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Chapter Two

He’d thought for a moment she might change her mind. He was surprised by how much he didn’t want her to.

She was a beauty, with those golden-brown eyes a few shades lighter than her hair. Eyes like a doe’s, the pupils enormous with nerves. Too gorgeous, this woman. And intelligent. Thoughtful. That always killed him. But he was here to do a job. A job he enjoyed, but a job nonetheless, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t something he was paid for. Well, in nothing more than a deep satisfaction, mental as well as physical.

“We’ll need to talk about a few things first,” he told her.

She nodded. “Of course.”

He could see from the faint movement of her long, brown hair that she was trembling. The sadist in him loved it. And her hair… it was like a curtain of silk. Beautiful. He’d love to get his hands on it. In it. Pull it hard.

“Let’s start with your name. Skye…?”

“Just Skye is fine.”

Her tongue darted out, a flash of pink against the dusky rose of her plush, glossed lips, distracting him. Utterly kissable lips. But he was losing focus.

“We need to trust each other here,” he told her.

She took in a deep breath, exhaled, played with her teacup. “It’s Ballard. But it’s my father’s name. I don’t use it unless I have to.”

“You can tell me why later. You mentioned in your emails that you teach art at the city college, but you’ve also said you’re an artist, which isn’t always necessarily the same thing, in my mind. What medium do you work with?”

He saw her nostrils dilate the tiniest bit, thrown by the rapid shift in conversation—something he’d done on purpose.

“It changes. Right now, I love pen and ink, the starkness of it. And charcoal. I haven’t been using any color lately, just exploring lines, shapes, contrast and shadow.” She paused, looking uncertain. “I’m sorry. That was probably more than you wanted to know.”

“On the contrary, I do want to know. Everything. And I love the way your eyes light up when you’re talking about it. I love seeing the passion on your face.”

She blushed, a pink sheen rising in her high, curved cheeks. He reached for her hand again and watched the blush deepen. He pulled it toward him, turning it over to inspect the tattoo curling around her left wrist: a small, sinuous piece done in delicate black lines. He looked up at her, surprised, letting her hand go. “A phoenix?”

“Yes. It represents rebirth.”

“I know. I have one, too.”

“A tattoo?”

He nodded. “A phoenix.”

A small laugh from her. “What a strange coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. I’ll show it to you eventually.”

“Will you?”

“Absolutely.”

She nodded, trying to appear calm, but the nervousness radiated off her in waves as she pulled her hand back, along with a subtle, smoky floral scent that made his cock harden. That was all right, she could be nervous. She should be, if she had any idea what he planned to do to her. An image of her tied naked to his bed flashed in his head and his cock sprang to life.

Yes, have to get her there.

What had gotten into him? He’d better get back on track.

“You’ve seen my references,” he said. “I’ve read the list of desires you e-mailed to me, things you’d like to try. The things you’re interested in—bondage, spanking, floggers—all of these things interest me, as well. We’ll be a good match, I think. I’m going to send you a very thorough questionnaire. You may have seen some of them online—they’re used all the time by those of us in the BDSM community. There are a few things on there you probably hadn’t thought about, but I want you to think about them, every one. To really think about how you feel about it now, how you might feel in the future. Don’t just give an off-the-cuff answer, alright?”

“Yes, sure.”

She was visibly shaking now. But he understood it was as much from excitement as from fear. He could see it in the way her pupils had widened as soon as he’d mentioned the kink, the way her breath had sped up.

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