Public Domain

“Anything can be altered. You interpret your own truth when it suits you.” He leaned down next to her ear. “How long are we going to play this game? I need you.”

Emmanuelle nudged him with her elbow. “No. Not yet. You promised. You said that this time we’d play as long as I wanted. I’m not ready to go back yet. Please.”

A guard strolled into the room, the floor squeaking with each of his steps. Emmanuelle took notice of how he eyed them. Heat rose to her chest, traveling up her neck and face.

He had no right to stare at them like they were actors putting on a play. Or maybe the guard stared in disgust knowing what they’d done, what they wanted to do.

It had all started so innocently, this little game that they had been playing. Had it already been six months? Every time she stared into his dark eyes, she felt like she’d known him for an eternity and more. Perfection like him shouldn’t be walking among the unwashed masses. He needed to be immortalized, admired, like the paintings and other rare artifacts. Then she needed to walk away.

When the guard strolled out of the room, Helmut spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t have much time today.”

Her eyes asked the question she couldn’t pose verbally. Wednesday was their special day. How could he have made other plans? Her heart sank.

What the hell had she expected? Like he’d called it, this was a game. With any game, there had to be rules. Maybe she needed to enforce some. And what? Lose him when he no longer wanted her?

All he said was, “Sorry.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, determined not to let a tear fall in front of him. He hadn’t even left yet, and she already missed him.

“These are the risks we encounter when we—”

She held up her hand. “Please. Don’t.”

Taking her hand, he held it in both of his. With his newly acquired tan, his skin looked almost as dark as hers. He kissed her knuckles. The warmth of his lips caused an eruption of molten flow from between her legs.

Every pore of her body pulsed for him as though his touch, his kiss, awakened new cells. This man was not a stranger, not to her or her body. He read her like a Gray’s Anatomy textbook from cover to cover.