Tears filled her big brown eyes. “You’re going to fail the Romeo and Juliet test without me.”

Yeah, he was, but he’d scrape by for the semester. His grade was now the least of his worries.

The fourth-period bell rang. Tara looked up, realized the halls were empty. “I’m late to class. Can we talk about this after school?”

He forced himself to spear her with a cold glare. “Why bother?”

She trembled as she tried to draw in a breath. “But after yesterday . . .”

Yesterday. When he’d shoved their books to the floor, laid her across his bed, and kissed Cherry out of her sweater and T-shirt, her shoes and pants, then finally her bra and panties. He’d touched her all over. When he’d finished, other than her red hair, he had no reason to call her Cherry anymore.

“Hi, Logan.” Brittany Fuller, his ex-girlfriend, sauntered by with a wink.

“Brit.” He nodded, hoping like hell that she’d keep walking.

She was pretty, had big tits, and loved every variety of sex, the wilder the better. But Tara had taught Logan that he required a brain and a heart in a woman. Brittany lacked both.

Thankfully, she kept walking to her next class.

Cherry’s face screwed up with jealousy. She couldn’t stand the cheerleader on principle. Brit was lazy and slid by on her looks. Tara was a hard worker, blisteringly smart. She’d made her contempt for Brittany’s type well known. Once he’d thought about it, Logan had realized that Tara was right. Which made what he was about to do all the more heinous.

He clenched his fists. “It’s over. The tutoring, the sex. Don’t call me anymore.”

She sucked in a breath, her creamy pale skin going ghostly white. Tears gathered in her pained dark eyes. “You—you’re upset. Your mom just died. Last night, you needed me a-and I didn’t show up.”

“You’ve said for weeks that we had nothing in common.” He shrugged. “I’m just admitting now that you’re right. I’m getting back together with Brittany.”

She was the last girl Logan wanted, but a couple of weeks with her would surely convince Tara to keep her distance.

“B-But yesterday. We . . .”

“Fucked. Yeah?”

She gaped, shock blanching her face. “You said that you loved me.”

He had, and he’d meant it. But Logan loved her enough to cut his own heart out to keep her alive. “Let that be a lesson not to believe everything you hear.”

Tara lurched back as if he’d stabbed her. “You bastard! My stepdad swore you’d only hurt me. He gave me this necklace last night and told me to guard my heart. Too bad he was a few hours too late!” She bit her lip, furiously fighting more tears. “I hope someone breaks your heart someday, you son of a bitch.”

Gripping her books in one hand, Tara turned away, then ran down the hall before she shoved into the girls’ bathroom.

Logan watched, breaking apart into a million pieces inside. “Someone just did. I’m so damn sorry, Cherry.”

Dominion—Present day

Pressing her lips together, Tara grabbed her purse and clothes from the armoire, shoving the latter into a ball. It was either that or stare at Logan Edgington. If she did, she’d have to acknowledge that he was more gorgeous than ever and still made her weak-kneed—and that would only piss her off more. No way would she give the prick that satisfaction.

Twelve years ago, he’d been a pretty, if somewhat gawky boy. Tall and thin with a hint of the broad chest to come and a mischievous smile. Today, he’d grown into that body. Wide, bronzed shoulders bulged out beneath a white tank. Muscled pectorals that no T-shirt could conceal. The angles of his face, stark cheekbones, razor-sharp jaw, and dimpled chin, had once made him interesting. Now, they gave him the look of a predator, topped off by that dangerous blue stare.

God, why was he here? Didn’t matter. She was leaving, right this minute.

Tara tucked the clothes under her arm. She would have loved to don them. Wearing little more than a bra and panties around the jerk who’d conned her out of her virginity wasn’t exactly comfortable, but no way would she give him the slightest hint that burning stare of his unnerved her. And no way in hell was she staying in this BDSM palace with him for even two more seconds.

God, it figures he’d wind up spending “a lot of time” in a place where men played mind games and used women for pleasure. Logan had excelled at that, even in high school. And she refused to let him use her again.

Not sparing him a glance, she stormed toward the door.

“Tara.”

Her first instinct was to turn and look at him. Because his voice snapped with command and made her pussy ache for some mysterious reason? Because she’d deluded herself into thinking that she heard pain?

Tara kept walking.

She was so angry she could spit nails. It was irrational, she knew. Logan hadn’t done anything to her today but surprise her. Too much frustration piled onto too little sleep, mixed with too much fear that her friend and fellow agent, Darcy Miles, could die any minute she spent in this tie-’em-down-whip-’em-up dungeon learning her role.

But her new boss, Jon Bocelli, had been perfectly clear when finally granting her this assignment. She’d been given this opportunity because she solved mysteries well, kept her cool, was hell with a gun, and fit the victims’ general background. Of course, he could find all that among existing agents. She’d also been told she was the perfect bait because she had the physical attributes these men seemed to want. She was voluptuous and had a soft look about her. It didn’t hurt that word had it they were looking for redheads. Beyond all that, though, what she possessed that others lacked, according to her psychological profile, was a submissive streak. Tara shuddered. Even the suggestion made her bristle. She hated being told what to do, but if the misconception worked in her favor, Bocelli could believe whatever he wanted. If she patently denied her “nature,” Bocelli would shuttle her behind a desk again, filtering intel.

She’d volunteered for a field assignment to see if she was cut out to be an agent . . . and to see if following in Adam’s footsteps would make her stepfather proud. She’d only been given this assignment now because Bocelli didn’t have a better option. No one would work harder to rescue Darcy.

And Tara knew that, unless she did something, Logan would be squarely in her way.

If she wanted him gone, she’d have to talk to the club’s owner. Mr. Thorpe seemed like a calm, rational man. Then, hopefully, she’d never see her high school flame again.

But Logan was faster than her and took hold of her elbow.

He didn’t exert pressure; he didn’t need to. His touch alone sizzled through her like the shock of a live wire. To her horror, Tara felt her entire body heat up.

“Stop.”

His snapped command detonated through her system, his voice so hypnotic, so deep, it compelled her to obey. The need was almost more than she could resist. Her nipples peaked. An ache took up residence between her legs.

She hesitated, though her entire body stayed tensed for flight.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Damn it, she didn’t want to. But that tone alone nearly seduced her compliance. Refusing would only make her look ridiculously stubborn. Or scared. The last thing Tara wanted to do was give Logan a reason to think he mattered, to presume for an instant that she’d measured all lovers against him and found each lacking.

Drawing in a bracing breath, she met his gaze.

“Good,” he murmured. “Let’s sit and talk. You can tell me more about this mission, and we’ll talk about our best next steps.”

No way was she going to risk Darcy’s safety any more by wasting time with Logan. Yes, Tara was a professional, but she’d have to be dead not to be distracted by the perceptive, gorgeous man staring at her now. Toss in their crappy history, and this had train wreck written all over it.

“Or you could fuck off.” Tara jerked from his grasp and marched out the door, giving it a satisfying slam behind her.

She didn’t delude herself; if Logan wanted to make something of their unlikely meeting, he would. God knew, he’d once pursued her with a single-minded intensity that had made her sixteen-year-old heart flutter. But unlike her teenage self, she knew better than to give him a second more of her time or mental energy.

And no, she wouldn’t think about him at all when she lay in her bed late at night and put her hand on her clit, seeking satisfaction. Damn it.

After sneaking into a restroom in the hall, Tara wriggled into her gray suit and tucked her hair back into her professional chignon. She stepped into her heels and repaired her makeup. Feeling a thousand percent more confident, she wrenched open the door, half expecting to find Logan blocking her way. The hall was empty.

Hoping he’d taken the hint, she made her way to Mr. Thorpe’s office, the echo of her heels against the concrete floors too loud. At the office door, she knocked and waited.

“You may come in, Agent Jacobs.”

Tara smothered her surprise as she opened the door. He’d either known her identity because he had cameras installed in the hall or Logan had told him to expect her. Either way, she didn’t care. “Hello.”

The tight smile playing at his full mouth pricked her with unease. “Sit.”

It was an order; not an invitation. If she wanted his cooperation, she shouldn’t risk pissing him off.

Quickly, she settled into the stylish leather chair in front of the gigantic walnut desk and crossed her legs. Brushed nickel accented the rest of the office, along with glass shelves peppered with books, silk plants, and heinously expensive pottery. A Picasso hung on his wall. She was pretty sure it was real.

“Mr. Thorpe, I know you’re busy, so I’ll get to the point.”

“You want someone else to train you.” He peered at her with a penetrating stare, steepling his long fingers in front of his strong jaw. “Tell me why.”

So Logan had filled him in. “Mr. Edgington and I knew each other in high school. To be blunt, I don’t trust him. I never will.”

From her research, she knew that trust was big in the Dom/sub relationship. She’d start there. Tara sat back in the chair and waited.

As soon as she got settled, Thorpe stood, using his height advantage. He looked urbane enough, but under that expensive white dress shirt and impeccable chocolate slacks, she saw lots of muscle. He pinned her with a piercing stare, as if trying to read her mind. To hell with that.

“Because?”

“He’s a liar.” A ruthless one who didn’t blink as he tore out a young girl’s heart.

Thorpe stroked his close-cropped beard. “Have you changed at all since high school, Agent Jacobs?”

She knew where he was going, and she’d have to cut short that line of thinking. “One hopes we’ve all matured since high school, but fundamentally, some things about a person remain the same, no matter how ‘grown up’ they are.”

“Hmm.” He paced the room. “Distant past aside, do you have any current objections to Logan?”

What about the trust issue? “Are you listening? There’s no way I can put myself completely in his hands while I learn to say ‘Sir’ and ‘please’ every half second. I know Agent York needs quite a bit of training before he can assume the role, and I’m fully aware that time is of the essence. I’ll be happy to have anyone train me. Except Mr. Edgington.”

His mouth twitched, and he looked like he was suppressing a smile. She didn’t need this asshole to be amused at her expense.

“Answer my question.” His quiet demand snapped in the air like a whip. “Do you have any current objections against Logan? He’s a highly decorated Navy SEAL with eight solid years in this club. I trained him myself, so I know very well who he is and what he’s like. Do you?”

God, Logan had gotten into this stuff a couple years after high school? Why? What need of his did it feed? Tara shook her head. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t her problem.

“His military service, while admirable, is of no comfort to me. His training, while I’m sure thorough, can’t make up for the fact that I distrust him. And I can’t change how I feel. Mr. Thorpe, you’re the best in the region, and the Bureau hired you to prepare me for this field mission—”

“They did,” he cut in. “And I am trying to live up to my end of the contract. It’s been frustrating to Axel that you’ve been resistant and bratty all week. Uncooperative.”

Determined to remain professional, Tara refused to betray her anger. “I disagree. I’ve been here, half dressed and on my knees, for ten hours a day, every day. I’ve spent my nights and weekends researching the lifestyle—reading, interviewing, whatever necessary to increase my knowledge.”

He acknowledged her with a nod. “Physically, you’ve done as asked. Intellectually, you’ve got the fundamentals. Mentally and emotionally, you’ve erected walls against participating in the power exchange. A shame, really, denying your submissive nature.”