“Your parents own this place?” he asked as she walked up a curving wooden staircase to the third floor.

“No.”

“But you grew up here.”

“Yes.”

“And you speak French and not Creole?”

“I know Creole. I speak French.”

“You’re not going to tell me anything about your life, are you?” he asked as he followed her down another hallway decorated with white and pale green floral wallpaper.

“It doesn’t matter.” She gave an elegant shrug, and he fought the urge to bite the back of that arrogant shrugging shoulder. The red straps that crisscrossed on her otherwise bare back were begging to be ripped off her body. Flawless skin. He ached to leave it covered in welts and bites. She might not like that, though. Still...to be inside her would be worth anything he had to give up to get there. Even kink.

“Doesn’t matter?” He almost laughed. “At this point, I think I’d rather know you than fuck you. And for me to say that...well...consider it my highest compliment.”

“You would rather know me than fuck me?”

“I would.”

She turned her back to the door and leaned against it. She crossed her arms over her chest and faced him.

“My name is Juliette Toussaint. I’m twenty-six years old. I was born in this house because my mother was the housekeeper here. My family has always worked for the family that lives in this house. For generations. We lived in the servants’ quarters here. The owner’s children had French tutors. I was allowed to learn with them instead of going to school. If I was here at the house, I could help my mother with her work. When I was fourteen years old, my mother got very ill. The owner of this house is paying for her medical treatments. I work for him now. It’s not a difficult job, which is why I don’t call it work. Now you know everything there is to know about me.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Do you want my autobiography or do you want to have me?”

“I want both.”

“Both isn’t one of your options,” she said. “Look, we’re wasting time.”

“I don’t have to be anywhere anytime soon.”

“I do,” Juliette said. She sighed heavily and glanced away. “Kingsley...”

He shivered. It was the first time she’d said his name.

“I can only give you tonight,” she said. “One night. So please stop wasting time.”

“What do you mean you can only give me tonight?”

“I have a life,” she said. “With someone. Tomorrow I’ll go back to it.”

“Are you married?” he asked, realizing he should have asked that question before he’d got into the car with her. But it was too late now. No matter what she said, he would stay until she kicked him out of her life.

“No. It’s different.”

“How so?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he said. “I’m very understanding.”

“I’m...” She met his eyes again. “I’m owned.”

Owned. Of course she was owned. A woman like Juliette was a prize, a crown, a work of art, a priceless jewel that would inspire the urge to own her in any man who looked at her. She should be owned, cherished and guarded. If he owned her, he would guard her with his life.

Kingsley nodded. “That I understand.”

“You do?” She sounded skeptical.

“I do. I understand what it means to be owned.”

“Good. He’s gone tonight. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Do you make a habit of seeing other men behind his back?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Am I the first?”

“Second.”

“Second man you’ve cheated on him with?”

“No,” she said, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her. “Second man I’ve ever been with.”

“Ever?”

“Ever,” she said.

Kingsley inhaled deeply. He never dreamed a woman so beautiful would have had only one lover in her entire life.

“Why me?” he asked.

She met his eyes and lifted her hand. Gently, slowly, she trailed her fingers through his hair and brought a lock of it to her lips. She kissed the tip of his hair before she released it. The act was so intimate, so unexpected and so possessive it hurt like a spear point knife in his stomach.

“I like your hair,” she said, looking at his face as if she was memorizing every detail of it. “That’s all.”

Kingsley was so hard for her already it hurt. He physically ached to be inside this woman.

“Now will you fuck me?” she asked.

“A few more questions. They’ll be quick.”

“What else do you need to know?” Juliette asked, sounding impatient.

“Well...for starters, how do you like to be fucked?”

He crossed his arms over his chest to match her posture and waited.

She met his eyes and they were so dark and so wide right then he imagined he could see himself in them.

“I like it rough.”

“Rough?” Kingsley repeated. “On a scale of one to ten...”

“What’s one?”

“You fall asleep while I’m on top of you.”

“Ten?”

“Hospitalization.”

Juliette seemed to ponder that a moment.