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“Emily,” he warned.

“Because you don’t like him? Because —” Something suddenly occurred to me. “Hey, how did you even know I was there?”

“That doesn’t matter. Answer.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter. Are you having me followed?” God, oh God, what if he was? The black car from earlier – that had been him! Or one of his men. What if he had my phone tapped too? My house bugged? Who had I called? What had I said? What could he know?

“Only when your Jag shows you somewhere you shouldn’t be.” He took another step toward me. “Answer my question.”

Sometimes I didn’t know when to stop. “Is that the real reason you gave me the Jag? So you could track my whereabouts?” How the hell had I not thought about that before?

As quickly as he had the first time, Reeve pushed me back against the wall. He wrapped one hand in my ponytail and yanked it roughly to the side. Then he clamped his other across my mouth, silencing me. He leaned in so he was only inches from my face and in a quiet, eerily controlled voice said, “Stop with the questions, Emily, or so help me I am going to lose it with you.”

My heart clamored in my chest and my eyes widened. His hand over my mouth was disarming. Meant to keep me from talking, it felt close to smothering. For a moment, I considered biting his hand, but then decided it was probably not in my best interest and instead forced a deep, calming breath through my nose.

“Now.” Reeve wound my hair tighter around my ponytail, getting a better grip. “Like I said, I’m the one who will be doing the asking. So I’m going to remove my hand, and you’re going to tell me why the hell you thought it was a good idea to be at a man’s house – a man who will fuck anyone he can and Hollywood knows it, a man who most certainly wants to fuck you – alone, hugging him in the street where any asshole with a camera could get a picture of you together.”

He removed his hand, and I opened my mouth to answer. But I was distracted by what he’d said about Chris. Was he concerned about the paparazzi then? And not about Chris himself?

The question slipped out. “Does this have anything —”

Reeve pulled my hair tighter, snapping my head to the side and cutting off my words. “Take your time if you need it, but I want an answer to be the next thing that leaves your mouth. Nothing else.”

Fuck. I was in trouble.

I was arguing with a devil. A man with money and power. A man who wasn’t happy with me. It was exactly the time to be scared and cautious and indulging, and I was scared. But I wasn’t being cautious or indulgent because the dominating bad boy type was my weakness. I liked seeing him come out to play. I wanted to keep him around.

But I also wanted to submit to him. Wanted to please and gratify and charm him. I wanted to say the right thing, more than I’d ever wanted to say the right thing in my life, but I wasn’t sure what the right thing was. I’d have to make a guess. And from what he’d given me, I’d say it was being seen alone with a man like Chris was the error. The situation could easily put me in the most unreliable of gossip rags as his lover. I hadn’t thought that Reeve cared about public opinion.

Maybe I was wrong.

“I wasn’t thinking about what it looked like,” I said finally and his grip loosened. “He hugged me, and I didn’t think to stop him.”

“You shouldn’t have been with him alone in the first place.” He moved his face in closer, his lips a mere whisper from mine now. His eyes, hard and cold, level with mine.

“I shouldn’t have been alone with him in the first place,” I repeated as he cupped my breast. “Even though it was completely innocent.”

He yanked my hair again, and his other hand pinched my nipple hard enough to make me cry out. “I’m not looking for excuses, Emily. I’m looking for acknowledgment that you understand what you did.”

“I do. I get it. Now.”

He twisted the taut bud, not painful this time, but as a reminder. “Then tell me, why shouldn’t you have been with him?”

“Because anyone could get the wrong impression.”

“Go on.”

“We could have been seen.” I was breathless and needy and desperate. My eyes closed, relishing his touch. “Anyone who saw might think that I’m with him or twist it to say that I’m with him. And I’m supposed to be with you.”

Smack. His hand slapped my breast, making me jump. “Supposed to be?”

“I am with you. I’m with you and I wasn’t acting like it.” I reached out to stroke his chest with both my hands, determined to reassure him. “I’m with you. Only you.”

“Precisely.” He let go of me abruptly and backed away.

I followed after him, pleading. “I’m sorry, Reeve. I messed up. I won’t do it again. I promise.” I sounded pathetic. Like an abused woman begging for her lover to strike her once again, though I hadn’t been abused. I’d been treated the way I loved to be treated and the possibility of losing that, of losing him, gnawed at me. Ripped at my insides. The things I’d said to Joe had been excuses, but I realized in that moment how much I’d meant them. My relationship, or whatever this was with Reeve, was more important than anything that could come between us.

He ignored me, standing with his back to me as he seemingly tried to make a decision of some sort. A decision about me, likely. Whether he was done with me or not. Whether he’d give me a chance or call it quits. Whether he’d end things by breakup or more permanently.