He glides to a stop at a red light and turns his full attention on me. “Not anymore?” he repeats, his voice low and even.

“Don’t worry. Westerfield’s was never like Avalon for me,” I say, referring to the techno-centric dance club where I trolled for men before Jackson claimed me. “You know I don’t need that anymore.”

His right hand has been resting on the gearshift, but now he lifts it off and takes mine, twining our fingers. “I know.” His words are soft, but firm, and I know they’re true. He understands what I used to need.

More important, he understands why I don’t need it anymore. “I love you,” I say, my chest feeling full with the words.

I see the emotion in his face—a softness in his eyes coupled by an even deeper heat. He has not yet said these words back to me, and though my chest tightens a bit as the seconds go by—as he lifts our hands and kisses my fingers—I do not doubt that he feels them.

But, dammit, I still want to hear them.

“Jackson—” I cut myself off.

“What?”

“I can get into the club because it’s a Stark property. A perk of being Damien’s assistant.”

From the way he looks at me, I can tell he knows that wasn’t what I’d originally intended to say. But he doesn’t press me, and I’m grateful. I know he loves me—I do. And when he does say the words, they will be all the sweeter if they come without my prompting.

“Stark-owned, huh? Does that mean you’re comped at the bar?”

My chest feels a thousand times lighter, because whatever storm was threatening to build has dissipated, and I feel only the sweet warmth of sun between us. “Not just me,” I say. “My entire party.”

“In that case, this will be a celebration. Let’s go partake of my brother’s alcohol.”

Traffic is uncommonly light, and we maneuver the surface streets easily. Before I know it, we’re on Sunset, idling in a line of cars waiting for the valet. As I’d expected, there’s a crowd waiting to get in, even on a Thursday. This is a Stark property, after all, and like all things Damien, it’s done right, making Westerfield’s one of the city’s most popular nightspots.

“Just pass the line,” I say. “We’ll park in the back in the owner’s slot.” I’m looking ahead, pointing toward the turn into the driveway, and so I see Cass in line behind the velvet rope too late. I frown, but figure that’s okay. We’ll park, go through the building, and usher her in through the front.

The driveway leads to a small, gated parking area in the back. I give Jackson the code to punch in, and once the gate lifts, I point him toward the owner’s slot, then take my Stark International parking pass out of my purse and hang it from Jackson’s rearview mirror. As far as job perks go, that pass is one of the most useful. Parking in Los Angeles is a nightmare, but Stark owns enough property around the city to ease the pain.

“This will be staying here overnight,” I tell Jackson. “But don’t worry. The security on the lot is first rate.”

“Are we camping out?”

“No,” I say, grabbing his collar and pulling him toward me for the kind of long, slow kiss that makes my toes tingle. “But I intend to get you very, very drunk.” I hold up my phone. “I’ll text the office to send a car when we’re ready to go. Okay?”

“So long as you’re getting me drunk in order to have your wicked way with me, I have no objections at all.”

“Then we’re all good.” I grin, delighted, and reach for the handle to open my door.

“Wait.”

I pause and look back at him, expecting him to say something else. But all he does is reach out for the chain around my neck. He pulls out the vibrator and lets it hang outside my shirt.

“Jackson! What if someone realizes what it is?”

“It’s a bold statement. It says you like sex. You do like sex, don’t you?” His voice has dropped, and so has his hand. It’s cupping my breast now, and I feel my heart flutter beneath his touch and my nipple harden simply from the feel of him.

“And since I’m the only one who gets to enjoy the pleasure of touching you, all it does is make people realize that I am a very lucky man.”

I swallow, but I don’t protest again. Even when we’re not in bed, this thing between us—control and submission—is like a game. And I always play to win.

We enter through the rear service area. The kitchen and storerooms are back here, along with lockers for the employees. The area is relatively quiet and definitely not crowded, and going from this back area to the main floor of the club is like being thrust into Fantasia.