Gently, he fingered her chin, bringing her face up. She blinked hard and tried not to notice his look of concern. Rapidly, her eyes flicked from his eyes to his mouth. It wasn’t until he dropped his hand that she was able to quickly lower her eyes back to the ornately tiled floor.

His soft murmur, warm nicotine and mint-scented breath fluttered past her cheek as he moved closer to her. “Look at me.”

She couldn’t. Her body was frozen with cold hatred.

Even softer, he pleaded. “Please, Elsa.”

That voice. The ache within his smooth, lusty tone began to thaw her frigid state, but she quickly reminded herself that he was nothing but a cruel manipulator and destroyer of happiness. When she stood staunchly unmoving, his body shifted. The heat of his core radiated onto her and his cologne dizzied her senses, her body trembling when he glided his palms over her bare upper arms.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed playing with you…” Long fingers clasped around her wrists. “How much I’ve longed for this day…” A firm squeeze of her hands. “To touch you again…”

Despite her best efforts not to give in, her irises drifted slowly up his toned body until they settled on his mouth. If only his words were true…

“This time will be different, Peach.” She clenched her jaw until her teeth creaked under the pressure when she heard the sweet nickname and the tenderness in his voice. “More enjoyable… more pleasurable…”

His words faded.

Enjoyable? Did he really believe that she could easily put aside all the things he did to her and enjoy being forced to betray Nate?

She brought her chin up to meet his gaze. “Will there still be rules involved?” His eyes flickered with some unknown emotion, but he slowly nodded. “Do you still want to be called Mr. Black?” Now it was his jaw that tightened as he ground his teeth. Another nod answered her question. “Then I guess it won’t be that different after all, will it?”

She pushed past him to the living room and grabbed her bag from the floor. She froze again. The house looked completely foreign to her – like a real home should; furnished lavishly with dark, rich colors and modern pieces, scenic paintings on the walls, small decorative touches everywhere – comfortable, inviting… deceiving. For a moment, she wondered if she had entered the wrong residence until she saw the familiar red velvet chaise near the fireplace. The pretty façade of the home was merely a ruse.

Her eyes scanned her surroundings once more before darting to him. “Are you living here?”

“Is that a problem?”

Elsa was taken aback and more than confused. “What happened to your home on the outskirts of Richmond?”

“I never planned on moving back so I sold it,” he glanced over her shoulder and out the bay window.

Unwelcome hurt filled her heart. She remembered well the day she found out he had relocated to California. His presence had been absent for nearly two weeks and she thought he was simply on another case. How wrong she had been. Things had been over for more than four months, but he had always been there – lurking; hiding in the shadows. Always there. Somewhere. Just over her shoulder. Around the corner. Right outside. Mere feet away. His smell lingering or wafting past her. His eyes constantly on her.

And then… gone.

A lump in her throat formed as she tried to suppress the memory of what happened next – the breakdown; doctors and strangers, even her family picking her brain apart trying to find out exactly what happened, what went wrong. It was ironic considering she had left one mind fuck only to enter another. It made no sense that she had gotten so low after finding out he moved on, considering that he had beaten her. It was impossible to try and explain to someone outside of the situation let alone herself. The only rationalization she could come up with was that she hadn’t really grieved his loss until being faced with his absence. In her own delusional mind, because he still lingered around, he cared for her.

“Why did you come back?” her words came out bitterly, irritated with her own fucked-up way of thinking. When he didn’t immediately answer, she turned her body to the side to glare at him. “Couldn’t you find another chapter or two to keep your interest?”

His brows pinched together as his green flecked irises roamed over her face and body. “California just didn’t do it for me,” he blandly responded.

Of course it didn’t. No chapter would ever do it for him, including her, but he was too self-absorbed to figure out that the problem wasn’t the state or the women – it was him.

Her eyes fixed on the spot where she had endured the most horrible moment of her life. The painful memory was still as needlepoint sharp as if it had only happened yesterday. The leather on her back… the searing heat… the unrelenting and excruciating ache that took weeks to subside… the mental and physical scars that still lingered… And the worst of it all - Mr. Black’s unfathomable eyes, cruel words and rejection of her love.

A tremor ran through her, but she shook her head and pushed forward; clinging to the hope that Victor would keep his word and allow her to live a normal life when the game was over. But a lingering question hung over her like an ominous storm cloud: would this thing with him ever truly be over? She refused to acknowledge what the truth might be – that she may never be free from him.

Walking to a medium-sized, tiger-maple table now sitting where the small bistro table used to be, she stood mere inches from it and peered over her shoulder.

“Let’s get down to business.”

Irritation flashed in Victor’s eyes. Long, quick strides brought him to the table and they both seated themselves.

He glanced down at her hand. “Where’s your ring?”

Should she tell him? “It didn’t seem appropriate to wear it here.”

His eyes shot back up to hers and his cold, silent stare left her reeling, but she refused to let it show.

Reaching into his front pocket, he brought out a worn piece of folded paper and laid it on the table.

The rules.

Elsa moved swiftly and retrieved a piece of paper from her handbag. Pushing his note aside, she placed the sheet of pink stationary face down and held her hand over it the same way he had the first time they discussed his game plan.

Clearing her throat, she spoke with certainty even though doubt was overwhelming her. “I have my own terms and conditions.” Victor’s eyes narrowed and a slight cock of his head revealed his confusion. Flipping the document over, his eyes lowered to the hand-written words on it.

New game. New rules.

Aggravation creased his forehead as his fierce gaze focused back onto her. “This is my house and I make the fucking rules,” he growled.

“Yes, you do, and I’ll follow them, but this time around, my rules are also in effect.”

A condescending huff slipped past his lips as his eyes scanned her face. “I don’t follow anybody’s rules but my own.”

Holding strong, she reached into her bag again, brought out a pen and held it out to him. “If you want me to play, willingly, then you know what to do.”

Unaffected, he leaned his chair back onto two legs and crossed his arms over his chest, his stoic expression revealing only stubbornness.

So that’s how he was going to play this. So be it. Without a hint of indecision, she put the pen back into the side pocket of her purse. With the same leisure and grace he had demonstrated only minutes before, she placed the strap of her bag over her shoulder and stood to walk out.

In a flash, his chair came down onto all fours with a heavy thud.

With the first step she took, his voice boomed, “Elsa.” A fleeting look over her shoulder revealed his inner battle playing out before her, bringing back a sense of déjà vu once again. “Goddamn it,” he grumbled under his breath as he stood, his palm crashing down hard onto the table, making her jump from his sudden reaction. “Why does everything with you have to be like this? I want you to play willingly, but…” his fingers pushed his long hair away from his eyes. “Why can’t you just do as you’re told?”