"Please. I ... need you to let me go."

He frowned. The savagery had faded from his expression, but the edge in his gaze was sharp as a blade. "Don't be afraid, Katya. I won't hurt you; you know that."

"I'm not afraid." But her voice was faint, thready.

"Yes, you are. What's scaring you?"

How could she explain the feeling when she barely understood it herself? "Sir, please."

Alex moved again, a subtle shift of his hips, and another shiver chased through her as the pressure of his erection brushed the sensitive point between her legs. And he saw it, his fingers on her wrists tightening. "Is it this?" He shifted again, deliberately, sending yet more electric shocks of sensation racing up her spine.

Her brain felt cloudy, her limbs heavy. "No. No, it's not." It felt like she had to keep saying it in order to make it true.

"You're a liar, sweetheart." He leaned down, his mouth inches away from hers, his gaze infinite. "You're still fighting me. You were supposed to surrender."

She struggled for breath. Struggled against the bizarre temptation to close the gap and kiss him. He smelled of sweat and musk, and that subtle expensive aftershave she liked.

Delicious ...

"I have," she said insistently.

"No, you haven't." His body moved and again that lightning strike of pleasure flashed through her. "You're so tense you're almost rigid."

"Sir-"

"Stop fighting, Katya." His mouth was so achingly close. "There's nothing to fight against."

Her breathing had become ragged. "You don't understand. I can't ... I can't give in."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a weakness." Red in the water. Blood on the tiles. Her mouth felt like a desert. "And I ... I can't be vulnerable. I can't be exposed. I have to be strong. I have to fight."

The darkness of his gaze held something she didn't understand and yet couldn't look away from. "Did you think you were weak the night you let me touch you?"

"I..." She stopped, her heart pounding in her chest. "I was afraid."

"You were, but you let me touch you anyway. You let me give you pleasure. You trusted me to keep you safe and I did. And you will never know how strong you were in that moment. How powerful. Just like you're strong now."

She swallowed, her body aching with tension and hunger. With desperation. "Alex..."

"Let me prove it to you." He straightened, letting go of her wrists, his blue eyes never leaving hers. Then he laid one palm on her stomach. "Let me show you how strong you are."

Now her hands were free she could leave. She could twist and move, get rid of him. Get up and walk away. All her instincts were screaming at her to do just that, but ... some lost part of her wanted to know what he meant. Wanted him to show her. And she was so tired of fighting. Sometimes she just wanted not to have to.

Alex didn't move and she knew he was waiting for her permission. So she gave it. "Yes," the word soft, almost a whisper. And then she lay still, her breath escaping in a long rush, her muscles relaxing.

Surrendering.

Finally he put one hand down beside her head, leaning over her. Looking down at her, his other hand motionless on her stomach. "Don't close your eyes this time," he said. "Keep them on me. And that's an order."

Wordlessly she nodded, trying not to tense up again as the palm resting on her abdomen slid down, pushing beneath the waistband of her yoga pants to the bare skin beneath. His fingers stroked over her skin, little caresses that made her tremble inside.

She wanted to look away, close her eyes like she had the time before, but he'd ordered her not to, so she didn't, making herself hold his gaze as his hand moved lower. Beneath the cotton of her panties, sliding through the curls between her thighs.

A sharp blade of pleasure cut through her, making her gasp aloud, the sound echoing in the room. Again her instinct was to fight against it, inexplicable fear wrapping cold fingers around her throat. But his fingers moved again, lightly brushing, then circling her clit, gentle and undemanding.

Yet that sword of pleasure wasn't gentle or undemanding. It was bright and vicious, making her groan, making her want to move her hips, relieve the desperate ache. She wanted to spread her legs, but he was still straddling her, preventing her, and the constriction made the pleasure somehow even more intense.

"You're wet, Katya," he said, stroking her, teasing her. "And hot. I know you like this. Do you have any idea what knowing that does to me? What giving me your surrender means?"

She didn't need him to tell her. She could see it all laid bare in his eyes, the blue gone smoky and dark with desire. His voice was rough, his expression tight with hunger. The evidence of her power. She could feel it uncoiling inside her, a deep sensuality she'd subconsciously been trying to repress for a very long time now.

His hand slid farther between her legs, one finger pushing gently against her entrance. And she gave in to the need to lift her hips, arching as she kept her gaze on his, feeling his finger slide deep inside her, tearing a moan from her.

"Yes," he whispered. "That's it. Let me know how good it feels." His hand began to move in a gentle, insistent rhythm, the slide of his finger inside her unbelievably intense.

She panted, unable to look away from the fierce beauty of his face, desire stamped along every line.

He was right. This wasn't weakness. This was power. This was strength.

And Katya gave herself over to it, gasping as he added another finger, stretching her, creating bright sparks of pleasure that ignited along her nerve endings, making her moan. His hand urged her faster, pressing harder. And this time as the climax approached, there was none of that reflexive fear. She kept looking at him, watching the desperate expression on his face flare and change as the orgasm caught her, making her cry out at the intensity of it, flames glittering behind her eyes.

Afterwards she lay there for what seemed a long time, the beat of her pulse loud in her head, shaking as he withdrew his hand from her body, his touch gentle as he adjusted her clothing. He didn't look at her.

"Please," she said thickly, sitting up, not even realizing she was going to speak until the words were out. "Let me give you something in return."

His gaze flickered back to hers. "I don't need anything."

Such a lie when she could see the rigid length of his erection pressing against the zipper of his pants. "You do. I can see that you do."

"Katya-"

"I want to give you something this time. I need to."

He began to shift away. "Now is not the time."

"So, you're afraid as well?" She hadn't meant it to sound so accusing, but she didn't take it back.

Alex stilled, half turned away from her. And for a long moment she thought he was going to carry on. Get up and leave.

But he didn't.

He turned back to her, still on his knees, the look on his face enigmatic. "You want to give me something?" His voice sounded rough. "Okay then. Give me your hand."

She did so, his fingers curling around her wrist. Then he undid a couple of buttons on his fly and held her palm to the hard plane of his stomach, pushing it down beneath the waistband of his pants and under the soft cotton of his boxers.

Her breath caught as she felt the heat of him, the rigid length of his shaft against her fingers. She'd never touched a man like this before, had never realized how hard it would feel or how soft and smooth the skin was. The contrast was intoxicating.

His hand circled hers, closing her fingers around him. "Do exactly what I say, understand?"

She looked up, her heartbeat hammering in her chest as a sudden feeling of guilt assailed her. Oh God, what if his reluctance was due to what had possibly happened between him and South? What if this was a problem for him? Had she been wrong to insist? Then again, he clearly didn't have any problems with sex given what she'd seen of his sex life.

"You do want this, don't you?" she asked to be absolutely sure.

"Of course I fucking want it." There was an edge in his voice. "Why do you think my dick is hard?"

Okay, so that had been the wrong thing to ask. And no doubt more questions along those lines would only make him angrier.

"So what do you want me to do?"

A shadow moved in the deep blue depths. "Hold me firmly, like this." He squeezed his fingers around hers. "Then move your hand." He showed her, guiding the movement.

The breath hissed out of him as she tightened her grip, as she moved her hand the way he'd shown her. She couldn't stop looking at him, at the pleasure staining his cheekbones, at the fierce desire glittering in his eyes.

Now the power was with her. Even though she was doing what he'd ordered. It was fascinating. Addicting. How incredible to have this man literally in the palm of her hand, to be able to undo him in a way that wasn't about physical strength. Because she was undoing him, she was watching this jaded, cynical playboy come apart in front of her.

This was trust. Of a different kind than him trusting her with his life. This was him trusting her with his pleasure. Like she'd given him hers.

It made something gather tight in her chest. Made it ache in a way that didn't have anything to do with sex. Did it frighten him the way it had frightened her?

But she couldn't tell from his face. There was only a taut look there, like a man desperately searching for something and not finding it.

He whispered her name then, urging her movements even faster, and then she felt him suddenly go rigid, his eyes shutting tight. "Oh fuck," he murmured, his fingers around hers squeezing tight, his breathing harsh, his body shuddering.

She felt his cock pulse, her palm becoming slick as he groaned, his movements losing their rhythm. Then he bent his head, his body shaking.

But his hand remained clamped around hers and she didn't move.

People paid her to protect their lives, so that's what she did. Yet no one had ever trusted her with anything more. But there was more, wasn't there?

There was this. There was him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Alex picked his cuff links up off the black marble of the vanity and clipped them on, his movements sharp and precise. He didn't look at his reflection in the mirror, only running one hand through his hair. It was still damp from the shower, but fuck it. Conrad was always perfectly presented, but he could take Alex as he came.

Alex grinned at his own dark humor as he turned and strode out of the bathroom. Conrad wouldn't, of course, be taking him anywhere. This time he'd be the one doing the taking.

Over the past couple of days, he'd perfected his revenge plan. One that would take everything that mattered to Conrad and would, Alex hoped, leave him a sobbing, begging mess at the end of it.

First he was going to let Conrad believe he had all the power at the game, since that's what got the guy off and would lull him into a false sense of security. It would also give Alex and Katya some time to investigate things for Zac, Eva, and Gabriel, and Alex hoped they would get some important information that would be of use.

Then once that was achieved he would somehow get rid of the other players so it was just him and Conrad, a one-on-one game.

Then Alex would up the stakes. Make the other man hungry. Make him want. Make him so desperate he'd do anything to win. Anything such as putting his own club up for grabs. All his money. His livelihood.

And only then, when he was sure of a win, would Alex beat Conrad, and he would beat him. Make him realize he'd lost everything.

And as the final piece de resistance, Alex would get out a gun and put it to that fucker's head and make him beg for the last thing he had: his life. Perhaps he'd put a bullet through Conrad's brain, like Eva said. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe just the sight of Conrad crying in fear, the way Alex had sobbed when Conrad had bent him over the cold tiles of that bathroom, would be enough.

Whatever happened, one thing was certain. That motherfucker was going down.

Out in the lounge area, Katya sat on the couch, going through the purse on her lap. There was no sign that that was where she slept every night, folding up the blankets and putting them away so no one knew their real sleeping arrangements. He'd tried to get her to swap places so she had the bed, but she'd refused and hell, if she wanted to martyr herself on the couch then he was happy for her to do so.

She was wearing a cocktail dress that looked like a glittering green-gold spiderweb. It left one shoulder bare, the hem ending at mid-thigh, her long, toned legs on show. It was strapless too, her shoulders milky pale against the silk. He'd insisted she wear her hair down and she'd pulled the thick golden waterfall to one side. The colors gleamed in the light, gilt and caramel and deep guinea gold.

Jesus, she was beautiful.

But that didn't change how pissed off he was with her.

You're not pissed with her. It's yourself you're unhappy with.

Yeah, well, that was true. He should have left the gym after he'd brought her down on the mat and made her come. He should have left while he still had the control. But he hadn't. She'd made that comment about him being afraid and of course, like the fucking cliche he was, he'd had to prove that he wasn't.

It wasn't only that.

No, it wasn't. Their sparring match, the way he'd mastered her, beaten her, had made him so hard he'd been just about to explode. He'd always avoided strong women, preferring his sex easy to come by and easy to leave, with him having the upper hand. But he'd never realized how erotic it was to take a strong woman like Katya down like that. How intoxicating. And the sweet irony of it was that even lying under him, pinned by him, she hadn't been beaten. In a way, she'd been even stronger. Because he'd wanted her so damn badly.

Perhaps it had been stupid to point that out to her. To show her how powerful she was. But he'd hated seeing the fear in her eyes as he'd pinned her, knowing what it was like to feel helpless while someone stronger than you held you down. Yet what he'd hated even more was that she seemed to think sexual desire, one of the few things that brought him pleasure these days, that made him feel as if he'd truly left Conrad for dust, was a weakness she had to fight.

I can't be vulnerable. I have to be strong.

Why did she feel that way? Who had taught her that?

But no, he couldn't ask those things, couldn't get close. And certainly not now, just as they were about to leave for Conrad's game.

Christ, he wished he didn't want her so much. That everything about her didn't fascinate him in the way that it did.

She looked up as he stood there, her makeup perfect. Clearly she'd been practicing. Gold glimmered on her eyelids, making the green of her irises even more intense. "So, are we going into this game with you still angry with me?"

Goddammit. Did she even know how to be subtle?

Alex stuck his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants. There was no point in denying it, especially since he'd made it pretty obvious by going and hiding in his office again, making the excuse he was working on his game tactics. "Your timing is, as ever, impeccable, Katya mine."

She ignored him. "Being angry with me is a waste of energy. I'm not your enemy. Conrad South is. Or had you forgotten?"

He scowled at her. "You really think I'd fucking forgotten that, sweetheart?"

She rose to her feet, tall and straight, holding her purse at her side. Her gaze was very direct. "Should I not have touched you, is that what this is about? Are you punishing me for giving you pleasure?"

No. He was punishing her for the way she undermined his control. For the intensity of his desire for her. For her strength and her beauty. Her honesty.