“Trust,” I whisper, wishing his mouth on mine.

“That’s right,” he says, his breath whispering over my cheek, my lips, teasing me with a kiss yet to happen. “Trust.”

And when I think he will finally kiss me, he does not. He steps back and walks toward the dresser, giving me his back. I know then that he’s planned the direction I am standing, the placement of the mirror. Everything Liam does is calculated. Controlled. I think this quality in him is a drug for me. It is everything I wish I could be and cannot. I envy it in him, admire it. Find it sexy.

I forget my hands are tied and tug on the silk. If I’m supposed to be afraid, it’s not working. I’m wondering why I have my clothes on. I really want the ugly pink uniform off my body and him next to me.

He steps to the center of the dresser, directly in front of the mirror, and I expect him to look at me, but he does not. His head lowers, the dark thick waves of hair blocking my view of his expression. I can almost hear him thinking, debating, and I want to know what and why. I watch the mirror, wait with a hitched breath for his eyes to lift. When his eyes lift and collide with mine, the connection sizzles through me. Any hesitation he’d had is gone. I see the determination, the control, in his eyes, and I wonder if those things had been there only moments before.

He reaches down and pulls out a drawer. I can’t see what is inside. I’m not supposed to see. I know that. The not knowing is part of his control. Part of the anticipation and the tease I know he intends. Seconds tick by and I can barely stand the waiting until finally, he turns and faces me. My gaze drops, seeking that delicious ‘pi’ tattoo I have always found so very alluring, taking it in, and the thick jut of his erection, before it hits me that he is holding something. My gaze shoots back to what is in his hands and shock rolls through me, my breath lodging in my throat at what I see.

He is holding a gold dagger.

Liam starts walking toward me and I have to force myself to breathe. The dagger is sheathed in some sort of intricately designed casing, no blade exposed. Maybe it’s not even a real dagger. It can’t be real.

He stops in front of me and holds it up. “Scared?”

I wait a moment, expecting the fear to come, but it doesn’t. “What are you doing, Liam?”

He presses his hand above me and rests the cold gold between my breasts. “Are you scared?” he demands.

“I should be.”

“But you’re not?”

I wait for the fear again, but there is only liquid heat spreading low in my limbs. I like dominant Liam. I like him a lot and I’m not sure what that says about me. “No,” I whisper. “I told you, I seem to be confused.”

He unsheathes the blade. “Now are you afraid?”

I study the sharp edges so able to cause pain, and then meet his eyes, feeling the jolt of awareness Liam so easily creates in me. Instantly, I am consumed by heat, desire...passion. I do not see malice. “No. I’m not afraid.”

He brings the blade to the top of my uniform and pops off a button. Then another, but I can tell how careful he is not to touch my skin. I can see how much he doesn’t want to hurt me. His gaze lifts to mine, a challenge in the depths. “Say the word and I’ll untie you.”

My voice is steady, sure. “I’d rather you undress me.”

His eyes narrow, then harden and before I know what is happening, he’s yanking the blade all the way down the front of my uniform, splitting it straight down the middle. My heart is thundering in my chest as he slices the center of my bra and exposes my breasts.

He stands there, staring down at me, tall, and dark. Right now, I think he’s lethally sexy. His gaze rakes hotly over my exposed breasts, a heavy caress I feel in every part of me, then lifts to mine. “This,” he says, sheathing the dagger, “was to make damn sure you never wear that piece of shit uniform ever again.” He tosses the dagger onto the bed and then reaches down and yanks my panties off.

I jerk at the unexpected action and already one of his hands curves around my backside, the other caressing up my bare back to mold me close, my naked breasts nestled against his chest. “You,” he says, his voice low, gravelly, “are the talented daughter of one of the most brilliant archeologists to ever live, not a waitress at a truck stop.”

My chest tightens and frustratingly, my eyes prickle. “Damn you. Damn you, Liam. She is not a part of this. She is dead. You told me so yourself.”

“You’re still his daughter. And they, whoever the hell they are, can’t take that from you any more than I’m letting them take you from me.”

His words both carve me open and fill some deep hole in my soul. An eruption is coming, a vicious, intense… “Liam--”

He leans in and finally his lips brush mine, a soft, teasing caress. “Say my name again.”

“Liam,” I whisper more urgently but not because he’s told me to. Because there is a storm  brewing inside me that he has set fire to, and I can’t live through it tied to this post. “Liam I--”

His hand slips to my face, his lips covering mine, his tongue licking into my mouth in a velvety hot caress, followed by another. Yes, I think. Make it all go away. This is what I need. The escape. The escape.

“I’ve missed how you taste,” he murmurs, letting his lips trail over my cheek, my jaw, to my neck. “All of you.”

Tension coils inside me, part arousal, part storm, and I moan, tugging on my wrists that are too snugly held in place. Panic rises inside me. I don’t like feeling trapped. Not now. Not tonight and in this moment. “Untie me,” I whisper.

He flicks me a look, stroking my nipple and sending a wave of sensation colliding with my erupting emotions. “Not yet.”

“Liam, untie me!”

Leaning back to inspect me, his expression is stunned, in obvious confusion, and I try to explain what I barely understand.  “I need...I just need to be untied. I need to be untied now.”

He reaches behind me and releases me. The minute I’m free, my reaction is instinctive. I wrap my arms around his neck and my fingers are in his hair. “And I need you to hold me. I need--”

“Me too, baby,” he replies, his voice low, raspy. “Me too.” His mouth comes down on mine and he is kissing me, sweet wonderful, passionate kisses, and somehow in this moment there is both wild heat and a peaceful sense of rightness all at once.

I press into Liam, molding my body to his, trying to get closer, to be lost in him and us. And I am lost.Touching him, tasting him, wrapped in the warm male scent of him to the point that I barely know how the rest of my uniform and bra get discarded, or how I end up on the bed, on my back.There is just him on top of me, the thick ridge of his erection pressing between my thighs and me aching for him to be inside me.

I lift my leg, pressing my foot into his lower back, arching into him. “Liam,” I whisper, desperate to have him inside me.

His hand slips under my backside, cradling my body. “I’m the one who’s scared,” he whispers, stroking my cheek, dragging his fingers down my neck again, caressing my shoulder, and then cradling my breast in his palm.“I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“I almost did.”

“But I’m here now.”

“And you have no idea how much I want to lock you away and throw away the key until I destroy every asshole who ever hurt you.” He presses inside me, and for a fleeting moment I think about the condom we don’t have, the pills I haven’t taken for fear I’m pregnant. But I don’t resist. I don’t fear. I’m pregnant. I know it. I feel it and I saw it in his eyes on the plane. He knows, too, or maybe he just thinks I’m still taking the pill. I lose the thought when Liam drives deep inside me, buries himself until he can go no further. We stay there as if we are savoring the moment, anticipating the next. The sound of our breathing fills the air, melding together. Seconds pass and I hear the clock ticking, building tension.