Finding his way out of the darkness could be the biggest fight of his life.

Living In…, Book 1
Law professor Eleanor May is fine with taking over a class for a colleague on sabbatical. She’s

not so fine with the hot student who’s always seated front and center. Once upon a time she was that
student…and the scars remain eight years after it ended.

Yet this guy seems different from the others. Despite the alarm bells in her head warning her about

history repeating itself, she is drawn toward the forbidden once again—even though this time it could
consume her.

Lucien North’s past is darker than the ink on his skin, a reminder of a time when survival was a

fight to the death. Seducing his beautiful professor wasn’t supposed to be part of his plan to put it
behind him, but there’s something about Eleanor that’s gotten hold of him and won’t let go.

Together they light up the night, but will their powerful desire lead them to love—or drag them

both to the brink of disaster?

Warning: Contains a younger man so hot he might scorch your fingertips, and forbidden lust so

tempting, there’s no point in trying to resist. Check your inhibitions at the door—it’s WTFery 101 and
class is in session.

Living in Shadow

Jackie Ashenden

Dedication

To Maisey, for listening to me whine, handing me the hard truths when I need them, and for the

occasional supplies of American chocolate. Speaking of which, I’m probably due some more…

Chapter One

English legal history. Fuck, Luc was starting to hate this class. It was his own special brand of hell:

a lecture theatre full of people and him in the middle row with a slowly intensifying hard-on. And all
because Professor Eleanor May was writing something on the whiteboard and her little pencil skirt
was pulling tight around her extremely delectable ass.

Luc glanced down at the laptop open on his desk. Anything so he didn’t have to look at her. The

screen was completely blank. He hadn’t taken any notes whatsoever and they were almost done with
the class.

Jesus. This was the third time in as many weeks he’d sat there, hard and aching, thinking things he

shouldn’t be thinking instead of taking notes. At this rate he wouldn’t be passing the paper if he didn’t
get his head back into study mode, and since he had only a couple of semesters left before getting his
law degree, failing a paper would be very bad indeed.

She was talking again, her husky voice filling the room, and he didn’t want to look because he

knew what he would see: a petite, fine-boned woman with golden-blonde hair in an elegant chignon.
All feminine sophistication in a beautifully tailored pencil skirt of pale blue and a crisp white shirt, a
small silver necklace around her neck. It made her seem fragile, yet the impression she gave off was
anything but. Her gray eyes were as sharp as a steel blade and she walked as if she were ten feet tall
and bulletproof. Like she was keeping everyone at a distance.

But not when she spoke. When she gave a lecture, her delicate face would light up and the

impression of ice and steel and distance would vanish. She would look at everyone in the room as if
they were all having a conversation together and she was interested in what they had to say.
Becoming warm and approachable. And if questions were asked, she’d smile and it would be like the
sun had come into the room.

Christ, he wanted some of that sun.
He’d been at Auckland University for four years, only spotting Eleanor May a couple of years after

he’d started since she mainly taught postgraduate students. Even back then, he’d registered her but had
dismissed the attraction. She was a professor. Polished and sophisticated and way too much like hard
work for him. He preferred his pleasure easy to come by and undemanding, with women who didn’t
want anything more from him than a couple of orgasms. Definitely not complicated, and seducing
Professor May had complicated written all over it.

And then she’d taken over his English legal history class from Professor Holmes who’d gone off on

sabbatical. And every Thursday he’d found himself sitting in the same place, right down in the front of
the class, in the middle of the row, so he could look at her.

So he could figure out what the hell he found so fucking fascinating about her.
Because it wasn’t only her beauty, though she had plenty of that. He could find beauty anywhere

these days and though he’d once glutted himself on it, it hadn’t ultimately satisfied him.

No, she had more than that. Perhaps it was the sharp intelligence he saw in her eyes whenever she

spoke. Or maybe it was the distance she projected, as if she were holding the world at bay. The kind
of distance that made him want to close it. Touch her.

Or perhaps it was merely the contrast to all the other women he’d had up till this point. Women his

own age or a couple of years younger. Who had no distance, no walls. Children, in many ways.
Children who didn’t even know they were alive. Which was fine because that was the way children
should be. Yet, at the same time, they offered no secrets. No challenges.

Strange to find that was suddenly an issue, when challenges and secrets and complications were the

last thing he wanted.

Whatever it was that fascinated him about Eleanor May, it made every lecture pure fucking torture.
Luc sat back in his seat, folding his arms. Watching her. Irritated with himself and his stupid

fucking cock with its insistence on wanting a woman he wasn’t allowed to have anyway.

She was reaching the part where she looked at each person in turn as she reiterated her main

points, a tactic that worked well in drawing people in to what she was saying. Except that, for some
reason, she never looked at him.

God, he was sick of that too.
He shifted on his seat, spreading himself out a little, pinning his gaze on her. She looked at his

neighbor, then, like it always did, her gaze skipped him and went on down the row. As if he didn’t
even exist.

Oh fuck no. Not today. Today she was going to damn well look.
Perhaps she’s not looking at you for a reason?
Well, whatever the hell that reason was, it was not happening today.
Luc raised his hand to his mouth and coughed.
And she looked; cool, gray eyes seeking the source of the sound. Meeting his head on.
The electric shock of the impact hit him like a plunge into an icy lake on a blistering-hot day.

Echoing through him, all the way down to the soles of his feet.

He stared at her and she stared back and he saw it—he fucking saw it—a flare of reaction in her

eyes. So fast and fleeting that if he hadn’t already been aware of her with every inch of his being, he
may have missed it. But it was there nonetheless.

She looked away quickly, but by that time it was too late. He heard the falter in her voice. He saw

the slight flush to her cheeks.

He knew.
She’d seen him. And not the student. She’d seen the man.
A surge of heat went through him, vicious and wild. Winding the ache inside him even tighter than

it was already. Fuck, he so did not need this. He didn’t get obsessed with women. They came to him
if they wanted him, and, shit, he was happy to oblige. No harm, no foul. No one got hurt and that was
how he liked it.

But being attracted to his professor? Christ. This was against the rules and he was a great believer

in rules. Pity his body didn’t seem to give a shit.

She was finishing up now, the people around him starting to put their stuff away in preparation for

leaving. But he didn’t want to go. He wanted those cool eyes on him again. Wanted to see that flash of
reaction again. Because he was sure it had been a reaction. To him.

As the people around him began to get to their feet, he watched her stand by the lecturn, fiddling

around with her laptop. Not looking at him.

Fuck. He needed to know. He needed to see if he was right. And he wasn’t going to be able to

concentrate on anything else until he did.

Eleanor shuffled her notes and ended the lecture, keeping her eyes down as she heard the rumble of

feet and the noise of people standing up and gathering their stuff, the hum of conversation filling the
lecture theatre.

She didn’t want to look up, in case she met the piercing, disconcerting black gaze of that guy again.

The guy who’d been in the front row of the lecture theatre, leaning back in his chair, legs splayed
apart, all chiseled cheekbones, hard jawline and wide, powerful shoulders. Staring at her. Like he

was committing everything she did, everything she said, to memory.

He’d been there every single week, ever since she’d taken over Hugh’s class while he was on

sabbatical. And every time she saw that guy, her brain would busy itself with inane questions like
where was he from? He wasn’t pakeha, though it looked like he had European blood somewhere in
his heritage. He wasn’t Maori or a Pacific Islander either. More like African. Unusual. Bloody
unusual. And bloody incredible looking too.

She didn’t get very many outrageously handsome, young black men in her classes.
She didn’t get very many outrageously handsome men in her classes at all.
Especially not ones who sat in the very front and stared at her. Almost as if he’d been…angry with

her. Except, when she’d looked at him…it hadn’t been the thrill of a teacher lighting the spark of
learning in a student. Oh no, the thrill that went down her spine was a bolt of undeniable sexual
attraction.

Weird. Not to mention disturbing. Maybe she’d imagined the sensation. Christ, she hoped she’d

imagined it. She’d never been sexually attracted to a student before, thank God, and didn’t really want
to be now. Or, in fact, ever.

Eleanor forced that particular thought back into the box it came from, gathering up her notes and

going over to the side of the room where she’d left her briefcase. There were a few students already
gathered, wanting to talk to her. She smiled, greeting them, answering the questions they’d come to
her with. Some were about the lecture she’d just given, some were about assignments that were due.
The usual stuff. She dealt with them then finished sliding her notes back into her briefcase before
turning to collect her laptop from where it was plugged into the lectern.

And although she didn’t look, she knew he was there. The pressure of his gaze made heat prickle

over the back of her neck in reaction.

Ah, fuck it. She was too old to play these games.
Eleanor lifted her head.
He was sitting in exactly the same place, right in the center of the front row, leaning back in his

seat. Watching her.

A shiver went down her spine. Because she knew that look. The look of a predator. The one that

said “I want you and I will have you, whether you like it or not”. The same kind of look that had
drawn her into Piers’s orbit.

And destroyed you.
Yeah, well, once she had been destroyed. But not anymore. She was stronger than that these days.

And it was time this fiercely gorgeous young man knew it.

She leaned against the lectern. “I’m sorry. Did you want to speak to me?”
For a moment he didn’t say anything, only stared at her. Then he rose to his feet in a graceful, liquid

movement, beginning to pack away the small notebook computer he’d had on the desk in front of him.
“Yes,” he said at length, “I do.” His voice was deep, the sound as liquid as his movements had been.
And lightly accented. French, from the slight lilt.

Interesting…
Eleanor shifted, easing back from the lectern. “About the lecture?”
“It was…fascinating.” He put the notebook into a black backpack and slung the backpack over one

shoulder. She found herself staring at his hand where it gripped the strap, the smooth mocha skin
inked with tattoos. Black bars and dots ran down each digit, the dots where his knuckles were,
drawing attention to the length of his fingers. On the back of his hand the bars and dots seemed to
imitate the bones beneath. How odd. Did they mean anything? She’d never seen anything like them

before. Around his wrist he wore a bracelet that she thought at first looked like one of those
friendship bracelets she’d seen some people wear. But it wasn’t. It seemed to be in fact a lot of
different fabric strips all bound together like a cuff. Even odder.

“And?” She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from him.
He straightened, skirting around the desk and coming toward her.
It took her a moment to realize that her muscles had tensed up. Kind of understandable since they

were alone in the lecture theatre, and though he was lean, he was tall, with an air of latent power
about him. As if he had a purpose and was going to achieve it, no matter what.

It wasn’t threatening, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either.
Eleanor took a silent breath. Calm down. He’s a fucking student. Yes, an attractive student but a

student nonetheless.

Before he came too close, he stopped all of a sudden, studying her. Then his eyes narrowed.

“You’re afraid of me?”

She blinked at the abruptness of the question. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“You tensed up as I approached.”
How strange that he’d noticed. Not to mention discomforting. “No, of course I’m not afraid.”

Folding her arms, she met his gaze. “You said you wanted to talk to me. About what exactly?”

“You never look at me.”
She blinked again, taken aback. “Pardon?”
“At the end of every lecture, you look at everyone else. But not me. Why?”
There was an odd glitter in his eyes. The one she’d seen before, as if he were angry with her.
Which was weird. Because she was sure she hadn’t done anything to him. Shit, she didn’t even

know him.

“Do I?” she said carefully. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t noticed.”
“Bullshit. You’re doing it on purpose.”
Eleanor stared at him. God, he was intense. She found it vaguely threatening in some way and yet,

at the same time, thrilling as well. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”
Well, shit, she didn’t know why either.
Yes, you do.
She shifted on her feet, not wanting to acknowledge the thought. “I could ask you the same kind of

question,” she said instead. “You’ve been in this class for the past four weeks and you always sit in
the same place. And you always stare at me.”

“I’m looking at you because you’re the lecturer, of course.” He paused. “Would you like me to look

somewhere else?”

It wasn’t quite the answer she wanted, though she wasn’t sure exactly what answer she did want.

“No, that’s where you’re supposed to be looking.” She picked up her laptop from the lectern and shut
it. Now that he was closer, she’d noticed he seemed to be a little older than most of her fresh-out-of-
school students, though not by much. Which didn’t make her feelings any less wrong, of course.

“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Why don’t I look at you? I look at the people I think aren’t paying attention. And you seem to

always be paying attention.” It was a lie and not a very good one, but, hell, she wasn’t going to admit
the truth. She couldn’t even admit the truth to herself. “You’re wrong anyway,” she added. “I looked
at you today.”

He didn’t reply, studying her silently for a long minute, his gaze measuring. Assessing. And so

sharp she felt like she was under some kind of microscope.

It wasn’t a good feeling.
She smiled—the cool professor smile, the one she normally used with students. “And is there

anything else I can help you with? Or is that it?”

“Seeing as you answered my question, no, not so far.”
“Good. Glad we cleared that up then.”
A silence fell, the full weight of his intense, focused gaze falling on her, zeroing in on her in a way

that forced the air from her lungs.

Say something, fool.
“See you next Thursday, Professor May,” he said abruptly.
Thursday. What was Thursday again? Day after Wednesday usually…
Thursday was the next legal history lecture. Shit, this guy was seriously messing with her head.

“Yes, indeed,” she said coolly, irritated with herself. “Thursday.”

He took a step toward her and put out his hand. “I’m Lucien, by the way. Lucien North.”
She was holding her laptop but that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want to take that lean, brown,

tattooed hand in her manicured white one. An instinct she hadn’t known was still alive inside her told
her that to touch him would be A. Very. Bad. Idea. But how could she refuse? She had no reason to
and it would be rude to ignore him. Keeping on her professor smile, Eleanor put the laptop down and
took his hand. Shit, it was just a handshake. What could possibly happen with a handshake?

Heat stole up her arm. Flickering like a fire and just as hungry. Stealing through the cracks in the

armor she wore. Armor she wore for very specific reasons. To avoid situations like this. “Pleased to
meet you, Lucien,” she said. No, she wouldn’t pull away. Perhaps if she ignored it, the heat would
vanish and she’d feel nothing.

The corner of his long mouth suddenly lifted in a hint of a smile, as if he’d seen her response

somehow. As if he knew. And liked it. “Call me Luc.” His grip remained, holding her prisoner for a
second longer, then it loosened and she was free.

Instinctively her fingers tried to curl into a fist, but she forced them straight, not wanting to give

herself away any further. “Thank you, I will. And you can call me Professor May.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but that almost smile deepened a fraction, making something warm

and liquid coil way down low in her abdomen.

“I’ll catch you Thursday, Professor.” Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the lecture

theatre.

Goddamn.
Eleanor shook her head and went back to putting her laptop away.
And tried to put Lucien North from her mind.

Chapter Two

Luc sat in the student café with his back to the wall, which he preferred. Another habit the army had

bred into him. Even though he knew no one was going to suddenly get out a knife or a gun and shoot
him in the back here, he couldn’t quite break himself of the habit.

The only exceptions being Eleanor’s classes. For her he’d sit with his back to the rest of the class,

so he could be down in the front and look at her.

He turned his head a little, watching the group on the other side of the café without seeming like he

was staring. Another old habit.

Eleanor sat there with some of the other faculty members, talking about something that was clearly

very interesting because she was leaning forward with her elbows on the table, making small, elegant
movements with her hands as she spoke. Her face was alight with interest and intensity, as if she was
trying to get a very important point across.

I look at people who aren’t paying attention…
A bullshit lie, offered with a cool, impersonal smile. And yet when she’d taken his hand, he’d seen

the telltale stain of color on her cheekbones. She’d hidden it well, but he’d had a lot of practice
watching for people’s reactions. Seeing below the surface of a person. It had been a skill he’d had to
develop in order to survive Inza’s army and it was one that continued to be useful.

He had the feeling that he could look all day at Eleanor May and he still wouldn’t be able to see the

woman she was underneath. A pain in the ass since that thought only made him want to find out even
more.

Christ, he shouldn’t have approached her yesterday after the lecture. He should have walked out

with all the others, and yet he hadn’t. What had he been thinking? He’d been obsessed by that split-
second reaction he’d seen in her eyes. And now the feeling of her cool fingers in his had only wound
that obsession tighter.

Beside him, Maddy was saying something. She had one hand on his thigh, a proprietary gesture he

didn’t much like. They’d been sleeping together on and off—a casual thing, they’d both agreed. But
that didn’t mean he was hers, like she wasn’t his.

He shifted his leg subtly and her hand fell away.
Across the room, Eleanor laughed her amazing laugh. Dirty and low. He could hear it even in the

hum of the café, the sound in stark contrast to that cool, sophisticated image of hers. She wore another
of her pencil skirts today, light charcoal. One knee was crossed over the other under the table, leaving
the heel of one of her stilettos dangling off her toes.

Such a little thing to notice and yet he did, fascinated by the dichotomy of her. The way she could

be cool, not a hair out of place, one minute, then laugh like a phone-sex worker and dangle one heel
off her foot the next.

“Hey, Luc, are you listening to me?”
“Not really. Sorry.”
“Who are you looking at?” Beside him, Maddie craned her head and he forced himself to look

away from Eleanor, focusing his attention on the woman beside him.

“You,” he said and smiled at her.
The smile had its usual effect. Maddie rolled her eyes, but he knew she wasn’t offended. “You’re

impossible.”

Across the room he could hear Eleanor laugh again, but this time he didn’t look. He didn’t need to.

He already knew how her face lit up.

Why were you looking at me?
He’d told her he was looking at her because she was the lecturer, fucking liar that he was. He

should have told her the truth.

Because you’re the most beautiful, fascinating woman I’ve ever seen. Because I want you.
“Ugh,” Maddy said, complaining already. “I’ve got Harris this afternoon. Anyone got anything to

keep me awake?”

The conversation turned into the usual round of complaints about the boringness of Prof Harris and

his criminal law classes, then diverted into what was usually a more interesting topic, such as which
club they were going to that night.

Luc didn’t much care where they went. He’d gotten himself to the point where he could fit in with

what normal twenty-somethings did on a Friday night without trying too hard. Sometimes booze and
loud music even made him forget he wasn’t a normal twenty-something.

Of course there would always be a part of him that knew otherwise. That understood no amount of

booze or sex would make him normal. He was too different. There was too much darkness inside him.

He’d learned to ignore that part.
As his friends argued over the choice of bar, over on the other side of the café Eleanor was

standing, her jacket slung over one shoulder, high heels now firmly on. She was smiling at one of her
colleagues, continuing to talk. And even though he’d seen her glance around just about everywhere in
the café, she hadn’t once looked in his direction.

Like she didn’t look in his direction during class.
Something stirred in him. Something hungry he’d been suppressing ever since he came back to New

Zealand—there wasn’t any need for it in the life he’d come back to. The instinct of a hunter.

Fuck that. He was going to make it his mission to get her to look at him. See him the way she had in

the lecture hall, as if for one split second he was a man not a student. Get her to look at him like that
every damn time.

She’s your professor. That sort of shit isn’t allowed.
Yeah, but it wasn’t breaking any rules. An acknowledgment. That’s all he wanted. And then

perhaps he’d get back to thinking about his degree and not what lay behind that cool gray gaze of hers.

He sat back, waiting as she and her colleagues came toward the doors. He was sitting right by

them; she wouldn’t be able to miss him unless she was deliberately avoiding him. But he wasn’t going
to resort to a cough or anything else attention getting like last time. She would look at him because she
wouldn’t be able to help herself.

She continued talking, smiling at something Professor Devon had said to her, and he thought that

perhaps she’d keep on ignoring him, which was a kind of acknowledgment all on its own.

And then her attention flicked to him as she approached the doors.
He held her gaze, silently willing her to see him. To really see him. And shit, there it was again,

that flash of silver in her eyes. A reaction she couldn’t hide.

Helpless desire tightened its grip. So, he hadn’t imagined it yesterday. There was something

between them. Very definitely something. And God, he wanted to know what it was.

Her gaze dropped, as if she couldn’t bear the weight of his stare, and he found that perversely

thrilling. Was she trying to hide her reaction again? Collect herself? Had he affected her so much she
didn’t know what to do with herself? God, he wanted to take that determined chin in his fingers and
force her to look him in the eye. While he told her exactly what she’d been doing to him for the past
month…

Since when did you force women to do anything?
A thread of unexpected cold wound through him at the thought. No, shit, he didn’t force anyone to

do anything. Especially women. That was one of the rules he’d given himself back in the squad. It
was the one thing that kept him from becoming one of them. The only thing…

“Anything I can do for you, Mr. North?” Eleanor May’s cool voice cut through the ice and he

realized that, far from continuing to ignore him, she’d stopped beside his table, looking down at him
with one pale brow raised in enquiry.

Well, hell. He hadn’t expected that. “Excuse me, Professor?”
“You were looking at me. I assumed you wanted some attention.”
He leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to relax. “Of course I want some attention. Who

doesn’t?”

Maddy snorted and Eleanor flicked her a brief glance before looking back at him. “It appears you

have plenty of that.”

Oh, she was so cool, so calm. Pretending nothing had happened, that she hadn’t felt the charge of

electricity between them. Which presented him with an irresistible challenge.

She wasn’t going to pretend, no fucking way. He was going to make it his goal to see under that

smooth, sophisticated front of hers. Get beneath it. Get the truth out of her, one way or another.

Starting now.
The decision gave him far more satisfaction than it should have, but he didn’t bother to hide it.

“Surely you can never have too much attention, Professor?” he said and smiled at her, an expression
he’d once had to practice in the mirror to get it working right.

She stared at him for a moment, gray eyes narrowing, clearly sensing something was up. Her

colleagues were looking at her strangely but she didn’t seem to notice.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but one of her colleagues said, “Are you coming,

Ell?”

A fleeting look of annoyance crossed her face before the cool smile was back. “Yes, possibly

you’re right.”

“What’s all that about?” Maddy asked as Eleanor went through the café doors. “I didn’t know May

was giving undergraduate classes?”

“She’s giving Prof Holmes’s legal history class this semester.”
“Huh. What’s she like?”
Luc put his hands behind his head and smiled. “So far? Interesting. Very fucking interesting

indeed.”

Eleanor was extremely pissed. Somehow Lucien North seemed to be everywhere she went. It

wasn’t that he was stalking her—at least she didn’t think he was—it was that she seemed to notice
him a lot more than she had before. The Auckland University law school wasn’t terribly big by
international standards and she knew a lot of the students, at least by sight. He’d never been in any of
her classes but he’d been there on the periphery, a tall, striking figure she’d glanced at many times
and acknowledged—at least in the privacy of her mind—as being pretty stareworthy. But now he’d
somehow insinuated himself into her consciousness, made it so that she was exquisitely aware of him.

In the student café, where she went sometimes to get coffee, he’d be there in a group of students,

either talking with them or reading. He seemed to be pretty popular—understandably—and there
always seemed to be a woman or five hanging around him. In the library when she went to pick up a
book, she’d find him sitting at a desk with some headphones on, doing something on his laptop. Or
walking down a corridor, he’d be there in deep discussion with another member of the faculty or

another student.

It annoyed her. She wasn’t consciously looking for him, it was only that somehow her brain had

decided he was a person of interest and so kept an eye out for him.

And whenever it did, she found she couldn’t help looking at him, almost as if she was seeking out

that disturbing black gaze. Which was insane. He was a student and that was all he ever should be.

As for him, only once did he acknowledge her and that was in the student café, as she and a

colleague were getting coffee. She was on her way out and he was sitting at the table he’d been at the
week before, by the doors, leaning back in his chair, legs stretched arrogantly in front him, hands
linked behind his head. There was a woman beside him, leaning close in, obviously telling him
something. And he appeared to be paying attention. Until he lifted his head as Eleanor passed and his
eyes met hers, hot and dark.

And the same thrill passed through her as it had that previous week. The one she’d told herself she

didn’t feel. She only smiled coolly back and walked on, not bothering to speak to him, ignoring both
the flicker of heat that settled in her gut and the annoyance that the flicker of heat was even there in the
first place.

Jesus, what did he think she was? Sixteen? She was thirty-eight and long past the stage of getting

hot and bothered just because some outrageously good-looking young man kept staring at her.

“Eleanor?” James Devon was at her elbow and she realized she’d stopped short of the café doors.

Luc wasn’t even looking at her now, the blonde sitting next to him had her hand on his thigh and he’d
turned his head toward her, smiling.

Her irritation deepened. Fuck’s sake. What was the matter with her?
She pushed through the café doors and out into the corridor, clutching her latte, letting the hot liquid

burn through the paper cup and into her palm. So much better to concentrate on that small pain than on
the other, far more dangerous heat down low inside her.

“You okay?” James, who taught international law and was one of the few people in the faculty who

wasn’t a fuckwit, looked at her curiously. “Or were you stunned by the magnificence of Lucien
North?”

Of course James would notice that. He’d always had an eye for handsome men.
Eleanor gave him a filthy look. “Are you kidding me?”
James shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the first. You should see Carly.”
Carly was one of the criminal law professors and a sucker for a good-looking student, though,

since she was nearly sixty-five and married, with her it was purely a visual-appreciation thing.

“She’s like that with everyone.”
“Luc is a little different, though.”
He had that right. Eleanor didn’t say anything for a moment as they strolled down the corridor

toward her office. Then, when a decent-enough amount of time had passed, she said, “Is he in any of
your classes?”

“Yeah. International law is his thing.” James grinned. “I’m not complaining. Whenever he comes to

one of my lectures, everyone else shows up too. Especially the girls.”

“Popular then.”
“Extremely. And a brilliant student too. Wrote me the most fabulous essay on—”
“Thanks, James,” she interrupted gracelessly as they stopped outside her office. “Got a mountain of

assignments to mark.”

She wasn’t curious about Lucien North. She wasn’t.

Yet when Thursday rolled around and she stepped into the lecture theatre for her legal history

class, her gaze went straight to the desk where he normally sat, in the front row, right in the center.
And found his seat empty.

The sharp point of an emotion she refused to call disappointment needled at her.
Shit. What the hell was her problem?
She’d kept away from men for a long time after her divorce from Piers. For years the thought of

another relationship—hell, even just sex—was too much to contemplate and though she’d broken
through that little block with a couple of guys since, in the end she’d found being single easier. Her
career at the law school was much less complicated, even with the usual university/faculty politics
that sometimes drove her round the bend. She liked teaching, enjoyed the interactions she had with her
students and found the intellectual challenge of law stimulating. That was all she needed. That and an
excellent vibrator.

Lucien North was nice eye candy, but that’s all he’d ever be.
Eleanor gave the lecture, irritated with the way her attention kept going to the place where Lucien

normally sat and catching the eye of the young woman who was sitting there instead. Which probably
weirded her out as much as it did Eleanor.

After the lecture was over and the usual crowd of students and their questions had vanished out of

the door, Eleanor was sliding her laptop into its bag when she noticed someone standing in the
doorway, leaning against the doorframe.

Lucien.
The irritation and annoyance gathered in a small, hard knot in the center of her chest.
He had one arm against the doorframe, the posture drawing attention to the sharply defined lines of

his biceps, left bare by the black T-shirt he was wearing. It was…distracting.

“I’m sorry I missed the class today,” he said. “I had an appointment.”
Eleanor looked away from him, fussing around with the laptop cords. “That’s okay. You didn’t

miss much. I’ll be putting the notes up on the class web page anyway.”

“Well, that’s good.”
A small silence fell. Then his voice, much softer and much closer this time. “Did you even notice I

wasn’t there?” He’d come into the lecture theatre proper, was now standing not far away from her,
hands thrust casually in the pockets of his jeans.

She glanced at him but all he did was stare back, a strange, intense glint in his eyes.
Christ, what did he want from her? If he thought she was going to admit to the fact that, yes, she had

noticed, he needed to think again. Something told her that admitting any kind of weakness around this
man would be a mistake.

Feeling threatened, Eleanor turned away, resuming tucking the cords away into her laptop bag as if

nothing were bothering her in the slightest. “That’s an odd question to ask.”

“Is it?”
“Yes. And no, I didn’t notice, but thanks for letting me know.”
There was a weirdly taut silence.
She continued to fuss with the cords, feeling the weight of his stare on the back of her neck like the

touch of a hand. Jesus, he really needed to go the hell away.

“You’re one hell of a good liar, Professor May,” he said softly.
Ah Christ. This was ridiculous. Of course she knew what he wanted from her. She’d known it the

moment his gaze met hers. And she was too old for teenage, flirty games. Actually, shit, what did that
have to do with age? Even when she’d been younger she hadn’t had the patience for it. Whatever

she’d done to deserve his attention, one thing was clear. It had to stop.

Slowly she closed her laptop bag then straightened and turned to face him. He stared back at her,

his beautifully cut mouth unsmiling. The uncompromising look on his face, hard and stern, made
something hot clench inside her. Something she wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.

This is how it started with Piers…
Forcing away the thought, she said bluntly, “I’m thirty-eight.”
His straight, black brows arrowed down. “So?”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five. But what’s that got to do with anything?”
Twenty-five. Christ. Older than the average student, but still. “I think thirteen years’ age difference

speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

“Does your age bother you?”
“No.”
“Good. Because it doesn’t bother me either.”
“Well it should.” She twisted to pick up her laptop bag and briefcase. And when she turned back

he was standing right in front of her. Not too close but enough that the sexual awareness she’d been
telling herself for days she didn’t feel gathered tighter inside her.

“I don’t give a shit about your age,” he said. “So if you’re trying to warn me away you need to think

of something else.”

She took a slow breath. “Ah, so we’re going to have this conversation, are we?”
“What conversation?”
“The one where you tell me you’re attracted to me and I tell you that this kind of conversation is

inappropriate. That I’m your professor and liaisons between staff and students are prohibited.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, standing there with his hands in his pockets, motionless. “You

sound like you’ve had it before,” he said eventually.

“More than once.” With a couple of younger guys looking for a mother figure and settling on her.

Those occasions had been easy ones to nip in the bud, the kids embarrassed and easily deflected once
she’d spoken to them.

And you didn’t want them.
She didn’t want Lucien either. No. Definitely not. She pasted on her usual smile, ignoring the

unease that sat in her gut. “So? Are we going to have that conversation or not?”

“I think you’re under a misapprehension about what I want, Professor.”
Her fingers curled hard on her briefcase handle. Oh fuck. Had she read him entirely wrong then? It

was possible. It had been a long time since anyone had shown any interest in her. “Am I? You’d
better tell me then, hadn’t you?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Stop playing games with me, Mr. North. I don’t have either the time or the patience.”
He didn’t move, but it felt as if the room were suddenly too small to contain both of them and

oxygen as well. “Okay then, so no more games. I’m not going to tell you I’m attracted to you,
Professor, no. What I’d like to do is take you home and fuck you senseless.”

The words hung in the silence of the lecture theatre like profanities in a church.
She’d thought she’d long gotten past the stage of being shocked. She was wrong. And what made it

even worse was the way those provocative words struck home, flaming arrows that set a part of her
alight. And other parts dry mouthed with fear…

“Hmmm. I can see we might have to have a little chat with the dean about that.” Her voice was

perfectly calm, perfectly level. Masking her shock so he wouldn’t see. So he wouldn’t know. “In fact,
even saying those words could get you suspended.”

“I realize that. But you asked me what I wanted. So I told you.”
She could get him suspended if she wanted to, she knew that. But she also knew she wasn’t going

to. He hadn’t done anything, after all, only been inappropriate. Besides, going straight to the dean
would only prove that she couldn’t handle this on her own and she damn well could. He was only a
student and she’d dealt with inappropriate students before.

Eleanor forced herself to hold her briefcase by her side instead of in front her like a shield.

Relaxed her fingers on the handle. “So, you want to fuck me,” she said easily. “Well, honey, I have to
say, you wouldn’t be the first and you probably won’t be the last. But I don’t screw students. I never
have and I’m not about to start with you, understand? Besides, I prefer men to boys. Now…” she met
his gaze, ice cool, “…is there anything else I can help you with?”

Lucien’s expression didn’t change, but the dark glitter in his eyes became a little more intense. “So

I guess there’s no point asking if you feel the same?”

“No.” The word was as firm and as flat as she could make it. “None.”
“Like I said,” he murmured, “you’re a terrible liar, Professor.” He began to turn back toward the

doors. “But hey, I guess we can’t all be honest about our feelings.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to tell him that she was being honest, but he held up a hand and for some

reason the words died in her throat like he’d commanded them to. “When you’re ready to admit you
want me too, let me know. I’ll be around.”

Then he turned and strode through the doors.
“Fuck,” Eleanor muttered to the empty room.
She didn’t want him. She didn’t want to do anything with him. All the places this kind of thing led

to were bad ones and she didn’t want to go there. Not again.

For the past few years her life had been an intellectual one and she’d been happy with that. Hadn’t

wanted more. She knew the consequences of desire, of passion, an experience she never wanted to
repeat. But Lucien’s presence had made her aware of the parts of herself she’d been ignoring for too
long.

Perhaps that had nothing to do with him, though. He was an attractive man. He’d make any woman

aware of certain parts of themselves they’d been neglecting. It didn’t mean anything.

Anyway, she had a vibrator and an imagination. She didn’t need an actual cock attached to an

actual man. Been there, done that. Had the bruises from her ex-husband to show for it.

Piers, who’d seduced then manipulated and abused her. The man who’d started out as her

professor…

Eleanor forced the memories out of her head. No, that had been years ago and she was so much

stronger now. Armored. So she wouldn’t be letting good looks and sexual attraction blind her. Not
these days. And most especially not with Lucien North.

Chapter Three

“You know what I think?” Kahu said, leaning his hip against the bar.
Eleanor had a suspicion she knew already. She’d had fifteen years of hearing Kahu Winter’s

thoughts on various subjects and she was pretty familiar with his opinions. “Don’t tell me. I know
already.”

Kahu didn’t even pause. “I think you should fuck him. I mean, he’s young. He’s hot. He wants you.

Why the hell not?”

The Ivy Room of the Auckland Club, the old gentlemen’s club that Kahu had bought a couple of

years ago and now ran himself, was full of lunchtime drinkers. Members only, of course. Membership
was highly sought after in various circles of Auckland society—mostly the rich tosser circles, as
Kahu liked to call them—and ridiculously hard to come by. No one quite knew what made Kahu grant
one person a membership card and not another.

It wasn’t money and it wasn’t class. Or power. Or fame. No one knew but Kahu himself. And

Eleanor, who’d gotten the truth out of him after too many scotches one night. Apparently he just liked
to screw with people. Which, if you knew Kahu, was typical.

“I can think of several reasons why not,” she said, turning the coaster her glass of rosé sat on.

“He’s one of my students, for one. And surely you haven’t forgotten what happened with Piers.”

Kahu shook his head. Tall, tattooed, part Maori and muscled like a gladiator, he was nothing if not

eye catching. “How could I forget? But this situation is entirely different from you and Piers. You’re
not into mindfuckery, for a start.”

She’d casually mentioned Lucien and his interest in her, and Kahu had instantly leapt to his usual

conclusion: sex.

“He’s still younger than me. And I’m still his professor.”
“How old are we talking here?”
“Twenty-five.”
Kahu raised a brow. “So, older than the average student then.”
“Yes, but—”
“That’s hardly a baby, Ell.”
“Kahu—”
“Like half the faculty isn’t either screwing their students or each other. Just do it. Screw the rules

too.”

Again, typical Kahu. He’d never met a rule he didn’t like to break. But this was about more than

merely rule breaking. “I can’t. Look, even if I was tempted, and let’s be clear here, I’m not, sleeping
with a much younger student isn’t exactly the best way to ensure a long lasting academic career. And
despite all of that, how would that make me any better than Piers?”

“Well, Lucien’s not a naïve twenty-year-old woman and you’re not a manipulative forty-year-old

shithead. Also, he propositioned you, not the other way around.”

“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is? It’s not like you’re going to marry the guy, right?”
She let out a breath, annoyed. Kahu had a way of making the most problematic issue seem like not

that much of a big deal. “I’m not sleeping with him, Kahu. Anyway, the power dynamic is just so
wrong.”

He looked at her from underneath ridiculously long, thick lashes. “Which is what makes it so

delicious,” he purred.

“Oh stop it.”
“I’m serious. Forbidden sex is the best kind of sex there is.”
And he would know. He’d spent the better part of ten years sleeping with most of the female

population of Auckland, not to mention various other countries. And probably some of the male too,
though he’d never admitted to anything explicitly.

“It could lose me my job,” she pointed out.
“It could be worth it.”
“What? Five minutes of pleasure, compared to losing my livelihood?”
He frowned at her. “Five minutes? I’d be asking for my money back if all I got was five minutes.”
“The point, Kahu, is that—”
“The point, Eleanor,” he interrupted gently, “is that you haven’t seen a naked penis in nearly three

years.”

His words fell neatly into a small lull in the conversation of the room. She didn’t turn around in her

seat at the bar, but she knew every damn eye was on her.

She glared at Kahu, promising unspoken retribution. He gave her a wicked grin, not unlike the grin

that Luc had given her back in the lecture theatre, now that she thought about it.

Fucking playboys.
“Yes,” she said steadily, after she’d waited for the rest of the bar to recover from the shock of

hearing the word penis spoken in the middle of the day, along with their lunch, “and look how well
that turned out?” A nice man, like the nice man before him. Intellectuals with lots of respect for her
and her personal space. Polite, decent guys who had nevertheless left her feeling…as if something
was lacking.

What do you mean something? You know what.
Yeah, unfortunately she did. The fact that they were polite, decent guys, for a start. Because she’d

never wanted polite and decent. She wanted dominance. She wanted to be told what to do and when
to do it. To not think, only surrender.

It had been something that Piers had tapped into when she’d gotten involved with him and he’d

shown her how powerful submission could be. How much pleasure she could get from it. And in the
end, he’d shown her how badly it could go wrong.

She never wanted to go back to that again.
“I know,” Kahu said, his grin becoming more wicked. “They just didn’t measure up to me.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”
He didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. “No, spare me your honesty. And don’t tell me

that that put you off, otherwise I shall go into a decline.”

Unfortunately it kind of had. Not because Kahu had been a terrible lover but because she’d been

with him for the wrong reasons—to try and recover from Piers. And she’d been scared. Too scared to
ask for what she’d really wanted, and Kahu had been too worried about her to insist.

She shook her head, not wanting to hurt him, but knowing lying wouldn’t help either. “We talked

about it, remember? It wasn’t you.”

“It kind of was.”
“Yes, but not in a bad way. We were better friends, you know that.”
He frowned. “What do you mean ‘were’?”
She grinned at that. “Okay, are.”
“That’s better.” Kahu turned and looked out over the room, the décor wood paneled, with

bookshelves and club chairs, echoing the gentlemen’s club it had once been. His gaze settled on a
lovely blonde in one corner typing furiously into a mobile phone. “I still think you should fuck him.”

“Haven’t we been over this already?”
“What? You came here to tell me all about him and ask for my advice. What did you expect me to

say?”

Good point. Kahu was all about living in the moment, taking what you could from life before it

vanished, not being bound by the rules. Doing what you pleased. Of course he’d suggest the opposite
of what she knew she should do.

You wanted him to. That’s why you told him.
Eleanor shifted on her barstool. “I don’t know,” she said. “Something intelligent?”
“Fuck intelligent. You’ve been living like a nun for three years, Eleanor. What’s wrong with

wanting to break out?”

Eleanor picked up her wineglass and took a sip. The rosé was cool and delicious against her

tongue. “You should watch yourself,” she said, savoring the taste. “You’re starting to sound a little
too like my sassy, gay best friend.”

Kahu laughed, glancing at her, dark eyes alight. Good. Too often these days his eyes hadn’t had any

light in them at all. He smiled and laughed but sometimes there was nothing behind it. She’d tried to
talk to him about it on the odd occasion but he’d always changed the subject. Or turned it into a joke.
Midlife crisis. Existential angst. The sudden terrible need to go buy a Ferrari.

She didn’t press him. Mostly because some days she felt like that herself.
“I could be your sassy, gay best friend if you’d like me to.”
“It’s okay. I’ll settle for my sassy man-whore instead.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I think I prefer rake to man-whore.”
“Same difference.”
“No, it isn’t. A man-whore does it for money. A rake does it for pleasure.”
“That sounds like a tattoo in the making.”
He smiled. “Eleanor, my darling, you are deflecting.”
Crap. Old friends could be pains in the ass at times. She took another sip of her wine. “It’s not as

simple as ‘just fuck him’, Kahu, and you know it.”

“Bullshit. Of course it’s that simple. And it’s been eight years since Piers. So you either do

something about it or you don’t. All those other reasons are only excuses…” he shifted against the
bar, “…because you’re scared.”

Eleanor frowned. “I’m not—”
“If he wasn’t your student and younger than you, what would you do?”
She looked down at her wine. “I’d say no then too. It’s too fucking complicated.”
“Complicated is the last thing fucking is, darling. Complicated is what you tell yourself because

you don’t want to admit that you’re afraid.”

She rubbed her thumb over the base of her wineglass, uncomfortable all of a sudden.
No, Christ, she wasn’t scared nowadays. Okay, so she hadn’t been with anyone for a while—

maybe too long—but she was pretty okay with that. And hell, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t come across
any other handsome men in that time. Luc wasn’t different. It was only that maybe the way he looked
at her was. As if he’d seen the woman behind the professor, the woman she thought had died a long
time ago.

You like that.
No. She didn’t. Most definitely not.

“Afraid?” she said at last. “What would I be afraid of?”
Kahu lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m not your therapist. But fear is always the first thing that

makes people use excuses to hide behind.”

“I’m not scared.”
He looked at her, clearly skeptical. “Really?”
“Of course not. Refusing someone’s advances doesn’t mean I’m afraid.”
“You want him, though, don’t you?”
Her friend’s dark eyes were direct and for some reason she found herself looking away. “He’s…

attractive,” she allowed. “But I’m not going there.”

There was a small silence. Then Kahu said, “Not all men are like Piers, Ell. Remember that.”
A small bolt of irritation went through her. Of course she knew that, but it didn’t change the fact

that getting involved with someone again wasn’t what she wanted right now, if ever. Yes, it had been
a long time since Piers, but it had taken her years to get over the guilt and the anger after her divorce
had come through. The way he’d used her desires against her, dealing out physical abuse when she
didn’t understand that she could say no. Telling her they didn’t need safe words, not when they loved
each other. Using her trust against her. Until one night he’d shattered not only the trust she had in him,
but the trust she had in herself.

It had taken time to build that back up. To recover. And she wasn’t going to give that trust so easily

to anyone again.

Control, that’s what she had to maintain these days. That was so much easier. Safer. And it sure as

hell meant no one would ever hurt her again.

Eleanor let out a breath. “I do remember that. I’m only being cautious.”
“Why? What’s there to be cautious about? It’s only sex.”
But sex was never only sex. Not where she was concerned. If it had been, that night with Kahu

would have helped. Certainly it would have been a whole lot less awkward.

She took another sip of her rosé then put the glass down on the bar with a click. “Hey, what’s with

all this pressure? That wasn’t what I came here for.”

Kahu sighed, put a hand over hers where it sat on her wineglass. A reassurance. “I’m sorry, that

wasn’t my intention. I was only trying to get you to stop overanalyzing it. It’s not a legal problem you
have to solve, okay?”

“Overanalyzing? Me?”
He smiled. “If I thought about everything I did, the way you do, I’d never get anything fucking

done.” His hand dropped from hers as he pushed himself away from the bar. “And speaking of
fucking…” The smile lingered on his sensual mouth, his usual charming I’m irresistible and you
know it smile. It wasn’t directed at Eleanor but the blonde in the corner, who had put her phone down
and was now giving him the eye in return.

Eleanor shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“No, I’m honest about what I want.” He flashed her a glance. “And what I want is only happiness

for you, Ell. You know that.”

I guess we can’t all be honest about our feelings…
She tried to ignore the sound of Luc’s voice in her head. “I do.”
“Remember that caution…” he said the word like he was tasting it and not enjoying the taste, “…is

for children and old people. And you’re not either of those things. Ditch the caution for once, Eleanor.
Live a little. God knows you deserve it.” With that he stepped away from the bar and began to thread
his way through the tables toward the blonde in the corner.

She didn’t watch him go, frowning into her wine instead, his words slowly settling down over her

like a blanket weighted down with lead.

Live a little. As if she wasn’t living now.
Well, actually, you’re not, are you? All you ever do is go to work and come home. Go out to a

bar with Kahu and the others, and that’s only if you’re lucky.

The thoughts were insidious and did nothing for the discomfort sitting inside her. Yes, it was an

intellectual, narrow kind of life, but it satisfied her. She didn’t have either the time or the inclination
for more.

It’s been a while since you tried for more…
Laughter drifted across the room, Kahu’s, the woman’s. She couldn’t help herself; she turned to

look. The blonde was leaning toward Kahu, elbows on the table, an openly hungry expression on her
face. That woman didn’t seem to care about caution either. Or fear. No, she was just hungry.

Yes, well, for some people it was that simple. But she’d never been one of those people. Not since

Piers had taken her desire and twisted it, used it, manipulated it.

Burned all the passion right out of her.
Sick of her thoughts, she looked down at her phone sitting on the bar beside her glass. There were

already a few texts from colleagues, and a couple from a student, some meeting reminders.

God, she didn’t have time to sit around drinking by herself and thinking about Lucien North. What

she should be doing was finding him and telling him her honest feelings about him, which was to back
the hell off. Then she needed to get back to work and think about that instead.

Eleanor collected her phone and slipped off her barstool.
She didn’t bother with the rest of her wine.

Chapter Four

Luc lay on his back on the grass, the shadow of the pohutakawa a cool darkness over his face. He

kept his eyes closed, the sounds of the city a low hum in the background.

He liked this part of the university grounds. A peaceful, grassy space with lots of trees not far from

the law school. Everyone else was in classes so he had it to himself, especially nice since he’d come
here to think.

Or rather tell himself what a stupid fucking idiot he’d been the day before with Eleanor.
He’d spent the whole of the previous week making sure they crossed paths, not deliberately

stalking her, but whenever they were in the same area, he made sure she noticed him. And she had. It
had taken a couple of days but soon it had got to the point that whenever they were in the same space,
her gaze would automatically find his.

That had been so incredibly satisfying. Like he’d passed a difficult exam with flying colors or

something.

Then he’d missed her lecture—he’d had to have coffee with his grandmother and missing it would

have meant her worrying about him—and he hadn’t been able to resist the urge to go and apologize
for his absence personally. Then she’d said she hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t there and he’d…gotten
angry.

He’d had years of learning how to detach himself from his emotions, and in one second Eleanor

May had brought them all flooding back to the surface again. And dickhead that he was, he’d gone
ahead and said those words to her. I want to take you home and fuck you senseless.

Stupid motherfucking prick.
He’d said the words because he was angry and he wanted to shock her. Jolt her somehow. And

he’d seen the flash of heat in her eyes and known she’d liked it, no matter what she said. But the
satisfaction he’d gotten from that had then been ripped away by what had followed the heat.

Fear.
Oh, she’d tried to hide it from him, but he knew what fear looked like. Knew it like he knew the

tattoos that covered the backs of his hands. Fear was an old friend of his and had been for years until
he’d learned how to cut his emotions off. Then he’d started to recognize it in the eyes of other people
every time they saw him coming. Those who ran screaming from him and the members of his squad.
Some of his fellow soldiers had gotten off on the power of that fear, had loved how it gave them
respect.

But not him. He knew how it killed you inside. How it reduced you. He would never want to do

that consciously to anyone ever again.

Especially not her.
Christ, he shouldn’t have said those words. And yet…he couldn’t forget that heat in her eyes before

fear had drowned it. She’d liked hearing him say it.

Luc groaned softly, covering his eyes with his forearm. The woman’s contradictions were driving

him fucking insane. And the worst part was, every little piece of her he saw, he wanted more. He
wanted to know what made her afraid and why she kept the world at a distance. Who or what had hurt
her. And she had been hurt, because fear always followed pain.

Why do you want to know?
Good fucking question.
The sun crept over his legs, the heat seeping through the denim of his jeans. Ever since he’d

returned from Africa he’d felt like he could never get warm enough. As if parts of him were encased
in ice, frozen in shadow. Numb.

He’d thought it a blessing since numbness helped make it easier to fit back into society and try to

be a normal person with a normal life. But something about Eleanor touched those frozen parts of him,
thawing them slightly. Making him remember what it was like to be warm. What it was like to even
be fucking alive.

That’s why he wanted to know. That’s why she was important.
She made him realize that he wasn’t numb all the way through.
Luc stared into the darkness behind his closed lids. Shit, why did he even want that? It was

dangerous. There was a reason he kept all his emotions locked down. He’d had to detach from them
in order to survive Charles Inza’s army, and he’d done the same when he returned so he could survive
real life.

So he could be the average twenty-five-year-old Kiwi he was pretending to be and not the boy

who’d commanded one of the death squads. Who’d killed people.

Beneath the noise of the city traffic and the wind in the trees came another sound, a light footfall

coming closer.

A normal student wouldn’t have heard it, but of course he wasn’t a normal student. And he’d been

in situations where his life had depended on being able to hear the slightest of sounds.

Fuck. It had better not be Maddy. He didn’t think he could deal with another of her come-ons right

now.

The footsteps stopped near him, a familiar perfume threading through his senses, and he felt a

moment of dizzying relief. Because the perfume wasn’t Maddy’s usual grapefruit body wash but
something more sophisticated. Subtle. Complex.

Luc didn’t open his eyes. “Hello, Professor May.”
“How did you know it was me?” She sounded irritated.
Slowly, he removed his forearm and opened his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the sudden influx

of midday summer sun. Focusing on the woman standing beside him. And for a second she looked like
she was surrounded by a corona of light, blonde hair a halo around her head. Beautiful. Delicate. An
unearthly being.

Her cool gaze regarded him with a certain amount of dispassion and he felt warmth beginning to

uncoil inside him, wanting to see that heat again in her eyes. “How did I know it was you? Because of
your perfume. Chanel No. 5. Your favorite.”

“Really? And how do you know it’s my favorite?”
“Because you wear it every day.”
“Oh. How predictable of me.”
“I’m not complaining. It’s a very sensual scent.”
Her forehead creased, clearly not liking him pointing that out. But too bad. She knew how he felt

about her, no point in hiding it now. “I take it you didn’t come over here to finally admit your feelings
for me,” he said.

She snorted, holding her briefcase in front of her like a barrier between them. “Hardly.”
Of course he hadn’t expected her to, not even when he’d challenged her with it the day before. She

was a guarded woman and he suspected getting her to admit to anything would be difficult.

But shit, he’d spent all of the previous week making sure it was him she looked for whenever she

walked into a room. And he’d done it. And now he wanted more than merely a look.

He wanted to hear her say it.

Slowly he sat up. “Then what? Because if you want an apology, you’ll be waiting all day. I’m not

apologizing for the truth.”

“Yes, well, there are some situations where the truth is not required.”
“You’d rather I lied?”
“I’d rather you kept it to yourself.”
“You asked me for the truth, Professor. I gave it to you.”
Her mouth thinned. “Then you need to pull back on the truth, Mr. North. Because next time you’re

so frank with your views I’ll have no qualms about taking this to the dean.”

She was serious. He could see that. And if she’d shown him no signs of interest whatsoever, he

would have done what she asked. Because that was one of his rules: he never pushed himself where
he wasn’t wanted. He may be a killer but he wasn’t a rapist.

It was a small distinction, but vitally important. Especially since that rule had been the only thing

that separated himself from the other soldiers.

The only thing that kept him from being a monster.
Except Eleanor May hadn’t been entirely unaffected by him. He’d seen the flush in her cheeks when

he’d taken her hand. The flare in her gaze when their eyes had met. And despite the fear that had come
after it, that small flash of response when he’d told her exactly what he wanted to do to her.

Whether she liked it or not, she was interested.
Yet he could almost see the walls behind her eyes. The barbed wire and the broken glass set on the

top of those walls. Keep out. Go away. Trespassers will be shot.

He wanted to know why those walls were there, why she was hiding. And he’d be fucked if he let

those things scare him off.

“You know what I think? I think you’re afraid.” He put his arms around his bent knees. “The only

thing I can’t work out is whether it’s yourself you’re afraid of or me.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You’re really kind of an arrogant shit, aren’t you? Why on earth would you

think this has got anything to do with fear? Me going to the dean is a perfectly reasonable response to
being confronted the way you confronted me.”

There was no point in arguing with her. She was a lawyer, she probably had dozens of arguments

she’d trot out to deflect him. To protect herself.

If he wanted to get past those walls of hers, he was going to have to use a different method.
He didn’t look away, holding her gaze with his. “I would never hurt you, Eleanor. Understand that

right now.”

Her mouth opened then shut and she abruptly looked away.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He wanted to look at her because she was so fucking beautiful. Delicate

jawline. High cheekbones. The sun in her hair turning it into the spun gold from a fairy tale.

He wanted her, Christ, so much. Perhaps he hadn’t appreciated how badly until this very moment.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, continuing to look out over the rest of the grass.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
She let out a little impatient breath then tilted her head, looking down at him, her gaze sharp as a

blade. No fear this time. Only those walls. “I’ve seen your file,” she said conversationally. “King’s
boy, aren’t you? Head prefect. Top of the class. Rich family. Good-looking and, like I said, arrogant
as hell. You don’t give a shit about the rules because they don’t apply to people like you, right?” Her
tone was cool. “I don’t know you, Lucien, but I’ve seen many boys like you go through this law
school and in my experience you’re all exactly the same. You think you know everything. You think
you’re God. You think every boy wants to be you and every girl wants to be in your bed.” Her mouth

curved in a faint smile. “Well, honey, I hate to break it to you, but you don’t know everything and you
certainly don’t know me. So stop playing little-boy games and back the hell off.”

Fuck, she was strong. And so goddamn sure of herself. Pity she was wrong about him on just about

every count. Yes, he’d been to King’s College, one of Auckland’s most elite private schools. Had
been head prefect. And yes, his father’s family was rich. But that was it.

She only saw the mask he’d perfected over the years he’d been back in New Zealand so he could

fit in. Yet that wasn’t all he was.

Killer. Monster.
Luc forced away the cold voice in his head. Focused instead on the burst of adrenaline that had

flared through him at the challenge in her tone, like a spike of flame over frozen ground.

Little-boy games. Like fucking hell.
“Sit down, Professor May,” he said with quiet force.
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
“I said, sit down.”
She gave a dismissive kind of laugh. “Oh I don’t think so. This conversation is over. Now if you’ll

excuse me, I have a meeting to go to.”

No, she wasn’t going anywhere. He hadn’t finished.
Luc reached out and closed his fingers around her ankle before she could move. She was wearing

tights, even in the hot summer sun, and through the nylon he could feel the warmth of her skin and the
electricity that hummed between them. The electricity he’d felt the day he’d taken her hand and
introduced himself.

She stiffened, every line of her almost vibrating with tension. She didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed

on the path ahead.

Warm. Fuck, she was so warm. Vital. A shaft of dazzling sunlight in a dark, dank cave. The feel of

her seeped through his palm and moved up his arm. And he knew if he kept hold of her, it would
move farther still, going deeper inside him, lighting him up. Shining into the dark, cold heart of him.

What would it feel like to have her in his arms? To be inside her? Wrapped up in all that sunshine?

He’d had fantasies about her, so many fucking fantasies. Yet he suspected that the reality would be so
much more intense.

Oh God, he had to have this. He had to have her. Somehow, some way.
He moved this thumb, unable to resist, a single stroke near her anklebone, and he felt the tremble

that went through her in response. Faint, but there all the same. He looked up. Her face had set into
hard lines, her jaw tight.

“This conversation is not over,” he said quietly, letting steel thread through his words. The steel he

never used in this particular world because as he’d learned, this particular world couldn’t handle it.
“In fact, we haven’t even had a conversation. What we’ve had is you making assumptions about me.
Patronizing me. You tell me I don’t know you; well, you don’t know me either. You don’t have the
first fucking idea. So why don’t you sit down and let’s actually talk.”

Then, very deliberately, he let go of her ankle and sat back.
For a moment she didn’t move, staring down the path. Other people moved past them, a few in

groups talking amongst themselves, a few alone with their headphones in, listening to their music
players.

The sun was warm, the tension between them sharp and bright.
“If we talk,” she said in a voice almost devoid of expression, “will you leave me alone?”
Luc put his arms around his knees, lacing his fingers together. “No.”

“Then where’s my incentive?”
Shit, she wasn’t going to give an inch, was she? He shifted on the grass. “I respect you, Professor,

you have to understand that. And I respect the job that you do. So here’s your incentive. While we’re
in class, I’ll back the hell off. I’ll be a model student. You’ll have no cause for complaints at school, I
promise.”

Finally she glanced down at him. “If you really respected me, you’d never have approached me in

the first place.”

Fuck, if she thought that look was going to quell him like any other student, she had another think

coming. He’d faced down Charles Inza, the warlord who’d recruited him, with the barrel of a
Kalashnikov pointed straight at his head. The day his family had been killed and his childhood ripped
from him. He’d been twelve.

One cool, gray-eyed woman was nothing.
He met her, stare for stare. “Like I said, I’m not apologizing for being honest with you. Perhaps you

could respect me by giving me the same honesty.”

Her jaw hardened. “I did. Or are you one of those guys who thinks no really means yes?”
When he’d first been press-ganged into the army, there had been women. Refugees the soldiers had

found, any woman really, and they’d been fair game. Those women had said “no”, there was no “yes”
about it. They’d screamed the word. And the first time he’d seen what had happened to those women,
what the other soldiers had been capable of, he’d puked his guts out. They’d beaten him for that.
Beaten him within an inch of his life when he’d tried to stop it, when he’d refused to have any part in
it himself.

By that stage, Inza had grown to value his mind too much to outright kill him. But there were other

punishments. Other ways of teaching him that no was a word without meaning in the militia.

It had meaning now. It was sacred. And it was going to kill him to say it, but he had to. Because he

knew down deep in his bones that if he didn’t give this to her, didn’t mean it absolutely, he would
never pierce those walls of hers. Not to mention it would kill what was left of his soul.

He looked into her eyes, looked right into the heart of her. “Tell me no and I’ll leave you alone. I

will never speak to you, never look at you, never bother you again.”

That familiar burning intensity flamed in Luc’s eyes and she knew he meant exactly what he said.

Meant every word. And that it was important to him.

The way it had never been important to Piers.
No, God, she couldn’t think that. Luc couldn’t be different. Once she started thinking he was,

then…

He wasn’t touching her now but she could feel the imprint of his fingers around her ankle, feel the

shock of heat that had rushed through her. Proprietary. Dominant.

Sit down, Professor May.
Desire shifted inside her, tight and aching. It had been so long since a man had been able to touch

the part of her she’d kept so well protected. Yet with only a hand around her ankle and a note of steel
in his voice, Lucien North had shot a hole right through every single one of those protections.

I won’t hurt you…
She didn’t know how he’d managed to see her fear, especially when she hadn’t even acknowledged

it herself, but he had. And somehow, without her even having to reveal anything, he’d answered it.

“I don’t know what you hope to achieve,” she said at last, which didn’t sound at all like the no

she’d meant to say.

Something in his eyes flickered, but it wasn’t satisfaction, or at least she didn’t think it was.

“Perhaps all I want is a mutual understanding.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him there was no point, she already understood, yet she

stopped herself.

You’re making assumptions about me. Patronizing me…
She’d read his file and had met so many young men like him—rich, arrogant and entitled—that, yes,

she’d made those assumptions. And in all the years she’d been teaching, those assumptions had
inevitably proved correct every time. Of course that was her own arrogance talking, and, really, if she
wanted to be a proper lawyer about it, she should be giving him the opportunity to argue his case.

You should be telling him no. That’s what you should be doing.
One simple word and she would never have to deal with him again. So why hadn’t she said it?

Why hadn’t she turned on her heel and left?

Because you can still feel his hand around your ankle. And you like it.
Eleanor gritted her teeth. “Okay, fine.”
Sitting down in a pencil skirt was difficult but she managed, arranging herself fastidiously on the

grass. “All right,” she said, smoothing her skirt, looking him directly in the eye. “So talk.”

He sat there with his arms looped casually around his knees, long fingers interlaced, watching her.

“I want to know why you’re lying. I want to know why you’re afraid.” He paused and that hint of steel
entered his voice, the one that made her want to shiver. “And don’t bother denying it this time,
Professor. We both know I can see right through you.”

Goddamn him. That tone might work for her in the bedroom, but out of it, not so much. “Give me

one reason why I should tell you anything?”

“Because I’ve been honest about what I want.”
“And you want me.” It felt curiously freeing to say it out loud.
His gaze was full of sexual heat and something else she didn’t understand. “Yeah. I do.”
A flame licked up inside her. She tried to ignore it. “And what do you expect me to do with that,

Lucien? I mean, seriously. You think I’m going to risk my job for a bit of casual sex with a student?”

He lifted one lean, powerful shoulder. “What makes you think it would be casual?”
“Because a relationship is out of the question. Even if you weren’t a student and thirteen years

younger than me, I’m not looking for involvement with anyone.”

He studied her, the look on his face unreadable. “Why not?”
“That’s none of your damn business.”
“Fair enough.” Slowly Luc uncoiled, putting his arms behind him, leaning back on his hands,

stretching out his long, muscular body. The denim of his jeans pulled tight around his thighs, the fabric
of his T-shirt settling on the taut planes of his abdomen.

She shouldn’t watch him, shouldn’t notice those things, and yet she did. They made her mouth go

dry.

“I’m not looking for a relationship either,” he went on, the faint lilt of his accent making his deep

voice even sexier than it was already. Which was something else she shouldn’t be noticing. “But I
don’t think the sex between us would ever be casual.”

Eleanor ignored the heat building in her gut. “A moot point since it’s not going to happen,” she said

impatiently. “Look, there are plenty of other women you can have noncasual casual sex with. You
don’t need me. Or do you have a thing for older women?”

“I have a thing for you.” His expression was intent, fierce. “Every Thursday I sit in that fucking

lecture theatre listening to you talk. And at the end of every lecture I look down at my notes and
realize I haven’t written a single damn word. Because I can’t take my eyes off you. Because you make

me so goddamn hard.”

She couldn’t move. Her mouth so dry she couldn’t speak.
“And you know what?” Luc went on, his voice soft and dark and relentless. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick

of wanting you. I’m sick of you looking past me at the end of every lecture like I don’t exist. And most
of all, I’m sick of you denying what I know you feel too.”

The intensity in his eyes was too much and she had to look away, down at her hands folded in her

lap. If she held them up they’d be shaking, she was sure of it. “Why?” she asked, trying and failing to
keep her breathlessness out of her tone. “Why me?”

“Because you’re complicated,” he answered without hesitation. “Passionate. Because whenever

you give a lecture, you light up the room. You glow, Professor. You’re like the sun.” He paused and
when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “But I also think you’re afraid. And I want to take that fear
away from you because…I know what it’s like to live with fear.” There was a vulnerable note in
those words, a note that struck deep inside her.

She couldn’t look at him, her breath catching in her throat.
I know what it’s like to live with fear…
How did he know? And how could he see it in her?
I want to take it away from you.
Eleanor closed her eyes. Fuck, she couldn’t let him do this to her. Make her curious. Make her

want him to be different. She’d put him in the same box she put all the rest of the private-school-
educated, rich, entitled young men, and that’s where she wanted him to stay.

She opened her eyes, smoothing the gray fabric of her skirt reflexively. “Well, I’ve got to hand it to

you, honey,” she said. “That’s one hell of a line. Perhaps you should be doing an English degree
instead of law.”

“You don’t think I meant it?” Anger vibrated in his voice.
She swallowed, making herself glance back at him. “I think you’ll tell me whatever it is you think I

want to hear.”

Flames burned in his eyes, his long, sensual mouth in a hard line.
Oh yes. He was angry all right. She’d hit him somewhere vulnerable.
Are you surprised? After he laid himself out for you?
A creeping sense of shame gripped her, but she fought it back. She couldn’t be weak, not with him.

Because if she let him in, if she gave him the truth…

Luc moved, so quickly, so soundlessly she had no warning at all. One minute she was looking at the

fabric of her skirt, the next Luc was crouched in front her, his long, brown fingers gripping her chin
and forcing her gaze to his.

“Don’t you dare fucking dismiss me,” he said in a low, fierce voice. “You think I told you all of

that for fun?”

A bright shard of fear slid through her. Then she realized that though his grip didn’t hurt, it was

firm. That his fingers were warm. That his body was very, very close. That he smelled of musk and
dry earth, and she liked it.

She liked him holding her. Keeping her chin where it was so she couldn’t pull away.
So she couldn’t hide.
And he knew. That perceptive, dark gaze of his saw everything.
The anger slowly died out of his eyes, to be replaced by something hotter. Hungrier. His thumb

moved along her jaw in an experimental caress and she couldn’t stop the shiver that went through her.
Couldn’t hide it.

“You like this,” he said softly.
Oh fuck. What the hell was she doing? How had it gotten to this point? Had she been giving off

signals she hadn’t been aware of?

You pushed him. Are you sure you don’t know how?
Fear spread through her, reflexive and dark. A fear she thought she’d put behind her.
She tried to jerk her chin away from him but his fingers tightened, holding her steady. Her heartbeat

sped up, the sound of it thumping in her ears. “Let me go,” she said hoarsely.

“Do you want me to?”
No.
“Yes.”
Instantly she was free, Luc releasing her, the look in his eyes hot. The sun slid over his brown skin,

highlighting the exquisitely carved planes and angles of his face. High cheekbones, straight nose, hard
jaw. All of him beautiful.

Jesus, was she fucking insane? Getting herself into this again? Piers had taken her desires and

taught her the power of submission. Then he’d stolen that power and shattered it so completely she
could never trust anyone enough to surrender again.

Particularly some cocky, arrogant twenty-five-year-old who thought he knew her.
Eleanor ignored the heat inside her, the way her skin burned from his touch. Tried to steady her

voice. “That was a mistake, Mr. North.”

He was silent. Staring at her. He knew she was lying, but, shit, she didn’t care. This was a matter

of self-preservation and she’d worked too long, too hard and for too many years to put herself at risk
now.

“So I guess that’s a no,” he said after a long moment.
She opened her mouth and found she had to force it out. “It is.”
The fierce glitter died out of his eyes like a flame being extinguished, leaving nothing but

expressionless obsidian in its wake. He gave a short, decisive nod then in a fluid movement rose
suddenly to his feet. “I have to go. I have a class in five minutes.” He didn’t smile. “I’ll see you on
Thursday for legal history.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked off, over the grass to
the path that led down to the law school.

Eleanor kept her hands folded tight in her lap, watching him leave. He moved with purpose. With

grace. Walking away from her without looking back.

Well, that was that, wasn’t it? She’d done the right thing, absolutely the right thing. He was a

student and she was his professor and it couldn’t happen. Even if she’d wanted him. And she didn’t
want him.

I know what fear’s like…
Something twisted in her gut. Something painful.
No, she wasn’t disappointed. Not in the least.

Chapter Five

He was as good as his word.
A day later she walked into the lecture theatre, her gaze automatically going to the front row, only

to note his absence. It wasn’t until halfway through the lecture that she spotted him in the back with
some friends. He wasn’t looking at her, his head bent as he took notes. And after the lecture was over,
he walked out, talking and laughing with them, not even glancing in her direction.

He didn’t watch her in the student café either. By the middle of the following week, she realized

she hadn’t run into him in a hallway or the library, or in the open area in front of the law school
where people congregated.

His presence seemed to recede, like a shadow slowly fading as the sun rose.
She tried to tell herself she didn’t miss it. That this was what she wanted. But she kept looking,

hoping to see him, for reasons she couldn’t identify even to herself.

Sure you can’t. Your chin in his hand. Forcing you to look at him. No way to hide…
No, she couldn’t think of that. Because she knew where that led, she fucking knew. Piers had

showed her. Sometimes in the privacy of their own home and sometimes in the clubs he took her to.
Beating her until she bled. Allowing others to beat her. Use her. And she’d taken it because she’d
trusted him. Because she loved him.

So much for trust. So much for love. That was a path she’d never walk again, no matter how much

her body wanted it.

A week later, she met Kahu and their other friend, Victoria, up at the Auckland Club for their usual

Thursday drinks. The fourth member of their group, Connor, Victoria’s ex-husband, didn’t come
around much anymore, at least not since the two of them had separated.

Victoria had just had a small rant about one of the partners in the law firm where she worked when

Kahu abruptly turned to Eleanor and raised one eyebrow. “Speaking of partners, how’s yours?”

“What do you mean, how’s mine? I don’t have one.”
“Your prospective partner, I should say.”
Victoria, in the process of finishing the one glass of wine she only ever allowed herself, gave

Eleanor a surprised look. “Prospective partner? As in partner partner? Lover-type partner?”

Eleanor gave Kahu a filthy look. “There is no partner. Lover or legal.”
“So that guy you were angsting about last week…?” Kahu trailed off meaningfully.
Victoria frowned. “What guy? Ell, have you been holding out on me?”
“I was not angsting or holding out.”
“Hot guy in one of her classes,” Kahu said to Victoria, ignoring her. “I told her she should fuck

him.”

Victoria, long used to Kahu’s brutal form of honesty, shot Eleanor a sympathetic glance. “I take it

you didn’t take Casanova here’s advice?”

“No of course not. He’s a student. Practically a child.”
“Good plan,” Victoria said, pushing aside her glass. “You don’t want to touch that kind of thing

with a barge pole. Not after Piers.”

“Exactly. I told Kahu—”
“I only have your best interests at heart, Ell,” Kahu said, toying with his wineglass. “Anyway, are

you going to tell me what happened with him?”

Victoria’s dark eyes were now looking at her expectantly. Bugger it.

Eleanor shifted on her seat. She’d finished her wine and wanted another, then taxi it home, but

perhaps it wasn’t a good idea. She had a shitload of papers to mark and a lecture to prepare for
tomorrow. “Nothing happened with him.” She fiddled with the paper coaster her glass had been
sitting on. “I told him I wasn’t interested and he backed off.”

Kahu snorted. “Christ. How am I supposed to uphold my reputation of sexual fairy godmother if

you keep telling men to piss off?”

“I didn’t ask for you to be my sexual fairy godmother.”
“No, but, honey, you damn well need one.”
“Well, this is all very interesting,” Victoria interrupted, “but is there any more gossip or is that it?

I’ve got a presentation to give on Friday and a metric ton of reading to do before then.”

Eleanor glanced at her friend. Victoria was always working these days, putting in long hours at her

firm. Had done so ever since she and Connor separated six months earlier. It was a worry. As was
the way her tall, normally curvaceous figure had wasted away into a shadow of its former self. She
looked thin and spiky in her black suit, her caramel-colored skin, legacy of a Polynesian ancestor, had
a pasty tinge to it that didn’t look in any way healthy.

“Are you okay, Vic?” Eleanor asked, partly because she was worried and partly because she

wanted to deflect Kahu’s attention from the subject of Luc. “You’re looking pale.”

Victoria shrugged, picking up her handbag and briefcase. “I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll see you guys next

week, okay?”

“What about coffee this weekend?” Eleanor persisted. She hadn’t seen Victoria for a while, come

to think of it. And from the looks of her friend, a little heart-to-heart wouldn’t go amiss.

The other woman’s expression flickered. “Can’t, sorry. Working.”
It wouldn’t have surprised Eleanor if Victoria had been working, but that momentary flicker told

her that her friend wasn’t being entirely honest. For a second she wondered whether or not to press
her, then decided against it. Victoria could be damn stubborn when she wanted and if she was lying
about something, it was probably for good reasons. Didn’t mean Eleanor didn’t worry about her,
though.

“What’s going on there, do you think?” Kahu mused, watching Victoria’s tall, thin figure stalk

through the cluster of tables on the way out the door.

“Definite stuff, from the looks of things. Have you heard from Connor lately?”
“Yeah, saw him last week. He’s doing about as well as Vic is.”
“That’s not good.”
“Tell me about it.” He glanced toward her. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your young man

either.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Kahu. He’s not my young man.”
“Then why are you getting all irritated every time I mention him?”
“Perhaps because you keep mentioning him every five seconds?”
Slowly, Kahu sat back in his chair, crossing his muscular arms, his dark eyes piercing. “You regret

it, don’t you?”

Eleanor sighed and glanced down at the table, noticing she’d ripped the coaster up into a million

tiny bits. Jesus, what was wrong with her? She wasn’t that fidgety normally, was she? Brushing off
her fingers, she pushed the bits into a small pile in the center of the table. “No, of course not.”

“Ell,” Kahu said quietly, “it’s me.”
She didn’t look at him, staring at the ripped-up coaster. Maybe it wasn’t not seeing him that she

was regretting, but the way she’d handled it.

Sure, Luc had been inappropriate but he’d also been brutally honest about the fact that he wanted

her and she’d responded to that honesty by being a bitch to him. Hardly her finest moment. No wonder
he’d got angry—she’d hurt him.

“I wasn’t very nice to him,” she said finally, a prickle of shame crawling over her skin. “And I do

regret that.”

“Did he deserve it?”
I want to take that fear away…
“No. No, he didn’t.”
Kahu’s dark eyes were impenetrable. “Well then. Maybe you need to apologize.”
A part of her curled up in instinctive denial, though she didn’t want to examine her reasons too

closely. Because Kahu was right. She probably did owe Luc an apology.

The idea stayed with her the rest of the night and it was still there when she went into work on

Friday, papers marked and lecture prepared.

Once again, Luc wasn’t in the café when she bought her morning latte and it made the regret inside

her even worse. He was doing what he’d promised, even after she’d said those things to him. Even
though she’d hurt him.

God, she should never have thrown that honesty back in his face. Shouldn’t have let her anger and

—yes, go on, admit it—her fear get the better of her. She was normally so much better at handling
those situations, and she couldn’t think why she’d lost it with Luc.

Keep telling yourself you don’t know.
Eleanor ignored the snide voice as she walked down the corridor to her office. She wasn’t going to

think about the feel of his hand around her ankle. Or the way he’d taken her chin in his hand. Those
feelings weren’t ones she wanted anymore and she needed to stop thinking about them.

And then, ahead of her, near her office door, she saw Luc standing with his head slightly bent, deep

in conversation with James. Instantly her heartbeat accelerated, her palms sweaty.

Fuck, this teenage-girl bullshit was getting old.
Eleanor tightened her grip on her coffee, concentrating on the burn of the hot liquid through the cup

and not the tight ache that sat down low in her gut.

She could apologize to him now, couldn’t she? And hell, perhaps if she did, she’d stop all this

thinking-about-him nonsense. Kahu would be so proud.

You want to see him…
Telling her head to shut the hell up, Eleanor slowed down as she approached the two men, her gaze

riveted to the starkly beautiful lines of Luc’s face.

“Eleanor,” James greeted her, smiling. “Morning. Are we in the way?”
“Since my door is right there, yes.” She shifted her gaze to Luc’s, her pulse beating unnaturally fast.

“Good morning, Mr. North.”

The smile he gave her was completely impersonal. “Same to you, Professor May.”
No heat in his gaze now, none of that intense focus. His expression was neutral, as if she were a

stranger he’d only just met and not a woman he’d wanted.

He stood there, tall and lean in a plain, dark-red T-shirt and jeans, one hand casually gripping the

strap of his backpack. And she found her gaze drawn to that hand. To his long fingers and the strange
black tattoos covering the backs of them. The thick fabric cuff that circled his wrist. That was the
hand that had taken her chin, forcing her gaze to his.

God, he’d been so angry and she’d…melted.
There was a silence and she realized it was because of her. Because she was staring. At Lucien.

Fuck.

She took a silent breath and twisted her mouth into what she hoped was a cool smile. “I’m sorry,

gentlemen, but you’re still in my way.”

“And I have a lecture to give in five minutes.” James grinned at Luc. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

His attention switched to her. “Lunch?”

“Of course.”
“Great.” He glanced at his watch before striding off down the corridor toward the lecture theatres.
Luc adjusted his grip on his backpack, shifting on his feet, ready to leave too.
Now. She needed to speak now. “Can I have a word, Mr. North?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He didn’t look at her, glancing off down the hallway. “Besides, I

have a tutorial in ten minutes.”

“It won’t take long. I just need to…tell you something.” She didn’t want to do it out here, where

anyone might hear.

Finally his gaze met hers, his expression unreadable. “I told you I’d back off. I meant it.”
“Yes. I understand that but—”
“But what?”
Shit, he wasn’t going to make this easy for her, was he? “Can we do this in my office, please? I

don’t want to apologize in the hall.”

His gaze sharpened. “Apologize?”
Down one end of the corridor a couple of staff members were chatting as they walked, followed by

a small group of students.

Eleanor dug her office key out of her bag and moved to the door before she could second-guess

herself. “Come in here. It’s quieter.” And she pushed the door open for him.

Again a brief pause and that level, assessing gaze watching her. Then he moved past her into the

office without another word.

A certain amount of relief filtered through her, along with a healthy dose of some other emotion she

didn’t want to acknowledge. Something that felt horribly like excitement.

Ignoring that, she came into the office after him, deliberately leaving the door open, rounding her

desk and dumping her briefcase and handbag beside it. Then she placed her latte on the desktop.

Luc stared at her, the force of his gaze pinning her to the spot. “You said you wanted to apologize.

For what?”

Voices drifted down the hallway, getting louder as the two staff members she’d seen earlier passed

by the open doorway. That and the weight of his stare made her feel stupidly self-conscious.

With an effort, she forced herself to calm the hell down, letting her fingertips rest on the cool wood

of the desk. “For the way I spoke to you last week. When you…ah…told me how you felt and I said
—”

“That I should try English instead of law? That I was telling you what I thought you wanted to

hear?” His voice was cold.

He was still angry, then. Well, fair enough. “Yes,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”
He remained silent a couple of seconds, staring fiercely at her. “Damn straight you shouldn’t have

said them.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t handle it very well, I acknowledge that. I…don’t get very many students

coming to me with that level of honesty.”

“What? You’ve never had a man tell you he wants to fuck you?”
The words hit hard, like blows. The kind that used to give her pleasure before Piers changed

everything. And the thin thread of fear, the fear she’d convinced herself for years wasn’t real until Luc
appeared, pulled tight.

“Don’t,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “Don’t keep saying those things to me.”
Anger was sharp and hot in his eyes. “Why not? You like it, I know you do.”
“You think I won’t go to the dean?”
“You think you don’t want me to come over there, bend you over that desk, pull up your skirt and

fuck you so hard the whole law school will hear you scream when you come?”

A wave of heat gripped her, so strong she couldn’t move. She could feel it, the need rising up

inside her. The craving for those strong fingers on her, holding her down, ripping her clothes away,
pushing inside her, taking her hard, so she couldn’t think of fear or betrayal. Or anguish. So there was
only pleasure.

It’s been so long…
In the hallway there were more voices, the group of students passing by her office.
She had no idea what she’d do if they came in because the sexual tension in the room was so thick

it was almost visible.

But they didn’t come in, moving past the doorway, talking.
“Did you think this week was easy?” Luc went on, that fierce thread of anger running through his

voice. “Did you think I dismissed you like you were nothing?”

She was shaking and she couldn’t deny the fear now. It glowed inside her like a hot coal. “Of

course I did,” she said hoarsely, fighting the emotion, trying to hold it together. “You looked through
me as if I barely existed.”

“I told you I would. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Intensity burned in him, his anger filling

her small office like the heat from a roaring fire. “Tell me, what did I do, Eleanor? What line did I
cross?”

And she saw it then, behind the anger in his eyes. Pain. She had hurt him. Jesus.
She pressed her fingertips hard against her desktop, bracing herself on it. “What line?” she

repeated. “Do I really need to remind you that you’re a student and—”

“I don’t mean that line. I mean, when I touched you. Did I hurt you? What?” His expression

hardened. “Or is this some kind of test? You push me into the truth purely for the pleasure of telling
me to fuck off and seeing if I’m as good as my word.”

“No of course not,” she said sharply, unable to stop herself. Because she couldn’t let him believe

that. She didn’t manipulate people. It was too much like the games Piers had played with her. Such as
telling her about hard limits and asking her what hers were, only to break every one of them.

“Then why?” He took a step forward, closer toward the desk. “Why did you tell me no?”
He was so tall and broad, filling the room with his presence, with his anger and with that strange

kind of pain she didn’t understand. And some lost part of her wanted to go to him and kneel at his feet.
Calm whatever it was that was hurting him.

“Why?” Her voice sounded strange. “Because I…I want you. And I can’t, Lucien. I just can’t.”

He looked at her, standing straight and poised behind her desk. Today she wore a tailored silk

blouse in a soft blue, her light-gray skirt following her figure exactly, right down to the kick pleat near
her calf. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Simple, elegant.
Beautiful.

And he knew he should feel satisfied that finally she’d given him the truth. But he didn’t. He was

too fucking angry.

She would never know how difficult this week had been. How hard it was to pretend that nothing

had happened between them. That he hadn’t felt the soft, smooth skin of her jaw beneath his fingertips.
That he hadn’t seen her become motionless as he’d gripped her chin, seen the flare of desire in her
eyes, bright and unmistakable. He’d been afraid he’d gone too far and yet he’d been so fucking angry
at her assumptions he hadn’t been able to help himself.

He’d always told himself he wouldn’t cross that line again and hurt someone, impose his will on

them, yet the part of him that hadn’t left the army behind, that was used to being in charge, had taken
over.

And so it hadn’t come as any great surprise she’d told him no. He’d fucked it up. Lost his head and

forgotten what he should never forget—keep yourself detached.

That didn’t mean the anger went away, though. He’d done a lot of running that week and punching

the bag he’d strung up in his apartment. And he’d thought he had it handled.

Until she’d called him in here to fucking apologize. And not only that.
To finally give him the truth he’d been wanting a whole week now.
More anger flared, and along with it, frustration. “You’re telling me this now?” he demanded.

“After denying it?”

She was motionless, fingertips resting on the edge of the desk, her color high. “I shouldn’t have

said it at all.”

“So why did you?”
“Because you were honest with me and I feel…bad about what I said to you. I was only…trying to

protect myself.”

Of course she was. He’d seen that the moment he’d told her what he wanted from her and

recognized the fear in her eyes. A fear he didn’t want. A fear that shouldn’t be in the eyes of such a
strong, passionate woman.

Someone had put fear there. Which meant someone needed to take it away.
Him.
“Why?” he demanded, trying to detach himself from his anger and frustration. “What are you

protecting yourself from? Is wanting me so fucking bad?”

Her jaw went tight. “Of course it’s bad. It’s wrong on every level. Jesus, even having this

conversation puts my job at risk, not to mention your degree.”

Shit no. She wasn’t going to bring it back to that again. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Professor. It’s

not about the job. Or at least it’s more than that. You’re afraid of me and I want to know why.”

She straightened, folding her arms. “We’ve already had this conversation, Lucien.”
“Then give me a straight answer.”
Anger flashed in her gaze. “Why the hell should I? I’ve already given a piece of myself to you. Why

should I give you anything more?”

And just like that, his frustration overflowed. “You really want to know? How about because of

this.” He dropped his backpack on the floor with a thump, kicked the door of her office shut. Then he
came around the desk, intent, yet giving her a chance to move away if she wanted. A chance to say
something. A chance to stop him.

She didn’t do any of those things, standing completely still, her eyes widening as he came closer.

Reached for her. Curled his fingers around the back of her head, silky blonde hair against his skin.
Her pupils dilated, gray deepening into charcoal. She was wearing a light-pink gloss and he’d never
seen anything so delicious in all his life.

He didn’t hesitate, bending and covering that delectable mouth with his own.
The kiss was a hammer blow, exploding through every single one of his senses. She tasted of

coffee, the faint mint of toothpaste, and something hot and deeply sensual, like sun shining on bare
skin. His fingers twisted in her hair as he deepened the kiss, wanting more. Chasing that heat, only to
find something far more intense—her response. She opened her mouth beneath his and desire,
explosive and all-consuming, roared through his veins like a match to dry tinder.

He cradled her head in his hands, tilting it back, angling her so he could kiss her harder, taste

deeper. Stroking his tongue over hers, exploring further. Her hands came to rest against his chest,
palms pressing against him, but there was no force pushing him away, only her mouth as hungry as his.
Only that small-boned, elegant body of hers millimeters away, the faint, sensual scent of her driving
him crazy.

The taste of her was everything he’d been fantasizing about. Everything he’d been dreaming about.

Dimly, in some forgotten recess of his brain, he knew he was trying to prove something, but he
couldn’t remember what it was.

She made him forget every single fucking thing.
He put his hands on her hips, pushing her against the desk.
For the first time in years he felt warm and he wanted more, wanted her heat all over his skin.

Wanted to draw her around him like a blanket and bury himself inside. Let pleasure cancel out the
numbness that gripped the heart of him, melt the ice that surrounded his soul.

Her fingers stiffened on his chest, a subtle pressure. “No,” she gasped against his mouth. “Stop,

Lucien. Stop.”

Luc went still, dizzy with need, lust surging through his veins. He hadn’t felt this out of control, this

hungry before. Dangerous, so dangerous. There was a reason he had to detach himself, why he had to
stay numb. He needed it.

Eleanor’s hands pressed harder, the pressure not so subtle now, her voice thick with fear. “Stop!”
Fuck. He sucked in a breath, grappling with his self-control. Then he pushed himself away from

her.

Eleanor straightened, her face flushed, eyes dark. Her mouth looked swollen, full and red from the

kiss. She looked away, hiding her expression. With a precise motion she put her hands on the edge of
the desk, appearing casual, but he could see the slight tremor in her fingers. She was steadying
herself.

Jesus Christ. What the hell had he done? He’d heard the fear in her voice. He knew he’d frightened

her. And yet she’d responded too, her mouth opening under his. Kissing him back.

There were so many fucking contradictions to her. She was like a puzzle that kept getting more and

more complicated the further into solving it you got. And he wanted to solve it. He wanted to solve
her.

“I’m not sorry,” he said roughly, before she could say a word.
“I don’t want you to be sorry. It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy it.” Her throat moved. “Can you stand on

the other side of the desk, please?”

He didn’t move. “One night, Eleanor.” It was all he could think of to offer. The only thing she might

want.

She kept her gaze down on her desktop, unspeaking.
“One night. You and me. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Lucien, please. Stand on the other side of the desk. I can’t…think with you standing there.”
He didn’t know what instinct it was that made him move. Perhaps it was the instinct of the soldier,

the commander. The one that told him what his men needed in order to reassure them. He’d tried to
suppress that urge as much as he could since he’d escaped the army, because having the power of life

or death over people changed a man, and not for the good.

But he didn’t suppress it now. Something in her voice was desperate and he wanted to give her that

reassurance, so he went with it, raising his hand and gripping the back of her neck. Not hard, but so
she knew he was there.

She went utterly still, like a cat gripped by the scruff of its neck, all the tension in her shoulders

bleeding out. Almost as if she was relaxing into his hold.

He leaned forward, so his mouth was near the perfect shell of her ear. “Perhaps not thinking is

what you need, Professor.”

A shiver went through her, but she answered without hesitation, her voice a mere whisper of sound.

“Yes.” And there was no trace of fear in the word at all.

Her skin was silky beneath his fingers, wisps of golden hair brushing against his hand. And he

knew without a shadow of a doubt that this time if he pushed her down, with his hand on the back of
her neck, she’d let him. That she wouldn’t protest if he wanted to fuck her right here on her desk, the
way he’d told her he would.

But he wasn’t going to. Because now he had a new mission.
Someone, somewhere had betrayed her trust. And he was going to give it back to her.
“There’s a bar downtown, the Reading Room,” he said quietly. “I’ll be there tonight at eight. We’ll

talk. And afterwards you can go home by yourself if that’s your choice. But know this right now: I
want a night. And I’m not going to make it easy for you to walk away.”

He removed his hand, letting his fingers brush over her skin a little.
She didn’t move as he stepped away, standing there bracing herself on the desk, her head bent.

Neither did she speak.

But that was okay. He didn’t need a response.
She’d be there or she wouldn’t. The choice was up to her, always.

Chapter Six

Eleanor stared at the door to the bar. She’d been standing on the pavement outside for at least five

minutes already, palms sweaty, heartbeat out of control, unable to make herself go in and yet unable to
walk away.

She didn’t even know why she was here, considering she’d spent the whole day telling herself she

wouldn’t be.

You know why you’re here.
A kiss that had blown her mind. Then his hand on the back of her neck. A firm grip, strong and yet

gentle. That’s all it had taken for those long-buried instincts to kick in. Instincts that clearly weren’t
going to stay buried.

Yeah, she knew why she was here. The time for denying herself had passed. That kiss had made a

lie out of her every denial and if that hadn’t, the way he’d held her certainly had.

Maybe it was a bad decision, but she couldn’t go on the way she had been. Couldn’t bear the fear

that lurked in her gut. That had consumed her the moment she’d first spoken to Luc, if she were being
completely honest.

One night, he’d said. They’d talk and then it was up to her what she did.
Perhaps she owed it to herself to at least talk.
Perhaps it’s not thinking you need, Professor.
Ah Jesus, how he’d spotted that, she had no idea, but the moment he’d said it, she’d felt everything

in her want it. She missed that not-thinking space. Missed it desperately.

But in order to have it, she was going to have to trust and that was the thing she just didn’t know if

she could give.

Maybe that’s why she was here, ultimately. To find out if she could trust him.
Sick of second-guessing herself, Eleanor put her hand on the door and pushed it open, stepping into

the bar.

Friday night in the middle of the city and the place was crowded with a mix of people: suits

escaping their offices for end-of-the-week drinks, a group of media industry types who looked like
they’d been there since lunchtime, a crowd of art students hanging out around a large table.

The bar was done up to look like a library, shelves of old books against the walls and old

wingback armchairs everywhere. A few couches and low tables for larger groups too, even a few
desks with reading lights over them. It was eclectic and cool and exactly the kind of place she’d pick
Luc liking.

She gave the room a quick scan and when she didn’t immediately spot him, moved straight to the

bar, ordering herself a glass of wine because, Christ, she needed it.

It was only then that she saw a small alcove off to the side where there were more shelves of books

and, right at the back, a long couch. The space was small and intimate, set apart from the rest of the
bar. And it didn’t surprise her in the least to see Luc leaning back on that couch, long legs stretched
out in front of him, talking on his phone.

A helpless ache gathered low in her gut and she allowed herself a moment to look at him while his

attention was on his conversation and while she waited for the bartender to get her wine.

There was no denying the fact that he was beautiful, all lean strength and fierce masculinity. One

arm lay along the back of the couch, the tattoos winding up his smooth, dark skin displayed like
pictures in a gallery. Lines and dots, a sprinkling of stars, and a snarling tiger following the lean

strength of his forearm and curve of his biceps.

He was wearing what he’d had on earlier that day, dark jeans and a red T-shirt, nothing special,

and yet all she seemed to be aware of was the way the denim pulled tight around his thighs and how
the cotton of the T-shirt did nothing to disguise his broad chest.

She hadn’t felt the urge to admire a man in years and now she couldn’t help herself.
It’s a slippery slope.
Yeah, well, she’d already fallen down it, hadn’t she?
Cursing under her breath, she tore her gaze away, turning to pay for her wine as the bartender

pushed it over to her. Picking up the glass, she began threading her way through the tables toward the
alcove. Luc spotted her, dark eyes glittering, as she came closer. But he didn’t smile, the lines of his
beautiful face hard.

“You’ve displeased me, Eleanor. You need to be punished.”
Oh God, what the fuck was Piers doing in her head? She didn’t want him there, like she didn’t want

that old curl of lingering fear.

By the time she reached the couch, she’d managed to push Piers to the back of her mind and Luc

had finished up his conversation, leaning back and shifting in his seat as he slid his phone back into
the pocket of his jeans. She tried not to notice the way his hips moved as he did so, the cotton of his
T-shirt lifting enough to reveal a strip of smooth, brown skin.

Her fingertips itched, wanting to touch, but she looked away instead, holding tight to her wineglass

as she approached him. Pity there wasn’t another chair, only the other end of the couch.

“Well, this is very cozy,” she said dryly, putting her glass down on the table and sitting down,

trying to keep a good amount of space between them. “Are you sure you couldn’t have chosen a spot
more out of the way?”

“I wanted privacy.” He watched her intently, like a predator. Like a man who’d made a decision

and was going to go ahead with it, no matter the cost.

Eleanor couldn’t hold his gaze, looking away under the pretext of smoothing down her skirt then

reaching for her wine, swallowing a mouthful to steady herself. It felt like he was different than
before. Even more intent, if that was possible. Focused on her to a degree that unsettled her at the
same time as it…

Makes you wet?
She shivered, swallowing more wine, the alcohol sharp in her mouth. Trying to relax, she leaned

back against the couch, only to feel the brush of his fingertips between her shoulder blades. Goose
bumps rose, a prickle of heat sweeping through her.

“Lucien,” she said.
His black eyes met hers. “I told you I wouldn’t make it easy for you.”
“Talking first, you said. Or…” God, how she hated the small quaver in her voice, “…didn’t you

mean it?”

“I meant it. But my hand stays there.”
Another shiver went through her. She desperately wanted to hold his stare, challenge him, but every

instinct she possessed told her to look away. She fought it, keeping her gaze on his.

Somehow their dynamic had changed. Somehow he’d taken charge in a way he hadn’t before. And

she was responding to him the way she’d once responded to Piers…

“No,” Luc said softly, his hand suddenly pressing against her back, the warmth of his palm oddly

reassuring through the silk of her blouse. “You’re going into your head again, Eleanor. I can see it.
We’re only going to talk, that’s all we’re doing. Understand?”

Hating herself for her weakness, she gave in to her instinct and looked away again, taking another

mouthful of wine. “So,” she said, striving to keep her voice level, “you’re apparently not a spoiled
private-school brat after all, despite what your records say.”

“No, I’m not.” The hand at her back didn’t move, the warmth soaking into her. He moved his

thumb, stroking her spine and she found herself catching her breath. “I mean, I was born in New
Zealand, but my mother was from the Ivory Coast and I spent most of my childhood in Africa.”

Well, that explained his coloring and the faint French lilt of his accent. “Most of your childhood?”
“I came back here when I was seventeen.” There was the minutest of pauses. “After my parents

were killed in some political unrest.”

Eleanor put down her wine, forgetting her unease as something curled up inside her chest. “Oh hell,

I didn’t realize.”

“Of course you didn’t. It’s not like that’s on my academic record.” His voice betrayed nothing.

“Anyway, it’s been years. I came back here to live with my paternal grandparents. They’ve got money
and sent me to King’s to get a decent education.”

It wasn’t the whole story, she sensed that immediately. There was more there, but something told

her not to push. There was a darkness in his eyes, the kind of darkness she’d seen in the eyes of
people who’d experienced trauma or loss. The kind of darkness she’d seen once in Kahu’s eyes.

Even in your own.
She gave a minute shake of her head, not wanting that thought there either. “What was it like?” she

asked carefully. “In Africa?”

“It was different. Interesting. What about you? What’s your story?”
She let him have the abrupt change of subject. “My story? My parents were academics so I kind of

ended up doing the same. Let’s see… Got married too young. Got divorced. Ended up at the law
school.” She reached out for her wine again, avoiding the look in his eyes. That intensity of focus was
back.

“You’re divorced?”
“Like I said, married too young.”
“What happened?”
Helpless anger welled up inside her. She hadn’t pushed him, why did he feel the need to push her?

“Did I ask you what happened to your parents?”

The look on his face was impenetrable. “You want to get to know me, but I’m not allowed to ask

about you? That’s not going to work, Professor.”

“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It’s what you are.”
She tried to ease the tension gathering in her gut. “You keep saying it, though. You like the kink of

it? Is that what this is about?”

He moved, leaning forward, the hand at her back pressing firmly against her, igniting the heat in her

blood. “Stop attacking me, Eleanor.” His face was inches from hers, staring at her. “I know you’re
hurting, but I’m not the enemy here.”

She stared back, feeling raw and exposed all of a sudden. Tears pricked behind her lids, shocking

her. Christ, where the fuck was all this coming from? “I’m not attacking you,” she said, her voice
husky.

He shifted again, leaning forward even farther and reaching down, the warm slide of his finger

curling around her calf. “You are. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but you need to stop.
We’re only talking, okay?”

Her breath caught and a helpless shiver swept over her, every single nerve ending sensitized to his

touch. “I d-don’t want you to touch me,” she forced out, her mouth dry.

“Yes you do.” She couldn’t escape the way he looked at her, studying her like she was a riddle he

wanted to solve. “You’re desperate for me to touch you. But you’re afraid and I don’t know why.”

Look away, look away.
Hands trembling, Eleanor reached for her glass, drained it. “It’s no big deal,” she said, saying the

first thing that came into her head, anything so she didn’t have to admit what she knew was waiting for
her. That no matter what she said, no matter what she told herself, the fear that had dogged her after
she left Piers continued to do so. “I met my husband in the States, but we ended up living here. Our
marriage went…bad. He didn’t much like New Zealand and couldn’t settle. The divorce was painful
and messy and in the end…he went home.” It was the barest of bones, but that was all he was going to
get. She didn’t want to tell him anything more. Didn’t want to grant him any more power over her than
he already had.

God, perhaps coming here was a mistake. A giant fucking mistake.
“My parents were shot right in front of me,” Luc murmured, his thumb moving slowly over her skin.

“I was twelve. It made coming back to New Zealand very, very difficult. My grandparents tried hard.
They helped me settle in here, made sure I did a couple of years at the best private school and pulled
some strings to get me into the law school since I didn’t have the best grades initially.” The brush of
his thumb was steady, sending little tongues of flame licking over her skin. “But I don’t think this
place will ever feel like home to me. I don’t think anywhere ever will.”

Eleanor held herself motionless, slightly dizzy from the wine and the heat of his touch, struggling

with the fact that he’d given her a piece of himself. A dark, jagged piece.

His parents shot in front of him. A twelve-year-old boy. Fucking hell.
That must have been the trauma she’d spotted in his eyes. The sense that he was much older than his

twenty-five years. Because, God, watching your parents die would destroy the innocence of any kid.
Did you ever heal from something like that? Or did you carry it around with you forever?

Perhaps that explained his intensity, his determination. Perhaps he was searching for meaning.
“Why did you tell me that?” she asked hoarsely.
“Because you need something from me and I don’t know what it is. But I want to give it to you.” He

shifted on the couch again, his hand sliding up behind her knee, thumb continuing to stroke “I don’t
want you to be scared, Eleanor. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be afraid of
this… Because I think you want it as badly as I do.”

Yes she did. But it was difficult to contemplate that after what he’d revealed and with the fear that

was coursing through her. Where there was a voice in her head telling her she was making the same
mistake she’d made all those years ago. When she’d let Piers take control.

The way he’s still in control now…
She blinked and tore her gaze from Luc’s, staring down at her skirt, suddenly cold all over.
Was he? Was Piers really still in control of her? Even eight years after their marriage ended.
You know he is.
She closed her eyes, grief catching in her throat. The violence she’d experienced wasn’t

comparable with what had happened to Luc, and yet that determined look in his eyes showed he was
strong despite it.

Why couldn’t she be that way? What had happened to her strength?
She was supposed to be the professor, the one in charge, the one with authority. She’d thought she

was strong. But not compared to him she wasn’t.

“This is a mistake,” she said thickly. “I shouldn’t have agreed to meet you, Lucien. I’m sorry.”
His hand moved up her spine, to the back of her neck, gripping her. And she couldn’t help herself,

she froze.

“Look at me,” he said, steel in his voice.
She trembled, her eyes shut, not wanting him to see.
His fingers tightened on the back of her neck. “Look. At. Me. Eleanor.”
The command was irresistible. She opened her eyes, lifted her head and met his gaze.
He didn’t say anything, merely looked at her. And she felt like she could fall into the velvet

blackness of his eyes forever.

Luc reached for her, his hands gripping her waist, hauling her into his lap. The movement took her

utterly by surprise so she had no time to protest, no time to think. One moment she was getting ready
to leave, the next she was being held in his arms. He reached up to the back of her head, pulling out
the pins in her bun and scattering them everywhere, running his fingers through her hair so it fell down
her back and over her shoulders. Then he gripped it tight in his fists and held her steady.

And he kissed her. Hard.

For a moment she was absolutely rigid in his arms. Then her mouth opened beneath his and all that

heat and passion he’d tasted earlier that day came flooding out.

She kissed him like she was desperate. Like she was escaping from something.
Perhaps it had been wrong to take her like this, but he’d had enough. He could see her fear, could

sense it running through her like a current of icy water in a warm tropical sea. Maybe it had something
to do with that marriage she’d talked about, he didn’t know. But one thing he was sure of: it went
deeper than all the professor/student shit.

Earlier in the day, a kiss and a hand on the back of her neck had broken through that fear. So he’d

made the decision, even before she’d arrived at the bar, to take control again. She’d told him she
didn’t want to think. And shit, he could help her with that.

Dominance games weren’t something he’d indulged in with women, though he’d been asked. They

were reminders of what he’d seen in the militia, of how men in positions of power could abuse
people, women especially. His control and his detachment were all that had separated him from those
fucking animals and he had to keep hold of both.

Yet it seemed like she needed this from him. In which case, to hell with his own qualms. Maybe

tonight he’d let go of his rules so he could give her what she wanted.

Oh sure, it’s all about her.
Okay, so he couldn’t kid himself he didn’t want this too. Yeah, he’d give her what he could, but

he’d also make sure he got a little something for himself. Selfish maybe, but, Christ, he’d taken lives.
It would be so fucking good to deal out pleasure for a change.

Luc pulled her head back then gripped her chin, holding her as he deepened the kiss. She didn’t

resist, her body melting against his as if she’d been waiting for this moment for weeks. For years.
Centuries.

Then he let his hand drop to the thin silk of her blouse, cupping the curve of her breast in his palm.

She shuddered in response, jerking slightly as he swept his thumb over her nipple, feeling it harden
under his touch. He did it again and she made a soft, throaty sound that had his already hard cock
aching so he almost couldn’t bear it. The soft weight of her in his lap had him wanting to jerk her skirt
up even higher and pull aside her panties, sink himself into all of that softness, all of that heat.

The rest of the world began to fade away. He held the sun in his hands and she was burning, her

heat seeping through his clothes, into his skin. Into the cold recesses of his heart. The dark, numb

places the years with Inza’s militia had created.

For the first time since he’d gotten back to New Zealand, he felt like he was actually alive, not a

dead man walking.

“Tell me you want me,” he ordered softly. “Tell me you want me inside you, fucking you.”
Her hands were on his hips, gripping him as tightly as he was gripping her, the tremble of her body

slight but constant, like an earthquake was shaking her. “Yes…” her voice a whisper, “…I want you.”

He pinched her nipple through her blouse, the fingers of his other hand twisted in her pale hair.

“Say the rest.”

“I want you inside me…fucking me.”
The raw sound of the words hit him hard. How many times had he fantasized about her saying that

exact thing? In a voice just like that, all thick and breathy with desire. He dropped his hand from her
breast and pushed it beneath her skirt, fingers sliding along the silky skin of her thigh.

Jesus, what are you doing? You’re in a public place, for fuck’s sake.
The thought came dimly. But shit, he couldn’t stop now. Stopping now would give her room to start

thinking, start being afraid again. And he didn’t want her afraid. He wanted to take that fear away
from her entirely.

So he kept his hand moving, sliding around to stroke her inner thigh, and she took a ragged breath

as he stroked higher. To where she was hot and wet. Then higher again, feeling wet, silky fabric
against his fingertips.

Her eyes went wide. “Don’t…”
“Spread your thighs.”
“Luc…”
He removed his hand for a second and grabbed her wrists, forced them behind her, crossing them.

Then he gripped them in one hand, holding them in the small of her back while he slid his free hand
back underneath her skirt.

Her eyes went even wider and she trembled. But she didn’t pull away or protest.
Okay, good. This was working for her. Making sure she was looking at him, he let the hard edge of

authority bleed into his voice. “I didn’t ask you to think. I asked you to spread your thighs. So do it. I
want to watch you come.”

She sat motionless for a long moment. Then he felt the muscles in her thighs relax, opening wider.

He didn’t hesitate, keeping his gaze on hers as he pressed his thumb firmly to her clit. Her eyes
darkened, her mouth opening in a silent gasp.

He moved his thumb in slow, firm circles, feeling her hips start to move with him, rocking almost

imperceptibly against his hand. Watching the pleasure he was giving her unfurl over her face was the
most erotic thing he’d ever seen. The most powerful.

It made him want to push her higher.
“Keep still,” he said roughly. “I’ll tell you when I want you to move.”
She obeyed him without hesitation, fine tremors shaking her.
There was wet fabric against his fingertips so he pulled it aside, wanting nothing to come between

his skin and the slick heat of her. And when he touched her again she wasn’t just hot, she was molten.

Eleanor made a choked sound as he stroked her clit, pressing his fingers against the soft folds of

her pussy. Her head drooped as if she was trying to hide her expression, but he wasn’t having any of
that. He wanted to know what she was feeling, whether what he was doing was what she wanted.

“No,” he ordered. “Look at me.”
“I…can’t.” Her voice was ragged. “Please, L-Lucien.”

Again there was fear in her voice. He didn’t want it, wasn’t going to have it. She’d come with him

this far, she couldn’t back out now. She was stronger than this.

Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear while he kept stroking her clit over and over. “Are you a

coward, Professor?”

A shudder shook her. “N-no.”
“Then… Look. At. Me. I won’t ask again.”
Slowly, her head lifted, her darkened eyes meeting his. And as he watched, her fear slid away to be

replaced by determination. As if she were a soldier wanting to prove herself in front of a
commanding officer.

It sent a bolt of pure heat straight to his cock. Yeah, fuck, telling her what to do and restraining her

were clearly getting her off. And that made him hard. Made him want to take it further.

Dangerous, you prick.
Luc pushed the thought away. No, he could handle this. A bit of dominance wasn’t going to turn him

into a fucking rapist or a tyrant. Those kinds of men acted without control or thought, and only for
themselves. But he didn’t. He was in control here and he was doing this for her, not wholly for his
own pleasure, and that made it different.

Because all that mattered right in this moment was her. Was the look on her face. That strength.

That heat. No goddamn fear, only pleasure.

He looked into her eyes, silver gray darkening into the dense gray blue of thunderclouds, and he

moved his hand a touch, keeping his thumb gently pressed on her clit while he pushed a finger deep
into the tight heat of her pussy.

She panted, staring back at him. “Oh…Jesus Christ…”
“Now, Eleanor,” he ordered. “Show me how hard you can come for me.”
“Oh…God…” A low, ragged moan broke from her, desperate sounding, and her eyes darkened into

black. She stiffened and he felt her sex tighten around his finger as the climax hit her, pleasure igniting
in her face. And he pulled her mouth down on his, stifling her gasps, tasting sunlight on his tongue.

Eleanor hungrily kissed him back, shuddering. Then as she quieted she tore her mouth away and

bent, pressing her forehead into his chest, panting. He released her wrists and stroked her hair,
massaging her scalp gently with his thumb as he pulled the hand between her thighs away.

He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to lose any part of her warmth. Yet the longer they stayed here

with her sitting on his lap, the greater the risk of him taking her on the couch. And he wanted to.
Wanted to order her to lie back and spread her legs for him, uncaring of the people beyond the
alcove.

You liked it. Giving her orders. Telling her what to do.
Unease sat in his gut. It had been a long time since he’d been in command. But he hadn’t forgotten

what it felt like. Good. So very fucking good. It had made him feel in control of a situation where he
had none. As if he were actually doing something and not merely watching the horror unfold in front
of him.

But that life is over.
Of course it was. And telling beautiful Eleanor May what to do was not the same as commanding a

group of teenage boys waving Kalashnikovs.

Dismissing the feeling, Luc tugged on her hair and she lifted her face, her cheeks pink. She said

nothing, her expression unreadable.

“Are you okay?” he asked bluntly, checking to make sure. “Did I go too far? Do anything you didn’t

want?”

“No.” Her voice sounded rough. “And yes, I’m okay.”
He tightened his fingers in her hair. “One night. That’s what I want. But it’s your choice. If you

want to walk away, you’d better decide now.”

“I…” She took a breath, her gaze flickering.
Experimentally, he pulled at her hair. “Make a decision, Eleanor.”
She gasped, arching a little in his grip. “Yes. Yes God. Okay.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I…want one night.” The material of her blouse pulled tight as she inhaled, wariness creeping

back into her expression. “But one night only, Lucien. That’s all.”

Well, that was fine with him. He hadn’t thought beyond a night anyway. He only wanted her and,

hell, perhaps after one night this obsession with her might go away and he could go on with his
studies without it getting in the way.

“Okay then.” Gently, he released his hold on her hair. “So we need to talk ground rules.”
She blinked. “Ground rules?”
“I want to know what you like and what you don’t, Professor. Because, I have to tell you, at the

moment I’m flying blind and I don’t like it.”

“You did okay from my point of view.” She began to ease away from him.
Oh shit no, she wasn’t doing that again, putting distance between them. Locking herself up. Not

after what she’d given him.

He gripped her hips, holding her steady. “Don’t give me that crap,” he said in a hard voice. “I

know that for some reason you’re afraid, and I’m not pushing for a reason if you don’t want to tell me.
But you can’t expect me to make it good for you if you won’t tell me what you want.”

She was looking down again, not meeting his eyes. Hiding. “What you did before. That’s what I

want.”

“You liked me being control? Holding your hands?”
“Yes.”
“And you got off on what I said to you, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
“Give me the damn words, Eleanor.”
Her head finally came up sharply and he thought there was anger in her eyes. Anger that was

swiftly masked. “I got off on it, Lucien. Everything you did, I got off on. Is that what you want to hear?
Can we go now?”

He frowned, watching her face, trying to figure out what was going on with her. Where this anger

was coming from. “You’ve got a real problem with being honest with me, don’t you? Why? Does this
have something to do with your ex-husband?”

“No, it does not. I said a night, but that doesn’t include a discussion about my marriage. All you

need to know is that I liked what you did and we can do more of that, okay?”

She was protecting herself again. Fuck, it was frustrating. But that’s what people did when they’d

been hurt, wasn’t it? They protected themselves any way they could so they could never be hurt again.

Luc raised his hands, cupping her face between them, staring at her. “All I want is to give you

pleasure, Eleanor,” he said, talking to the fear she was trying so desperately to hide. “That’s it.
Understand?”

This time her gaze didn’t flicker. “I understand.”
It would have to do. He released her. “Then let’s go.”

Chapter Seven

Eleanor kept her mind carefully blank as she walked out of the bar, Luc following behind.
She was going to do this. She was going to go back to Luc’s apartment and spend the night with him

and it would be fine.

Piers did not have control of her life. Not anymore.
She would not be afraid. She flatly refused.
All she had to do was make sure Luc didn’t know how far she’d been willing to take her

submission to Piers. About the lifestyle she’d been engaged in with him. He could know that she liked
a bit of mild restraint and a few orders, so far, so vanilla. But it would be better for him not to know
any more than that.

And that’s not letting yourself be afraid?
Fuck, it wasn’t fear. It was good sense. She didn’t know him all that well and the last time she’d

been with Doms she didn’t know all that well, the consequences had been painful and devastating.
The guy had been a friend of Piers’s at the club he used to take her to, and even though she’d told her
husband she didn’t want to be with anyone she didn’t know, Piers had ignored her.

When they first met, Piers had been the one to show her what she’d been missing in the previous

relationships she’d had. The element she’d never been able to articulate to any of her early
boyfriends: the need to be dominated. The dominance in him had been what had drawn her to him, and
then he’d introduced her to the lifestyle, and a whole new, exciting world had opened up.

But then news of their affair got out and he lost his professorship at Berkeley. And he got selfish.

Bitter at what he saw as the failure of his life. At having to come to New Zealand and settle for a job
at a second-rate university down at the bottom of the world. At having his ambition thwarted because
he’d been stupid enough to have an affair with his student then marry her.

Soon he’d begun pushing her boundaries, not for her pleasure but to punish her, becoming not so

much her Dominant as her own personal tyrant. Hurting her over and over until he’d destroyed
everything she’d once taken pleasure in.

Someone had told her once that submission was a gift. Well, it wouldn’t be one she was going to

give to anyone anytime soon.

It was hot outside, the night humid and thick with the scent of the sea from the harbor not far away.

Luc took her hand without a word, walking purposefully down the street, and she had no choice but to
go with him. She wanted to pull her hand away in case anyone saw them, but his fingers were strong
around hers and part of her didn’t want to let go of that strength. As if by holding him, she could take
some of it for herself.

Luc didn’t say anything as they walked and neither did she. The tension was too much and she

didn’t know what to say anyway. Her heart was beating way too fast and she felt breathless. Nervous.

Scared…
Yeah, she was. But she wasn’t going to let that stop her, now that she knew where it was coming

from. She would overcome it.

“You’re thinking again,” he murmured. “I can see it on your face.”
“I’m not going to run away, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid. But you are.”
She swallowed, cursing his perceptiveness. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
He gave her a long look as his steps began to slow. “So far.” He stopped, glanced at the apartment

building they’d stopped outside of. “Here. This is my place.”

It was one of the new developments that had gone up around Auckland’s harbor in recent months.

An architecturally designed, streamlined white building with balconies facing the ocean. A place for
people with lots of money, definitely not a student.

“Here?” she said, looking up at the building.
“My grandparents bought it for me.” His fingers tightened. “Come on.”
She was conscious of her footsteps echoing through the beautifully tiled foyer as they made their

way to the elevators, especially in contrast to Luc, who made no sound as he moved beside her
despite the heavy boots he wore.

God, how did a man so tall make no sound? Was he superhuman or something?
There was no one else around and she became conscious of that too as they waited for the elevator

doors to open. Of the rising tension between them and his eyes on her. Watching. Hungry.

The elevator opened and Luc held the doors open, gesturing for her to step in. She did so, waiting

until he’d punched in the floor number. Then, as the doors closed, she turned to him. She could beat
this fear and she damn well would. And perhaps taking control of the situation herself for a change
would help.

Putting her hands on his chest, she pushed him lightly against the wall. He was lean and strong and

hard against her, his eyes like night staring into hers.

He didn’t speak, but his hands came to rest over hers.
Then suddenly her arms were being held at her sides and he was the one who was moving, backing

her across the elevator until she felt the rail on the opposite side press against her back.

She inhaled sharply, her heart racing, desire pooling hot in her veins.
The intensity in his eyes demanded her silence, his fingers around her wrists holding her fast. Very

deliberately he eased his body against hers so she could feel the heat of him against the entire length
of her body.

Her throat closed, desire crowding inside her. She wanted to tell him to let her go, leave her some

space to breathe. To move.

He looked down at her and she knew the expression in his eyes—a statement of intent. He wasn’t

going to let her take control.

“No,” he said softly, as if emphasizing that fact. “That’s not how it’s going to go, Eleanor. Because

we both know that’s not what you really want.”

“Lucien…” she whispered hoarsely.
But he didn’t let her finish, stopping the words with a kiss that took everything away. Her fears.

Her doubts. The past. The future. Everything. Leaving her nothing but what was happening now. His
mouth on hers. And the heat that flooded through her.

She could feel her body softening against him, becoming pliant, ready to let him do whatever he

wanted. Responding to him with all the hunger from the years of physical loneliness she’d forced
down inside her so successfully she thought she didn’t feel it anymore.

Before she was ready, though, he’d lifted his head and was turning away as the doors opened. And

sharp disappointment cut her because she didn’t want him to stop. To break the kiss and let her
thoughts come rushing back.

He didn’t let her go entirely, however, holding her hand as he led her down a short corridor with a

polished wooden floor. Then to a blank, white door. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked
the door, pushing it open. “After you.”

She heard the challenge in his voice, saw the dare in his eyes. And she was walking forwards into

the darkness of the apartment beyond before she’d had a chance to think properly. The door shut with
a heavy sound behind her and the light vanished.

And for a second she panicked. She was in an unknown place, with a man she didn’t know very

well, a man who was going to take control, and no one knew where she was.

Eleanor began to turn but there were firm hands on her hips, pushing her against the wall and

holding her there. He was at her back, his body hard and hot, pressing against her.

And strangely, wound through the fear that threatened to choke her was also a glittering, bright

thread of excitement. It was a potent combination.

She panted, her breaths coming in short gasps.
She couldn’t figure out if she was terrified or the most turned on she’d ever been.
“I know you’re afraid,” Luc said in her ear. “So I want you to listen to my voice. Don’t think. Don’t

speak. Don’t move. And don’t try to control this.”

“Why not?” she asked thickly.
“Because I want to set you free.”
She closed her eyes, shivering against the surge of longing that went through her. Because she

wasn’t free, was she? No matter how much she wanted to be. No matter how strongly she tried to
deny it.

Piers still had his hands around her neck and he was choking her.
“Free from what?” she managed.
“Fear.” His hands slid up her sides to her shoulders, his breath whispering across her nape as his

mouth brushed her skin, making the shivers worse. “But there’s nothing to be afraid of with me. Like I
told you, all of this is for you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, unexpected tears pushing against her closed lids. Jesus, she was

a mess. “I can’t—”

“Quiet.” His mouth then his teeth grazed the delicate tendons of her neck.
Little sparks of electricity flashed across her skin, the rest of what she’d been going to say dying in

her throat. But she didn’t want to say it anyway. What she wanted was to let go. Do exactly what he
said.

“Put your hands on the wall and keep them there,” he said.
Her body moved in obedience before she could rationalize it, but she didn’t fight. She wanted this.

She wanted Lucien. And she was sick of fighting it.

“Good,” Luc murmured, putting his hands over hers and holding them there. “Fuck, you smell

good.” His voice was rough and for some reason that made the unease inside her loosen and relax.

One powerful arm wound around her waist, bringing him hard against her. The wall was at her

front, Luc at her back, the heat of him like the desert sun at midday or a roaring furnace. Melting her
and her fears. Her doubts.

His hands began pulling up her skirt, palms sliding up her thighs, making her legs shake. “And you

feel good too. I know it’s a cliché but touching you makes me think of silk. All fine and smooth.” Her
skirt was now up around her waist, her legs bare. “I don’t think we need these now, do you?” His
fingers slid into her panties, pulling them aside. “I wanted to do this slow, but I can’t wait. I want to
push my cock into your tight little pussy, feel your heat.” Those clever, knowing fingers stroked her
sex, sliding into her. His voice a breath across the back of her neck. “I’m so cold and I need you to
warm me up.”

She couldn’t get a breath. Her legs were shaking. Dimly, a voice was telling her this was too much,

out of control, but she didn’t want to listen to that voice. Luc’s was closer, warmer. Rougher. And the

feel of his fingers on her, in her, made her want to scream.

“Can you feel what you do to me?” he whispered, his hips pushing against hers so she could feel

the length of his cock pressing against the curve of her butt. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Every time
you walked into a room, all I could think about was this. Your pussy all wet from my fingers. Ready
for my cock. Yeah, I think you want this as badly as I do.”

Desire pulsed inside her, hot, demanding. Building on the erotic sound of his voice and the words

he used, rough, basic language that spoke to her on a level she didn’t understand. At least her brain
didn’t. But her body understood perfectly, an orgasm gathering tightly inside her as he slid another
finger in deep.

She leaned her forehead against the wall, shaking. A part of her was trying to hold on, clinging to

her identity, trying not to lose herself in the storm of physical sensation that grew more and more
intense. A part of her that was terrified of what it would mean to let go. To throw herself off the cliff
and let sensation take her. Physical pleasure had blinded her in the past…

“Don’t think, Eleanor.” His voice was dark, the lilt of his accent more noticeable now. “I can

almost hear you thinking. Don’t.” The pressure of his thumb against her clit made her gasp aloud.
“Yes, that’s what I want. To hear you moan. To know that I’m doing this to you. Making you scream
with pleasure.”

She heard him shift behind her, his hands falling away, and couldn’t stop the soft sound of protest

that came from her.

“Stand still,” he said. “Don’t move. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Another shift and the sound of a zipper being lowered. The rustle of foil. The harsh sound of his

breathing. He pulled her panties down, pressing lightly against the back of her knees, urging her to
step out of them. Then he was back against her and this time she felt the length of his cock between
her thighs, pressing against the folds of her sex. Demanding entrance. Something inside her clenched
in fear and she must have made a sound because his mouth brushed her nape, then her ear. “It’s okay,”
he murmured. “I want you. Fuck, I want you so much.”

One arm slid around her waist again, holding her there. And then he was pushing into her, slow and

deep, and she was making sounds she didn’t recognize. She could feel him shake, his breathing
ragged. “Oh my God. You feel so good.” There was wonder in his voice this time. The sound of
revelation. “Holy Christ. I never thought… Jesus…you’re so hot. Tight.” His arm tightened. “I can’t
do this slow, so you’d better hold on, Professor. Hold the fuck on.”

He stilled, deep inside her, and she was shivering like he was, her forehead pressing against the

wall, her breathing as rough and as fast as his. His free hand pulled at her shirt, ripping it open,
jerking aside the cups of her bra to bare her. His palm was hot as he covered one breast, his thumb
pinching hard on her nipple.

She didn’t want to move because she could feel that cliff. She was right on the edge of it. And a

single shift would send her tumbling over.

Luc thrust, a high, hard movement. And a hoarse wail escaped her. He did it again and again,

pinching her nipple hard, stroking her stomach, his mouth against her neck. Whispering against her
skin. “Scream for me. Let me know how much you like me fucking you. How much you want my cock
in your pussy. How much you want me to make you come. Do it. Do it now.”

The combination of pleasure and pain was enough. There were lights behind her eyes, a storm in

her bloodstream. A hurricane. And from somewhere the words came tumbling out. “Yes… Now… I
want it… I want you to fuck me…”

“Who? Say my name.”

“L-Lucien.”
“No. You know what I want.”
“Luc…” His name a broken thread of sound. “Luc… Fuck me, Luc. Please…”
And he did. Until her arms were quivering, her legs trembling, the force of his thrusts pushing her

hard against that wall. And she was on the brink, so close. So damn close.

“Scream,” he whispered. “Scream for me.” His hand dropped, his finger sliding against her clit.
Eleanor screamed as the climax hit, a wild cry that echoed in the hallway, the hurricane exploding

through her.

As she launched herself off that cliff.
And flew.

She convulsed around him, squeezing down on his cock, the hoarse sound of her orgasm echoing in

the silence of the apartment. And he let go the leash he’d been holding so tightly on himself.

Luc gripped her hips, pinning her flat to the wall, thrusting hard and fast. His whole world had

narrowed to the tight, wet heat of her around him. The scent of musk and subtle, expensive perfume.
The softness of her hair as he turned his face into the side of her neck.

Jesus, he felt drunk and desperate with need, wanting her so badly it was a fucking miracle he’d

held his own climax off this long. He pressed his mouth against the sweetness of her skin and shut his
eyes as the orgasm barreled down on him like a freight train. Exploding through him, a molten furnace
of heat and pleasure, a fierce light shining in the dark. He reached for the feeling, held on to it as long
as he could because he knew how quickly those good sensations lasted—not damn long enough.

“Tu es mon soleil,” he whispered into her hair, holding on to her tightly and not really conscious

of what he was saying, the grip of pleasure making thinking slow and thick.

“What?” she murmured.
He realized he’d spoken in French.
Cold trickled through the heat. He never spoke that language anymore, deliberately leaving it

behind, along with the memories that came with it. Of his mother’s kiss and his father’s strong arms.
The family he’d had before the militia killed them. When he’d come back to New Zealand he’d put all
those memories away in a box he’d intended never to open, making sure both the boy he’d once been
and the boy he’d become in Inza’s army stayed hidden. He couldn’t do much about the color of his
skin, but he’d done his damnedest to lose his accent. These days he didn’t even think in French
anymore.

Until now.
Until Eleanor had unlocked it.
“Nothing,” he said, nuzzling the back of her neck then biting her gently. “Are you okay?”
She shivered in his arms. “Yes.”
“Good. Wait there for a second.” Reluctantly he withdrew from her, letting her go and moving

down the hallway to the small bathroom not far away. He got rid of the condom, took a couple of
seconds to get his breathing back under control then stepped back into the hall again.

She’d turned around and was in the process of pulling her skirt back down, panties clearly on

again, smoothing the fabric with trembling fingers. Like she was getting ready to go. Putting her armor
back in place.

No way. No fucking way. She’d screamed in his arms. She’d made him feel alive for the first time

in years and now she was looking to leave?

“What are you doing?” he demanded, striding forward. “You’re not going?”
Her chin came up, her back straight. Walls behind her eyes and barbed wire firmly in place.

“Lucien…” she began.

But he kept walking forward and didn’t stop, propelled by an anger he hadn’t realized had been

simmering quietly away inside him until now. He’d done everything he could think of to reassure her
and she still wasn’t going to give him a damn thing.

Hell no.
He kept going, backing her up until she bumped against the wall. “No,” he said flatly. “I want a

night and you’re going to give it to me.”

“I thought you said it was my choice?” She was still flushed, her gaze impenetrable.
“And I thought you weren’t a fucking coward.”
Anger flashed across her face. “I’m not.”
“Then why are you leaving?” He put his hands on the wall on either side of her head, leaning down

to look into her eyes. She looked away, but not before he saw a flash of answering heat in the gray
depths. “You like me doing this. You like me in control. You came so hard you screamed. So the only
reason I can think of for you leaving right now is because you’re still fucking scared.”

She turned her head. “I’m not—”
He took her chin in his hand, turning her head back, holding her pinned there with the force of his

gaze. “Give me the truth.”

“Or what?”
“Or I’ll punish you.” He didn’t want to think about how much that excited him. How it burned a

hole straight through his detachment. Oh Christ, this woman…

Perhaps you should let her go?
Yeah, he should. And if he had any fucking sense, he would. First his emotions starting to wake up

and then French coming back to him… It wasn’t good. But he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Punish me?” There was sarcasm in her tone and yet an undercurrent of something more. “Honey,

I’m sorry, but that might work on your little girls. It’s not going to—”

“I’m going to make you burn,” he went on softly, interrupting her. “I’m going to make you crave.

I’m going to make you beg. And then, Professor, when you’re desperate for me to own you
completely, I’m going to refuse. I’m going to walk away so you know exactly how it feels to
desperately want what you can’t have.”

Her throat moved. She opened her mouth but before she could speak, he placed his thumb over it,

silencing her. “You’re trying to protect yourself, I understand. But you don’t need to protect yourself
from me, Eleanor May.” Her lips were soft against his skin. So fucking soft. “And you don’t need to
pretend nothing’s wrong either. All I want is the truth. And I don’t know why you don’t want to give it
to me, but if you don’t, I’m going to get on my knees, shove up your skirt, rip off your panties and suck
on your clit until you’re screaming to come. Okay?”

Emotions moved over her face. Fear. Anticipation. Excitement. Her breath came faster.
He took his thumb away. “Now, tell me.”
“Why? Why the hell is it so important to you? It’s only a night, Lucien.”
She needed something more from him. He could hear it in the tremble of her voice. In which case,

if pushing her was what it took to break down her walls, then he’d push. “Because I know what it’s
like to be afraid, I know what it’s like to live with terror. And I don’t want that for you. I want to take
it away. But I can’t until you tell me what it is.”

Her gaze slid away and she was silent so long he thought he’d failed. But then she said, “I’ve…had

bad experiences in the past. With dominant men.”

He frowned, studying her. “What? Sexually?”

“Yes. I’m…well, I guess you could say I’m a submissive. At least I used to be.”
A few things clicked into place in his head. He’d never been into the BDSM lifestyle himself, but

he knew of it. And Eleanor… Christ. The way she wouldn’t look him in the eye. The way she went
quiet when he put his hand on the back of her neck. The way she shuddered when he held her crossed
wrists behind her back…

A silence fell, but he didn’t break it, watching her. Waiting.
Eventually, she said, “My Dom was…abusive. And it ruined the whole thing for me.”
“Abusive? How? What did he do?”
Her jaw had gone tight. “If you want specifics, you’re shit out of luck. I’m not talking about that

now. The only thing that matters is that I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. And that makes me afraid.”

Shit, he’d been right. Someone had hurt her. Anger clawed up inside him, an instinctive, protective

response. He forced it back down. “Okay, so I get the bit about you needing to trust me. But don’t you
think I need a few specifics? Because I want you to trust me, Eleanor. That’s what I’ve been trying to
get from you. And I don’t want to do anything you don’t like.”

“I told you, I’m not talking about it. You wanted to know why I’m afraid, so that’s why. We’re here

for a night, Luc. That’s all.”

He wanted to push, wanted to get to the bottom of all her puzzles. But then they weren’t here for

heart-to-heart chats, were they? And besides, if he demanded answers from her, she could very well
demand things from him in return, and there was no way in hell he was going to tell her about who
he’d been. A child soldier, recruited to kill. She didn’t need that kind of shit in her head.

So all he said was, “What do you want then? Me to keep taking control?”
Her throat moved, pale and elegant. “I…do…but…”
“It requires trust, right?”
She bit her lip. “Yes.”
And she didn’t trust him. Jesus Christ, he wanted to kill the prick who’d done this to her. He moved

his thumb along her jaw, stroking her, trying to give her reassurance. “I’ll make it good for you, I
promise.”

“People have said that to me before. And they hurt me.”
Watching her carefully, he took her wrists and lifted them above her head, pressing them to the

wall. She inhaled sharply, her body arching against his, the fabric of her blouse pulling tight across
her breasts, outlining the hard tips of her nipples. “But you like this, don’t you?” he murmured. “This
is what you want?”

A tremble swept through her. “I…”
“Some fears are reflexive,” he said, trying to remember what he’d been told by the people who’d

helped him after he escaped the militia. “Just because you feel it now, doesn’t mean there’s anything
to be afraid of.”

“I know that.”
“No, you don’t. You’re still responding to the reflex, Eleanor. See past it. There’s nothing here but

what you want. What you desire.” He transferred his grip on her wrists to one hand and with the other
gently circled his finger around one nipple, studying her reaction. “And you want this, I know you do.
So don’t let fear stop you from taking it.”

Her body shook, her eyes pinned to his as if she thought he could save her. “I don’t…I don’t know

how, Luc.”

He leaned in close so all she could see was him. “Sure you do, Professor. You met me tonight for a

reason and it wasn’t to talk. You met me because you know I can give you what you want. Because

you’re brave enough and strong enough to take it.” He pinched her nipple again, harder. “So take it.
And don’t let fear hold you back.”

“How do you know all this?” she panted. “How can you see it?”
He stopped what he was doing, met her gaze. “Because that’s what I’ve been doing for the past

eight years.”

Chapter Eight

He held her pinned against the wall, at his mercy, and yet for the first time since she’d met him, the

bitter edge of fear wasn’t there.

She knew that look in his black eyes. It was the same one she told herself she didn’t see in her own.

The look of someone who’d known trauma, known pain. Unsurprising, given his parents had been shot
in front him. And part of her wanted to know more.

But the heat of his body pressed to hers and the maddening fingers toying with her nipple made it

difficult to think. “Can you tell me about it?” She tried to make her voice sound level and probably
failed miserably.

His finger rose to her mouth, tracing the line of her lower lip, leaving trails of fire. “You don’t

want to talk about your shit, I don’t want to talk about mine. Fair enough?”

A small dart of something that felt like frustration pricked her. She ignored it. He was right. She

could hardly ask him to share his details when she wasn’t going to share hers.

“Okay,” she said, attempting to keep the reluctance from her voice.
“Good.” He eased his caressing finger between her lips, into her mouth, and she tasted him, all

salty and hot. “So what do you need from me? Is there something in particular you want? Somewhere
you want to go?”

Eleanor shuddered, memories of the club Piers had taken her to flashing in her head. Not good

memories. He’d told her to do whatever his friends asked her to do, not to shame him in front of them.
So when they’d told her they didn’t use safe words, she’d accepted it, too naïve to insist. It had hurt,
what they’d done to her. But the way Piers had watched and not intervened had hurt worst of all.

“No,” she said flatly. “Nowhere else. But I need to have a safe word and I need to know you’ll

stop when I say it.”

Luc took away his hand. “I’ll stop.” The piercing look in his eyes told her he meant every word. “If

you don’t want it, then I don’t want it.”

God, she wanted to believe him. Wanted to so much. “It’s…important. My Dom used to ignore me

when I said it and I…” She stopped, not wanting the memories in her head.

“I hear you, Eleanor,” Luc said softly. “You can trust me.”
“I need to know I can. I have to be able to, otherwise this won’t work. This won’t—”
“You can,” he interrupted with so much certainty she was halfway convinced already. “In fact, I

think you already do. You wouldn’t have let me give you two orgasms already if some part of you
didn’t trust me.”

Something tight inside her eased. He was right, wasn’t he? She’d been so focused on her fear she

hadn’t fully been aware that she would never have gone anywhere with him if she hadn’t trusted him
on some level.

I would never hurt you, he’d said that day on the grass, in the sun. Responding to the unspoken fear

that lurked inside her. And subconsciously she must have believed him, otherwise she wouldn’t be
standing here, would she?

But that was only your body. Your willing submission is another thing altogether.
It was. Completely. Yet she had to start somewhere, didn’t she? She wanted to be over this fear.

And she didn’t know quite why, but she wanted to prove herself to Luc. Prove she was strong, that
she wasn’t a coward. The way she had in the bar, spreading her thighs for him. Letting him touch her,
responding to the challenge he’d set her…

You trusted him then. You can trust him now. And you want this. You want this for yourself.
Yes. She did want it. She was sick of denying her sexuality, of fighting it. And now that Luc knew,

what was the point in pulling back?

“Okay,” she said, her voice firming. “My safe word is…truth.” Because that’s what she wanted

tonight. To be true to herself.

“I like that. It’s appropriate. So, anything else? I don’t have any…uh…equipment if that’s what you

want.”

Eleanor blinked. Equipment. Jesus, please don’t say she was going to have to explain everything to

him. Then again… For some reason, that made the tension loosen even further. “Do you actually know
anything about dominance and submission?”

Something in his eyes changed, the air around him charging with the intensity and focus he did so

well. That charisma and authority that made her want to get down on her knees in front of him.

“No.” His fingers tightened around her wrists and she was suddenly very conscious of the way he

was holding her. And how exciting it was. “But you’re a professor, aren’t you? I’m sure you can teach
me.” His mouth curved. “I’m a quick learner.”

Her mouth dried. Maybe it should have made her anxious that he didn’t know anything about it. But

it didn’t, perhaps because it made the power exchange more equal. And with Piers, the rules had
already been written. With Luc, she could make some new ones.

“Then you don’t need equipment,” she said shakily. “I like…restraint, so you can use any kind of

fabric for that.” She’d once quite liked blindfolds, until that night in the club with Piers’s friends.
Now, the thought of being blinded filled her with dread. Baby steps, right?

“Restraint, I can do.” Luc released her and stepped away, the smile slowly ebbing from his face.

Leaving that stern, hungry look in its place.

She shivered, helplessly.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
Eleanor did, her eyes closing as he gripped the back of her neck in that possessive, dominant hold.
“Come on. Down the hallway.” He exerted a bit of pressure, pushing her a little so that she turned

and began to move down the darkened corridor.

And with every step she took, that fear began to abate. There was something about his hand on the

back of her neck that called up old, forgotten feelings. Of safety. Of reassurance. Of belonging. Of
love.

See past the fear…
So she did. She tried to hold on to those old feelings. Tried to keep them close as they walked

down the hall to an open door and through it into a bare room with the curtains open, letting light from
the city outside in, glinting off the water of the harbor below.

The room was bare of anything except the bed and a couple of bookshelves. No pictures on the

walls. No art. And she stood there for a moment looking around, a strange sadness curling in her
heart. Because there was nothing personal in this room. Nothing comforting. Nothing beautiful. It felt
empty. Cold.

And then Luc’s fingers slid around her neck, the warmth of them undeniable, the pressure gentle.

She felt the heat of him at her back as his hand turned so his palm pressed to her throat. How did he
know she needed this touch? How did he understand?

She found herself relaxing back into him, all her muscles loose. Her body knew. Her body wanted

this. And so she let herself trust a little bit more.

Luc bent his head, his breath against her ear. “Take off your clothes.”

It wasn’t a request but an order, her hands moving to obey before she’d even had time to process it.

Taking off her blouse and bra, letting them fall. Her skirt, her panties. Stepping out of her shoes. Until
she was naked and shivering, staring out into the city beyond the glass.

“I’m going to tie your hands behind your back,” he said, a quiet statement of fact, not a question.

There was a small silence and she realized with a strange jolt that he was giving her room to say
something. Her safe word maybe?

An odd emotion locked in her throat. He really was doing this for her, wasn’t he? A realization

swept through her. That subconsciously she’d been expecting him to do this for himself, for his own
gratification, not hers. And even out in the hallway, when he’d whispered in her ear it was all for her,
she hadn’t believed him.

Well, maybe she needed to believe him now.
She didn’t say a word, merely put her hands behind her back in wordless acceptance of what he’d

requested. He moved quietly and she wasn’t quite sure what he was doing until she felt him wrap
something warm and soft around her wrists.

“My T-shirt,” he murmured. “In case you were wondering.”
Again she found herself shocked that he was telling her what he was doing. Answering the

unspoken need she hadn’t even been aware of herself.

“I wasn’t,” she replied, not sure why she was denying it.
“Yes, you were.” He moved again, coming to stand in front of her. The light of the city was behind

him; she couldn’t see much of his expression in the darkness of the room, only that he was looking at
her. Studying her.

She looked down instinctively.
“I want to blindfold you,” he said. And began reaching for her blouse that lay on the floor.
“Truth.” The word was out before she’d had time to consider it. Instinctive and absolute, as fear bit

deep.

He stilled, leaving the blouse on the floor, and slowly straightened. She could feel his gaze

roaming over her, looking at her. But it didn’t feel threatening the way Piers’s sometimes had, as
though he was looking for weaknesses to exploit. This felt as if he was studying her reactions for
clues on how to proceed.

“No blindfold then.” The words were absolute. “This way I’ll get to look into your eyes when you

come.”

Relief flooded through her, so intense she couldn’t speak for a moment. He was making this okay.

He really was. Perhaps she could trust him with this after all.

His fingers caught her beneath the chin, tilting her head back so she met his gaze again. “I need this

to be what you want, understand?”

She gave a jerky nod. She liked that rule. She wanted to keep it.
“Good.” He stepped close, curling his arm around her waist, pulling her hard against his body.

Running one hand down her front, a long caress that traced the curve of her breast before dropping to
her hip, her stomach, he kept his gaze on hers the whole time. “Have you fantasized about me,
Professor? In your office? Alone in your bed?”

His touch made her ache, made her shiver. She couldn’t move and the soft fabric around her wrists

gave her the most delicious feeling of helplessness. Oh fuck, she’d missed this. Missed this so much.
“No,” she said, because she wanted more and to teach him to push her a little bit.

He seemed to get the message. “No?” His hand settled on her butt, squeezing hard. She gasped,

arching away from him, and he took the opportunity to shift his leg so one muscular thigh pressed

between her legs. “I think you’re a liar, Professor. I think you’ve fantasized about me quite a bit. Tell
me now, otherwise you don’t get to come.”

Jesus, he was right about being a fast learner. Already she was wet, responding to the command in

his voice like she’d been doing so all her life. “Okay, so yes,” she said breathlessly, “I have.”

He squeezed her butt again, fingers digging into her flesh, not too hard, but enough to give her a

slight edge of pain. Somewhere a memory lurked, threatening to drag her down, but she pushed it
away, concentrating on what was happening now. And perhaps he could sense it because he shifted
his thigh again, pressing tantalizingly against her clit, sending little shock waves through her. “Tell
me,” he murmured, bending his head. “Tell me your dirty fantasies, Professor. Right now or you can’t
have my cock. And I know how badly you want it.”

She took a shuddering breath, responding to the command in his tone. “I…I fantasized once about

giving you a blowjob. In my office.”

“A blowjob? How refined. Tell it like it is, Eleanor. The dirty words, I want to hear you say

them.”

The way his thigh was pressing against her let her know exactly what those words would do to him

too. He was already hard. And when she looked into his face, she could see the hunger in his eyes. He
liked it too. Which was important because as much as she liked this, she wanted him to get off on it as
well.

“I wanted to suck you,” she whispered, shuddering as he pressed his thigh harder against her. “I

wanted to get down on my knees in my office and suck your cock.”

The lines of his face became drawn and tight. He stepped back, one hand gripping her restrained

wrists so she didn’t fall. “On your knees then,” he ordered. “And suck it like a good girl.”

Her knees gave out as he lowered her down onto the wooden floor. It hurt but she didn’t care. She

was ready for this. She wanted to give him back what he was giving her: pleasure. Confidence,
forgotten and long buried, surged inside her.

She knelt, waiting while he undid his jeans, and though she badly wanted to look at him, she didn’t.

Keeping her head bent, waiting for his permission.

And yet again, he was paying attention because he said, “You’ll get to look all you want later. For

now, open your mouth and suck me.”

So she did, opening her mouth as he freed himself, letting him guide the head of his cock past her

lips, taking him in. She shuddered, the salty, musky taste of him hitting the back of her tongue, feeling
his fingers tangled deep in her hair. God, he was so hot. And hard.

She began to suck, moving her head, running her tongue along the length of his cock, his fingers a

firm, guiding pressure. His hips moved in a gentle rhythm, his voice whispering things she didn’t
understand.

She closed her eyes, beginning to lose herself in what she was doing. In his taste. In the sounds he

made. In the feel of his cock in her mouth.

And then, abruptly his fingers were tight in her hair, pulling her away. “Non, ah non… Jesus, not

yet…”

She took a shuddering breath, taut with disappointment. “I’m sorry. Did I…do something wrong?”
“No.” The word was ragged, hoarse, the look on his face tense. “I just have to fuck you right now.

So get on that bed and spread your legs for me.”

He was so close. So fucking close. He’d almost left it too late.
Everything about this, about her, made him hard in a way he hadn’t experienced before. Something

about the way she allowed herself to be bound. The way she let him pull her hair and put his cock in

her mouth. How she knelt at his feet, waiting.

This soft, beautiful, sophisticated, intelligent woman, ready to do whatever he wanted.
His.
He couldn’t believe what a fucking gift he’d been given. He was a killer. And no, she didn’t know

that, but still. Slowly and by increments she was giving him her trust and…it touched that numbness in
him. The ice. Melted it a little bit more. Made him feel, Christ, so much.

It made him want to give her everything she’d been missing. Made him want to heal that broken

part of her. Give her all the pleasure she deserved.

And he would, he fucking would. If it was the last thing he did, he would help her overcome

whatever trauma she’d experienced as a submissive. Make it good for her again.

She wasn’t going to be able to get up by herself with her wrists bound, so he bent and gripped her

hips, pulling her to her feet. Then he untied her wrists, dropping the T-shirt to the floor, and walked
her over to the bed. “Lie down. Hold on to the headboard with your hands and don’t let go until I
say.”

He didn’t really know what the fuck he was doing, responding only to his own instinct and guided

by her reactions, but he must have been doing okay because she did exactly what he told her. And
when he pushed her legs apart and put his hand between them, she was wet. She shivered as he
stroked her, sliding a finger inside and feeling the molten heat of her.

She moaned softly, her hips lifting in response.
But he pulled back, teasing her. Tantalizing her. He wanted to take this slow because out in the

hallway it hadn’t been. And she deserved slow. She deserved intense.

He straightened, looking down at her, at the picture she made in his bed, the lights of the city

shining over her. Pale skin. White sheets. A beam of sunlight on shadowed ground.

“Fuck…you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, caught for a moment by the vision she presented.
She shifted again, twisting, her chest rising and falling fast, her small pink nipples hard. Ready for

him.

Luc pulled off his clothes as quickly as he could. Then, naked, he moved onto the bed, easing

between her thighs, finally allowing himself the heady luxury of her bare skin against his. She gave
another moan, shifting restlessly as she tried to get closer to him.

He leaned down, nuzzling her throat then licking her, tasting the salt of her skin.
“Luc…” His name was a soft sigh.
It was good she was gripping the headboard tightly. Good she couldn’t touch him. He was so close

he’d go off like a fucking firework.

Reaching over to the nightstand, he pulled open a drawer and found the stash of condoms he kept

there. He took one out and protected himself then leaned forward over her, shifting his weight onto
one hand, placing the other on her throat, feeling her pulse against his palm. Alive, warm. Vital.

Everything he wasn’t.
But that was okay. Tonight in helping her reclaim what she’d lost, perhaps she’d help him reclaim

a piece of himself too.

He slid one hand beneath her thigh and, lifting it up and around his hip, he pressed his cock against

the slick heat of her pussy. But he didn’t push as he looked down into her eyes.

She was panting, shaking beneath him. And he was so hard it hurt. Yet he wanted to hold on to this

moment, not let it go just yet. Her gaze was fixed on his, and he felt like this was the center of the
universe.

“Luc,” she whispered raggedly. “Please… Oh please… I want you…”

“Watch me.” He began to push into her slowly. “Don’t take your eyes off me.”
And she didn’t, her whole body trembling as he eased into her, slick and tight. She groaned softly,

her eyes widening, pleasure flooding her face as he felt her climax almost immediately around his
cock. It almost set him off too, but he held on because this was so not over. “Good girl,” he
whispered, hauling her leg higher. “You come so beautifully.” He pushed in deep then withdrew, then
another thrust, setting up a slow, intense rhythm.

She whimpered as he moved, twisting on the bed. But she didn’t look away, her gaze fixed to his.
“I like that.” He thrust harder, faster, watching her. “I like your obedience, Eleanor. I think I like it

even more than the feeling of you coming around my cock.”

She groaned. “S-stop talking. You’re killing me.”
He paused, deep inside her, responding instinctively. “Who’s giving the orders here?” Perhaps she

needed a reminder.

“Y-you.”
“And who’s the one in charge?”
She took a shaky breath. “You are.”
“Yeah, I am.” He pulled his hips back then thrust in again, tearing a sob from her. “Don’t push me,

Professor. Though, if you want me to punish you, I will.”

Something lit in her gaze before it was quickly smothered. Yet he saw it, oh yes, he saw it. She

wanted more. But now wasn’t the time. If she was hiding it, then she wasn’t ready and he wasn’t
going to push her too hard yet.

You only have a night.
Luc shook the thought away. He wasn’t going to think about that now. Not when she was here in his

bed. Not when he was in the middle of losing his fucking mind.

He thrust harder, the pleasure becoming vicious. Twisting him around, turning him inside out. He

could feel her pulse become frantic beneath his palm as he moved, matching the beat of his own heart,
the sound thundering in his head.

In the end he was the one who looked away, because he didn’t want her to see him lose it, burying

his face against her neck and listening to her scream as she came again. Then he let himself go, the
climax shattering the darkness, a burst of bright light in his head.

The silence afterwards seemed deafening and he lay there for long minutes, unable to move or

speak, like he’d been broken apart and had to painstakingly rebuild himself.

After a moment, he pulled away, moving wordlessly from her and getting off the bed, heading for

the en-suite bathroom. Jesus, if he had to get away from her every time he screwed her, just to get
himself back in hand, it was a good thing this was only going to be one night.

When he came back out again, she’d turned over on her side, facing him, her eyes closed, blonde

hair spread all out on his pillows.

Yours…
His heart ached suddenly. Only one fucking night…
Ignoring the weird sense of dread that pulled at him, Luc crossed back to the bed. She began to turn

over as he positioned himself behind her, but he put a hand on her back, stopping her. “No,” he said.
“Stay like that.”

“I take it sleep is out of the question?” Her voice sounded raw.
Luc ran his hands down the exquisite arch of her spine and the soft, rounded curves of her ass. No,

there would be no bloody sleeping tonight. Tonight she was his and he’d meant what he said. He
wasn’t going to waste one fucking minute of it, not when he still had a few things to learn.

“Sleep?” Gently he gathered the silken strands of her hair in his fist, tugging her head back. Then he

leaned forward. “What’s that?”

And bit her shoulder.

Chapter Nine

“You’re early this morning.”
Eleanor glanced up from the report she was writing for the dean. James was standing in the

doorway of her office, leaning against the frame.

She gave him a smile. “Yeah. I’ve got a busy day today.”
“I’m doing a coffee run. Want one?”
“Sure.” And then a thought struck her. “Wait. I’ll go get it if you want.”
“Okay. Cappuccino, two sugars.”
Eleanor reached into her bag for her purse then got out of her chair, coming around the desk to the

doorway. And realized he was watching her, frowning. She stopped and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I don’t know. You look…good. Happy. Something nice happen over the weekend?” His gaze

dropped to the side of her neck and she knew what he was looking at. The bruise Luc had left there
from Friday night.

“Yes,” she said. “It did.” Though nice seemed too empty a word to use for what had happened

between her and Luc. “So cappuccino?” She lifted a brow.

James nodded and mercifully didn’t ask any questions, which was good, because she didn’t want to

answer them.

Friday night hadn’t been nice. It had been a key in a lock. The opening of a cage she’d been trapped

in, allowing her to step outside for the first time in years. And she was still feeling the effects of that,
even two days later.

She went off down the corridor in the direction of the café, humming a tune in her head, satisfaction

seeping down into her bones.

Of course she had an ulterior motive for the coffee buying. She was hoping she might run into Luc.

Probably a stupid move since they’d both agreed to only one night and that couldn’t change. But that
didn’t stop the tight coil of anticipation from settling in her stomach as she emerged from the hallway
and into the law school foyer where the café was situated.

She’d left him early Saturday morning, before he was awake. Dressing quickly and letting herself

out of the apartment. She’d felt shitty for leaving without even a goodbye or a thank-you for what he’d
given her, but she knew if she stayed she’d probably end up in his bed the rest of the damn day.

And that couldn’t happen. They’d said one night and that’s all it could be. Better to leave while she

could.

But she thought about it all weekend. And felt crappy enough about leaving that she almost sent him

a text apologizing. But then he didn’t call or text her either, so maybe he felt the same. Maybe it was
over and done with for him too. Out of sight, out of mind, et cetera.

The thought was way more disappointing than it should have been.
Eleanor idly scanned the crowd of students outside the café doors. If she saw him she’d apologize

for her walkout. And yeah, thank him for giving her back a little piece of herself. Maybe buy him a
coffee or something.

He’d probably never know what he’d done for her, how big a step it had been for her to even

allow him to tie her wrists. To give him a safe word and trust him to respect it. And how important it
had been to be able to let herself enjoy her own sexuality for a change, instead of being afraid of it.

Yeah, it had been pretty vanilla compared to some of the things she’d done with Piers, and yet it

had satisfied something deep inside her that had been hungry for a long time.

He deserves more than a coffee, you idiot.
And that was a pity. Because coffee was all she could offer him.
The woman behind the counter pushed the latte she’d ordered and James’s cappuccino toward her,

but some sixth sense had her turning around.

Familiar black eyes met hers, an intense electric thrill going straight through her.
Luc.
For a second all the words completely left her head.
He was so tall, so beautiful in a dark-blue T-shirt and faded blue jeans that sat low on his lean

hips. One hand was thrust in the pocket of his jeans, the strange fabric cuff he wore circling his wrist.

She remembered those hands and what they’d done to her. How he’d made her come so many times

and all the dark, erotic orders he’d whispered in her ear as he did so…

“Did you have a good weekend, Mr. North?” she asked inanely, saying the first thing that came into

her head.

“I didn’t give you permission to leave.” His voice was quiet, level, full of an authority that stole

the breath from her body.

She blinked at him, her mouth suddenly dry. “Excuse me?”
“I think you heard me.” He stood there casually, but there was something burning in his dark eyes.

Something that held her riveted to the spot, that made her heart speed up and a familiar ache gather
between her thighs.

Holy fuck. Had he said what she thought he’d said? In the middle of the coffee line? At work?
Pull yourself together, you damn idiot.
But shock held her motionless, staring at him.
“We should discuss this in your office,” he said as if it were a done deal already. “Now is good.”
Tell him no. That he can’t pull that Dom shit here.
But people were waiting in line behind him. God, had they heard what he’d said?
“I…I don’t know if I have the time,” she forced out, looking at her watch so she didn’t have to look

at him. “I have a lecture—”

“You can spare me five minutes.”
No. No, she couldn’t spare him anything. “I—”
He reached past her and she froze, a wave of heat washing over her. Yet he didn’t touch her and

when he pulled back he was holding her latte and James’s cappuccino. “Here,” he said, handing the
coffees to her. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

And she found herself turning and walking away, off down the corridor toward her office in a kind

of daze, her heart racing, anticipation coiling tightly inside her.

Eleanor stopped in the middle of the corridor, still holding the coffees. What the hell was she

doing? He was so not doing this to her at work. Just because she’d allowed him control over her body
for one freaking night, did not mean he could waltz in and start doing the same thing outside the
bedroom. That kind of behavior could jeopardize her entire career.

She turned, only to see his tall figure striding down the corridor toward her, the look on his face

intent. Making the sub inside her tremble with longing.

“Lucien,” she began forcefully, fighting down the feeling, determined to make a stand.
But he didn’t let her continue. “Into your office,” he ordered. “This’ll only be five minutes.”
And much to her extreme irritation, she found herself responding instinctively to the command in

his tone. Opening up her office door without a word and going inside.

She headed straight for her desk, needing the barrier and the feeling of authority it gave her to stand

behind it.

Luc followed her in, kicking the door shut with a decisive click.
Eleanor put the coffees down, her pulse loud in her head. She folded her arms, stiffened her spine.

“Don’t shut the door, please.”

He ignored her, coming to stand right in front of her desk. Staring at her in that way that made her

want to look down.

But she wasn’t going to. She was at fucking work. And he was way out of line. “How dare you pull

that Dom shit here?” she said, injecting as much ice as she could into her voice. “Just because we had
one night where—”

“You left,” he interrupted flatly, “without even a fucking goodbye.”
She took a steadying breath. Okay, so he was angry. And yeah, he probably had a right to it. But she

could own that, she wasn’t going to deny it. “Yes I did. And I’m sorry. But we had one night, Luc.
That’s all. That’s what we decided between us. So don’t you come in here, where I goddamn work,
telling me what to do and acting like you own me. That stays in the bedroom.”

His gaze bored into her, hot and black as liquid tar. “What if I want more?”
“What?”
“What if I want more than one night? What if that’s not enough?”
Eleanor hugged her arms tight to her chest, trying to stop her heart from racing even faster than it

was doing so already. Trying to stop the strange longing that kept twisting inside her. “There is no
more. One night is all there is.”

“Oh, I see. I help you get over your submission problems, give you a couple of great orgasms, and

then you fuck off without even a thank-you?”

She blinked, prickles of shame washing over her. Was that how he saw it? Her selfishly taking

what he had to offer?

Well, it’s not like you stuck around to explain, was it?
“It…it wasn’t like that,” she said, knowing how lame it sounded. “I thought it would be easier on

us both if I left.”

“Yeah well, it wasn’t easier,” he replied harshly. “You took what you wanted from me and then

left like you didn’t give a damn.”

She could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on her, the force of his gaze making her want

to drop to her knees.

And beg for punishment.
“It was one night.” If she kept saying it enough times, perhaps that would convince her stupid body

and maybe her head too. “That’s all.”

Luc put his hands on her desk and leaned forward, getting even closer. “And that’s what you

want?” he demanded. “That’s all you want?”

She swallowed. “Yes.” Liar.
His gaze flickered over her face, studying her in that focused, intense way he had. Then after a

moment, he pushed himself away and started coming around the desk. Toward her.

Her heart hammered in her chest, her breathing getting short.
She felt suddenly and desperately exposed.
“Truth,” she said, the word coming out harsh. “Truth, Luc.”

He stopped. Because he had to. Because he’d promised her that night he would.
But he didn’t want to.
She was standing behind her desk like she was hiding behind a wall, her tightly folded arms

another barrier. Her face was as pale as the white-silk blouse she wore and he could see the fear in
her eyes.

And every instinct he had was telling him to push, break down those walls. Yet she’d said her safe

word and since he’d been the one who’d started the Dom stuff back there in the coffee queue, he
couldn’t say it didn’t apply now.

He gripped the strap of his backpack, suppressing the urge that told him he needed to get close to

her, use their chemistry to strip that armor from her, get her to admit to what he knew was there even
though she tried to hide it.

That one night wasn’t enough for her either.
“Nice excuse,” he said into the deafening silence. “Hiding behind your safe word.”
Her mouth became a hard line. “I’m not hiding behind it. I would have thought after Friday night

you’d understand how important it is for me to know you’ll stop when I say it.”

“And I did and I have. But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re not in the bedroom now and

you’re not in any danger. You don’t want me to get close to you, in case you—”

“In case I what?” Her chin lifted, her jaw tight. “Accidentally fall to my knees and beg to suck your

cock again?”

“Girls who interrupt don’t get cock, Professor. So if you’re doing that to prove a point, I suggest

you stop it right now.”

Her chest rose sharply, pink staining her cheekbones.
Okay, so he was pushing a line by acting the Dom here. But she was protecting herself again,

withdrawing into herself like an anemone, and he didn’t know how else to get through to her.

And he fucking wanted to get through to her.
He’d been pissed to wake up and find her gone that morning, but he’d tried to put it from his mind

as he’d got on with his day. Not that his day consisted of much beyond going for a run and organizing
his references for one of his international law papers, but even so.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. About her. About what they’d done. About what she’d given him

and what she’d taught him about himself.

Because he’d liked being in charge of her. Dominating her. It felt good to be able to indulge the

part of him that had been the soldier and make it about pleasure instead of pain. Affirm life instead of
bringing death. It made him feel almost as if there was hope for him after all. That he could come
back from the shadows that had fallen over his life.

He’d even sat down on Sunday to do some research into the whole BDSM lifestyle, thinking that

maybe he could find one of those clubs and go along. Find another woman who might like to give him
what Eleanor had given him.

Yet as he’d sat there in front of his PC, scrolling through the images of bound and gagged subs, and

Doms with floggers and whips, he knew he wouldn’t be going and finding another woman anytime
soon.

It had to be Eleanor. No one else made him feel like she did, as if he was alive and not ice all the

way through. Shit, by giving him a piece of her trust, she even made him feel worthy.

“You’re not my Dom, Luc,” she said flatly. “So how about you stop posturing.”
He ignored her. He wasn’t the one doing the posturing. “You want it too, though,” he said softly,

staring at her. Daring her. “Don’t tell me you didn’t want to obey me in the café. Don’t tell me you
don’t want to get on your knees right now.”

Her whole body was stiff with tension and he could almost see her determination to hold his gaze,

to mask her emotions. To keep him out.

“What do you want from me, Luc? What do you hope to achieve from this?”
He couldn’t touch her. He’d respect that safe word. But it didn’t mean he didn’t have any other

options. He already knew she liked it when he talked dirty to her, for a start. “I’m trying to get you to
acknowledge what you want, Eleanor. The fact is, whether you admit it or not, you like me being in
control. You like me telling you what to do, even here, even in your fucking office.”

“I don’t—”
“Are you wet for me, Professor?” he interrupted, cutting her off. “Are you standing there telling me

you don’t want another night with me, with your panties all wet and your nipples hard?”

Her eyes had darkened, her breathing short and fast. “Stop. Stop saying those things.”
“I’ll stop saying them when you stop denying what you want. When you stop letting your fucking

fear do your thinking for you.”

She looked sharply away, down at her desk, dropping her arms and beginning to fuss with the

papers on her desk. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” A bright thread of anger ran
through her voice. “You think one night cures everything? That your penis is some kind of magical
fucking bullet? Jesus, what am I saying?” She picked up a piece of paper, balled it up in her hands
and threw it forcefully into the wastebasket near her desk. “Of course you bloody do.”

He stared at her. At the lines of pain around her mouth. At the tight cast of her delicate jaw. She’d

told him she’d had a bad experience as a sub, but he still didn’t have any details, apart from her Dom
not respecting her safe word. And there was clearly more to it than that.

“This is about your husband, isn’t it?” he asked, testing.
Her hands paused in their shuffle through the papers, but only for a second. “Let it go, Luc. And I’m

asking nicely.”

“No,” he said flatly, letting the hard edge of the soldier show in his voice. “You don’t get to give

me orders, Professor. I’m the one who asks nicely. And I’m the one who deals out the punishment if
you don’t obey.”

She kept her head down, balling up another piece of paper in her hands. “I don’t want to talk about

it. Don’t make me say the word again.”

“What? Truth? Strange fucking safe word for a woman who’s lying to herself.”
Eleanor dropped the paper, putting her hands flat on the desk with a slap. “Stop it. Just stop. You

know nothing about it, so how about you shut the fuck up?”

What the hell are you doing? You’re hurting her.
Guilt twisted inside him. Pain was the last thing he wanted to cause her and yet he couldn’t forget

the woman she’d been in his apartment on Friday night. Kneeling at his feet with her wrists tied.
Letting herself go. He’d seen how much she’d liked that and it was shitty that she was holding herself
back now.

In the militia, he’d seen boys who’d been pushed too far. Pushed so hard they broke. And shit, he’d

nearly been one of them. But he didn’t think Eleanor May would break. Behind her delicate front he
sensed a strength that ran deep. A strength that perhaps she wasn’t even aware of herself.

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “I know what it’s like to be hurt. And I know what it’s like to be

afraid. You’re not the only one.”

Her head came up finally, sharp gray gaze meeting his. “What? Tell me.”
Like he’d ever fucking tell her. Like he’d ever want to lay that kind of weight on her when he could

barely carry it himself.

Pushing himself away from the desk, he straightened. “If you want to know, come by my apartment

tonight and perhaps I’ll tell you.”

She began to shake her head, but he wasn’t having any of that, so he just stared at her. Letting her

see the soldier. The commander. “Or perhaps not. Perhaps I’ll tie you to my bed. Spread your legs.
Eat your pussy until you beg me to bury my cock so deep in your cunt that you’ll be screaming for
mercy instead.”

Her mouth thinned into a line and her gaze dropped. She didn’t say anything.
He didn’t know if he’d given her enough to change her mind. He hoped he had.
Hoped he wasn’t doing this purely for his own selfish reasons because saying those things to her

had got him hard.

But no, he wasn’t doing this only for himself.
He was going to break through those walls of hers and get rid of her fear completely. She’d given

him the first piece of her trust and, dammit, he wanted the rest.

Luc turned to the door. “I’ll see you tonight, Professor. And don’t be late.”
Then he strode out.

Chapter Ten

Eleanor told herself all the rest of that day she wasn’t going to go. That Lucien Fucking North

couldn’t come into her office, say all that dirty shit to her, then expect her to come panting after him
like a bitch in heat.

He had no right. No fucking right whatsoever. He didn’t own her. One night of good sex didn’t

mean she was his. And it certainly didn’t mean she wanted more.

One night had been enough for her. She’d tested the waters and found them perfectly acceptable,

but that didn’t mean she wanted to go jumping back in at the deep end. Especially with a guy she
wasn’t supposed to be seeing in the first place.

She spent the rest of the day angry, both at him and at herself. Particularly at the way her body had

responded to him and his authority, to those rough, dirty words he’d said to her.

He unlocked your cage. Are you surprised your body wants to get out and dance?
Sitting at her desk, marking essays later that day, Eleanor ran a red line angrily through a badly

constructed paragraph. No, she didn’t want to fucking dance. She wanted to get on with her damn life
and stop thinking about it.

Which should have been easy, given the mountain of undergraduate essays she had to mark.
But naturally, enough it wasn’t.
Perhaps I’ll tie you to my bed…
Bastard.
Frustrated, she pushed aside the essay she’d just graded and pulled over another one. She didn’t

know what the hell this particular student was trying to do by including some French in their essay on
the British legal system, but it didn’t make her any more likely to give them an A.

Her focus wavered for a second. French. Tu es mon soleil…
She’d almost forgotten the words he’d whispered in French against her skin. Words she hadn’t

fully taken in at the time. She hadn’t studied the language since school and even then had been
exceptionally bad at it, but nevertheless she knew what he’d said.

You are my sun.
And that wasn’t the only thing he’d said. There had been other phrases, spoken as he’d pushed

inside her. As he held himself above her, chasing his own climax after he’d given one to her.

She stared at the black letters on the white paper. At the lines of her red pen. Everything suddenly

blurring.

He hadn’t meant to say those things, she was sure of it. Yet he had. Did it mean something?

Anything? Or was she grasping at straws? Trying to look for meaning where there wasn’t any?

You are my sun…
God no, that meant something, didn’t it? That was a piece of himself. A piece she hadn’t noticed,

too caught up in her own pleasure. Though, why it mattered and why she’d remembered, she had no
idea.

Sure you do. Because you told yourself he wouldn’t give a shit.
Eleanor dropped her pen. She’d told herself it was all about the fact that they’d only agreed on one

night, but of course it hadn’t been. That night had meant something to her and she hadn’t wanted to
stay in case he hadn’t felt the same.

But he had. Why else had he come after her to demand more? Staring right into her, seeing past all

her denials. All her stupid justifications. Looking right into her soul. Seeing her fear.

She let out a breath and put her head in her hands.
God, she thought she’d stepped out of that cage, but she hadn’t. Seemed as if the moment she

realized she was out, she’d run back to it and locked herself inside.

Christ, was she ever going to be free of this?
You could go see him tonight. Show him you’re not a coward.
Yeah, perhaps she should. Perhaps she owed it to him too.
Eleanor reached for her phone then leaned back in her chair, bringing up Kahu’s number to send

him a text, ask him for his advice.

Then she stopped. She didn’t need Kahu’s advice. Luc was right. It was time she stopped letting

her fear do her thinking for her. It was time she stepped out of that cage for real.

In fact maybe it was time to get rid of that fucking cage altogether.

Luc told himself he didn’t care if she came or not.
He skipped his last lecture of the day and went home, pounding out his frustration and anxiety on

the punching bag he’d hung in the second bedroom of his apartment. The room that had absolutely
nothing in it except that bag because he couldn’t think of anything else to put in there. It wasn’t like he
often had guests, and working out was pretty much his only other hobby. Spending the formative years
of his life with a gun in his hand, the power of life and death walking beside him, meant it was
difficult to find something else that gave him the same rush.

Dominating a certain professor helped.
Luc scowled and landed a hard punch on the bag. But of course, he couldn’t deny the truth.

Dominating her was a fucking rush. And that kind of made him question himself and his motivations
for demanding a second night.

Was it really for her? Or was he only indulging himself?
He swung at the bag again, his knuckles connecting hard.
Oh, she’d enjoyed what they’d done on Friday night, that had been obvious, but he’d been pretty

tough in her office today, propelled by anger and a pretty massive helping of desire. He wouldn’t
blame her if she wanted him to fuck off after that.

Ah Christ, no point pretending to himself he didn’t care if she didn’t turn up. He did care. He

wanted her. And maybe that was selfish of him, but hadn’t he earned the right to be selfish these days?

He’d spent years feeling dead inside. Feeling numb. Some of the other guys in his squad, who’d

been with him when he’d escaped the militia during a chaotic ambush, had headed into spirals of
drinking and drugs afterwards, tortured by their pasts.

He hadn’t. Mostly because he was already numb to it.
But Eleanor, God, she was a bigger hit than any drug. More intoxicating than any spirit. She made

him feel and he wanted more of it. Craved it.

His knuckles hit the bag with a dull thump.
Shit, if it helped her too, then that was all good, wasn’t it?
The intercom buzzed.
Luc stopped, the bag swinging, his heart pounding. He was covered in sweat and his knuckles were

bruised and bloody. If that was her, it was fucking bad timing.

Catching his breath, he stalked down the hallway and went into the lounge, hitting the button that

showed him the front entrance of the apartment building on the intercom screen. And sure enough,
there she was, standing with her briefcase in her hand. Polished and neat and sophisticated.

Eleanor.
The ache pulled tight inside him. She’d come. She’d fucking come.

He stabbed the button that unlocked the door for her. There was no time to have a shower or take

the tape off his hands, or make himself more presentable for her somehow. She’d have to take him as
is.

His heart beat like a drum as he went back down the hallway to wait by the front door of his

apartment for her.

Fucking idiot. It’s like this is your first date.
Yeah, well, maybe it was. He hadn’t been out on any other dates before, had he? At least not with a

woman who really mattered to him.

The knock, when it came, was soft, and when he pulled it open she gave a little start, as if she

wasn’t expecting him to answer so quickly. Her eyes widened slightly as she took him in, standing
there shirtless and sweaty.

“Oh, I… Sorry, am I interrupting?” Her pale fingers shifted on the handle of her briefcase, her

attention dropping to his taped knuckles. She frowned. “Shit, Luc. You’re bleeding.”

He didn’t want to explain. Because that would mean telling her he spent a good portion of most

days punching a bag till his hands hurt and his muscles burned, to remind himself he was alive. “It’s
nothing,” he said curtly instead. “Punching-bag accident. Come in.” And he held the door open for
her, standing aside so she could enter.

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze flickered down his body as she went past him and into the

apartment, as if she couldn’t help herself. And naturally enough his fucking cock started getting hard.

Jesus, he hadn’t really planned on what was going to happen when she got here, mainly because he

hadn’t known if she would come or not. He very much wanted to head straight into Dom mode and
take what was his, but his gut wasn’t so sure.

There was a nervous look to her, as if she wasn’t sure about being here, and he suspected that if he

started giving out orders now, she’d bolt. Perhaps it was better to wait and see.

He shut the door behind her then followed her down the hall and into the lounge, hitching a

shoulder against the doorframe as she came to a stop in the middle of the room, looking around.

His lounge area was large and airy, windows giving views out over Auckland’s blue harbor. It

was dark now, the lights of boats on the water twinkling, the graceful crescent of the harbor bridge off
to the left. But the room was as bare as the rest of the apartment, the only piece of furniture a long
leather sectional sofa his grandparents had given him. There was nothing else because he had nothing
else except books and a set of Bluetooth speakers sitting on the floor that he used with his MP3
player. Oh yeah, and the set of boxes stacked neatly in one corner. Boxes of belongings he hadn’t
unpacked. Not that he ever would unpack them since they were his parents’, not his. It was a little
strange to keep them, but his grandparents had wanted him to have them, so he had.

A lover had once told him he should get some pictures, decorate the place, but he hadn’t seen the

point in that kind of shit. The apartment was only a place to store his crap, eat in when he could be
bothered to cook, which wasn’t often, work out and sleep. That was it.

“I need to get cleaned up, take a shower,” he said. “Can I get you a drink while you wait?”
“Yes, okay.” She put down her briefcase near the sofa. “What have you got?”
“Beer.”
“Beer it is then.” She glanced around again. “You said your grandparents bought this place for you?

They must have serious money.”

“They do. Mostly guilt money.”
“Why guilt?”
“Because my parents died.” Not the whole truth. Their guilt money was also in part for what he’d

gone through in Africa. Their grandchild made to kill people…

“But it wasn’t their fault, surely?”
“No. But that doesn’t stop them from feeling guilty.”
She frowned. “You don’t like living here, do you?”
“Not really.” He never had. The place had always felt as if it should belong to someone else.

Someone normal.

“So why do you? For their benefit?”
Fuck. He wasn’t ready for this. He turned. “I’ll get you a beer.”
“Luc, wait.”
He stopped, his back to her. If she was going to ask him questions, maybe he should be getting his

Dom shit on now and to hell with his instinct. “What?”

“I…” A small pause. “You said something to me on Friday night. You said I…was your sun. I

wondered what you meant.”

It wasn’t what he was expecting. At all. And maybe that was why he gave her the truth. “Because

you make me feel alive, Eleanor.”

“Oh…” She sounded puzzled. “Do you not feel alive at other times?”
No, he wasn’t going to explain. “I’ll only be a second.”
The kitchen was around the corner from the lounge and getting the drinks gave him a little space to

think. He stopped near the sink and ripped the tape off his hands, chucking it in the wastebasket. Then
he leaned his hip against the edge of the counter.

He’d never told anyone else, other than his grandparents, about his time in the militia. Well, no one

here in this country. Only the UNICEF workers who’d rescued him after he escaped and the
psychologists who’d helped him as he recovered in Accra, in Ghana.

But even then he hadn’t told them everything. He couldn’t bear to. The things he’d seen, no one

should ever have to, let alone a boy of twelve. And although he’d killed, he’d done so cleanly. He’d
refused to do the other stuff. The torture. The rape. It had been his personal line in the sand. The only
way he could exert control over a situation in which he had none.

That and turning off his feelings. It was either that or he would have gone mad. Or died.
Sometimes he wished his survival instinct hadn’t been so strong.
“Luc?” Eleanor’s voice came from the lounge. “Everything okay?”
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he pulled open the fridge door and got out a couple of beers.

“Coming.”

He found Eleanor standing by the windows, looking out across the light-strewn harbor, her arms

crossed. She took the beer he handed to her and sipped at it, her gaze on him. “Can you wait with the
shower for a second?”

“Sure. Why?”
“I’ve got questions about you, but there’re a few things I need to tell you first. And I have to say

them now, otherwise I’m not going to be able to do it.”

Tension began to gather inside him. “What things?”
“Things about me. My truth. I owe you that at least. It’s not going to be easy, though. I don’t like

talking about it, so I don’t want you to push me. Just…let me get there in my own time.”

He waited, not saying anything, the tension tightening in his shoulders ever further. Whatever it was

she was going to tell him, it wasn’t going to be good.

She glanced away, out the windows again. “When I was twenty-three, I got a scholarship to

Berkeley. And while I was there I met Piers. He was my professor, a brilliant, charismatic man, and I

thought the sun shone out of his ass. Anyway, the feeling was mutual and since I never got a lot of
attention at home, I thought I was in heaven.” She paused. “He seduced me easily—he was the one
who introduced me to dominance and submission. I fell in love with him in a matter of weeks.

It was all great until we were discovered and he lost his job. We got married to put a respectable

front on it, but it didn’t make any difference. He wasn’t able to get another teaching position in the
States, and since I didn’t have a Green Card, we had to come back to New Zealand.” Her voice
stayed flat, emotionless. “He was…very bitter. I tried hard to make it better for him. To make things
okay. But nothing I did was right. He blamed me for the fact that he’d lost his job. And…” She
stopped and a silence fell. Her jaw looked tight, her shoulders hunched.

Luc’s fingers closed around the neck of his beer bottle, almost hard enough to shatter it.
“He took out his bitterness on me.” Her voice was quiet, the cold edge of it becoming rough. “He

used the fact that I was his sub as an excuse to hurt me. One night we went to this club. It was one
we’d been to before and we usually only watched because I wasn’t comfortable with participating.
But not that night.” She bent her head, looking down at the bottle in her hand. “He had a couple of
friends and he wanted to share me with them. I didn’t want to. I…said my safe word but he told me I
needed to be pushed. That safe words weren’t allowed and that they knew what was best for me.”

“Fuck, Eleanor—”
“I was so naïve I believed him. And I wanted to make things better between us. I thought if I did

what he said it would make him better. It would make him love me again. So I let him do it.”

The glass of the bottle was hard against Luc’s fingertips. A bit more pressure and he could snap the

neck off it completely. He wanted to break it, expose the broken shards of glass that could be used as
a knife. To hurt the prick who’d hurt her.

“You don’t have to tell me the details,” he said harshly. “Not if it’s too painful.”
“I have to.” She kept her gaze on her hands. “I have to if I want to get past this.”
“Eleanor—”
“His friends blindfolded me. Then they beat me. Quite hard. I really, really didn’t want to have to

have sex with them and Piers knew I didn’t, but… He told me that if I gave myself completely to him,
everything would be better between us. That it would bring us closer.” She said the words like they
were coated in acid. “So I did. I had sex with those guys even though I didn’t want to, because I loved
Piers and wanted to make it better. But of course it didn’t. All it did was make things even worse. He
got jealous, you see. And then accused me of breaking up our marriage.”

A burst of complete rage filled him and he had to bend to put down his bottle on the floor before he

shattered it. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said roughly, knowing it was a paltry thing to say, but not having
anything else to offer her.

She drained her beer in one swallow. “Oh, I know that. Then again, he didn’t hold a gun to my

head. I didn’t have to do it. I only made the mistake of being in love with him.” Her voice was flat,
emotionless. And he knew why. She was distancing herself from it.

Well, no fucking wonder. He clenched his hands into fists, the urge to hurt someone vicious inside

him. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

Her lashes fell. “Yes.”
“Can you tell me?”
She had gone very still. “I don’t want to.”
He didn’t want to push, because she’d told him not to, and it wasn’t her he wanted to hurt. And

yet… She was in pain already. Forcing away his rage, he said gently, “But you’ve told me everything
else. And I think that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Abruptly she put her hands over her face. “I don’t want to.” Her voice was a whisper. “I can’t.”
Memories hurt—fuck, he knew that. And it wasn’t his place to make her relive hers. But that didn’t

mean he had to stand by and let her suffer.

He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. Giving her the only thing he could—physical comfort.
Eleanor was shivering and she pressed her palms to his chest as if to hold him off. But then she

buried her face in his neck, her body melting against his as if she were the one who was cold.

He didn’t have any words or advice to offer because, God knew, he was a fine one to talk when he

didn’t want to tell anyone about what had happened to him. So he stood there and held her tight.
Giving her back the warmth she’d always given him.

And even though his body responded to her heat and softness in the way it usually did, he didn’t

make any moves. Because this wasn’t about sex.

At least it wasn’t until she shifted her head slightly. And he felt her tongue lick the hollow of his

throat.

Chapter Eleven

He was hot and smelled of clean sweat and musk. And that was so much better than the memories

in her head, than the pain she didn’t want to face.

So she licked his throat, tasting the salt on his skin. It was delicious. And it didn’t matter that he

hadn’t showered. The way his skin had glistened when he’d opened the door dressed in nothing but a
pair of sweatpants had sent a bolt of desire straight between her thighs.

Now she wanted nothing more than to indulge that desire, drown her memories in pleasure.
She licked him again, running her tongue along his collarbone, pressing her hands against his chest,

feeling the shift and flex of his muscles under her palms. Christ, his body was a work of art and she
ached to touch it. He hadn’t given her much opportunity on Friday night, and now she was hungry for
the chance to explore him.

And then gentle fingers wound into her hair, her head being tugged back, and when she met his

gaze, she saw his eyes were full of concern. “Eleanor, what are you doing?”

“I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to remember it. I just want…to break out of this fear,

Luc. It’s like a cage and I don’t want to be trapped in it anymore.”

He studied her intently, concern shadowing his gaze. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. You were right. I’ve been letting it stop me from taking what I want for too long and I’m sick

of it.”

“So you want to take it now?”
She nodded, stroking the oiled silk of his skin with her thumbs. “You can help with that, can’t

you?”

“Yeah, I can.” His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling slightly, and the little prickle of hurt made

her catch her breath, her thighs clenching around the ache between them. “You remember your safe
word?”

“Yes,” she said unsteadily.
“And you know I respect it? That I would never ignore it?”
“I do.”
“Good.” He released her and stepped away, and she nearly reached for him, wanting that hard

body and hot skin against hers. “Go into the bedroom and take off your clothes. Then sit on the bed
and wait for me.”

“You don’t have to shower if you don’t—”
“Did I ask you to question me?”
Excitement twisted in her gut and she embraced it, biting her lip to keep herself from saying more.

Wordlessly she shook her head.

“No, that’s right. I didn’t.” His eyes glittered as he searched her face. “You look like you want to

say something, though. Argue with me maybe?”

She looked down, shaking her head again, her breathing getting faster. Jesus, he was so fucking hot.
“Just as well. Arguing with me earns a punishment and I don’t think you’re ready for that quite yet.”
No, she didn’t think she was ready for that yet either.
“Into the bedroom, Eleanor. I want you on my bed with your legs spread and your pussy wet, right

now. Otherwise there’ll be hell to pay.”

She went, her heart beating loud enough in her head she was sure he probably could hear it himself.
In his bedroom, she shrugged off her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse. Took off her bra and pushed

down the plain gray wool trousers she wore, stepping out of them and her underwear. She didn’t
bother with picking them up and folding them neatly. She only left them there in a pile on the floor as
she went over to the bed.

She was beginning to shake as she sat down on it and positioned herself in the middle of it, her

body already gearing itself up for what was to come.

Lying down on her back and spreading her legs in preparation for him only made it worse. She

flung her arm over her eyes, feeling vulnerable and exposed and yet not moving. It was her choice to
obey him and she wanted to. God, she wanted to so badly.

She wasn’t going to let fear rule her anymore.
Some time passed, she didn’t know how much. She kept her arm over her face, listening to the

silence of the room, anticipation building, ramping up her excitement.

If he already knew that a sub’s own mind could be the most powerful erotic tool then he was

learning very, very quickly indeed.

Piers was good at the psychological seduction too, don’t forget…
Eleanor stared into the darkness behind her eyes. No, she would not think of him. She had Luc to

give her better memories now.

The bed suddenly dipped and she gasped, freezing up. How the hell hadn’t she heard him? She

should have remembered how silently he moved.

“It’s only me.” Luc’s voice was soft, dark. Then the heat of his hands on her inner thighs, pushing

them wide. “And I said legs apart.”

She took her arm from over her eyes and blinked away the darkness.
Luc was kneeling between her spread thighs. He was completely naked, a stray drop of water from

his shower making its way down the hard, cut muscles of his torso. His gaze was on hers, burning
with a familiar intensity that made the breath lock in her throat. And there was something else there.
Something more. Determination.

“Are you wet, Eleanor?” He covered her sex with his hand.
She inhaled raggedly at the touch. “Yes.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” His fingers slid between her folds, exploring, testing her gently. “Hmmm.

So you are. Extremely wet. Good girl.”

He took his hand away and leaned over her, staring down into her eyes. “I’m going to hold you

down with your wrists above your head. And I don’t want to hear a sound unless it’s your safe word.”

She gave a jerky nod, her heart racing. He was intent on something, she could see it in his eyes. It

made her excitement twist even tighter.

Luc took her wrists in one strong hand and held them away, pressed into the pillows above her

head.

Her breathing became fast, the old, reflexive fear lingering. But she’d chosen this, knowing what he

would demand of her. And she’d trusted him before; she’d trust him again.

He held her wrists so gently and yet firmly enough she knew she couldn’t get away. His eyes

scanned her body in a slow sweep, a dark flush of color staining the brown skin of his cheekbones.
Like a man who hadn’t eaten for months surveying a banquet table and wondering where to start.

“You said they hurt you,” Luc murmured. “Where?”
“What? Who?”
“Those men.”
Oh fuck. She’d thought she’d escaped that. But… Her throat felt dry, memories scratching in the

corners of her mind. Things she didn’t want to remember.

“Luc,” she said thickly. “I don’t—”
“Where?” His tone was insistent, brooking no argument.
She could say her safe word. She could say truth and he would stop.
Coward. So much for truth.
“My jaw,” she heard herself say hoarsely. “One of them slapped me.” She hadn’t liked being hit

and Piers knew that. And yet he’d only watched as his friend hit her. Hard. Letting it happen. The
shock of that had been worse than the pain. Worse than the bruise on her cheekbone.

Luc’s free hand cupped her chin, an intent look on his face. He stroked her cheekbone with his

thumb, gentle, soft. Then he bent and brushed his mouth along her jaw, a series of featherlight kisses.
Her throat closed up, her heart constricting.

“Where else?” he murmured.
“M-my neck. He tried to choke me.” Piers had told them that anything was allowed. She’d tried to

say her safe word but she wasn’t able to speak.

Luc’s hand dropped to circle her neck, still gentle. He bent, kissed the side of it then nipped her

softly. Another trail of kisses, ending at her throat. Then his teeth, another nip, sharper, an intense bolt
of sensation that went straight down her spine.

She closed her eyes, shaking. There were tears behind her lids and she wanted him to stop touching

her, stop making her remember because she didn’t want to. She so didn’t want to.

And yet at the same time she didn’t want him to ever stop touching her again.
“Where else, Eleanor?”
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “My breasts.” One of them had bitten her, making her nipple

bleed. Leaving bruises on her skin and definitely no pleasure.

Luc’s hand drifted lower, stroking the curve of one breast, caressing. His thumb circled around her

nipple and he pinched her, but the sensation was nothing like the pain Piers had left her open to. It
was sharp, yes, but it didn’t hurt. Only added to the exquisite tension gathering tighter between her
thighs.

More tears pushed against her closed lids. Oh fuck. Why was she crying?
She wanted to throw an arm over her face again, hide somehow, but he was holding her wrists and

she couldn’t. “Luc,” she whispered, “please don’t.”

He didn’t answer, nor did he stop, the heat of his mouth closing over her nipple, drawing hard on

her, heightening the ache.

A sob caught in her throat.
“Where else?” he asked, his breath feathering over the sensitive tip of her nipple.
“No, I can’t do this.”
“Where else?”
“Luc…”
“Tell me.”
She shivered, keeping her eyes shut tight so the tears couldn’t escape. “It hurts.”
“I know.” The warmth of his hand moving down her body, soothing, caressing. “But if you want

better memories, you need to let me take the old ones away. And I can’t if I don’t know what they
are.”

But it was hard. She’d been avoiding those memories for so long, not wanting to relive them.

Because it hadn’t been the physical pain that was so terrible. It had been realizing, slowly, that Piers
didn’t give a shit about her. Why else would he have blindfolded her so she had no idea what was
happening? So she didn’t know how many men were going to use her or even what they were going to

do? Why else would he have ignored her safe word, no matter how many times she said it?

No, he didn’t care. And she’d prostituted herself for nothing.
“Did they hurt you here?” His hand brushed her stomach and down between her thighs, and

instinctively she closed her legs, trapping him.

His breath near her ear, lips soft against her neck, his body shifting on the bed. “Did they?” The

hand between her thighs didn’t move. “Mon soleil… Did they hurt you?”

She couldn’t speak. Tears leaked out the corners of her eyes despite her best intentions.
“You fucking love it,” one of them had said in her ear as he’d forced his way inside her while

someone else held her down. They were in one of the private rooms, no one could hear them. “Hey,
Piers, I think your little slut loves this.” And he’d kept talking. Talking right over her as she said
her safe word over and over. Until it meant nothing.

While her husband watched. Letting it all happen.
The memory caught her, the shame of it a giant stone on her chest, crushing her. The pain. The

helplessness. The grief.

Luc moved and she felt him begin to withdraw his hand. “No,” she managed to force out, her voice

all rusty. “Don’t go.”

He stilled. “I can’t bear to hurt you too.”
“You were right. I want something else. I want something good. I want you there instead of them.”

She could feel the tight clench of her muscles but she couldn’t seem to relax, a tremble shaking her.

A second passed, or maybe a minute. An hour even.
“Look at me,” Luc whispered. Another order, but a gentle one.
It took effort but she managed, opening her eyes, his dark, beautiful face wavering in her vision.
“Keep your legs spread.”
She forced herself to obey. His hand rested between her legs, the warmth and pressure of it both

weirdly reassuring and intensely erotic.

“You feel where I have my hand?” he said in a low, fierce voice, gently squeezing for emphasis.

“This pussy is mine. And I don’t want other men near it. I don’t want other men hurting it. So from
now on, it belongs to me. Tell me.”

Tears were running down her face and she couldn’t understand why those possessive, territorial

words should make her feel so safe and yet they did. Like he was reclaiming her from her memories.
Reclaiming her from Piers. “Luc, I don’t—”

His hand squeezed again, his fingers pressing gently against her clit, an arrow of pleasure piercing

her. “You don’t need to hold on to that bullshit anymore, Eleanor.” He looked into her eyes, pinning
her there with the intensity in his. “So give it to me. Let me have it instead.”

She couldn’t stop those fucking tears. Because she hadn’t known how long she’d been waiting for

someone to say those words to her… until now.

You don’t need to hold on to that bullshit.
The words came out of her, hoarse and broken. “I don’t know if I can—”
His hand pressed down, sending another jolt of pleasure through her. “You can. You’re strong and

you’re brave, but you don’t need to do this alone, soleil.”

She wanted to believe Luc with everything in her. But she’d made the wrong choice in trusting

Piers. What if she made the wrong choice now? What if Luc ended up hurting her?

Oh, she knew he’d never hurt her intentionally. But…she couldn’t take the risk.
Eleanor turned her head away, tears streaming down her cheeks, the pain in her chest making it

difficult to breathe.

But Luc wouldn’t let her run. He wouldn’t let her hide. His thumb pressed against her clit again and

she groaned. “I can’t…”

“Why not?” He leaned down, his breath brushing her cheek, inches away. “You know you can, mon

rayon de soleil. You’re mine now and I would never hurt you.”

“I want to,” she whispered brokenly, “but I don’t know if I can trust myself.”
“So don’t.” His hand moved, stroking. “Trust me instead.”
She swallowed and turned her head at that, looking up at him. There was so much ferocity in his

black eyes. So much determination.

“Give me your trust, Eleanor.” It was the voice of absolute authority. Absolute command. “Give

me all of it. Because I want it.”

It was an order and he was right, she was so sick of fighting. In fact, he’d been right about a lot of

things. And maybe he was right about this too. Maybe if she was going to trust anyone, it should be
him.

So she gave in. “Yes,” she said thickly. “Okay, it’s yours.” And as soon as she said the words, she

felt the tension bleed out of her, a weight lifting from her shoulders.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured, “and keep them closed.”
Darkness. Hands everywhere. She couldn’t see and they didn’t listen to her. So scared. Alone in

the blackness while they hurt her…

She let her eyes open just a crack, unable to help herself. But no, this wasn’t the club and the man

with her now was Luc. She’d decided to trust him and even though it was hard, maybe the hardest
thing she’d ever done, she closed her eyes again, feeling his thumb pressing down on her clit, a finger
slowly easing inside her. Pleasure flared bright and she let herself fall into it.

“Say the words.” Kisses against her cheek, taking away her tears. “Tell me what’s mine. Give it to

me, mon soleil, because I would never take it from you.”

No. He never would. So she told him what he needed to hear. “I’m yours, Luc. All of me.”
He covered her mouth with his, kissing her passionately, his finger sliding deep inside her, a gentle

rhythm that was nothing like their first time. That wasn’t so fast and furious and yet had a desperation
of its own.

Luc stroked her, sliding another finger inside, keeping it so easy and slow that she began to pant,

her tears drying on her cheeks, memory falling away to be replaced by sensation. Pleasure. No pain
or humiliation. Or fear.

While still holding her wrists above her head, his mouth moved over hers, a gentle exploration.

The restraint only added to the ecstasy slowly building higher and hotter inside her.

All the fear she gave up to him and he took it away.
And God, it was good. It was like giving herself up to the wind and letting it take her wherever it

wanted to go. There was freedom in that. And a peace she hadn’t realized was possible.

The orgasm, when it came, swept over her, not like a crashing wave but more as a deep sea swell,

lifting her up in a gradual rise that tore a sob from her. That had her pulling at his restraining hands, a
deep moan escaping. He kissed her through it, a long, sweet kiss, and when it was over, all she could
do was lie there shaking.

Out of the cage for good.

Luc released her carefully, burying the intense, burning rage by focusing on the touch of her skin

sliding under his hands, the movement of the bed as he shifted away from her. He couldn’t let that
rage out, couldn’t let that anger burn through. Those motherfuckers hurt her, but there was nothing he
could do about it now. It happened in the past and all he could do was make things better somehow in

the present.

Eight years ago he would have killed the son of a bitch ex-husband and he wouldn’t have regretted

it, not even for a moment.

He reached toward the nightstand, grabbing a condom from the drawer.
Pushing her hadn’t exactly been what he’d planned to do, but he’d come back into the room and

there she was, lying on the bed exactly like he’d asked her to. Despite all the terrible things that had
been done to her. And he’d known right then that she was capable of more. That she’d gone with him
part of the way and was strong enough to take the rest.

Not only that, she deserved it. To step free of the shit that had been holding her back.
His gut had told him to push, so he had. And what she’d given him… Such a precious gift, her trust.

He wanted to return that gift. Give her something not just good but incredible.

He looked down at her a moment, all pale skin and golden hair, her body still quivering from that

last orgasm, her cheeks damp with tears.

No more crying. No more pain. No more fear.
His instinct nudged him.
Down beside the bed was a T-shirt from yesterday that he’d dumped there instead of putting it

away. Leaving the condom on the sheet beside him, he reached down and picked up the T-shirt. Then
he held it up between his fists so she could see it.

“Blindfold,” he said.
She said nothing. Only looked at him with eyes gone dark, steel gray.
He leaned forward and bound the material over those eyes and though he could feel the tension in

her muscles, she remained silent.

Jesus. She was strong. She was like him, a fucking soldier.
Then he picked up the condom packet, ripped it open, took the condom and placed it in the palm of

her hand. “Put it on me,” he ordered. “And when you do, I want you to think only of my cock. Of how
it’ll feel when you put it inside you. Knowing that there won’t be any other men for you while you’re
with me.”

Her throat moved as she swallowed and he could feel her hand tremble in his. But she sat up and

he helped her, placing her other hand on his already hard dick and guiding her so she could roll the
condom down on him.

Her touch was warm, delicate, and he had to grit his teeth as she put it on him. When she was done,

she sat there, and he could see her tremble. They’d blindfolded her, those pricks. While they’d taken
her. While they’d hurt her. No wonder she was afraid. But she was so brave. This was her
commitment to the trust she’d put in him and if it was the last thing he did, he was going to make sure
her trust wasn’t misplaced.

That was another thing he wanted to give back to her: her trust in herself.
“Lie down,” he said.
And she did, slowly. That fine tremor still running through her limbs.
“Good girl.” He put a hand on her stomach, stroking gently, trying to ease it. “You’re such a good

girl. One last question.” And he didn’t want to ask it, but he was going to. He had to know. “Did they
force you?”

Her mouth tightened and he saw how difficult this was for her. But she didn’t flinch, though her

voice when she spoke was a croak. “Yes.”

Fuckers. If he ever found out who they were, he would kill them.
“So this is your choice. Put me inside you. Claim me for yourself. And do it nice and slow, soleil. I

want to watch.”

It felt natural to call her that, and even though it revealed more than he wanted it to, he didn’t fight

the urge. He thought perhaps she liked it, so that couldn’t be a bad thing.

Her hand moved to grip him, guiding him to her without hesitation. Her breathing had become

faster and she wasn’t trembling anymore. She lifted her hips and he kept his attention between her
thighs as she moved to take him.

And fucking hell, the sight nearly blew his head off. She gasped as he slid into the tight heat of her,

and this time he’d have laid money on the fact that the tremble in her thighs wasn’t from fear.

Jesus, she felt good. So bloody amazing.
He leaned over her, pushing deep into the slickness of her pussy, watching her blindfolded face.

Her mouth was open, the sound of her breathing harsh.

“You weren’t wet for them,” he said softly. “It hurt.”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked.
“Does this hurt?”
She shook her head, hard and sure.
“Who are you thinking of, soleil?” He drew his hips back then thrust in a slow, easy movement.
Her mouth opened, a soft gasp escaping her. “You.”
“That’s right, me.” He drew back then another deep, slow thrust. “I am inside you, Eleanor. I am

fucking you right now. Me. My cock. Not anyone else’s.”

She arched up, her mouth open, her breath coming faster.
And Christ, she felt so good around him. Soft and hot. Slick. Perfect.
“Yes,” he murmured, moving faster, keeping up the rhythm. “Think only of me. Only of what I’m

doing to you. The pleasure I’m giving you. Not the pain or anything else. Just me.” And he thrust
deeper. Harder.

Her back arched, her legs closing around his waist, her hips lifting in time with his. “Oh…Jesus…

Luc…”

He shifted, gripping her hips, pulling her closer so he could go even deeper. Moving faster, the

pleasure whispering like electricity down his spine. She reached for him, her nails sinking into his
shoulders, small pricks of pain.

But it wasn’t enough. He wanted her even closer.
He slid his hands beneath her, gathering her into his arms, sitting her in his lap, her blindfolded

face inches from his.

“Who are you thinking of?” he said raggedly. “Who is it now?”
“You,” she whispered. “Only you, Luc.”
The pleasure coiled tight inside him, an intense satisfaction propelling it. Because that felt like the

truest thing he’d ever heard in his life.

His arms tightened around her and he gave one last, deep thrust. She cried out, arching her back,

her pussy clenching around his cock.

And he slid a hand up her back, into her hair. Pressing her mouth down on his so that she could feel

him and taste him as well. So that the only memory she would have was of him. Everywhere. Giving
her nothing but pleasure.

Only then did he embrace the ecstasy himself and let it take him away, the orgasm thundering

through him, all flash and fire, like a tropical rainstorm.

In the aftermath, he brought her back down onto the mattress, holding her close as their breathing

slowed. He didn’t want to move or let her go, but eventually he had to do both. “I’ll be back in a

second.”

She didn’t say a word as he got up and made a trip to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. And he

was half-afraid of coming back to find her gone, his bed empty.

But it wasn’t. She was still there, a sheet now covering her beautiful body, blonde hair loose over

her shoulders. She hadn’t even taken the blindfold off.

His heart was full and tight in his chest. Emotion pressing against it. A feeling he didn’t recognize

or even know how to handle.

And like a frozen limb coming back to life, it was a raw, painful feeling.
He was a killer. A monster. And yet she’d given him her trust. What the fuck did he do with that?

When she had no idea who he was and what he was capable of?

You made her give it to you.
Yeah, he had. And now he had to deal with the consequences, tell her the truth about himself. But…

he didn’t want to do it. Didn’t want to overshadow her trauma by telling her what had happened to
him. It couldn’t happen.

Which meant he should probably let her go. Tell her to leave. Something. Because this had gotten

out of hand, had become about more than merely sex. And he hadn’t intended it to be that way.

He wasn’t capable of giving her what she’d given him, not when merely surviving was so difficult.
But he wasn’t going to tell her to leave. Not now.
Turned out he was a selfish prick after all.

Chapter Twelve

It had been a long time since she’d woken up in a man’s arms, and she had to admit it was nice.

Actually no, not nice. Pretty damn fucking good.

Eleanor lay on her side with Luc’s body hot against her back, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

One hand possessively covered her breast while the other rested on her stomach, long fingers almost
brushing her clit. And there was something aggressively hard pressing against the curve of her butt.

“I guess that means you’re awake,” she said sleepily.
“What?”
“You’re hard.”
His mouth brushed against the back of her neck. “I’m always hard when you’re around. And that

doesn’t necessarily mean I’m awake.”

“It’s true.” She settled against him, giving her butt an almost imperceptible wiggle to be a brat.
Luc spread his hands out on her stomach. “Are you being bad, soleil? Because you know what

happens to bad girls.”

Oh yes she did. Blindfolds and restraints and intense pleasure. And she had a feeling that was only

a start. There were more things Luc could do. Things she could teach him, because he certainly had an
aptitude for it. And now that she was free, she could do…anything.

She smiled. It had been a long time since she’d woken up feeling this good too.
“You speak French when you’re about to come,” she murmured, remembering the night before.

“Quite a lot of French actually.”

He went still and she could feel his muscles tense. Hell, what had she said? “Sorry, is that a sore

subject?”

Silence behind her for a moment. Then he said, “It’s my mother’s language. I grew up speaking it.

And…just bad memories.”

Of course. His parents who’d been killed in front of him in some political unrest. Wasn’t that why

she’d initially come here in the first place? To learn more about him?

She put her hand over his where it rested on her stomach, sympathy twisting inside her. “I’m sorry,

I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s okay. It’s been a few years.”
She could feel him relax a little, his breath warm on her nape. And it struck her that she’d spilled

her guts to him the night before, totally caught up in her own pain, not even giving a thought to him or
what he wanted.

Kind of selfish.
Maybe it was. It was only that Piers had cast a long shadow and she hadn’t had the emotional

energy to expend on someone else.

Be honest. You haven’t wanted to expend the emotional energy.
That was true too. Now, though, she felt different. And Luc was different.
An image flashed in her head, of him when he’d opened the door to her the night before, covered in

sweat, his knuckles raw. A punching-bag accident, he’d said. Yet the look in his eyes had been… The
only word she could think of was haunted.

Clearly he had demons too.
“So,” she said softly. “You know all about my dark past. What about you? Got any skeletons in the

closet?”

“Not really. You know about my parents.”
“What were they like? Or is that too personal?”
“After last night you can pretty much ask me anything, soleil.”
Not that she would get an answer, she suspected. “Oh sure. So tell me about your mother. She was

from the Ivory Coast, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah. Dad met her while he was working for a charity in Abidjan. She was beautiful. Passionate.

Idealistic like Dad. I guess if you’re working for charities you have to have some kind of optimism or
idealism. She loved helping people and she and Dad were passionate about what they did. Or at
least…that’s what my grandparents tell me. I can’t remember much about them.”

She could hear the thread of sadness running through his voice. It hurt her in a way she didn’t

expect. Tightening her hand over his, she changed the subject. “So you grew up in Abidjan?”

“In a town down the coast a way. I don’t remember much about that either, except that I went to a

French school, which used to piss me off because it kind of set me apart from the other kids I used to
play with.”

“Your parents didn’t want to live in New Zealand?”
“Eventually that was the plan. My mother thought it was important for me to know my African

heritage before we came back here, plus she and Dad had work they wanted to do on the Ivory Coast
first. They wanted to bring me back here for high school but…that didn’t really work out.”

No. Because they had been killed.
The sympathy gathering in her chest became an ache. It must have been terrible for him to lose his

parents like that. And then to come back to New Zealand, a different culture, a different language… It
must have left him so lonely.

Jesus. Perhaps this wasn’t the best line of conversation she could have chosen.
She shifted her fingers, looking down at the lean, brown hand on her stomach. “These tattoos,” she

murmured, stroking over his skin. “What do they mean? The lines and dots. They’re interesting.”

Luc shifted, his arms withdrawing from her, the bed dipping as he rolled away. “A friend did

them,” he said in a flat tone.

She turned over, frowning.
He’d gotten out of bed, prowling over to a set of drawers and pulling out some clothes.
“Luc?” She sat up, puzzled. “Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”
He tugged on some boxers and jeans, doing up the fly, the impressive muscles of his abs flexing.

“No. I’ve got a lecture in an hour so I should get going.”

Oh bullshit she hadn’t said anything wrong. Something had killed his hard-on, that was for sure.

Why else would he have gotten out of bed so quickly?

“Luc…”
He pulled a T-shirt on over his head, jerking it down in a short, sharp movement. Then he turned

and strode back over to the bed, that dark, intent look in his eyes.

Her pulse accelerated as he leaned down, taking her face between his hands. “This isn’t over,

soleil. I want to see you again.”

Jesus, when he held her like that, when he looked at her like that, she was putty in his hands. And

she couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say. “Okay,” she murmured. “I want that too.”
Because she did want to see him again. Now that she’d finally broken out of her cage, she wanted to
explore.

Is it really only about the sex?
The thought disturbed her for some reason. It had to only be about sex. She couldn’t afford to get

involved with him any further than they were already because he was still a student and she was still
his professor. And aside from anything else, she wasn’t sure she was ready for a relationship anytime
soon.

His thumbs stroked along her cheekbones. “I know you’re worried about the professor-student

thing, so I’m going to see if I can find a way around it.”

She blinked at him. “I thought that didn’t matter to you.”
“Yeah, but it matters to you, right?”
Oh God. This could end up being very bad. Very bad indeed. “Yes.”
“Which is why I suggested finding a way around it.” He let her go and straightened. The corner of

his mouth turned in a faint smile. “In fact, I’m warning you now, soleil, I’m very good when it comes
to finding ways around things.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.”
His smile faded. “You know…I can’t promise you anything, Eleanor.”
Something pricked at her, a sharp, fleeting pain. She pulled the sheet more firmly around her.

“Well, that’s fine. I’m not in the market for promises anyway.”

“Okay.” He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the strange fabric cuff on his wrist bright

against the blue denim. “Look, I can’t stay for breakfast or anything. I’ve got some shit to do this
morning. But I’ll come and find you in your office on campus today. We’ll talk.”

“What about locking this place?”
“Just pull the door shut when you leave.” He didn’t move for a moment, staring at her. Then he

turned and abruptly walked out.

Eleanor swallowed. Christ, why had it suddenly gotten awkward? She got off the bed, hearing the

front door slam shut behind him as he left, going over to where her clothes were and dressing slowly.

It had been her questions, she was sure of it. He hadn’t wanted to answer them. Why? What was he

protecting himself from? Because he was protecting himself, of that she was sure. She was a master
of the art herself, after all.

So he’d gotten her to come here with the promise of telling her his secrets but had ended up

revealing precisely nothing. Why did that even matter to her? As the conversation had proved, neither
of them were in this for anything more than the sex and yet…she wanted to know the answers to the
questions.

She wanted to know more about him.
She’d been selfish the night before, had let herself be deflected. Getting totally caught up in her

own pain, not even thinking about how any of this might impact him. And he had his own issues, that
was clear.

Doing up her blouse, she looked around his bare room where there were no pictures. No photos.

Nothing but the bed, the chest of drawers and some books. Like his lounge area, there was nothing
personal at all about it. As if he were only a guest here.

She felt quite desperately sad all of a sudden.
He’s not your business. He’s merely a guy you’re sleeping with.
Yeah, of course he was. And she didn’t want anything more than that.
But he stayed in her head and he was still there when she finally got in to work, the essays she’d

been marking sitting on her desk from the day before.

Dropping her briefcase beside her desk, she sat down and stared at all the red lines she’d drawn

through someone’s work.

God, had it only been yesterday that she’d done that? It felt like a lifetime ago.

She really needed to get on with more marking. Instead she shoved the essays to one side and typed

a name into her computer, bringing up Luc’s academic records.

Searching for clues.
There wasn’t much to go on. His school marks were brilliant, though it was strange he graduated

from high school at twenty, a good two years older than most high school graduates. If he was so
brilliant, why had he spent that long in high school?

They wanted to bring me back here for high school…
What he’d said to her earlier that morning about his parents. He’d been twelve when they’d been

killed and yet…

She frowned at the dates on the screen. He hadn’t started high school at the usual age for kids in

New Zealand, which was around twelve or thirteen. He’d started at King’s College when he was
seventeen. That couldn’t be right, could it? Because that meant there was a five-year gap in his
schooling and that was…strange.

Had he even been in New Zealand? Or had he stayed with other family in Africa after his parents

had been killed? And if so, why had he come back?

More importantly, why do you want to know?
Good question. Because no matter what she told herself, it felt like he was more than only a guy she

was sleeping with. And she didn’t want to be the person who took and never gave anything back.
Especially after what he’d given her.

But what could she even give him when he didn’t want to talk?
She sighed, closing down the window on the screen. And tried to get on with the rest of her day.

Luc finished his talk with the dean and headed down the corridor in the direction of Eleanor’s

office.

Perhaps he should have checked with her first before he’d made his decision but, what the hell, it

was too late now. And if it didn’t work out he wouldn’t have lost anything.

Fuck, even a couple more nights with Eleanor would make it worth the hassle.
You’re reorganizing your entire degree purely so you can keep having sex with her?
Luc ignored the thought as he approached her office door. He wasn’t reorganizing his degree. He

was just making it easier for both of them to see each other. And sure, he didn’t have to do it that way,
but he wanted to.

It mattered to her and what mattered to her was important.
The door of her office was open and she was sitting at her desk, marking essays from the looks of

it. She must have gone home after this morning because she wore different clothes to what she’d been
in the night before. A dark-charcoal skirt and deep-blue blouse. The color was a beautiful contrast to
her hair and when she looked up and saw him, it gave the gray of her eyes a faint blue tinge.

She smiled and he felt something catch inside him. A soft pause, like a note dropped from a song or

a missed footfall.

“And what can I do for you, Mr. North?”
Dismissing the odd feeling, Luc stepped into her office. And shut the door.
Her eyes widened. “Uh…Luc…”
“Come here,” he ordered softly. He’d take this one last thing and then he’d be good.
She darted a look at the door behind him, but after a moment’s hesitation, got up from her chair and

came around the desk to stand in front of him. She met his gaze and raised an eyebrow. “So? What?”

Pushing him. A very good sign indeed, since he wanted to push back.
He reached out and gripped the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. Then he kissed her, hard

and hungry at first, becoming gentler, sweeter. Committing the taste of her to memory because he was
going to need it.

She didn’t protest, her mouth opening under his, giving him back all that sweetness. And he wanted

to keep on kissing her, keep exploring her, but of course he couldn’t. Not now. Or at least, not yet.

He let her go, stepping back. “I’m not going to touch you again. I just wanted one kiss.”
She smoothed her hair, her hand trembling. “I guess I should be grateful it’s only one. But…what

do you mean you’re not going to touch me again? I thought you wanted more?”

Was that disappointment in her eyes? He fucking hoped it was. “I do. But I don’t want to put you in

a bad position with your job.”

Eleanor turned away, going back to her desk and sitting down, smoothing her skirt, getting herself

back in order. But there was no hiding that flush in her cheeks. Or the glitter in her eyes. It made him
feel way too fucking smug for his own good.

“You haven’t got long before you finish your degree, though, have you?” She put her elbows on the

desk and leaned forward. “I mean, if you’re talking about us waiting until you’ve finished…”

“Two whole semesters.” Which was about six months. And way too damn long to go without

touching her.

“Oh,” she said.
He was being a prick, but he liked that her disappointed look meant she obviously thought six

months was way too long too. “Don’t want to wait?”

Her sharp, gray eyes came to his. “Why? Do you?”
Luc smiled. “Not in the fucking slightest. Which is why I’ve found a workaround. I’ve just finished

speaking with the dean about completing my last few semesters at Victoria.”

She frowned. “But that’s six hundred kilometers away.”
Victoria University was in Wellington, down at the other end of the North Island from Auckland.

Clearly she thought he was going to move down there.

He smiled. “Don’t worry, soleil, I’m going to complete them by distance education.”
Which meant he could take the courses online and stay in Auckland. But most importantly of all,

since he’d be at a completely different university, it meant Eleanor wouldn’t be his professor
anymore.

She sat back in her chair, her eyes going wide. “You’d really leave the law school here for me?”
“It doesn’t matter to me. As long as I get a degree at the end of it, I’m happy.”
The flush in her cheeks had deepened. “That’s…a pretty big thing to do, Luc. Just so we can…”

She stopped.

“Sleep together?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
A thread of tension pulled tight inside him. “You said you wanted more.”
She let out a soft breath. “And I do. But I don’t want you to do something that might put your degree

at risk. At least not on my account.”

Luc stepped forward, putting his hands on the edge of her desk, leaning forward and looking her in

the eye. “And don’t you think you might be worth it, Eleanor May?”

But she didn’t look away and he had the strange feeling that she was the one doing the confronting

for a change, that sharp gaze of hers seeing into him. “No,” she said bluntly, “I don’t. We’ve had sex,
Luc, and, sure, it was pretty good sex, but good enough to completely rearrange a four-year degree so
you can keep having it?”

Irritation needled at him. “I’m not rearranging my degree. All it is, is taking my last couple of

papers by distance.”

“You’re changing universities for me.”
“Why shouldn’t I change universities for you?”
“So you’ll change universities, but you won’t talk about your tattoos?”
The irritation bit deeper. And it was all the more annoying because he had no fucking comeback to

that. She’d told him everything about the horrible things that had happened to her, given him her trust,
while he couldn’t even talk about the marks on his hands.

But shit, what else could he do? He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t let out that darkness. Would he

still have her trust if she knew he was a killer? And he hadn’t just killed one or two people either.

As if she knew, as if she could read his fucking mind, her gaze dropped to his wrist, where he’d

tied those pieces of fabric. The fabric from the clothes of his victims so he wouldn’t forget. Because
there were so many and he…he’d become dead inside.

He couldn’t let her ask any more questions, especially not about that.
Luc reached across her desk and grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze away from his wrist so she was

looking at him instead. “It’s too late now. It’s done,” he said forcefully. “We’ll have two weeks until
it’s all finalized and then we can do whatever the hell we want.”

She didn’t pull away. “And until then?”
“Until then I’ll be the perfect student.” He ran this thumb over her lower lip, unable to resist. “But I

don’t want to give up seeing you entirely. We could have coffee. I think that’s allowed.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, her lips soft beneath the touch of his thumb. “Coffee is definitely

allowed.”

So he’d managed to distract her. Good.
Releasing her, Luc straightened. “How does Thursday after your lecture sound?”
“That sounds good.” She leaned back in her chair, one elbow on the arm of it. “But don’t think for a

moment I didn’t notice that change of subject.”

Oh Jesus. She was way too smart for her own good.
Luc made himself smile. “We’ll talk about it Thursday. Either that or I’ll have to think of other

ways to distract you.”

He’d think of ways. He’d have to. Because there was no way, no way in hell, he could ever tell her

the truth.

Chapter Thirteen

Eleanor looked for Luc during class on Thursday and, sure enough, he was there. Not in his usual

place in the front row, but he was there, up in the back talking with friends. He looked at her when
she spoke, but only with intellectual interest as he made notes.

Good. Very good. If he’d gotten all intense, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to concentrate on the

damn lecture.

After class there was the usual crowd of students waiting with questions. She caught Luc’s eye as

he left and he gave her a brief nod, having a word with his friends before coming over to join the
crowd with questions.

She hadn’t seen him since Tuesday—only a few days, but it felt like much longer. And she felt

stupidly excited at the prospect of coffee with him. Which was ridiculous.

Yet her heartbeat accelerated as she dealt with the questions, and she couldn’t wait to get rid of

them all so she had Luc to herself.

Their eyes met as the last student walked out, leaving them alone together. And for a second, the

intensity she remembered from the encounters in his bedroom showed through, and she had to catch
her breath.

Christ, she really was like a fucking teenage girl.
“Glad you could meet me, Mr. North,” she said, trying to keep things neutral.
He smiled, playing along. “Of course, Professor May. I would meet with you anytime.”
“So…” she collected her things and shoved them into her briefcase before closing it up with a

snap, “…coffee?”

“Definitely coffee. Do you have time to go downtown?”
So they could be away from the eyes of the university, presumably. Not a bad idea. Students and

staff often went for coffee in cafés that weren’t on campus; it wouldn’t be unusual.

“Sure.” She picked up her briefcase. “Let’s go.”
Luc clearly had a place in mind as they headed off campus and down the hill toward Auckland’s

city center.

“You haven’t found us a nice little alcove again, have you?” she asked only half-jokingly as they

walked. “Because you seemed pretty firm about the no-touching thing.”

“I was tempted, believe me. But there isn’t a café around that would give us privacy enough for

that.”

“Pity.”
He gave her a single hot, burning glance. “I did find one where no one would overhear us. That

could be as good.”

Oh hell. With the kind of dirty mouth he had, she was thinking it probably was.
The café he took her to was in one of the little streets off the city’s main drag, on the second floor

of an old, historic building. It was a real student hangout, with old couches and mismatched coffee
tables, the décor imitating someone’s laid-back lounge.

Luc got them a table out on the balcony and since it was the only table out there, he wasn’t wrong in

that there would be no one to overhear them.

She tried not to dwell too much on that because Monday night and Luc’s hands on her felt like years

ago. And she was hungry for more.

Yet as she sat down, it wasn’t only his hands and his dirty talking she was thinking about.

She couldn’t forget the walls that had come down behind his eyes the minute she’d mentioned his

tattoos again in her office. Or the way he’d distracted her with his fingers on her chin. And yes, she’d
been absolutely aware of the fact he’d distracted her.

Since they were in public now and, regardless of whether they could be overheard or not, she was

aiming for a few answers where he wouldn’t pull any of his Dom shit.

You kind of want him to.
Eleanor pushed that thought firmly away as Luc came back from ordering coffees at the counter.
He was all in black today and it suited him, the dark color making him look even more dangerous

than he usually did. Like a big, predatory cat hunting for prey.

Christ, you’re ridiculous.
“So what brought you to teaching?”
It wasn’t quite the question she’d been expecting, for some reason. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean, you’ve got an undergraduate degree, a master’s. A doctorate. All those degrees on

your office wall, Eleanor. Yet you never thought of practicing yourself?”

“Not really,” she said and let out a breath. This was moderately painful territory but, hell, why not

tell him? She’d told him almost everything else. “Piers told me once I’d never make it as a teacher.
That I didn’t have either the brains or the patience.” She lifted a shoulder. “So…”

“You had to prove him wrong.”
“He kept me studying because he thought I needed it. And after the divorce, I had all these degrees.

I had to do something with them all.”

He cocked his head. “But not practice law?”
“I never really thought about it, to be honest.” And she hadn’t. Not when she’d spent the years after

her divorce single-mindedly shoving the past away and concentrating only on her academic career.

Luc leaned his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together, and helplessly she found her gaze

drawn to his hands. The tattoos. The cuff. “I think you’d be an amazing lawyer. You’ve got so much
passion for your subject and when you speak people really listen.”

“But I like teaching.”
“Yeah, but don’t you want to make a difference to people’s lives? An actual difference?”
There was an intensity in his voice she hadn’t heard before. Tearing her gaze from his hands, she

glanced up at him. His strong, beautiful features were set in fierce lines, dark eyes compelling. This
was something that really mattered to him.

“I make a difference teaching students.”
“I’m not talking about students; I’m talking about other people. Like…people my dad used to help,

for example. Ordinary people who get caught up in trauma. In war. Who have to leave their homes,
their countries, find somewhere else to go. Who have no one to protect them.”

She found herself sitting there, mesmerized by the look in his eyes. By the passion in his voice.
“I want to help those people, Eleanor. But charities like the ones my parents worked for can only

do so much. And they can’t do anything at all when the law of a country breaks down.” He paused, as
if he was weighing what he had to say next. “I saw what it was like to have anarchy. I was there when
the law broke down and the people with the biggest guns were the ones in charge. And everyone
suffers when that happens. Everyone. Law is important. The rules that govern a society are important.
Law can help people and that’s what I want to do. That’s what I want to be part of.”

He was talking from experience. She could see that as clearly as the black ink on his skin.
The waitress brought their coffees at that point, granting her a moment to watch him as he dropped

a couple of sugar cubes into his espresso.

“What are you looking for, Professor?” he asked, not taking his attention from his coffee, stirring it

slowly. “Whatever it is, I would stop.” There was a hard note in his voice.

“Nothing. I’m just impressed. This is personal for you, isn’t it?”
“My parents were shot in front of me. So yeah, it’s personal.”
Christ, of course.
Eleanor dropped her spoon and reached out instinctively to him, covering his hand where it rested

on the table beside his cup. “Shit, I’m sorry, Luc,” she said softly. “I can’t even imagine what that
must have been like for you but… God. I don’t even know what to say.”

He turned his head, looking down at where her hand covered his. And he stared at it for what

seemed like a long time. Then slowly he turned his hand over so hers rested in his palm, curling his
fingers so that her hand was enveloped in the warmth of his. “You don’t have to say anything.” He
paused. “Not when you’re touching me.”

The gentle heat of his skin seeped into her and she felt it like an ache deep inside. A sweet,

unbearable ache.

“You know you can tell me anything,” she said suddenly. Instinctively. “Anything at all.”
He looked up at her and she didn’t quite understand the look in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Wariness.

Even a touch of fear.

“I mean,” she went on, babbling now, “I basically spilled my guts to you about Piers, so anything

you want to talk about is fine with me.”

An expression flickered through that dark, impenetrable gaze but she still couldn’t tell what it was.
“Thanks for the offer, Professor. But I have nothing I want to talk about.” His thumb moved, a

gentle stroke over the center of her palm, sending a shock wave of heat straight through her. “I’ve got
other things I’d rather be doing.”

He was distracting her again. “What don’t you want to tell me, Luc?” she asked quietly. “Whatever

it is, I can take it.”

His thumb kept up that stroking movement, making her shiver. “I’ve been fantasizing,” he

murmured, as if she hadn’t spoken, “about what I want to do to you once my transfer comes through.
And I’ve got lots of ideas.”

He wasn’t going to tell her, was he?
“I thought I’d tie you down next time. Not only your wrists, but your legs too. Tie them so they’re

spread wide for me. So I can do whatever the fuck I want with you. And I’d put a blindfold on you so
all you have to do is feel.”

Why was that so disappointing? Why did it make her feel as if she was missing out on something?
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” She kept her voice low. “You’re distracting me to

protect yourself, Luc. And fine, if you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to. I’m not going to force you.
But if you think not talking about it makes it go away, you’re shit out of luck.” She began to remove
her hand, only to have his fingers close tightly around her, holding her fast.

“I’m doing what I have to do to survive,” he said fiercely. “And if that’s not talking about it, if

that’s not thinking about it, then that’s what I’m going to fucking do. Some things need to stay in the
past where they belong. Okay?”

It wasn’t okay, though. And looking into his dark, beautiful face, she could see that he knew it too.
She swallowed. “Luc—”
“Let me touch you, mon rayon de soleil. For fuck’s sake, please. I just need…to feel warm.”
There was no way she could deny him.
So she left her hand where it was.

Luc stood by the park gates watching the crowd shuffling by. All the streets around Albert Park,

Auckland’s central city park, had been closed off in preparation for one of the highlights of
Auckland’s festival calendar—the Lantern Festival to celebrate the Chinese New Year. The event
was usually packed and tonight was no exception, the massive crowd winding its way through stalls
selling food and jewelry, clothes and gifts, and, of course, Chinese lanterns. Music played and dotted
throughout Albert Park’s green expanse, under the massive pohutakawa trees, were lanterns shaped in
the form of animals or people, lit up from the inside.

Normally he didn’t much like being in crowds with lots of noise going on. He had too many bad

memories associated with the thick press of people and sudden, loud sounds. But tonight he was too
desperate for Eleanor to wait.

He’d received the confirmation only today that all the paperwork had gone through, that he was

now a distance student with Victoria University. He’d texted her immediately to let her know that they
were free to start seeing each other properly.

A rush of heat went through him at the thought.
You’re going to have to tell her if that’s going to happen.
No, fuck off, he didn’t have to. Yes, she knew something was going on with him, she was too sharp,

too intelligent not to. But he’d already made it clear he wasn’t going to talk about it. He was going to
keep those years in the past, where they belonged.

Shit, he’d been doing that pretty successfully for the past eight years. No reason he couldn’t keep

on doing so.

He’d planned on doing something special tonight. Take her out on a proper date. They’d walk

down the hill through the park, enjoying the festival. Then he’d take her to dinner at an expensive
restaurant near the waterfront. Afterwards they could go back to his place and, well…he had many
ideas on what they could do then. Many, many ideas.

After two weeks of coffee dates, he was fucking dying for the chance to touch her like he wanted.

Not that having coffee with her had been bad at all. They’d had quite a few discussions about things
other than law and he’d enjoyed getting to know her better.

He still thought she’d make a good human rights lawyer. There was a deep well of caring to her

that would make her formidable if she ever wanted to take her passion and her intelligence into the
courtroom.

At that moment, the phone in the pocket of his jeans buzzed and he pulled it out, glancing down at

the screen. A text from Eleanor. Where are you?

Quickly, he responded. I’m at the gate opposite the admin building.
A minute later the crowd swirled, and he saw a flash of blonde hair, the knots of people parting to

reveal Eleanor’s small figure making her way toward him.

His heart tightened strangely. Her blonde hair was loose and gleaming over her shoulders, and

tonight she wore a pair of dark-blue skinny jeans, a white T-shirt that molded to her breasts and a
cardigan in soft, charcoal-gray wool.

So goddamn beautiful.
You don’t have the right to touch all that beauty.
He ignored the thought. Of course he had the right. She’d given him her trust. He was worthy.
Yeah, but she wouldn’t have given you that trust if she’d known what was inside you.
No, he wasn’t going to think of that. She didn’t have to know. And shit, it wasn’t relevant anyway,

right?

Eleanor came to a stop, her gray eyes meeting his. And for a moment she just looked at him. Then

she smiled and the tight feeling in his chest became a sharp ache.

He had to move to get rid of it, but by then she was already walking forward, closing the distance

between them. She rose up on her toes, her arms reaching for him, sliding them around his neck,
pulling him down for a kiss that stole his breath and blew his fucking mind.

Kissing him in the middle of a whole crowd of people, where everyone could see, with no holding

back. Her mouth was hot and he tasted her hunger, her desperation. And her surrender.

Instantly, he was as hard as a rock.
He pulled away, tearing his mouth from hers, looking down into her face. Her eyes were dark and

smoky with desire, her cheeks flushed.

“Jesus, soleil,” he murmured. “Getting me hard in front of all these people is going to earn you a

punishment.”

Her hands tightened on the back of his neck. “Excellent. Exactly what I was hoping for.”
“Not excellent. I have plans. Dinner, for a start.”
“Sorry, but fuck dinner.” Her eyes glittered in the light from the lanterns around them. “How about

you fuck me instead?”

He tightened his grip on her. “I give the orders here, not you.”
“I’m not apologizing. When a girl has certain needs, she gets demanding.”
“In that case you need to get your ass in my bed right now.”
“Too far away.” The fierce gleam in her gaze held him as tightly as he held her. “I have a better

idea.”

“Where?”
She pushed at him and he released her. But she didn’t move away. Instead, she kept her hand in his

then turned and began leading him through the crowds around the park gates and across the street to
the university buildings opposite.

As they pushed through the tightly packed knots of people, there came a loud bang behind him, like

the report of a rifle.

Instincts he’d thought long since buried, gripped him in a choke hold. Insane. It was only a fucking

firework. And they were in Auckland. In New Zealand. This wasn’t the broken streets of the town
he’d once lived in, the one the militia overran and had gun battles with government troops in.

Jesus, he hated festivals.
Shaking off the tension that threatened to lock his muscles, Luc concentrated on the woman who

was leading him through the crowds.

Her warm hand in his. The scent of her perfume. The sound of her footsteps. The shining fall of

blonde hair down her back that swayed as she walked.

Another firework went off, color exploding through the sky, light flicking across the faces of the

people around them. Grenades sometimes sounded like that and the light of the explosion…

What if she gets hit? Protect her.
Fear lodged deep inside him. Completely illogical when intellectually he knew where they were

and that what sounded like gunfire wasn’t. That there was no way Eleanor would get hurt here. You
couldn’t carry a gun here in public, for a start.

And yet…he was afraid. Suddenly completely afraid. For her.
He tightened his fingers around hers and she glanced back in response, giving him a smile.
A bullet could end that smile. He knew what happened when you fired a gun at close range at

someone. He’d seen the damage.

You dealt it.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of that voice. Those days were over. Gone. He was here in

Auckland now. And he had Eleanor with him.

You’re still one of them. You’re still dead inside.
Fuck no, he wasn’t. How could he be dead when she was around? She was his sun. She chased

away the shadows. She made him feel…

A shrieking in the sky, a skyrocket whistling. Then a massive bang as it exploded right overhead.
Rocket launcher. Watch out for the fucking shell.
His breathing was fast, his muscles tense. His Kalashnikov was slung over his shoulder… No,

fuck, that was his backpack. What the hell was going on?

Eleanor turned down a pathway that threaded through the campus buildings. There were a lot of

trees, a lot of shadows. Places for ambush. The pathway lighting was bright and he could hear the
crowds back in the main street. A series of loud reports as someone let off what must have been a
rope of firecrackers. He tensed at each sound.

“Luc?”
He blinked and realized she’d stopped and was looking at him, an expression of concern on her

face.

“Nothing.” His mouth had gone dry. “I…don’t like fireworks much. Come on.”
She opened her mouth, clearly wanting to ask a question, but at that moment a group of shadows

loomed up behind her.

A firework went off again, a series of bright, white flashes like a magnesium flare.
Lighting up the night as one of the shadows reached for Eleanor.
Protect her. They’ll hurt her.
Instinct took over.
His gun was gone, which left only his knife. Luc reached for the blade he always carried in his

boot and lunged. Someone screamed but he ignored it. Ignoring the screaming was one of his first
lessons. Any distractions and you were dead.

You had to detach yourself. You had to move. Otherwise you were dead.
There were more sounds but he tuned them out, concentrating on incapacitating his enemy. Gripping

the man’s head, he delivered a knee to the stomach then pushed him to the ground and leaned over
him, pressing the point of the knife against his jugular.

The man was screaming, the whites of his eyes noticeable even in the dark.
A government soldier. They were always fucking cowards.
“Luc!” Someone was shouting at him but he tuned that out too because that was another distraction.

He’d take this guy out first then he’d deal with whatever other problem was happening.

Someone pulled on his arm. Hard. What the fuck? He snarled and whirled around, finding another

soldier at his elbow, still tugging on his arm. Prick. Why hadn’t he spotted the second guy?

He reached out quickly with his free hand, grabbing the man by the throat. The guy on the ground

was still screaming, which meant Luc could probably leave him until he’d dealt with the fucker trying
to get his knife.

Springing to his feet, he propelled the gasping soldier up against the wall of a ruined building and

brought his knife under the man’s throat. A dark trickle of blood began winding down the pale skin.

Wait. Pale skin?
In the sky above, light flashed. Red and green and blue.
Illuminating Eleanor’s terrified face.

Chapter Fourteen

She kept saying his name, over and over again. Because this wasn’t him, she could see it wasn’t.

There was a horrifyingly blank look on his face and a dead expression in his eyes.

She didn’t know where this man had come from or why, but she knew Luc was in there, somewhere

behind that terrifying expression. And if she kept saying his name she’d reach him.

She could feel the knife at her throat, the slight pain of the blade against her skin. The trickle of

blood. But she forced down the fear. Because she knew that this man wouldn’t hurt her intentionally.
Knew it with absolute certainty.

All she had to do was reach him.
The drunks that had lumbered into her, including the one that Luc had taken to the ground, had long

since run. There was no one around except this man, who had her up against one of the campus
buildings, his fingers around her throat, the point of his knife under her chin.

Fireworks exploded above her, but she kept saying his name.
And then something must have clicked in his head because his eyes widened suddenly. And she

knew he’d finally seen her.

Horror flooded through his face. “No,” he whispered. “Oh fuck no.” The knife fell away, dropping

to the ground as he stumbled back. Then he gave an anguished groan and covered his face with his
hands.

Her heart twisted at the sound. Something was very, very wrong.
Luc hadn’t been in Auckland. He’d been somewhere else, seeing something else. And she didn’t

know where or why, but she was going to find out.

Ignoring the sting of the cut on her throat and the fear echoing through her, Eleanor propelled

herself away from the building. Crossing the distance between them, she took his wrists in a strong
grip and pulled them away from his face.

“Something happened to you in Africa, didn’t it?” Because she was now pretty sure of that. “Tell

me.”

His eyes were black holes, sucking in light. The pain in them depthless. “You don’t want to know.”

His voice was hoarse, ragged. He shook her hand away, reaching to touch the line of blood now
drying on her skin. “Fuck, I only wanted to protect you, but…I hurt you.”

Eleanor gripped his wrist. Held it. “I do want to know. You pushed me up against a building and

held a knife to my throat. Don’t you think I deserve to know why?” It was brutal, but she had the sense
that if she wanted to get anything out of him at all she needed to be brutal.

Luc stared at her for a long moment and the anguish in his expression made her chest hurt far worse

than any stupid knife prick. “I never wanted this to happen. I tried…fuck…” Abruptly he turned,
taking a few steps away from her as if he wanted to put distance between them. “After my parents
were killed, I was recruited into one of the antigovernment militias, headed by an ex-general, Charles
Inza. They needed fighters and they took everyone. They took me.”

“But…” she couldn’t quite get her head around it, “…you were a kid.”
“I was twelve. They took a few younger than me too.” His voice sounded flat, lifeless. “Kids make

good soldiers. They’re obedient. You don’t need to pay them. And you can mold them into whomever
you want them to be.” He paused. “The first six months were the worst. They gave you a week’s
worth of training, put a gun in your hand and then told you to kill people. And if you didn’t, you were
shot. If you protested, you were shot. If you cried, you were shot. The only way to survive was to do

what they told you to.”

Shock and grief rose in her throat, choking her. The cold sound of his voice… Jesus. He was

detailing things no child should ever have to go through. “And you had to…” Her voice failed and she
couldn’t make herself say it.

“Kill people? Yes. I was lucky in that most of the villages around the city had already been

emptied out, so there were no civilians left to kill. Only government soldiers.” He lifted his hand, the
fabric cuff around it sliding down his forearm. “You wanted to know what this was? It’s a reminder. I
threw up after my first kill, where no one could see because they would have shot me for being weak.
And after that I swore I would remember every single person. Remember every single face. I didn’t
want to become like Inza, like the rest of the militia, because, Christ, they weren’t even human
anymore. But…I had to shoot so many.” His voice had lost the cold edge, becoming rough. “It hurt, it
all hurt and I had to protect myself. So I learned not to feel. But I didn’t want to forget either, so I took
the material from their clothes and tied it around my wrist so I wouldn’t. So I could keep them with
me.”

The shock was settling into her bones, making her shiver and she couldn’t stop herself from looking

at that cuff around his wrist. At all the fabric strands. So many strands…

“I didn’t want to be one of them, Eleanor. I didn’t want to be a monster like they were,” Luc said

softly and turned, the quiet agony on his face bringing tears to her eyes. “But I am, aren’t I? I am.”

Something shattered in her heart, cutting her to pieces, and she couldn’t speak because of the pain

she felt for him. For what had been done to him.

“No,” she said hoarsely, “of course you’re not—”
“Yes I am.” His voice was certain. “If I weren’t, I would never have hurt you.”
“Luc…” She took a step toward him, not knowing what else to do other than touch him.
But he held up a hand, warding her off. “No. Don’t…don’t come near me. It’s not safe. I’m not

safe.”

“You can’t believe that—”
“No.” The look in his eyes stopped her in her tracks. “I can’t do this, Eleanor. I’m sorry, but I

can’t.”

“What do you mean ‘this’?”
“You. Me. It can’t happen.”
She didn’t think it was possible to hurt any more than she was already, but apparently it was

perfectly possible. “Honey,” she said softly, “we need to talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about?” That cold, dead look had come back into his face. “I’m a killer,

Eleanor. A killer who’s very good at pretending not to be one.”

“That’s not who you are, Luc. You were made to be one. There’s a difference!”
He said nothing for a long moment, looking at her. “We lost lots of units in a big push. Inza needed

more men and he had this refugee camp a few days away under surveillance. He wanted us to go in,
kill everyone in it but the boys we could take for the army. There were women there, smaller
children, babies…” The look in his eyes was terrible. “I was one of his lieutenants. He wanted me to
lead the mission. And I said yes.”

Horror stole her breath. “You didn’t, Luc.” He couldn’t have; she wouldn’t believe it.
“They weren’t people to me anymore. They weren’t even kids. They’d become targets. And that’s

how I thought of them. Targets to hit, obstacles to get rid of. And I felt nothing at the thought of killing
them.” His voice became a whisper. “I felt fucking nothing.”

“Luc—”

“I don’t even know what it was that made me think ‘I can’t do this’. Some survival instinct maybe.

But after planning that mission, I knew I had to get out. I had to leave, otherwise I’d…truly become
one of them. So I took some of my squad and escaped during an ambush that night. We walked for
days, hiding from the militia patrols sent to look for us. Eventually we ran into some UN troops and
they rescued us. Got UNICEF involved and shipped us to Ghana. I thought…I thought I’d escaped.
But…” he turned away abruptly, “…I haven’t… Shit, I’m still there.”

She didn’t know what to say, not when there was so much despair in his voice. Not when words

meant nothing at all. “Luc,” she whispered.

More fireworks went off, exploding against the black velvet of the sky. And she saw him flinch.
“Luc, please…”
But he didn’t say anything, only began to walk away. Not toward the festival but in the other

direction. Slowly at first. Then faster.

Her heart tightened. “Lucien.”
He shifted into a jog, going faster. Away from her.
Pain bit deep in her heart, as sharp and unexpected as that knife. “Lucien!”
He didn’t stop. Or turn. The jog shifting into a run. Carrying him away.
Leaving her alone.

Eleanor was still shaking when she got back to her car. And she had to sit there for a good five

minutes before she felt ready to turn the key and start the engine.

She felt like an earthquake had happened, the ground unsteady with aftershocks.
The point of the knife pressing against her skin. The look of horror on Luc’s face. The fabric cuff

on his arm and what it meant. All those threads…

I was recruited by the militia. I’m a killer.
She drove home and didn’t remember even a minute of the drive, becoming aware she was in the

driveway of her St. Mary’s Bay home only when the engine stopped.

Inside, she dropped her bag and keys beside the hall table and stood in the hallway with its

polished wooden floors and white walls covered in art, staring at nothing, struggling to process what
had happened with Luc.

Eventually she made herself move down the hallway and into the kitchen. Grabbing a wineglass

from the cupboard and a bottle of white from the fridge, she went into her lounge and sat down on the
couch, pouring herself a huge glass.

Shock was still running through her system, a terrible, aching kind of grief in her heart.
Tonight was meant to be the start of something new. Though the kind of relationship she and Luc

had planned was going to be intensely sexual, she’d come to think over the past couple of weeks that
it could be something more. That, in fact, she wanted more.

But now all that was gone. Shattered by his confession.
Luc had been a child soldier. And he’d lived like that for five years.
Eleanor leaned back on the couch and took a gulp of wine.
Fuck, the way he’d moved when the drunk had lumbered into her. All that lethally honed grace

she’d sensed below the surface of him, exploding into action. Terrifying. Especially when she’d
pulled on his arm and had it turned on her.

And all it had taken was a couple of fireworks to set it off.
She closed her eyes, remembering the dead look on his face. And then the horror when he’d

realized where he was and that he was holding a knife to her throat.

I’m a killer. A killer who’s very good at pretending not to be one.

A killer didn’t look at their victim with horror. But a traumatized boy did. And that’s what he was,

that’s what he’d been. A terrified boy who’d seen his parents murdered and then had a gun shoved in
his hands.

Tears burned behind her closed lids.
That kind of trauma broke people and certainly Luc had been terribly scarred by his experiences.

Who wouldn’t have been?

Grief sat like a broken bottle inside her chest, the sharp ends digging into her heart. Hurting for

him. For the weight of the burden he’d been forced to carry. For the trauma he must have experienced.
No wonder he’d had to cut off his emotions. How else could you survive something like that so
young?

I’m one of them.
A tear leaked out and ran down her cheek. But she didn’t wipe it away.
He wasn’t one of them, though, was he? He’d broken through her walls, ripped through the anguish

of what had happened to her with Piers, but he hadn’t left her bleeding and broken. Or hurt her
needlessly. He’d touched her gently and with passion. Taken away the pain and given her pleasure in
its place. Accepted the trust she’d given him and treasured it for the gift it was.

He’d healed the wounds.
That didn’t make him a killer, one of those dead-eyed soldiers who raped and tortured because any

empathy they had for others had been destroyed.

That made him a good man. A man who’d drawn a line in the sand and said no. Who’d taken

threads from the clothes of the men he’d been forced to kill so he wouldn’t forget.

So he wouldn’t be one of them.
And he still wasn’t. Sure, he had cracks running through him that ran deep, but he wasn’t broken.

Jesus, he’d come out of five years of hell with a strong will and a passion and had gone on to do so
much. That he was even able to function was kind of amazing.

He was kind of amazing. In so many ways.
You’re in love with the guy.
Eleanor opened her eyes.
Yeah, she probably was, wasn’t she? How completely ridiculous, to fall for one fucked-up man

and then, years later, to fall for another who was possibly even more fucked up.

Yet Luc was strong, honorable, protective, caring. A better man than Piers had ever been or would

ever be.

Her fingers tightened on the stem of her wineglass.
He was so alone. So isolated. And shit, she knew what it was to feel like that. She’d experienced

what it was to feel trapped. To be forced into doing something you didn’t want to do.

She couldn’t leave him to suffer that by himself. She couldn’t leave him alone in the dark.
Her heartbeat began to accelerate, a feeling of certainty settling over her like a heavy blanket.
What she was contemplating was probably insane. The issues Luc had wouldn’t be solved easily

or without pain, if at all. Staying with him would mean one hell of a commitment.

But she could do it. She was strong.
And fuck, he was worth it.
Eleanor put down her glass, wiping away the tears and getting to her feet.
There was just one thing she needed to get.

Luc threw the meager clothes he had into the kit bag that sat open on the bed. He didn’t need much

more than that and his wallet.

You’re running away for the second time this evening, you fucking coward.
Too bad. Perhaps he was a coward, but that was better than the alternative. Losing his shit and

hurting someone again, like he’d hurt Eleanor.

Christ, her terrified face and blood on her skin. His knife so close to her throat.
A shudder rippled through him, his hands shaking as he balled up a T-shirt and flung it at the bag.
He’d never had a flashback like that before, not once, but he knew why that was. Because he’d

never had Eleanor before. She’d brought him back to life, warmed up the part of him that was numb,
brought all those emotions he’d managed to bury back to the surface again.

And that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t have another flashback because, Christ, what if he hadn’t

stopped? What if he’d killed that guy?

What if you’d killed her?
Cold sank down into his bones. A deathly cold.
He began to shake again. He needed to get out of here, get away from everyone until he’d managed

to force all these fucking feelings down. Until he’d gotten himself back under control. Had found that
detachment once more. Yeah, he hated feeling numb but at least that protected him and the people
around him.

At least it would protect her.
Luc closed his eyes. He had to remember that cold, hold tightly to it with everything in him.

Because if he hurt someone again, especially her, fuck, it would destroy him.

Better to leave. Better to go now, while he could. It didn’t matter where he went, as long as it

wasn’t here.

Abruptly there came the sound of someone hammering on his front door.
What the fuck? Perhaps if he ignored it, whoever it was would go away.
He threw the rest of his stuff into the bag and scanned around his bedroom to see if he’d missed

anything. Considering there wasn’t much there to start with, he didn’t think he had.

The hammering on his door didn’t let up.
Cursing, he strode down the hallway.
It could be her.
He stopped dead. No, it couldn’t be her. Why would she come after him? After he’d held a knife to

her throat? After he’d told her what he was? She was an intelligent woman. She’d probably never
want to see him again.

Pain looped around his heart, but he ignored it. He had to remember the cold. Stay detached.
“Luc! Open the door!”
Oh fuck. It was her. What the hell was she doing here? What the hell did she want? Didn’t she have

any sense of self-preservation at all?

He began to turn away. If he didn’t answer it, she’d leave eventually.
“I know you’re in there, Luc!” she shouted. “I saw the lights in your window. If you don’t open the

door, I’ll just stay here. All night if I have to.”

He shouldn’t open that door. He should walk away and leave her.
But something in him wouldn’t let him do it.
Cursing, he jerked it open and there she was, standing in the hallway with her hair loose, down her

back, and dark circles around her eyes.

And a line of dried blood at her throat.
Fear and grief sank claws into him, sharp as blades. He tried to force it down, going for anger to

frighten her off. “What the fuck are you doing here, Eleanor? You need to leave.”

“No,” she shot back, taking a couple of steps toward him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Are you stupid?” He blocked the door, drawing himself to his full height, wanting to intimidate

her so she’d remember what he’d done to her. So she’d leave and save herself. “You’ve still got
blood on you from where I cut you with my fucking knife, and now you’re coming back? What the hell
do you want? Me to finish the job?”

Her chin lifted, not looking intimidated in the slightest. “You put the blood there, you can fucking

clean it away for me.”

“What?”
She didn’t answer. With a move he wasn’t expecting, she suddenly ducked under his arm and

stepped into his apartment.

He tried to make a grab for her, but she dodged him, already walking down the hallway toward his

bedroom.

“Eleanor, for fuck’s sake!” He slammed the door and went after her, anger escaping his control and

beginning to burn hot inside him. What the hell was she doing here? What did she hope to achieve?
She couldn’t want him, so what was the point of her being here at all?

He was too dangerous to be around, and if she had any brain in her head at all, she’d be as far from

him as she could get.

Following her down the hallway, he found her in his bedroom, her back to him. She’d dropped her

bag on the floor and was in the process of taking something out of it.

“Eleanor,” he said, hard and cold. “You need to get the fuck away from me.”
She turned. There was a black, silky-looking blindfold in her hand. The look in her eyes blazed,

full of all the emotions he was struggling to contain. Fury, passion, desire. “But I don’t want to get the
fuck away from you,” she said flatly. “In fact, leaving you is the last thing on earth I can imagine
doing.”

The pain around his heart pulled so unbearably tight he tried to force it away, to hold on to the cold

instead. “Then you’re a fucking idiot. I’m dangerous. I’m unstable. I could—”

“You’re not any of those things, Luc.” She stepped forward and held out the blindfold. “You think

I’d give a killer my absolute trust? I made the mistake once before of giving it to a man who didn’t
deserve it. But you do. And I want to prove it to you. I used to like not being able to see, but Piers
made it…awful.” She took a breath, her knuckles white around the black fabric. “I want to reclaim
that. I want to be able to choose this for myself, make it good again. And nothing is awful with you,
Luc. So please take it. It’s my gift to you.”

A sudden, desperate craving pushed against the cold inside him. The need to take that blindfold,

give her what she wanted. Then hold her and all her blazing warmth until he was nothing but ash.

But he couldn’t. He’d held a knife to her throat. He’d made her bleed.
How could she hand him a blindfold and tell him she trusted him after he’d done something like

that? After what had been done to her?

He ignored the material in her hand. “Get out, Eleanor. If you knew what was good for you, you’d

get the fuck out of here without looking back.”

She stared at him for a long moment, but the determination in her eyes didn’t flicker, not even for an

instant. Then she turned away, going over to the bed and laying the blindfold down on it. Her hands
went to the buttons of her cardigan and she began unbuttoning it.

“Eleanor.” He put every ounce of command he had into the word. “Get out. I’m not going to tell you

again.”

But she didn’t even pause as she shrugged her cardigan off and pulled her T-shirt over her head,

dropping them on the floor. Then she reached around to unhook her bra.

The longing pushed harder inside him, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “If you don’t get the

fuck out of here, I’ll pick you up and carry you out.”

“Go ahead. But I think you should punish me for ignoring your orders first.” She kicked off her

sandals, pushed down her jeans, taking her panties with them.

His breath caught, the pain in his chest unbearable as she stepped naked from her clothes and

turned around to face him. The moon came through the windows, gleaming pale over her hair and
white skin.

“You can’t do this,” he said desperately. “You don’t understand what I am.”
“I understand what you think you are. And you’re wrong, Luc. You’re so fucking wrong.” She

crossed the space between them and he wanted to back away to protect her from himself. And yet at
the same time he wanted to hold on to her with everything he had.

“Yes, you’ve killed, but you’re not a killer. You’re a good man, strong, a survivor. Someone who

lived in hell and who came back alive. But, honey…” she put a hand on his chest before he could stop
her, “…no one who’s lived in hell is without scars. No one comes out of that untouched.”

He didn’t want her to touch him, didn’t want her to start bringing him back to life again. And yet…

he couldn’t seem to bring himself to step back. “I’m dangerous, Eleanor. I’m… I can’t…”

Her hand didn’t move, only rested on his chest like a hot coal, burning him. And he didn’t want to

look at her, naked and beautiful in front of him, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He’d always
thought of her as the sun. Even at night she was bright. She had the moon and the whole fucking Milky
Way galaxy in her eyes.

“Here’s the deal, honey,” she said very softly. “I love you. And I’m not leaving you alone. Not ever

again.”

When was the last time someone had told him they loved him? Too long.
He could feel the longing pushing against his throat, pushing against his heart. A desperation that

went bone deep. That didn’t want detachment, that didn’t want numbness.

That was tired of being alone in the dark.
“Soleil…” he whispered and he didn’t even know what he was pleading for this time. For her to

leave or for her to stay.

She took her hand from his chest.
And dropped to her knees at his feet.

She didn’t know if he’d understand what she was doing, what she was offering. But she couldn’t

push him into this. He’d been forced into so many things; this had to be a choice he made consciously.

And in order to make it, he had to overcome the fear that he was one of those soldiers. One of those

killers.

She kept her head bowed, her gaze on the floor. Hoping and praying.
Then his hand on her head, gentle, causing a shudder to go right through her.
“I can’t trust myself,” he murmured. “Not with you.”
“You don’t have to trust yourself. You only have to trust me.”
Luc didn’t move and for a long time there was only silence, his hand on her head. And she could

feel the tremors in his fingers as they rested in her hair.

The darkness of the blindfold had been terrifying after Piers but she had no fear when it came to

Luc. He’d covered her eyes the night she’d told him what had been done to her and though she’d been
scared, she’d pushed through it.

Now she wanted to reclaim the anticipation of the unknown she used to love. And with it, restore

his trust in himself, as he’d helped her restore hers.

“You have my absolute trust,” she said quietly into the silence, reminding him she was there. “But

now I need you to give me yours…Sir.” She hadn’t said that word in a very long time but it felt right
now. Felt good.

The fingers in her hair stilled. “Stand by the bed.” His voice sounded rough.
Hope uncurled inside her, but she didn’t let it show on her face, not wanting to give in to it too

soon, rising to her feet and doing what he said.

He followed her and she saw him reach down, pick up the blindfold from where she’d laid it on

top of the bedclothes.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned punishment straight-up like she had. But it was too late now.

She was committed.

“You remember your safe word?”
“Yes.” Bracing herself for the darkness, Eleanor closed her eyes in preparation.
The material came over her face, soft against her skin, and she felt him knot the ties at the back of

her head firmly. She had to force herself to breathe slowly, in through her nose and out through her
mouth, fighting through the instinctive panic.

His palm came to rest at her nape, his fingers around her neck, exerting a subtle pressure. The hold

centered her, the panic vanishing completely to be replaced by a new and much more pleasurable
tension. Anticipation.

“Lie down,” Luc instructed, his hands guiding her onto the bed and down against the crisp cotton of

the sheets. “Hands above your head.”

She did so, more soft fabric binding her as he tied her wrists together.
Oh yes.
She lay there breathing fast, tied and blindfolded, blackness in front of her, shivering as nervous

tension chased over her skin. Waiting.

God, she remembered how much she’d got off on this. How she’d loved the psychological aspect

of not knowing what was going to happen, of not being able to move. It had been intense and now…
somehow it was even better. Because of Luc.

“Sir?” she asked, testing him.
“I’m not your Sir.” His voice came from down at the end of the bed. He must be standing there,

watching her.

Her sex clenched at the thought of his gaze on her as she lay there helplessly on the bed.
“Yes you are. The first time you gave me an order, held my hands behind my back, you were mine.

You want this as badly as I do. You crave it just as much. And you need it like I need it. So why don’t
you give us both what we want?”

“I can’t, Eleanor. You should find someone else.”
“I don’t want anyone else. You’re the only one I’d let do this to me. You belong to me, whether you

like it or not, like I belong to you.” She took a shaky breath. “Sir, please…”

There was a long silence and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath as she waited for him to reply.
“Fuck, Eleanor May.” Luc’s voice was rough edged. “You’re a bad girl coming here and not

leaving when I told you to go. Thinking you’re safe with me.” The bed moved and she gasped aloud
as she felt him lean over her all of a sudden, his mouth near her ear. “And most especially you’re bad
for loving me, soleil.” His hand trailed down over the curve of her abdomen, between her thighs,
fingers brushing the outer lips of her sex. She gasped again, fire shooting through her. “Because I’m

not worthy of that kind of gift. But…” he stroked her and through the haze of pleasure she heard the
catch in his voice, “…I want to be. Oh, Eleanor, I want to be.”

“You are,” she murmured. “A killer deals in death, Luc. Not pleasure. Not caring. Not tenderness.

And those are the things you’ve given me. Your strength, your command, your control gives me
pleasure, never pain. Don’t ever doubt it. So why don’t you show me how I belong to you? How you
own me?”

His breath was warm on her skin, his body still over hers. Then he said, “Keep still,” and he

moved away.

Trembling, Eleanor stayed where she was. She wasn’t going to move. She was going to do exactly

what he said, no matter what that was. Ready for anything.

It felt like she lay there for a long time with nothing but silence for company, tension pulling her

muscles tighter and tighter.

“Legs apart.” His voice came quite suddenly, and shock made her have to take a moment to process

the order.

But he didn’t give her a moment, powerful fingers on her thighs pushing them wide.
She sucked in a breath, only to have all the air escape as something that felt both cold and burning

at the same time brushed against one nipple.

“What are you doing?” she asked, panting, trying to twist away.
“I told you to keep still.”
She tried to do what he told her as another pass of that cold thing slid over one nipple then the

other, her brain struggling to make sense of it.

Ice…
He circled the ice cube around her stiff, aching nipples before moving it lower, over her stomach.

Goose bumps rose everywhere, desire a hard, tight knot down low inside her.

The fact that he was silent, that he didn’t explain himself or wait for her to protest, meant

something.

He was trusting her the way she was trusting him.
Her heartbeat accelerated, hope and fear and desire tangling inside her. And love, a wild burst of it

burning in her veins.

She trembled. “Sir…”
He shifted on the bed, a warm hand covering her mouth, silencing her. “You’ve been bad, Eleanor.

Disobeyed my direct orders. And that means you need to be punished.” The ice cube tracked a cold,
burning path down to her hip then over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “I’m going to tease you,
tantalize you, but you’re not allowed to come. If you do come, I won’t let you have my cock. Nod
once if you understand.”

She nodded, trying to restrain the urge to lick his palm.
“Good,” he said, removing his hand from her mouth. The ice cube moved slowly closer to her sex,

the pleasure/pain of the cold making her shake. “Remember, if you want me to stop, you only have to
say the word.”

She gave a second, sharp nod, the darkness behind the blindfold beginning to flame.
Delicious anticipation had begun to build and along with it the desire to prove herself to him. To

show him that she was as worthy of his trust as he was of hers.

She tried to stay strong as the ice cube traced the outer lips of her pussy, moaning, her hips lifting

helplessly. But the contrast of the biting cold against her heated skin was so intense she couldn’t stop
shaking. Especially when he slid the cube against her clit, pleasure/pain pulsing through her.

Colors leapt behind her closed lids, flaring brightly in the dark as the sensations layered one on top

of the other. As he ran the ice cube down her center, his finger taking its place at her clit.

Holy Christ, she wasn’t going to survive this.
She bit her lip hard to stop the orgasm that threatened, determined to obey him. To show him she

could do what he wanted.

And right when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, his touch vanished, leaving her shivering

on the bed, her skin sensitized and burning.

The sound of her breathing was harsh in the silence.
Then the bed dipped again, intense cold meeting intense heat as she felt him push the ice cube

inside her.

She said his name on a gasp as she felt warm breath on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. A

gasp that turned into a cry as his mouth covered her sex.

The burning pleasure became white-hot, molten, as he pushed his tongue deep inside her, tasting

her.

“Oh…Jesus…” Her voice didn’t sound like her own, thick and ragged.
Arching her hips, she tried to move, only to feel herself suddenly hauled up, his arms wrapping her

waist, her legs over his shoulders, his tongue pushing even deeper.

“Luc!” Another cry burst from her.
She wasn’t allowed to come. She wasn’t supposed to. And she fought it like a tiger.
But he was relentless, devouring her, overwhelming her so completely she was helpless to stop the

climax that smashed over her. Sobbing as she was washed away, with nothing to hold on to except
him.

He couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to wait. The taste of her was still on his tongue and she was

quivering, naked in his arms, and all he wanted to do was blind her with even more pleasure, give her
everything he could.

It didn’t matter that she’d disobeyed him and come without his permission. What she’d given him

when she’d handed him that blindfold, when she’d told him he was hers, was more important than
punishment.

Her belief that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he’d stop when she said her safe word, made him want to

honor that trust. Made him want to be worthy of it.

Made him understand what it meant to trust himself. And make amends for how he’d scared her.

Hurt her.

Lowering her to the bed, he slipped from it, pulling his clothes off before coming back to kneel

once more between her spread thighs.

Her whole body was pink, and there were tears on her flushed cheeks, glinting from underneath the

blindfold.

He leaned over her, wiping away the tears with his fingers then moving lower to where the ribbon

of blood stained her pale skin. Moisture gleamed at her throat, sweat from her pleasure. He wiped the
blood away with her tears, with her sweat, wiped her clean.

Jesus…this woman…she made him everything he’d ever wanted to be.
Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed a condom from the drawer. Protecting himself with

shaking hands, he then leaned forward and pulled the tie from around her wrists, freeing her. She
groaned, her hands coming up to his chest.

He didn’t stop, trusting her to say the word if she needed to, but she didn’t. So he pressed into her

slick heat, feeling her pussy close around his cock, gripping him tight, and he shuddered, unable to

breathe for a second.

Her hands pressed harder. “I want to see you.”
“No.” It felt as if it were too much, to watch her face. To see her come. As if he wouldn’t be able

to bear it.

“Please.”
At this point he could deny her nothing. Reaching up, he pushed up the blindfold, revealing her

flushed face. And her eyes…they weren’t dark. They burned silver.

His heart kicked hard inside his chest. And he couldn’t look away, staring down into her face as he

began to move. Slow. Deep. Her hands slid up his arms, around behind his neck, her legs wrapping
around his waist. Holding him tight. Surrounding him.

The cracks through his soul began to shudder. And it wasn’t because he was falling apart. It was

because a dark shell he hadn’t even realized was there was beginning to disintegrate. And there was
something underneath it.

Something shining. Golden.
He bent his head, burying his face in her neck as the shell broke apart revealing the shining thing at

the center of him. The thing that had been there all along, from the moment he’d seen her.

Love.
As it shone in his soul, she held him. And when it burned away the dark shell of the man he’d once

been, he let it.

Chapter Fifteen

She could feel him shudder, the storm breaking through him, and she didn’t let go, holding him tight.

Even afterwards she didn’t loosen her arms around him, didn’t stop stroking the smooth skin of his
back, feeling all his muscles relax against her. He was heavy but she didn’t care. She just wanted to
anchor him somehow.

“Hey,” he said thickly, some time later. “Can you give me a minute?”
With some reluctance, she let him go and he slipped out of the bed, vanishing into the en-suite

bathroom. A moment later he returned though and she opened her arms to him as he came back to the
bed.

“You know how I said you could tell me anything?” she said into the darkness, wrapping her arms

around him. “How about you tell me all of it now?”

He was silent a while and when he began to speak, his voice was brittle as shattered glass, listing

the things that had happened to him. The first government soldier he’d shot, a gun held to his own
head until he’d pulled that trigger. How he’d been sick after it. The rapes, the tortures he’d seen,
powerless to stop any of them from happening until he’d been made lieutenant and could command his
own squad. He’d shot members of that squad, anyone who perpetrated violence on others. Yes, he
saw the irony of that. And yes, it had killed a piece of him.

She couldn’t speak for the anger that overwhelmed her then, at what he’d been made to do. At the

people who’d done this to him. At the injustice of it all, furious tears filling her eyes.

He noticed, shifting in her arms, putting a gentle finger to her cheek and wiping the tears way.

“Don’t, soleil. Please don’t cry.”

She caught his finger, holding it. “Why shouldn’t I cry? Someone has to.”
“I don’t want to make you unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy. I’m fucking angry.” She kissed his finger. “Do you know how strong you are?

How amazing that you survived that? That you even came out of it sane is incredible.”

“Sane is a debatable term.”
“Well, you’re certainly not mad,” she said fiercely. “You were a child made to do terrible, terrible

things. Like I told you before, you don’t come out of something like that without scars.” Closing her
fingers around his wrist, she pulled it up between them, the fabric cuff sliding down his forearm.
“Like this. This is a scar, Luc.”

He dropped his gaze to the cuff and stared at it for a long time. “I had to keep that,” he said quietly.

“I had to carry something with me. I had to keep it to remember. Because I was afraid of forgetting
what I’d done. When you’re…numb, it’s easy to forget.”

“But scar tissue is numb, Luc. That’s why you can’t feel anything. And I don’t think it’s forgetting

you’re afraid of. It’s remembering.”

His gaze remained on the material around his wrist. “You’re making me feel, Eleanor. That’s the

thing. I’m…waking up. I’m feeling things and it’s…dangerous. That’s why I had that flashback. I
haven’t felt anything for so fucking long and now…Jesus, it’s all coming back.”

Her throat closed up. “I want to apologize for that, but I won’t. You can’t live your life pretending

it didn’t happen. That it didn’t affect you. Take it from me, I know how well that works.”

Luc’s gaze lifted to hers all of a sudden, the look in his eyes sharp, piercing. “No,” he said softly.

“I’m starting to think that too.” With an abrupt movement, he shifted, getting off the bed and going
over to his bag where it lay in the middle of the room. Crouching down, he took a long, black shape

out of it.

A knife.
Pulling it out of its sheath, her breath caught as he came back over to the bed, handing the weapon

to her, hilt first. He didn’t speak, only held out his wrist.

“Oh, Luc…” There were more tears edging down her cheeks.
“Cut it off, mon rayon de soleil. I don’t want it there anymore. Because…I don’t think I’m numb

anymore.”

She looked up at him, her heart too full to say a word. And she could see the certainty in his eyes.

And the pain. Wordlessly, she took the hilt and put the blade of the knife against the threads, cutting
through the strands in one movement, the cuff falling to the ground. Then she bent her head and kissed
his wrist.

His hand spread, his fingers cupping her chin and lifting her gaze to his. “You can leave, soleil. I’m

giving you this one chance. Because, if you stay, it’s going to be forever. I don’t think I can walk
away from you again.”

“Well that’s good,” she croaked. “Because I didn’t come here intending to leave.”
His thumb moved, stroking away the tear that had fallen down her cheek. “Eleanor…”
She moved her head, rising onto her knees on the mattress, taking his face between her hands,

pulling him down for a kiss that was sweet and said everything there weren’t words for.

Except he said them anyway. Whispering them against her mouth. “Je t’aime. Tu allume mon

coeur.”

I love you. You light up my heart.

“So are you going to tell me about your tattoos?”
It was hours later and she was in his arms, her hair spread out on his chest as she held one of his

hands in hers, tracing the lines and dots inked into his skin.

He watched her pale finger move, struck suddenly by the similarity to the way he’d touched her as

he took the pain away from her that night. Had it felt like this? As if she were taking away something
heavy? Erasing sharp edges of the anguish and leaving gentleness in its wake?

His arm felt strangely light without that cuff on it. Like it could float away.
“Inza tattooed all the boys in the child squads,” he said. And how fucking weird it was to be able

to explain, to not feel like he was choking when the memories came. “His symbol on our hands so that
if we ran we’d be easily identified and caught. No one wanted to hide a deserter. I tried once, to
escape. I thought they were going to kill me when they caught me, but they didn’t. I spoke English,
which made me valuable. I was whipped instead.” She was still touching him, stroking his fingers.
“Squads used to get tattoos after a big victory. To celebrate. We’d drink, smoke weed if we could get
it, listen to loud music. I wanted that fucking symbol off my hands that night so I got another boy in my
squad to do it but he couldn’t draw. All he could do was bars and dots. I didn’t care, I wanted Inza’s
symbol gone.”

“Didn’t someone notice you’d tattooed over it?”
“Yeah, but by that stage I was too important to them to punish.”
“What did you do for them?”
“I could translate English, and I was good at strategizing and planning. Plus, I was much better

educated than some of the village boys and that was useful to them too.”

Another silence fell.
“What about the stars?” Her fingers traced up his forearms.
“Because they were cold. Peaceful. And I wanted some of that on me.”

“What about the tiger? Though I have to say, it’s a little cheesy.”
He found himself smiling, and that was weird too, considering where those tattoos had come from.

Maybe it was the gentle amusement in her voice that did it. “I was drunk at the time. At least the guy
who did that could draw. I was…sixteen, I think? We’d just won a major battle and since our squad
was called the White Tigers, I thought it would be great if we all got a tiger tat.”

“The White Tigers, huh?”
“Yeah, I know. Hey, we were young.”
Another silence fell as she touched him, her hands like soft rain moving over his body. “I want to

help, Luc,” she said after a moment.

“What do you mean?”
“What happened to you wasn’t fair. It wasn’t…just. And I know I can’t do anything about that now,

but I think you were right when you said you wanted to do something for people like you. Well, I want
to help. I want to get into human rights law, start making a difference.”

He shifted, twisting to look down at her, searching her face. “What? You mean give up teaching?”
Passion and determination burned in her eyes, along with a healthy dose of anger. “Maybe not

completely. I could still teach part time, because I do like it. But I think together we could make a
great team.”

He smiled, warmth spreading out in his chest. “Are you certain?”
“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” She touched his cheekbone in a gentle caress. “I’m

going to be here for you, Luc. And that’ll include being here when you get the help you need.” She
paused. “Did you ever get any psychological help after you were rescued?”

He sighed. “Some. But I really wasn’t interested in what they were trying to do at the time, to be

honest. And I was very good at telling them the things they wanted to hear, because I didn’t want to
deal with it.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. But I think you should try seeing someone again.”
He knew that already. He couldn’t afford another flashback, and if that meant dealing with all the

shit he knew was waiting for him, all the pain, then he’d have to do it.

It was hard to realize that. Hard to understand that if he wanted a future with her, he was going to

have to open himself up to his emotions. Open himself up to the pain of all he’d forgotten.

So, yeah, nothing about this was going to be easy. But the choice itself was not so difficult. He

wanted her and she was worth any price he had to pay.

He turned his head, kissing her fingers. “I know and I will. As long as you’re there, I can handle

it.”

“It won’t be easy, honey.”
“Yeah, I know that too.”
She sighed. “You’ll get through it. You’re amazingly strong.”
“So are you, Professor. So are you.”
“Uh, I’m not your professor anymore.”
He smiled. “What else am I going to call you?”
Her fingers trailed along his jaw then down the side of his neck, stroking his throat. “You can call

me Sir, of course.”

He laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so. If anyone’s going to be Sir, it’s me.”
Her hand drifted lower. “Call me your sun. I’m happy with that.”
“Mon rayon du soleil. You never were anything else.”
Because now he was in sunlight, there were no shadows. No shadows anywhere.

About the Author

Jackie has been writing fiction since she was eleven years old. Mild-mannered

fantasy/SF/pseudoliterary writer by day, obsessive romance writer by night, she used to balance her
writing with the more serious job of librarianship until a chance meeting with another romance writer
prompted her to throw off the shackles of her day job and devote herself to the true love of her heart
—writing romance. She particularly likes to write dark, emotional stories with alpha heroes who’ve
just got the world to their liking, only to have it blown wide apart by their kick-ass heroines.

She lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, the inimitable Dr. Jax, two kids, two cats

and some guppies (possibly dead guppies by the time you read this). When she’s not torturing alpha
males and their stroppy heroines, she can be found drinking chocolate martinis, reading anything she
can lay her hands on, posting random crap on her blog or being forced to go mountain biking with her
husband.

You can find Jackie at

www.jackieashenden.com

or follow her on Twitter

@JackieAshenden

.

Look for these titles by Jackie Ashenden

Now Available:

Falling For Finn

Black Knight, White Queen

Lies We Tell

Taking Him

Having Her

Living In…

Living in Shadow

Coming Soon:

Living in Sin

Living in Secret

Behind every heroine is the pain that binds her.

Having Her

© 2014 Jackie Ashenden

Lies We Tell, Book 2
Manga café owner Kara Sinclair has one burden she’s been carrying around so long it’s bordering

on pathetic. Her virginity. Getting rid of it, though, means doing the one thing that scares her the most
—letting down her guard with a relative stranger. Which makes her best friend’s older brother Vin
Fox’s offer too tempting to refuse.

Vin barely has room in his schedule to turn around, much less worry about Kara and her crazy

quest. When she insists on going ahead with a plan that he considers unsafe, though, enough is enough.
If she wants to lose it, she can lose it with him. Bonus: he gets to play out his darkest fantasies, slave
collar and all.

Kara thought dealing with a known entity like sexy-as-sin, controlling-as-hell Vin would smooth

the way. But when it comes right down to doing the deed, not even the safety of a costume can fool
her demons.

By then the game has gone too far…and the consequences could bind them together forever. Or tear

them apart at the seams.

Warning: Contains a sexy, brooding “fix you” hero and a heroine who isn’t afraid of

anything…except “normal.” More kinky cosplay losts-and-founds than you can shake a riding
crop at. WTF Infirmary is booked up; please make an appointment before you read.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Having Her:

Kara dodged the crowds as she left the convention center’s bar, feeling bad about leaving Ellie

alone. She felt bad about leaving full stop, but knowing Hunter was coming to get her friend helped.

Hiding the fact she was going to meet Vin didn’t.
Then again explaining to Ellie that she’d been sending the pictures Ellie had been taking of her,

including the ones containing various potential suitors, to Vin all night, for reasons she couldn’t have
explained even to herself, would also have been a little difficult. Ellie probably wouldn’t have cared
but Kara felt awkward about it all the same.

Plenty of time to tell her friend later though. When whatever was going to happen with Vin had

happened.

A small burst of excitement went through her as she went down the main set of stairs and out

through the entrance into the brightly lit city beyond. An excitement she couldn’t pretend she didn’t
feel.

I’ll tell you who…
God, did he truly have someone in mind for her or was he teasing her in return for the whole day

she’d spent teasing him? Perhaps she’d get to the bar to find no one there.

Kara pulled the long duster-style black coat she wore tighter around her as she stepped out onto the

pavement, concealing her costume.

No, that wasn’t Vin’s style. He was a straight-up kind of guy not a game-player. He was probably

meeting her so he could give her another lecture, then he’d take her home. Like a child.

Kara began walking in the direction of the pool bar. Man, if all he was going to do was give her a

talking to then she’d be forced to take more serious action. Like drop the coat and do a sexy dance in
the middle of the bar. Not that she knew any sexy dances, but she was sure she could improvise. That

would probably embarrass the crap out of him.

The pool bar itself was dimly lit, a bit shabby and full of the usual Saturday late-night crowds, an

odd cross-section of people ranging from students and business types to a group of old guys and what
looked like a hen party.

As Kara scanned around the pool tables looking for Vin, she soon discovered why the hen party

was making rather a lot of noise. There was a tall guy playing the table next to theirs, causing them do
a lot of whispering, pointing and giggling.

No wonder. It was Vin. And his tall, lean figure in low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt was enough

to make anyone stare.

Kara wound her way slowly through the tables, unable to take her eyes off him as he lined up a

shot, one muscled, tanned arm out, his cue held firmly between long fingers. The severe beauty of his
features was shadowed by the overhead lighting as he focused on the ball, but the light picked up the
sheen of copper in his dark hair, the only other similarity he had with Ellie.

The sheer physical magnetism he possessed held her and the entire hen party at the next table

absolutely hypnotized as he drew back his arm to take the shot. The white hit a green ball which then
bounced off the side of the table and hit a red with unerring accuracy. The red shot straight into one of
the pockets.

The hen party clapped but Vin didn’t look at them. He lifted his gaze from the table and looked at

her instead.

Electricity whispered over her skin as she met his dark, stormy blue eyes, and she had to take a

deep breath, trying to slow her racing heartbeat.

God, this was insane. Where had all this sudden sexual tension come from?
Telling herself to move, she approached the table, her coat still pulled tight around her. He

straightened, holding his cue by his side, looking her up and down.

“I’m still wearing the costume,” she murmured, wanting to push him in some way. Get him back for

the way he made her feel so off-balance. “Wanna see it?”

His gaze didn’t move from hers. “Show me.”
Kara caught her breath. She hadn’t expected him to want to. She’d thought to flash him and catch

him off guard. Shock him and maybe embarrass him a little. Part of her had even been looking
forward to it. But now, perversely, she wanted to refuse. Deny him just to taunt him.

She lifted a brow. “My, Vincent. So demanding. Say please and I might.”
“No please.” His voice held a note of command she’d never thought she’d ever want to obey.

“Show me. Now.”

But she did want to obey. Because another, secret part of her wanted him to see her.
So she let the two halves of her coat open, giving him a glimpse of the slave collar and chain, the

metal bikini top and exposed length of her torso and thighs.

Vin didn’t move but the way his gaze swept from her head to her feet made her whole body prickle

with heat. She felt like she’d been licked with fire, scorched. A voice inside her head screeched at
her to cover herself, that she’d made herself vulnerable, but she resisted the urge. She wanted a
reaction from him first. Some evidence that she hadn’t shown herself to him for nothing.

Because somehow it felt important.
Slowly Vin lifted his gaze from her body to meet her eyes. The look on his face was hungry, skin

drawn tight over the classical bone structure beneath it. His eyes glittered. The intensity of him held
her motionless, made it difficult to breathe.

He liked what he saw, that much was obvious. And the fact that he did made her ache. Made her

want.

“Stop, Kara,” he said after what felt like an age, that edge of command still in his husky voice.

“Stop sending me texts. Stop sending me pictures. And stop pushing me. Because you may not like the
consequences.”

Slowly she leaned her hip against the side of the pool table and folded the coat around herself

again. Breath, long denied, filled her lungs. “Why? You don’t like?”

“I don’t like you messing with me, no.”
“Sure you do. In fact, I think you love it.” She eased away from the table and came closer to him.

He watched her approach, unmoving. “I think you want me to mess with you more.”

She didn’t know quite why she felt the urge to keep pushing at him. Or what reaction she wanted

from him.

Sure you don’t.
Kara inhaled. Yeah, she knew. And perhaps it was time to stop denying her own feelings. Her own

needs. Perhaps it was time to admit to herself what she wanted and why she could not leave him
alone.

She hadn’t wanted any of those guys at the Con. The guy she really wanted was Vin.
For a long moment neither of them said anything, the space between them full of tension and

unspoken desires.

Then he said, “What do you want, Kara?”
“You said you were going to offer me an alternative to all the guys I’ve been sending you.” She

turned, leaned back against the pool table, her hands gripping the sides. “So here I am. What’s your
alternative?” Somehow telling him exactly what she wanted felt too hard. Made her too vulnerable.
She’d been rejected too many times before to leave herself open to the possibility of it happening
again.

His gaze had dropped to where the coat had opened a little, giving him a glimpse of her bare leg.

Good. Let him look. Let him see what he could have if he wanted. He just had to say it. Just had to tell
her.

“An alternative?” he murmured. “You really want to know?”
“Yeah.” Her voice wasn’t as steady as she would have liked it to be.
Vin didn’t move, but his gaze lifted from the gap in her coat back to her face again. “Me.”

Wine her, dine her…then untie her.

Sweet Obsession

© 2014 Kelly Jamieson

Windy City Kink, Book 1
Sasha Bendel is a bundle of nerves as she knocks on the door of a Gold Coast penthouse. Her

landscape design business took a hard hit when one of her biggest clients defaulted on his payment,
and she desperately needs this rooftop garden design project to get back in the black.

But when her potential client answers the door, she’s stunned. It’s her old high school boyfriend,

the one her wealthy parents ran out of her life when they were discovered engaging in some youthful
exploration of bondage and discipline.

Twelve years ago, Jack Grenville let Sasha’s powerful father intimidate him into giving up the

love of his life. With the help of a sensei, he’s overcome his obstacles and accepted his sexual
dominance. Now he’s back in Chicago to claim what’s his—Sasha.

One look at Jack brings back all the forbidden desires Sasha’s put on lock-down since that

shameful night. No way can she turn down this money-is-no-object job…but can she resist Jack’s no-
knots-barred determination to recapture her heart?

Warning: This book contains a woman with a sweet tooth, a man with a sweet obsession, a

cupboard full of bondage rope, and some not-so-sweet kink.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Sweet Obsession:

Jack jumped to his feet, hands curled into fists. “You wanted everything we did together as much as

I did.” Bewildered, he battled for control. “Sasha.” He lowered his voice. “Didn’t you?”

“What we did was…wrong.”
“Wrong?”
She sank her top teeth into her plush bottom lip. “Yes.”
How could she think that? Was that what the problem was here? “Why would you say that?”
She shook her head.
He moved closer. “Seriously, Sasha.” He brushed her hair off her shoulder. She still looked like

she wanted to flee, but she didn’t move. “Why?” He clasped her hips, gently, his big hands spanning
them. “Okay, let’s deal with this.”

“With what?”
He barreled ahead. “Do you blame me for what happened that night?”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m confused. You confuse me. You get me all…”
“Aroused.”
She groaned and closed her eyes again, her cheeks washing even redder. Gorgeous.
“It’s okay, Sasha.” He pulled her against him and slid a hand up her back, then rubbed up and down

in a gentle, hopefully soothing motion. “It’s okay. I’m aroused too. You turn me on. All I have to do is
fucking look at you, and I’m hard.” He pushed his hips into her to show her, and she moaned again.
“I’ve wanted you again from the minute you walked in here that day. We’re all grown up now. We
can do whatever we want. It’s not like back in high school. Right?”

She said nothing, her pretty lips pressed together, her eyes still closed. Christ, she was acting more

virginal now than she had when she was sixteen. Weird. But fuck it, he was still hot for her and
clearly she was just as turned on. She was resisting for some unfuckinggodknown reason.

“You’re my client,” she whispered. “This isn’t professional.”

He laughed. “Yeah, whatever.”
Her eyes slowly opened. “You confuse me,” she repeated. “You do all these nice things for me,

you touch me like that…I don’t know why you’re hiring me and paying me all that money—”

“Wait just a minute.” He cut her off, his voice hard. “Those are two separate things, honey. Hiring

you and paying you all that money is because you’re the best at what you do and you’re entitled to be
fairly compensated for that. That has nothing to do with…this.”

“Really?”
“I told you that before. Cross my fucking heart, babe.” He paused. That had sounded flippant. He

held her gaze steadily. “I swear on my parents’ graves, Sasha. Two. Separate. Things.”

Her eyes widened and her face softened. Yeah. She was probably the only person in the world who

knew what it meant for him to say that.

She touched his face with her fingertips, and he closed his eyes at the gentle contact. Her thumb

brushed over his bottom lip and heat once more rushed to his groin.

“Are you afraid of me?” he murmured against her fingertip.
“Yes. For lots of reasons.”
After a short pause, he said, “I’m glad you are.”
She stared back at him. “What?”
“I’m glad you’re afraid of me. If you weren’t a little afraid, you wouldn’t be so turned on.”
“Jack.” She closed her eyes. “We can’t do this.”
He smiled. “Even so, you’re not running.”
“No.” She exhaled. “I’m not.”
He wanted to shout with joy and relief, and he wrapped his arms around her. Her soft breasts

cushioned against his chest, her hips pressed against his and her hands slid over his neck and
shoulders.

He bent his head and her mouth opened to his again. She melted against him, winding her arms

around his neck, and he wrapped her up in his and crushed her to him. They kissed over and over,
soft, lush kisses, tongues rubbing. Her hands slid into his hair and played there, teasing him, sending
tingles cascading from his scalp all down his spine.

It was driving him fucking nuts, Sasha in and out of his home all the time, looking so freaking hot

and sweet and sexy and focused on business. Watching her talking to the construction guys and
directing them made him horny as hell. The fact that she was obviously so knowledgeable and
talented in what she was doing made him hot for her.

He wanted the damn rooftop garden done. And yet, he didn’t want it done, because then Sasha

wouldn’t be there.

All those times she came to ask him questions about little things…sometimes he wondered if she

really needed to ask him. She could’ve made those decisions. He was easy. But she sought him out
and consulted with him and discussed options, and he loved talking to her and sharing ideas with her
and watching her.

He’d been patient. He really had. And he thought she was relaxing a little around him, since they’d

been friendly and getting to know each other again. In a non-sexual, non-threatening way.

Well. It wasn’t completely non-sexual. You’d have to be blind and stupid not to notice the

electricity that arced between them whenever they were together. Adam had noticed it. Emma had
noticed it. Sasha might be pretending it wasn’t there, but she’d definitely noticed it.

He’d kept his hands off her, difficult as that had been. Until now.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be

construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

11821 M ason M ontgomery Road Suite 4B

Cincinnati OH 45249

Living in Shadow

Copyright © 2014 by Jackie Ashenden

ISBN: 978-1-61922-213-7

Edited by Christa Soule

Cover by Lyn Taylor

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations

embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

electronic publication: August 2014

www.samhainpublishing.com

Table of Contents

Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
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