The way Mitch had ordered her around, and now lying here naked on his bed, was too damn close to how it had started that night with Costas. He’d told her to do much the same thing. Get naked, lie on his bed and wait for him. When he’d come in, he’d blindfolded her and proceeded to tie her hands and then—hell, it still brought her out in a cold sweat—her ankles. If Mitch came into the room carrying a scarf and ties, she was going to hightail it out of there and think about the consequences later. Except she had to get that bloody photograph. Having sex with Mitch wasn’t exactly abhorrent to her. She’d dreamed of it often enough. She’d fought the attraction all through college, but had warned herself off him. He’d been too regular for her. Too easy to fall for. And she wasn’t ever going to fall hard for any man. The intervening years hadn’t made the attraction lessen. If anything, it was more potent now, more intense and urgent.
