She didn’t step back. Whether it was shock or excitement that kept her still she didn’t know. Perhaps it was pride. That’s what she hoped. “You seem to be the one in need of the analyst now. I may not remember, Reeve, but I feel certain I choose my own lovers.”

“So do I.”

She felt light-headed. Frightened? No—yes. When he spoke she felt the decision had already been made. Another lack of choice. “Take your hands off me.” She said it quietly, with a hint of arrogance that hid the fear.

He drew her closer, just a little closer. “Is that a royal command?”

She might have been wearing a robe and a crown. “Take it however you choose. You need my permission to touch me, Reeve. A man of your background knows the rules.”

“Americans aren’t as subject to protocol as Europeans, Brie.” His lips hovered over hers, but didn’t quite touch. “I want to touch you, so I touch. I want you, so I’ll take—when the time’s right for both of us.” As he said this, his fingers tightened.

Her vision blurred, her knees shook. It was dark again, and the face close to hers was indistinct. She smelled wine, strong and stale. Fear tripled, pulsing through her like a drug. Abruptly she struck out at him, swaying as she did. “Don’t touch me! Don’t! Relâchez-moi, salaud—”

Because her voice was more desperate than angry, he let her go, then almost immediately grabbed her again when she swayed forward. “Brie.” He had her back in the chair, her head between her knees, before she could think. Silently cursing himself, his voice was gentle, calming. “Breathe deep and relax. I’m sorry. I’ve no intention of taking any more than you want to give.”

He wouldn’t. No, he wouldn’t. Her eyes shut, she tried to clear her mind, clear the dizziness.

“No.” When she struggled against his hand, he released her. Her face was still pale when she looked up at him, but her eyes were dark and intense. Terrified. “It wasn’t you,” she managed. “It wasn’t you at all. I remembered—I think …” On a frustrated breath, she closed her eyes again and fought for composure. “It was someone else. Just for a minute I was somewhere else. A man was holding me. I can’t see him—it’s dark or my mind just won’t let me get through to his face. But he’s holding me and I know, I know he’ll rape me. He’s drunk.”

Her hand reached out for Reeve’s and held it. “I could smell the wine on him. Just now I could smell it. His hands are rough. He’s very strong, but he’s had too much wine.” She swallowed. Reeve saw her shudder just before she took her hand from him and straightened in her chair. “I had a knife. I don’t know how. I had a knife and its handle was in my hand. I think I killed him.”

She looked down at her hand. It was steady. Turning it over, she stared down at her palm. It was white and smooth. “I think I stabbed him with the knife,” she said calmly. “And his blood was on my hands.”