My arms stretch out on both sides of my body. A dull ache throbs in both my wrists. The pain is close, yet I can’t grasp it. I want to lift my wrists to see what’s wrapped around them but I’m too weak.

I breathe slowly, quietly, until I can muster up enough energy to lift my head from the pillow.

Damien is sitting in a leather armchair by the window, scribbling in a notebook.

Watching him, an intense sense of déjà vu washes over me.

My mind returns to the time I woke up inside his cabin in Alaska, after he’d kidnapped me, to find him sitting by the fireplace, gazing into the flames. His chiseled jaw is tight, but he’s still as handsome as he’d been that morning, the highlights in his dark hair brought out by the light flooding the room from the window, the sprinkling of gray at his temples glinting.

My heart sinks as my head falls back to the pillow. I’m alive. Instead of succumbing to my self-inflicted wounds inside the coffin he had buried me in, I’m right where I started—stuck inside my worst nightmare.

I lift my head again but it hurts to hold it up. I groan and sink back into the pillows. He hears me and rushes to my side, lowers himself on the bed next to me and places a hand on my forehead. I’m too tired, defeated, and in pain to move away.

“Thank God you’re okay.” There’s a gentle softness in Damien’s tone. “You scared the shit out of me.” He plants a tender kiss on my forehead, his warm lips linger for a moment on my skin. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he actually cared about my wellbeing.

I blink in slow motion as anger boils in the pit of my belly. What the hell? He must be out of his rotten mind. Why would he be worried if he was the one who buried me alive? Why did he even rescue me? Why hadn’t he let me die as he had planned?

I want to hurl all those questions at him and more. What would satisfy me most is to strike him with an object. To hit him hard over and over again on the head until he bleeds to death. I want him to feel the pain he has caused me. The thought of being pushed into another round of captivity—into my dark dungeon—brings the adrenaline inside my veins to boiling. If only my body would catch up. Every piece of me is sore—my head, my brain and other parts I can’t see or touch. My body still hasn’t recovered from the shock of being buried alive and coming so close to death’s door.

I don’t fight him as he lifts my upper body and puts more pillows behind my back. I don’t object when he lifts a cup of water to my lips. I don’t fight him because I can’t. I lick the cool liquid off my lips and turn my face away from him.

The glass makes a tap as he lowers it to the bedside table. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Damien’s brows draw together. “I didn’t . . . I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

If he’s waiting for a reaction, he doesn’t get it. My head remains turned away from him.

He lays a hand on mine but I withdraw from his touch. “You have every right to be angry. Asking for your forgiveness will be too much. But after you recover, let’s talk, okay?”

A long pause settles between us then he clears his throat and speaks again.

“You were unconscious for a couple of hours due to blood loss. But you received a blood transfusion. The doctor said you’ll be okay.” He eyes the IV bag suspended on an elevated stand next to the bed. “I’ll make damn sure you’re well taken care of.”

Damien gets to his feet and disappears from the room. I’m surprised that he leaves the door unlocked. Maybe it’s because he knows that in my weakened state, escaping would be the last thing on my mind. Or it could be that he’s confident there’s nowhere I can run where he won’t find me. What baffles and creeps me out was the gentleness in his voice. What happened to the devil I saw on the train to Guadalajara?

He returns with his cell phone pressed to his ear, fingertips massaging his forehead, conversing with someone in Spanish. He glances at me and moves to the window, looking out. For the first time, I notice that he looks less groomed than the last time I saw him, his blue shirt as rumpled as his hair which sticks out in all directions.

He hangs up and comes to the bed, brushes flyaway hairs from my forehead and kisses my forehead again. His lips are hot against my skin. “The doctor is on his way. I thought it was best for you to recover at home, where I can care for you, not in some sterile hospital. I’m sure you agree.”

Laughter swirls inside my chest but I keep it contained. Does he think I’m stupid enough to believe he’s keeping me here out of concern for my wellbeing? I know the only reason I’m not in a hospital is so he can keep me from anyone I can confide in. The truth is, he wants to keep his dirty little secret hidden. I wonder how much he paid the doctor to keep his or her mouth shut.

The sight of him angers and disgusts me so I close my eyes to shut him out.

I hear static as he pushes a hand through his hair. “Ivy, I know you’re hurt. But I promise you that the man who did all those horrible things to you is not who I am. I’ll explain everything to you later.”

The doctor arrives half an hour after Damien called him. He finds Damien failing at getting me to drink a glass of apple juice, wiping away drops of it that spill down my chin. A few minutes ago I tried telling him to fuck off but only croaks left my mouth. I finally quit trying to talk.

The doctor is a forty-something, petite woman with raven hair pulled back so tight her long forehead looks as though it went through many rounds of Botox shots.

“Hello, Ivy. Good to see you’re awake.” Her English has no accent whatsoever. “Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?” As she places her bag on the floor and bends over me, I catch a whiff of Chanel No 5.

I blink in response because there’s no strength in me for anything else.

Her voice is soft and gentle as she checks my heart rate, my blood pressure and everything else she deems important to determine my health. She gives me a bright smile and tells Damien something in Spanish. His shoulders sink as he sighs with what looks to be relief.

After the doctor leaves, he kneels on the floor beside the bed and takes my hand in his. “The doctor said you need a lot of rest but you should feel like your old self again in no time. Then we’ll celebrate with a little surprise.” He gets to his feet.

The last thing I want are his damn surprises. I’ve had enough of those in the last couple of weeks to last me a lifetime and beyond.

Before he leaves the room, I part my lips and try to speak again. This time I can get a single word out. “Why?” It’s a whisper but he must have heard it as he returns to the bed and gazes down at me.

“I thought killing you would be easy. I couldn’t imagine you out there, living a life without me. I couldn’t handle your rejection.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Then I realized, almost too late, that the thought of you not being in this world at all is murder to my heart.” His emerald eyes cling to mine, pleading for forgiveness. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I know I broke you. Now I want to put you back together.”