I can’t. I want to, but my natural instincts continually warn me about trusting a man who carries a Desert Eagle around in his sex kit, and I can’t help myself. He huffs impatiently and then lowers his body weight on top of me, effectively immobilizing me on the bed. “Sloane, stop fighting me.”

“Get off me and I will!” I regret pulling the gun on him. I regret it massively; I have no idea what kind of retribution he has planned, but I’m sure I’m not going to like it. “You told me to do it, Zeth! You can’t hurt me for doing what you told me to!”

He lifts himself a little, rearing back to get a good look at me. The anger on his face has morphed to something else. “Hurt you?”

“For the gun!” I have to get him off me. I need to. I buck against him, but the bastard doesn’t shift an inch. He’s a dead weight on top of me.

“What do you mean, hurt you?” His voice is cold. Detached.

“I don’t…I—” The disbelief on his face finally hits home. He doesn’t look like he’s set on killing me. If anything he looks horrified.

“I would never hurt you, Sloane. You honestly think I would?”

A small voice immediately answers yes, but it doesn’t belong to me. Not really. It belongs to that treacherous Pippa impersonator who lives inside my head. My panic subsides, leaving me exhausted underneath him. I stop struggling. “No. I…”

Zeth sees the flicker of doubt in my eyes before I can rein it in, though. His jaw tightens. “Have I ever raised a hand to you? Have I ever…” He trails off, exhaling sharply. He looks away for a second, and when he turns back to me, his gaze is unwavering, piercing me through. “I don’t hurt people who can’t defend themselves. I don’t hurt girls, and I will never hurt you.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” But even as I’m saying this, the Pippa voice is back and she’s on a mission. The guy’s pinning you to the goddamn bed, Sloane! Like, right now! What the hell is wrong with you? It’s almost as if Zeth can hear that voice, too. He carefully lifts himself up a little, removing most of the pressure he was exerting on me with his body. His hand stays locked around my wrists, but the tension eases a little, making my fingers throb painfully as the blood rushes back into them.

“I might stop you from going nuts on the odd occasion, Sloane, but I would never cause you harm like that. I thought you knew that.”

I’ve reclaimed my cool now. He’s not overly mad about the gun—I can see that—but he’s still not overly happy with me, either. “I just thought…”

“That I’d rip your head off for threatening to kill me? Yeah, well…” He shifts slightly, pressing down on me again. The subtle weight transference seems to wake up my body; I realize my legs are spread, knees drawn up, feet flat against the mattress, and Zeth’s huge and powerful body is between my legs. And he’s naked. He’s not shy with his body—he has absolutely no reason to be, but his confidence runs deeper than a mere awareness of his physique. It’s something else. Something I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on just yet. Whatever it is, he’s still laying on top of me and there’s only the fabric of my jeans and my T-shirt acting as a barrier between our skin. Zeth makes a low rumbling sound deep in his chest, as though he’s been waiting for me to notice our tangled position.

“No, you threatening to kill me wasn’t exactly what I was expecting,” he says. “But you did look incredibly sexy with a gun in your hand. Do you know how to use it properly?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s even sexier.” He dips his head down and grazes his teeth against the skin of my neck, surprising me. The warmth of his breath makes my skin rise in gooseflesh, breaking out down my arms and legs as well as the sensitive area below my ear. My nipples tighten automatically. My body is way ahead of my head right now. I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that I just had Zeth Mayfair at gunpoint, and that it felt good, but my body is craving his touch. Wanting to feel him everywhere all at once. A few moments ago, Zeth’s weight on me felt like a prison, and now…now I want him to smother me with himself, so that the only thing I can breathe and see and feel and smell is him. I think there’s something wrong with me.

“You got any more ideas about how you’re gonna make me your bitch?” he rumbles. I feel the words forming and vibrating through the strong barrel of his chest, sending chills through me, deep down into my bones.

“No.” I can’t force any strength into my voice. I sound breathless. So weak.

“Good. Because you’re not going to be able to threaten me with weaponry tomorrow night. And besides…” He grabs hold of the hem of my T-shirt, pulling it roughly upward with his free hand, “you like this better, don’t you? You like obeying me. You like feeling defenseless. You like feeling that trickle of fear, lighting up your insides. It makes you feel alive.”

He’s right. He’s always fucking right. I hate that he is, but it also saves us a lot of hassle. I’ve felt in control of my own life—I enjoy my work, I pay my bills, I keep my shit clean and tidy—and yet I haven’t had to make an important decision in a while. I haven’t had to choose to do something confronting that will change things massively for me. And choosing to continue whatever this is with Zeth, choosing to follow him down here to LA to find my sister, choosing to let him touch me, to lick and suck and bite at my skin, to obey him, that’s what’s made me feel like I’m really living.