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With obvious reluctance, he releases me. “Where are you off to?”

I hold up the box. “Home. I’m going to change into this lingerie and pray Mr. Mysterious shows up to put a smile on my face.”

Noah

Cursing the dark shadows enshrouding the porch, I lift the clay pot at my feet, now rioting with a profusion of spring flowers, and feel around the cold cement. Finally, my fingers latch onto metal. Just where it’s always been… A grin breaks out across my face as I pocket the key and replace the flowerpot.

Slowly, I unzip the small black bag at my feet, barely restraining my impatience. Adrenaline floods my system as I extract my gloves and don them.

With leather-clad hands and a cock that won’t stand down, I fish the key from my pocket again and pry open the door.

Dark. Silence. From the back of the house, I see a gray light casting down the hall, first bright, then dim, before turning bright once more. The TV. Damn, I’ll have to work around that.

Reaching into my bag again, I pull out my black ski mask and tug it over my head. Showtime…

With palms sweating under my gloves, I creep toward the oddly flashing light. Slowly. Quietly. Heart threatening to pound out of my chest, I grip the handle of my bag, holding my breath, as I near my destination.

I’ve waited nearly a fucking decade for this moment. I’ve plotted this night for the last two. Thought I’d die of impatience the last six months. And tonight… I can barely rein in my need. The urge to fuck, to claim, to pleasure seizes me.

At the end of the hallway, I peek in—and nearly stop breathing. She’s here. Asleep. Alone.

All mine.

Tiptoeing into the bedroom, I stare down at my fantasy. My future.

She lies on her side, one hand under her flushed cheek, her pale thighs tangled in her covers. The rest of her…almost totally exposed. Skin. Inches and inches of blessedly bare limbs, torso, and shoulders. The only covering? A familiar red lace thong and matching camisole. As I’d known she would the first time I saw the lingerie, Lauren looks sinful wearing it.

This is exactly why I bought the pieces. And sent them to her. Then stopped to watch her blush and squirm when she opened the box. I’ve been so damn hard imagining her in them ever since.

It’s also why I played devil’s advocate when she received them…to make sure she isn’t scared. To make sure she’s really ready to let go of the past and take a lover.

Persuading her I should be that someone is the trick.

I hate subterfuge. Sneaking into her house, pretending to be someone else, and surprising her isn’t my first choice. But I have to do something—now.

Lauren started dressing sexier at work. Last Wednesday, I nearly drooled on her—in between indulging in a thousand heady fantasies, all revolving around Lauren naked with her nails in my back while I pound deep inside her. I’ve had to look away to avoid jumping on her. Worse, I’m pretty sure she wore the heart attack-inducing skirt for the accounting twerp, Gary, whom I wish I’d never hired. Would she really go out with the guy? Sleep with him?

Not if I can help it. I’ve waited ten years to have her. Gritted my teeth through two pregnancies and a rocky marriage to a husband who never appreciated her. Tim isn’t a total jerk, just self-absorbed. Lauren deserves more.

I’m here to show her who I am, aside from Tim’s pal and her boss. She has to experience me in a totally new way, no ex-husbands, business meetings, or clothes between us.

Once I satisfy her…then I’ll reveal myself. We’ll talk. And I’ll hope like hell she can admit there’s something sizzling between us. I can build on that. She knows I’m not a workaholic like Tim, but she has to understand that I’ll devote myself to her pleasure and happiness. She likes and respects me. We connect intellectually and share a quirky sense of humor. The problem? Lauren thinks of me as Tim’s buddy and her surrogate big brother. Being her boss doesn’t help. I have to change her perception.

Tonight.

Desire lashes me with heat as I step into the hushed bedroom and make my way across the shadowy space. Canned sitcom laughter turned down low grates on my nerves. Damn thing better not wake her.

She’s changed the furniture since the divorce. Good. Even if the house is the same, for the girls’ sake, she’s replaced more intimate reminders of her marriage. Instead of the mission-style bedroom suit she shared with Tim, Lauren bought pieces that look golden warm and stylishly weathered. An intricate wrought-iron headboard makes me smile. Its curves and curls will come in handy very soon.

I reach her side, ease the bag onto the carpet, and survey the feast of female I hunger for. Silvery tracks glisten on her cheeks. My smile falls. Has she been…crying?

Sinking to my knees, I look closely. Yes, she has. Tears dried on her cheeks as she’d drifted off. Her eyes are puffy, her nose pink.

The sight is a battering ram to my gut. If she’s crying because she’s distressed about her girls or other loved ones, I’ll hold her and help her make it better. If it has anything to do with Mr. Mysterious, as she put it, failing to make an appearance…well, I’m here to soothe her ache.

My heart pounds like a sledgehammer as I fish a pair of velvet-lined cuffs from my bag and slip one around Lauren’s sleep-lax wrist and affix it to the headboard. The other, still tucked under her cheek, will be a challenge. I have to restrain her without waking her. I can’t risk her panicking, thinking she has a burglar or rapist, and possibly hurting herself in her attempt to flee.

While pondering my next move, Lauren helps me by rolling to her back.