I turned and ran back to the bed, diving under the covers. Wrapping myself up tight, I stared at the doorway where I’d seen Sebastian and heard him call my name as he came. I buried my face in my pillow to try and stamp out the warmth in my cheeks.

When Sebastian had climbed out of bed, I’d pretended to sleep. After a while, I didn’t hear anything and hoped he’d left or become otherwise occupied. I’d crept from my bed and tried the doors in the room—all locked, and one with a digital keypad. Then I’d heard him in the bathroom. God, the look on his face as he stroked himself into release. I clenched my eyes shut and tried to erase the image, and more importantly, erase the thrill that had run through me as I watched.

The bed shifted. “Sorry about that.”

I clutched the blanket tightly to me. “Sorry?” I choked out and unburied my face so I could watch him.

He shrugged, his muscled shoulders hard in the morning light. “I didn’t intend for you to see that, but I didn’t mind it either. Did you enjoy it?”

I re-buried my face in my pillow. “No!”

A low laugh rolled over me, the velvety tones trying to seduce me. “You don’t have to admit anything, but I know you did.”

“No.” I pulled my knees up beside me and felt along my calf until my fingers met a thin metal chain. The anklet monitor.

“Yes. Would you like to know what I was thinking about?”

“No!” My face still buried in the pillow, I breathed in warm air, the oxygen depleting as I stayed in my cocoon where he couldn’t see me, where I felt stupidly safe from the monster right beside me. Like a child who covers his face and believes he’s invisible.

“Eating your pussy. Teasing your clit until you exploded all over my face. You called my name.” A slight tug on my hair told me he was running his fingers through it. “When you came, so did I.”

I should have been filled with disgust. Instead, my mind followed along with the image he painted. Then I came to my senses and re-focused on how I might escape. Maybe I could climb down from the window if he left the room.

“Let me go.”

“Not happening.” His calm certainty spiked my blood pressure.

I screamed into my pillow and thought for a moment about scratching his eyes out. But the corded muscles of his body told me that would be a losing effort. I was no match for him.

There had to be a way out. Maybe he was just punking me. Maybe Ashton Kutcher was going to jump out from behind the curtains with a film crew, and we’d all laugh about it over breakfast.

A knock at the door sent a line of tension through me. Another person in the house meant the possibility of escape.

“Come in.” Sebastian yanked the blanket higher on my back. Hiding me?

The voice had me turning toward the door. The digital locking mechanism clicked, and a man strode inside. Mid-twenties, blond hair, and handsome—he wore dark butler’s attire and pushed a cart.

“Morning, Timothy.” Sebastian sat up on the edge of the bed and leaned over to click something on his nightstand. The curtains along the windows separated, allowing warm light to suffuse the room.

“Sir.” Timothy rolled the cart up to the bed, only sparing a brief glance for me.

“Help me.” I sat up and clutched the sheet to my chest. “He’s keeping me prisoner here.”

Timothy didn’t look at me. It was as if I’d never spoken.

Sebastian inspected the plates atop the cart. “Has everything in the house been arranged?”

“Yes sir.” Timothy poured two cups of coffee. He added the amount of sugar I liked, then poured my favorite creamer. “Rita knows the situation, and Gerry will abide by all the rules without issue.” His slight British accent stirred something in my mind, a memory that I couldn’t place.

“Did you hear me?” I raised my voice. “He’s keeping me against my will. Call the police!”

Sebastian seemed satisfied with the plates. “That’ll be all, Timothy.”

Timothy nodded and strode to the door. Without so much as acknowledging my existence, he entered a code and left. The locking mechanism clicked as soon as the door shut.

“That won’t work.” Sebastian peered at me, studying every move I made.

“You have them trained to keep prisoners?”

His dark hair, tousled from sleep, shone in the hues of morning that poured through the windows. “They obey me without question. I treat them well and pay them better.”

“You pay enough for them to go along with this sick game?”

His emerald eyes glittered. “It’s not a game. Come eat. You’ll feel better.”

“No way.”

“You’re hungry. I heard your stomach growl a few moments ago.”

“I don’t want anything you’re offering.”

He sighed. “You have to eat.”

“I’m not coming anywhere near you. How do I know the food isn’t poisoned?”

“Why would I go to all this trouble just to poison you?” He grabbed a piece of bacon from one plate and downed it in one bite, then grabbed a pancake from the other plate, ripped a piece off, and ate it. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a sharp movement. “Convinced?”

So it wasn’t poisoned. That didn’t mean I wanted to have breakfast with him. “And I’m naked.”

He arched a brow. “You won’t eat because you’re naked?”

“I don’t care what you think, but I’m not eating a single thing until I’m wearing clothes.”

“That makes zero sense.”

I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Sebastian rose, the sunlight gracing his chiseled body. I looked away as he stalked into the bathroom.

“Come in here.” The command in his voice had a hint of irritation, as if I were getting under his skin. Good.

“I can’t. I’m naked.”

“Get in here or, so help me, I will drag you.” Definitely under his skin.

A thought occurred to me, an ill-formed burst of inspiration that would shape how I would get out of this prison. If Sebastian thought I was perfect for him, that we were meant to be together, perhaps if I proved him wrong by being a disagreeable shrew, he’d change his mind. For the first time since I woke up in his bed, I felt a shred of hope.

“Fine.” His footfalls retreated toward me. “I’ll carry you.”

“I’m coming.” I stood quickly and yanked at the enormous cream duvet until I’d wrapped it all around me like a puffy wedding dress.

“I’ve already seen you naked, Camille.” He leaned against the bathroom doorframe, his hard body something that I’d only seen in scandalous messages from Veronica. Broad chest with dusky nipples, washboard abs, and the ‘V’ leading down to his semi-hard cock. I gawked for a moment, unable to help myself. It was thick, almost unbelievably so. Prying my eyes away, I stared at the space above his head.

“I saw that, Camille.” His smirk twisted my insides.

“You didn’t see anything.”

“You can deny me all you want, but I know you feel it, too.” He rubbed his chest over his heart. “For the longest time, I actually thought I was suffering from acid reflux. Every time I saw you and had to let you go, I felt it. Like a pit of lava that was burning me from the inside out. No amount of meds could stop the ache. Only one thing did—you. Just being near you. The feeling is gone and something else lives there, something that fills me up and leaves me needing more of you. Always more.”

I kicked my chin up and kept my tone cold. “That’s cute.”

He winced, and what could have been pain flashed across his eyes. Then it was gone. I’d been cruel, and for once, I was glad. Whatever unhappiness he felt was nothing compared to the ocean of sorrow he’d drowned me in.

“Get in here.” He turned and disappeared through the door.

I followed, dragging the blanket behind me. The bathroom was huge, every surface covered in gray and white marble. Chandeliers burned above a whirlpool tub that looked as though it could fit at least six people. Iridescent tiles created a sea mosaic behind it, the blues swirling as they rushed toward a sparkling shore.

A woman flashed across the mirror. I stopped, then blinked hard. It wasn’t a woman. It was me.

“You dyed my hair?” I plucked up a lock of blonde hair and gaped at it.

“Had to.” His voice came from somewhere deeper in the bathroom. “Just in case.”

“Just in case what?” For the first time since I’d arrived, I was fuming. I’d never dyed my hair, not so much as touched it with even temporary color. The woman in the mirror was foreign, though her blue eyes sparkled against the backdrop of honey-colored waves.

“In case someone gets a glimpse of you or a photo gets snapped.” Dressed in a pair of boxers, he walked from a darkened room next to the bath and across to another doorway. “I didn’t want to do it. I love your hair as is, but it was the smart move. If it makes you feel any better, I hired one of the best colorists in the city. He came out, and I told him you had an intense fear of hair stylists and had to be sedated to get your hair done.” He flicked the light on and waved me over. “I got the feeling it wasn’t even close to the weirdest story he’d ever heard.”

“But it was mine.” Seeing myself changed, transformed into his captive, broke a piece of my heart. I leaned on the vanity, trying to right myself in this strange new world.

“It was necessary, or I wouldn’t have done it.”

“You had no right.” My vision blurred as more tears tried to force their way to the surface.

He sighed. “We’ll both get used to it, and once things settle down, we’ll change it back.”

“We?” My voice was hoarse, empty.

“Yes. From now on. Now come here. I want to show you something.”

I ripped my gaze away from the stranger in the mirror. The warm tile failed to heat me as I edged toward him. I stopped in the doorway and stared around at the clothes and accessories hanging or folded on all sides. A rack of shoes ran along the back of the closet. More shoes than a department store in neat rows. Heels, flats, trainers, boots—everything one person could ever need, all brand new. Toward the top, I noticed a few sets of shoes that didn’t quite match the shine of the rest.

I walked forward as he leaned against a high set of drawers, the wood a soft honey color. “These are mine.” Reaching up, I ran my hand along a pair of flats that I often wore to school.

“Everything in here is yours. I also had all your personal items brought along. Your medications, birth control, feminine items, cosmetics—all in your cabinets next to your sink. I didn’t collect all your clothes, just the ones fitting the season. We can get the rest later.”

I turned and found several items of my clothes hanging on the rack to my right. Mixed in were new clothes. Pulling the tag down, I checked the nearest shirt. My size. I pulled another tag. My size. One look at the shoes told me they were all close to my size. The clothes were similar to the sorts of colors I’d choose for myself. It was as if he already knew what was in my cottage closet, then multiplied it and added designer tags.

“If you don’t like these things, we can donate them and get you whatever you like.”

My knees went weak as I realized how serious this was, how serious he was. The blood drained from my face, and I couldn’t catch my breath. My hair, the clothes, all of it—he truly intended to keep me prisoner forever.

“Camille.” He gripped my elbow before I hit the floor.

“Can’t—breathe.” Darkness encroached on the edges of my vision. The blanket slid to my hips, pooling there as he pulled me close.

His arms encircled my back like steel bars molding to me.

“Don’t.” I tried to push away, but he held me tight.

“Shh.” He stroked my hair with one hand while keeping his other arm around my waist. “It’s difficult right now, but it won’t always be like this.”

“Please.” I pressed my cheek to his chest, his skin warm despite the coldness inside him. “Just let me go home.”

He kissed the crown of my head. “You are home.”