“The Uninvited. It’s a ghost story.” Taking minuscule sips of her drink, she settled in next to him.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Fifteen minutes later, their glasses were empty.

“Should I have another?”

“How do you feel?”

“Fine. A bit relaxed.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Should I have another?”

“No. We have to preserve the integrity of the experiment and recreate your experience as closely as possible.” Conor wheeled the cart into the hall and called room service for a pick up.

“What now?” She yawned.

“We go to bed.” He took her hand and pulled her off the sofa. She went into the bathroom for a few minutes. When she came out, he went in to brush his teeth. The whole routine was normal and domestic. Warmth spread through his limbs as he took off his clothes and climbed into bed naked, pulling the sheet up to his waist. Louisa emerged from the closet with clothes in her hand. She paused, her eyes skimming over his bare chest.

He waggled his eyebrows. “What do you have?”

“Pajamas.” She laughed.

“Pajamas?” He lifted the covers. “You don’t need those.”

“All right.” She set them on a chair and smiled at him as she untied the sash of her robe. Blue silk slithered down her naked body and pooled at her feet.

Conor went hard in an instant.

She eased into bed and reached for him.

“Nope. No sex.”

“But you’re, you know . . .” She nodded at his obvious interest.

“Yes, I have a hard-on. I will survive.” Putting a hand on her hip, he rolled her on her side and spooned. The pressure of her bare buttock against his erection urged him to do more. “We have to preserve the integrity of the experiment, remember? I want to make sure you have total recall tomorrow morning.”

“I doubt I’ll forget this.” Her arm was halfway to the nightstand lamp when she tensed in his arms. “I’m obviously not unconscious.”

“No. You are not.”

“What does that mean?” She needed the truth.

“He put something in your champagne,” he said. “A date rape drug like roofies can make girls—”

“I know what a date rape drug is,” she snapped, sitting up in a jerky movement and drawing her knees close to her chest, withdrawing, moving away from him. “I just can’t believe that could happen in my own house. I’ve known Blaine most of my life. That would be . . .”

“Despicable?” Conor finished, hating the look of betrayal and pain in her eyes. “Yes, any man who drugs a woman and has sex with her unconscious body is the lowest form of humanity. Doing that to a sixteen-year-old girl who’s practically family makes Blaine a predator.”

She wrapped her arms around her shins. “He’s in town.”

“What?”

“My aunt invited him to have dinner with us on Friday night.” Her speech quickened as her mind worked.