Yeah. Right. She drew in a sharp, harsh breath. There was no other explanation. She really was just like her father. She had always said she would be nothing like him. She’d be responsible. She’d vowed to be the complete opposite of Bodrie, and yet here she was, a wild animal in bed. She hadn’t been able to control herself, she hadn’t even tried, not once Remy had kissed her. His mouth still burned on hers, his taste still potent and addictive.

She had to force her aching body to move. Every step into the bathroom just served as a reminder that she’d screwed up big-time. Sheets stuffed in the clothes hamper were stained with blood. Remy had put them there, but they were ripped up, useless, and she didn’t want Saria to see or have to deal with them.

She moaned again and looked into the mirror. Her eyes had dark circles under them. Her lips seemed swollen. There were strawberry bites all over her neck and throat. A clear path of love bites went from her throat to both her breasts and even lower still. She blushed, thinking about what her inner thighs might look like.

To wake herself up, and give herself more time to think, she stepped into the shower. She couldn’t help thinking about how Remy had run a hot bath while she dozed on the floor. He’d carried her into the bath and carefully washed and then braided her hair. It was still wet and would be if she didn’t pull out the braid and dry it. She’d felt . . . cared for. His hands had been gentle, at odds with his near savage sex. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when anyone had ever made her feel as if she mattered to them, other than when Remy had dragged her from a hotel room the night she’d made up her mind to end her life.

She slid down the wall of the shower stall, sinking onto the tile in a crouch while the hot water poured over her. It took several minutes to realize she was crying. She’d been alone for so long in the midst of a crowd. She’d been surrounded, her entire life, by managers and handlers, and she’d been so lonely, yearning for so long for a family. For a real friend. For one person to care whether she was alive or dead.

Remy had cared all those years ago and so had Saria. She’d come back to them, looking for something that had always been out of her reach. She had all the money in the world, and no one to share her life. She knew she had issues. She’d worked hard to overcome them, but trust just didn’t come easily to her.