"Never," he said finally. "Not like that."
"Why not?"
His jaw tightened. "Because control means safety. Because letting go means risk. Because the last time I trusted someone with my life, he died anyway."
Jake. The friend he'd lost in combat. The guilt he carried.
"Maybe you need that freedom too," I said softly. "Maybe you need to learn to let go."
More silence. His jaw worked like he was wrestling with old fears.
But then his expression shifted. Softened. The guardedness in his eyes gave way to vulnerability.
"All right." His voice was rough. "With you."
IN THE BEDROOM, I RETRIEVEDthe soft cotton rope Rhodes had brought from his truck.
"Teach me," I said.
He showed me the knots. His voice stayed steady, but his hands trembled slightly when I took the rope from him. His pulse raced at his throat.
"Figure eight," he explained. "Not too tight. Test it before you finish."
I followed his instructions. Wrapped the rope around his wrists in front of him, creating the pattern he'd shown me. His skin was warm under my fingers. When I tested the tension, his whole body went rigid.
"Breathe," I told him.
He did. One long exhale.
"Safe word?" I asked.
"Red stops everything. Yellow pauses. Green continues."
"Which one now?"
"Green."
I finished the knot, then stepped back. Rhodes Foster—former Marine, trained bodyguard, rough and rugged cowboy—bound and needing me.
"Stay still," I said.
His eyes darkened. "Yes ma'am."
I ran my fingers down his arms, across his shoulders. His breathing quickened when I traced his collarbone, down his chest. When I circled one nipple with my thumb, he sucked in a breath.
"Watch me."
He did. His gaze tracked my hands as I unbuttoned my blouse. Let it fall. Unhooked my bra and dropped it.
"Christ," he breathed.
"No touching." I stepped closer. "Not yet."
A rough sound escaped him.
I cupped myself, thumbs circling. He stared, jaw clenched with the effort of staying motionless.
"Want to?" I asked.
