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He’s starting to warm up to me.

Even the room senses it, the temperature rising at the change of his voice. The change inhim.

This isn’t flames crackling in the fireplace. It’s got nothing to do with the heated floors.

It’s him.

“Come here.”

The impulse to get up and run to him is immense. I won’t. I have to play it smart. There’s so much about him that I still don’t know. So many secrets. Layers that need peeling.

Giving myself to him with abandon could be dangerous. He could choose to keep me in the dark. I’m not afraid that he would; I’d just really rather he wouldn’t.

“Hey.” I sit on the couch, my feet resting on the soft rug.

We’re in the den, I see it now. Topher showed me the room the first time I was here.

“Ophelia.” He’s seated behind his desk. Big. Imposing. Regal. There are bookshelves behind him. The fireplace is to his right. A wet bar at the corner of the room. And him. His presenceshuts the world out. “You’re making a habit of defying me. We’re supposed to be past the point of punishing you. Especially while you’re healing. I will punish you, though. Trust that I will if you don’t come here right this second.”

It’s criminal for a man to be this mesmerizing when he’s threatening me. But James is. James nails it.

Another surge of warmth bursts inside my chest. I tug on the hem of this shirt that isn’t mine. Scrape my teeth along my bottom lip.

His icy cold eyes zone in on the movement.

Yes.

Yes.

“So…” I start. He leans forward an inch. Barely. “You’ll punish me if I stay here, on the couch. Does that mean you’ll reward me if I obey?”

“Hmm.” His lips press into a thin line. “You’re negotiating. Last I checked, properties aren’t allowed to bargain.” He gestures toward the room. “The fire warms me without asking for anything in return. This couch, it doesn’t tell me it’s doing me a favor by letting you sit on it.”

My thighs clench at his impassive voice. At the degradation.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you haven’t fucked the fireplace. Or this couch.” I drag my toes over the rug. “Did you ever come in them? On them?”

The slightest hint of a smile curls his lips up. I get less than a second to witness it. “Your point being?”

I haven’t realized he’s been crossing the room. He has, and he’s here, before me, with his hands on my waist, helping me up.

Infuriating man, so hot in a plain T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“That you fucked me.” Heat rushes up my neck. My cheeks burn. “I have your cum in my pussy. I’m sore, James.Youfucked?—”

James crashes his lips to mine. Locks my throat in his hands. He groans, kissing me hard like he’s fighting me. Like he’s fighting himself.

“What an insolent piece of property I bought for myself.” Our foreheads press together, and one of his hands delves into my hair. Pulling me back. Stopping me from finding his lips again, from getting another soul-stealing kiss. “You’re lucky, though, pet.”

“Why?” I grab his T-shirt. Tug on it to drag him to me. He won’t budge an inch. “Because I’m the only one you branded? Or were there others? Should I be jealous of the armchair in your bedroom?”

“No, I don’t brand my armchairs. Or any other furniture.” I’m being swooped off the ground. It doesn’t go unnoticed that his hands and arms aren’t touching my wound. That he’s taking extra care not to hurt me. “I do find it adorable that you’re jealous. I told you before. You shouldn’t be.”

His words, as he carries me to the chair behind his desk, are sweet. Really sweet.

The voice with which he says them is the same as always. Cold. Detached. What a constant mind-fuck. What a thrilling roller coaster.

“Of anyone?”