Something in him, perhaps his natural male bravado, wilted.

She’s stronger than I am. How is that even possible?

Her hazel eyes glinted, as if she knew the fearful thoughts that circled through his mind and found them pleasing.

“You’ll learn to do as I say if you know what’s good for you,” she said. “Now. Get on your knees.”

He started to say no, but she tightened her grips and pressed forward, and the pain was so excruciating that he felt his knees crumple. As if weighted down by an anchor hanging from his neck, he dropped to his knees, the impact of hitting the travertine floor reverberating through his bones.

“Look at me, doctor.” She didn’t relinquish her hold on his wrists.

Perspiration seeping into his eyes, he raised his face to her.

“Good,” she said. “Tell me that you’re sorry for how you behaved.”

“I . . . I . . .”

She gave his wrists a threatening clench, and the agony almost made him lose consciousness.

“I’m . . . sorry . . .” The words came out in a choked whisper.

“Yes. Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for . . . how I behaved . . .”

“That’s a good boy.” She finally released him. “I believe you’ve learned your lesson. If not, next time, I assure you, your discipline will be much more severe.”

With a gentle chuckle, she patted the top of his head, as one might favor an obedient pet.

“Run along now. Remember what I said. That dick’s going to be mine.” She laughed.

Shaking and sweating, he crawled away from her. If he’d possessed a tail, it would have been curled between his legs. That was how he felt—thoroughly cowed. It was an unfamiliar experience.

Grace stared at him for a beat, an unvoiced threat in her gaze, and then she exited the kitchen in a swirl of fabric and fragrance.

He got to his feet, gently massaging his throbbing wrists. Blood and sensation were slow to return to his hands.

He shuffled into the powder room off the kitchen, bumped his shoulder against the light switch. Under the bright fluorescents, he examined his wrists.

Grace’s slender fingers had left crimson bruises on his flesh.

I could snap you like a twig, boy.

The sight chilled him. He was a man of science, a trained physician. He could think of no logical reason that would explain how Grace had been able to do that to him. It defied everything in his experience and education.

Cautiously, he returned upstairs. He tried the knob of his bedroom door, and that time, it opened.

The room was dark. He edged inside.

“Monica?” he asked.

He heard slow, deep breathing coming from the bed. He crossed the room and thumbed on a bedside lamp.

Monica lay snuggled underneath the covers. Grace was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she’d retired to her room for the night.