Zara arrived at his door at ten o'clock sharp. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. She had followed his final command from the afternoon, her body bare and aching beneath a simple black sundress. This was it. There was no more teasing from across the lawn, no more games. This was real.

Before she could knock, the door opened. Richard stood there, a dark silhouette against the low light of his house. He was wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants, his chest bare, his tattooed arms crossed. He looked like a predator who had been waiting patiently for his prey to walk willingly into...