...Once inside the backstage area, Diana hurried along the long, green hallway, her heart trip-hammering with a combination of nerves and anticipation. She stopped for a moment and clenched her fists, attempting to gain control over her emotions, to calm her breathing.

But time was wasting and it would be too late if she didn’t hurry. She moved down the hallway again, pausing at the last door.

Taking another deep breath to pull herself together, Diana knocked gently on the door, giving the pre-arranged signal. She waited impatiently as the seconds dragged by. As the delay stretched, her heart sank. It was too late; she’d taken too long. Then she chided herself for her disappointment. It wasn’t like any of this had been planned. The charm of this whole scenario was the complete spontaneity of it.

Just as she was about to turn away, the door opened suddenly and she was unceremoniously yanked into the room. Diana only had a brief glance of the interior—a piano, a full-length mirror, and a vanity covered with bottles of liquid make-up—before his mouth came down on hers with harsh possession. She groaned as his tongue brutally slid across her teeth to dance with hers. Her wanting, her desire at his kiss flowed through her like heated molasses and she was helpless before it. As his mouth continued to ravage hers, her knees buckled and she clung to him for support.

“You’re late,” he rasped against her ear after breaking the kiss. He nipped her neck and Diana shuddered. He liked to bite. There were nights after their encounters when her shoulders and neck were covered with small welts, courtesy of his teeth, evidence of his attentions.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I—a couple of your fans waylaid me and I couldn’t be rude about it.”