And then he was there, scooping her up and holding her close against his chest. He went back to the corner of his bed, only this time to sit her on his lap. She bit back the wince while he held back a smirk and he settled her more comfortably against him. He held her quietly as she cried incoherent, random words, trying to make sense of it all.

When her last tear was shed and the last word babbled, he kissed her. It was tender, conciliatory, but by no means remorseful. With each kiss, she wanted to coax the words out of him, words to explain, words to forgive. Only he wouldn’t say them. He adoringly hummed and hushed but his mouth was far too busy doing other things. Instead, he tumbled her backward onto the bed and helped her work through each of the feelings that were bottled up inside her, one by one. As each feeling exploded out of her body with the force of a line drive coming off a fastball, he caught it, made it his own, and joined her in it. He matched her emotion for emotion, and it was manic and chaotic and euphoric. . . .

Amanda vigorously shook her head. She could never be accused of being a delicate flower, but last night went beyond aggressive sex. And her feminist school of thought was, if you let a guy hit you once, it’s like giving him permission to make you his punching bag. This felt different and only added to the confusion.

Where had this man come from? This was not the completely gallant gentleman who politely pulled out her chairs, opened all her doors, and held her hand. Who took chivalry to a whole new level. The Chase from last night was forceful, intent on overpowering her and refusing to stop.

Had she even said stop?

No, she hadn’t. She fought and she swore and called him every name she could think of. She even made up a few. It had become an accelerating battle of words and wills until it was clear who was going to come out the victor. But at no time did she tell him to stop. At one point early on, she actually sank her teeth into his side, a decision she could probably thank any lingering soreness for. The resulting volley of sharper swats was a stark reminder of just how much restraint and control he wielded over her. How helpless and completely at his mercy she was. The mind-blowing sex afterward was born of the adrenaline created from the whole experience. It was wrong for him to take that sort of advantage of her. It was even more wrong that she let him. And there was no way to rationalize how, through it all, there was this out-of-body element that she had never felt before. It was feral, hedonistic, and uninhibited.

One of his bathrobes was lying across a corner of the bed. Was he being thoughtful, presumptuous, or just plain lazy? Amanda pondered, standing up. She slipped on the heavy terry cloth. It was completely dry; he hadn’t used it. She settled on thoughtful while tying it at the waist and pulling up the extra material to ensure she wouldn’t step on it when she walked. She tiptoed down the hallway, the same hallway that only hours ago he’d tried to drag her down, peeking into open doors for any sign of him. She encountered his cleaning lady in his memorabilia room, an entire room full of trophies and other dedications to his greatness. Lena was a stout Latino grandmother with a ready smile whom security picked up every morning at five A.M. and drove home at the end of each day since she was hired three years ago. She politely directed Amanda to the kitchen at the opposite end of the hall. Chase’s magnetism started creeping up on her as she got closer and hit her full force before she made it to the entranceway. She drew in her breath and held it. She thought she was ready to face him. She was wrong.

Chase was sitting on a stool at the kitchen’s long center island, which also served as a breakfast bar. He was freshly showered and fully dressed in Kings workout garb, sans his hat and spikes. His blond hair shone under the bright lights overhead in the windowless kitchen, making him look more angelic than mortal. He held on to a coffee cup. The heavy ceramic mug looked normal in his large hand, and probably held a quart of coffee. The remnants of his Paul Bunyan–sized bowl of Cheerios sat beside a stack of newspapers, one opened directly in front of him. Chase always had his morning papers delivered by six and tried to be done reading them all by seven. When he caught sight of her in the entranceway he smiled brightly.

“Morning, angel,” he greeted her, pointing to the opposite end of the long counter near where she was standing. “Coffee’s ready, over there in the corner.” He went back to reading.

Amanda suddenly felt shy. Silly even. Something about the way he’d said “corner.” How could someone telling you where the coffee is sound so dominant and sexy? He was completely relaxed. That was fine. She could follow that lead. She was still feeling the aftereffects from what he’d done to her last night; he was engrossed in the box scores, no big deal. She ambled across the kitchen floor to where her Gulliver-made-it-home-sized mug waited and made herself a trough of coffee. As she methodically poured coffee, then added milk and Splenda, she tried to work up the nerve to broach the subject. To inform him in no uncertain terms she wasn’t that kind of girl, no matter how much she may have acted like one. Nothing came to her mind that sounded even remotely plausible. She didn’t need to rush; she told herself. She could do small talk.

“I thought all you big shots only wore your play clothes when at the field?” She stirred her coffee with a teaspoon that looked more like it was made for soup.

“I have clothes everywhere,” he replied cheerfully. “Sometimes I need to make a sudden appearance. Today I just overslept a bit and wanted to get a jump on the day.” He looked her up and down while her back was turned, before adding, “Lots of great energy.”

Energy, Amanda repeated to herself while she stirred her cup. That would help explain all the electricity that left her feeling so jittery. Maybe it was the way he said it, so at ease with the dimension he was trying to add to their relationship.

He went back to reading as she turned around. She stared at the contents of her mug and took a moment to appreciate that there was no way she could convincingly pretend nothing had changed with so much being left unsaid. If he wasn’t going to bring it up, she was going to have to. He wasn’t focused on her and she considered it a benefit.

“Chase,” she began steadily, but her voice cracked as soon as she said his name, “about last night?”

“Yes?” he asked casually, not looking up from his paper.

“You seemed like you really knew what you were doing there.” She tried to sound snarky, but it came out more flummoxed.

“I do,” he stated, very matter of fact, still seemingly engrossed in the paper, but with the corners of his mouth starting to turn up.

“Like you’ve done that sort of thing before.”

“I have.” He grinned, turning the page and scanning it.

“And that if we keep seeing each other, it’s something you’ll want to do again?”

“I will.” He nodded, still grinning. He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes focused on the comics.

His two-word, nonchalant answers and perceived lack of interest was starting to completely unnerve her. She hadn’t even come out directly to say what she was talking about and he was behaving like they had entered into a pact that only he was privy to.

“What if I don’t want you to?”

Chase finally looked up from his paper, his eyes spearing her from across the granite island. “Then you better not be naughty.”

Any bravery she had mustered up evaporated when he focused on her. The temperature in the room turned up a hundred degrees and his robe became more like a straitjacket on her body. Amanda felt as though she were slowly being smothered in his hotness. Even when he wasn’t looking at her, her heart was racing. Now he was grinning at her as if she were standing there naked. His eyes shot green laser beams from where he was sitting that effectively drilled into her core, impaling her into the counter she was leaning against, rendering her immobile.

Naughty. The word, spoken by him, was like a caress, an ardent invitation daring her to be just that. It had a hundred different meanings and every single one of them led straight back to last night.

“You might want to start by watching your language,” Chase added, still smiling but shaking his head reprovingly.

From across the room, his confidence was like a force field that radiated out, pushing her up against the counter and ravaging her. He wasn’t even apologetic. He had just alluded to the fact he would spank her whenever he felt she needed spanking.

She tried to scoff in bravado, but it was ineffective. “That sounds like I have no say in this whatsoever.”

“Doesn’t it?” He went back to reading the paper, chuckling.

“What if you decide you want to do something crazy, like snap my neck?” she sputtered, detesting that it had started to sound like they were entering into negotiations.

“That’s not how it works,” Chase told her, laughing and looking at her again, this time with his heart-melting boyish sincerity. “And why would I want to see anything on you snapped? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m completely in love with you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” she mumbled, looking down at the floor. She hoped he couldn’t see how he was affecting her. She knew it wasn’t working. His gentle teasing served only as a reminder of how comfortable he was with all of it. Or that her having stayed somehow signified an acceptance of terms.

Chase patiently waited for her to look at him, and then cleared his throat to get her attention when he felt she’d stalled enough. When she finally brought her face back up to meet his, he smiled again, his eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement.