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“I do.”

Her astonished gaze swings to me, and she stares at me for a second before her attention switches back to the house. “Okay, for my own piece of mind, I need to ask. Are you married?”

My wince is barely controlled, and I only just manage to stop my fist from balling. “Why do you need to know?” I ask calmly, keeping the punishing, volatile sickness in my soul from showing.

Her eyes widen. “You needing to ask me that seriously disturbs me. Do I come across like some bitch homewrecker to you? Or do I seem like the kind of woman who just loves being the piece you screw on the side to piss off your wife, or whatever reason you rich people use to get your rocks off?”

Despite the feelings roiling through my belly, my mouth twitches. “No, your request for exclusivity suggests you’re not either of those things.”

That seems to appease her. “Then answer the question.”

“I’m not married. Not anymore.”

I curse silently for the unnecessary additional info, but it’s too late. Her eyes glow with interest. Interest that I ignore by turning and stalking to the door. I hear the exact moment she dismounts and follows, and relief pours through me.

Not that I have any intention of letting her do anything but follow me. The gates are locked. Only I have the code. Once the front door closes behind her, she’s only getting out when I’m good and ready.

I enter the cavernous hallway and kick off my boots and socks. The sensation of the cool tiles beneath my feet grounds me and allows me a moment or two of rational thought before I hear her enter.

My slip needn’t be a problem. My marriage and divorce aren’t exactly state secrets—Cassie and I were a prominent New York couple before I put her out of her misery and ended our marriage—but an intelligent and curious person can discover things I don’t want discovered.

“So… you live in this mansion on your own?”

“When I’m here, yes.”

“And how often are you here?”

I whirl to face her, and she takes a single step back. “We have an agreement, remember? No personal questions?” I all but snarl.

Her eyes flash warily, but she props her hands on her hips. “Hey, you opened that door. I just peeked through it.”

“Well, consider it firmly shut.”

In almost perfect synchronicity, the door behind her, programmed to shut and lock after twenty seconds of no movement, clicks home.

She jumps at the small but ominous sound.

I release a breath that has been locked in my chest. The pulse at her throat flutters, and a fissure of sadistic pleasure erupts through me. I can’t help it. I’m drawn to helplessness, always have been. It’s why I love living in the jungle for months on end. The shark-like instinct inside me is extremely turned on by the thought of hunting prey, especially those who put up a good, worthwhile fight.

It’s why, in the end, I couldn’t stand the sight of Cassie. She gave up fighting and disappeared into a bottle of premium vodka.

Keely Benson is a fighter. And the hunt will be more than worth my while.

Now that I have her here, I don’t need to hold back the urgency and true scale of my hunger. I allow the barely civilized façade, which I adopted so she’ll feel at ease, to slide away through my extremities. My fingers tingle with the need to grab, to possess, to devour.

She sucks her lower lip into her mouth and her arms fold in a self-protective manner. But she has no protection here. Not anymore.

I open the floodgates of the ruthless alpha inside. I see the moment she recognizes the change. Her nostrils flutter and she glances at the massive door behind her.

“Are you afraid, Keely?”

Her eyes narrow and she raises her chin. “No.”

My blood surges at her answer, even though I don’t totally believe her. “You wanted to set some ground rules. Here’s Rule Number One for me. If I ask for something that’s within your power to grant, you will grant it. Without hesitation. Are we clear?”

“Hell, no. I thought we were going to discuss this likerationalhuman beings?”

I take another step closer. Her scent hits me and curls around my senses like a sweet but deadly poison, one I’d gladly expire from. “Which part of that rule isn’t good for you?” I ask as I reach behind me and yank my T-shirt over my head and throw it on the floor. My very skin is on fire and stretched tight with what I feel for this woman.