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  He yanked his mouth from hers, leaving her empty and lonely. “Ah, you want it so bad, don’t you, Britt?” Diego rested his forehead on hers, his fingers buried in the hair at the nape of her neck. “Don’t you?”

  “Yes…yes, I do,” she whispered.

  He stepped away so abruptly she stumbled. But Diego had a hold on her.

  In more ways than one.

  “Better get inside. A storm’s a-brewin’,” he murmured and led her to the back door.

  Yes, a storm’s a-brewin’, all right.

  She followed him up a walk of evenly spaced, pebbled stones. Britt glanced up and down the street, noting the older, well-kept neighborhood, the stucco ranch and two-story houses lining the winding asphalt. Each home sat on at least two acres of land, and some backed to the water, while others’ rear lots edged the coast highway they’d just come in on. The park-like setting with the massive, aging oaks and various species of palms gave her an odd sensation in her chest, kind of warm and gooey…like that melting bonbon.

  The corners of her mouth curved up at the memory of that reference.

  He led her to a set of side stairs that led up to a large rear deck overlooking the sea. He took the steps by twos and stood at the top, looking down at her. “You’re sexy, hot, absolutely picture-perfect.” His voice came out as thick as warmed honey. Like sex with him did. It made her insides quiver and she knew at that moment she’d sleep with him again tonight.

  Ha-ha. As if that had been in question.

  Britt offered a thank-you smile. She climbed the steps, her gaze on the blinking storm cloud hovering out to sea. The orange streaks of the setting sun filtered below the puffy mass and shone onto the surface of the rough waters. She caught the salty fragrance on a gust of wind. Its burst of power tossed the drooping limbs of a willow in Diego’s backyard. Palm trees dotted his yard and hugged the dune line. The grass sloped down and met with a carpet of packed white sand where an empty dock stood. The tide raced in, almost reaching the grass, and she listened to the rush and power of it. Mesmerized, Britt walked to the end of the sundeck and set her palms on the rail.

  “No, this is picture-perfect. I love your house.”

  He stepped up behind her, his mouth against her ear. “Really?” He whispered it, his hands skimming her arms. She shivered at his next words and struggled to keep her eyes open. “Well, how about turning around and telling me what you think of the place where I’m going to make love to you?”

  “What do…?”

  He turned her toward the opposite end of the deck. She didn’t know how she’d missed it. It had to have been because of the spellbinding ocean with its cap of showy sun and raging storm clouds. She couldn’t think of any other reason to explain her negligence at not noticing the steaming hot tub sprawled beneath the cedar pergola structure. The formation was supported by heavy reddish posts and large joists with open rafters extended out to cover the hot tub. Dappled evening light filtered through the overhead, vine-lined trellises lending the area a romantic, dusk-kissed aura.

  Her gaze scanned, taking it all in. The briny breeze stirred the overhead vines, but there was more, much more. A padded folding chair stood next to the whirlpool…with glittering silver handcuffs dangling from its metal frame.

  She stared at it, stunned. Something about it nagged at her. What was it?

  Oh god, no.

  The picture of herself cuffed to a similar chair blipped in her mind. She rubbed and pinched at her throat, gawking at the familiar setup. Could it be… Did he—was he playing her for a fool? No, please, not Diego. A niggling suspicion clouded over the glow inside her from moments ago, the way the storm clouds drowned out the sunshine.

  She forced herself to recall all the times this same dread had seized her. She couldn’t allow herself to become distracted by him for once.

  Remember, remember…

  She’d met him in the same store where the pictures had been developed.

  And lost.

  Then he’d known her name, almost magically.

  Rose petals beneath her bare skin.

  Her hands tied to furniture.

  Lexi knowing where he lived and rubbing him the wrong way.

  The cherry sucker.

  And now a chair with handcuffs?

  So reminiscent of the kinky snapshots.

  She tried to ignore the disappointment that stabbed at her gut, but instead she focused on the rising anger.

  Her gaze riveted to Diego. “Where did you— What the hell’s going on here?”

  He blinked, and the innocent confusion that flashed in his eyes sent guilt barreling over her suspicion, pushing it further, deeper out of her grasp.

  “What’s going on? I, uh…what do you mean?”

  She studied his mannerisms, the still, bewildered stance, the crease of his brow.

  “Where—what do you have planned?”

  He shrugged, so innocuous, so believable. “I’m going to fire up the grill, we’re going to eat, maybe take a swim if weather permits.” His expression hardened and he looked her in the eye. “And I’m going to see how far I can push you until you beg me to stop by saying the word ‘pink’.”

  That was it? Was it really?

  She eyed him for a long moment. Yet she saw nothing but eagerness and sex appeal. For the life of her, she couldn’t detect one shred of deceit.

  Like a dog in training, all he had to do was utter her safe word and she’d salivate, all else flying right out the window.

  The “pink” challenge hovered in the breeze, teasing her, right along with his gleam of determination. It sent a tremor of expectation up her spine, edging out the guardedness and letting in the anticipation. How could she resist that, and how could she have thought he had anything to do with the pictures Lexi had taken? How ridiculous to think he somehow knew about the photos of her half naked and handcuffed to a chair. For that to happen, Lexi would’ve had to have treated him to a peek, and she knew Lexi would never do such a rotten thing to her. Not to mention Lexi and Diego hated each other.

  No. This all had to be a coincidence and her just being paranoid.

  She eased out a breath and let the uncertainties slide away. Rubbing her sweaty palms on her pants, she murmured, “Then you better hurry because I’m starved, and it seems a storm is brewing.”

  Chapter Eight

  Busted.

  The word echoed in Diego’s head. What a stupid fool he’d been. He’d seen the look of recognition in her wide-eyed gaze as soon as she’d spotted the chair with the cuffs. Her expression had turned to suspicion, which had evolved into panic. He didn’t have to ask her if the photos had clicked in her mind. It’d been apparent by the trembling rage that simmered below the surface for one brief moment. But somehow he’d convinced her of his innocence by a shrug and a few words that had seemed to hit the mark.

  From here on out, man, you either quit the game you’re playing, or don’t make it so damn obvious. A chair and handcuffs just like in the photo? Really? You idiot.

  But he couldn’t tell her. Not right now, anyway. She’d probably whack the chair over his head and leave him for dead floating in the hot tub. He’d tell her about the picture mix-up someday. Really, he would. But he’d only just gotten a taste of her, and he wasn’t going to risk never getting the full-course meal. Hell, she was the whole meal—appetizer, salad, entrée, dessert. Even the goddamn drinks and after-dinner mint.

  And the most irresistible thing about it? She didn’t even know how intriguing and special she was. It was as if he were teaching her about herself.

  He heaved a sigh and got right to work on dinner, firing up the grill and tossing the pre-patted burgers onto the flames. She settled onto the glider bench, so while the food cooked, he slipped inside and fetched the salad, pickles, chips and wine. Diego poured two glasses, crossed the deck and offered her one. Damn, how he loved the serene glow in her eyes as she stared out to sea. The elusive storm cloud continued to brew offshore, and she eyed it like a fa
scinated child. The wind stirred around her, tossing her hair and sending him a whiff of her subtle feminine scent.

  She took the wineglass, smiled up at him, pushed off on the deck with her foot to set herself into a gentle glide.

  He leaned down, planted one hand on the arm of the bench and halted her flight.

  Before he could speak, she said, “Your home is just lovely. Do you own or lease?”

  “Own.” God, he just wanted to gobble her up. That pouty mouth sipping the dark-red liquid, he could dine on it for months at a time. “Bought it after my divorce.”

  “Ah, I wondered about that.” She scooted aside and he slid onto the seat next to her warm thigh. “Where does your ex-wife live?”

  “Here in Tampa, a few minutes away. I gave her the house in the settlement.” The last thing he wanted was to talk about Carolyn. “I’m glad you like the place. The hot tub,” he said, gesturing toward the steamy, bubbling pool to maneuver the conversation onto a more interesting path, “is my stress-relieving tool.”

  “You?” She grinned, eyes sparkling. It sent a thrill of exhilaration to his midsection. “A man like you stressing out? Now that’s kind of hard to believe.”

  His mind ticked off any number of stressors, from Carolyn, to the painful memories of his son, to the large sum of taxes Chopper Shop owed the IRS within the next few weeks. But Diego wasn’t one to mix pain with pleasure. At least not that sort of pain.

  “A man like me? Are you stereotyping me, the biker dude?” He said it with a trace of humor in his voice, longing to hear how she viewed him.

  “Not at all. But the obvious fact is, your presence implies dominance. You’re a strong man, almost reckless and detached from everything.” She’d practically purred it, eyeing him over the crystal rim of the stemware. Her gaze swept him so thoroughly he could have sworn the wind had blown the grill against him.

  Detached? Did he appear that way to others? Had he let the divorce and the accident with his son Tyler disconnect him from the world? It saddened him to think such a thing could be true of him. At some fuzzy, distant point in his past, he’d been outgoing, along with all her other adjectives, but detached hadn’t been one of them. He’d lived deep inside that bottomless black hole for a time, but no more than anyone else would in mourning. Certainly not to the extent Carolyn continued to wallow. For him, time had moved on, even against his will. Since then, he’d learned to cope and had broken through that wall of isolation—hadn’t he?

  He sipped his wine, tried to think with objectiveness. Maybe there were just a few traces of despair and loneliness left behind. He hadn’t thought of it, hadn’t noticed it or dwelled on it until she’d brought it to his attention. But it was worth taking into consideration. There were things in his newly altered life that would always trouble him. Yet people like Britt, and the excitement and hope she made him feel inside, were what made it worth clawing his way out of the pit. So with fierce determination, he vowed to modify that “detached” image others might have of him. And this woman would be the one to help him fix it.

  He ducked his head and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. She let out a sigh that more resembled a groan of pleasure. “You bet I’ve felt reckless and out of control ever since I first laid eyes on you. No detachments for me where you’re concerned. I want you. And I’m going to make love to you tonight, very soon.”

  The beef sizzled on the grill as she stared up at him. The hearty aroma of meat juices wafted across the space and mingled with her spicy scent.

  “Diego, I…”

  “Shh.” He planted a finger across her lips and rose, extending a hand to her. “Come on inside and help me carry out the rest of the condiments and things. We’ll eat at the picnic table under the pergola roof.”

  Next to the hot tub and chair.

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “No, you’re perfect.”

  She arched a brow and placed her soft palm on his, got to her feet and led him toward the slider door. As she walked ahead of him, her hips swaying, he thought he’d never seen a sexier ass than the one poured into those snug pants. Through the thin white fabric, he could detect the faint outline of her panties. A surge of desire settled heavy in his balls when an image of her naked beneath him flickered in his mind. But he looked away, determined to hold himself in check until he had her right where he wanted her.

  Handcuffed to the chair.

  Then in the hot tub all pliant and eager for his cock.

  “Can I see the rest of your house?”

  “Sure.” He set his hands on her shoulders and guided her through the open patio door. He gestured to the left then the right as they stepped inside. “Breakfast nook here, kitchen opposite side of the bar.”

  Her gaze touched his home in a caress. It made him crazy with need, as if she’d stroked his dick and left him wanting more. “Nice and cozy. You must love sitting here eating breakfast in the morning, looking out onto the beach.”

  “I hope to sit here and eat with you one morning. Maybe tomorrow?”

  Her eyes locked with his over her shoulder, but she didn’t respond.

  He decided not to push it and led her through the wide arch instead. “Living room here, not too fancy. But then you’ve already seen it.”

  She sat on the leather sofa where he’d first devoured those pictures, opposite the end where he’d tied her wrists up before Lexi had banged on the door. Her body melted into the cushion, testing its softness.

  “Great place to hang out. Wow, I didn’t notice the huge flat-screen TV before.” Her gaze flitted to the right side of the entertainment center. “And somehow it doesn’t surprise me to see that huge sound system setup.”

  He shrugged as thunder rumbled in the distance. “Couldn’t live without my music. Here, let me show you where the bathroom is.”

  She shot to her feet and followed him down the hall.

  “Full bath here, spare bedroom across from that. And at the end is my office. Spend a lot of time in there at night working the books for Chopper Shop.” He angled left toward the room he wanted to show her the most. “And here we have the master bedroom with another bath.” He stopped next to the bed.

  But her stare did a quick scan, as if the room didn’t interest her, or maybe it made her nervous, he wasn’t sure which. She turned back into the hallway and he followed her to his office.

  “This room is definitely you.” Her eyes trailed the line of vintage motorcycle pictures on the walls and the shelves of model replicas. “You really get into your Harleys, don’t you?”

  “It’s been the love of my life since about the age of eight. Started my own bike business about ten years ago. Couldn’t see myself doing anything else.”

  Her gaze danced with amusement. “Neither can I.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  She giggled but cut herself off when she spied his desk and glided toward the picture. She picked it up and studied it.

  He flinched. The urge overpowered him to snatch it from her hands and keep her from viewing that raw, emotional area of his space. But he somehow suppressed the strong impulse.

  “Aw, what an adorable little boy.”

  He didn’t know how he’d allowed that to happen. He’d let her into his private world of despair and she’d taken an innocent shot at his emotions. Still, the persistent knot in his gut loosened just a tiny bit. “Thanks. My son, Tyler.”

  Britt spun around. Surprise flashed in her expression. “You have a son? I-I didn’t know…”

  Had a son.

  He strode across the room, eased the framed photo from her grip and set it back on the desktop. “Yes, yes I do. But I’ll tell you about him some other time.” He forced a grin, sniffed the air. “For now, I think our dinner’s burning. You as hungry as I am?”

  She stood there empty-handed, as if he’d slapped her across the face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

  “Sorry? For what?” He chuckled, but didn’t give her time to answer. Instead he grabbed h
er hand and pulled her into safer territory. “Come on, babe. Let’s go eat before the storm moves in. And then…”

  His big hand dwarfed hers, possessed it. She let him lead her into the kitchen to gather the remaining items for their meal, then back onto the deck and under the pergola structure. She tried to push aside the guilt as she lined up the ketchup, salt and pepper along with the potato wedges he’d had warming in the oven. There’d been something there, some tender chord she’d touched by inquiring about his son. She studied his back, the wide shoulders as he set out paper plates and plastic utensils, and tried to picture him with a tiny baby in his arms, or a toddler as she estimated the boy to be in the picture. Before she could imagine it, he reached for her, spun her around and guided her back into the glider.

  “Slide your sweatpants off.”

  “Do what?”

  “You heard me. Take them off.”

  She guessed there wasn’t going to be an “and then” after eating, but rather a “now” before they’d even taken a bite. A thrill went through her, as if he’d turned on the game-playing switch again. She was starting to see a definite line between day-to-day life and sex games where Diego Mansini was concerned.

  “B-but what about the neighbors?”

  He squatted on his haunches in front of her. It seemed the heat of his body reached through the cool breeze and embraced her. His gaze first caressed with gentleness, then with urgency.

  “As you can see, my house sits closer to the shore than everyone else’s. Besides,” he said with a hoarse tone, “I think you’d enjoy it if someone watched you. Or us. Wouldn’t you, Britt? Just like when everyone watched you with Michelle.”

  The implication of his words sent a backlash of desire tearing through her system. She tried to imagine him doing things to her, wicked things, right out here in the open for someone to see. Her panties dampened. She bit her bottom lip and glanced around.

  True, his lot was situated on a mini peninsula of sorts so that from this angle at the back of his house no other homes could be viewed. And though the roof of the pergola allowed some dusky light to filter through, it offered a shadowed area that could serve as some visual protection from prying eyes. Still, even though dusk moved in, the possibility existed of someone walking the beach or boating by and catching sight of them.