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chances,” he reminded her. But indifference toward her? When she was so utterly beautiful and had yanked out a part of his heart when she’d run? Not likely.
    But had that been part of the problem? The fact that he’d always been so available to her? Besotted had been the horrifying word Julien had used.
    “We shared something special.” Undeterred, she persisted, “Surely you’ve wanted to beat some sense into me? Punish me, maybe, for the way I left?”
    “I imagined it,” he conceded. “But that was a long time ago. Don’t fool yourself that I even think of you anymore.”
    He heard her take a shaky breath before saying, “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, so I won’t ask for it. But I’m begging you to show some mercy. Let me atone.”
    Her plea sliced through his defenses.
    Despite his best intentions, he faced her. Fuck. What the hell was it about her? He wanted to pretend that sexual attraction didn’t exist between them, but it was there, raw, primal, pulsing. This woman could lead him around by his dick.
    He reminded himself that she’d given him, them, no chance at success or a future. Part of him hated her for that, her cowardice, for not being the woman he’d wanted.
    “Reece… Sir…”
    “Nice manners,” he said.
    “Thank you, Sir.”
    “If you’re still in this room in sixty seconds, you’ll get everything you’re asking for.”
    The woman at his feet wore no makeup, hid behind no artifice. “I’m not running.”
    “This time.”
    Her head snapped back to indicate his direct hit. But then, even more forcefully, she repeated, “I’m not running.”
    “You should.”
    “I’m sure you’re right.”
    His beautiful, stubborn former lover remained in place.
    “I don’t know whether to applaud your bravery or condemn your stupidity,” he said.
    “Perhaps both, Sir.” She attempted a smile that fell flat. “Internally I’m doing both right now.”
    He remembered hearing the same mixture of anticipation and nerves in her voice the first night he’d tied her hands to his headboard. He’d treated her as if she were the most delicate, precious thing—and to him, she had been.
    But her callousness had changed him, hardened him.
    “Scene with me, Sir?”
    “Not a chance.”
    “Julien tells me you don’t have a sub right now. Surely you miss that, if nothing else?”
    He did. It had been a long time since he’d played with a submissive, and Julien knew it. “The room setup,” he said, glancing around. “You or Julien?”
    “Julien.”
    He nodded. While Reece preferred suspension, the St Andrew’s cross that Julien had provided was large and sturdy with thick leather cuffs, perfect for securing even the biggest, strongest, most recalcitrant sub.
    “I understand he had it built here by a local carpenter.”
    Were they that sure of his reaction? Or of his lunacy where she was concerned?
    “Your toy bag is over there.” She inclined her head.
    “Adding breaking and entering to your résumé, Ms Lovett?”
    “No, Sir. Julien has a key,” she reminded him.
    “Ah. The letter of the law versus the spirit of the law argument.”
    “The ends justify the means,” she said with a grin.
    His resolve wavered. He’d rarely been able to deny this woman anything. More than anyone, she knew his weaknesses. “Did you thoughtfully provide him instructions on what to include?”
    She remained silent.
    “A cane, perhaps?”
    If the way her shoulders rolled forward was any indication, bravado had momentarily fled.
    “Rattan was made for you,” he said.
    “If you say so, Sir.”
    “But I’m betting there’s not a cane in the bag.”
    “It was too big, Sir.”
    “And the crop, as well.”
    She nodded. “Much too long, Sir.”
    “As I thought. So you had Julien provide only the implements you wanted,” he said.
    Silence damned her.
    He’d barely introduced her to the cane’s sear before she’d left. He’d used a crop on her a handful of times, and she hadn’t