Her mouth was suddenly dry—weird!—and she gulped some juice. “None of your goddamned business.”

“Did he hurt you? Because if he did, I’d be delighted to track him down for you and teach him a richly deserved—”

“Am I speaking a language you don’t know? I said it was none of your business.” Her hand was shaking. She put down the juice glass with a bang and hid her hands under the table. “And even if it was, I don’t want to talk about it. Especially with you.”

His eyes were narrow, thoughtful. “Ah…you hurt him. And felt needless guilt ever since—Jane, for heaven’s sake. Whatever you did, it was an accident. You didn’t mean it.”

“Are you deaf? I said I don’t want to talk about it!” The glass zoomed at his head; he ducked, and it slammed into the far wall. Orange juice and broken glass sprayed everywhere.

“All right,” he said calmly. “We won’t talk about it.”

Her hands weren’t the only thing shaking. She grabbed her elbows and squeezed; she clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. She was morbidly afraid she might puke, and soon.

He got up from his chair, came to her, and scooped her up as if she was a child. For a wonder, she didn’t try to pull his eyeballs out of his head. “You’re tired,” he soothed. “You’ve had a rotten week. Why don’t you take a nap?”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

“Can’t we do both?”

She chuckled unwillingly.

Chapter 8

Two nights before the full moon, and she was actually torn.

Torn! It was almost like she was dreading her impending escape. Which only proved a steady diet of rich food and amazing sex lowered IQ points.

Every day, he asked her to tell him the truth, promising to let her go if she did. And every day, she told him the truth…a lie would have choked her. She hadn’t broken their date by choice. She had wanted to see him again. And she almost didn’t hate him.

That one she kept to herself.

He hadn’t tied her up since that first night. And she hadn’t tried to attack him. Another example of her quickly lowering IQ. When they were between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or on the floor in front of the fireplace), the last thing on her mind was leaving. But far more disturbing, when they weren’t between the sheets, the last thing on her mind was leaving.