My Dracaena flexes her claws and basically tells me to fuck off all while stuffing that stunning face with food. Somehow, she even manages to make herself look bigger when she straightens up and tilts toward me—definitely a sign of aggression. I love it. She might think she’ll get rid of me that easily, but that’s not going to happen. I stop breathing, stunned at the thought. She’s worming her way into my mind. That has to stop. I look at her, determined to push her away. Instead, I meet defiance that makes my cock and hand pulse with need. A hand that needs to meet the cheeks of that magnificent ass . . . repeatedly. I will have her.

The swelling has gone down, and the bruising has faded, revealing a classic oval face, a strong chin, and those huge brown-black eyes. After our encounter last night, I can’t walk away from her. Not without having her again. I crave her . . . with an insatiable need that defies reason.

When I rescued her, I accepted the responsibility of ensuring Rayne was safely established in a new life. Rayne is not like the others who use sex for their own gains or simply to please me. She seems intent on exploring sex for her own pleasure, despite her protestations. An intense fire burns under her don’t-fuck-with-me armor. I need to make sure her first experience with BDSM is a positive one. You need to fuck her again to get her out of your system. I shake the thought away. That’s not my motive.

I almost laugh at her unsubtle way of changing the subject. That in itself alarms me. All this frivolity has to stop. Allowing myself to feel anything will make it all that much harder when Rayne leaves, and I have to move on. Never mind keeping the hard core I need for this job. Rayne is right; time to focus on Sasha.

“I spoke with the hospital a few minutes ago. She remains stable, so they’re going to try bringing her out of the coma around eleven o’clock.

“Good news.” Rayne slides her fingers onto my clenched fist. I hadn’t realized I’d clenched my fists until her small hand covers mine. “She’ll be okay. No doubt about it.”

Rayne makes the pronouncement with such authority I almost believe it. I raise my eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t believe me. Well, it doesn’t matter. I know what I know here and here.” Rayne points to her head and heart. “Sasha is going to be just fine. You can take that to the bank.”

Impossible for her to know, yet somehow she has me almost convinced. As much fun as it is sparring with her, now isn’t the time.

“I hope you’re right.”

Rayne gets up and fusses over the ice pack. “There. Leave that on while I get ready. When do we leave?”

“I’ll have the limo ready to go at 10:30.” I sit quietly in defiance of the rage that consumes me when I think of all that’s happened. Rayne better be right about Sasha. Every passing minute reminds me the forces of hell are closing in.

Rayne comes through the hotel lobby door at 10:25 promptly. I’m already in the limo. Black, of course, with all the trimmings. I’m not hugely material, but when I buy something, I usually go for the best. The limo is no exception. Rayne sits opposite me, her eyes widening as she ogles the luxury. The limo’s almost a motorhome complete with a marble table, a bar with crystal glasses and decanter, recessed lighting, and black leather and wood interior. A DVD player sits in a recessed shelf below a huge flat screen TV. A Journey song plays through Bose speakers.

I nod at Rayne and hold up my hand, signaling quiet as I finish my call to the hospital.

“Anything you can share would be great. I owe you one big-time, man.” I listen for another minute then ring off. “Sasha’s fully conscious and asking for us. They tell me the surgery was a success. Now, all we have to do is pray she doesn’t contract a supervirus.”

Rayne says nothing for a beat. A frown knits her brow.

“What’s on your mind?” Usually, I’m not this direct, but I’m learning the direct approach works best with Rayne.

She gives me a small half smile. “One of those things I’m probably best to keep to myself.”

Now, she can’t possibly believe she’s going to drop that little bombshell, and I’ll just let it go. “Yeah? Who told you that?” I fully expect her to name her damned stepfather.

“ES. He said I ask too many questions.” She gives a rueful smile. “And my Gran. She said people don’t like my questions because they make them think about stuff they don’t want to think about.”

“You can ask me anything you like.”

Rayne shakes her head. “I’ve heard that before. That’s okay. I get it. I really do. I can be really annoying.” The look on her face tells me she doesn’t get it, but she believes this garbage.

“Well, I’ll get annoyed if you don’t ask. What do you want to know?”

She looks skeptical. “Okay.” She drags out the vowel sound. “I read there are a couple of different ways to do sex reassignment surgery. What way did they use?”

I want to ask her how she found out, why she cares—more curiosity about the way her mind works than anything—but figure that will shut her down. I suspect Kat is her source of information.

“I believe they used parts of her small intestine and the penile skin flaps. I’ll know more when I see her chart. Why do you ask?”

“I was just trying to figure out how they did it. None of my gay friends are transsexual.”

“Does it bother you?” The intensity behind my gaze almost scares me, but I don’t back off. I have to know. If she can’t accept Sasha, that’s that.

“Nope.” She returns my stare. “She’s your friend. Does it bother you?”

She gives nothing away, but I have the distinct impression she’s fucking with me.

“You have a lot of friends?” That certainly isn’t the impression she gives.

“Lots of gay friends. I have a lot more acquaintances than friends. When you move around as much as we have, you don’t keep a lot of friends. I’m great at engaging with people until they get to know me. Do you always avoid answering questions?”

I’m starting to get a picture of what makes Rayne so damned twitchy and insecure. I want to know more, to know everything about her. Only because it will help you as her Dom. Yeah, right. I tuck that thought in the tank where I keep other thoughts that disavow my self-deception. I’m not ready to look too closely at why I’m drawn to Rayne.

“Then what happens?”

“I usually say something that really pisses them off. Then they ignore me or worse. ES is right. I don’t know how to talk without putting both feet in my mouth.”

I plan on choking this ES before I dismember him.

“If I’m going to be your Dom, we’d better get a few things straight from the get-go. I have zero tolerance for obfuscation or dishonesty. I want you to be yourself.”

She thrusts that defiant little chin in the air, bounces, and knocks her fists together in her lap. “So what happens when I piss you off, too?”

“Be yourself, and you won’t. If I’m pissed off, I’ll tell you. I expect the same from you.”

My majordomo/chauffeur, Steve, pulls the limo up in front of Women’s College Hospital and opens the rear door.

“I expect we’ll be an hour or two, Steve. I’ll text when we’re ready.”

Steve is a man of few words. He dons his baseball cap, hikes up his jeans, gets in the limo, and drives away.

I grab Rayne’s hand and turn her toward me. I brush a finger through the curls bouncing across her forehead. “I’m not sure what to expect here. It’s not my area of medical expertise. We’re just lucky that the plastic surgeon on call when we brought Sasha in is experienced in reassignment surgery.”

“Is he any good?” She gives my hand a squeeze.

“She. And I don’t know. We’re about to find out.” I head off in the direction of the ICU.

The unit nurse directs us to Sasha’s private room after several severe admonishments about not upsetting “him” or talking about “his” surgery. Rayne steps in front of me before I have the chance to get up close and very personal with the bitch.

“Do me a favor and stop calling her ‘him.’ You’ve got some nerve talking to us about upsetting her. Where do they train you people?”

Ouch. I stand back as Rayne tears a strip off Nurse Ratched, who just doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. Rayne seems happy to give her a lesson in proper patient care. Her diatribe won’t do us any favors, but I enjoy the display. I like how she leaps to the defense of the underdog.

Rayne’s tone suddenly softens. “Look, I know you’re doing your best. I just want the best for our friend, and she’ll be very unhappy if you call her ‘him.’” Rayne sticks her small hand toward the nurse and smiles the winning smile that could melt hearts. “Truce?”

There was no way on earth that Sasha told her any of this. I remind myself not to underestimate this woman.

Sasha lies with eyes shut, deathly pale. Two intravenous lines ran into her arms connecting fluids and the pain pump. I take a moment to read her chart fastened to the end of the bed. By all accounts, the surgery went better than they had hoped. Sasha is expected to make a full recovery.

That left the psychological scars she’d bear from the rape and torture. I have no idea what she needs to get through this. Although I had a twinge of something—regret?—when Sasha asked for Rayne instead of me, Rayne is probably in a much better position to understand what Sasha went through. If anyone fucks with me, they get the pain back tenfold. I could try to empathize, but I have no idea what it means to feel terror. Except for those few minutes with Savannah. I shake away the thought. The fear of losing a cherished one doesn’t compare to the abject terror one must feel knowing their life hangs in the balance.

I touch Sasha’s arm. Her eyes fly open, and I catch a glimpse of that terror. “Hey.” I leave my hand resting on her arm unsure whether touching is appropriate.

Sasha’s green eyes clear, but a haze of fear veils her expression.

“Hey.” Sorrow replaces Sasha’s usual strident tone.

Once again, it strikes me just how unprepared I am for this moment. I refuse to make inane conversation like my patients’ families made when faced with a crisis.

“Do you need anything?” Almost inane, but nothing else springs to mind.

A brief smile touches the corners of Sasha’s mouth. “How about Viper’s head on a platter?”

I squeeze her forearm. “With pleasure.” I swallow hard. “Want to talk about it?”

Sasha rolls her head on the pillow. “No, not yet. Not with you. I need . . .”

“Rayne.”

“Yes, Rayne. She’s been there. She gets it.”

“She’s a bit bent if you ask me.”

Sasha’s look of recrimination drills right through me. If nothing else, I’ve roused some life in her. “And you aren’t? That’s a bit judgmental and not like you. You of all people should understand presenting a false face to the world.” She speaks slowly as she fights her way through the drug fog. She studies me for a minute. “You want her.” It’s a statement, not a question. She’s wrong, but now is not the time to argue.

I rest my head on the bed rail for a second. When I look up, Sasha’s gaze remains fixed on me. “Oh God, you’ve got it bad.”

“That’s the drugs and wishful thinking talking. She’s right outside. Hold on.”

Sasha grabs my hand. “Get them.” Her voice is fierce, more like the warrior I know.

I squeeze again, taking comfort from her warmth. “You can take that one to the bank.”