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And then he kissed me. It was long and soft and beautiful.

When he pulled away, I could tell he was still grappling with anger, at himself, at me for being his client, at his whole situation. Something twitched in me, some understanding. Blakeneededto get mad. Maybe not at me, but at everything. His whole life. He needed to get pissed.

“Stay mad,” I said, my voice steadier now.

“What?”

“I said stay mad. I am. I’m mad you’ve made it so we have to hide. I’m mad you think…”

That you think I’m not worth enough to turn your life upside down for.

Admitting that was a gut punch. But it pissed me off, too.

“I’m mad you’re not coming after me right now.”

That was the truth; a condensed version of it.

Blake nearly grimaced then, his voice coming out in a low growl. The anger was easy for him to access. It was right there, raw and hard. On the other side of that was the pain he was avoiding; I knew because that was true of me.

But this was what he needed.

While I was stoking his anger, I funneled all of my own into it. “You’re too chickenshit to even fuck me.”

That did it. A shadow passed over him, as heavy and dark and loaded as his desire, which I could see in his eyes, and pressing at his zipper.

“You want me to fuck you?” Blake asked. He snaked his hands in my hair, gripping it and tipping my head back. “You want me to be pissed off when I fuck you, Cassandra? Is that it?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice hard, meeting his challenge.

It was what I wanted. I wanted him to own me, to take it all from me and give it all back. To tear it up until there was nothing left.

“Show me, Blake.”

His hand slipped to my jaw then, his wrist on my throat. “Fine,” he said. “I’m going to make you fucking mine.” He plunged his tongue into my mouth then, his hand still holding my jaw in place like he’d done in the garage. He pressed me up against the wall.

I clawed at his chest, ripping his jacket off his shoulders. My whole body cried with need for only one thing.

Blake Harrington.

Blake pulled away from me, his chest heaving.

Blake prowled in front of me like an animal while I stood bereft, wanton with need. He stripped off his suit jacket and laid it on the ground. Then he grasped my jaw again. “Strip for me. I want to see you. I want your tits out and your wet pussy waiting for me.”

Heat zinged through me, sharp and hard.

The chance of us being discovered was low, but it wasn’t impossible. But I did what he said, because it turned me on. This was what I needed—to transfer the power to him, just in here, just right now.

I swallowed, slipping off my blazer, then unbuttoning my blouse. “Is this what you want?” I dropped my shirt to the ground.

“Yes,” he grunted. Then he unbuckled his pants, and in one quick move, pulled his swollen cock out of his shorts.

“Oh God,” I moaned. He was hard. Gorgeous. Dripping.

“You want this, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Not until it’s all off,” he said, stepping out of his own pants. He gave his cock a long, slow stroke again. I loved this about him. His unhurried confidence. His languorous attention both to me and to his dick.