She was nude, bared to him and the ring and the mirror, her hands tangled in the ropes, and she looked an utter scandal, spread wide like a sacrifice at this strange altar. But it was he who was on his knees, shoulders wide between her bare thighs, one leg tossed over his shoulder in wild, wanton abandon.

Anyone could see them.

The knowledge of what was beyond that mirror should have devastated her. Should have frightened her. Should have scandalized her. But instead, it made her want it more.

What had he done to her?

“Temple,” she said, softly, closing her eyes to the vision. To its power. Terrified of what he would do next.

Terrified of what he would not do next.

And then he did it, spreading her wide, looking at her, seeing her in a way no one ever had. A way no one ever should.

And she loved it.

That hand—that glorious, magical hand—moved again, one finger sliding along the most secret part of her, exploring folds and valleys and ridges, sending pleasure coursing through her. She closed her eyes at the sensation, leaning back, the ropes creaking beneath her, their rough threads scraping along her back, coarse where he was soft. Harsh where he was gentle.

“My God,” he whispered, his words at once sacrilege and benediction as his finger swirled and stroked, stealing breath and thought from her. “I don’t know how I thought I could ever resist you.”

An echo of her own thoughts. This had been inevitable. From the moment she’d approached him on the street. From before.

And then his mouth was on her, and she could not think at all, his tongue stroking in long, slow licks, teasing and tempting and torturing even as it wrought pleasure she could not believe. “Temple,” she cried, lifting, offering herself to him. Giving herself up to him.

Trusting him.

Trusting someone for the first time in what seemed like forever.

He rewarded her with his glorious mouth, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her tight to him, closing his lips tightly around some unbearable, unthinkable place and sucking more deeply, licking more firmly, scraping with a barely-there pressure that had her crying out for him.

“William.” She sighed the name that she’d thought a hundred times in the dead of night. A thousand. Never once believing that he could unlock such glorious pleasure.

He stilled at the name on her lips, and she looked down at him, finding his black gaze across the expanse of her naked body, knowing that this was at once terribly wrong and ever so right.

He swirled his tongue against her in the most wonderful way, and her eyes slid closed, unable to bear the torture of the pleasure. He lifted his mouth then, just long enough to say, “Watch.”

She shook her head, color rising on her face. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he promised, turning his face to press a kiss to the high curve of her thigh. “Watch me give you all there is to give.”

He set his mouth to her again, and she did watch, her gaze sliding from their reflection to his beautiful face, knowing that it was immodest and scandalous, but unable to take her gaze from his. Unable to stop herself from letting go of the ropes and sliding her hand into that glorious dark hair of his, and holding him tight to her. Unable to stop herself from moving against him. Unable to ignore the flood of powerful pleasure that coursed through her when that movement made him groan against her.

Made him redouble his efforts, his tongue and lips and teeth moving in perfect concert, sending her high, higher still on a wave of unbearable pleasure, until she came apart against him, calling out his name, fisting her fingers in his hair, taking every last ounce of glorious feeling from him.

Never once looking away, not even as she rocked against him, the ropes behind her sighing with the movement.

He held her as she returned to him, as her feet found the floor once more and, unable to hold herself upright, she sank to her knees with him.

He pulled her into his lap, and they sat there, hearts pounding, breath coming hard and fast, for an eternity, neither speaking, but both knowing that everything had changed.

Forever.

She’d never felt anything like this. Not even that long-ago night, the one she lorded over him, when they’d lay in her bed and kissed and touched. When he’d whispered teasing words in her ear and played with her hair and made her promises he’d never intended to keep.

When she’d taken his world from him.

She could not hide from him any longer. She could not lie to him. She would find another way to save the orphanage. To keep the boys safe. There had to be a way.

A way that did not rely on using this man any longer.

She could give him that, at least.

Sadness coursed through her as she looked up at him, meeting his inscrutable gaze. Wishing she could hear his thoughts. Wishing she could tell him everything. Wishing she could lay herself bare for him.

Wishing their future had not been so well cast in such strong stone.

“I promised I would tell you—” she began.

He shook his head, cutting her off. “Not now. Not because of this. Don’t sully it. It’s the first time it’s felt real in . . .”

He trailed off, the words singing through her, bringing hope and promise with them—two things she could not accept. Two things she had learned long ago would destroy her if she gave them quarter.

She did not give them time to take root. “We never . . .” She moved from his lap, sliding to the floor. “It started, but did not get to here . . .” He closed his eyes at the words and took a deep breath, and as much as she wanted to stop, she soldiered on. “I should never have let you believe we did.”

His gaze found her. “So it was another lie.”

She nodded, wanting to tell him everything. Wanting to tell him that that night, long ago, when she’d done the thing she most regretted, was also the night she’d done the thing she least regretted.

He’d made her laugh and smile. He’d made her feel beautiful.

For the first time in her life.

For the only time in her life.

She opened her mouth to tell him just that, to try to explain, but he was already speaking. “Daniel.”

The name confused her. “Daniel?”

“He is not mine.”

Shock threaded through her at the words. At their meaning. She shook her head. “I don’t understand . . .”

“You said he’d been with you forever.”

Daniel, with his dark hair and blue eyes and his age—exactly correct if they had done this. If they had done more.

For a moment, she let the vision of it crash over her. Temple, strong and sure and handsome and hers. And a son, dark and serious and sweet.

And theirs.

It was the life he wanted. A wife. A son. A legacy.

But it was not real. She shook her head, finding his gaze, seeing the emotion there. Regret. Anger. Sadness.

She’d hurt him again. Without even trying. She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “Forever—since I founded the orphanage. He is not . . .” She trailed off, wishing the truth were different.

He laughed then, the sound harsh and humorless. “Of course he isn’t. Of course we didn’t.”

The words cut through her.

He stood, in a single fluid movement, taking himself to the opposite side of the ring, all grace and economy even now, even with one arm in a sling. Even with a wound that would have killed a lesser man.

His back to her, he scraped his hand through his hair. “Just once, I wanted the truth from you.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Just once, I wanted you to give me a reason to believe you are more than what you seem. More than a woman out for blood and money.” He laughed and turned away again. “And then you gave it to me.”

She should tell him.

The whole story.

The money, the debt, the reason she’d run. She should lay herself at his feet and give him the chance to forgive her. To believe her. To believe in her.

Perhaps then, they could start again. Perhaps then, there might be more to this strange, unsettling, remarkable thing between them.

Dear God, she wanted that more than she wanted her next breath.

“I was not out for blood,” she said, coming to her feet, her dress in her hand, shielding her nakedness from him. “And not for money, either.” She took a step toward him. “Please. Let me explain—”

“No.” He turned to her, hand slashing through the air.

She stopped.

“No,” he repeated. “I am tired of it. Of your lies. Of your games. I am tired of wanting to believe them. No more.”

She pulled her dress around her, knowing that she deserved this. Knowing that, for twelve years, her life had been heading for this. For the day when she faced this man and told him the truth, and suffered the repercussions.

But it had never occurred to her that the pain would come from losing him. From hurting him. That she might care for him.

Care for him.

What a silly, tepid phrase in comparison to the emotion that coursed through her now, as she watched this remarkable man battle his demons. Demons she had sent after him.

“I don’t care what your reasons are, or how well you’ve fabricated them. I am done. How much was this worth? This afternoon?”

The words were a blow. He couldn’t believe she would ask to be paid for— Of course he could. It was the arrangement they’d made.

She shook her head.

“And now you are too high for our agreement?”

She didn’t want it now. She didn’t want any of it. She only wanted him.