperature. He saw me standing, the dress hanging off my shoulders, and his eyes widened. I pulled
one arm out of the strap, and then the other, and the filmy green dress fell to the floor, leaving me
standing cold and clad in only matching red lace bra and panties and a serious case of goosebumps.
My heart was hammering so loud I was sure he'd hear it.

I'd worn the matching set in hopes that the date with John would lead to hot sex, and now I was

glad, because here was hot sex itself, six foot four and built like a Greek god.

I met his eyes, swallowed my nerves, and reached behind me to unhook the bra, one eyelet at a

time. I slipped it off my shoulders and held it out to him by a finger. He took it in a clenched fist, not
moving toward me. He'd gotten harder and bigger yet, and I licked my lips, wanting nothing more than
to unzip him and see if he matched the vision in my head. I pushed the strings of my thong down
around my hips, wiggling out of the panties. I bent down, picked them up, and handed them to Shane,
who took them with a trembling hand.

The tremble in his hand made me melt, just a little bit more.
And then of course, I sneezed again, six times.
His gaze roved over my body, and then touched on my scraped and still-bleeding knees and palms.

"You're bleeding," he said.

He moved to the narrow medicine cabinet and pulled out cotton rounds and peroxide.
"Sit," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.
I sat, naked, on the toilet, the porcelain cold against my bare bottom. He poured peroxide on the

cotton and held it near my knees, crouching down. His face was level with my breasts, and my
nipples stood up hard under his gaze. I forced my knees apart and his eyes followed the motion to my
crotch, trimmed close but not shaved.

"This will sting a bit," he said. Something in his voice and his focused gaze and the practiced way

he dabbed at my knee told me had some kind of medical training.

I hissed at the sting, but didn't flinch. He dabbed the cuts clean and moved to my other knee, gentle

and thorough. He took my hands in his and cleaned those as well.

"You've done this before," I said.
"Done what?" he asked, without looking up at me.
"Clean wounds," I said. "You have some kind of medical training."
He nodded. "Six years as a Marine combat medic. Most of my tours were in Iraq and

Afghanistan."

"You saw combat?"
He nodded, and the tension in his shoulders told me not push the subject any further. "Yeah. A

fuckload—" he cut himself off, "sorry, yeah. I've seen combat."

"John always told me I swear too fucking much," I said, more to break the tension than anything.
Shane laughed and met my gaze with humor and gratitude in his eyes. "He would say that, from

what I could tell."

It was my turn to show tension, and I know he saw it.
"Sorry again. None of my business," he said, standing up and discarding the bloody cotton rounds.

"Get in and warm up. I'll put your clothes in the dryer."

He turned to leave and I caught his arm. "Thanks," I said.
He nodded and left the bathroom, but not without a long last glance at my naked body.
I showered, luxuriating in the heat. It was clearly a bachelor pad, as he had one bottle of two-in-

one shampoo and conditioner, one bottle of body wash and a black poofy scrub hanging from the
handle. I used what he had, debating on the hygenic-ness of using a man's poofy scrub, but in the end
desire to be clean won.

A thick black towel hung on the wall, clean and dry, and I used it, winding it around my chest. He

only had a comb, which wouldn't work in my crazy curls, so I left it.

I found him in the kitchen, making coffee, in a clean pair of blue jeans and a sleeveless, faded Led

Zepplin T-shirt. He heard me come in and looked up, his hand freezing as he stirred his coffee, staring
at me.

His gaze was intense, devouring. I decided to play coy.
"What?" I asked, the picture of innocent demurral.
"You. Just...you."
"What about me?" I stepped around the counter toward him.
He backed away, setting down the coffee. I followed him until he was backed up against the

counter.

"You're sexy," he said, his voice husky, his eyes raking over my towel-wrapped cleavage and my

tangled hair. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

I looked down at his crotch, where his bulge had made its appearance once more. I ran my

fingernail up his thigh and to his erection, tracing along the zipper, keeping my eyes locked on his.

"I think I may have an idea," I said.
He shook his head. "No, you really don't."
I unbuttoned his jeans, kissing his jaw. "Well then show me," I whispered.
I unzipped his jeans, but he caught my hand. "Leo, we just met. This is...it's crazy. I know I kissed

you first, but I couldn't help it. You just looked so upset and wet and goddamned sexy..."

"It is crazy," I said. "But I want it. I want it because it's crazy. You're like no one I've ever met,

and my life has just been one smart, responsible decision after another. You make me crazy and
impulsive, and I like it."

His voice was husky, and his fingers were loosening their restraining grip on my hand. "Look, I

know I seem like this hard-assed biker, but I'm not a one-night stand kind of guy."

Something twinged inside me. It wasn't guilt, but like it. What did I want, long term? I hadn't

thought that far. All I knew was the burning in my belly, the dampness between my thighs, and my
hand straining to touch his manhood.

"So? It doesn't have to be a one-night stand, then." I switched tactics and moved my hand away

from his groin, and he let go.

I slipped my hand up beneath his shirt to run my palm over his washboard abs.
"Leo, I—god, you're driving me crazy." He tilted his head back and his eyes fluttered in pleasure

at I ran both hands over his torso, exploring his muscles and hot skin. "You're pushing me to the edge.
I'm not gonna be able to stop myself in a second."

"Good," I whispered, my lips against the pulsing in his throat.

I ran my hands down his torso, angling for his erection once more. I really wanted to see his cock,

suddenly, see him spring free from his pants so I could touch him, put him in my mouth and my pussy.

I thought about saying that to him, but I wasn't quite that impulsive, yet.
He grabbed my hand and gently but firmly pushed me away from him. "Goddamn it. I'm trying to

be honorable here. When I picked you up, I was being...nice. Chivalrous, if you will. I didn't intend
for this. I mean, god, yes, I want you. You're so fucking sexy I can't stand it, but I didn't think you'd—"

"Shane, listen. I have never, ever done anything like this in my life. I've only ever been with John,

and with him, it's...always the same. Good enough, and I get off sometimes, but it's boring." I dropped
my hands to my sides and tried to run my fingers through my hair to untangle it, an impossible task
with it un-brushed and wet. "I want more. John...he's nice, and calm, and stable and predictable and
fucking boring. He hates it when I swear, which is often since I grew up with three older brothers,
and he can only make love in the dark, in the missionary position. He works in a bank and wears
khakis and a button down even on Saturdays. He never drinks more than three beers and he hates
going down on me, and doesn't like it when I go down on him. He's the one guy in the whole world
who doesn't like getting head."

I was on a roll now, admitting things I'd never even thought to myself, much less said out loud.
"I've been with John since I was nineteen, and he was my first, and only. I I'm bored with John. I

want more. I want more. I want excitement. I want you. Yeah, I'm scared as hell right now since
everything I own is in John's name, and I'm here, doing this with you. But I like being scared, because
it's better than being bored.

"And you....You make me crazy. You turn me on without trying. You kissed me in the elevator and

I swear my heart stopped."

I was breathless at this point, worked up, hands gesturing and hair flying. Shane was watching me

intently, his eyes betraying interest, lust, compassion...too many things to name, to even sort out. The
man's eyes were beyond expressive; I finally understood how heroines in the erotica I read could talk
about getting lost in a man's eyes. I really did, I found myself drowning in his gray-green orbs,
drowning and not bothering to come up for air.

When Shane realized I'd run out of steam, he stepped toward me, took me in his arms and kissed

me. His hands ran around to my back, running across my shoulders, still damp from the shower, and
down to the towel's bottom edge, at my thighs. His hands found my buttocks, cupped them with tender
hesitation. I arched my back and ran my hands up the hard ridges of his spine.

"Are you scared of me?"
"No," I said. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. I wanted what he'd do to me, and I was

scared of it at the same time

"Then why are you shaking?"
"Because I want you so bad." I smiled shyly, but this was not the time for being coy. "Forget John.

Sure, everything's in his name, and I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but I'm shaking, my hands to
my knees, because I want you. Not because I'm worried about any of that." I put my hands on his ass,
on the outside of his jeans. "Forget him. He doesn't exist. I want you. I've always wanted you, even
though I'd never met you."

"That's crazy." He was still holding back, but his barriers were coming down, I knew it.
"You make my blood boil." I pushed my hips against him. "You make me wet."
He grinned and dipped down to kiss me, a quick touch of the lips. "As long as you're sure. I

wouldn't want you to feel seduced by a man like me."

I rolled my eyes. "I've already said I misjudged you, and I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "You didn't, not entirely. I am a hard-ass, and there was a time I was ready to

fuck at a moment's notice. I just got tired of it. It stopped having any meaning, or even any real
enjoyment, so I...gave it up for awhile."

"Gave it up? You mean sex?"
He nodded, looking almost sheepish. "Yeah. It's been over a year."
I looked at him again, with even more admiration, and not a little awe. "I can't imagine going a

year without it. John and I didn't do it every day, but it was usually at least once a week, sometime
longer between. How do you not go crazy?"

He shrugged. "Well, I'm gone a lot, working, and my work doesn't leave a lot of time for messing

around."

I picked up his coffee and sipped at it, then asked, "So what do you do?"
"I'm a doctor. My brothers and I run a nonprofit company called Rescue Medic Enterprises. We're

like Doctors Without Borders, but it's just my three brothers, me, and a few other guys. All of us are
ex-military, grunts and spec ops, medics and field triage experts and such. We go to mostly third
world countries and provide medical care in dangerous areas, or places where other nonprofits won't
go. I just got back from treating civil war causalities in Africa, and I'll probably be going back soon."

"So you intentionally, willingly go into third world war zones to treat hurt people?"
"Yeah, basically." He poured a new cup of coffee and we stood sipping our drinks.
I wanted him as badly as ever, but I didn't feel rushed. We'd gone from groping each other to

personal conversation in a strange twist of conversation, and I was enjoying the build up of tension.
Plus, he was fascinating, and I wanted to know him better.

"That's incredible," I said.
He just shrugged again, nonchalant and dismissive. "Well, I spent most of eight years in combat

situations. I got used to it. Then, one day near the end of my second four-year stint my unit got
ambushed and I nearly got killed. It wasn't the first time, not by a long shot, but I decided I'd had
enough of that, and took my walking papers. I came back to the States and tried living a normal life. I
took a job in a hospital, working in an ER, and that was okay for awhile, but I got restless. Then my
brothers all got out too and they didn't even want to try a normal job, so we started Rescue Medic. My
parents fronted us the start-up cash, and it turns out we love the work. We get the thrill of combat, but
it's different."

He tipped his head at me. "What do you do?"
"I'm an ER nurse."
He grinned. "A like soul, then. Do you like it? Working ER?"
I nodded. "I love it. I love the constant busyness, the rush and the excitement. I love helping

people."

He nodded, and he looked like he was considering something, but then it passed and he set his

coffee cup down, stalking toward me. I set mine down and stood still, waiting.

He'd never done his pants back up, and as he approached me, my hands moved of their own

accord, reaching for him, touching the waistband of his underwear, touching his hips. He pressed me
against the counter.

"Last chance," he said. "I'll still take you somewhere else, no questions asked."
I shook my head, slipped my hands around and under the band of his underwear to cup the skin of

his smooth, tight, ass.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, then," he growled.
He scooped me up once more and carried me to the bedroom, set me down in the center of the bed,

kneeling over me. He untucked the towel, one fold at a time. Pulling it free, he drew one side away,
then the other, baring me to the cold air, and his hungry eyes.

"God, you're sexy," his voice was low, so deep and rumbling as to be barely audible.
I shook my head. John wasn't one for compliments, and my self-esteem was an up-and-down thing.

Shane was the kind of man that could have supermodels, A-list actresses, not girls like me.

"Yes, you are. You're a goddess. You have a perfect body." He ran his hands up my stomach,

between my breasts and back around to cup them, lift them, rubbing his thumbs across the nipples. "I
can't wait to taste you all over."

His hands worked magic on my tits, making me arch and writhe with just his hands on my breasts.

Then he lowered his mouth to my shoulder, kissing with a brush of the tongue, sliding his lips across
to my chest and down between my breasts, kissing the side of one then the other. He lifted one breast,
kissed underneath it, then pinched a nipple and kissed the opposite one. I lost myself in his attentions,
just lying there with my hands on his back and shoulder, head tilted backward, eyes fluttering.

I felt a thick something probe my clit, and I thought he'd somehow gotten his pants off without me

noticing, but it was his finger, tracing circles around my wet, engorged nub, sliding down to push in,
slip out and back in, then returning to my clit. I wasn't gasping yet, but close. I forced my spine down
to the bed and remembered I had hands too, and that I wanted to touch him. I pushed at his jeans until
they slipped off his hips, and he wiggled out of them, kicking them off without missing a beat.

My hands found their way to his ass again, and I marveled at the fact that even his ass was

muscular and tight.

Suddenly, I realized how small and soft John was, and then I banished all thoughts of my ex-fiance

from my mind. He might as well have stopped existing at that moment, as far as I was concerned.

Shane's lips began a gradual southward descent, kissing my ribs, and then my stomach, my navel,

each hipbone. He took me by the hips and pulled me down to the end of the bed, slipping off of it, and
then my knees were on his shoulders and his tongue was licking at my inner thighs, and his lips were
pressed to my labia, his lightly-stubbled cheeks grazing my thighs.

I spread my knees apart, arching my back as I felt his tongue find my clit, swirling in slow circles.

I did gasp then, a gentle inbreath. Oh, that man's tongue was nimble and sure, drawing pleasure from
me in skilled waves, bringing me up, and then back down, closer to the edge of orgasm and back
away. He dipped his tongue in, moving his head in circles as my hips began to buck. I was gasping,
nearly whimpering now, and I was so close, but he slowed down and I bent to put my fingers in his
hair, tangling and gripping, not quite pushing him towards me, but nearly. He huffed a laugh into my
pussy, and I moaned at the sudden heat on my pussy. He did it again, not a laugh this time but a slow
exhale, his hot breath driving me wild. He breathed on me again, and then his tongue found me, and
this time he didn't pull me back from the edge. Slow circles at first, then a few upward licks, and then
circles again, tightening in around my clit until I was bucking my hips in a frenzy and then I came,
harder than I ever have before. I came so hard I saw stars, and I actually shrieked and moaned.

I'm not a vocal person during sex, not ever. Even during the most intense experiences before, the

most I ever let out was a gasping inbreath at climax, which was inevitably a low tremor at best.

This was an explosion, a nuclear detonation in my pussy driving outward to burn in my belly and

set my limbs to trembling. Shane crawled back up on the bed, and I cracked my eyes open to watch
him slinking toward me with predator grace, stealthy and dangerous and still hungry for me.

I pulled him forward and kissed him, ravenous for his lips, tasting my own juices on his lips and

not caring, but liking it in fact.

"Had you ever had that done to you before?" Shane asked, between kisses.

"Once, and it was awkward and unpleasant for us both. That was when we first started dating." I

raked my nails down his back. "That was unlike anything I've ever felt. I've never come so hard in my
life."

He just laughed. "Oh, man. You're in for a wild ride, then. I'm just getting started. That was to get

you going."

His confidence was awe-inspiring, and not a little shiver-inducing. If that was just the beginning, I

couldn't even imagine what the rest of my night would be like.

Shane settled his long, hard body on the bed next to me and we made out, just kissed and kissed,

tongues flying and lips snarling. I was breathless when we broke apart. I lifted up on an elbow and
raked my gaze over his body, taking in the glorious expanse of muscle, toned and defined and lithe. I
traced his chest with a finger, circled his nipples, and then let my finger follow the dips and hollows
between his abs, finally finding the V where his abs led to his groin, disappearing beneath his boxer-
briefs.

He was hard for me, bulging up against his boxers, the head nearly escaping out the top. I glanced

at him, and he lifted an eyebrow at me, smiling with one side of his mouth. He just lay there, waiting,
one hand on my back, the other tossed lazily along his chest. He knew what he had, and he was just
waiting for me to discover it.

I worked one finger underneath the band of his gray boxers, and my finger brushed the tip of him.

He flinched, his stomach sucking in. I looked at him, seeing a flash of nerves, vanishing as quickly as
it came. I remembered he'd gone a year without this, so a little nerves was understandable. I
wondered if he'd finish quick, since it had been so long. That was probably where the nerves came
into play; he was wondering the same thing I was. I thought about telling him that John—the name
flitted through my mind, and I felt a quiver of revulsion at its passage—had never lasted more than a
couple minutes, max. I didn't say anything though. I knew, somehow, that even if Shane only lasted
thirty seconds, it'd be a better thirty seconds than all the minutes John had ever given me, combined.

These thoughts all passed through me in an instant, there and gone.
I drew the waistband away from his body, and the tip of his cock sprang free, and I nearly moaned

at the sight of him. I pulled the boxers down to his thighs, and then, feeling a thrill of daring blossom
in my belly, I moved down and touched my tongue to his cock, just the tip of my tongue against the
side. Shane sucked his breath in through his nose, and I looked at him with grin.

"You don't have to," he said.
"I want to."
"Have you ever?"
"Once, kind of," I said as I pulled the boxers off the rest of the way; he tossed them aside with a

foot.

"Kind of?" He quirked his eyebrow, a gesture that I was learning held a wealth of expression for

Shane.

"It didn't go well." I shrugged, dismissing the past.
He pulled at a blond curl with a finger. "If you want to..."
I didn't respond. Not with words, anyway. I took him in both hands, one fist atop the other, and his

head still stuck an inch above my fingers, if not more. He was thick too, wide and round, with a gentle
inward curve from the base to the tip. I traced the tiny hole at the tip with a thumb, and clear fluid
pulsed out. I lowered my head to taste it, and he flinched again, his cock bobbing with his sucked-in
breath. So sensitive.

I rubbed up and down with my hands, but I realized he was dry, so I lowered my mouth to his

length, licking him, taking him sideways into my mouth and letting my saliva coat him. He was slick
now, and I took him in my hands again, pumping slowly. His hips began to gyrate, and I felt bolder,
now. His eyes were hooded, his chest heaving slowly, his hands grasping the comforter of the bed. I
took his bulbous, engorged head in my mouth, tasting the pre-come on my tongue, and then spat him
out to admire his cock once more.

"Tease," Shane laughed. "God, you're driving me crazy."
I looked up at him, still holding him in my hands, and slid my hands along his cock again. "Sorry.

I'm not trying to tease you. Your cock is just so beautiful."

He smiled at me, then tipped his head back and arched his spine as I took him in my mouth again,

spreading my lips as wide as they could go to accommodate his girth. I pumped my fists around him,
taking him farther in my mouth until he bumped against the back of my throat. Back out then, not all the
way, and he was clutching the blanket with white-knuckled fists.

He'd already lasted longer in my mouth than I'd ever had a man inside my pussy.
I swallowed him again, this time pushing him deeper into my throat, just to the edge of my gag

reflex. He gasped, then, when he was nearly down my throat, and I loved the sound, loved the power I
had over him, doing this. I was enjoying it, for myself, and for him. Now I started a rhythm, bobbing
up and down on him, slipping my hands on his cock near the base to the rhythm of my mouth around
him.

His hips moved with a desperate vigor and I matched his pace, working him with mouth and hands

as fast as I could move, gliding my hands on his saliva-slick base and my mouth on his engorged
cock-tip. I took him deep, then, letting him push against my throat and to the very edge of my gag-
reflex once more. He was thrusting wildly, and I learned to back away as he reached the apex of his
thrust so I didn't gag. His fingers and knuckles were white from his death-grip on the comforter, and
he was gasping low in his throat.

I left one hand moving on his cock and lowered the other to his balls, cupping his sac in my palm

and fingers, massaging as gently as I could. They were so soft, gentle prickles of hair and wrinkled
skin taut and tight.

He gritted a warning past clenched teeth, "I'm coming, oh god, I'm coming right now..."
He came, hard, unleashing a flood of hot, salty, thick seed into my mouth and down my throat. His

balls pulsed in my hand, and his cock trembled and quivered as he came. I milked him hard, sucking
until my cheeks hollowed, working him with my hand until he moaned again and writhed on the bed,
bending forward and then arching his back.

I felt powerful, then, sensual and seductive and all woman. He drew me up to his chest and I

curled into him, grateful for his warmth. I felt cocooned in his embrace, surrounded by heat and male
muscle and dangerous strength and gentle affection.

"Oh. My. God." Shane's voice was husky and still breathless. "You made me come so hard. That

was awesome."

I felt a thrill of pride at his praise. I knew I'd do that again, just to get the reaction from him, to feel

the power over his body, to give him the kind of pleasure I so obviously had.

My fingers traced his muscles, the other hand pressed between us. His hands were sliding up and

down my back, tickling my tailbone and down into the crevice of my ass, moving up my hip to my
shoulder and back down to my ass in an exploring caress.

I couldn't keep my hand off his cock, though, and it was soon in my hand once more; I liked

touching it, feeling its odd contradiction of silk and steel. At that moment it was soft and limp,
flopping in my hand, strangely weighty.

My belly tensed with anticipation as he started to firm under my touch. I wanted him inside me, I

was trembling with eagerness to feel him plunge his immensity into my wet, slick pussy.

"God, you've got me ready to go again already," Shane said.
He wasn't completely engorged yet, his cock standing perpendicular to his body rather than

parallel. He curled me onto him, lifting my entire weight with one arm. I settled astride his knees and
took him into my hands again.

He reached out and pulled open a drawer on the nightstand, ripped a condom free from the string

of them and opened it. I took it from him and stretched it over his head, rolled it down with a hand-
over-hand motion. The moment it was on, Shane took me by the hips, lifted me up and guided me
towards his cock. I took him in one hand and probed my entrance with his tip.

I held myself up above him for a moment, looking down at him, our eyes meeting. I swear actual

sparks flew in the air, just for a moment. I sank down onto his full length in one slow plunge, gasping
for breath, mouth quivering as he stretched my tight pussy wide to accept him. God, he was huge. He
filled me, and made me stretch to take more.

He groaned as I enveloped him, a low, animal growl in the back of his throat, a primal sound that

drove me wild. I supported myself with my hands on his chest and began a dawdling roll of my hips,
measured and unhurried, letting my folds adjust to his size. He wasn't even all the way in yet, and I
was rising to orgasm already. I couldn't breathe past the feel of him inside me, and it only got worse
when he took my tits in his hands and worked his magic again, twiddling the nipples, pinching,
rolling, cupping and hefting the breasts in his huge hands.

"Am I hurting you?" Shane asked, still barely fluttering his hips, not thrusting almost at all. "You're

so tight, so goddamned tight."

I shook my head, sucked in a breath to speak. "No...you're perfect. Just go slow."
A lift of my hips brought him nearly out of me, and he pushed towards me, wanting to bury himself

again. I sank down, and this time I took his length all the way in, impaled him to the hilt, ground my
hips against his. I collapsed against him, crushing my lips to his, my breath coming in shallow pants,
sweat beading down my spine.

Fire was roiling in my belly, liquid heat pooling between my thighs, spreading to every inch of my

body, coating every pore of my skin with hypersensitivity. He started to move into me, gradual
pulsations and gentle pushes. Every movement sent ecstasy thrilling through me, stealing my breath,
pulling whimpers from my throat. I matched his rhythm, barely moving in and out; I clutched him,
arms around his neck, my entire body pressed against his, our sweat commingling and our breath
merging. His lips grazed my shoulders and his fingers dug into my hips and thighs, straining for
control.

I felt his muscles tense around me, and then there was a dizzy moment when the room span and

rolled and suddenly he was on top me, his weight heavy but not crushing, his cock thrusting more fully
now but not crashing. His mouth found my nipples, and he nipped my erect, sensitive nubs with his
teeth, drawing little shrieks from me.

"God, you are so responsive," he said, curling my hair into his fingers.
He tugged my head backward and ran his lips on my throat and down to my breasts in a line of

moist, fiery, kisses.

"Responsive?" I could only gasp the word.
"The way you react to what I'm doing. You make a noise every time I touch you. I love it."
He was moving more vigorously now, drawing himself out farther and pushing back in, and I

moaned with each motion of his hips, each delicious stroke of his cock. I couldn't help the sounds I

was making, they were being drawn from me, pulled out of my throat like an illusionist pulling a
string of multi-colored scarves hand over hand.

"I'm not usually so noisy," I said, planting a kiss on his cheek, his jaw, and finally his lips.
"Don't stop," he said. "I love it. I love the noises you make."
"Then don't stop what you're doing," I told him, smiling against his mouth.
"Not for anything," he promised.
He pulled out so only the very tip of his cock was in me, hooked my legs over his shoulders and

drew his knees underneath him. The entire weight of my lower half was now supported by his cock
and my legs on his shoulders. My hands clutched the comforter, clawing with desperate strength as he
started to drive himself into me, slow at first, then with increasing speed. My hips ground against him,
and now I was taking his cock in its entirety, the full length plunging in and ramming against my walls,
slipping with slick speed back out, only to crush in again, squishing with the juices leaking from my
throbbing tissues.

My moans were vocal now, not just whimpered breaths, but fully-voiced cries of pleasure. He

joined me, growling and grunting, a ravaging beast with wild eyes and flashing muscles, sweat-
sheened and sensual. He was growing frantic in his thrusting, and I felt a tremor begin in my thighs, a
shaking of the muscles at first. I was helpless to slow my bucking hips, rising up onto the small of my
back and rolling my pussy onto him, moaning non-stop now.

The tremors spread like wildfire to my vaginal muscles, and up to my stomach, my lungs, my arms

and legs, until I was thrashing as if possessed. He was pistoning into me, mouth wide in a building
roar. The tremors became an earthquake, and then a tectonic shifting, my entire body convulsing, and
still I wasn't in full orgasm and neither was he.

I was crying out now, louder than my voice had ever gone and I was completely in his thrall, taken

by him, my body brought to an apex of sensation. He bellowed, then, and his cock pulsed and thrust in
a hard, staccato rhythm and I felt him come, felt his muscles tense and he leaned into my legs. I saw
stars then, as my own orgasm began, pinpricks of white across my vision, little dots of non-color
spreading out to each other until all the world was white and my body was locked in a spasm, ecstasy
so intense and unending and unrelenting I couldn't even cry, couldn't sob or breathe or even blink. His
cock continued to dive into me, pushing the explosions in my body hotter, higher, more potent. I
thought I was being ripped into two by pure, unadulterated pleasure, and still he thrust, still he came.

A single thought passed through my mind: I wanted him bare inside me, so I could feel his seed

wash through me. Nothing else mattered but achieving that sensation, consequences be damned.

Thought was banished, then, as the detonations rolled through me, convulsing me, and somehow

my legs were on the bed and his weight was on me and still he was fluttering his cock into me,
drawing the very last dregs of sensation out of me.

My breath came back in a heady, dizzy rush, and I realized part of the reason I'd seen stars was I'd

been literally, physically unable to breathe, so intense was my orgasm.

I heard a choking sound, and felt my chest heaving, and I realized the sound was me, sobbing

uncontrollably, bawling and shuddering.

Shane realized it as soon as I did, and immediately rolled off me, cupping my cheek in his hand. "I

hurt you." He seemed frightened of the thought, abjectly sorrowful. "You're crying."

I shook my head and forced breath into my lungs, shoved the tears away.
"No, no. Shane..." I rolled over to flop onto his chest and his arm wrapped me into him. "I'm

crying because I've never...because you just fucked me breathless."

"Is that a good thing?" He was searching my eyes, still looking worried.

"Oh god yes. Hell yes." I couldn't figure out how to make him understand what I'd just

experienced. "You've ruined me, you know."

"What?" He looked panicked. "I used a condom, you saw me put it on."
I laughed, realizing how that had sounded. "No, I just meant you've ruined me for all other men. It's

impossible for anyone to ever do that to me again."

Shane sighed in relief. "Shit, you scared me."
"Sorry. I just can't express how what you did to me felt. I didn't know sex could be like that."
He grinned and squeezed me in a one-armed hug. "Oh, Leo. You've been so badly deprived, then."

He rested his hand on my hip, then cupped my ass.

I wiggled my butt into his hand. I loved how he touched me. And then I worried about how often

since I'd met I'd thought the word "love" in reference to him.

"So, was it okay, for you?" I asked.
Shane looked at me, incredulous. "Was it okay, she says."
He rolled on top of me, and I felt a semi-solid pressure on my belly. I made a pleased noise low in

my throat, amazed that he could be ready again so soon.

"It was, and I mean this literally, the best sex of my life." Shane lowered his lips to mine, and

kissed me with shocking tenderness.

"Bullshit," I said.
He huffed a laugh. "I would never bullshit a bullshitter."
I reached between us and fondled his growing member, and then realized he was still wearing a

condom, limp and sodden. I pulled it free and set it on his bedside table. He cocked an eyebrow at
me, then reached for another one.

I stopped him. "I'm about to start my period," I lied. "We don't need one."
He hesitated. "I'd rather not take any risks."
I knew it was a risk too, but I didn't care, not in that moment. Besides, if I was already in that kind

of trouble, then it didn't matter anyway. I touched him again, sliding my hands on his slick, come-
drenched member. He moaned, pressed his forehead to mine. He was moving his hips subtly, now
with a raging hard-on.

I pulled him into me, and he still hesitated, trying to pull out. What a man.
"I want it bare," I said. "I want to feel you shoot your load into me."
"I really shouldn't," he protested.
But it was too late. I was grinding into him, stretched and ready for his cock.
He moaned, half in enjoyment and half in frustration.
His eyes flashed, and then he seemed to make a decision. "If you're sure," he breathed.
Then he rolled off me, ignoring my mewl of protest. He slid off the bed, grabbed my foot by the

heel and pulled me toward him. He took my other foot and twisted my legs so I had no choice but to
roll over onto my stomach. I looked at him in pretend fear over my shoulder, clawing at the bed as if
resisting. He grinned like a feral Cheshire Cat, dragging my ass toward his rigid cock. He let my toes
touch the ground, then slipped a hand under my pelvis and lifted me up, shoving a pillow under my
belly, low, so it stuck my ass even higher.

I was barely able to touch the carpet with one big toe, dangling half-on, half-off the bed,

precarious and without balance or control over my movements. Shane took his cock in his hand and
probed at my ass with it, dragging the tip down my crack, then lower still. I spread my legs wide, felt
his hands dig into my ass cheeks and spread them apart.

He slapped my ass cheek with a hand, hard enough to sting, eliciting a suprised shriek from me,

then he kissed the spot he'd smacked, turning the shriek to a moan. He did the same to the other cheek,
and this time when he kissed it, I moved my hips against him. He alternated slapping and kissing until
I couldn't take much more, and right at that moment, he smoothed his palms across the skin of my
buttocks.

I rolled my hips again, a wordless plea to be touched.He brushed my pussy entrance with his cock,

pausing. "Last chance to get away, my pretty little lion."

I looked at him over my shoulder, eyebrows high and eyes wide. "Oh, Shane, I'm so scared."
"You should be," he said, his lip curling in primal desire and carnal humor.
Then he slipped himself in, as slow and careful as the first time. He buried himself into me, drove

himself to hilt in the first plunge. I arched my back and gasped, bit the comforter, and already I felt the
tremors begin, despite the fact that I was still feeling the aftershocks of the last orgasm.

He was resting his hands on my ass, moving just the first few inches in and out, and with each

rocking slide I gasped, pushing my buttocks into him. He gripped one hip with his hand and increased
his tempo, more sure of himself now that he knew I could take him without being split in half. A dozen
strokes in, and I felt an orgasm building and my hips began to circle onto his cock, which he was
moving at half-speed now.

When I was moaning in delirium, he reached under his cock, leaning over me, and found my clit

with his middle finger, circling it in wide strokes.

"Oh god, oh god," I shrieked.
I came, hard. I saw stars again, and felt my lower half convulsing. He didn't stop, though, and I

realized he was just getting started on me. His finger was still moving around my clit, and his cock
was thrusting into me, and I was sobbing and moaning into the blanket, trying to rock my hips but
unable to move for the unbalanced position and the orgasm rocketing through me, building and
building to a higher peak.

He started to grunt, long rasping outbreaths, and he pushed even harder into me, his finger working

my wet, aching button even more furiously, flailing my building second orgasm into a wild climax. I
came again, and felt my pussy clench around his cock, tightening onto him, and then he came and all
control was lost.

He was slamming into me, and I felt his balls slapping as they pulsed. His come was a hot flood

inside me, filling every space not taken by his wickedly wonderful member with viscous fluid. I came
a third time and then I lost the ability to count or think as the orgasms rolled into each other, no longer
waves of pleasure or ecstasy but a roaring apocalypse of delirious sensation, orgasm after orgasm,
just coming and coming and I couldn't even whimper, just hold my trembling, quivering mouth against
the scratchy, clean smelling blanket and let him plunder at his will.

He was bent over me, now, breath heaving into my still-damp hair, rough and desperate gasps for

air. He was trembling all over, tremoring into me still, involuntary shudders of his cock into my
quaking pussy.

"If I come one more time I'll die," I whispered.
"Then I'd better give you a break, huh?" Shane whispered back.
He moved off of me, but I was jellified, unable to move and he had to catch me, lift me onto the

bed.

"Yeah, just...just for a few minutes," I said.
"How many times did you come?" Shane asked.
I shook my head. "I don't even know. Three? After three I lost count. They were coming so close

together I couldn't even move or think."

"I've never come so hard in my life," Shane said.
"That's what you said the last time."
Shane grinned. "Well, apparently it got better."

* * *

We went again that night, twice more, before falling asleep well past dawn. Each time was better

than the last. When Shane and I finally collapsed into each other's arms, we were both spent and
exhausted past all comprehension.

I was sore all over, and had never enjoyed pain so much.
I woke up with afternoon light streaming down on me from a window, and Shane sitting on the bed

next to me with a cup of coffee in each hand, the scent of the coffee having woken me up.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, handing me the coffee as I sat up, not bothering to cover up with

the sheets.

"You are a saint," I said. "You even serve coffee in bed."
He just smiled and we sipped our coffee in companionable silence. I was tempted to kiss him, but

I knew how I tasted, and I felt things squishing out of me that needed cleaning.

I was at the end of a long, luxurious soak in the shower when it happened. I felt the unmistakable

clamp-gush of my period starting, and then something trickled down my thigh.

I slumped to the shower floor, tears of relief burning my eyes. Shane heard me and came running.
"Are you okay? What happened? Did you—shit, you're bleeding."
I shook my head in denial and took his outstretched hand to lift me up.
"No, I'm fine, it's just my period."
"Then why are you crying?"
I hiccupped and leaned against his chest. "I—because I thought..."
I couldn't make the words come out, as if saying it would put me in danger of having it come true

still, somehow.

Shane's eyes narrowed and his gaze hardened as he put the puzzle pieces together. His arms didn't

tighten on me, but they went stiff. "You thought you were pregnant. And you let me—"

"Not yours, Shane. His. That's what the argument was about. I told him I was late, and he just sat

there. He didn't react at all. Not angry, not afraid, not anything. And I snapped. I was so sick of him
being so fucking calm all the time...and then I met you and I realized I didn't have to live that way.
And I didn't lie to you. When I told you I wanted you to come inside me, I knew I was either going to
start my period or I was already pregnant, so it didn't matter."

He softened. "Oh. Well...just tell me the truth, from now on, okay? If there's one thing I can't stand,

in any way, shape, or form, it's being lied to, and that includes having the truth withheld."

I nodded. "I didn't want to think about that, when I met you. I wanted to forget about it and hope it

would go away. And it did, in a way." I looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."
"Well, I'm also sorry because this means we can't do anything for a few days. And you sort of

started something inside me. You made me realize how sexually frustrated I was..."

Shane chuckled. "Well, that's okay, because we have a long flight ahead of us."
I stepped back and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "A long flight? Where are we going?"
"I did some research on you, while you were sleeping. I spoke to your supervisors at the hospital,

speaking as the CEO and founder of Rescue Medic Enterprises. They all said you're rock-solid under

pressure, that you're a certified Paramedic and you've got extensive experience with field triage
techniques. They also said they were doing cuts at the hospital and you were in line to be let go."

I rocked back on my heels. I'd suspected my job was in danger, which was another element to the

stress that had likely caused me to be late. But what was he saying? I kept quiet and let him talk.

"My point is, if you're up for it, I'd like to welcome you as the newest member of Rescue Medic

Enterprises."

"You're hiring me?" I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
"If you'd like to try something new, yes. Civil war has broken out in Sudan again, and my brothers

are already en route. I've already booked us two seats out of Metro."

My head was spinning. "Sudan? Africa?"
Shane nodded, his hand on my arm keeping me from falling over. "Yep. So get dressed, my sexy

little lion. Your life's about to start."

I sucked a breath in. "Well then, if we're going to Africa, I'm going to need something to put on my

lady parts."

Shane laughed. "That's my girl. There's a little box in the medicine cabinet. It's my sister's. She

travels a lot, and whenever she passes through Detroit she stays here, so she leaves a little kit of
things. The drawers have all sorts of girly shit in them. Help yourself."

He kissed me quickly, squeezed my bottom, and left, pulling a cell phone from his hip pocket and

hitting a speed dial button.

The drawers did indeed have a very thorough supply of feminine-needs products. She had what I

needed to take care of old Aunt Flow, plus some make-up, a brush—which I wished I'd known about
last night—and a top-notch hair straightener. I held the straightener in my hands, considering. I'd
never really bothered with straightening my hair. I'd tried it a few times, but John never seemed to
care either way. Now, about to start a new life with a complete stranger, I decided to go a little out of
the box.

I straightened my hair, applied some make-up, and left the bathroom feeling sexy and fresh. My

hair was now down past my shoulders, fine and shimmery and unlike I'd ever worn it. Shane had laid
out my bra and panties, washed and dried, and a pair of jeans and leather bustier. They looked
expensive, and just my size. I tried them on, and discovered that they did indeed fit me perfectly. I
didn't recognize the bold-looking blonde biker chick in the mirror, but I liked her.

Shane came up behind me and whistled, a low cat-call. "Damn, Leo. Look at you."
I turned around. "I don't recognize myself." I ran my hands on the leather bustier, which was a little

small, and thus made my already full breasts overflow. "Whose are these?"

"Yours." Shane grinned, cocky and devilish. "I guessed at your size from your dress. I've been up

since six, so I stepped out and bought you some clothes while you slept."

My heart melted a little. It took some serious balls to buy a girl clothes, and talent to get it right.
"You've been up since six?" It was past noon, and I was still feeling woozy.
"Life-long habit," Shane said, shrugging.
I was feeling like I'd swallowed a watermelon with my nether regions. I was tender, but I relished

the feeling, and looked forward to making myself sore all over again, as soon as I could. My gaze
wandered to Shane's bulge, and it was growing even he looked at me. I wanted him, then, and there
was only one way to have him.

I approached him with a sway to my hips, feeling all woman and ready to take on the world. I

touched his zipper with a fingernail.

He backed away, grinning. "No, no way. I've got to pack, and you've got to get a picture for your

passport. I know a guy who can get them done quick. Our flight leaves at eight tonight."

I chased him across the room until I had him backed into a corner. He gazed down at me, eyes

burning.

"I thought you were...you know..."
I knelt down in front of him, unzipped him and tugged his pants down so his lengthening cock

sprang free. He gasped when I took him deep into my throat without so much as a warning.

"I am. That doesn't mean I can't do this," I said, spreading my saliva on him, hand over hand.
He tasted clean and good, like salt and skin and man. He came hard, and fast. I tucked him back

into his pants and stood up, wiping my lips with the back of my hand as he leaned against the wall,
gasping.

* * *

I'd never flown before, and I was nervous, gripping the seat arms with white-knuckled hands as

the jet bucked and jerked to heavy turbulence.

Shane rubbed my leg, relaxed, reading a book. "It's fine. It's just some bumps."
I glanced at Shane, wondering, not for the first time since boarding the plane, what exactly I was

thinking, getting on a plane to Africa with a man I'd known less than two days.

What a wild ride this would be.

The End of Part 1

BIKER BILLIONAIRE #2: THE MILE HIGH CLUB

Detroit, Michigan

The Detroit Metro airport was bustling. I held on to Shane's arm and let him drag me through the

crowds, trying to ignore the doubts assailing my mind. It was one thing to talk about quitting my job,
leaving my fiancé, and going to Africa with a near-stranger. It was another thing altogether to actually
do it.

All I had was my purse and a backpack carry-on. Shane said we'd be better off buying luggage for

me later than trying to go back to John's house. I didn't argue. The last thing I wanted was a
confrontation with my ex-fiancé. I'd talked to my parents, and they were suitably horrified at the news
that I'd quit my job and was flying across the world with a man I'd just met...into a war zone.

If I was being honest, I was a little horrified too. All my life I'd been responsible and careful. I

went to community college after high school and lived with my parents, and then eventually moved in
with John after we'd been dating for two years. I got my RN from a university I could commute to
from home. I never joined a sorority or lived alone, never went on drinking binges or had one-night
stands. I never did anything unpredictable.

And then I met Shane. He had a way of unlocking my inhibitions, a way of making me want to try

new things and live on the edge. Of course, I'd only known him for forty-eight hours. Two days, or
rather, a day and a night and the following day.

I wasn't about to change my mind, but I was a little shaky.
Shane seemed to sense this. "It's okay to be nervous," he said, smiling down at me.
Standing six foot four and built like Adonis, with chiseled features and arresting gray-green eyes,

Shane Sorrenson attracted the attention of every woman, and not a few men, in the airport. Being the
girl on his arm, I found myself the subject of more lewd and searching gazes than I was used to. I tried
to ignore the looks and keep my feet moving as Shane led me through the concourse and to the security
line.

He took one glance at the winding, backed-up line and shook his head. "I don't have time for this."
Tugging on my hand, he led me to the front of the line where he leaned in and whispered something

in a TSA guard's ear. The guard glanced in surprise at Shane, then nodded and waved us through, to
the vocal aggravation of the rest of the line.

That was my first hint Shane might be more than I suspected. What kind of man could, at a word,

get waved past security? Shane shot me a cocky grin and dragged me across the airport to the
international departures wing. Instead of finding a gate, however, Shane led us to an unmarked,
locked door. He withdrew a keycard from his wallet, scanned it, and led me through a narrow, bright-
white hallway.

"Where are we going?" I asked.
Shane just winked. "You'll see."
Further questioning resulted in an irritated roll of his eyes, so I fell silent and tried to keep up with

his wide-legged gait. The hallway twisted and turned until I couldn't have found my way back if I
tried, but Shane seemed to know exactly where he was going.

At length, Shane led us to a door marked with a red "exit" sign, shoved the crash-bar open and

pulled me outside into the cool night air. The airport rose behind us in a looming, endless bulk. We

were in a part of the airport I hadn't even known existed, row after row of blocky hangars with wide-
open doors, whining jet engines, flashing lights, baggage cars whizzing past in all directions, taxiing
aircraft...it was chaos. Shane led me on foot across the tarmac to a hangar door and into an echoing
space filled with a small, sleek, matte-black private passenger jet. It was the kind of aircraft rock
stars and actors and ultra-wealthy businessmen rode in, not lower-middle class ER nurses from Troy,
Michigan.

A man in a rumpled business suit noticed our entrance and jogged to meet us. "The jet is fueled,

stocked, and ready to go, Mr. Sorrenson. The flight plan has been logged and we're just waiting for
you and your...guest...to board."

Mr. Sorrenson? I knew Shane was the CEO and co-founder of a company, but this man's deference

surprised me. Shane seemed as irritated by it as I was surprised. He glanced at me out of the corner
of his eyes, as if wondering if I'd noticed.

"I've told you, Bradley. Call me Shane. Mr. Sorrenson is my father."
"Certainly, sir—I mean, Shane," Bradley said. "Do you have any luggage, sir?"
Shane growled. "Quit calling me sir, goddamnit. And no, no luggage. Just the two bags."
I stifled a giggle.
"What's so damn funny?" He asked me.
"Nothing. Just you." I squeezed his arm.
"What about me?"
"Why don't you want him to call you Mr. Sorrenson? Or sir? He's just being respectful."
Shane snorted. "It's complicated. But he's not being respectful, he's being a suck up. I hate it."
He stomped up the steep, narrow steps into the interior of the jet, cutting off any other questions I

might have directed at him. I followed him up and into the jet. Within less than a minute, Shane was
sitting in a deep, tan leather lounge chair with his cell phone to his ear. He gestured with a thumb at
the chair next to his and turned away. He was all business, and he had been ever since he got the
phone call early yesterday morning. As soon as he got the call, he'd gone from being a sweet and
attentive lover to a laser-focused businessman with little time or patience for anything but getting to
the airport and onto our flight.

He'd gotten me a passport within hours, with a few phone calls, had arranged for my things to be

picked up from John's house, boxed up and put into storage, and had whisked us away from his condo
in a limousine.

Warning bells were going off in my head, especially now that I was sitting in the back of a private

jet. The seats were upholstered in expensive-looking leather, and the back of each headrest was
embroidered with an elaborate 'S' monogram.

'S' for Sorrenson?
I sat in the chair Shane had indicated, staring wide-eyed at the extravagance around me. There was

a fully stocked bar along one wall and an enormous flat-screen TV on another. Through one open
door I could see a bathroom nicer than the one in my parent's house, and through another a bedroom
nearly as large as the one in my apartment.

After five minutes of barking orders into his phone, Shane hung up and turned to me.
"Ever flown private before?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I've never flown before, period."
"You've never been on an airplane? Like, not even to Florida?"
"Shane, I've never left Michigan. I went to Ontario once, with John, but that's it."
He lifted an eyebrow, a gesture which I had already learned could express more than a thousand

words. "Well," he said, "you're in for a treat then."

I tried to formulate my question carefully. "Shane...this jet...it's yours? Your company's I mean?"
He shrugged. "It's my family's. My dad has...a lot of money. It's just easier to fly private, I've

found."

"Who is your dad?"
Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, as if resigning to part with information he'd rather keep to

himself. "Henry James Sorrenson."

Now that was a name I knew. His father was one of the wealthiest men in the country, a business

mogul worth several billion dollars. His name wasn't in the news often, but John, being a banker,
routinely read magazines and newspapers like The Wallstreet Journal and Forbes.

"So, you're—"
He cut me off, his words clipped and tense. "Just Shane. My father's business, my father's wealth

has nothing to do with me."

"Shane, I—"
"Did you really not know who I was? Or were you just playing dumb?"
His ire was palpable. The sweet, caring, sensual man I'd met in the rain, riding a Harley, was

gone.

"Why would I play dumb? How was I supposed to know who you were, or who your father is?"
"You'd be surprised. My family, my brothers...we tend to attract attention. Women know who we

are, and they'll often do anything to get close to us, hoping—"

It was my turn to interrupt. "If you think I'm just some gold digger, then why'd you bring me here?"
"I didn't say I thought you were—"
"That's what you're implying," I said, irritated now. "And I don't appreciate it. I get that you may

be wary about people knowing who you are, but that doesn't mean every woman who throws herself
at you is after your money."

I stood up, regretting my impetuosity. "Call me a cab or something. I'm going home...or to my

parents' house...just let me off the jet, please."

I went to the door of the jet, which was closed now.
Shane stood up and followed me. "We're already taxiing, Leo. If you really don't want to go, I'll

still take you home. But...listen, I really didn't mean to say you were just after my family's money. Sit
down, please."

His large, strong hands pressed my shoulders, a gentle, insistent pressure. I wanted to stay

irritated, let it feed my fear so I could give in and go back to home.

Back to boring, predictable familiarity...
He must have felt my resistance softening, because he turned me around and pressed me against the

door, one finger tipping my chin up to look at him. His eyes burned into me, and that was all it took.
One glance, one rake of his eyes down my face to the rest of my body.

Normally, sex was the very last thing on my mind when I was on my period, but something about

Shane, something about the time we'd spent in his bed had unleashed a hunger in me. Even now, when
my moods should be unpredictable at best, all I could think about was how good he'd made me feel,
and how I wanted it again. His hands had touched me like he owned me, like he knew every secret of
my body. He knew how to draw pleasure from me as if we'd been lovers for decades instead of days.

A rumble shuddered through the cabin, and Shane pulled me with him to the chairs. I let him sit me

down and buckle me in, and then he held my hand as the rumbling increased to a roar and I became
aware of a pressure on my chest, a fluttering in my stomach. The window next to Shane was open,

showing a long black wing with lights blinking at the tip, and white lines flashing past in a long blur,
and then the ground fell away and the pressure on my chest and stomach turned nearly unbearable as a
sense of heaviness crept through me, crushing me into the seat. The jet shook and bounced, rattling so
hard I worried something was going wrong, that the airplane would come apart around us.

I clamped down on Shane's hand, trembling, all my nerves and fears coming to the fore as I

realized we were leaving the ground, leaving America, leaving all I knew.

"It's fine, we're just taking off," Shane murmured to me. "The shaking will stop in a minute."
I swiveled my head to look at him, and the calm in his gray-green eyes soothed me. After a few

minutes, the ride evened out and the shaking did stop, as Shane had promised.

He unbuckled himself and then me, drawing me up by my hand. Gesturing at the bedroom, he said,

"Why don't you go lay down and relax. I'll bring you a drink."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Lay down and relax, hmmm?"
He pushed me toward the bedroom, swatting me on the behind as I went. "Yes, relax. There's time

for that later, when you're not...inconvenienced."

"Inconvenienced?"
"Yeah, well...you know what I mean." He shrugged, looking embarrassed.
Men were so funny about periods.
I climbed up on the wide bed, which turned out to be softer than my own bed at home. I turned

back the blanket, marveling at the sheets, which had probably cost more than everything in my entire
wardrobe combined.

It was a disconcerting feeling, realizing I owned nothing. I had my cell phone, but that too was in

John's name, and it wouldn't work once we left U.S. airspace anyway. I was totally reliant on Shane,
and we were going to a foreign country, to a war zone...

What the hell had I agreed to?
Shane came in just then with tumblers of alcohol. I took the one he handed me, sniffed it, tasted it,

and discovered a top-shelf gin and tonic.

"To new beginnings," he said, clinking my glass with his.
"To new beginnings." I took a long drink, grateful for the heady buzz that rushed through me almost

immediately, starting in my belly.

Shane's eyes searched mine. "You're scared."
"Um, yeah," I said with a laugh. "Wouldn't you be? I'm leaving behind everything and everyone I

know, with a man I just met. I don't own a single damned thing, except my bra. The clothes I'm
wearing, the carry-on full of clothes and toiletries...it's all yours."

"Having second thoughts?" Shane sat down next to me on the bed, cross-legged.
"Second thoughts, like I'm regretting it? No, not really. It's an adventure, and I'm excited, but yeah,

I'm scared. Especially since I know we're not exactly going on a vacation. We're going to a war
zone."

Shane put his hand on my thigh and squeezed gently. "I'll keep you safe. You know that, right?"
I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "Sure. I mean, I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you. Which is

kind of the crazy part about all this. I do trust you, even though I barely know you. I shouldn't trust
you. When you told me I was coming with you, I should have laughed in your face. I could have gone
back to my parents' house. It would have been embarrassing and difficult, but they would've taken
care of me until I could figure things out."

"I didn't tell you, Leo. I asked you," Shane said.
I rolled my eyes. "You told me. Sure, you gave me an option, but you knew it wasn't much of one.

Crawl back to dickhead of an ex, or go with you. Not much to think about there."

"Why do you trust me?"
I thought long and hard before answering; it was a fair question, and one I wanted to answer for

myself. "It's a lot of things. You took care of me when I was in trouble. You didn't take advantage of
me. I mean...you did, but not until after I made it clear I wanted you to." I flushed at the memory.
"Who am I kidding? I threw myself at you."

Shane gave me a wicked grin. "Not arguing there, sweetheart."
"Shut up. I'm sure I'm not the first woman to throw herself at you, and I know I won't be the last."
Shane's eyes darkened. "You may not be the first, I'm not gonna lie about that. Women have thrown

themselves at me my whole life, but it's always been as much about my name and my dad's money as
for me, if not more." He pulled me onto his lap and wrapped his arms around me. "As for being the
last? After being with you, Leo, I'm not so sure anyone else could ever measure up." He took a drink,
and set it aside on a bedside table.

I flushed even redder and burrowed into him. "You're just saying that."
"Am not."
I looked up at him, frowning. "You made me feel things I didn't know were possible." I took a sip

and feathered my fingers through his hair. "But me? I don't know anything. I've never done anything,
never been anywhere...I've only been with John. I'm no virgin but I might as well be, for all I know
about any kind of sex...stuff, other than plain old missionary."

Shane laughed, amused but not mocking. "Leo...do you have any idea how you made me feel?

Yeah, I've been with more people than you, but...it's not always about experience, or what you do or
don't know. You want it. It's like you've never felt anything before, and you can't get enough. The way
you react to everything I do...it drives me wild."

"All this talk about sex is making me horny," I said.
"Me too, but you're...you know."
I could feel him growing hard underneath me. I wanted to touch him, feel him. We couldn't do

exactly what I wanted, but there were other things. I set my tumbler aside next to his and rotated on
his lap. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pressed my mouth to his and tasted the gin on his breath.
I searched his mouth with my tongue, the icy breath of alcohol tingling my mouth. He tightened his
grip on me, ran his palms up and down my back; his fingers traced the inch-wide gap between my
shirt and jeans to touch my skin.

I moaned at the heat of his palms on my flesh, pressed my chest into his and ground my hips against

him.

"What are you doing?" Shane whispered, trying to pull away. "You're teasing me."
I peeled my shirt off and unlatched my bra. "Teasing? Me? Never." I tossed the bra aside with a

flourish.

Shane's eyes burned, and his hands slipped up my spine, tickled around my ribs and skated across

my nipples. He was rock-hard beneath me, pressing against his zipper.

"Tease." Shane pinched my nipples between his fingers. "Making me want you when I can't have

you."

"Can't have me?" I ran my tongue across my upper lip and scooted back off his lap. "You can have

me, just not there. I'm sure you can figure something out, can't you?"

I pushed him onto his back and unbuttoned his pants, brushing his shirt up away from his torso.

Shane drew the shirt off and set it aside, watching me. I unzipped him and tugged his jeans off,
leaving him lying in only his underwear. His cock was pressing against the double opening of his

boxer-briefs. I straddled him, leaning over him and planting kisses along his torso, each nipple, his
sides, down the crevasses of his stomach to the V of muscle. I removed his boxers, touching his legs
and hips with my lips as I did so. His back arched when I wrapped my fingers around him. My hair
was loose and hung down to tickle his belly as I bent to touch the tip of my tongue to the groove
running beneath his engorged head.

My breasts slipped and slid across his skin with every motion. I ran my tongue across his tip,

licking the pearl of liquid oozing out of him; he moaned and rolled his hips. I grasped him at the root
and spread my saliva across him, mixing it with his own leaking fluids, and then took him in my
mouth, pressing my tongue against my lower teeth.

"What...what about you?" Shane gasped.
I looked up at him. "What about me?"
"You're doing this to me, but I can't—can't do the same to you..." he said. He was having trouble

thinking, formulating sentences.

"Good thing we're not keeping score, then, huh?" I said, rubbing him with both hands. "Then you'd

owe me, wouldn't you?"

He could only nod, then, as his hips began to buck and his back to arch. He was nearly there, I was

about to take him into my mouth again when a thought struck me. He'd accused me of teasing him, so I
decided to earn the accusation, a little.

I let go of him and gave him one final lick across his tip, and then blew cold air onto him. I moved

up the length of his body, rubbing myself against him as I went, still wearing my pants. I kissed his
shoulders when I reached them, then his chin, and then his mouth.

"Leo...god, you're making me crazy. I was about to—" he rocked his hips into mine, seeking

release, "god, I was so close, please..."

I faked an innocent tone of voice. "Oh, you were? I shouldn't have stopped, then, huh? You want to

me keep going, Shane?"

His eyes flew open and he glared at me. "Tease."
I smiled at him, giving a look that I hoped was wanton and lascivious. "Oh, I'm no tease. I'll take

you there. Just...not yet."

I moved back down his body so his cock rested between my breasts, which gave me an idea. I

took my tits in my hands and pressed them together around his hard, throbbing shaft and rocked myself
down him so his tip squeezed out from between them. He groaned and said my name, spitting it in the
same tone as he would a curse word. The tip speared upward and neared my face, so I tilted my chin
down and took him into my mouth, sucked hard, and then withdrew once more.

"Do that again, please..." Shane's voice was ragged and his whole body was quivering beneath

me.

I rocked my body up and down his, pushing him closer and closer to the edge, taking the leaking

head of his cock into my mouth every time he pushed up out of the crevice made by my cleavage.

"Oh, god, I'm so close, please don't stop..." he gasped.
But I did stop, and he nearly lost it, growling with need. I slipped down and rested my cheek on

his hip bone, licking his length and cupping his balls in my hands. I licked him and kissed him,
worked my mouth along his entire cock, but never taking him inside, never letting him thrust.

He was jerking his hips wildly now, a silent plea to let him release.
"Tell me what you want, Shane."
"You...I want you."
I laughed, took him in my fist and pumped, an achingly slow descent of my hand along his slippery

length. "You have me. I'm right here," I said. "Tell me what you really want. Say it. I want to hear you
say it."

Shane gasped as he neared release, and I let go once more, just as he began to buck his hips into

me.

"Goddamn it, Leo. You know what I want."
"Yes, I do. But I want to hear you say it." I was getting a thrill from this game, from drawing his

pleasure out into almost-pain, from establishing some kind of power over him...the word flitted into
my head and stuck there: dominance.

I lowered my head to him, tickled him with my hair, rubbed the tip of his cock against my breasts,

one at a time, stimulating my nipples as I did so. I was getting wet myself doing this to him.

"You want me to beg?" Shane growled the last word.
"Uh huh." I dragged my tongue up his cock, took him into my mouth as deep as I could, and said it

again, "mmm-hmmm."

The vibration of my voice against his sensitive member drove him wild, and he nearly came right

then. He rocked his hips even harder then, and I spat him out and took him in my fists, pumping
vigorously, getting him ready, nearly there. I felt him engorge even more as he neared orgasm, and I
let him go just as he reached the edge, gasping.

"Fuck me, Leo," Shane groaned. "Want me to beg? I'll beg. Please, Leo. Let me come. Please."
"Was that so hard?" I said, moving my hands on him in a hand-over-hand motion.
"Yes. I don't beg. Not ever."
"Now you do."
"Only for you," Shane said. "Only you could...get away with that."
He was breathless now, bucking his hips into my hands. I felt him quiver, pulse, and then I locked

my lips around him as he began to climax.

"Yes, yes, I'm there, I'm coming. Don't stop, please don't stop."
I didn't stop, this time. I felt his body clench and the veins in his cock throbbed against my mouth

as he came, hard, spurting salty heat. He didn't roar or bellow this time, like he had in his house. He
gasped on an inbreath, and then clenched his teeth and growled, a low rumble. I pumped harder,
sucked and bobbed to match his hips' rhythm. He kept coming, shooting again and again, and I didn't
let him down from the peak, taking my mouth off him but continuing the motion of my hands on him
until his rocking subsided to shudders and he began to soften in my hands.

When he was still and gasping and limp in my hands, I crawled up to lay against him and his arm

wrapped around me. His body shook with aftershocks, trembling against me.

"God, that was...fucking intense," Shane said.
"You came so hard."
He looked down at me, a welter of emotions in his eyes. "No one has ever done that to me before,

made me wait like that."

"Made you wait?" I nipped his chest with my teeth. "I made you beg."
Shane laughed. "Yeah, you did. You're pretty proud of that, aren't you?"
I shrugged. "Yeah, a little."
"Well, don't get used to it." He pushed me to my back and lowered his mouth to my breast, taking

my nipple in his teeth. "And you'd better believe I'm gonna get you back."

Oh, wow, did he get me back. He toyed with my nipples, getting them hard and aching, putting a

heat in my belly. He slipped his leg between mine, and I clamped my legs around him, grinding
against his rock-hard thigh. He took both full breasts in his hands, kissed me hard enough to take my

breath away, tweaking my nipples and rubbing his leg into me.

Just his mouth on mine, his hands on me, his leg between mine was enough to make me rise, to

swell the pressure in my lower muscles, but however we grinded together, however he touched my
tits and kissed them and nipped them, I couldn't cross the edge, not without direct stimulation.

And then, with an evil grin, Shane moved away from me and laid back in the bed, retrieving his

tumbler of gin from the side table where he'd set it when I first began to touch him.

"No!" I crawled toward him.
"I told you I'd get you back."
I draped myself on top of him, wet and aching and tingling. "I thought you meant later...like I did to

you!" I rubbed myself on him, straddling him. "Please, not like this! We can't make love for days yet!"

Shane just chuckled. "It sure is gonna be an interesting trip, then, isn't it?"

* * *

We arrived in London's Heathrow airport, and I was a mess. I couldn't stop touching Shane,

holding on to him, caressing him. I felt needy. Shane wasn't helping. He would touch me, toy with my
breasts, kiss me until I was heaving, get me hot and bothered, and then stop, and nothing I could do
would get him to keep going. He'd just laugh and tell me I'd earned it.

He showed me London from the back of a rented limo, taking me to his favorite watering holes and

dive bars, to dinners with friends and business associates. Those dinners were by far the scariest
thing I'd ever done, trying to be elegant and sophisticated for Shane's European business contacts with
their exotic accents and manicured fingers and inquisitive gazes.

Shane took me to a clothier and had me measured and fitted, half a dozen custom dresses made for

me, each one of which cost more than what would have been a month's salary. Shane never blinked at
the cost, never asked for prices. I could tell he'd grown up in this world, where cost wasn't just not an
object, but wasn't ever even considered in decision-making. Every price tag I saw had more zeros
than anything I'd ever bought, and I kept expecting him to at least raise his eyebrow, but he never did.
We spent three days in London, and I think it was for my benefit, more than anything. I could tell
Shane was distracted, his mind already on the mission.

Before we left London, he took me to a doctor for a full physical, immunizations, a Depo birth

control shot, Malaria and TB vaccines, and a long lecture on health precautions in third world
countries.

We boarded the jet on the morning of our fourth day in England. I sat next to Shane in the deep

leather bucket seat and squeezed his hand during take-off. It was still scary, but not as much as the
first time.

In hopes of distracting him from his brooding mindset, I asked a question that had been floating

around my brain for days. "Shane? When we met, you were riding a Harley in the rain. Where were
you going?"

He quirked an eyebrow at the non sequitur question. "I restore classic motorcycles as a hobby.

That Harley was a 1967 Shovelhead I'd rebuilt from the engine out. I'd just put the finishing touches
on her, so I figured I'd take her for a quick spin." Shane shook his head. "Literally, I'd gone three
blocks when it started pouring. I was so mad. I'm going to have to redo the leather of the seat,
probably."

"Poor baby has to redo the leather," I teased, unbuckling as the flight leveled out.
"I wish you could have seen yourself," Shane said, his eyes twinkling with laughter even as they

darkened with desire. "Your little blue dress was soaked to the skin. You might as well have been
naked. You were barefoot and angry and bleeding. You ran right into me, and when you looked up at
me you seemed like you'd never seen a man before."

My period had ended, and I was on the verge of clubbing Shane over the head with a bottle of

liquor and dragging him to the bedroom. I think he knew it, and he was settling in to tease me some
more. He hadn't unbuckled, remaining seated and still even as I sank down onto his lap and wiggled
my bottom into his crotch.

He was ready for me, physically speaking, but his body language was all insouciance and studied

indifference. I didn't buy it for a second.

"I hadn't ever seen a man before I saw you," I murmured in his ear, nibbling his earlobe.
"So then you might say I was your first man?" Shane's arms wrapped around my waist.
"Something like that. My first real man, how about that?"
I untucked his button-down shirt and focused on freeing each button, kissing his chest as I revealed

more and more of it. His breathing turned into long gasps and his heart began to thump harder in his
chest, so I knew he wasn't unaffected, even though he held himself absolutely still, his hands resting
on my spine, his head tipped back.

I felt his erection growing larger and harder against his zipper, and I writhed my bottom into it.

His hips started to shift against mine in a strange way, and I realized he was folded inside his pants in
an uncomfortable position. I decided to use this against him.

I pushed his shirt down off his shoulders so it was draped at his elbows, and then left it there.

He'd have to let go of me to take it off himself, or be hampered by the shirt's restriction on his arms. I
ran my palms on his chest, took one of his small nipples between my teeth and nipped hard enough to
draw a grunt of protest from him.

All the while, I was grinding into him, arousing both of us; arousal only caused one of us pain,

however, and Shane kept moving his crotch against mine in futile attempts to free himself.

I pulled back and gave him a look of innocence. "Something wrong, Mr. Sorrenson?"
Shane growled at my use of his last name, but refused to acknowledge the problem. "Nope. No

problem, Ms. Larkin."

"You sure? Nothing needs...adjustment?"
"Nope. Everything's perfect."
I lifted up and ran a curled index finger just inside his waistband, enough to cause his belly to suck

in out of reflex, then tugging enough to ease the pressure for a moment, but not enough to let his
erection spring into a more natural position. I could feel it tipped sideways his pants, straining against
the fabric, growing harder every second, larger with every brush of my backside against his groin.

I slipped off the chair, capturing his hands in mine and draping them on my shoulders as I touched

my lips to his stomach and down his belly, kissing and tonguing his skin. I knelt between his knees
and nudged his erection with my chin, inching it towards freedom.

"Sure?" I ran a finger along it. "You're not...uncomfortable, are you?"
"Nope." He narrowed his eyes and held himself still, refusing to move a muscle.
I dragged a fingernail across his cloth-bound cock, feeling it twitch under my touch, but still he

refused to capitulate.

Time to play dirty.
I stood up in front of him and turned away, showing him my back. I was wearing a dress, the hem

brushing my thighs above my knees with thigh-high stockings and strappy, low-heeled sandals. I bent
over at the waist and unstrapped a sandal, letting the hem of the dress hike up to show him my ass,

which was clad in only a thong. He hadn't seen me dress that morning, as he'd stepped out to take a
call, so he didn't know what I was wearing underneath my dress. Or wasn't wearing, as the case may
have been.

"God, Leo. What're you doing to me?" he growled.
"Doing? I'm not doing anything. I'm just taking off my shoes."
"You're...done, then?"
"Mmm-hmmm." I slipped off one sandal and tossed it at him, then bent once more to undo the other

one.

He still hadn't moved, and I could see his manhood throbbing against his pants.
"You have got to be the stubbornest man alive," I said, tossing the other sandal on his lap.
"I don't think 'stubbornest' is a word."
"Shut up. It is if I say it is."
"No, it isn't. I'm the most stubborn man alive, I think you mean." He shifted his hips again, and I

watched as his cock shifted slightly, the pressure alleviated a bit. "And I don't know what you're
talking about."

I laughed. "I don't know why you don't just give in. That can't be comfortable."
Shane raised an eyebrow, finally unbuckling his seatbelt. "I'm comfy as can be. I could take a

nap."

Bastard. At this point, it was a test of wills and I was determined not to lose. I was aching for him

to touch me, to take me, but I refused to show it.

"Take a nap, hmm?" I looked at him over my shoulder, smirking at his forced relaxation. "That's

not a bad idea. But I couldn't possibly take a nap in all these clothes."

I heard a low rumble from Shane's chest, part approval, part irritation, as I lifted my hands to

unzip my dress. I kept my head turned to the side so I could watch him as I inched the zipper down my
back, brushed the sleeves off my arms and let the fabric fall in a pool around my feet.

I felt a thrill of victory when he finally let a groan escape from his lips; he pulled at his tented

crotch and let his erection slide to vertical, but then gripped the arms of his chair with white-knuckled
fingers once more.

I bent at the waist again, grabbing my ankles to present my ass full-on to Shane, a mere foot away.

I was musky and wet with desire and excitement by this time, and I knew he had to smell it. I was bent
over purely for his benefit, this time.

I wasn't a dancer, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I gave it my best, especially without

music. I straightened slowly, twisted around to face him and stood still, letting him devour me with
his eyes. His hard-on got harder, if possible, and his grip on the chair's arms tightened until I heard
the wood creak under the power of his crushing fingers.

I ran my thumbs around the strings of my thong, pushing them down to give him a peek at my pussy,

then let go and traced my palms up my stomach to cup my breasts. Undulating my hips at him, I tugged
the cup of my bra down to show him a nipple, first one, then the other.

Shane's chest was heaving now, his gaze hooded and his eyes burning. He wanted me, and his

control was slipping. His hips rolled, just once, and he pressed his head back into the chair, lip
curled into a primal snarl.

I stroked myself through the fabric of my thong, the black triangle of lacy cotton growing damp.

Shane rumbled in his chest again and curled his hands into fists.

"What's wrong, Shane?" I sashayed toward him to slip between his knees. "You seem...tense."
"I'm not tense," he growled.

I clawed at his shoulders, the hard muscles bunched and tight beneath my fingers. "Are you sure?

You seem tense. I could help with that, you know."

I dug my fingers into his shoulders, kneading at the knots with all my strength. My breasts were at

eye level, my hips between his knees. His hands trembled on his thighs and his breathing grew even
more ragged.

"You know you want to touch me," I breathed into his ear. "I'm wet for you. Juicy. You'd slip right

in."

I'd never talked like this before, not so wantonly, with the sole purpose of seducing a man who

was trying to resist me. It felt good, powerful. I rubbed my breasts against him, and he moaned, an
almost-inaudible sound against the soft skin of my tits.

"You could pick me up," I said, taking his hands in mine. "You could pull this thong off me and be

inside me within seconds. Or you could just...reach up and put a finger inside my pussy. I would come
for you, right here, standing up."

I put his hands on the swell of my hips and reached up to unclasp my bra, unhooking all but one

eyelet. My full breasts were all but hanging free in front him, and his hands slid up my back toward
the last hook.

"Yes, Shane. Take it off. I want to feel your mouth on my tits."
He growled again, clawing his fingers down my back. I purred in the back of my throat at the

sensation of his powerful fingers raking my skin, and I arched my back into him. He pressed his face
into my cleavage and breathed in the scent of my skin.

Two fingers pinched the hook and eye together and released the bra, pulling the straps off my

shoulders with the same two fingers, his rough stubble scratching my flesh, his mouth finally starting
to kiss the mounds of my breasts. I let the bra fall off into his lap, tilting my head back and moaning as
he took my nipple into his mouth.

I stepped away from him, pulling out of his grip. He snarled possessively and reached for me. I

danced out of the way and darted toward the bedroom, slowing as he lunged out of the chair. A
victorious smile tilted my lips as he prowled closer to me. I took small backward steps away from
him until my legs were pressed against the bed.

"Nowhere to run now, little lion," he said, digging his fingers into the muscle and flesh of my ass.
"Oh no," I said in a tiny voice, my eyes wide in mock-fear. "You caught me."
He slapped my ass cheek, a hard smack with the flat of his palm, causing me to gasp sharply and

stumble into him. "Bad girl."

I turned in his arms and bent over the bed, presenting my ass to him, my heart hammering in my

chest, anticipating the thrill of the slight pain. He smacked me again, and then smoothed the skin with
a gentle caress before spanking me again on the other cheek.

His finger traced down my spine to my tailbone and through the crease, followed the string of the

thong. I let my thighs spread open as he slid a finger between my legs and snagged the edge of my
panties. He slipped a hand around my waist between me and the bed and took the hem of my panties
in his hand, then withdrew his other hand and snaked it around my waist on the other side, gathering
the fabric in that hand as well.

His erection was pressed against my backside, and I couldn't stop my hips from fluttering into it.
"Soon," he promised. "But first...these come off."
I expected him to draw my thong off, but instead he pulled his hands apart and began to exert his

strength. I felt the fabric stretch and pull against me, felt his hands tremble with effort, and then the
strings parted from the patch of lace with an audible ripping sound. He pulled the panties free and

tossed them aside.

I twisted in his arms again and pushed him away, desperate to feel him inside me now, wild to

feel his flesh against me, his heat on my skin and his hard muscles against my soft curves. I opened his
pants and jerked them down, then pulled at his underwear, forcing myself to slow down, to tease both
of us just a little bit more.

The waistband of his boxer-briefs slid down over his erection as I revealed it, inch by inch, until

it sprang free, wet and glistening with dewy pre-come, veins throbbing, tip engorged. The underwear
joined the pants on the floor, and then my own control was broken as I gathered his cock in my hands
and stroked him.

I bent to take him in my mouth, just to taste him, but he pulled me away.
"I won't last thirty seconds if you do that," he said. "You've got me all riled up."
He kissed me, then, the first hot, hard kiss he'd given me in days. It snatched my breath away and

curled my bare toes into the carpet, sent butterflies through my belly to flutter between my thighs. I
lifted a leg to his hip, curling my arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, drowning in the breathless
heat of his mouth.

He put both hands under my buttocks and lifted me up. I hopped, pulling on his neck, and he caught

me as I wrapped both legs around his hips, clamping down with the muscles in my legs and core. I
felt his cock hard and probing at the wet folds of my pussy, and I curled my body into him as I sank
down, impaling him into me.

"Oh god, you're so tight," he whispered, his lips moving against mine.
He lifted me up and then lowered my weight onto him, thrusting up with his hips at the same time.

My nether lips stretched wide to accommodate him, each slow thrust spreading me wider, allowing
him deeper. I bit his shoulder at the tingling burn of the stretching muscles, rolling my hips to slather
his cock with my dripping juices.

The days and days of teasing, the ache of unfilled desire, the strip-tease and longing anticipation

and extended foreplay, all of it had turned this moment when I finally had Shane deep inside me into
an ecstatic agony of pleasure. I couldn't breathe as he penetrated me, couldn't moan or gasp or speak
his name as he plunged into me. All I could do was writhe in helpless satisfaction as he pushed into
me.

His weight pressed me down into the mattress, laying me down with my legs dangling off the edge,

one of his feet planted on the floor and the other knee on the bed. His hands pulled on my hips to drive
into me, pushing the rolling pressure of my rising orgasm into a series of small detonations. I was
close already, within a dozen thrusts rising to the peak of climax...

I gasped in surprise when his weight abruptly vanished, his presence within me absent. He'd

sensed how near I was and pulled out.

"God fucking damn it, Shane!" I lunged for him. "I was so close! Come back! You already got me

back for teasing you."

Shane laughed and climbed onto the bed, lifting me towards the head. I scrambled backward and

reached for him to pull him down to me, but he resisted.

"Oh, no. That was all just for fun." He leaned over me, kissed me, and the tip of his cock nudged

into my thigh, smearing sticky wetness along my inner thigh. I pushed my hips toward him, seeking
him, wanting him to press back inside me.

"I'm gonna punish you for making me beg." He touched a finger to me as he spoke, slipped it inside

and curled toward my G-spot. "I'm gonna make you pay, Leo. You'll beg me to let you finish."

I felt a rush of genuine fear, then. I was already feeling the ache, the burgeoning pressure on my

loins from unfulfilled need, and now he was threatening to make it worse? Oh hell.

Thoughts were banished as he stroked the insides of my walls, then retreated to circle my stiff nub.

I pushed into his fingers, rising, rising, so close, yes, so close...and then he stopped, traced a finger up
my stomach and tweaked one nipple, then the other. He pinched, pulled, and caressed my breasts,
kissed them, licked them, increasing the pressure between my thighs but not letting me nearer climax.

I knew his game, then, and was determined to ride it out without pleading. He had begged; I

wouldn't. I could wait him out.

He moved up and kissed my mouth, nipped my chin and my earlobe, and then pressed a long, slow

series of nibbling kisses down to my belly. He kissed each hipbone, then licked the crease between
my leg and pubic area, which I'd shaved smooth. He traced each labia with his tongue, then probed
the entrance, soft, slow licks that had me stifling gasps and swallowing moans. He took my hips in his
hands and pressed his mouth to my opening and circled my clit with the tip of his tongue. I began to
hope he'd abandoned his game as I neared climax once more, the pressure mounting and building, his
finger slipping in beneath his mouth to swipe my walls and slide against my G-spot, and then I was
mere seconds away, one lick, one stroke, one well-placed flick of his tongue from exploding....

But he stopped.
I nearly cried out, then. He smirked at the desperate writhing of my hips, the way I clutched his

back and clawed my fingernails ungently down his spine, hard enough to make marks, surely, if not
draw blood.

"I'm so close, Leo," Shane said, kneeling above me. "I might let you come, if you help me out

first."

I glared up at him, refusing to rise to his bait. The problem was, his massive manhood was right

above me, begging to be touched, and I thought maybe I could trick him, get myself off just by making
him come. It was worth a try, surely. I reached for him, got a hand around him and pulled him down.
He let me touch him, let me take him in my mouth and suck, just a little, and then he pulled away.

It took effort. I could see the strain in the bulging of his muscles, the veins throbbing and the

gritting of his teeth. He was close. It wouldn't take much, I didn't think, but he kept himself out of
reach, then. He changed tactics, bringing us both away from the edge by kissing my body in non-
sensual places. He kissed my arms, the crook of my elbow, my side, my shoulders, my neck, and even
though the placement of the kisses weren't in erogenous zones, it still heightened my anticipation, still
added to the ever-mounting pressure between my legs.

I had a stroke of genius, then, and acted on it before I could second guess myself.
"Please, Shane. Give it me." I didn't have to act much to sound convincing. "Let me come, please.

I'm begging you."

"You can't trick me, woman."
I writhed in his arms, rubbed my body on his. I wasn't acting anymore, I was merely giving in to

the torment and the temptation. "I'm not playing a trick, I promise. I need you. I can't take it any more.
Please, don't make me wait."

I could sense his hesitation, the indecision. He covered it by stroking my entrance with the tip of

his cock, holding himself in his hand and painting my thighs with his leaking essence.

"Please, please." I lunged for him with my legs, wrapped them around him. "I need you inside me.

I'm dying, Shane, please let me have you inside me. I'll never tease you again, I swear."

I had him in a leg lock, and I reached down to grab his shaft, tickling his tip and slicking my thumb

around the head. I pulled him toward me, curling my legs inward with all my strength. He resisted,
hard, but the angle was wrong and I was winning. His tip neared me, touched the sliver of a gap

between my lips, moved centimeter by centimeter inward.

I was gasping with need now, abandoned to my desire. "Please, Shane. Just a little farther. Yes,

yes, like that." His resistance was waning, slipping. He wanted in, too.

I snaked my other arm around our legs and cupped his sack, felt the taut softness of his scrotal skin

in my palm and massaged gently, touched a finger to the small strip of skin just behind his sack and
pressed, a mere brush at first, then, as he began to let himself slide in, an increasing pressure, moving
in circles.

"Oh, the hell with it," Shane growled.
He slid his hands under my ass and lifted me toward him. He sat up and settled me on his lap, and

we groaned in tandem as he impaled himself into me. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding his base
into me, thrusting his hips against mine and grunting with each motion.

Our foreheads bumped together, sweat commingling and breathing matched. I lifted up with my

legs and sank down, clutched his body against mine, crushing my breasts against him and crying his
name, our climaxes rising together, our motions rhythmed to the same desperation.

I lifted up and plunged down, he thrust up, and we both groaned, gasped, clawing at each other,

seeking to get closer, to bury ourselves in the other. The pressure inside me was at critical mass, an
impending explosion boiling within me, a supernova on the brink of release.

Nothing could stop me now from reaching my peak, from scaling the heights of ecstasy with Shane.

I curled down to kiss him, breathing into him, feeling the vibrations of his moaning against my teeth,
feeling his mountainous muscle bunching and coiling beneath me, his powerful arms around me,
holding me in place.

I was on the edge now, and couldn't work my muscles except to writhe my hips on his. I was held

upright only by his arms. He lowered me slowly to my back, never ceasing his motion inside me,
spreading his bulk on top of me, weighing me down but not crushing me.

His name was the only word I could summon, gasped in breathlessness as he powered into me,

each thrust driving me higher, closer. I wrapped my leg around his back and my arms around his neck,
holding tight to him, whimpering now as he increased his tempo.

And then it happened, between one gasp and the next. I shattered, came apart beneath him. At the

furious clench of my muscles, the helpless shriek of my breath in his ear, he exploded as well,
releasing his seed in a gush of heat, driving me further into the wilds of orgasmic detonation.

His climax seemed endless, a flood of thick liquid pouring into me, his breath fast panting grunts

in my ear, his thrusting into me a frenetic thrum of motion, pushing my climax past the peak and into
something else, past explosion and into a blind fury of spasming bliss. And still he came, still he dove
his shaft into me, until all I could do was hold tight to him, muscles locked around him, and ride out
the rapture.

At last he slowed and stopped, slumping beside me, both of our bodies shuddering and sweat-

slick.

And then he ruined it.
"God, you won," he gasped. "You beat me, you crafty bitch."
Oh, that word. How I hated that word. I tensed and went still, forcing myself to remain motionless,

rather than leaping across the room and screaming like I wanted to.

He felt me tense, felt the sudden, instant distance. "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I tried to remind myself he wasn't John, wasn't my father; he couldn't know.
Shane had been laughing when he said it, clearly meant it as a compliment. I had won, too. I knew

it, and the pride at the fact that I'd outmaneuvered Shane Sorrenson still shone proudly in my chest, but

his casual use of that word had thrown me off.

"Leo, come on. I hate it when women do that. 'Nothing,' you say, but it couldn't be more obvious

that there's something." He propped himself up on an elbow and tried to catch my gaze. "Hey, I can't
fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong."

What a typical guy. Always fixing.
"Just don't use that word around me again, okay?" I forced the anger away, forced myself to

recognize his innocence. He hadn't meant anything by it.

Shane brushed a wisp of hair away from my face, kissed my cheekbone. "Sure. I'm sorry. I didn't

mean anything by it. I was just impressed. You got me to do what you wanted. Nobody ever beats me
in a contest of wills. I always, always get my way."

I only half-faked a laugh. "Well, it looks like you've met your match, buddy."
He kissed the corner of my mouth, my chin, and my other cheekbone. "Looks like it." His eyes

turned serious, then. "Why does it bother you?"

I sat up and tucked a pillow behind me. "Just...it's old news. I should let it go. I know you didn't

mean anything by it. It really is fine."

"No, it's not." He touched two fingers to my cheek, turned my face to his. "Tell me, please."
His honest sincerity had me sighing, and the intense focus of his eyes on me had me relenting.

"Ugh. Okay, then. It goes back to my dad. It's his thing. He says it all the time to my mom." I lowered
my voice to mocking male tone. " 'Come on Marnie, don't be a bitch.' Just like that, all the time. He
doesn't mean anything by it either, usually. It's just something he says when my mom is irritating him,
or when they're joking around. But he says it all the time. He's said it to me, too, in the same tone.
'Come on, Leo, don't be a bitch.' My mom hates it, and so do I. She's always hated it, and she's called
him on it at least once a week for the last twenty-five years.

"The reason it really bothers me, of course, has to do with John. He heard my dad say that to my

mom once, and realized how much it bothered her, and me. So then, the next time he and I got into a
fight, he said it to me, just like my dad used to, just to piss me off. 'Come on, Leo, don't be a bitch.' "

"What a dick."
"Yeah. That's the kind of thing he does. He doesn't yell when he's angry, he just makes these evil

little digs, all calm as can be. He does it to piss you off, and then when you lose it, he acts like he's
got the upper hand 'cause he hasn't even raised his voice."

"That kind of thing would drive me batshit," Shane said, twirling a lock of my hair around his

finger.

"It did. Made me absolutely crazy. It's why I broke up with him so many times."
"Well, I'm sorry I said that. I didn't know—"
I darted at him, smashing my lips to his to silence him.
"I know," I said. "It's just a trigger, for me. Now, shut up and tell me again how I beat you."
Shane chuckled and pulled me on top of him. Marvelous sex-beast of a man that he was, Shane

was firming up again. I slid my pussy against him, feeling him thicken and harden. As soon as he was
hard enough to slip inside me, I guided him in, pulsing my hips onto him as he continued to fill out to
his full size within me.

"You won," he said, his words muffled by a mouthful of my breast. "You beat me. You tricked me

into giving you exactly what you wanted."

"Don't you forget it," I told him. "I'm very determined, when I want something."
"That's one of the many reasons why I love—um, spending time with you."
It was a quick slip, easily forgotten as our passions rose, and I let it pass by, but I didn't miss it.

He watched me carefully as he passed over it, but I only closed my eyes and leaned back on him,
stretching him away from his body, and rode him, my hands flat against his stomach where our bodies
joined. His hands went around my hips and pulled me down onto him.

There was no ruse, this time, no teasing or foreplay, just a slow, gentle roll of our hips, a matched

rocking of our bodies, a building of the tensions within us. Sweat beaded on our bodies and our
breathing turned from long heaves into moaned gasps.

"God, yes," I whispered, falling onto him, pressing my face to his shoulder. "Yes, yes."
His thumbs dug into the crease of my hips, pushing me faster as he began to climax. "Don't...don't

stop," Shane said. "God, I'm coming, I'm going to come so hard..."

I pressed my lips to his ear and breathed the words, "I love to feel you come...oh, god, I'm right

there with you, I'm going to come with you."

I used his word, the one he'd hoped I hadn't notice him use.
His eyes shone like shards of mossy granite and he claimed my mouth with his as we imploded

together, sensation and emotion twining and tangling through us as one entity, collapsing together,
unsure where I began and he ended.

Neither of us spoke of his slip-up, but it hung in the air between us in the afterglow, thick and

nearly-visible. As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered how deep the slip-up had gone, if he really had
just meant what he said, that he loved spending time with me and he'd simply stumbled over the word
itself. The other option, that it had been something deeper, scared me. I wasn't sure whether I wanted
it to have been something deeper or to have been a merely casual use of the word.

* * *

Cairo, Egypt

The heat wasn't just a temperature difference, a matter of degrees. It was a living thing in and of

itself. The heat was a monster that slunk through the alleyways and prowled the main streets, clung to
windows and walls and ceilings, coiling between the stars and the moon even at night.

Shane claimed I'd get used to it, but we'd been in Cairo for nearly a week, gathering supplies,

rendezvousing with the rest of his company, and I still had to struggle for breath as I stepped out of the
super-cooled air of the hotel every morning. The difference between indoors and outdoors was
shocking. Inside the hotel it was so cold as to make you shiver and your skin prickle: outside you
couldn't move for the boiling heat, couldn't breathe for the dry pressure of the sun's rays on your skin.

Shane's brothers were just like Shane, massive men with hard, sculpted bodies, features as planed

and angular and handsome as if they'd been carved from stone by an artist and brought to life. They
couldn't have been more different in personality, however.

Where Shane was warm and genuine—with me, at least—and possessed of a razor-sharp intellect,

his brothers were more physical men, their skills of the hand and eye and foot variety rather than
cunning and calculation. They were cold-eyed and suave, slow-speaking and spare with the smiles.

They were openly surprised by my presence, and by Shane's clear display of possessiveness. We

met in a little cafe where old men smoked in circles from long tubes around a thing like a metal,
orange-glowing spider, which Shane called a hookah. His brothers were drinking tar-black coffee
from tiny cups made all the tinier by their dinner plate-sized hands. They each stood when we

arrived, my hand firmly grasped in Shane's.

The four brothers were all around the same height and all had dark hair and the same attractive

features and builds, but the differences between them beyond that were vast. Rob, the oldest, was a
bear of a man, nearly forty by my estimation, burly and thick and slow-moving, beady eyes and a mat
of black, close-cropped hair, heavily scarred across his face as if peppered by shrapnel. Jon was the
next oldest, maybe thirty-six. He was as tall as the others, around six-three or so, but he was lanky
and wiry and toned, hard arms and lean muscles, sharp features, busy hands, shaved head and a body
writhing with tattoos. Shane was the third oldest, and Luke was the youngest. Of them all, Luke was
the most classically attractive. He had movie star looks, perfect hair, a straight, proportionate nose, a
strong chin, gleaming, almost iridescent green eyes, a body that looked actually carved out of stone,
even more so that Shane's—Luke was wearing a leather biker's vest, open over a bare torso.

We walked into the dark, smoky, cafe, an outdoor place that wasn't air conditioned, and his

brothers all stood up. Shane may not have been the oldest, but for some reason, they all treated him as
if he was the leader. They shook hands and thumped backs in the male we're-not-actually-hugging
ritual. Shane put his hand on the small of my back, too low down to be merely a gesture of
introduction, and introduced me as the newest member of the team.

They all made eyes at me. Luke, the movie star, even went so far as to lower his sunglasses and

stare at me over the top of them in a move straight of Top Gun. Shane quirked an eyebrow and
narrowed his eyes, an overtly threatening look. Luke raised his hands in an I-surrender gesture and
replaced his sunglasses.

I was amused by all the male posturing, but kept my amusement to myself.
"Took you long enough to get here," Rob grumbled, his voice gravelly and rumbling like an

avalanche.

Shane waved a hand in dismissal. "I had some business in London. I'm here now. So what's

happening in Sudan?"

"Fighting, what else?" Jon said, with a laconic shrug of his shoulders. "It's focused in Khartoum,

mainly. That's where we'll be, I assume. It's where the fighting's the heaviest, and we're most needed."

Rob glared at me over the top of his micro-cup of coffee, then at Shane. "So, Leona. You ever

done work like this?" He waved vaguely eastward. "High pressure sort of stuff?"

Shane answered for me. "She's spent nearly ten years as an ER nurse. She'll be fine."
I rolled my eyes at Shane, irritated that he'd spoken for me. "I can speak for myself, you know.

And yes, I have. I may not have been in combat, like you four, but I've know how to stay calm under
pressure."

"I hope so," Rob said. "Cause I sure as hell don't have to time to rescue no newbs when the shit

starts flying."

"She'll be fine," Shane said, his voice gruff and irritable.
Despite his claim that I'd be fine, he looked worried, which wasn't helping my nerves. I'd been

playing it cool for Shane's brothers, but now that I was actually sitting in a foreign country,
surrounded by millions of people whose language I didn't speak, whose religion I didn't understand,
whose culture was completely alien to me, I felt how fully out of my depth I was.

Shane sensed my hidden fear and squeezed my hand underneath the table.
Not for the first time, and what would certainly not be the last, I thought, what had I gotten myself

into?

We left for Khartoum the next day, so I would soon find out.

* * *

Khartoum, Sudan

I did my best to block out the sounds of gunfire and screams to focus on the bleeding young man in

front of me. He was jabbering in panicked Arab, his chest fluttering in hyperventilating gasps. I held a
sopping bandage to a bleeding hole in his side, pressing as hard as I could while Shane knelt next to
me, popping the cap off of a syringe of morphine. His rubber gloves were painted crimson, his
clothes were spattered and crusted, his gray-green eyes laser-focused, grim and hard.

He jabbed the syringe into the victim's leg, depressed the plunger and tossed the syringe to the

side. Almost immediately, the young man's pained thrashing quieted, and Shane began packing the
wound and taping gauze over it. Shane worked in an unhurried rhythm, each motion practiced and
automatic.

I was barely holding on to my sanity. Shane was the only familiar thing in my world, anymore. He

was my rock, the tenuous thread to which I clung when all the world around me was madness and
chaos and war.

He hadn't spoken to me except to issue commands for nearly seventy-two hours, and we hadn't

slept much in more than eighty. For every single one of those hours we'd been stuffing wounds with
gauze, suturing, injecting morphine ampoules, holding men as they died.

We finished patching the young man, left him where he lay for Shane's brothers to move to safety.

Shane took my hand and pulled me on to the next victim, an older man with a long beard and three
holes stitched down his stomach, seeping a copious amount of blood and other fluids. He stank
horribly, and was screaming.

Shane glanced at me, his eyes resigned. He shook his head imperceptibly, and I knew this victim

wouldn't survive. Shane plugged him with a vial of morphine, and then another, and the man went
quiet, his eyes flashing gratitude at Shane. I heard words I now recognized, "Allah...Insha'allah..." and
then he was quiet.

I'd seen men die before. I'd worked the ER for seven years, starting as a twenty-year-old med

student frightened of her own shadow, fresh out of Buttfuck Nowhere in Michigan's Upper Peninsula,
and I worked at a huge hospital. I'd seen death. I'd attended patients as they gasped their last terrified
death. Some of them had even been gunshot victims. But this...this was different. I'd seen this very
man get shot right in front of my eyes. He'd been healthy and vigorous, kneeling in a doorway with an
AK-47 blasting fire and noise, not ten feet from where we worked.

Then, in a spray of blood and wet thumps, he was down. This all happened while we were

working on the young boy.

I choked, heaved a breath in, and collapsed in the dirt next to the dead old man. Nothing worked.

Sounds dimmed around me, my muscles froze, and my brain turned to sludge. I couldn't move, couldn't
breathe. I just wanted to lay my tired body down, close my eyes, and not see blood. I saw, heard, and
felt nothing.

Shane shook me. "You have to get up, sweetheart. You can't stop yet. We're not done." He tugged

hard on my arm; something hot buzzed past my ear. "Move, Leo!"

The urgency in his voice, the very fact that he was yelling got me moving. We wore all-black

fatigues with giant red crosses on the backs, on the arms, on our chests, and on our backpacks, clearly

marking us as medics. We were neutral, equal opportunity; we helped anyone who was hurt,
regardless of political affiliation. They weren't supposed to aim at us, Shane had said, but that didn't
stop strays from finding us.

He dragged me into a run. Everything was a blur, sand, buildings, blue sky, blazing sun, Shane next

to me, his hand vise-tight around my bicep, something crack-crack-cracking above us and behind us
and all around us. Shane was imperturbable, silent, huge and strong, running beside me, keeping me
going. My rock.

Sound returned, emotion returned.
We reached an intersection and Shane jerked me to the side and into an empty, bombed-out

building, full of rubble and broken furniture. He pressed me into a shadowed corner and shielded me
with his body. We both wore body armor, so he was even bigger than normal. He had a pistol
strapped to each thigh and a black bandana marked with a red cross covering his hair. His eyes
burned into me.

"You're okay." His voice washed over me, a whispered counterpoint to the cacophony of gunfire

and RPGs and screams outside. He was sweating, his chest heaving, and his hands were on my waist.

"I'm okay," I agreed, gazing up at him.
God, he was sexy. Shane was all warrior. I found myself turned on by his presence in front of me,

his hard green-gray eyes lighting into me, his solid body a shield against the world, unafraid and
unstoppable. I was turned on by the way he'd dragged me, shielded me, kept me going, calm all the
while. There was also something running through me, a buzzing energy in my veins, a kind of fire that
I couldn't slow or cool or control, a fire deep in my veins and burning in my belly. Shane's eyes fixed
on mine, glittering in the shadows, pushed the fire down between my thighs, setting them to trembling.

It was absurd, but nothing sounded so good at the moment as to feel Shane's hands on me. This was

the wrong place, the wrong time, but I couldn't force it away.

"Is it bad that I'm horny right now?" I asked, watching him through lowered eyelashes.
He smirked and pressed his hips to mine. "No. It's a normal reaction to adrenaline. I'm always

horny after a battle."

"The battle is still happening," I said.
"True," Shane said, closing the distance between our lips. "But it's moving away."
"Shouldn't we be out there?"
He didn't answer my question, just pressed his lips to mine, a soft and moist heat passing between

us, a slow passion rising from the tingling touch of our mouths. Noise and fear and exhaustion drifted
away, replaced by Shane's body against mine and his lips against mine and his hands on me. I lost
myself in the kiss, vaguely aware of the hammering of my heart and the thudding of shells outside, the
complete impracticality and utter improbability of the moment threading its way through my brain.

We broke apart, and his eyes were crazed with need, his fingers digging into my waist. I felt his

heart hammering in his chest. I knew it was crazy, totally ridiculous, but I wanted to jump up and
wrap my legs around his waist, rip our pants down and get him inside me.

He saw it in my eyes, I saw it in his. We moved at the same time, caught up in the frenzy of

adrenalinized ardor. His hands and mine moved in synch, unbuttoning the other's pants and shoving
them down past our hips. I didn't get my pants all the way off, but managed remove a boot and free
one leg.

Shane lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around him. He drove himself into me in a quick, hard

plunge. I buried my mouth into his neck, biting at his jugular to stifle my scream. His hands were
under my ass, holding me up effortlessly, lifting me up and dropping me down onto his slick, hard

shaft in a frantic rhythm: lift-plunge, lift-plunge, lift-plunge.

I was there, right at the edge from the very first stroke of his cock inside me. The danger of the

moment, the realization that anyone could walk in at any moment, and not just see us, but potentially
harm us, even kill us...it made it that much hotter, that much more erotic simply from the forbidden
insanity of the moment.

Shane twisted in place and pressed my back against the wall, and now we were facing so he could

watch the entrance with one eye. I shoved against the rough grit of the wall with my spine to drive my
hips down on him, and he was rising up on his toes to ram into me, slamming with not-quite-painful
force using the strength of his legs and core.

Our lips met again, and now the explosions were taking place inside me as well as beyond the

wall, thunderous detonations rocking my body, causing me to clamp around him, arms and legs
locking on his body with crazed, impassioned strength as my climax hit me. I screamed into his mouth,
and now he was beginning to come, slowing his strokes as he unloaded into me, grunting against my
lips, the sweat from our foreheads mingling, our cries merging, our orgasms blending.

I was draped over his shoulders, my face next to his, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash

movement near the doorway, a glint of skin. I reached down without thinking and drew one of Shane's
pistols, pointing it at the doorway. I wasn't sure what came over me, what caused me to do it, but
there it was, a pistol in my hand, pointing at another human being. Shane tensed, drew one arm out
from beneath my buttocks. I clenched my legs harder around him to support my weight on my own. He
too then had a gun in his hand, and I couldn't see what we were really even aiming at except the
doorway, but I kept it trained there until Shane lowered his and holstered it.

He lifted me off him and set me down. We adjusted our clothing and I gave Shane his gun back,

still unable to believe what we'd just done.

"That was..." I started.
"Crazy," Shane finished.
"Yeah." I felt daring, and not a little juicy. "Crazy, but fun."
Shane dug in his bag and brought out a wad of gauze. "Here," he handed it to me and turned his

back. "Thought you might want to clean up a little."

I took the gauze and cleaned up, grateful and touched by his thoughtfulness.
Shane watched me as I cleaned up, a smirk on his face. "Have you ever shot a gun before?"
I buttoned up and tucked in and adjusted. "Nope."
"Would you have been able to pull the trigger?"
I tossed the used gauze on a pile of rubble and stood up, facing him. I shrugged. "I don't know. Is

there any way to know how you'd react until it happens?"

Shane shook his head. "No, there's really not. I was just impressed that you drew." He ducked his

head, seeming almost embarrassed. "It was my brothers, by the way. At the door. They saw us."

I laughed, not exactly amused, nor surprised. "They're still out there, aren't they?"
"Yep, probably."
I raised my voice to carry out the door. "You might as well come in. We're done now." I glanced

at Shane. "You weren't exactly subtle about the status of our relationship, by the way. With your
brothers, I mean. You might as well have stuck a sign on my forehead that read 'mine'."

Shane shrugged, not looking up as his three brothers trooped into the room. "I know my brothers. If

I hadn't staked my claim on you, they'd've made a move. Then I'd have to kill them. Which would suck
for business."

Luke flopped down against the wall next to Shane. "You sound like Dad. It's always all about

business."

Shane didn't look up still, scraping in the dirt at his feet with his finger. "It was a joke, jackass."
"So was mine, jackass."
Rob squatted near the entrance, stripping off a pair of reddened rubber gloves. "Shut up, you two.

You're both jackasses."

Jon came in last and dropped a pack near the center of the room, flopped down and used the bag

as a pillow. "I think we've hit the wall. We're long past the point where we're going to be effective.
We need to rest."

None of them had even looked at me, not even Shane. I realized this was their way of dealing with

having walked in on us. Not wanting it to hang in the air between us for the rest of the time I spent
with them, I decided to take the bull by the horns.

"You're all jackasses. I'll say it, since all of you are being babies about it: yes, Shane and I were

having sex. Right there where you're sitting, actually, Luke."

Luke made a face and scooted over nearer his brother.
Shane laughed silently, his shoulders shaking. "Way to be, Leo. I think you just scarred Luke

forever."

Luke squirmed, stood up and crossed to the other side of the room. "I didn't need to see that, didn't

need to know that." He grinned at me, though.

"None of my business," Rob said, still not looking at me. "You're both consenting adults. Shane

can screw who he wants."

"My only issue is the middle of a civil war might not be the best place for it," Jon said. "But then,

it ain't me doing it. Sexual arousal is a natural reaction, though. The body needs a way to purge the
hormones released during the stress and adrenaline of a battle."

"That's what Shane told me," I said. "We were just testing his theory."
The Sorrenson brothers were all suppressing chuckles, trying to maintain their composure by not

looking at anyone or anything. For some reason, this irritated me. Something told me if I wanted the
respect of these men, I'd have to earn it.

"So, Shane," I said, as casually as I could, "are you feeling purged? Or should we ask your

brothers to step out for a few minutes?"

Shane choked on his laughter, glancing at me in surprise, then at his brothers, who were all red-

faced and shaking.

"I think I could go for another purging," Shane said.
"I ain't moving," Jon said, not opening his eyes. "But feel free. I won't interrupt."
Luke was the first to laugh openly, and soon all of them were laughing, even taciturn and practical

Jon.

"You're all right, Leo," Luke said. "I can see why Shane brought you. You did good today, too. Not

bad for a newb."

"Told you she'd be fine," Shane said, standing up. "I've gotta take a leak."
Jon stood up. "I'll watch your six, then. Shouldn't go anywhere alone."
The two men left and I was alone with Rob and Luke. Rob was a huge, silent presence in a far

corner, digging at the dirt with the tip of a serrated combat knife. Luke just sat, looking at me, as if he
couldn't figure me out.

"What?" I asked.
Luke shrugged. "You're not like the other women Shane's dated."
"I wouldn't know." This was getting into tricky territory for me. I barely knew Shane, and it was

moments like this that I felt it the most poignantly.

"It's a compliment," Luke said. "Most of them are...uh, well, not like you."
I laughed. "Very helpful."
"You're smart, and capable," Rob said. "And you're not a skittish little bird."
"Thanks, I think."
"How'd you end up here?" Luke asked. "Shane doesn't bring people with him. He doesn't hire

people. This is a family thing, and it's usually just us four."

I shrugged. "It was kind of a last minute thing. I haven't known Shane very long."
The brothers exchanged a look that I couldn't interpret. Something was telling me my presence was

a serious conundrum they simply couldn't figure out.

"Quit interrogating her," Shane growled as he came back in, Jon in tow. "I knew she'd be fine, and

she was. That's it."

Luke raised his hands in a gesture of capitulation. "Hey, I was just curious." He grinned at Shane,

a greedy expression on his face. "You owe me five thousand dollars, you know."

Shane's face went hard, his expression shuttered and angry. "Not now, Luke."
"You lost the bet. I expect you to pay up as soon as we get back States-side."
"I said not now, goddamn it."
Something told me this had something to do with me. "Shane? What's he talking about?"
Shane sighed and thumped his head back against the wall. "Thanks a bunch, jackass," he said to

Luke. To me, he said, "Things are quiet outside. Let's go talk."

"Tell me now. They obviously know what you're talking about." I crossed the room to stand in

front of him.

He took my hands in his, and his eyes shifted to mine and away. "Fine. I'll kill Luke later. Listen,

you know how I told you, when we first met, that I'd given up women for a year?"

"Sex, you mean. You gave up sex for a year."
"Yeah. Well, that was because of a bet with Luke. He bet me five grand that I couldn't go without

sex for two years." He shrugged. "Since you and I slept together, I lost the bet."

I rolled my eyes. "You told me it was because you were tired of meaningless sex. It was over a

bet? That's stupid. Why would you take it? Two years is like...forever. God." I shuddered.

Luke laughed. "That's what I thought, too. Shane's always been a cocky son of a bitch, so I figured

I had it in the bag. Turns out I was right."

"But...five thousand dollars? For real?" I couldn't fathom spending that kind of money on

something so trivial as a bet. "Do you know how much money that is? You know that could pay off,
like, a quarter of my school bill? Or half my car payment?"

Luke waved a hand. "Five grand? It's pigeon shit. That's like pennies to Shane. He makes more

than that while he's taking a shit."

"What are you talking about?" Shane's condo had been nice, but not that nice. If he could spend

five grand on a bet and his brother considered it 'pennies'...

Shane crossed the room in one bound and had his brother by the throat. "Shut. Up."
Luke didn't struggle. "Okay, fine. Let go, jackass. I said okay."
Shane dropped him and stormed out, not so much as looking at me. I turned to Luke, who was

smoothing his shirt, looking startled and not a little confused.

"What was that about, Luke?" I asked.
Rob answered. "Shane's a private guy. If there's things he hasn't told you about himself, he's got a

reason." He glared at his youngest brother. "Luke should learn when to shut the fuck up."

Rob stuck the knife he'd been playing with through the entire exchange back in its sheath on his

waist.

"Shane's the best of us," Rob said, finally looking at me. "He really is. I like you, Leo. So I'll tell

you something for free: you being here, with us, doing this? It's a damned big deal to Shane, even if he
made it seem like it's not. It means something."

"Talk about knowing when to shut the fuck up," Luke muttered.
Rob cocked an eyebrow at Luke, an expressive gesture that seemed to be a familial trait. "You say

something? I'll break you in half, pretty-boy."

Jon had been silent this entire time, but he spoke up now. "Quit squabbling. Somebody has to go

talk to him, you know."

No one looked excited at the prospect. Rob nudged Luke in the shoulder with his elbow.
"Me? He's pissed off at me. If I go I'll just make it worse," Luke said.
I sighed. "You're all pussies. I'll go, then."
The men looked shocked, but didn't stop me as I left the building to find Shane. He was across the

street and a few doors down, squatting in the shadows and playing with a clip of bullets. I stood
beside him and waited.

"My brother has a big mouth," he said, finally.
"They're good guys. I like them." I moved so I was brushing his shoulder with my thigh. His

presence took the edge of my nerves. Being out in the open like this, even at night, worried me. The
last few nights had seen nearly as much fighting as the day time, although it was quiet at the moment.

"Both sides have to regroup," Shane said, guessing at the source of my unease. "It'll be quiet for a

day or two. We'll move out at first light and get some real rest tomorrow."

I put my back to the closed wooden door and slid down it to sit beside him. His arm went around

me, gathered me to his chest. He slid me on his lap as he sat down himself. The silence was
oppressive, especially after the endless noise of the last few days.

"What was Luke talking about, Shane?"
"Does it matter? He's a loud mouth. He doesn't know when to keep things to himself."
"If it makes you this upset, then obviously it does matter," I said.
Shane sighed. "I own a couple of medical patents. I invented a few things while I was in the

Corps, and it turns out the private medical corporations are willing to pay a fortune for them. I made a
business out of it. I set it up to run itself, since I don't really want to bother with it."

"So that jet..."
"That really was my dad's, not mine." He sighed, his breath huffing into my hair. "It's not a big

deal. It's just money."

I thought about it. There obviously was more to it, and I suspected there was a lot more to Shane

than I'd suspected, but I couldn't very well expect him to just tell me every last thing about himself all
at once, could I?

"As long as you're not, like, some secret serial killer or something." I turned my head up to press

my lips to his. "I'm here with you. I feel like I can trust you. Your brothers obviously look up to you.
Anything else is just details."

Shane shook his head. "You're crazy, you know that? I can't believe you actually came with me.

You've got real balls." He thumbed my hair out of my face. "I've known lots of men who couldn't
handle what you went through these last few days. I'm proud of you."

I should've been pissed off that he was proud of me, like I was a kid learning a trick or something,

but it didn't come across as condescending. And I was proud of myself. It had been hellish, but I was

still here, still sane. I'd have nightmares for a while, I suspected, but I could deal with that.

* * *

We spent two days in a little hovel in a village several miles from the city, eating food made by a

wizened old black man and his wife, sleeping in scratchy blankets on the floor. After nearly four days
of constant hell, it was heaven. On the morning of the third day, Shane woke me early, set me on the
back of a donkey loaded with baskets. He walked next to me and clucked the donkey into motion. I
decided to go along with it and not ask any questions; surprises could be fun. Besides, if it meant
getting away from Shane's brothers and getting some alone time, I was all for it.

We plodded through the heat of the morning, chatting idly, or just traveling in companionable

silence. We came to a river near midday and this is where Shane stopped us, unloading a blanket,
baskets of food made by our hosts in the village, and a dusty bottle of wine.

"A picnic?" I said. "An actual picnic?"
Shane looked at me like I'd sprouted wings. "What? You've never been on a picnic before?"
I shook my head. "No. Not really. John and I went canoeing once, on the Rifle River. We stopped

at a bank and had some cheese and sausage and hot, brackish water. It was awful."

Shane laughed. "Well, then, welcome to your first real picnic."
We found a spot underneath some low-hanging trees, where the heat was less intense. The food

was a simple fare, some cured meat that I suspected was goat, as well as goat cheese, vegetables and
locally-grown fruit. The wine was dry and warm and potent. It was the best thing I'd ever tasted, right
then.

We were in the middle of nowhere, in a way that simply isn't possible in America. The river was

wide and fast and deep, rushing noisily. Birds hawed overhead, and across the river was a jungle,
rustling with life. The sky was wide and blue and endless. Shane and I might have been the only two
people in the world.

When we finished eating, Shane loaded the leftovers back in the baskets and laid down next to me.

His eyes fixed on mine, his hand drifted to rest on my stomach; it was a subtle gesture, but enough.

I felt my own need curling in my belly, a desire welling up with me to feel Shane's hand brush my

naked skin.

I stood up on the blanket and unbuttoned my shirt, pulled it over my head, and then unbuckled my

web belt so I could undo the pants. Fatigues weren't the sexiest clothes I'd ever worn, and there
simply wasn't any way to take them off in a seductive manner. Shane's eyes gave away his lust for me,
even as he held himself still, watching me disrobe.

Despite our isolated location, there was something exciting and nerve-wracking about taking my

clothes off in the middle of the day, outside. When I stood above Shane in panties and a sports bra, I
stopped.

"Your turn," I said.
Shane grinned and stood up, peeling off his shirt and pants in record time, and then we were both

clutching each other, clad in underwear by the riverbank. His arms were hard and comforting around
me, his erection bulging between us. I reached beneath his boxers and touched him, took his cock in
my hand and sighed at the feel of him.

He peeled my bra off, kissing my shoulders and then my chest, and then the taut skin next to my

erect nipples. He knelt down in front of me and pulled my panties down with two fingers at each hip,
touching his mouth to my hips when they were bare. He pushed himself between my legs so I was

standing with my feet shoulder-width apart, my hands on his shoulders.

He caressed the globes of my ass with his hands, then whisked his fingers around my hips to

spread my thighs apart and covered my damp lower lips with his mouth. I gasped and my knees shook
as he dipped his tongue into me, circling my hard, sensitive nub and then flicking it with the tip of his
nimble, tireless tongue. He continued to lick my clit as he slipped a finger into me, one at first,
grazing my entrance and gliding inside, curling around to touch my walls, then a second.

He probed and licked me until the trembling in my knees grew too much to bear, and then he

caught me in his arms and lowered me to the ground. I tangled my fingers in his hair as he put his face
back to me and drove me to the edge of orgasm.

I gasped when his finger, moistened with my juices, slipped out of my pussy and searched the

stretch of skin behind it until he found my other opening, tight and hard. He brushed it at first, just a
teasing touch, slicking it with my own moisture, and then he began to put subtle pressure on it,
wiggling his finger until the opening stretched wider, little by little. I moaned at the sensation, feeling
the orgasm bending and burgeoning in me. I planted my knees and lifted my hips, giving him better
access.

"Do you want me, there?" I said, breathless. "Do you want to take me in the ass?"
Shane looked up at me, still working his finger deeper inside me, centimeter by centimeter. "Yes,

but not yet. Not here, not now." He lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. "Do you want me to? Does this feel
good?"

I could barely speak past the rising pressure inside me, but I managed to answer. "I like...I like

what you're doing. But...I'm not...I'm not sure I could take you. You're so big..."

Shane chuckled as he put his mouth back to my pussy and licked again, slow upward swipes. "You

could take me. Eventually. I'd be gentle, and careful."

"I know you would..." I gasped.
Just before the pressure ballooned open inside me, I took his face in my hands and pulled him up

to me.

"I want you inside me," I told him. "I need you closer to me."
He lowered himself onto me, supporting himself on his forearms, kissing me. I found his cock with

questing fingers and guided him in, savoring the tender slip and slide of his throbbing shaft. He
breathed my name as he began a rhythm, pushing into me as slowly as he could. He was trembling
with need, his body shaking above me as he controlled his strokes to be barest pressure inside me,
infinitesimal nudges further into me and back out.

I held myself still as long as I could, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. The pressure inside

me was building again, having tapered off when I pulled him up to me, but now it rebuilt its
momentum; Shane's strokes into me quickened as my breath came in ever more ragged gasps, and then
my legs floated up of their own accord to wrap around his flexing buttocks and pull him closer, draw
him into me, encouraging him to move deeper. He hadn't gone all the way in, yet, keeping himself
shallow and slow.

"Harder now, Shane, please," I whispered to him, unable to summon the breath for louder speech.
"Oh, god, yes," he said, plunging deeper with each syllable, drawing the first vocalized moan from

me.

He rolled with me, pulling me on top of him, circling his arms around me. I tried to sit up and lean

back, but he thrust deeper every time I moved, going deeper and deeper, and I couldn't keep myself
upright. All I could do was collapse my weight onto his chest and roll my hips with his, crush my
core against him.

His bulk beneath me, his arms around me, his voice in my ear, speaking my name with something

like reverence...I found the weight of fear retreating at his presence, the hard core of built-up terror
softening.

I'd cried at the intensity of our lovemaking before, but this time it was different. My climax was a

slow build, my tumble over the edge into wild abandon an inevitable fall into familiar comfort. It was
like falling backward into a soft bed, the explosions within my body nurtured and furthered by Shane's
relentless attention, his hands and teeth at my nipples, his lips on mine, his affection seeming to be
everywhere at once and all over me as I came with him. I wept, then, when I felt him release inside
me and my own rapture spiraled upward and onward, expanding into something more powerful than
mere orgasm, mere physical release of hormones and contraction of muscles.

This was new, this upwelling of intensity within me, a feeling of panic growing inside me. It was

all too much, too big. Even the explosion after Shane's teasing and the extended denial of orgasm
wasn't like this. I couldn't contain it, couldn't hold it in. There was something spiritual in this, as if my
soul had clenched and expanded and coruscated outward to find Shane's own essence and together
they braided, tangled and twined into something other.

I felt Shane quaking beneath me, felt his every muscle spasm and his breath panting, felt his heart

clamoring in his chest. I felt something else from him, an intangible knowledge that he'd experienced
the same thing I had. He was shaken, as was I.

I was limp on top of him, his arms weighty bands across my back.
"Shane? Did you feel that too?"
He nodded his chin into my head. "I don't know what it was..."
The feeling of panic at the enormity of what I'd felt was still coursing through me. I held tight to

Shane and breathed through it, but it didn't dissipate. His presence, his strength seemed to foster it, to
grow it, even as he merely laid with me and recovered his breath.

I rolled off of him and into his arms, craned my neck to look at his face. His features were

contorted in an effort to contain some powerful emotion.

"What is it?" I asked. "What's wrong?"
"It's not what's wrong, it's what's right." He crushed me against him, as if I might disappear and he

was determined to prevent it. "I think what just happened, what we just felt, it's...that's what making
love is supposed to feel like, but never has before, because it's always been just sex."

"You're scaring me." I didn't want to think about what he was suggesting. It was too much, too

soon.

Great sex was one thing. And god, sex with Shane was mind-bending, earth-shaking. He'd given

me sexual experiences that I hadn't known were possible, taken me to the farthest edges of ecstasy.
That was awesome. And, if I was being totally honest with myself, it was part of the reason I'd come
to Africa with him. I'd come because I enjoyed sex with him, and because I needed a change in my
life, a drastic upheaval and this was a way to do it. I came because John would have flipped out, and
because everyone I knew disapproved. I did it to rebel.

But now, Shane was implying something else, suggesting there was more to our relationship, and

Rob had implied something similar. I wasn't commitment-phobic, wasn't afraid of my emotions,
but...it was unexpected. Not unwelcome, but surprising. I didn't know what to do with it or how to
handle it. I didn't know Shane, not really. I'd only met him two weeks ago.

My emotions towards John hadn't been intense. He'd been familiar, recognizable. Being with John

was comfortable. Even when we were arguing, it was familiar, a ritual we'd gone over and over
dozens of times in the years we'd been together.

Shane...he was mysterious and powerful, and apparently wealthy in his own right as well as

coming from a rich, influential family. He was sweet, and considerate, strong and attentive...

"Shane, I—"
I was cut off by a cell phone ringing. Shane cursed and grabbed his pants and searched his pockets

until he came up with a big, blocky cell phone.

I couldn't help but laugh. "How the hell do you get cellular service way out here? We're in the

middle of Sudan, for god's sake."

He chuckled. "It's a satellite phone. I get service everywhere."
He sobered when he saw the number on the screen. He answered it. "Yeah? Shit. Okay, yeah.

We're on the riverbank, a couple miles east of the village. We'll be ready. Bye."

He had paled, and looked shaken. He began dressing, swiftly and efficiently. He tossed my clothes

at me and I began dressing too, worried by the expression on his face.

"What is it? Who was that?"
He gathered the supplies into the baskets and re-hung them on the donkey. I helped him when I was

dressed.

"It was my uncle, Geoff. A helicopter is on the way to get us right now." I heard a distant

thumping, confirming what he'd said. "My dad had a heart attack."

"Oh my god, Shane...is he...did he—?"
"No, he's alive, but it's not good. They need me back in the States ASAP."

* * *

The helicopter brought us to an airport outside Khartoum where a jet was waiting for us. Shane's

brothers were already on board, dressed in civilian clothes and looking sullen, scared, and worried.

I wasn't sure what was going to happen to me, and was worried to ask.
We rode in silence, no one speaking, no one moving.
We stopped in Hamburg, Germany to refuel and left again as soon as the tanks were full. It was the

longest I'd ever sat in complete silence in my life. Eventually I fell into a restless sleep. We arrived at
the JFK International airport in the dead of night. Shane's brothers gave us space when he pulled me
aside and sat down with me in a waiting area outside the gate.

"So you have a decision to make, Leona." I caught his fingers in a death grip as he spoke. "You can

come with us, or I can put you on a flight back to Detroit. We're headed to our parents' estate New
York."

"There's nothing for me in Detroit," I said. "Nothing but my parents or to go crawling back to

John."

"I don't know what's waiting for me in New York. Dad's in critical condition still." He seemed to

be leading up to something, hesitating.

"What? Say it."
He closed his eyes briefly. "If...with my dad out of commission, leadership of his company falls to

me. He's been wanting me to take over for years now, but I've always refused. I don't want to do it,
never have. But...I can't refuse now."

I didn't understand what the big deal was. "So? You'll be a corporate CEO, then. I get it. If you

don't want me with you...I mean, I know I'm not going to be much use in corporate boardroom, so if
you're saying I can't really—"

He cut me off with a kiss. "No, Leo. That's not what I'm saying. The exact opposite, actually. If you

come with me, you'd be basically part of the family." He had a pained look on his face. "Listen, I
don't...I've never, ever brought a girl home. In my family, in this kind society, you don't bring a girl
home to meet the family unless it's serious. There's casual girlfriends, and then there's the girl you
bring home. If you come with me, we're declaring to my family and everyone else what we are."

"Which is?"
"Something more." He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his teeth. "I know it's

fast, and unexpected, and a lot of pressure, but..."

I got up and paced away from him. What did I want?
I thought about getting on a plane back to the D, thought about begging for my old job back,

sleeping in my parent's spare room where I'd grown up, seeing John to get my stuff...

No.
I turned back to Shane and threaded our fingers together. "I'll go with you. I don't claim to know

what I'm getting myself into anymore than I did when I agreed to come with you to Africa, but...I'm
game. If you really want me there, if you think I'll fit, then I'll come. I don't know shit from shellfish
when it comes to high society, or whatever, but...I'll do my best."

Shane seemed relieved. His shoulders slumped down as if he'd been preparing for a blow that he

realized wasn't coming.

"You're sure? I'd understand if you're not."
I tugged his hand, pulling him to where his brothers waited with shocked expressions on their

faces. "I'm sure."

He kissed the top of my head. "That's my little lion."
We joined his brothers, who were staring at me in something like awe.
"You're bringing her...home?" Luke asked.
Shane just nodded.
"Did he explain to you what that meant, in our family?" Rob asked me.
"Sort of. It's a big deal, I gather."
Jon chuckled. "A big deal. Yeah, you might say that."
Luke shook his head, bemused. "You've known Shane how long?"
"Two weeks, maybe?" I was playing it cool, but inside I was on fire, even more terrified than

when bullets were flying past my head in Khartoum.

Luke looked at Shane, bumped him with his shoulder. "Your girl's got balls, Shane. Great big

brass ones."

Shane nodded. "Yeah, that's why I—yeah, I know."
Another slip. Everyone caught it, no one addressed it, least of all me.
We climbed into a limousine. This one wasn't a rental. I didn't recognize it, but there was a fancy-

looking 'B' embroidered into the leather upholstery.

Inside the limo was an elegant older woman, silver-gray hair loose around her face, piercing

green eyes hard as jade and pinning me to my seat. The brothers each gave her a hug and kiss on each
cheek.

I stuck out my hand and shook hers. "Leona Larkin, ma'am."
She looked from me to Shane, to his hand on my thigh.
When she addressed me, her voice was cold and high. "Virginia Sorrenson." She turned to Shane

and spoke to him, as if I wasn't there. "Are you sure this is the best time for this?"

Shane's voice was hard. "There's no other time for it, Mother. I know what's expected of me, and

I'll do it. But I'll do it my way."

Virginia Sorrenson examined me from head to toe. "Well, she's pretty enough. Clearly has enough

manners to introduce herself properly." She glanced at Shane again. "Are you sure about this, Shane?"

"She was with us in Sudan. She's amazing."
The knowledge that I was with him in Khartoum seemed to impress her, if the lessening of the

tight, hard lines around her mouth was any indication.

"Then she's not faint of heart." She looked at me, and took my hand in hers, leaning forward.

"There's still time to go home, child. You needn't feel rushed."

I shook my head. "I'll be fine."
Virginia rolled her shoulders in a shrug of acquiescence. "Very well then." She glanced from me

to Shane. "When's the wedding?"

The End of Part 2

BIKER BILLIONAIRE #3: RIDING THE HEIR

"Wedding? What wedding?" I tried not to sound panicked.
Virginia Sorrenson looked from my baffled expression to Shane's chagrined one. "I was under the

impression she knew what she was getting into, Shane. This does not appear to be the case."

I turned to Shane. "What's she talking about, Shane? You said going with you meant it was a

declaration that we were together. You didn't say anything about any damn wedding."

I saw Virginia's brows furrow at my vulgar language. Shane winced, and took my hand.
"Yeah, I know, and I'm sorry. It's not like it's going to be next week or anything, Leo, just..." he

scrubbed his face with his hand. "Let's talk about this later, okay? In private?"

I nodded.
Virginia seemed displeased. "Shane, you should have been forthright with her from the beginning.

It's not fair to her to be in the dark like this. She should know what she's getting into."

"I know," Shane said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can we just get home? I'll explain

everything."

"Everything?" I asked. "Is there more?"
Luke spoke up. "With Shane, there's always more. He's not the most forthcoming man ever."
The three other brothers all chuckled.
"Let's just say there's probably more he's not saying than he is," Jon added.
"We're his brothers, and he didn't tell us about his patents until after he'd made his first billion,"

Rob said.

I choked on my saliva. "His first what?" I looked from Shane, who seemed intensely pissed off, to

Rob. "His first billion with a 'B', or million with an 'M'?"

Virginia sighed. "Billion, dear. With a capital 'B'. My tight-lipped son Shane here is worth nearly

as much as his father." She glared at Shane. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. This poor girl
obviously knows nothing about you, and not through any fault of her own. This is the kind of thing you
can't just spring on a girl, son."

"It's not like I wasn't going to tell her, I just—"
"You want her to like you for more than your money," Virginia cut in. "I know. We've been over

this. But obviously things with Leona have progressed rather quickly. If she's to make an informed and
responsible decision about her future with you, then she needs the facts. All of them, dear. Not just the
ones you decide to part with."

I turned away and stared out the tinted window. Our limo, which I suspected was worth more than

my parents' house, was zipping smoothly along a narrow, winding road lined with spreading trees,
now changing to brilliant reds, oranges, yellows and browns as fall descended on upstate New York.
There was more to Shane Sorrenson than met the eye, clearly. I'd always known that. Even from the
first time I met him, I knew he was more than just a biker. His carriage, his bearing, something in the
ramrod stiffness of his spine spoke of breeding and sophistication. It hadn't clicked right away though,
and he tried to brush it off, especially when it came out that he was the son of Henry James Sorrenson.
And now, suddenly, those medical patents he'd so casually mentioned and dismissed weren't a trivial
matter, and the company some little dot com existing on paper somewhere. He was a billionaire.

"Shane, you told me you owned a few medical patents," I said, after a long, tense silence.
Shane didn't answer right away. He picked at a thread on the leg of his pants, not looking at

anyone. "First, I'm sorry. My brothers are right, in that I don't like to talk about myself. I don't like to

flaunt my family name or my own personal wealth. Dad's money is his, earned by his hard work, over
a lifetime. Mine is...well that's different. Those patents are meant to make life better for everyone, and
it seems wrong somehow to capitalize on them."

Virginia huffed in irritation. "Oh for goodness' sake, Shane. Stop being so ridiculously egalitarian.

Those patents are revolutionizing battlefield medicine. You've changed the medical world, son. You'd
be a fool not to capitalize on it."

"Mother, I know. That's not the point. The point is, how do you tell someone your net worth

without sounding arrogant? 'Hi, Leo, my name is Shane Sorrenson and I'm worth six billion dollars?' I
don't fucking think so."

"Shane Alastair Sorrenson, I will not tolerate such vulgar language in my presence. This is not the

United States Marine Corps."

I stifled a giggle. Shane blushed red and mumbled a very boyish, "Sorry, Mom."
His brothers all seemed to have come down with coughing fits as well.
At that moment, the limousine pulled to a stop at the top of a circle driveway. All that was visible

to me, through the dark window, was a wide set of marble steps leading to a pair of enormous, dark
wood French doors and thick, elegant, fluted white columns.

The door was opened by an older, thick-set man with buzzed black hair and sunglasses as well as

the kind of earpieces worn by Secret Service agents.

"Ah, we've arrived," Virginia said, sliding out. The driver/bodyguard took her hand as she

stepped out. "Thank you, Gerald. Leona, come with me, if you would. I'll show you the house."

I was next out, and I found myself lifted to my feet by Gerald's calloused, powerful hand. I

mumbled, "thanks," to the burly man and followed after Virginia, glancing back at Shane. I would
have rather had Shane give me the tour, as I hadn't had a moment alone with him since the picnic in
Sudan. For all that I was irritated with him for holding back the truth from me, he was still the one
familiar thing in my life, which was suddenly a very tumultuous thing. Shane watched me go, a
thousand emotions shifting across his handsome features.

The front doors swung open as Virginia approached them, held by a pair of uniformed...servants, I

guess you would call them. I wasn't sure. Butlers? Maids? People who worked in the house. Virginia
swept past them without so much as a glance, but I thanked both of them and tried to keep up. She was
moving swiftly, clad in an elegant but simple floor-length dress. The house was palatial. I'd only seen
places like this in movies. This was something out of Jane Eyre or Mansfield Park, endless expanses
of marble floors, grand, curving staircases and extravagant crystal chandeliers, suits of armor.

I had stopped in the middle of the foyer, which was bigger than the house I'd lived in with John.

Virginia noticed I'd stopped and drifted back to my side.

"Don't let the trappings intimidate you, my dear. My husband has a flair for the dramatic. This

house, if you can properly call such a monstrosity as this a house, is modeled after an eighteenth
century British nobleman's estate. Something-upon-something-ford. I don't know. It's all grand and
wonderful and entirely too big."

"How can I not be intimidated, Mrs. Sorrenson? This place is...god, it's incredible. I don't even

know how to process what I'm seeing."

"Please, call me Virginia. And really, darling, it's just a house. A rather over-large one, but still,

just a house."

I snorted. "Yeah, just a house. Okay." Virginia cocked an eyebrow at me, which I was learning

was a Sorrenson family trait. "I'm sorry, I hope I didn't offend you. It is beautiful. It's
just...overwhelming."

"Oh, well it is that, even to me, sometimes. Try finding someone in this house. If Henry isn't in his

study, I need a search party and walkie talkies to find him. I told him we should get intercoms
installed, but he said it wasn't authentic, and the electricity was bending the design enough as it was."
I must have looked surprised, because she laughed. "Oh, you'll see what I mean about Henry when
you meet him. He doesn't do things halfway. When he decided to do a period design, he originally
wanted it to be completely authentic. All fireplaces and lamps and outhouses and so on. Well you can
be sure I put my foot down. I told him he made it a normal, twenty-first century home, with TVs and
electricity and indoor bathrooms and all that, or he could find someone else to live in it with him. But
he refused on the intercoms, and I didn't push it. He did give me an entire wing of the house as a
walk-in closet, after all."

I widened my eyes at that. We were strolling through the house, which really was properly called

a palace. There were sitting rooms with ornate, period-style furniture and fireplaces and Greco-
Roman sculptures, a formal dining room big enough to seat at least fifty people, and a dozen other
rooms, including a library that seemed to be a reproduction of the one in the animated Beauty and the
Beast movie, with hundred-foot high ceilings and shelves of books stretching out of sight, lining every
wall, with nooks and crannies and ladders and paintings.

"An entire wing for clothes?" I asked, as we neared a curving staircase wide enough to fit a

Hummer.

"Would you like to see it?" Virginia asked.
Did I ever. Her 'closet' was two floors, connected by a private spiral staircase. It wasn't just racks

of clothes in a giant room. It was a display, a museum, a department store. There was a room
dedicated to dresses custom-made for her by all the top-name fashion designers, some in different
colors of the same design. There was an entire room just for shoes, floor-to-ceiling shelves designed
to display only shoes. I may have drooled, just a bit. There was another room for purses, organized by
color, size, and designer. More drool. And yet another room for lingerie, and another for more
mundane things like jeans and shirts and socks and such. I was speechless.

We found our way back to the shoe room. "Henry calls this my 'shoe-seum'," Virginia said. "He

says I have enough shoes that if we ever went bankrupt, I could open a shoe store. He may be right,
but hey, a girl can never have too many shoes, right?"

I laughed. "No, I suppose not. But then, I have three pairs of shoes at the moment, so I'm in no

position to talk."

Virginia lifted her eyebrow again. "Three? Total?"
I shrugged. "With me here, at least. I have more back in Detroit, but I left everything behind when I

went to Africa with Shane. He told me he'd had it all packed up and moved out of my ex-fiancé’s
house, so I still technically own them, but that doesn't do me too much good at the moment."

Virginia led me to the kitchen, where she had coffee brought to us. "So, tell me how you met

Shane. I'd ask him, but you see how he is with information."

"Well...I'd just had an argument with my ex-fiancé, John. The argument itself was one of those

stupid things. It had started with something dumb he said to me, and I'd gotten pissed off. But it was
more than that. John was boring. I've been realizing more and more that I was only with him because
it was easier than breaking up. I mean, I guess I did care about him, I'd been with him for several
years after all. But...he was uninteresting." I stared into my coffee as I spoke. "It was pouring rain,
and I was wearing heels since we'd come from a party, and I just jumped out of the car and ran. I
broke a heel and fell, scraped my knees and hands and all that. John was following me, but I wasn't
listening. And then I ran into Shane. I mean, literally ran into him. He'd seen me running in the rain,

apparently, and stopped to see if I needed help. I didn't see him and ran smack into his chest. I
couldn't go back home, or to John's house, I guess I should say, so Shane took me to his, and then..."

"I can guess the rest," Virginia said, a wry arch to her voice. "How did you end up in Sudan with

him, though? That's extremely unusual for him."

I shrugged. "I'm an ER nurse, and we'd talked about that, and his company that he started with his

brothers. He asked me if I wanted to go with him, and arranged for it with the hospital I worked at
and got me a passport. It was crazy, as I'd just met him, but...I needed a drastic change. When I had
that argument with John, I'd had this vision of my life with him. It was the same thing, day after day,
for the rest of my life. It scared me. So when Shane suggested going to Africa with him, it was
impulsive and crazy and...it honestly was the best thing I've ever done. The hardest and most
frightening, too, but the best. I felt alive, really alive, for the first time. And Shane...he took care of
me. Protected me."

Virginia nodded. "That's Shane for you."
This was a golden opportunity to learn about Shane, I realized. "So, tell me about him. I mean,

why is he the one to take over your husband's company and not one of the others?"

Virginia regarded me carefully. "He's the best suited. The only one of them who's really capable

of it, honestly. I love all my boys. They're all wonderful, capable men, and they've all done wonderful
things with their lives. But Shane is the only one of them with the...business savvy." She smiled at me.
"Would you like to hear a story about him, as a child?

"When Shane was a boy, he decided he wanted to do a lemonade stand. Every child has one, at

some point. Well, at the time, we were living in a condo in downtown New York City. Shane set up
his little stand in the hallway outside our door, and sat there for about an hour, waiting. Well,
eventually he came inside, disappointed because he hadn't sold any lemonade. He went to Henry, who
was on a business call, settling a multi-million dollar deal, and asked what he was doing wrong.

"Henry, without missing a beat, told him that he had to go where the business was, or he'd never

sell anything. Shane took his advice to heart. He gathered his lemonade supplies and recruited Gerald
to take him outside to set up. Gerald is a big old teddy bear with a heart of gold, and as much a nanny
to all the kids as he is a bodyguard and driver. He helped Shane find a good spot out on Fifth Avenue,
and stayed with him all day. I guess at one point, Shane ran out of supplies and sent Gerald to get
more. About seven o'clock that night, Shane comes in, ecstatic but exhausted.

"He'd made over two hundred dollars, selling cups of lemonade at seventy-five cents a piece. He

stuck with it for an entire week, setting up in the same spot, from morning to night, breaking for lunch
and dinner, and he made over a thousand dollars.

"He was eight years old." Virginia smiled at the memory. "His brothers got wind of how much

money he'd made and wanted in, so Henry told him how to expand. Henry hired a few extra temporary
guards, friends of Gerald, I believe, and Shane set his three brothers up with their own stands a few
blocks apart and showed them what to do. Shane gave them part of what they made and kept a portion
for himself, as per Henry's instructions. Again, Shane was only eight years old.

"He has a natural mind for business, he's just reluctant to take on the responsibility, and lose his

freedom in the process. I'm sure you're aware of this, but running a company like Henry's is a huge
undertaking. There will be a lot of publicity, which is the biggest thing Shane's been wanting to
avoid."

I absorbed this. I could see a little Shane, sitting outside in the middle of downtown Manhattan,

selling lemonade. But I could also see Shane in a business suit, at a board meeting.

"So...wow." I held my coffee cup in both hands, processing what all this meant. "I guess I can see

why Shane would have to be careful who he's seen in public with. If he's about to become, like, a big
business mogul, his public image is important."

"Precisely. I'm glad you see it that way," Virginia said. "But there's more to it. Him having

girlfriends is one thing. It's natural and expected. He's always been careful to make sure his private
life is private. But he's only been working for himself, establishing his own career and his own
business. Now, he's taking over Henry's company. It's an established business with a client list, an
image, a reputation, investors and profit margins, and all that.

"For men like Shane and Henry, the woman in their life is vitally important. You've heard the

adage, 'behind every great man is a great woman', I'm sure? Well, that's never been truer. I helped
Henry start his business. I was his first secretary, and I helped design his first ad campaign. Every
major decision he's ever made has gone through me.

"If our relationship suffers, or we get in a fight, and Henry has a hard time focusing on business,

that can affect thousands of people. I'm not exaggerating. If we fight and Henry makes a poor decision
because his mind is on us rather than business, he could lose millions of dollars.

"That's what you're getting into, Leona. It's not just write-ups in the fashion rags and society

columns, or appearances at galas and grand openings and such. It's business, it's your everyday life,
your every decision having a domino effect on everything Shane does and down the ladder to the
bottom of the company." Virginia pinned me with a hard, level stare. "Your actions reflect on him,
even when you're out on the town, shopping, or having brunch with your girlfriends. Your reputation
becomes his. If you're caught up in a scandal, it affects him, and thus downward to all the other
stockholders and employees. Shane has never had casual girlfriends. He's had girls in his life, but it's
been quiet, kept—not secret, but—"

"On the down low," I put in.
"Yes, very good. On the down low." Virginia put her hand over mine. "I don't mean to scare you or

intimidate you, but I need you to know exactly what you're coming in to. What we expect of someone
who intends to share Shane's life. You have to be above scandal, above reproach. We are not a family
that tolerates our children making poor choices. We are a wealthy family, and we could have allowed
our children to live a life leisure, but we don't. We've expected them to make their own way, and to
be people who adhere to a moral standard. I don't know you very well, but I know Shane, and I know
he wouldn't bring you into his life to the extent that he has if he didn't think you could meet our
expectations. For yourself, you need to decide if this is what you want. Your life is no longer merely
your own."

I blew out a long breath. "That's heavy."
Virginia laughed. "Yes, it is."
"And I have to decide, and soon?" I asked. Virginia nodded. "I care about Shane, and I really think

there's something deeper to our relationship than sex. I'm sorry, I know he's your son, and that's
awkward to think about, but I have no one else to talk to about this that will understand."

"No, it's fine. I do understand." Virginia stood, and gestured for me to follow. "Shane wouldn't

have brought you here if he didn't believe in you, if he didn't think you could do it, and that there
really is something deeper to your relationship than sex. He wouldn't have brought you to Sudan, if he
didn't. That was a test, I think. He's always been a shrewd judge of character, and I trust his instincts."

She smiled at me and squeezed my arm. "Plus, I like you, and I'm his mother."
"I would be lying if I didn't admit to being a bit afraid," I said. "But I think I'm willing to try. I still

need to talk to Shane about all this. He has some explaining to do, for one thing."

"You would be a fool if you weren't afraid," Virginia said. "And yes, he does have explaining to

do. Don't let him get away without giving you straight answers."

Virginia led me through hallways and upstairs to a huge bedroom. "This will be your room, for

now. Gerald has brought your things already. You will want a shower, I'd imagine. We're going to the
hospital to visit Henry in one hour. You will be joining us, yes?"

"I suppose so, yes. Is Mr. Sorrenson okay?"
"He will be in the hospital for a few days longer, but he will be okay. He needs to take time away

from business. He's been driving himself too hard for too long. It's long past time he stepped down."

Virginia gave me a light hug, and despite having just met her, I felt a kinship to her that boded well

for the future. She left, and I was alone in a bedroom larger than any I'd ever been in. It had a four-
poster bed, a fireplace, an armoire, a flat-screen TV, and an en suite bathroom. Everything, from the
sheets to the soap in the bathroom was the highest quality, as far as I could judge such things.

I stripped my clothes off, which I'd been wearing for nearly forty-eight hours, and got in the

shower. The water came from a huge disc directly above my head, as well as from jets in the wall. It
was a long, luxurious, incredible shower.

I felt him, rather than heard him. It was a prickling at my back, a sense of not being alone anymore.

I turned and saw him standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching me, hands in his pockets.

I smiled at him over my shoulder. "Coming in?"
"Is that an invitation?" He approached the shower door, a hopeful grin spreading on his features.
"Sure is," I said.
Shane stripped, locked the door, and slid the shower door aside. He stepped toward me with a

hungry curl to his lips and a deadly grace to his movements. I turned and pressed my back to the wall,
arms in front of my breasts and one leg crossed in front of the other in a pose of mock fear.

It had been several days since the picnic, and a lot had happened since then. I hadn't had time to

feel much but the pressure of decisions and the constant change. Now that he was in the shower with
me, his beautiful, naked body swaggering towards me, I felt desire flooding through me. I hadn't
realized how tense I was until it all sloughed off my shoulders and out of my muscles, leaving only a
heat in my belly and a need to feel Shane's arms around me, his body against mine.

By the time his hands were wrapping around my waist, he was hard, his cock standing against his

belly, beckoning to me. I grabbed him in both hands as our lips met, stroked him to the rhythm of our
tongues' exploration.

"I know it's only been a couple days," Shane said, "but I feel like it's been weeks."
He pulled our hips flush, his rigid manhood a solid rod between our bodies. His hands caressed

my back, his fingers tracing each knob of my spine on the way down to my ass, where he lingered,
kneading the muscle in his huge, powerful hands. I kissed his chest, my hands flat on his shoulders,
content to simply bask for a moment in his presence, his strength and masculine bulk.

His fingers moved around my hips to trace the outer edge of my labia, just a teasing touch at first,

and then, when I let a whimpering whisper escape my mouth, he slipped a finger in and swiped
slowly into my heat-slick cleft. I moved my hands on his cock, fingers held loose and stroking
delicately along his iron-and-silk shaft. He added a second finger, curled in to find my G-spot, and
then added his other hand to circle my aching clit with a gentle, insistent finger. I felt the fires of
orgasm rising in me, heat in my belly and a trembling in my muscles.

"I want you," I said. "I need you inside me."
Shane's gray-green eyes met mine, fiery with lust and need, but also glinting with amusement.
"Come for me first," he said, his fingers moving relentlessly within me, driving me to orgasm.
"No," I said. "I want to come around you."

Shane quirked an eyebrow at me, as if I'd challenged him.
"Oh, you'll come," he breathed into my ear, "you'll come hard...right now."
He was so right. I fought it, clenched every muscle in my body down on the waves of pleasure

rushing through me, tried to think of something else, anything else, but all that came to mind was
Shane, his body, his hands, his cock in my pussy, or my mouth, or my hands, and his muscles
clenching as he came, and I couldn't fight it.

I tried to get away, to win the challenge even if it meant cheating, but he had me pinned, trapped,

his fingers on my sex and in me, holding me in place and driving me to limp-limbed ecstasy so that all
I could do was hold tight to him and ride it out.

"Goddamn you, Shane," I gasped, and bit his shoulder hard enough to make him hiss in shock.
"I win," he whispered, and withdrew his fingers, moving away so I had to either hold on to him for

balance or stand on my own.

I held on. He turned off the shower, toweled me dry, paying attention to my sensitive areas,

keeping the thrills of pleasure shooting through me until he was dry as well. He lifted me in his arms
and set me on the bed.

"Now you can have me. Any way you want it. How do you want it?"
I was sitting on the bed, with Shane standing in front of me. I looked up at him, and saw a strange

light in his eyes, a hardness at odds with his tender attention to me. I remembered then why we'd
come back, and where we were going in a short time. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him we
didn't need to do this now, but he cut me off.

"I need you, Leo. I want you, right now."
He wanted distraction, one last moment to be just Shane before he assumed the mantle of

responsibility. That, at least, I could give him.

I scooted backward on the bed and moved to my hands and knees, presenting my ass to him. "Like

this. Take me from behind."

"Oh god, I'll last about thirty seconds," Shane said, climbing onto the bed and positioning himself

behind me.

"Good thing I've already come once," I said, spreading my knees apart and curving my spine

inward to lift my hips up. "Come on, Shane, take me hard. I want you deep inside me."

"You want me deep?" Shane said, his hands on my hips. He dipped two fingers into my pussy, then

replaced them with his cock, driving in slowly. "Like this?"

"Oh god, yes," I said, shifting my weight backwards to impale him deeper. "Yes, like that. Deeper,

harder."

He was moving now, long, slow thrusts into me and back out. For all that he'd said he'd only last

thirty seconds, he was still moving as if he wanted to last forever, and could. I wanted him to forget,
to lose control, to be distracted. I rocked my ass back into him, driving him hard into me, and then
again.

"Oh, you want it like that, huh?" He adjusted his weight so he was closer behind me, and then

reached forward to pinch one of my nipples in his fingers.

"Yes, Shane. Just like that."
He let go of my nipple, then, and grabbed my hips in both hands to pull me onto him, and I gasped

as he drove to the hilt, pulled back and plunged again. He grunted and thrust, fingers digging into my
hips and pulling me, setting a furious rhythm now, hard and fast. He groaned and growled at every
thrust, and I let my whimpers turn to an ongoing moan as he neared his climax.

"Oh, god, yes, Shane, harder," I said.

I felt another orgasm rising within me, even though I didn't think I would be able to in this position.

But here it came anyway, my flesh prickling and my muscles quivering, my ass shaking as he slapped
into me, plunging and retreating with primal ferocity. I buried my face in the blanket and clutched it
with shaking fists, rocked forward onto my forearms with every powerful thrust of his throbbing cock.
I abandoned all efforts to move with him and simply held on as he drove into me, working my
building climax into a frenzy. He thrust deep, once, tensed, and came. When he released, he pulsed
into me, a single savage thrust that toppled me over the edge into orgasm, coming with a blanket-
muffled shriek, redoubled when he plunged again, still coming, still flooding me with heat.

He collapsed forward after one final thrust, his weight on my ass and lower back, his cock still

pulsing inside me. He ran his hands along my sides to cup my breasts, then down along my back. I fell
forward onto the bed, breathing hard and sweating. Shane lay next to me on his back, one hand flung
out to rest on my ass.

"God...damn, Leo," he breathed. "That was intense."
"So intense," I said. "Now I need another shower."
"Yeah, we both do, now. We'd better get moving, though."
"Yeah, we should."
Shane laughed. "We're not moving."
"Yes we are. We're in the shower, right now. I'm washing my legs," I said, my voice distorted by

the blanket in my face.

Shane forced himself to a sitting position and patted my backside. "Come on, Leo. We gotta go."
This time, the shower was all business, and we were at the front door waiting for Gerald to bring

the limo around in less than twenty minutes.

* * *

Virginia entered the hospital room first, followed by Luke, Jon, and then Rob. Shane and I were

last, and Shane pulled me to the side before we went in.

"Listen, the very fact that you're here will tell Dad everything he needs to know, at this point,"

Shane said. "I know there's a lot I haven't been exactly forthright about, and I'm sorry—"

I put a finger to his lips. "Not now, Shane. We're here to see your dad. Do you want me here?"
"Yes, of course, but—"
"Then that's all that matters. We can figure out the rest later, okay?" I pushed him through the door.
I took his hand as we crossed the private recovery room to stand next to Henry James Sorrenson.

I'd seen his pictures in the news and in magazines, of course, but it didn't prepare me for the man
himself.

His sons were all absurdly attractive men, rugged and masculine and dominant. They all had the

same eyes, gray-green and intense, and as Mr. Sorrenson's eyes fixed on me, I saw where they got
them. His eyes were like lasers, piercing and hypnotic, so bright and hard that it felt like he was
looking through you and able to see your most private thoughts. Even lying down in a hospital bed
after a heart attack, he was vibrant and dominated the room.

"And who is this lovely creature?" Mr. Sorrenson said, his voice low and rough.
Shane pulled me forward and presented me to his father. "Dad, this is Leona Larkin. Leo, this is

my father, Henry James Sorrenson."

I shook his hand, squeezing firmly. "It's wonderful to meet you, sir."
"The pleasure is mine, Miss Larkin. I wish the circumstances were more pleasant. I fear you aren't

seeing me at my best." He scooted up on the bed, restless. "These doctors should let me go. I hate
lying around when there's work to be done."

I could see the strain in his face, in the lines around his eyes and the dark circles underneath. He

was still a weak man, sick and in need of rest. But then, I was nurse, and trained to look for such
things. I couldn't stop my instinct from taking over, checking his vitals in the monitor. I had to forcibly
prevent myself from fussing with his lead contacts, which were coming loose.

"Nonsense. You need your rest," the word came out automatically, the habit of a nurse accustomed

to arguing with recalcitrant patients. "A heart attack is no small thing. You'll be up and around faster
if you listen to the doctors."

Mr. Sorrenson lifted his eyebrow at Shane.
"She's an ER nurse," Shane said, with an embarrassed shrug. I got the feeling no one talked to his

father like I just had, not even the nurses.

"Sorry, sir," I said. "Habit."
"Call me Henry. And you're right, but it's hard. I haven't spent so long lying down since Vietnam."

He looked from me to Shane and back. "So, you two are..."

"Still figuring things out," Shane answered, a bit roughly.
"But you brought her here, and you're here."
"Dad, not now."
"Then when? The press is clamoring for news. My heart attack was public, son. They're expecting

a statement from me about who is replacing me, if I'm stepping down as acting CEO. We can't put this
off any longer, son."

He shifted in the bed, scooting up higher. "Listen, son. I know this is hard for you. I've put it off as

long as I could, but...I simply can't any longer. I'll work with you as much as I can and help you
transition, and get the board used to your presence. I'm not going to dump everything on you and go
golfing."

"It's not that I'm worried about, so much," Shane said. "It's everything else. I'm not afraid of the

work, you know that. It's being a public figure, everybody watching me, watching everything I do."

"It's not as bad as you think. Just be responsible in what you do in public, and be careful of who's

watching, even when you think you're alone."

"That's exactly what I don't want to have to do," Shane said. "But I guess it is what it is."
The nurse came in then and shooed us out. The limo ride back to the estate was long and silent.

* * *

When we got back to the estate, Shane and I ended up in his suite of rooms rather than mine. A cut

crystal decanter filled with amber liquid, a pair of glasses arranged upside down around it, sat on a
table between two leather chairs. Shane filled one with an inch of the liquid, drained it, and filled it
again. I flipped a glass upright and held it out to him to fill.

Sitting in the chairs, we toasted in silence, and drank. I waited for Shane to speak.
Eventually he did. "Are you sure you want to be here, Leo?" He watched me over the top of the

glass. "We're getting to the point of no return."

"Yes," I said. "No. I don't know. I mean, am I one hundred percent sure this is the right decision?

No. It's crazy and impulsive. But I like spending time with you. It's more than the sex, which is mind-
blowing. It's you. You have this way of making me feel both safe and excited at the same time. I like
that. I like not knowing what's coming, what's going to happen next. That's why I went to Sudan with

you. I want to do this with you."

Shane sighed and set his glass down. "Leo, listen. This is serious. If you're with me when we

announce my assumption of Dad's role as CEO of Sorrenson Enterprises, then it's as good as
declaring us as married. Appearing with me in public is a big deal. You'll be the subject of a lot of
attention, a lot of scrutiny. They'll look into your background, and they'll want interviews. Dad's
company is involved in the media, backing film and TV studios and such, and as the CEO, especially
a young one like myself, we'll be invited to grand openings of shows, opening nights of blockbuster
films, red carpet events...the whole high society nine yards. If you decide you want out, at some point,
you'll still be watched, and tagged forever as Shane Sorrenson's ex.

"On top of all that, there's familial expectations. I can date whomever I want, as far as the public's

concerned. I could be a playboy, a womanizer, or whatever. The business will go on. The
expectations of my family are different. My dad has never stepped out on my mom, in over thirty
years. My uncles and aunts, the same. My brothers and sister are all single, never married, like me.
And when they do, it's expected that they'll be faithful. Our family goes back a long, long way, and we
have a reputation to uphold. In my family, you don't just get married to whoever you want. It doesn't
work that way."

"So it's like aristocracy, basically?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"So do I fit the expectations?" I asked. "I mean, I can't imagine I do. I'm not from your

socioeconomic class, Shane. I'm middle class, blue collar. You all are...high society. I'm not."

"You have my mother's approval. That'll be good enough for everyone else. They won't be able to

help liking you, once they meet you." He smiled ruefully. "Besides. I'm not exactly high society either,
am I? I mean, look at me. I've got tattoos and piercings and I ride a Harley. I'm more comfortable with
a gun or a wrench or a scalpel than I am with a pen or a computer. I'm a Marine and a medic, not a
CEO."

I moved to sit on his lap. "The real question is, Shane Sorrenson, do you want me here with you?"
"Of course I do. I wouldn't have brought you if I didn't. You fit in with us, Leo. You may not come

from money or whatever, but we're not the kind of people that care about that stuff. My brothers like
you, my mom likes you, and I'm pretty sure you impressed the hell out of my dad, which isn't easy to
do." He reached up and smoothed a lock of hair behind my ear.

I bent down and nibbled his ear, then planted a kiss on his jaw. "So...what's next, then?"
He leaned back in the chair and rubbed my thighs with his palms. "Well, the press conference will

be on Monday, most likely. We'll announce that Dad is stepping down and I'm taking over. You'll be
sitting next to me, with Mom on the other side of Dad. The press will want to know who you are, and
we'll give them a statement. Something innocuous that doesn't really say much other than we're
together."

"And then?" I kissed his throat, then down between the collar of his button-down shirt, popping

buttons as I went.

"And then...I guess we figure things out, one step at a time. I'll probably sell my condo in Royal

Oak and get one in New York, near the headquarters. You can stay here, in the meantime."

"When you say you'll get a condo..."
"I mean we, if that's what you want. Isn't this all a little fast, though?"
I had his shirt open, now, and slipped off his lap to the floor, unbuttoning his pants to free his

burgeoning erection. I pulled his pants and boxers off and tossed them aside. His cock filled my
hands, huge and hard and leaking from the tip as I caressed his length.

"I suppose it is. I'm trying not to think about that. It's really fast, but it doesn't scare me. Maybe it

should, but it doesn't."

I wrapped my lips around him and drew his cock to the back of my throat, moving my fist near his

root. Before I could repeat the action, he lifted me up and carried me to the bed. Shane peeled my
shirt over my head, tugged off my pants, and then pressed his lips to my belly as he unhooked my bra.
My hands threaded into his hair as he suckled one of my nipples, his fingers nimbly stripping me of
my panties. I arched my back as he slipped two fingers inside me, moaned when he moved down
between my legs to lap at my heat-soaked folds. He had me writhing on the bed with a few strokes of
his tongue, pushed me to the edge of climax with a few more, and then I was tugging him up to me as I
came, gripping his cock in my hands to guide him in, pulling on his buttocks to get him deeper,
wrapping my legs around his waist to keep him deep.

He pushed into me a few times, then rolled so I was on top of him and sat up with me, impaled

deep, facing him, our eyes locked, arms tangled around each other, bodies moving in harmony. He
rocked his hips up into mine, and I lifted up, using my arms around his neck for leverage, and sank
down onto him. Sweat began to bead on our flesh and our breathing came in ever more ragged panting
gasps, and then desperation set in. We clung to each other and moved with impassioned frenzy,
mouths biting shoulders.

"Oh god, Leo, I love this so much, don't ever stop," Shane whispered in my ear.
"Never, never," I said.
My breasts bounced against his chest, scraping against the light dusting of hair. His thighs bunched

beneath my ass as he moved, the cords in his back and arms flexing with every thrust into me.

He lay on his back again, taking me with him so I was collapsed on his chest, only our hips

moving now, his cock barely pulling back before plunging in, filling me, stretching me, sending
spasms of electric pleasure through me. I rested my head on his chest and arched my back up, sank
down, pawed at his shoulders and face and hair, searching for purchase as my second orgasm rose
within me, a lightning wash of intensity. His shaft grew harder and thicker within me as he neared
release, but I wasn't ready for that yet, leaned back on him until he was stretched taut, as far as he
could go, tightened so he couldn't release. I braced myself with my palms flat on his hipbones and
rolled my pussy in small gyrations. I drew him higher, past climax without release, the chemical rush
of orgasm blasting through him and I both but he couldn't spend his seed until I let him, until I let
myself fall forward.

Shane dug his fingers into my thighs, his thumbs in the crease of my hips, tugging me forward in a

silent plea, his breathing labored, every muscle straining and tense. Still I fluttered, drawing him
further into desperation.

I was coming still, a slow wave of muscular contraction throughout my body. I held myself rigid

through it, riding it out, whimpering past clenched teeth and squeezed-shut eyes.

"Leo, please..." Shane whispered. His hands ran up my belly to my breasts, took their weight in his

trembling hands, cupping them gently, then pinched my stiffened nipples in his fingers and pulled
them, drawing me downward. I resisted his pull, tried to ignore the thrilling pulse of pleasure
shooting through me from my nipples through the rest of my body, driving the slow roll of orgasm to
new heights. He pulled, I resisted, and my nipples stretched, and then I couldn't hold back any longer.
I fell forward, rode upward to slide his shaft almost out of me, waiting, waiting...

"Oh god," Shane said, gasping and clutching me against himself, "I'm coming, right now, so hard!"
I sank down on him and he growled, thrashing into me, suddenly frenzied and furious, and I was

coming with him, hard, hot, a wildfire spreading through my body, every muscle quivering, my breath

shrill whimpers in his ear, nails clawing at his shoulders.

We moved together, then, unable to even breathe as our climax merged into a single rush of united

ecstasy, clinging to each other, breathing matched, heartbeats matched, eyes locked.

When the shudders faded and we were limp in each other's arms, Shane gazed at me with emotion

wavering in his eyes. He seemed on the verge of speaking, but then he clutched me tighter and we
both drifted to sleep.

* * *

"Ready?" Shane asked me.
I took a breath, then nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."
He twined our fingers together and pushed through the door, leading me out in front of dozens of

reporters with flashing cameras and blinding lights from shoulder-held video cameras. As soon as
Shane appeared with me next to him, questions came at us in a barrage, too many to comprehend.
Henry and Virginia came in behind us, and the wave of flashing photographs and the inundation of
questions redoubled.

It was odd seeing Shane in a formal business suit. This one had obviously been tailored

specifically for him, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the width of his arms. It was
conservative, solid charcoal gray, with a crisp, spotless white shirt with a lilac tie and matching
handkerchief. I couldn't get over the business Shane, the no rings or earrings or leather cuffs, clean-
shaven, tats-covered Shane. He was sexy as ever, but this Shane was intimidating in a whole different
way than the hard-ass biker, or the cool-under-fire combat medic. This was a man capable of running
a multi-billion-dollar media empire.

I wondered yet again what I'd gotten into. Was I really ready be this woman? The wife of a

business tycoon? Wife? I wasn't even sure I was officially his girlfriend yet.

My head spun as we sat down at the long table facing the sea of eager reporters.
I squeezed Shane's hand as hard as I could and ordered myself to breathe. This was a far different

thing than I'd expected. Seeing a press conference like this on TV didn't prepare you for the
experience of being the one photographed and interrogated. Every eye was on me. Virginia, Shane
and Henry were known, their roles understood. Me? Not so much.

"Shane! Who is she? Are you married?"
"Shane! Are you taking over for your father?"
"Shane! What will happen to Rescue Medic if you take over for Mr. Sorrenson? Will you merge

your company and his?"

Shane held up his hand for silence, and eventually got it. "Before we answer any questions, my

father has a statement."

"As many of you may know," Henry began, "I recently suffered a minor heart attack. It was minor,

contrary to many of the rumors out there. I'm back on my feet, obviously, and feeling fine, but it was a
serious wake up call. I've been running this company for over thirty years. I started in a little rented
office space only a few blocks from here, and my wife was my first and only employee. Since then,
we've built up a bit, and become fairly successful," there were polite titters of laughter at the gross
understatement, "but the cost has been high. I've worked twelve- and sixteen-hour days every single
day since then, and my health has suffered. Ginny has been after me to scale back my involvement for
years now, but I've resisted. Sorrenson Enterprises is my company, after all, and it's hard to let others
run what you started. But...with this heart attack, I've realized it's time."

Henry turned to Shane and clapped a hand to his shoulder.
"And there's no one better to take over for me than my son Shane. So, yes, to answer the biggest

question, Shane will be assuming my role as CEO and President of Sorrenson Enterprises."

Shane spoke up right on the end of his father's speech, cutting off the imminent deluge of questions.

"My company and his will remain separate for the time being. I'm looking forward to immersing
myself completely in the task of taking over where my father is leaving off. Sorrenson Enterprises is a
family company, and it always will be. As for Rescue Medic, my brothers will carry on without
me for the time being."

"Who's the lovely lady to your left, Shane?" The question was shouted into a brief pause for breath

by an older reporter with salt and pepper hair near the front of the crowd.

"This is Leona Larkin," Shane answered.
"Leona, how long have you known Shane?"
"What's your relationship like? Have you been dating long?"
"Do you have a prenuptial agreement?"
I didn't know whether to answer the questions, or which one to start with, or whether I should stay

quiet, or try to answer neutrally...I realized how much composure it really took to answer a direct,
intensely personal question in such a way as to pacify the reporters without giving away too much
information. All I could do was look to Shane and hope he'd rescue me. I didn't know what to say.

"That's all for now, thank you," Shane said, standing up and nudging my elbow to move me off-

stage. "No further questions. No comment. Thank you."

The reporters continued to shout questions at us as we left, and then when we made our way to the

limo outside the downtown Manhattan building, we were assaulted yet again with machine-gun-fire
questions, flash-bulbs, walls of people closing in on me, begging me to answer, to "look this way,
Miss Larkin, look this way!"

Gerald and a couple other men in dark suits and sunglasses and earpieces kept them at bay while

we entered the car and slid across the bench. Even as the car door closed in their faces, reporters
knelt down to try to get one last shot of us together, Shane Sorrenson, the mysterious, reclusive
billionaire heir to Henry James Sorrenson's media empire, and his new arm-candy girlfriend.

"Since you didn't tell them anything about me, or us, what will they say?" I asked.
Shane pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "They'll do some research about you and then

mix that with conjecture. And by conjecture, I mean they'll fabricate a bunch of bullshit. Those
magazines and papers have come out with stories saying I'm getting married, or cheating with
someone on someone else. I think the last one said I was engaged to Katy Perry. The funny thing about
that one is, I met her once, at a party about two years ago. We hugged and she kissed me on the cheek,
and a photographer got a picture of us just as she was leaning in to kiss me, and they spun it into us
getting married. I'd never seen her before, nor since. They even did a follow-up, cropped pics of me
with some of her so it looked like we were yelling at each other, and then did an 'exclusive' about our
'tragic break-up'." Shane waved a hand in dismissal. "It's a bunch of bullshit. I have no intention of
telling them anything, since they'll they'll make up their own fuckin' bullshit any-damn-how."

Virginia glared at Shane's cursing, but held her silence.
"They're going to research me? What does that mean?" I asked.
"They'll dig into your past for sordid bits of gossip to spin." Shane shrugged. "Who knows. They'll

try to talk to your parents, or find an ex, or something."

The thought of some gossip reporter or blogger getting a hold of John scared me. If he was mad

enough, he might talk to them, and god only knows what he'd tell them. I didn't have anything to hide,

per se, but the idea of people reading lies about me had my stomach roiling. I still hadn't spoken to my
parents since returning from Sudan. They didn't have any idea what was going on. If they watched the
news, and saw me with Shane...

On cue, my cell phone rang. I pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID, sighed, and answered it.
"Hi, Mom," I said.
She was pissed. "When were you going to tell me you were back from your little adventure? Why

did I have to find out about your relationship with him from TV? Is he really a billionaire? Tell me
you didn't already get married, Leona—"

"Mom!" I cut in. "You sound just like the reporters. One question at a time."
"Well? When can I meet him? And does he have any single brothers?"
"Mom! Seriously with the questions."
"Well at least tell me why you haven't at least called me. Where are you?"
"I'm in New York with Shane and his family. And I'm sorry I didn't call you. I know I should have,

but things have been really crazy lately. I honestly haven't talked to anyone."

"Except the press," Mom said, with a bit of petulance.
"I didn't talk to them. I just appeared with Shane. There's a difference."
There was a strange, awkward silence, then Mom said, "John called your father and I."
"Shit. What did he want?" Virginia's eyes narrowed at my language, but she didn't interrupt.
"He wanted to know where you were. He was heartbroken, Leo. You should talk to him, at least.

He was worried. He said that boy you took off with was a bit of a rough character."

I sighed. "Mom, my life is none of his business. I'm not going to talk to him. He can think what he

wants. I don't care anymore. And Shane is a bit of rough character, but he's also a billionaire, and one
of the most successful and famous businessmen in the country. So John can suck it."

Everyone in the limo was stifling laughter. I did my best to ignore them.
"Leo! Don't be so vulgar. And I think John deserves a bit more explanation and closure than he

said you gave him. He said you jumped out of the car in the rain, in the middle of a conversation, and
haven't spoken to him since. That's not exactly fair, dear."

"I'll be vulgar if I want to be vulgar, Mom. And no, I don't owe John any kind of explanation. He's

an asshat. Jumping out of the car in the middle of an argument into the pouring rain should have been a
pretty damn good indicator that I don't want to talk to him. Ignoring his calls and texts should have
been another." Mom tried to cut in and say something, but I spoke over her. "I'm not having this
conversation with you right now, Mom. I'm just not. Yes, you'll meet Shane at some point. No, we're
not married, and no, you can't play matchmaker. Laura and Lenora can find their own men. I'll call you
later, okay? Bye, Mom. I'm hanging up now. I love you. Bye."

She tried to cut in several more times as I hung up, but I knew my mom, and I knew if I let her get a

head of steam up, she'd never stop with the questions. She should have been a reporter.

I stared at the phone rather than face the inquisitive stares of Shane, Henry, and Virginia.
"So, John would be...?" Virginia prompted.
"My ex-fiancé," I said.
At the same time, Shane said, "An asshat."
Virginia lifted an eyebrow. "This is the fellow whose car you jumped out of? Remind me, why is

he 'an ass...hat'?' She spoke the phrase with a wry contempt for such low vulgarity.

I looked at Shane and back to his mother. "It's a long story."
"I know this may be none of my business, but it sounds like you have some loose ends to take care

of." Virginia looked at me with firm but understanding eyes, so much like Shane's. "My advice, which

I realize you haven't asked for, is to go home for a few days. Introduce Shane to your parents, see your
friends, and yes, have one last conversation with your ex."

I nodded. I knew she was right, but it was the last thing I wanted to do.
I was afraid that if I went home, this crazy dream I was having would end, and I would be stuck

back in my old life.

We got back to the house and everyone scattered to different places, leaving me and Shane alone

in the kitchen.

"Wanna go for a ride?" Shane asked, shucking his suit coat and tie.
"A ride?"
"Yeah, on one of my motorcycles. I'm all keyed up and need to blow off some steam. A nice long

cruise on one of my choppers always calms me down."

"Oh, yeah. Sure. That actually sounds really nice. Let me go change."
I'd been wearing a calf-length brown skirt and a matching suit coat, which was perfect for a press

conference, but so not much for a motorcycle ride. I quickly changed into a pair of jeans, a halter top,
and a jacket. Shane was already waiting out in the driveway, back in a pair of ripped jeans, a white
T-shirt and a leather jacket. He plopped a helmet on my head and adjusted the straps, and I swung
onto the classic motorcycle behind Shane, wrapping my arms around his waist.

I hadn't been on motorcycle with Shane since we left Detroit, I realized, as we glided down a

narrow, winding, two-lane road. The engine roared and buzzed between my legs, and Shane's solid
bulk in front of me anchored me into the moment, pushing away worries and fears, until all that
remained was the lush, upstate New York scenery. There was no talking, not with the roar of the
engine, and for once I felt no need to talk, just a deep peace rooted firmly in Shane, in simply being
with him.

I lost track of time, lost track of the miles, and eventually Shane pulled off the main road onto a

hard-packed dirt road cutting away into a rolling field bordered on one side by a wall of trees. This
was a rougher ride than the highway had been, and I clung tighter to Shane. The dirt road took us even
farther from civilization than we already were, away from the blacktop, away from people. Now we
were truly in the middle of nowhere, and still Shane drove, mile after mile.

A massive, spreading oak tree rose into view, topping a hill in the distance, dominating the

horizon. Shane pulled the bike off the dirt road into the grass beneath the tree, and then swung around
to face me so our legs were nestled together, his outside mine, his boots resting on the footrests next
to my feet.

From top of the hill we had an open view of the land surrounding us for miles, trees off to our left,

an endless bank of wind-blown green. Rolling hills spread away in every other direction, covered in
rippling grass lit by the afternoon sun.

"Leo, I'm gonna ask you one last time." Shane took both my hands in his. "You want this? With me,

with my family?"

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry about whether I really fit into your family's lifestyle, all the

fancy airplanes and limos and reproductions of eighteenth-century British noblemen's houses. But I
like your family. Your mom gave it to me straight, told me what she expected of me, and that helped,
as much as it made me even more nervous."

"Oh god. Mom got to you?"
"Well, yeah. She told me that your family had...how did she put it? A certain moral standard to

uphold, or something like that. I can't be caught up in scandal, and my decisions affect you and the
whole company. Stuff like that. Logical enough."

Shane groaned. "Figures she'd hit you with that shit." He eyed me carefully, assessing my reaction.

"She could have waited a bit before laying that on you."

I shook my head. "No, I needed to hear it. It made all this more real, I guess. I mean, you're real,

but...the CEO thing, being with you as you take over for your dad...all that. I can't just do whatever I
want. I mean, I'd never be 'caught in a scandal' anyway, whatever that means."

"It means cheat on me and have it publicized by the papers."
"Oh. Well even more duh." I scooted forward and Shane slid down so that he was reclining on the

bike and I was lying on top of him. It felt precarious, but he didn't seem to mind, and I felt secure,
held in his arms.

"It's not a duh, though," Shane said. "I mean, I trust you, but...gossip rags are one thing. Real,

presentable facts are another."

"You'll have to trust me, then, won't you?" I said, and kissed his jaw. "I'm not that kind of girl. If I

didn't want to be with you, and only you, I wouldn't have come."

"I know, I just meant it's not a given for Mom." Shane ran his hands down my back and cupped my

ass, then dug his palms under the tight waistband of my jeans to hold bare flesh. "As long as you're
sure. I don't want you to feel pressured. I know it's a lot. Shit, it's a lot for me. I'm not ready to take
over for Dad. I've never really wanted to. I just want to build bikes and work Rescue Medic."

"Did you build this bike?"
"I restored it. It's a 1968 Triumph." He brushed my jacket off, slipped his hands up my back and

underneath my halter top.

The rumble of the engine between my thighs had made me sensitive, tingling and throbbing. And

now that his hands were running over my flesh, I felt myself getting wet, needing him.

I wondered if we could balance like this on the bike while we...
Shane had the same idea. He tugged my shirt over my head, reached down to unzip my pants and

helped me push them off. We were alone, with no people around for dozens of miles, but it was still
exhilarating to be naked outside in broad daylight. The early fall air was cool against my bare skin,
but it just made Shane's heat all the more delicious.

I unzipped Shane, slid his pants down past his hips and gathered his cock in my hands, sliding my

palms along his length, gasping as he slipped a finger inside me.

"You're so wet already," Shane said, kissing my throat, and then my lips.
"The bike helps," I said. "All the vibrating..."
There were no words then, just his hands pulling me up, his feet braced against the footrests of the

bike, his body pillowing mine, his arms holding me in place. I rested on his chest, my arms behind his
head to provide a pillow for him. I lifted up my hips, reached between us and guided him into me,
pressing my lips against his chest as he filled me, stretched me.

I sank down until our hips were flush, and then stayed there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of

his body inside mine, around mine. He held me tight, locked eyes with me, and then I lifted up and
sank down, setting a slow, rolling rhythm. He held me, let me move on him, balancing us on the
narrow seat of the motorcycle. Our lips met, clashed, pulsed and explored, and I gripped his hair in
my fingers as I felt the fire spread from a dull ache between my thighs into wildfire throughout me, his
breath and mine merging, his strength holding me up.

I moved faster, rising and sinking, holding his head in my hands and kissing him with desperate

passion as I rose up into the throes of climax, pulling him with me, riding him with relentless abandon
until he began to move beneath me in his own climax. His motion risked our balance, though, and I
pressed my lips to his ear.

"Stay still. Let me do it," I whispered.
He just nodded, and then held me with one hand across my buttocks and the other across my

shoulders. I continued to move on him through this interaction, never slowing the pace, and I felt his
muscles tense beneath me as he struggled to remain still. I watched his jaw tense, felt his arms turn to
iron bands around my body, his washboard abs turn to rock, his thighs to tree trunks, and then his eyes
rolled back in his head and he began to rumble deep in his chest.

I kept the rhythm quick, but not so fast we'd topple off, which forced us to draw out the fall into

orgasm. Shane came first, clutching me hard enough to squeeze the breath out of me, and I slowed the
pace then, sinking down onto him, hard, lifting as far as I dared and then plunging down, and now I
felt the tremors rock through me, starting as a quiver in my thighs.

The pounding rhythm of our joining hips drove me higher and higher, and now the edge was near,

his climax pushing me over. His hot seed filled me and his body surrounded me and there was only
the plunge of body into body, heat into heat, and I could barely support my own weight on his chest
for the shuddering, rocketing thrill of orgasm climaxing through every cell of my body.

He held me tighter than ever, crushing me close, kissing me as I came.
We lay together on the bike for a few minutes longer, then we dressed and mounted the bike once

more.

I had to cling even harder to him as we rode back to the house, my body still limp and trembling.

* * *

I clutched Shane's hand so hard my knuckles turned white.
We'd flown back to Detroit the next day in the Sorrenson's private jet, and we were now in a

rented limo, Gerald driving, sitting in front of John's house. What had been my house. John was
inside; I could see him at the window, watching.

"I'll go in with you, if you want," Shane said. "You know, present him with a united front."
I shook my head. "No. I'll be fine."
I leaned in and kissed him, deep, passionate. Desire flared, and for a moment I considered letting

things flare, right there in the back of the limo, just to get out of having to see John. Shane pulled
away, making the decision for me.

"Later," he said, his voice a promise of passion in my ear. "Get this done and come back to me."
I opened the door and slid out. As I did, I glanced back at Shane. A flash of something like worry,

or jealousy glinted in his eyes, then was buried. I smiled at him, shut the door, and made my way to
the front door. I realized as I rang the bell that he was worried not just for me, but that I'd somehow
decide to go back to John. I wished I'd taken a moment to reassure him I wouldn't, but it was too late.

John opened the door and ushered me in. We stood in the foyer, awkward and tense. I could tell

John wasn't sure if he should hug me or shake my hand. I didn't want to touch him, but I settled for a
brief, awkward hug, done from a foot away, two pats on his back and then pulling away. He didn't
want to let go.

I stepped into the living room, feeling a pang of something sharp in my chest. Nothing had changed.

The couch we'd bought together, in the same spot. Our TV, our his and hers recliners, all the artwork
I'd picked out at the Ann Arbor Art Fair, all the pictures of us together. He hadn't taken anything
down, hadn't changed anything. As I moved hesitantly into the living room, I could see down the
hallway to the master bedroom, and I could tell he hadn't changed anything in there either. Same
comforter and duvet, same pictures in the same picture frames: me and John on a sailboat on a

vacation to the Virgin Islands, us at his cousin's wedding, a grainy photo we'd taken from my phone at
a bar barely a month before I'd jumped out of his car.

John looked at me, licked his thin, pale lips. "Can I get you anything, Leo? Coffee? Tea?"
I stifled a sigh. I'd never drank tea in all the time he'd known me. "No, thanks, I'm fine."
"So...thanks for coming," John said, sitting in his recliner, the larger, darker one. "I would have

met you somewhere, but since this is the only time you could meet me, and I have plans in a few
minutes..."

I sat on the edge of the couch, clutching my purse. "It's fine. Look, I guess I should apologize for

running off the way I did. I should have...I don't know, handled it differently—"

John interrupted me. "Leo, no. I'm the one who's sorry. I was a jerk, all around. I never really

treated you right, and I realize that now." He looked up at me, eyes wide and almost...hopeful. "I
know things weren't...optimal, before, but if we could—"

"No, John. That's not going to happen. Not ever," I cut in, a bit harsh. "I'm only here

because...honestly, because my mom said you'd called them. She seemed to think you need closure or
something."

"Closure?" John said it with a laugh, disbelieving. "Closure? She thinks I need closure?"
"Yes, John. Closure. Let's say it a few more times, just to make it less true."
I knew I was being bitchy, and he didn't quite deserve it, but I couldn't make myself stop.
"I don't want closure, Leo. I want you back."
"Not gonna happen."
"It was a stupid fight. We could have fixed it." He seemed to be trying to push down a lot of anger

and a lot of hurt. Oddly, if he hadn't pushed it down, if he had expressed it, he might have had a better
chance of getting through to me. "You never even told me if you were pregnant or not."

"No, I'm not. And it wasn't the fight. That's not why I left. The fight was what made me realize

how...I don't know how to put it." The words that came to mind were harsh and ugly; I tried to reign
them in, and failed. "The fight made me realize how bored I was with us...with you. Sorry if that's
harsh, but it's the truth. It wasn't just boredom, though. I was suffocating. You never react, you
never...god, you never do anything. You...god, this isn't going anywhere. I'm gonna end up being
mean, and there's no point."

John seemed honestly stunned. "You were...bored? You flipped out and left me because you were

bored? Seriously? We could have...I don't know, gone skydiving or something. Tried some bondage
or...I don't know."

I laughed. "Oh god, John. See? You're completely missing the point. I don't know how to explain

this without being vicious. Skydiving? Bondage? We made love on a schedule. With the lights off.
And you want to tie me up? You wouldn't know what to do with me if you did have me tied up, John.
You'd do what you always did: stick it in and finish, then go to sleep."

John physically flinched at that, and I knew it'd gone too far. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.

True, but uncalled for." I stood up and went to the door. "This isn't getting us anywhere. I'm done.
We're done. We were done the moment I jumped out of the car and you were more worried about
your stupid leather seats than me. Shit, we were done way before that, I just hadn't realized it.
Apparently you still don't realize it. Good bye John."

"Wait, Leo, please—"
"Why? It's done. Forever. Move on, find someone more suited to you. Rearrange, paint, get rid of

the pictures of me. Get rid of my chair, our sheets, everything. Move on."

"But I...I can't, I don't know how." Oh god, he was turning pathetic. It hurt, it made me sick, and

most of all, sad.

"Well, I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry." I opened the door and walked out, trying hard to

ignore the stunned silence, and his game attempts to hide the hurt.

"Leo, please." Quiet, desperate, but still from the center of the room.
I decided to be brutally honest. "You know the biggest reason I walked out then, and why I'm

walking out now? It's because you're just standing there, waiting. Hoping. Begging, but not doing
anything to try and change it." I turned and looked back at him. "You're nice, John. You're dependable.
You're predictable. For some girls, that might be enough, that might be a good thing. It's not enough
for me anymore."

I closed the door behind me, wanting to run towards the limo. I forced myself to walk, because I

knew John was watching.

I'd never been happier to see Shane. I slid into the car and moved as close to him as I could

without actually sitting on his lap. He sensed my mood and kept silent till we got back to his condo.

When we were finally behind a closed door, alone together, I let go. I didn't cry. I screamed into a

pillow and then threw it across the room.

"Went that well, huh?" Shane said.
"Yeah. That well. It was pathetic. He thought I was coming back, like...to get back together. But he

didn't do anything to try to make that happen—" I took Shane's hands in mine and stared up into his
eyes to make my point clear. "Not that it would have worked, mind you. It was pathetic. I don't know
how I didn't see it all the time I was with him. He actually begged."

Shane, to his credit, didn't show any sign of gloating. "Well, some guys just aren't..."
"Aren't you."
"Well that's not what I was going to say, but sure. I'll take that."
"What you would you do if we had a fight and I walked out?"
Shane thought for a while before answering. "I guess it depends. Sometimes a woman needs time

to cool off, and sometimes she needs to be chased after and convinced. Knowing which is the right
choice in any given situation is the tricky part. I wouldn't let you go, though. I'd fight to get you back. I
wouldn't stop for anything. I'd give you time to cool off if that's what you needed, but I'd be back in
your face as soon as I felt it was safe." He pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around my waist.
"But I'd do my damndest to make sure the fight didn't happen in the first place."

I laughed. "Good luck. Making me mad isn't all that hard."
Shane smiled and quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, but there's a difference between making you mad

and making you so angry you're ready to walk away. The one I can handle. The other, I couldn't."

I leaned into him, hearing what he wasn't quite saying. "No? Then I guess you'll have to make sure

I don't go anywhere, huh?"

"I guess I will." Shane pinioned my wrists behind my back in one of his powerful hands, pushed

me tighter against his body so my curves were crushed against his angles.

I resisted, my eyes locked on his, wiggling my wrists to try and free them, but his grip was

implacably, gently unbreakable. He smirked at me, took my chin in his index finger and thumb, lifted
my face to his. I thrashed my arms and hands still, eyes shining my amusement with this new game,
this new struggle for power. I kissed him, still struggling against his fingers around my wrists.

He pushed me backward into his room, maneuvered me against the edge of the bed and then

reached into his closet, yanked a tie from a hanger and tied my wrists behind my back. I sat down on
the bed and waited, watched. He picked up a small black remote from the nightstand and clicked a
button, turning on a stereo. A popular club dance song was playing, and Shane used the beat to start a

dance, a sensual writhing of his hips and torso in front of me.

I let a smile curl my lips as he danced in front of me, slowly lifting his shirt over his head, moving

up against me, rubbing his stomach in my face. I leaned forward and kissed his torso, bit him gently
on the side. He moved away again, and unzipped his jeans, pushed them slowly down and then pushed
his cotton-clad cock against me. I took the elastic waistband of his boxers in my teeth and tried to
work his erection free, getting a taste of his skin as I pulled the cotton down with my teeth. He helped,
pushing them away to pool at his ankles. He stood rooted to the spot as I licked his cock, tracing the
groove beneath the head, then drew him into my mouth. He let me bob a few times, then hissed and
moved away.

"Not yet," he said.
He tugged me to my feet and knelt in front of me, untied my shoes and slipped them off, then my

socks, and then reached up to unbutton my pants, unzipped them and tugged them down, kissing my
thighs as they were revealed. My thong came next, tugged free in one smooth motion. It was odd being
naked from the waist down; usually I undressed and dressed the other way, starting with my panties
and putting my shirt on last. He ran his palms up my legs to cup my ass and pull me closer to him. He
traced his middle finger along my wet, pink folds, dipped in, drew out, dipped in again. A third time
he moved his fingers into me, and then he curled up and in to find my G-spot and stroked it in small
circles.

I focused on the build-up of sensation coming from his finger, and so found myself shocked when

his tongue darted into me, spearing my clit and drawing a moan from me. I wanted to put my hands on
his shoulders for support as he manipulated me with his tongue and finger, but I couldn't, all I could
do was stand and hope I didn't collapse when I came, and I was so close, so close...

He licked me with a hungry, nimble tongue, stirred me into a fervor, and then explosions rocked

through me and left me stumbling and buckling. He caught me, held me till I regained my equilibrium.

He unbuttoned my shirt, one button at a time, and let it fall down my arms to dangle from my tied

wrists. My bra was front clasp, and he unsnapped it so it too fell away, and then I was naked in front
of him, with him, his lips on my neck and then my breasts, and I wanted to hold him, to feel him, to
touch him.

He moved away, taking his warmth with him, and I mewled in protest. He got on his back on the

bed and gestured to me. I crawled awkwardly onto the bed, was caught by him again and set upright.
He helped me crawl on top of him, his hands settling me onto his hips. One of his hands clutched his
cock, the other delved into my pussy and guided him in. Then I was full with him, stretched wide as
he pushed slowly into me, me with my wrists tied behind my back, unbalanced on him, held in place
solely by his hands on my waist. I was forced to trust him, to rely on his strength to hold me in place.

I moved slowly at first, a tentative exploration of my range of balanced movement. Shane held my

hips, lifted me, drew me back down. The total dependency on him was exhilarating, intoxicating. I
found my rhythm, lift and sink, lift and sink, back arched, filling with him and then pulling away to
plunge back down again. I forgot he was all that held me balanced, lost myself in the tidal wave of
pleasure rocking through me, pulsing in me. I moved with abandon, trusting him now to hold me
steady.

I felt the climax rise in him, felt it in his belly, felt it in his hands squeezing as he thrust with ever

more wild power. He came, and the feel of his release, the groan of my name, "Leo, god, Leo," drove
me into paroxysms of delight. I burst apart, went limp as wave after wave hove through me, Shane's
hands holding me upright and pulling me onto him, drawing every drop of ecstasy from me and from
himself.

He whispered my name once more, and then untied me, but his warm, strong arms pinioned me just

as close, just as implacably unbreakable.

I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

* * *

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable and impatient. Hands pulled at my hair, hands dabbed and

brushed and penciled makeup on my face, hands taped my breasts into a dress far more revealing than
anything I'd ever worn before. None of the hands doing these things were mine. My hands were
clasped on my lap. The hands attending me belonged to a team of stylists and makeup artists,
flamboyant, perfectly dressed men, and elegant, perfectly dressed women, all instructed to make me
beautiful.

When Virginia had swept into my room with these stylists in tow as I finished a shower, I'd

protested and clutched my towel around me. There was a charity event tonight, and we were
attending. It was a black-tie party, with a shocking number of A-list attendees. My knees were
shaking, and I wasn't even at the party yet.

I'd insisted to Virginia that I could get myself ready, but she just arched an eyebrow and gestured,

rather imperiously, at the waiting vanity chair.

"Darling, this is how we do things," Virginia said, gently but firmly sitting me down in the chair.

"Yes, I'm sure you are perfectly capable of applying your makeup yourself, and doing your hair
yourself. You're an adult after all, and a very lovely woman. But, you are about to attend a charity
gala with some of the most famous people in the world, my dear. And for that, you must be looking
your best. Javier is the best makeup artist in New York, and the others are equally as qualified. Once
you have an artist do your makeup for you, trust me, you'll never want to do it yourself again."

I shrugged and settled back for what I expected to be a torturous experience. It wasn't. It was fun

being pampered, and I knew Virginia was right.

A dozen gowns of varying styles were paraded in front of me, and Virginia vetoed them all. Each

one was lovelier than the last, and each one probably cost a small fortune. Or not so small. I was sure
I'd seen similar dresses on celebrities on the red carpet at various events.

Then it occurred to me that very shortly I would be the one on the red carpet, being photographed.

Of course, my photograph wouldn't appear in OK or People, but still. Not that I wanted to be in
magazines. Right?

Eventually Virginia and the stylist decided on a knee-length dress that scooped down to the small

of my back and cut in around the sides, revealing a lot of waistline, navel, and ribcage. This was one
of the dresses I'd seen in more than one "who wore it better?" feature. I was pretty sure they'd all
worn it better, but then, they were famous for a reason.

I felt naked wearing it, but at the same time, it was exhilarating and sexy. I felt like a seductress,

with the fabric wrapped across my hips and stretched over my breasts. While the hair and makeup
people fiddled with me, Virginia scurried away, saying she had to get something. She came back after
a few minutes with a string of age-polished pearls.

"These are a family heirloom," Virginia said, draping them around my neck. "They were my great-,

great-, great-grandmother's. I wore them to my first black-tie gala with Henry. We like to think they
bring us good luck. Plus, antique pearls are always in fashion."

They were beautiful, complimenting the jade-green dress perfectly. "They're amazing, thank you so

much," I said, running my fingers over the pearls.

The stylists finished with me, and I strapped on a pair of four-inch heels and left the room to find

Shane. I found him in front of a mirror in another bedroom, tying a necktie. I felt Shane's eyes on me in
the mirror, devouring my barely-concealed curves.

He slid the tie up against his collar and then turned to pull me against him in a fierce, possessive

hold. "I'm not sure I want anyone else to see you looking so sexy," he growled. "I don't want to have
to fight anyone off. You might leave me for some famous actor."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Not likely, Mr. Sorrenson."
"You don't know how those guys are, Miss Larkin. They can be very persistent."
I ran my hands up his Armani-clad chest. "Then you'll have to make sure you don't leave me alone

for too long."

He rumbled again, and slid his palms along the exposed flesh of my sides, and then kissed me.

"Don't even joke," he said. "You're mine."

I widened my eyes at the blatant possessiveness. "Yours?" I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
Part of me wanted to protest, and the other part felt desire moisten the folds of my sex. The fire in

his eyes, the barely-controlled lust fanned the flames of desire within me, and the need to protest
being claimed evaporated.

"Yes," he said, crushing me against his chest. "Mine."
"Well then," I said, batting my eyelashes at him, "If I'm yours, what are you going to do with me?"
"With the way you're looking in that dress...we'll never get to the party."
Virginia spoke up behind us. "We don't have time for nonsense, children. Gerald is waiting with

the Bentley."

She shooed us out of the room and bustled away to find Henry.
Shane threaded his fingers through mine, bent and whispered in my ear, "Later, my sexy little lion.

Just you wait."

I faked a breathy moan and nuzzled my face into his shoulder. "Promise?"
He just rumbled in laughter, amused and threatening. My belly roiled in anticipation.
Champagne was waiting in the limo, and it helped settle my nerves as we approached the drop-off

line, but it didn't help the fluttering in my belly. Minutes passed in mostly-comfortable silence,
interspersed with business talk between Shane and Henry. Then the door to the limo was being
opened and cameras were flashing and a hand was lifting me from the car, questions were shouted at
me, my name called from a dozen different directions. I kept a calm smile on my face and tried not to
look like a deer caught in headlights. Shane was last to get out of the car, and then he was clutching
my hand and leading me up the red carpet to that odd black-and-white half-wall where we stood and
posed for photographs, turning this way and that.

All the while, Shane murmured encouragement to me without breaking his smile. "Turn and smile,

good...now the other way...ignore the questions and smile...now we walk again..."

The questions were endless, some absurdly personal. They wanted to know who I was, how long

we'd been together, if we were getting married, if we had kids, how we'd met...Shane ignored them
all, not even offering a "no comment," acting as if he didn't even hear them. I followed along, smiling,
standing close against Shane's side and trying to convince myself that this was all actually happening,
especially when a well-known actress a few years younger than me appeared at my side, flirting with
Shane as she posed casually for her own pictures. She then turned her charm on me and had me
laughing at a joke about paparazzi. I'd just watched a movie she was in a few weeks ago, and now
here I was, laughing with her. I resisted the urge to pinch myself.

Flutes of white wine appeared in our hands, and Shane dragged me through the crowd, smiling,

nodding at people he knew, which seemed to be just about everyone. Everywhere I looked there was
a familiar, famous face, impossibly real. I shook hands with producers and actors, composers and
rock stars, and they all seemed to know Shane.

At one point, when we found ourselves in a fairly secluded corner, I turned to Shane. "I thought

you didn't like publicity?"

He shrugged. "I don't, really. It's part of the job, at this point, though."
"Then how do all these people know you?"
He laughed. "They know me, doesn't mean I know them. I mean, yeah, I know who they are, in that

they're household names, but I don't personally know many of them. Me taking over Dad's position is
a big deal in the media world. I'll be funding a lot of the movies these people will be a part of, so it's
their business to know who I am."

That made sense. I glanced up at him, watching him scan the crowd. For a moment, despite the

bright lights and the wine and the Armani suit he was wearing, I saw the ex-Marine, the man who'd
shielded me from gunfire in a bombed-out Sudanese building. He eyed the crowd as if assessing
potential threats, identifying exit routes, cover locations. Even his stance spoke of readiness, muscles
loose and coiled like wound springs.

An actor came over, looking older than I'd imagined him to be, a certain blond also named Leo.

We chatted, and he flirted with me, eyeing me openly and glancing at Shane as if wondering how he
could get me alone. Shane managed to glare while smiling and tightened his hold on my hand. I found
myself realizing that this actor Leo was as breathtaking in person as he was on screen, and twice as
charming, but somehow, despite his fame and beauty, he didn't make my stomach flutter like Shane
did.

When we were alone again, Shane looked down at me. "So, what do you think?"
"About what?"
He gestured at the sea of icons. "All this. Them."
I shrugged, as nonchalant as I could manage. I was suitably star-stuck, of course, but he didn't need

to know that. "It's funny you ask. I was just thinking that none of these men make me feel how you do."

"Really? How's that?"
"Beautiful," I said. "Sexy. Desired."
"I'm sure half the guys in this room—the straight half—would like nothing more than to get you

alone for five minutes."

"That may well be, but there's only one man here who will get me alone."
Shane's eyes narrowed and his eyes flashed. "Keep talking like that and I'll drag you into a

bathroom right now."

I felt a familiar heat wash through me, followed by the recklessness that Shane seemed to inspire.

"I dare you."

Shane lifted an eyebrow. "Dare me to what?"
"Drag me to a bathroom."
Shane laughed, a little too loudly, then pitched his voice low so only I could hear. "You're daring

me? Seriously?" He glanced around, looking for an exit. "Leo, the auction's going to start any minute."

I shrugged, a lazy roll of my shoulder. "Well...if you're not up for it, then I guess I can wait." I

leaned up to whisper in his ear. "But Shane...I'm so horny. I don't want to wait."

Shane's eyes darkened dangerously. "You know everyone in this room is watching us, right? And

you want me to take you into a bathroom and...what? Pin you up against a wall?"

I met his gaze steadily. "It doesn't have to be a bathroom."

"Goddamn it, Leo," Shane growled. "You're going to get us in trouble."
He tugged me into a walk, weaving our way through the crowd toward a red-lit exit sign, stopping

to chat here and there, snagging wine for us along the way. I sipped my drink and followed meekly,
pretending my thighs weren't trembling, pretending I wasn't feeling nerves and desire flame through
me. The exit led to a hallway, and we drifted to a bank of elevators and took an elevator all the way
to the top. We exited and he led me to a wide glass door, beyond which was a darkened office. Shane
produced a key card from a pocket, then unlocked the door in front of us.

He glanced down at me. "Dad owns this entire building." He pulled me down a shadowed hallway

and past doorway after doorway, looking into each one. "I remember seeing a nice corner office with
a couch somewhere around here...ah, here it is."

The office was mammoth, overlooking Manhattan with its endless lights like topaz jewels and the

lines of traffic coiling in red-and-white lines. It was dark, lit only by the open window. There was a
desk with a monitor in one corner and a phone opposite, a pair of chairs in front of the desk, a potted
plant dominating one corner of the room, and a deep, dark leather couch along one wall. Shane closed
the door and locked it, then turned to me, pinning me with hungry eyes.

I sauntered toward him, swaying my hips, reaching for him. Our lips met, the banked fire low in

my belly blazed to life, and my hands developed a mind of their own as our tongues explored each
other. His suit coat came off, draped across a chair, and then his pants were open and I had his hot,
hard cock in my hands, greedily stroking him, pulling him toward me. I shoved him back against the
couch so he sat down on it. He shimmied his pants lower and tugged me toward him, brushing the hem
of my skirt up above my hips. I straddled him, and he pushed the string of my thong aside, then
stopped.

"What? What are you waiting for?" I asked.
He didn't answer, but dug in the pocket of his pants, producing the foil packet of a condom. "Less

clean up."

I took it from him, ripped it open and rolled the latex onto his shaft. Kneeling on the couch, I lifted

up, guided him to my entrance and sank down onto him. Shane exhaled a groan as he filled me, his
hands around my waist and skimming up to caress my breasts, rocking his hips to plunge into me.

"God, Leo, you're so tight. You feel so good." Shane whispered in my ear, hands grazing my body,

pulling me down, lifting me up, caressing and holding and nipping with his teeth.

I snaked my arms around his neck, buried my face where his shoulder met his throat and pulsed my

hips above him, driving him deep, gasping his name. Tremors shuddered in my belly, set my thighs to
quivering. Every thrust of his cock into me sent me higher, jellied my muscles and stole my breath
until all I could do was hold onto him and let him rock into me.

"Yes, Shane, harder. I'm so close, god..."
I felt a shriek bubbling up in my throat as I neared climax, and I knew I couldn't let it free, but it

was there in my mouth and escaping. I bit his shoulder and screamed, the sound muffled by his shirt
and his flesh. I was on the edge, teetering, waiting, not falling over into climax yet, and I knew I
wouldn't, couldn't, not until he came with me.

"Come with me, Shane," I gasped. "I can't until you do. Give it to me..."
"Yes, right now...right—oh god...right now..." Shane stuttered, thrusting into me, clutching me hard

against him, his mouth in my cleavage and groaning as he came, came, came.

I watched him as he climaxed, watched his eyes roll back and his features tighten in pleasure, and

then, as he drove into me ever harder, finally then I toppled gloriously into orgasm with him, my
breath coming in shrill whimpers against his cheek, our bodies moving in synchronization.

We went still after an eternity of gasping, trembling ecstasy. Shane held himself at the root of his

cock, keeping the condom in place as I slipped off of him, feeling the loss of his presence within me
as an acute ache. I didn't want to leave him, I wanted to lie with him inside me until he hardened
again.

As if sensing my thoughts, Shane kissed me, and said, "Later, sweetheart. This was just a taste."
He tied the condom in a knot, and we straightened our clothes, then left the office. Shane ducked

into a bathroom to discard the evidence and fix his mussed hair, and I did the same, checking my hair
and makeup in the mirror.

The charity auction was in progress when we entered, and Virginia eyed us in irritation as we took

our seats next to her and Henry. She lifted an inquisitive eyebrow at us.

Shane leaned over me to whisper to his mother. "Leo was feeling hot and overwhelmed. We snuck

out for a breath of air."

Virginia smirked and nodded, as if she knew better, but she didn't say anything.
There were all kinds of things up for auction, costumes worn on-set by actors in attendance, signed

instruments, jewelry, high-end cars, even an island home in the Carribbean. Millions of dollars were
being spent as if nothing. My breath caught when Shane lifted his hand to bid on a sapphire necklace,
worth an ungodly amount of money retail, being bid on at sums that left me dizzy. He ended up in a
bidding war with an older man, who went as high as ten million dollars, and then bowed out when
Shane upped the ante with an offer of fifteen.

Even Virginia seemed surprised by Shane's extravagance.
"What are you doing?" I whispered to him.
"Buying you a necklace," he whispered back.
"For fifteen million dollars?"
"I'll make it back by the end of the year. Besides, it's all going to charity."
I shook my head, unable to fathom the kind of money he'd just spent without blinking.
The necklace was put in a locked briefcase held by Gerald for the rest of the night, which passed

in a blur of too much wine and hors d'oeuvres. I met what seemed to be half of Hollywood, most of
the rock and pop world, and dozens of other behind-the-scenes people, producers and directors and
models and their dates, some famous in their own right, and other unknowns like me. I eventually
grew accustomed to turning around and nearly bumping into someone I'd seen in a dozen movies.

The party didn't disburse until the wee hours of the morning. Henry and Virginia were already in

the limo waiting when Shane and I climbed in. Virginia fell asleep before we'd even made it out of
the pick-up line. I wasn't far behind, but Shane's fingers were on my knee and wanting to drift higher,
and I could feel his eyes raking over me.

Later, he'd promised. I was suddenly not so tired.
The necklace was sitting on a table in Shane's room, shimmering against a pillow of black velvet.

He crossed the room and lifted the necklace with careful fingers, turned to me, a smile tipping his
lips.

"Take your dress off," he said.
I slid the dress off and draped it over a chair, and then turned back to Shane, clad in only a thong.
"That too," he said. "And the pearls."
I set the pearls on the velvet pillow where the sapphire necklace had been, and then stripped the

panties off so I was completely bare. Shane circled around me, set the necklace on my chest and
clasped it under my hair.

Standing in front of me again, Shane simply gazed at me, then whispered, almost to himself rather

than to me, "God, you're so beautiful."

The way he was looking at me, the way he reached a hand out to trace down my cheek, to my

shoulder, then to the heavy curve of my breast...it was different than the other times. He'd always
touched me gently, hungrily, appreciatively, in a way that made me feel beautiful. This was reverent,
almost hesitant, delicate. As if seeing me for the first time...or seeing me with eyes that had come to
accept something important about me.

I didn't pursue that line of thinking. I let him look, let him touch. He dragged his fingertips across

every inch of my skin, from face to waist, shoulder blades to calves, kneeling in front of me, standing
behind me, palms sliding, eyes devouring, lips kissing.

He moved to kneel in front of me, and I knew what he had in mind, so I stopped him.
"My turn," I said.
I pushed his jacket off his broad, thick shoulders and set it aside, then unbuttoned his shirt, one

button at a time, watching his eyes all the while. Sparks had always flown between us, our eyes had
always met in a way that communicated as much as a thousand words, but for some unfathomable
reason, this night was different. His eyes seemed to shimmer with a million unspoken thoughts,
shadowed with potent emotions. I couldn't parse the tangle in his gaze, and didn't try. I knew by now
that he'd tell me when he was ready.

I slid his shirt off next, and spent an eternity paying lip service to his skin, the bulky muscles of his

torso, touching, kissing, worshipping. He stood as I had, stone-still and absorbing every look, every
kiss, every touch.

I moved to his pants next, unbuckling the narrow black leather belt, unclasping the pants, unzipping

them with aching slowness, drawing them down, then his boxer-briefs so he was naked in front of me.
I kissed and touched every portion of his lower half except the obvious, except his manhood. I cupped
the solid globes of his ass, the thick trunks of his legs, his belly to either side of his cock, his hips, his
thighs.

The curtains were open, letting in silver light from the full moon. We stood naked in front of each

other, bathed in a pool of molten silver. The light caught the giant sapphire of the necklace and was
refracted around in the room in glinting glimmers.

Shane wrapped his arms beneath my buttocks and lifted me up. I slipped my legs around his thighs

and my arms around his neck. Our lips met in the same moment that he penetrated me, his tongue
stealing into my mouth as his manhood slipped into my warm, wet folds. We gasped together, and then
he lifted me, his palms on my buttocks, my legs resting on his hipbones to lever me higher. I held
myself up, drawing him almost out, our eyes locked together and shimmering with anticipation of the
downward plunge.

I moaned as I sank down onto him, letting my weight droop lower so he throbbed deeper and

deeper until there was no farther he could go. His strength was the root of my pleasure, vulnerable to
his power in this position, held aloft by his arms. I tangled my fingers in his hair, kissed everywhere I
could reach as he slowly rocked his hips to pull out and drive in.

We found a pattern, then, a rhythm: plunge, and I kissed his throat; plunge, and I kissed his lips;

plunge, and I kissed his shoulder.

Always before with Shane orgasms had come quickly and easily, drawn from me one after

another. Now, again, it was different. His thrusts were slow, hard, and deep, and the pressure in my
inner muscles built slowly, a gradual burgeoning toward inexorable detonation. Shane's breathing
was coming harder, his muscles beginning to tremble as he held me aloft. We were inches from the
bed, but he refused to put me down, and I didn't suggest it. He continued to course into me, and I

continued to explore his upper body with kisses at every motion.

Finally he moved backward and sank down on the edge of the bed, then toppled backward with me

on top of him. Now, riding him, the pressure built more quickly within me, each roll of my hips
driving me onward, upward, closer to the edge. Shane felt the increase of my rhythm and he knew I
was close; he pulled my hips down with his hands, took my nipple in his mouth and suckled, nipped,
moved to the other. His fingers left my hips and moved to the joining of our bodies, sought the soft
button of my clit and circled it, pushing me past climax into thrashing abandon. His lips were on one
nipple, his fingers rolling another, his other finger working slow circles around my clit, his cock
driving deep, his muscles beneath me...he was everywhere, around me, in me, beneath me.

I came, hard and seeing stars, and then came again.
And still he rocked beneath me, hard, thick, unspent.
I rolled off of him and moved to my hands and knees. He slid up behind me, touched my entrance

with the tip of his cock, hesitated, then pushed into me, sighing in pleasure. I rolled back into him,
rocking on my hands and knees, pushing his rhythm faster, harder, more. He gasped my name, over
and over, a prayer.

I didn't think I would come again, I had thought this would be for him, but he drove into me and I

gasped and felt the pressure building once again, fire leaping through my blood and blossoming in my
sex, and now our motion was a desperate clash of bodies as we neared climax together, a furious
onslaught of passion.

"Give it to me, Shane," I said, as he began to climax, "don't hold back...give it all to me."
"Oh god, Leo, yes...all of it, only for you..." And then he exploded, a shuddering groan, and a

dozen thrusts within me, each with a spill of hot seed splashing into me, filling me, completing my
own orgasm with a clench of muscles around his rigid, pulsing cock.

He folded over me, held to me, trembling, thrusting in small shuddering aftershocks. He kissed my

spine, slid palms against my sides, held the dangling weight of my breasts in his hands.

He was still semi-rigid within me as we fell to our sides. I pushed my ass back into him, wanting

more of him, wanting him to stay within me. I squeezed my inner muscles around him, and he thrust
into me. This wasn't about sex anymore, wasn't about climax anymore; now it was about the pure joy
of being filled by him, of our bodies joined.

We drifted, his body spooned against mine, and I woke to the rhythmic soughing of his sleeping

breath, and his cock hard within me.

It was instinctual, my mind half asleep, my body awake and filled and wanting. I moved, a slight

roll of my hips, and he, even sleeping, responded, moaning muzzily. His hand was on my hip, and
now I heard his breathing change and his hand drifted up to cup my breast, and he pushed into me,
pushed into me, and I pushed back, and then we were desperate once more, moving in synchronized
need. Full and deep, harder and faster, his breath on my back, his fingers on my nipple, and then he
rolled onto his back with me on top of him, sliding up so he was on a slight incline against the
headboard, all of my weight on his body, his knees drawn up next to mine, and oh god, oh god, he'd
never, never filled me so fully as this. My arms wrapped around his knees and I pulled myself up,
released, pulled, released, driving him so deep I thought he might sink all the way within me and
disappear, and my muscles were trembling but I kept going, pushed through it, needing his fullness
more than ever. As much as I'd had him in the last few days, I couldn't get enough, couldn't be filled
without wanting and needing more and more and more.

We came together, in the same moment, a groaning symphony of ecstasy.
This time, when we were finished and limp, Shane got up and brought a towel and cleaned me,

gentle and thorough.

We slept again, tangled together.

* * *

I woke to Shane's lips on mine, soft and tender and hesitant. He waited until I'd rubbed the sleep

from my eyes and gazed up at him with wondering eyes. His expression was that of a man about to say
something important.

I waited, my heart in my throat.
"I'm so in love with you, Leo," he said.
There it was, out in the open, spoken in so many words.
"Shane..." I wanted to say it back, but I stalled.
The only time John had ever said the words, 'I love you' was when he'd proposed. My response

hadn't been an enthusiastic, 'Oh John, I love you too.' No, what I'd said was, "me too." We'd been
together for over two years when he'd proposed, and told me he loved me. I think he'd only said it
because he figured I expected it.

Now here was Shane, telling me loved me. He wasn't proposing, I didn't think. Although I could

come up with far less romantic ways of proposing than in the afterglow of mind-blowing sex, that's
for sure.

If I told Shane I loved him, it was crossing a line, within myself. Love. Seems simple: you have

sex with a man, you spend time with him, you learn about his faults and peccadilloes and dreams, and
you think about him when you're away from him, and your lives gradually merge until they're all
tangled up. Love.

But, now, with Shane, I was finding something else. It started as lust, as adventure. I'd slept with

him, thinking I'd go my way the next day and chalk it up as one wild night with a hot, exotic stranger
as a rebound from breaking up (rather dramatically) with John. But...that hadn't happened. It had
turned into a complete upheaval of my life, of my expectations for my future...and then I'd just kept
going along with him and with the insanity of events. And now, in his family's home, after meeting his
mother and father and brothers and realizing I felt a sense of belonging with him, and with them, and
wanting to stay with Shane and share his future, even though I barely knew him...

I started sobbing.
Shane held me, didn't shush me or ask questions, just held me tight and kissed my tears away until

they subsided.

After I'd quieted, he said, "Too soon?"
I shook my head. "No, it's not that. You've slipped a few times, like you'd almost said you loved

me, but stopped yourself. But...knowing, or at least suspecting you did, that's one thing. Hearing you
say it, that's another. I don't—I don't know how to deal with it. With everything. Sudan, your family,
and now you tell me you love me? It's all so much."

"Why is it a big deal, though? After everything we've been through since we met, how could I not

have fallen in love with you?" Shane lifted up on an elbow and stroked my skin from thigh to breast
and back down. "And if you're willing to stay with me, to go public with me, then...don't you feel the
same way?"

I nodded, a tiny inclination of my head. "Yeah. I do. But, like I said, knowing it and saying it is

different. Saying it makes it...I don't know...more real. More permanent."

"Maybe that's how I want it," Shane said. "I don't want to let you go. I've said several times now

that I'd take you back to Detroit, if you wanted to go. I'd take care of you. I mean, I'd find you a place
to live, on your own. Now that you know I'm...well off, financially, you know buying you a little
condo wouldn't be anything to me. I wouldn't even notice it, money-wise. And...if that's what you
want, I'll do it. But to be honest, the thought of you going home, I mean back to Detroit, alone...that
scares me. Not seeing you again...scares me. I want you here. I want you...period."

"I wouldn't let you buy me a condo, Shane. Sure, you could probably buy me an entire condo

building and not feel it, but...I wouldn't let you." I took a deep breath and forced myself to face up to
how I felt, and say it out loud. "I'm not going anywhere, Shane. I love you, too."

My heart was pounding, rabbiting a mile a minute. It felt crazy to be telling him I loved him, but...I

did. I didn't want to go back to Detroit. Twelve-hour shifts at the hospital, and then back to an
apartment, alone? No. Detroit wasn't home. Shane was home.

"Thank god," Shane breathed.
I felt him firming up against my thigh, his manhood hardening as he gazed down at me, his hands

roving my body hungrily now. I touched him, caressed him, stroked him, took him in my hands and
played with him until he was hard in my palms.

I put my hand on his neck and pulled him over me. "Make love to me, Shane."
He smiled and moved into me, kissed me as he pushed into me and filled me. It was slow and

delicious, an embrace made intimate and erotic and sensual and perfect, no end to me or beginning to
him, no disparate selves, only an expression of one self, one love made flesh.

When we climaxed, it was a song sung in harmony.

The End of Part 3

BIKER BILLIONAIRE: SANCTUARY

"Close your eyes," Shane instructed.
I was sitting at the kitchen counter in Shane's and my Manhattan condo, sipping coffee and

watching the drab gray clouds roll over the city. It was barely six in the morning, and I was awake
because Shane was. We'd been living together for roughly six months at this point, and I'd come to
find out, within a week of moving in with him, that Shane was a habitually early riser. The latest he'd
ever woken up in all the time I've known him was seven.

I turned to look at him over my shoulder, but he clapped his palm over my eyes.
"Close your eyes, Leo," he said again. "I have a surprise for you."
I sighed dramatically, more to irritate him than anything. Shane's surprises tended to be dramatic.

The last time he'd surprised me, it had been to show me our condo, which was...impressive. It was an
entire floor of a high-rise in the Tribeca area, near the top of the building with panoramic views of
the city through floor-to-ceiling windows. It was palatial, extravagant in an understated-beauty sort of
way. Tasteful pastels with pops of brighter colors, dark furniture and light walls, custom-made
recycled wood floors and marble counters and black-and-white photographs on unframed canvas on
the walls. The photography was courtesy of his brother Jon, who, judging by the photographs, was
quite talented.

I felt Shane wrap something around my head. "What are you doing?" I asked.
"Blindfolding you."
"I got that part. But why?"
Shane chuckled, a low rumble from his chest. He lifted me to my feet and turned me in circles until

I was dizzy and disoriented.

"Seriously, Shane. What's going on?"
He didn't answer. He led me by the hands through our condo, and I heard our front door open.

Once through, he stopped me, closed it, and then turned me down our hallway.

"I haven't finished my coffee yet, you jerk. I'll be cranky if I don't. Just a fair warning." I knew

better than to protest at this point, though, or to ask any more questions.

"I've got coffee waiting for you. Don't worry, my love. I have it all covered." Shane's voice was

both tender and amused.

I never tired of hearing Shane use terms of endearment with me. My heart melted every time he

called me his love, or sweetheart, or any number of sweet, silly things like that.

I heard an elevator car ding, and we stepped onto it. I felt the walls close in, the sudden echo of

our breathing in a smaller space, and then my stomach lifted as we went down. To the garage, then, I
assumed. The elevator door whooshed open and I heard the echo of tires in the distance, and an
engine idling nearby. From the smooth, low purr of the engine, I guessed it to be the Mercedes.

When Shane and I had moved in, he'd finally bought a real car. Until then, he'd only owned

motorcycles and an old, beat up Range Rover. I'd told him I loved motorcycles, but I wouldn't ride
one in the winter. He'd gotten rid of the Rover and surprised me with the Mercedes Benz CL600. He
was giddy when he showed it to me, blindfolding me, dragging me down into the garage in my bare
feet and a robe, rambling about twelve cylinders this and turbo that. It was a beautiful car, and I loved
riding in it, when Gerald drove, and I loved driving it myself even more. Shane had claimed he had
wanted me to have something nice and safe to drive. I think he just liked having someone to spend his
ridiculous fortune on.

I would have been perfectly content with the Range Rover, but I did really like the Mercedes.
I heard a car door open, and Gerald's voice said, "Mr. Sorrenson, Miss Larkin. Everything is

arranged, sir."

"Thanks, Gerald," Shane said.
Shane's hand pushed my head down and I slid into the car. Shane buckled me, then got in next to

me. I felt him put a hot paper cup in my hands, and I smelled coffee. I found the opening, sipped
cautiously. It was blazing hot, and doctored exactly how I like it, light cream, heavy sugar.

You know your man loves you when he knows how you like your coffee.
I was burning with curiosity by this point. He was taking me somewhere, obviously, but I couldn't

begin to guess what he could surprise me with that would require a trip. As we drove farther and
farther, the car twisting and stopping, and finally getting onto a freeway, I began to understand that
this was a big surprise. He was nervous. I could feel his feet tapping, and his fingers drummed a
rhythm on my thigh until I made him stop.

"We're not going to be anywhere public, are we?" I asked. "I'm not dressed. I don't even have a

bra on." I was in a pair of ratty old cutoff sweat shorts and a tank top.

"No, not before you've had a chance to change," Shane said.
"And you won't tell me where we're going?"
"Are you kidding? No way. I will say that we have a pretty long trip ahead of us."
I frowned. "Do I have to be blindfolded for all of it?"
Shane laughed. "No, not all of it. I'll take your blindfold off later."
Eventually Shane had Gerald put on music, and we drove in companionable silence, listening to

Muse's newest album in its entirety. Eventually we pulled to a stop and Gerald got out, opened my
door and helped me out. Shane took my hands in his and pulled me into a walk.

We were outside, and I heard the deafening whine of jet engines.
"We're going on a plane?" I asked.
"I told you, we have a long trip."
"Why did I have to be blindfolded, then? You could have just told me to come with you and not

told me where we were going."

Shane laughed and helped me up the steps into the plane. "But this is more fun." He leaned close to

my ear and whispered, "Besides, I have plans for the blindfold."

I reached behind and groped for him, found his thigh and explored inward until I reached his

crotch, and squeezed the thick bulge of his cock behind his jeans.

"I'll bet you do," I said. "And you'd better, dragging me away at this time of the morning."
He sat me down, strapped me in, and then I heard him sit down and buckle up before taking my

hand again. The engine spooled up and after a few minutes I felt them ramp up again, and then I was
pushed back into my seat and my stomach fell away as we lifted into the sky. A few more minutes of
lift, and then we leveled off. Shane unbuckled me, tugged me to my feet, and led me toward the back
of the plane. If this was his plane, there was a bedroom there. I'm normally too cranky in the morning
to be horny, but something about being blindfolded for so long had me sensitive and aroused.

A door opened and then closed behind me. The engines were a distant, muffled whine beyond the

confines of the jet. Shane had stopped me and left me standing, and now I was left blindfolded and
wondering what he was going to do next. I could smell him, clean and freshly-showered, faint coffee
breath, cologne; I heard his breathing, a foot or so to my right, rustling sounds as of clothes moving.

Lips touched my jaw just beneath my ear, a hot breath and moist lips. I gasped at the sudden kiss,

felt myself go from damp between my thighs to wet and aching. I braced myself for another kiss,

waited...waited...wondering where he'd kiss me next. I stood with my arms at my sides, head tipped
back on my shoulders. I heard his breathing move behind me, heard the pad of his feet on the floor. A
kiss on my shoulder, another an inch down, a third farther yet, then a pause and nip with his teeth on
my neck.

My breathing was growing ragged with anticipation, my thighs trembling. He kissed my chin, and

then my forehead. I reached for him, wanting to pull him in for a kiss, but he laughed and moved out of
my reach. He bit my chest above the scoop of my tank top, then kissed where he'd bitten.

His scent came from my left and I lunged in that direction, arms wide. I crashed into him, wrapped

my arms around him, pressed my lips to the first skin I could find. Stubble under my lips told me I'd
found his face, and I lifted my hands to him, touched him, explored him by feel. Stubble of day-old
beard smoothed into bare skin and then rose up into his nose, then down to his upper lip. I traced the
curve of his upper lip, sandpaper under my fingertips, the small bump of his septum, then his opposite
cheek, rough again, down to his jaw and his chin. I pressed my lips to his, finding them by feel,
missing at first and kissing slantwise across his lips, off-center. He huffed a laugh and tangled his fist
into my hair to pull me into a kiss, slow and scorching.

The kiss ended all too soon, with him pulling away and out of reach. He grabbed me by the

shoulders and spun me around, dizzying me. I laughed and tried to stop myself from spinning, but he
was too strong, too insistent. He let me go and I fought for balance, wobbled, stumbled a step
sideways. I felt a burst of panic, not knowing where I was in the room or what I'd hit if I fell, but
Shane's powerful hands caught me, righted me, held me still.

I felt the breeze of his body moving past mine, followed by his scent. I turned in place, trying to

follow him, but I lost him. I felt a finger brush up my arm, then down the other, spreading goose-
bumps over my skin. Another brush of a finger, this time across the back of my neck, followed by lips
at the nape, then across my shoulders.

He paused, then, not touching, not kissing, not even breathing. I couldn't smell him either, and I

was tingling all over with anticipation of the next place he'd kiss me.

Two fingers snagged the elastic of my shorts and panties and dragged them both down. It was a

split-second thing. One moment I was clothed, the next I was naked from the waist down. I stepped
out of them and waited.

A touch around one thigh, from the outside in. My knees trembled and I hoped he'd drag the finger

upward...but then the touch was gone, leaving my skin aching for him. His palm grazed my ass, a slow
circle around one cheek, up the curve of my back and down again, cupping the globe and holding it.
His hand kept up its attention to my ass and he added his lips to the hollow at my throat. Another
palm, now, on the front of my thigh and moving inexorably upward, upward...I held my breath and
parted my legs, hoping he would finally finish the game and touch me, delve into me.

A single finger slid up the crease of my labia, and now his lips moved down, between my breasts.

His palm curled over my sex, holding it, his mouth slipped sideways toward my nipple. I was still
holding my breath, unable to breathe, waiting. My belly fluttered, my skin burning as his hands roved
me, sliding up from my ass to curve around my ribcage, lifting the weight of the breast he wasn't
kissing.

He nibbled one nipple, pinched the other, and dipped his finger into my cleft to circle my clit, all

at the same time. Three points of sinful, sexual contact, long awaited, all at the same instant? I came,
hard. I curled into myself, my knees giving out. Shane caught me, lifted me, set me on the bed.

He settled between my thighs, and now I felt his hard length probing my entrance, his muscular

bulk above me. I clutched his cock in a greedy hand, stroked him, caressed the tip of him before

guiding him into me with a sigh of sweet relief and delicious pleasure. He drove in to the hilt and I
wrapped my legs around his back, hooked my toes around each other to hold on, thrust my hips
against his to get him deeper, clung to his neck, bit his shoulder.

He kissed my cheek and drove in, kissed my chin and pulled away, tugged my face up to kiss my

lips and plunged deep again. I was still shuddering from my first orgasm, and now with every gliding
slip of his shaft into me I drew nearer to the edge of a second climax. He was moving slowly,
deliberately, drawing it out. I growled against his skin, a feral sound of frustration, and pushed him
over onto his back.

It was a clumsy maneuver and he slipped out of me. I mewled in irritation, lifted up astride him,

groped for his manhood and pushed him back where he belonged, hilt-deep, hips flush.

He laughed. "Impatient much?"
I rode him, sitting straight and rocking my hips in a fast, desperate rhythm. "You're taking too long.

I want it now." I braced myself on his stomach and moved, rocked, rode. I couldn't see him, could
only feel him, and now I focused all my attention on feeling him fill me, move within me.

"Come with me, Shane," I panted.
His scent filled my nostrils, male sweat, shampoo, cologne, all layered over something else

indefinable and elusive and totally Shane.

I lost myself in sensation then: his hard, angular body beneath me, his muscles moving, pectorals

flexing beneath my palms as he reached for me, his hips rotating as he matched my rhythm, his breath
sighing louder and faster, sweat beading on his skin, turning him slippery and hot to the touch; his
cock inside me, silk-on-steel stretching my inner muscles, hardness gliding through me, a brief aching
absence as he pulled out, and then a delectable fullness as he moved into me, my depths crying out in
ecstasy as he impaled me, our hips and bellies meeting in a brief union of skin.

I collapsed on top of him and wrapped my arms beneath his head. I pressed my lips to his, mouth

quivering as I rose to climax. His hands tangled in my hair, brushed my neck, slipped down the knobs
of my spine. His fingers caressed the curve of my rolling buttocks and held there, moving me and
encouraging me faster, harder.

I freed a hand and lifted the blindfold, sight returning in blinding rush, and then his eyes pierced

into mine, soft, tender, hypnotic gray-green and so full of love.

We came together, a burst of climax burgeoning in intensity until all time, all emotion, all

sensation was gone, lost in the swirling storm of united ecstasy. Our eyes were locked together, our
bodies moving in unison, sweat commingling, breath merging in a stuttering kiss. Self was gone,
identity was gone. I was no longer I, Shane was no longer Shane. There was only an endless us.

It didn't end, only faded so gradually we were unaware of rolling to our sides to hold each other in

a tangle of joined flesh. Eventually thoughts returned, but we didn't need words.

* * *

The jet landed with a thump and squeal of tires. The blindfold had been left off for the rest of the

flight, but now that we were landing, Shane stood behind me and tied the strip of cloth around my
eyes once more. I was wearing a skimpy bikini, with a gauzy sarong around my waist, barefoot. Shane
had slathered sun block all over me and insisted I wear a ridiculous, wide-brimmed hat. We were
somewhere hot and sunny, probably tropical. The Caribbean, judging by the length of the flight.

When the jet rolled to a stop and the door opened, Shane led me carefully down the steps, calling

out each step as I descended until we reached level ground. The cool, processed air of the private jet

was replaced by a heavy wash of tropical heat, sun beating down on me.

Another plane was waiting nearby, a prop plane. I heard the propellers buzzing a few feet to my

left, and then I was suddenly lifted into the air by Shane's hands, set into the echoing interior. Shane
was behind me, moving me, sitting me down into a seat and buckling me in and setting a pair of
earphones on my head.

"Are we almost there? I'm tired of being blindfolded," I said, hearing my voice in my own ears.
Shane laughed. "Complaints, complaints," he said, patting my leg. "Yes, one more quick ride and

then we're there."

There wasn't much need for conversation, then, as we flew. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes passed,

and then I felt the plane bank, tilt down, my stomach rising into my throat, and then we leveled off.
There was a splash and a roar, and I realized we were landing on the water, making this a seaplane.

We coasted to a rolling stop, and Shane pulled my blindfold off. I blinked and squinted at the

sudden assault of sunlight. When I could see, I realized we were stopped just off the shore of a
tropical island. The water to every side was clear cerulean, rippling and glinting. The sky matched
the color of the sea, spotted with occasional tufts of cotton clouds.

The seaplane's engine shut off and the silence was deafening for a moment, soon replaced by the

soft susurrus of the ocean's rollicking waves, the chuck and lap of water against the floats, sea birds
cawing in the distance. I smelled engine oil, brine, clear, hot air, and Shane.

I turned my attention to the island. It was small, the sides curving away visibly, even from where

we sat, twenty or thirty feet away. It was green with tropical foliage, white sand rimming the outside,
a dock jutting out into the pale blue of shallow water. I caught glimpses of wood and glass on the
crest of the hill at the center.

I looked at Shane, the question in my eyes.
He grinned at me, a huge, joyful, boyish smile. "Welcome home."
I looked back at the island. "Home?"
Shane pushed the door of the seaplane open, hopped down into the water, which came to his

knees. He was wearing bright red and white board shorts and nothing else. He held his hand out, and I
took it, let him lift me down next to him. The water was cold at first, then grew warmer as my body
adjusted.

Shane gestured to the island. "This is Leona's Isle. It belongs to you."
My breath hitched. "What? What do you mean? How can an island belong to me?"
"I set up a bank account in your name a few months ago, put some money into it. And then, when I

found this little island, I bought it in your name. You signed the deed when we were doing all that
insurance paperwork a few weeks ago. I slipped it in and you signed it, none the wiser." Shane
grinned again and pulled me into a slow walk through the water toward the island.

"So...this island is really yours, then." I said.
Shane shook his head. "After the initial purchase of the title to the island, all control over the funds

in that account was turned over to you. I can't touch it. It's yours. This island is in your name, Leona
Larkin, with the proviso that if we ever get married, we could change it to your married name, if you
chose to take mine."

My head was spinning. "Shane...are you kidding me?" I stopped in the water and turned to face

him. "How much are we talking about?"

Shane frowned thoughtfully. "How much was the island? Or how much is in the account?"
"Yes."
Shane chuckled. "The island is a gift to you, so I'm not telling how much I paid. The account

has...six million? Something like that. Just a little nest egg for you." He shrugged, trying to act
nonchalant. "If anything ever happened between us, and we weren't together, you would have your
own money. You wouldn't have to go back to Detroit, or wherever. You could do what you wanted.
And before you ask, no, it's not up for discussion. I can't touch the account anymore. I can't access it,
find out the balance, withdraw or transfer, nothing. My name appears nowhere on the account at all."

My eyes burned. I wasn't sure what to say. "Shane, I—"
He interrupted me with a kiss. "Shush." The kiss turned from sweet and loving to molten in an

instant.

Shane pulled away first, tugged me toward the island, my island. I shook my head at the thought.
I owned an island.
The water level retreated until we were sloshing up onto the hot white sand of the beach. There

was a path through the jungle foliage, wide, flat round stones paving the way up the hill, trees arching
overhead to filter the sun in shifting bursts of green.

We strolled hand in hand up the path, birds of all kinds cawing and chirping around us. The path

curved away to the right, and when we rounded the bend a house came into view. It was a single-
story structure, built into the island to fit between the trees and to conform to the contours of the
central hill. It wasn't an intrusive structure, ugly and extravagant. It was lovely, a natural extension of
the island, glass walls that slid away to make all four sides open to the air. It was a multi-level,
rambling building, sprawling across the entire crown of the island and descending down around the
apron of the hill.

Shane led me through a pair of wide French doors at the bottom of the house and into an airy,

spacious foyer. I recognized the entryway I had designed myself, from a magazine. There was a
round, brass-framed sunburst mirror on one wall, an eccentric, dangling-crystal chandelier on the
ceiling, Spanish-style mosaic tiles underfoot.

"Everything is exactly how you designed it," Shane said, leading me from room to room.

"Remember all those 'hypothetical discussions' about how you would design and decorate a house?"

I remembered. When we first moved in to our condo, I was a little irritated that I hadn't had any

say in how it was decorated or anything, so Shane had then spent every night before bed for weeks
grilling me on how I'd decorate my house. He'd shown me magazine after magazine with kitchens,
bathrooms, bedrooms, living rooms...making me choose what I liked the best. He'd said he was just
making notes for later, eventually.

He swept an arm at the house in general. "Every tile you chose, every mirror and light fixture,

every stick of furniture. The only things I chose were little things, door knobs and cabinet handles and
things like that. It's all state of the art, completely green. Central computer system, accessible from
every room, controlling the lights, the water, the ambient temperature. The computer can even close
the doorwalls at a touch of a button. Tankless water heater, with the water drawn from the ocean,
processed and purified and recycled through a closed loop system."

He sounded proud of this house, and with good reason. It was incredible. And as he'd said, I

recognized everything as what I'd picked out. It all worked perfectly together, modern and sleek, yet
warm and homey at the same time.

There were several bedrooms, each a separate pod on one side of the house, accessible from a

central hallway that ringed the hill, with the kitchen and main living area a level above those
bedrooms. At the very top was the master bedroom, crowning the hill with a view of the entire island
from four open walls, complete with storm shutters.

He led me into the master bedroom, which was, in a word, stunning. The bed was nestled against a

wall, curving into a nook, so that we had views of island on three sides, with the closets and en suite
bathroom behind the bed. A deck ran around the walls on all four sides, with a table and chairs in a
secluded corner overlooking the hill, with a view of the beach and the rippling blue sea beyond.

I don't think I breathed through the entire tour. Eventually, Shane sat down with me at the little

round table on our deck.

"There's another building just out of sight on the back side of the island, where the staff lives.

There's another path leading to it, lit by automatic tiki torches at night. There's a third path to the dock
and the boathouse." Shane took my hands in his and pinned me with an intent, serious gaze. "This is
yours, Leo. Whatever happens, this is all yours. The staff that upkeeps the place, including a personal
chef, the seaplane and pilot—available in a moment's notice, at a single phone call—the boat in the
boathouse, all of it is yours."

My eyes burned again, and now the tears defied my efforts to choke them back. Shane wasn't given

to displays like this. He hated being ostentatious with his wealth. His condo in Royal Oak, Michigan
was small, and understated. Even the condo in New York was fairly simple by the standards of the
wealthy in Manhattan. This...this was overwhelming. And the fact that it was all mine, not ours, not
his, but mine...

I couldn't handle it. I shook my head, unable to speak.
"Shane...why? Why all this?"
"Because I love you. Because you deserve the best." He wiped the tears from my eyes with a

thumb. "Now, save your tears, because I have one last thing to show you."

I took a few long, shuddering breaths, calming myself by effort of will. When I was ready, Shane

took me by the hand and led me down a set of stairs from the deck to a path in the jungle.

"This is a private path," Shane explained, "accessible only from our deck. It leads to my favorite

part of the island."

The path was paved with stones, lined with a handrail on either side and torches at intervals, so

that it would be lit at night. The path descended the hill and wound around the side. I oriented myself
by the house, and figured that we were on the west side of the island, with the dock and the front door
at the south, the boathouse on the east, and the staff quarters at the north.

The path cut under the hill so the bulk of the island rose above us, the water now mere feet to our

left, trees waving tall and green above us, the diamond-glinting expanse of the Caribbean everywhere
around us. The path curved away from the island to a tiny isthmus, a narrow spit of land off the main.
On it was a gazebo, crafted to fit the dimensions of the isthmus, accessible only by the path, built from
the same dark wood as the house. A padded bench ran around the circumference, with a brazier in the
center.

"I've been calling this The Sanctuary," Shane said, as we sat on the bench.
The constant Caribbean sea breeze ruffled our hair, the scent of brine gentle on the wind, the sun

low on the horizon, bathing us in soft orange light.

"The Sanctuary," I repeated. It was perfect. It was peaceful, a place of absolute solitude. "It's

amazing. This is all...just amazing."

Shane gazed at me. "You really like it?"
"I never want to leave."
Shane brushed my cheek with his palm. "You don't have to. I can work from here, most of the time.

I've set things up with the board. I'll have to make trips back to the States every so often, of course,
but most of my work can be done from here. This island has internet access and satellite TV, so I can
attend meetings via the internet. Plus, there's enough extra bedrooms so my parents and yours, plus all

our siblings could all stay here with us. "

I kept quiet, waiting for him to make his real point. He was leading up to something.
Shane swallowed, hard, his eyes suddenly betraying nerves. I hadn't seen him show nerves even

once, not when under gunfire in Sudan, not when facing the board of directors or the press, or
celebrities. He was nervous. Why?

He reached over to one of the benches, lifted the padded seat, revealing a hidden storage space. I

couldn't see from my angle, but whatever he picked up was small enough to fit into his palm. He
turned back to me, took both my hands in his.

My eyes suddenly burned, and my heart palpitated wildly in my chest.
Shane slipped off the bench to one knee in front of me. He lifted his hand, revealing a small black

box, open. Nestled in the black velvet was a simple platinum band with a round-cut diamond the size
of my thumbnail.

"Leo...will you marry me?" His voice wavered, caught at the end.
His hand was trembling, his eyes betraying a welter of emotions, hope, fear, nerves, and above

all, love, pure and unadulterated adoration.

I couldn't speak, couldn't even nod. I was crying, soft silent tears slipping down my cheeks. I

moved off the bench to kneel in front of him. I put my hand to his face, cupping the rough stubble in my
shaking palm. I drew a deep, shuddering breath and found my voice.

"Yes, Shane. I love you, so much."
Shane's breath expelled in a relieved burst and his head slumped for a moment. When he looked at

me again, his eyes were shining, wet with unshed tears. He slipped the ring onto my finger, then
pressed his lips to mine in a slow, fiery kiss that stole my breath in one moment, and gave it back in
the next.

We stood up together, the huge orange Caribbean sun setting beside us. His arms wrapped around

me, my face burrowed against his chest, hearing his heart beating a steady, reassuring beat, in sync
with mine, contentment and completion washing through me.

The End

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