Hopefully someone’s driven Geordie home by now.

“You sure you’re okay?” he says.

I nod. “Just give me a few more minutes, all right? By tomorrow maybe I’ll be able to laugh about it.” Fat chance.

“Sure thing.” Arturo’s hand touches my shoulder, a comforting pat, before he heads back to the gathering.

Nobody else knows the truth. If I’d been able to laugh off what Geordie said, chances are most people wouldn’t have thought much more about it. I’m making it a bigger deal than it has to be by staying away from everyone else, so I should knock it off. Probably Mack’s smarmy grin is the worst of the aftermath, and that’s already over.

Geordie, you dickweed. I might keep Arturo from giving him hell, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to. You couldn’t have spent one single party drinking ginger ale?

Footsteps on the grass again, but I don’t turn around. “I’m coming back in, really—”

My voice trails off as I see who’s come to my side.

Jonah Marks doesn’t look directly at me; he stares in the same direction I do, right past the fence, but there’s no missing the intensity of his focus. He is as vividly aware of me right now as I am of him.

“Sorry your ex embarrassed you,” he says.

“He, um, he just had too much to drink.” I hug myself a little tighter. “Guess we’ve all been there.”

“I’ve never humiliated one of my lovers at a party. Have you?”

Wow, thanks for describing it as humiliation. “I just meant, I’m not angry with Geordie. You don’t have to be either.”

Jonah doesn’t seem to think my take on this matters. “He should never have revealed something so private.”

I remind myself: a tremor, not an earthquake. “That was just one thing Geordie and I talked about, one time. Don’t read too much into it.”

My best bluff. I even manage a smile. Most people would believe it. Jonah doesn’t.

“If it were no big deal, you wouldn’t be standing out here now,” he says. “I knew the truth as soon as I saw your face. You want that fantasy. You want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything else.” He looks directly at me for the first time. “You hate it, don’t you? The fantasy. I do too. But it doesn’t change anything.”

I feel naked in front of him. Exposed, and vulnerable. I can’t think about what he’s saying; all I want is to get away. But Jonah’s presence—the sheer heat of him—holds me in place, trapping me. “You—I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“I think you do.”

The presumption of the guy. “Excuse me?”

He takes a sip from his wineglass, utterly unhurried, completely and maddeningly calm. Then he says, “I want to tell you this now—tonight, while you’re safe, and with your friends, and you know I’m not threatening you. What your ex said—if that’s the fantasy you want, I can give it to you.”

Did he just say that? He did.

It’s like every sound turns into white noise. Like my brain won’t process words any longer. The shock is physical. “You—you didn’t mean—”

“Rape as fantasy. You’d like to play one role. I’d like to play another.” Jonah’s tone remains diffident, but his eyes tell another story. He stares at me so intently that I can’t help picturing him in the role he wants to play. “On your terms, and within your limits. But I think we could . . . satisfy each other.”

I can’t even answer him.

Apparently I look as shocked as I feel, because Jonah says, “You’re safe. You’re with friends. Even if you were alone, you’d be safe with me.”

There are a thousand objections I could make, from long outraged diatribes to a slap on the face he’s surely earned. I go with, “I don’t even know you.”

“That’s going to make it better for you,” Jonah says. “With a boyfriend, you can pretend—but it’s a joke, really. A game. Not the fantasy you really want. Me? I’m nearly a stranger. I can do more than fuck you. I can scare you a little. Just a little. Enough to make it what you really want.”

I need to shut this down. “This is crazy. You know that, right? And it’s never, ever happening.”

“It’s your fantasy, and mine. Chances like this don’t come along often—two people twisted in the exact same way.” Jonah smiles; it’s a fierce expression, rather than a friendly one. “If we don’t make something out of this, I think you’ll regret it. I know I will.”

I want to tell Jonah that he’s wrong. I want to tell him to fuck off. I want to make it clear that I’m not the twisted woman he described—but I can’t. This man has already seen right through me. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

“We can have a lot more than that. Think about it.”

I can’t help imagining it. Every fevered, violent fantasy I had about Jonah that night on the side of the road comes back to me, more vivid than most of my real memories. I wanted him to take me. Control me. Drag me down and force me.

The whole time, he was fantasizing about doing that to me. Maybe more than I even dared dream. Out there in the dark, when I was at his mercy, that was what was going through his mind.

Probably I should feel insulted, or scared. Instead I am powerfully, almost painfully turned on.

Turned on is not the same as suicidal. I say, “There’s no way in hell I’m giving you permission to rape me.”

“That’s not what I asked for. I asked to play a role in your fantasy, just like I’m asking you to play a role in mine. Nothing happens you don’t want to happen.” His gray eyes are unfathomable. “We can work out a few details in advance, for your protection.”

“Is this something you do with women?” I demand. Though I only mean it in terms of fantasy, I realize almost instantly that Jonah could have done this for real. I might be talking to a rapist. I could be a potential victim dangling in front of him like low fruit on a heavy branch.

“A couple of ex-girlfriends tried to act scenes out with me, but it was never quite right. They didn’t want to play rough.” His smile is as sharp and bright as a straight razor. “I think you do.”

That ought to scare the shit out of me, except—he’s right. I do want to play rough. I want the dirtiest, filthiest brutality, and I want it badly. Wanted it for so long. We still haven’t exchanged more than a handful of words, but I already realize that Jonah’s exactly the kind of man who’d give me what I need without any hesitation. Without mercy.

I don’t want to want that. My fantasy is something I’m trying to escape from, not sink down into. If I try this and hate it, that would be beyond horrible. It might be as traumatic as a real rape, and I would have walked right into it.

That’s not what scares me, though. What scares me is that I’ll try it and love it. Maybe I really am that fucked up.

I’d rather not find out. “Listen. I realize this is—an offer. Not a threat. But we’re having an extremely unnerving conversation, and I wish we weren’t.”

Something subtle changes about Jonah’s expression. I remember the way I was thinking about him earlier tonight—that this was a man who could be broken. Some of that vulnerability is visible now, if you look hard. “I would never force a woman against her will. Never. If someone held a gun to my head, I’d tell him to shoot. That’s not a line I’d ever cross.”

“But you fantasize about raping women.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You fantasize about being raped. You know the line between dream and reality. So do I.”

How can he not see how different it is? My fantasy comes from a very dark place, but a very real one. For Jonah, this is probably just a way to get off.

I should walk away. I should suck up my pride, go back into the party, grab my purse and keys, and get home as fast as I can. Tomorrow I ought to call Shay and tell her not to invite Professor Marks to any more parties.

Instead I stand there, breath catching in my throat. Jonah’s eyes crinkle at the corners, a smile too dark to show. He knows exactly how aroused I am. The shame I feel is just fuel for my desire.