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“Your father is a complete blowhard jackass, by the way.” She sat down on the arm of the chair and leaned against Jarrett.

Bast had called him much worse. “That's not news.”

“He went from charming to pissy then he broke into name-calling.” Becca looked at Jarrett. “He has quite a range.”

The cycle never stopped. His dad threw his weight around and bullied. He hid behind an office and political catchwords, but he only ran about an inch deep. Pontificating defined his style. “Was the name-calling about me or Jarrett?”

“Both.” Becca smiled, as if relishing the memory of his father's diatribes. “He thinks you're blackballing him at the club. Keeping him out.”

Of course he did. “Even though I didn't know he applied.”

Becca put two fingers close together. “Admittedly, that's a small problem with his theory.”

His dad always thought the worst of him. Never mind Lena's attempts to explain that Bast hadn't pressured her into threesomes or abandoned their marriage. Bast's father placed the blame squarely on his son and let everyone know about his disappointment. After all, the big news splash at the time didn't match with his father's family-first reelection theme. Ditching Bast, his only child, had been politically expedient.

“And he made a pass at her,” Jarrett added with a thread of steel in his voice.

“What?” Not a surprise, but still.

Becca shook her head. “The many truly is a pig.”

“There are two ex-wives running around the DC metro area who would agree with you.” Bast didn't want to know how many other women his family-values-spouting dad ran though over the years. “But still, he will be a total pain in the ass until you relent. I don't want you going through that for me.”

Becca's head dipped to the side and her long hair fell over Jarrett's shoulder. “He's cute when he's in protective mode. The glasses add to the serious look.”

They didn't get it. This wasn't a game. Bast's father didn't accept the word no. “He knows powerful people. Hell, he is powerful people. Want me to list the senate committees he's on?”

Becca dropped the file and pointed to it. “I already got the alphabetical cross-reference with his résumé and bio. It's all in there, but thanks.”

“And he called to remind me who he was,” Jarrett said.

That piece of news stunned Bast. Actually knocked him back a step. “My father called you?”

Jarrett's deep laugh split the room. “Must have killed him to dial my number.”

“I don't believe this.” Bast really didn't.

“I'm sure he convinced himself he was doing me a favor by applying.” Jarrett shook his head. “He started with flattery. Told me how proud he was I finally made something of myself. That I was a true American story, criminal to business owner.”

Bast sat down hard in the chair across from his friends. “Jesus.”

“After figuring out I wasn't changing Becca's answer, he ended by telling me he couldn't believe I was so weak as to let a woman run my business.”

Becca sighed. “Like I said, a pig.”

“So you both had to talk with him.” Bast hated the idea of his worlds colliding and his friends getting smashed in the middle.

“For me, it was several times plus an interview, which is the normal course for an application.” Becca ran a hand over Jarrett's hair. “Then I had a follow-up meeting.”

Bast's mind went blank. The idea of Becca having to talk to his dad . . . the reality she didn't punch him or worse . . . none of it would register in Bast's head. “When?”

“You've been busy or I would have filled you in.” Her mouth dropped into a thin line as she said it. “You're way over your deadline, by the way.”

Jarrett frowned. “What does that mean?”

Kyra
. This was the conversation Bast expected when he stepped in the office. But he couldn't handle it now, so they'd have to circle back. “Nothing.”

“Well, point is, your dad is out.” Jarrett held up both hands as if to say “end of conversation.”

Bast wiped a hand over his face as he tried to find the right words to express his appreciation and let them off the hook. “Guys, I appreciate this but you can't—”

“I hate when people tell me I can't do things. Your dad tried that and I ripped up his application.” Becca's flat voice said she would be happy to take on another Jameson if needed. “Well, a copy of it but it made me feel better to toss the thing.”

Bast tried one last time. “You have to do what makes sense for the club.”

“You are a loyal member. He is a dick.” Jarrett grabbed the file off the desk and dumped it on top of the shredder to his right. “End of story.”

All true, but . . . “He's not going to let it go.”

“He is for now,” Becca said. “I told him that given how important he is I worried some members would try to take advantage and someone might try to use him or lie about him or create a conflict of interest.”

Bast felt the room tilt. “He bought that? You've got FBI and CIA guys here. Other congressmen and the guy who sits alone and looks half asleep but really runs the NSA.”

Closing his eyes, Bast visually moved around last night's seating and counted four members of Congress, a cabinet member and a guy who ran a private militia and could take them all out. And those were just the obvious power players Bast knew personally.

“Your father likes a good ego stroke.” Becca smiled as she said it.

Bast had the opposite reaction. His mind rebelled. “Please don't use the word ‘stroke' when talking about my dad.”

“Point is, we want you here,” Jarrett said, cutting in. “We don't want him here.”

Bast had no idea what to say or how to process any of this. His father hated Jarrett and blamed him for Bast going bad. To have life circle around to his dad asking Jarrett for a favor or any kind of approval knocked Bast back.

So did the loyalty of his friends. “You didn't have to do this for me.”

Becca exhaled and the sound suggested an explosion was coming. “Now you're pissing me off.”

“Bast?” Jarrett said his name quick and sharp, almost angry. “Let someone stick up for you for a change.”

Bast stared at the man who started as a client and turned into a best friend. “I don't know what to say.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “Since you're a lawyer, I'll bet you think of something.”

“Thanks.” It wasn't enough but it was heartfelt and Bast suspected Jarrett would understand that.

“Any time.”

And Bast knew Jarrett meant it.

Kyra stood in the middle of her small apartment late Thursday night wearing her shorty pajamas and missing Bast. She regretted leaving the big bed and amazing tub, but she really hated going the whole day without even talking to him.

He'd texted that he had to work through dinner and couldn't come to the club. While impressed he'd finally figured out how to use a phone and stay in touch, not seeing him made work dull and long. So did the bore who told her all about his place in Paris and how he'd love to show her the cafés. Yeah, because that kind of line worked on her.

Feeling lonely and grumpy, she eyed up the ice cream in her freezer. If you shouldn't eat after five she wondered if it was okay to wait and eat again at two. Technically, it was morning and ice cream included dairy, so . . .

The short set of rapid knocks had her jumping. Her cell started buzzing a second later. She swiped it as she headed for the door. A glance at the screen and out the peephole confirmed both messages came from the same person. The one person she ached to see—Bast.

She opened the door with excitement jumping in her stomach. He'd come over and the gesture had her all light and floaty . . . and his frown killed her mood.

He did a quick sweep of his gaze down her body and up again. “Why are you here?”

Seemed obvious to her. “I live here.”

He raised an eyebrow as he stepped past her and pushed the door shut behind them. “I meant, why aren't you at my house?”

That was where she wanted to be. On his couch, waiting for him to come home. Sharing a late snack and dragging him up the stairs. The agenda worked for her.

But she didn't want to assume and he wasn't exactly throwing open the front door and handing over a key. Hell, he still wanted their time together to be a secret. At least she thought that was true because he hadn't made a move to downgrade their status.

Sitting in the club, night after night, he treated her like a friend's sister and nothing more. Forget that he spent the later part of those evenings lodged inside her, running his tongue all over her.

She shivered at the memory and tried to pull her mind back to the present. That meant ignoring Bast's hot charcoal suit and rumpled hair, and staying focused. “I've been there since, what, Saturday? That's five days.”

“And?” His frowned deepened. Who would have thought that was possible?

“I needed clothes.” Okay, she knew that was lame but it was easier than asking the question she wanted to ask. She could confront him about his assy behavior and deal with his ex-wife haunting him any day of the week.

This topic was different. Asking him if he still only viewed her as a convenient sex partner crossed over to emotional danger territory. Because he could say yes.

She believed their initial deal had changed but if he said no, that they were still on a track to nowhere, then everything ended, and she could not let that happen. Not yet.

“I like what you're wearing now,” he said.

“Because I'm not wearing a bra.”

That got his gaze bouncing up and down again. “For the record, as I've stated several times, I prefer you without clothing.”

She somehow knew he would say that. “I can only wear your tees for so many days.”

He rolled back his shoulder and dropped his keys on her dresser. “Again, you resolve that by not wearing anything.”

“Always the problem solver.”

He folded his arms over his chest and stared her down. “Is something else going on?”

Maybe if she circled back around, she could get there. Ask without actually asking. “Saturday through Monday I was with you, then had to run back here to get work clothes.”

“And Wednesday you stayed all day.”

Now that they had the calendar straight . . . “I think you're missing the point.”

“We don't live that far apart.”

The man couldn't pick up a clue if it dropped on his feet. “It's really not a mileage issue.”

“Do you want to sleep alone?”

Man, if he'd gotten there then they really were on two different pages. “No.”

“Okay then.” He threw up his hands. “What's the problem?”

She debated, she really did. It had been more than a week since they'd gotten together but felt like a lifetime to her. A great lifetime. One she wanted to continue, so instead of fighting and hitting the issue head-on, she parried. “Nothing.”

“Of course, now that we're here.” He glanced around her apartment. “And there's a bed.”

“Subtle.”

He unknotted his tie. “And it's late.”

“Are you undressing?”

He froze in the process of taking off his jacket. “I can get inside you with the suit on, if you prefer.”

Like that, fire ripped through her and worries about the status of what they were ceased to matter. Not when he stood there, looking hot, having made the trip over just to see her. Well, not just see, but he didn't have to show up and he did.

That had to mean something.

She saw the wariness in his eyes as he stood there with his arms half in the jacket and half out. “Take it all off but the glasses.”

“You are consistent.”

“And yet I have to keep reminding you about the glasses.”

“I'll make a deal with you.” He draped the coat over the chair and started on the buttons of his shirt.

“I'm listening.” And watching . . . and wanting.

“You take something off, I'll take something off.”

She loved when he negotiated in the bedroom. “I'm wearing less.”

The tsk-tsk sound came first. Then he threw her a you-poor-thing frown. “That's not my fault.”

“You're the one who told me not to wear underwear.”

“My tie is off.” He hitched his chin in her direction. “Remove the shirt.”

“This doesn't seem equal.” But she did it. Swept the material up and off, letting it float to the floor.

“My shirt for your shorts.”

She ignored the part where she seemed to be taking clothes off at a faster rate than he was. “Deal.”

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and wiggled out of cotton shorts. Shifted her hips back and forth, taking a little extra time and stretching when she stood up straight again. If he wanted her naked, she'd give him naked.

He whistled. “Damn.”

When he didn't say anything else, she continued to stand there. The air conditioner had cooled off the room but his heated stare kept her toasty warm.

But she was dying to touch him. If the growing bulge in his pants was any indication, he was ready, too. “You have to say what's next. This is your game, Sebastian.”

“And I feel like I'm winning.” Right as she started toward him, he shook his head. “Get on the bed.”

Looked like her man was ready to play. Good, because she was ready to make him work for it. She sat right on the edge of the bed with her legs tight together. “Like this?”

“Turn over.” He stepped closer as his shirt hit the floor. “On your stomach in the middle of the bed.”

Her stomach performed a little dance. “One of your favorite positions.”

“How did you know?”

“You were pretty enthusiastic last time I was in this position.”

“It shows off your ass.” He signaled for her to get moving. “And when I'm behind you I can squeeze your tits.”

Her muscles refused to work but she somehow flipped over. Even as her rapid heartbeat threatened to kill her, she spread her fingers over the comforter. “You are a very naughty boy tonight.”

The bed dipped when his knee touched the mattress. Her body rolled slightly until it leaned against his. The material of his pants scratched against her bare side.

“I'm about to get naughtier,” he promised.

His blue tie came into her line of vision and the excitement pumping through her brought her to the verge of a full-body shake. “Whatcha doing?”

“Tying you to the headboard.” He slid the smooth silk over her wrists in a figure eight then slipped the end around the headboard post. There was a
thwapping
sound as he pulled the knot tight. “Problem?”

Need bubbled inside her and she could barely keep her head up. “No.”

“I love how you embrace your sexuality.”

Fingers brushed up her legs. Then she was on her knees with her upper body against the mattress and her arms stretched out above her.

He walked around and a zipper screeched through the room. “So pretty.”

She couldn't see him, but she heard the shuffle of clothes and footsteps as he moved around. Moving her head back and forth, she swiveled, trying to get a good look. “Less talk, more action.”

“How about this?” His hands skimmed over her ass and down to the back of her upper thighs. “And this?” One hand traveled farther and a finger slipped inside her.

“Your hands are amazing.”

“Is there any other part of me you like?” The front of his legs touched the back of hers.

She tried to say something but the outline of his erection, the way he rubbed it against her, stole her breath. All she could manage was a half-strangled sound.

He leaned over her until his stomach touched her back. “What was that?”

“All of you.”

“Good answer.”

The opened condom wrapper landed on the bed beside her head. She couldn't reach for it. Could barely move. Bast had her pinned to the bed with his body. The tip of his cock slid along the seam from her ass down to her slick wetness. Back and forth, teasing until her body quaked.

She pushed back against him, straining the tie until the edges dug into her skin. “Deeper.”

“Oh, I don't think so.” If anything he slowed the brush against her, dragging the tip through her a fraction of an inch at a time.

“Sebastian.”

“The way you say my name is so hot.”

When she tried to drag him in, he stopped her with a hand on her lower back. Pressing, he shifted her upper body back to her elbows and held her there with his palm.

“Please.” The way he built the pressure inside her had her fighting for breath. Her insides scrambled and her mind turned to mush. She wanted hot and fast and him all over her.

But he denied her that final release.

“We're going to take our time tonight.” His hand traveled up and down her back in time with the gentle rub of his cock over her.

Her palms fell open but every other part of her clenched and tightened. “I'll beg.”

“Yes, you will.”

“How can I make you go faster?” She couldn't drive back into him because his hand held her still. She couldn't grab him because her wrists were tied. She laid there open and vulnerable . . . and loving every minute of it.

“Not going to happen.” But his breathing picked up and his voice dropped sexy deep.

Guided by his hand, his cock slipped further inside her. He filled her halfway and stopped. Not moving turned out to be a new form of sensual torture.

This time she pulled on the tie, crushing the fabric in her fists. “You're killing me.”

“We can't have that.” He pushed inside her then with one long thrust.

The friction sent her body bucking and her mind reeling. He slid out, steady and slow, driving her insane with the slow speed. She needed him to pick up, to do something to break through the tightening inside her.

“I'll say your name.” She would make any bargain, offer anything.

He leaned down until his chest touched her back. “I want you to chant it.”

When he pulled back again, she did.