Her golden strands tickled along my arm, each sweet exhale from her lips breathing new life into me.

She’d perched along the edge of the bed at the start of the night, refusing to succumb to her fatigue. Eventually, though, her body had given up and fallen into a deep sleep. Over the course of the night, I’d moved closer to her, invading her space and watching her chest rise and fall beneath the blanket. It was torture to keep my hands off her, but I managed it…barely. My self-control was hanging by a thread by the time the sun peeked through the windows, giving the room a warm glow despite the dropping temperatures outside.

I risked running my fingers along her smooth brow, pushing some stray strands from her face. She sighed and rolled toward me, her eyes still closed. Her palm rested on my bicep, her forehead pressing against my shoulder.

My body heated—her touch was like a shot of adrenaline, waking up every part of me until I was aware of her every movement, no matter how slight. Her slow pulse was like a lullaby, each beat of her heart an even sweeter note than the last. But I couldn’t sleep when what I wanted was so close.

Slowly, I rolled to my side so that we were facing each other. Her eyes moved behind her pale lids, then stopped. Taking a deep breath, she settled against me, her lips grazing my chest and her smooth knee pressing against my thigh. Her sweet scent tantalized me, silently urged me to touch her, to take what I wanted. But that was a sure way to fuck this whole thing up. She would give me everything she had, but only after I’d earned her trust. Given the fact that I’d imprisoned her, trust would be hard to come by.

All my logical calculations were spot on, my hypothesis beyond reasonable. But none of these considerations sated my need to feel her. Moving as gently as possible, I eased my hand beneath the blanket until I made contact with the thin t-shirt material along her waist. She was warm, and I could only imagine how heated her skin would turn beneath my hand. Oh fuck. Or my mouth.

Sliding my hand lower, I stilled when my palm met her soft skin where the t-shirt had ridden up. Just that little bit of contact sent my mind spinning, and my cock pointed at her like a dog on a fox’s scent. Neither it nor I would be satisfied this morning. Not by her, anyway. It didn’t stop me from moving my hand lower, the waistline of her smooth panties teasing me. I knew what lay beneath, the delicious parts of her that I’d yet to taste. My mouth watered at the thought, but I kept my hand in place.

A cost-benefit analysis came down hard on the cost side of the equation at this point. Trust, I reminded myself, was the real end game. The rest would come along with it.

“You don’t intend to marry this girl, right?” Dad sat back in his usual leather chair, a book open on his lap. The cavernous library dwarfed him, though it was his favorite room at our house in the Catskills.

“No.” I sank onto the sofa across from him.

“But you two hit it off?” He seemed a little too interested. Almost optimistic.

“Not quite.”

He peered at me over his reading glasses. “Then why do you want to date her?”

“Date? No.” I shook my head. “I just want to have sex with her.”

Dad closed his book and took his time placing it on the small table next to him. The fire hissed through the grate, and Dad cleared his throat. “Don’t you think maybe, ah…” He took a deep breath, the skin next to his eyes crinkling like a paper bag, and tried again. “You’re only seventeen, son. I’m not sure this is a good idea. There’s pregnancy to worry about, diseases—”

“I’ve thought about all that.” I stretched one arm along the back of the sofa, my body still gangly, but filling out enough for several girls in the nearby town to notice me. “I bought condoms.”

“When?”

“When I was in town today.”

“Okay.” He shifted in his seat, though he didn’t seem any more comfortable once he stilled. “So, how long have you known this girl?”

“I don’t know her at all.”

A wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows. “So, what makes you think she wants to, to…” He cleared his throat again.

“She looked at me when I was walking to my car, then whispered to her friend, and they laughed.” Obvious. I’d gone right to the drug store at the end of the block and bought a box of condoms.

“Son, that’s just something girls do. It doesn’t mean that she wants to be in a relationship with you.”

He still wasn’t getting it. “Dad, I don’t want a relationship. I just want to have sex with her. That’s all. I’ve been wanting to have sex for a while, and I finally found a girl who’ll do. Based on the way she was dressed, I’d say she comes from a middle class to lower middle class family. She was clearly impressed with my car, and by extension, me. She enjoyed her friends’ approval, given their whispering and laughter, so she’ll be swayed by their opinion of me, which I will ensure is favorable. All I have to do is express a mutual interest in her, buy her a few gifts, and flirt with her in front of her friends, and she’ll be ready to give me what I want. She’s an excellent opportunity for practice.”

He stared at me and blinked a few times, as if the correct way to continue his conversation with me was written on the inside of his eyelids like a “how to raise a psychopath” cheat sheet.

“Dad, I’m ready.” I tried a conciliatory tone. “I think about girls…well, their parts, all the time. I jerk off at least twice a—”

He held a hand up to silence me. “That’s plenty. And I understand all that, son. I was a teenager once myself.” His brows lowered. “But, what did you mean when you said ‘parts’ right then?”

I cocked my head to the side. “Their pussies mostly. Tits, too.”

“But attached to them, of course. Right?” He acted nonchalant, but it wasn’t the first time he’d asked me some softball serial killer questions.

“Yes, Dad. I’m not into dismemberment. I haven’t even ordered a Fleshlight. That’s what I’m saying. I want the real thing.”

“Fleshlight? What’s that?”

I held an imaginary Fleshlight in my hand and centered it over my crotch. “It’s this sort of tube that you can stick your di—”

“Okay. I follow.” He seemed to grow more uncomfortable by the second. “You want to have sex. That makes sense at your age. I don’t like it, but it was bound to happen sometime.” His expression softened. “You’re turning into a man right in front of me. Your mom would be so proud.” He laughed. “Well, she might not have been so proud of your Fleshlight knowledge, but the rest of it—great grades, stellar extracurriculars, and a future in the Ivy League. You’ve grown up better than I could have hoped.”

Something twinged inside me, like a rubber band snapping against my ribs. “You seem surprised.”

He shrugged. “Just honest. I’ve done the best I could, but kids don’t come with a manual. And you? You’re a one-of-a-kind, so definitely no manual.”

The rubber band inside me stretched tight again. “I never want to disappoint you.”

“You don’t. Never have.” He scooted forward, to the edge of his seat. “But there’s still a problem with your plan to woo this girl.”

I let the “wooing” comment go. “What’s the problem?”

“Women don’t act like you just described.” He scratched the gray stubble on his cheek. “Things would be a lot easier if they did.”

“No? How do they act, then?” I matched his posture, leaning forward. “What do I need to do to reach this goal?” He’d always taught me to set goals for myself. This was just another one.

“A woman can’t be a goal.” His tone was explanatory, but his words didn’t make sense to me. “Not the way we’ve used that term.”

“Why not? I’ve laid out a clear plan of how to achieve what I want. This girl will have sex with me if I do the things I just said. That’s the plan.”

He wrung his hands. “I’m not sure how to explain this.”

“Why not?” I’d never had a problem getting help from him before.

“This is different.”

“How?”

“It just is.” His tone changed, took on a note of irritation—one that was new to me. “Women are tough to read, especially in the context you’re looking at.”

“Are you mad?” I never wanted to upset him. He was my one true ally.

He sighed and dropped his gaze. “No, it’s just that I don’t want you to get in trouble, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to help you while at the same time give you some room to grow up. I just don’t want you to treat this girl like a goal.” He caught my eye again. “Like something to overcome. Do you understand?”

Though reading between the lines wasn’t my forte, I understood what Dad was trying to say for once. “Dad, I’d never do anything without her consent.”

He nodded. “Good. That’s…good. But you’re so young—”

“How old were you when you had sex for the first time?”

He coughed. “That, ah, that doesn’t matter.”

I smiled. “Younger than me, huh?”

He waved a hand at me and sat back, his papery cheeks turning pink even at his age. “None of your business, young man.”

The tension eased in the room, and I could tell from the way he pressed the tips of his index fingers together that he intended to help me. Classic Dad tell.

“So, what is my plan missing?”

“God, this brings up some old memories.” He almost smiled, and a cocky glint shone in his eyes. “Or as I used to call them—strategies.”

Now that was a word I could get behind. “Did they work?”

A full-blown smile lit his face in the orange glow from the fireplace. “I landed the prettiest woman in the state of New York, your mother, so I would damn well say so.”

That must be what love looks like. I made a note of the warmth that suffused him when he remembered my mother and catalogued it away in my mental filing cabinet. That look meant love. Check.

I was more than ready to learn the ways of women. “So, what’s the strategy?”

“It’ll seem simple when I tell you.” He chuckled. “But I promise you it isn’t. The one thing you absolutely must have before you bed a woman? Trust.”

I pulled my hand away from Camille, though it took all the willpower I possessed—quite a considerable amount. I rolled onto my back, jostling her the slightest bit as I put a narrow strip of space between us, though her hand still lay on my bicep.

Her eyes fluttered open. She jerked back, withdrawing her hand from me as if burned.

“You touched me.” I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.

“I was asleep.” She yanked the blanket up and tucked it under her chin. “I could have cozied up to a porcupine when I was unconscious.”

“But you didn’t. You cozied up to me.”

She popped her head up and scanned the area behind me. “Because you’re on my side of the bed. You creeped over here while I slept.”

“Maybe, but you’re the one groping my arm in your sleep.”

“Let me go and you won’t have to worry about it.”

“And miss this friendly morning banter?” I tucked my hands behind my head. “Certainly not.”

“Ugh.” She pulled the sheet over her head.

“How’s your ankle?”

“Stiff.”

You and me both. “How about a warm bath?”

“With you?” Her scoff was muffled by the fabric. “No way.”

“With me would be nice, but I assumed that was a no.” I rose and walked into the bathroom. “I’ll run you a bath. I have something to take care of in the shower.”

She grumbled something unintelligible into the sheet. I hadn’t jumped her like I wanted, and I wasn’t even going to insist on bathing with her.

Trust. I’d get it. And once I did, I’d take my time and savor her.

I checked Camille’s messages as Rita served breakfast. My eyes almost rolled when I read the message from poor little Minton Baxter.

Mint Baxter: Did I do something wrong?

How would Camille respond? I was glad I only had to keep up the texting for a few more weeks before Camille had her “accident” in the Amazon. A quick web search told me the name of an endangered plant that would get Mint off Camille’s back.

Camille Briarlane: No. I’m busy researching Epipogium Aphyllum. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I’ll have much cell service for the rest of the trip. We’ll talk when I return.

I fired off the text, quite pleased with myself for including the rare plant reference. Continuing through her messages, I kept up the ruse.

Veronica Singer: Any hot guys on the expedition? I miss you. If there’s a hot one, bring him home with you. And where are my pics? You promised pics of exotic shit. Pay up.

Camille Briarlane: I dropped my phone and cracked the lens, so I can’t take any pics. Everything here is great. I miss you too.

Link Stewart: I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I can’t wait for you to get back. You’ve only been gone a few days, but it feels longer. Everyone is getting into the Christmas spirit, but without you, I’m not feeling it. Send me some pics when you can. I’d appreciate something a little more risqué than plants, though. I love you.

Camille Briarlane: I don’t sext. We’ve set up a Christmas tree in the main tent here. Very festive. I’m really feeling the Christmas spirit. In fact, this may be the best Christmas ever. The expedition is going deep into the forest over the next week, so communication will be spotty.

A smile crept across my face as I fired off that little missive to Link the prick.

“Why are you smiling like you just drowned a kitten?” Camille sipped her coffee as Rita bustled around us with plates.

I shrugged as Rita set a glass of orange juice in front of me. “That creeper sloth meme gets me every time.”

She arched a brow. “Sure.” She muttered something like a curse under her breath, then spoke up, “Are you going to work tomorrow?”

“Of course.” I fucking hated it. The thought of leaving her was like a burr under my skin.

“I’m going to stay here?”

“Yes.” I took a vicious bite of bacon as I imagined her here without me.

“That’s a relief.” She settled into her chair and gave me a sassy smile. “A whole week without you sounds great.”

“Oh, darling Camille.” I returned her smile. “I’m taking the helicopter to and from the city all week. I’ll be home in time for dinner. And certainly in plenty of time for bed.”

Her smile faltered as Rita placed a plate of apple streusel pancakes in front of her. “Maybe you could take me to the city with you.” Her hopeful tone played like sweet notes in my ears.

I drained my coffee. “No.”

Her eyes fell, and she retreated inside herself.

The heartburn kicked up a notch, but I pushed past it. “Eat up. I have something else to show you today.”

“I’m not hungry.” She pushed her plate away.

“Don’t be that way. Rita made those pancakes special for you.”

She canted her head to the side and stared at the plate. Realization bloomed across her face. “These look just like Friar’s pancakes.”

“Your favorite.” I pushed the plate closer to her. “Give them a taste.”

“You can’t buy me off with my favorite foods.”

“I don’t intend to. I just want to make you happy.”

Her brow crinkled as if my words were distasteful to her. Yes, I understood that letting her go would make her the happiest at that moment. But what she didn’t understand yet was that I was the only one who could make her happy for the rest of her life. Why was that so hard for her to see?

“At least try them. For Rita.” I shot a look toward the door to the kitchen.

“You can’t keep using Rita against me.” Despite her words, she picked up her fork and ate a bite. Her eyes closed as she chewed. “These are so good.”

Rita pushed back into the room, a fresh carafe of coffee in her hand. “Everything all right?”

“Perfect.” Camille took another bite. “Thank you.”

“I’m so glad you like them.” She poured fresh coffee. “The recipe called for Granny Smith apples, but I used the sweeter Ambrosia variety. I hope that didn’t throw it off.”

“They’re better than Friar’s.” Camille said and wiped her mouth with her napkin in her singularly adorable way.

Rita beamed. “I’m glad.”

After Camille ate almost all her pancakes and finished another cup of coffee under Rita’s watchful eye, she declared herself full and thanked Rita again. She turned to me. “What did you want to show me? The well where you keep the lotion?”

“Your knowledge of movies starring psychopaths says more about you than me.” I reached out to brush a crumb from her chin, but she smacked my hand away and did it herself. “Just show me already.”

“As you wish.” I stood and offered to help her up.

“I got it.” She rose and tested her ankle.

When she winced, I stepped closer. “I’ll carry you.”

“No. I’m fine. I need to use it for it to feel better.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

She gave me a strange look. One I couldn’t quite place. Confusion, perhaps, given the vein in her right temple pulsed a bit more quickly than usual. “I’m fine.”

“Can I at least help you—”

“No. Just lead on. I’ll follow.” She gestured toward the hallway.

“All right.” I sauntered ahead of her, walking slowly so she wouldn’t struggle to keep up. I wished she would have just let me carry her. If she hurt, I wanted it to be from my hands—the sort of hurt she’d enjoy. She wouldn’t admit it, but I could feel the heat in her touch, the warmth in her gaze. I recognized a piece of myself inside her, and thankfully, it was a piece with darkened edges.

We passed Timothy coming from the back hall.

“We good?” I asked.

“Everything’s ready.” He nodded and flattened his back to the wall as we passed.

“What’s ready?” Camille shuffled along next to me.

“You’ll see.” My palms turned clammy and began to sweat as we turned down the corridor that ran along the back of the house. What if she didn’t like what I had in store?

I pushed through the music room that ran under the opposite wing of the house and stopped. “This next thing is…” I coughed. “It’s my best approximation of what you would want. Don’t expect excellence right away. But with your guidance on what you’d prefer, I will make it perfect for you.”

A soft look passed across her eyes again before her jaw tightened and she shook her head. “Just show me already.”

“All right.” I took a deep breath and pushed the heavy mahogany door open.

She stepped inside and gasped.