Declaration to Submit by Jennifer Leeland

you’re wrong.” That was a lot more than he wanted to say. There were so many things she didn’t know about him, about his pathological need to stay out of the harsh glare of publicity, his strange relations with his family, his frenetic work habits.
    She was silent for a moment, and then she snorted, leaned back, and crossed her arms. “Well, I bet you don’t have to say to yourself that it’s just sex. I do.”
    The surge of satisfaction was unavoidable. He couldn’t suppress it. His feelings were conflicted. When he began this odyssey of pursuit, he hadn’t considered a more serious connection. He was attracted to Nell’s obvious need. “I didn’t even consider saying that to myself,” he said slowly. “Because it isn’t.”
    She blinked twice. “What?”
    He sighed. “I told you relationships were complicated enough, and kink made it even more complicated, remember? Why don’t we just enjoy the weekend and worry about the rest later?”
    It seemed reasonable. Even though he wasn’t feeling very reasonable at all. When she nodded and picked up her fork, preparing to eat, he realized he was more invested in her answer at the end of their time in Vegas than he wanted to be.
    He barely tasted the food. It wasn’t going well. He had expected to thrill her, turn her on to the deepest desires he knew were beneath the surface. What he hadn’t anticipated was that if she said no at the end of their weekend, he wasn’t going to be able to shrug and think her loss . It was going to fucking hurt.
    “Why don’t you have your full name on ConFed’s Web site and literature?” she asked him suddenly.
    It was as if she got right to the heart of the matter, the barrier that stood between him and any woman who might be a part of his life. “I’m well aware that you did some digging, Anelda. What did you find out?”
    She put her fork down and looked him straight in the eye. “Are you angry that I looked into your background?”
    Was he? Normally, that sort of thing would piss him off royally. He kept his identity under wraps for a reason, and she had pulled the covers back. Yet it hadn’t upset him at all. When Atticus had called him to say a woman was poking around about the past, he hadn’t been offended. He’d been flattered.
    That should have been a red flag.
    After all, she was just doing her job, protecting her family as she saw it. He shook his head. “No, I’m not angry. You must know why I don’t reveal my identity to the public.”
    “Your father.”
    “That was part of it.” What his father had gone through had been hard enough, but the media had whipped the whole community into a frenzy, an experience Mark “Junior” Connors had never forgotten. His father had shrunk into himself, becoming stooped and quiet. His mother had a nervous breakdown and ended up on a plethora of pills. Everything they did was fodder for the local vultures who thrived on the misfortunes of others. Mark had no respect for the media, so he allowed his company to be represented by men who did.
    “Surely it was long enough ago that people won’t hold it against you now.” She frowned and toyed with her food. “It makes it look as if you have something to hide.”
    He snorted. “I do. Imagine. I’m a CEO, a shareholder, in ConFed. I’m ruthless and thorough. I’ve broken men to acquire companies. I drove your own former boss into retirement. What if they knew that my father financially ruined all those people? What if they knew that I like to dominate women? Do you think I would escape unscathed? I’d be vilified.”
    “At least it would be honest.” Her face was set in an uncompromising frown.
    “So you think everyone should be an open book?” If she was going to play the judgmental game, he could play it too.
    She raised her eyebrows. “Of course.”
    “Okay, then. Why don’t you tell me what happened your second semester, sophomore year in college? Why don’t you tell me why you won’t wear a