Dick let go of her waist and pulled her back onto the bed. “That was…sweaty.” Panting lightly, he flopped over on the pillows. “Jane, your stamina knows no bounds. Look at me; I’m actually out of breath. And I don’t even need to breathe.”

“My stamina? Look who’s talking. We’ve been at it since—holy shit, the sun’s gonna be up in another hour. You’d better beat feet back to the coffin, old man.”

He snorted. “It’s a bed, not a coffin. It’s one of the guest beds, in fact. You’re in my coffin, so to speak.”

“So why don’t you sleep here?”

“I’ve been thinking about it.” He propped himself up on one elbow, bent to kiss her shoulder, and then said, “More and more, actually. In the beginning, I dared not leave myself at your mercy, but now I wonder.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You take longer to say something than anyone I’ve ever met.”

He didn’t smile at her bitching like he usually did. “I’d be quite helpless, Janet. If you, ah, decided to be angry, there’s nothing I could do until the sun went down. And the tables in here are all made out of wood…so are the chairs. It wouldn’t be difficult for someone with your determination to fashion a rudimentary stake.”

She’d never thought of that. She couldn’t believe she’d never thought of that. “Oh.” She mulled it over for a minute and then said, “Well, I don’t especially want to stake you in the guts.”

“The guts I wouldn’t mind so much. How about the heart?”

She rolled over and rested her chin on his chest. “There either. I dunno, you’re okay. When you’re not being a total shit. Stay, go, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Well, I can hardly turn down such a warm invitation.” Still, he glanced nervously at the table in the corner before climbing under the covers. “Ah, well, here goes nothing. Climb in next to me.”

“I have chicken grease under my nails,” she pointed out.

“So we’ll take a nice hot shower together later tonight.”

“Sounds like, a date.” She snuggled in next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. His body was still slightly warm from their earlier exertions and, as she pressed closer to him, remained that way.

“Ahhhhh,” he sighed. “You’re better than my electric blanket.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. You should write for fuckin’ soap operas,” she grumbled, but inside she was glowing. He was trusting her with his life. He knew he was easy prey, and he was going to sleep anyway. It spoke volumes about his true feelings for her…and her status as his “prisoner.”