Hours later, Riley felt lost.

The last few hours had been amazing. She'd seen her favorite band perform and watched Ashe lip-sync the words of her favorite song to her in a way that only happened in music videos and TV specials. She even got to meet the band when a tour member asked them if they'd like to go backstage, and Riley had pictures to prove that it had happened, even though the encounter was brief.

Through Ben and Lance's anecdotes, she caught a glimpse of Ashe before fame had touched him. To them, he was the son of a sheep farmer and a schoolteacher, who enjoyed long walks among the Dales and who preferred life in the Big Apple to Los Angeles because he could buy authentic shepherd's pies and Yorkshire loose teas from Myers of Keswick in the West Village. Ashe, who had kissed her in the elevator on their way up to the penthouse suite, and told her she had just made him the happiest man ever because she was right there with him and not halfway around the world. Ashe, who made love to her and made her feel so beautiful.

Riley knew she should be happy, the running-naked-down-the-Boardwalk-screaming-I-just-got-serenaded-by-Ashe-Hunter happy. But if she was happy, then why was she crying?

Why did she feel as if all the good things happening to her were fast approaching their expiration date like everything else had? Why was she so afraid that this moment of lying next to Ashe as he lay sleeping was just another moment in her life that was going to be snatched away from her when she least expected it? Like the way the doctor had told them that her mother would be okay after she and Riley had been rescued from the apartment fire, only to die from a pulmonary embolism two days later. Or her father, after telling her that he didn't blame her for not being able to help her mother down the stairs during the fire because she was in a wheelchair, spent the rest of Riley's life blaming her anyway.

How long would she have to enjoy Ashe? How soon would it be before something or someone snatched him away from her? How could—

"What are you thinking, petal?"

Ashe's voice broke into the stream of questions running through her mind and Riley turned to look at him, startled. She wondered how long he'd been awake, hoping that the tears that had dried had not left their mark on her face.

"Nothing."

"You're a terrible liar," he said, tracing circles on her shoulder. "You've been crying for the last fifteen minutes and staring at the ceiling for the last twenty. If we're going to work, Riley, it takes more than just sex and rock concerts. You can't bottle things up forever."

She took a deep breath and let it out again, figuring she might as well tell him. The sooner she knew it would end, the better, and then it wouldn't hurt so much when he did leave her.

"I guess I'm just wondering when this dream's going to end when you're going to stop being my Prince Charming or knight in shining armor and show me your real face."

"Well, that's the problem, isn't it?" he answered. "You're definitely going to be disappointed if you think I'm your Prince Charming or your knight in shining armor, because I'm not. I'm just a man. Imperfect and human, the same as everyone else."

"Then how come I don't see any flaws? You're too perfect, Ashe. Can you see where I'm coming from? You're too good to be true."

Ashe frowned. "Must I have flaws for you to believe I'm real? Must I fit into this hole that Gareth's left inside you for you to know that I am here?"

"That's not what I meant. This has nothing to do with Gareth at all, and he can burn in hell for all I care," she said, remembering he'd said the same thing weeks earlier. She could sense his annoyance and this time, it was much deeper, more intense.

"Even if this has nothing to do with Gareth, are flaws the only thing you need to see to convince yourself that I'm real—and that I'm here with you? Isn't it enough that I'm here with you now?"

"Well, of course, you're here with me—"

"No, I'm not—at least not the Ashe that you think you're with," he said, sitting up now, his face seeming cold as he looked at her. "You're so hung up on Ashe Hunter, the actor, that you can't see who is really in front of you. And you're right to wonder when the dream will end, because Ashe Hunter, the actor, would simply impress the hell out of you for one night, wine and dine you and serenade you. All that before fucking you, too, and be gone in the morning with just a note written on hotel stationery telling you to call his assistant who'll make sure you get home safe, and all the way to your front door at that, even if you'll never hear from me again."

The way he said it made Riley sit up and stare at him, at the way he delivered that last line—so cold, so calculating. So unlike the Ashe she knew. She didn't expect the dream to end that soon, she thought as she pulled up the sheet and tucked it under her arms. But wasn't this what she wanted? Wasn't that what her pity party was all about?

"But that's not the Ashe who's with you now, Riley," Ashe continued, his voice softening. "Right now, I'm just Asher Sean Hunter, just some Yorkshire lad who parlayed his good looks into a career so that he could pay for his sister's treatments and give his parents a good life in their later years. But I'm also one more actor who sold his soul to the highest bidder to get where he is now because he realized that he did like being the center of attention after all."

"But if you think that I like the man looking back at me in the mirror each morning knowing all the things that I've done to get here, then you're wrong," he said, his voice turning cold again. "How's that for one flaw, Riley? Do you think I'm proud of the things I've done to get where I am now? Because there are many, and some that will probably make you cringe. How's that for a second flaw? But do you want to know my biggest flaw?"

Riley shook her head.

"I'm so good at what I do that I can't even convince the woman I love that the man she's with right now is the real thing. All because I got so damn good at pretending to be whoever anyone wanted me to be—Prince Charming, a knight in shining armor, an android with the biggest dick who can fuck on demand."

She should be scared, Riley thought. But she couldn't deny the realization that an angry and cold Ashe was a sight to behold, one that made her belly clench and made her feel like Jell-O as he looked at her. His voice, so low that it almost rumbled from his chest, left her breathless.

Ashe cupped her face in his hands. "I'm not your Prince Charming, Riley. And I sure as hell am not your knight in shining armor. But if there's one thing that I am, I'm yours."

And that was it. Riley couldn't remember what happened next. She only knew that she had stared at him as if she were seeing him for the very first time until the truth of his words took root deep inside her. She pulled him toward her, kissing him hard as if branding him because he was hers. But the next moment Ashe was holding her down, her wrists held in one hand above her head and his other hand roaming down her body, tugging at her nipple clips as she gasped and whimpered. His mouth nipped and sucked as he made his way down her neck and her breasts, and even bit softly as she cried out—not for him to stop, but to do more, so much more.

She found that Ashe was not a man who submitted to anyone. He was a man who took control, whose anger translated well into domination, someone who loved a challenge when it presented itself, and she loved every minute of it.

She loved having Ashe rule over her, her passion matching his in bed and beyond, even if her life involved coffee grounds and books, and his was camera angles and strobe lights. Somehow, in between they had found a middle ground where everything felt so right.

His hand slipped lower down her body, cupping her mound before sliding his fingers inside her. Then he brought his fingers to her mouth so she could taste herself, before kissing her again.

"You're wet," Ashe said, returning his hand between her legs. He dipped one finger, then two, ignoring her protests as he drew them out only to slip them in again, his thumb rubbing against her clit as he watched her writhe beneath him.

Riley moaned again, not knowing how to phrase exactly what she wanted him to do. She only knew that she wanted more. She wanted all of him.

Ashe still held her wrists above her head with his hand, and she didn't fight him. She didn't want to. She liked what he was doing to her. There was something dangerous in him, and it excited her. Whatever lurked beneath the surface, another part of him that she'd never expected to find now drove her mad with the desire to uncover.

"Look at me," he ordered. "Tell me what you want."

"You." Her answer came out between gasps as he continued teasing her with his fingers, her body writhing beneath him.

"You already have me. Now tell me what you want me to do."

"I want you to make love to me," she whispered, breathless now as his fingers continued to drive her mad with desire, her hips grinding against him as his mouth found a nipple, tugging the barbell clip between his teeth.

"You can do better than that, Riley," he murmured, his fingers flicking against her sensitive bud and she groaned, burying her face against the inside of her arm. "Say it like you mean it. Say the words you want to say, the things you want me to do to you—every single one of them."

Riley did as she was told, telling Ashe exactly what he wanted to hear, using words she never thought she'd say though it excited her to say them. He released her hands and held her against him as she came, the bud between her legs blossoming and taking her over completely. She realized then that what she had thought of as formality, even shyness, was a quiet strength, a steely resolve that hid something else. Ashe controlled his emotions because he had to, appearing reserved because he chose only a select few to see him at ease, wide open, the way he was now.

When Ashe entered her, he did so with a force that she craved, that gave her a glimpse of something primal in him. It told her he would protect her with all he had if the need arose. Most of all, unnervingly—though eventually liberating—Riley realized just how much she wanted to belong to him, and to be completely his as he claimed her, took her and owned her with his eyes, his mouth, his hands, his soul.

When dawn broke, and light slipped through the gap in the curtains to reveal the marks of his teeth on her skin, Riley traced one on her left breast, still tender beneath her fingers. They were lying on their side, her back snuggled against him as they faced the curtained window. His arm was under her head, one hand playing with her hair while the other cupped her hand, and together they traced his mark on her breast.

"Did it frighten you, what we did?" he asked, his breath fanning the skin behind her ear.

"No," she said, feeling him pull her closer. "Is that really part of you, Ashe? Someone dark? Someone who always has to be in control?"

"You were in control, too," he said. "You could have said no."

"But I didn't want to. I loved everything you did," Riley whispered. "And I want more of it."

"Then you shall have more," he teased, kissing her on the nape of the neck. His stubble scratched against her skin and made her giggle though an unexpected yawn quickly replaced it, for Riley was exhausted, her body completely spent.

And Ashe didn't make love to her again, not that he had planned to. He did something else instead, something that made Riley smile, for it brought back the Ashe that she first fell in love with. Combined with the part of Ashe that she discovered now, the one who made love with a dark passion she'd never seen before, it made for a potent combination that she wanted only for her own.

For now, the fun-loving of Ashe held her tight and recited a poem by W.H. Auden, O Tell Me the Truth About Love, his voice soft against her ear. It was the perfect poem to put an end to all her doubts, one that made her giggle and laugh till she fell asleep snuggled against his chest, dreaming of hungry Alsatians and eiderdown fluff.

But Ashe had followed his lighthearted poem with a promise, too. I'll never let anyone hurt you, Riley. Not Gareth, nor Paige. Not anyone.

And long after they both returned to New York that afternoon, flying in the same plane that had brought them to Atlantic City the night before, Riley told him what happened while he was gone. She would never forget how Ashe listened to her as she told him about Paige and Gareth's betrayal, and how he held her close to him the entire time, the warmth of his body permeating through her, calming the storm within. For there was more to Ashe than just the mind-blowing sex, she thought, or the private jets and front row tickets to sold-out concerts. He gave her space where she could be strong, yet also vulnerable—if only to him—and safe.

That was when Riley decided that, good or bad, it was time to start accepting the past and her lack of ability to change it. Nothing she did now could undo Paige and Gareth's betrayal. Nothing could rewind the hands of time so that all wrongs could be made right.

The present was all that mattered now. It was only in the present that she had the power to make things happen or not happen, to brood on things or not to think of them, to give others power over herself or take charge of her destiny. As she lay listening to Ashe breathe softly in the darkness, his breath warming the skin of her neck and ear, acceptance settled over her like a warm blanket.

As far as Riley could see, what she had now would only be hers for as long as she believed it to be so, like Ashe.

For just like he said, he was hers.