“Arturo was gay, Dan. He wasn’t my lover. In every way that counted, he was my father.”

She had never seen him look so bewildered. “Then I don’t understand anything.”

Placing so much trust in another human being was the most difficult thing she had ever done, but she loved him, and she could no longer live in the shadows. Gathering her courage, she told him about the rape, speaking in broken sentences and twisting her hands as she struggled to explain. She didn’t realize until she saw the outrage on his face that she had been subconsciously preparing herself for disbelief, and the words came more quickly. As she spoke of those awful months in Paris when she’d slept with so many men, he showed no condemnation, only a sympathy that relaxed the tough lines of his face and made her yearn to throw herself into his arms. But she stayed where she was, nearly faltering as she attempted to describe how frozen she had felt for years and how impossible it had been for her to be intimate with anyone.

When she was done, she fell silent, her muscles screaming with tension, while she waited for him to absorb the fact that he was the man with whom she had chosen to end so many years of celibacy. He had not made a commitment of any kind to her, yet she was letting him know without words what he meant to her. Never had she risked so much.

She sat stiffly on the edge of the bed and watched him rise from the chair. As he came toward her, she sensed his suppressed rage in the corded tension of his neck muscles, but, at the same time, the soft compassion in his eyes made her understand that his anger wasn’t directed at her.

He gathered her into his arms, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so very, very sorry.”

Dropping his head, he began to kiss her, the warmth of healing in the touch of his lips. Right then, she wanted to tell him she loved him, but his kiss deepened and he began to caress her. Before long, she was lost to reason as he vanquished the shadows of the past with the sweet, deep stroking of his body.

It was nearly three in the morning before he drove her home. She’d put her bondage dress back on, along with his sweatshirt and her evening coat. After the emotional turmoil of the night, she felt very much at peace, and he, too, seemed relaxed.

“You’re going to be exhausted tomorrow,” she said as she leaned against his arm.

“I don’t need much sleep. Even when I was a little kid, I’d crawl out of bed and sneak outside.”

“You rascal.”

“I was a stubborn little cuss. My mother took a switch to me whenever she caught me, but no matter how much she beat me, I kept doin’ it.”