Dear Inner Voice (i.e. Internet Journal)

Day 9 in captivity: My internship with Advertising Sultan Services is going great. I now know how to operate three different coffee machines and have two paper cuts. My Powerpoint skills are coming in handy. I’ve also discovered the joy of street meat, but my bigger problem is the meat at home. Forget I said that.

The warden here is very kind and handsome, and allows me freedom in the kitchen. I get the feeling he eats out a lot. I can’t help feeling like he’s watching me, though. I get this weird feeling in my stomach when he’s around, or when he’s not around and I think about him.

Like last night, I had a bath in Nathan’s soaker tub. I got to day dreaming about him and the way those green eyes darken when he’s annoyed with me… and I touched myself. I gave myself the hiccups trying to hold in my moans when I came. I had to suffer an hour of Nathan’s suggested hiccup remedies. When he suggested hanging me upside down, I stopped breathing long enough to get rid of them.

Now all I can think about is his version of the Red Room of Pain—the Murphy Bed of Merinthophobia. Yeah, I looked it up. I’m not really that scared of being tied up. But I think he’s scared of being tied down.

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“What are you doing?”

“Making cookies.” I lay the hot cookie sheet on top of the professional grade range that had probably never been used. What a waste.

“At six in the morning?”

Nathan yawned, and when I turned around he was eyeing the first batch on the island, his bare, rippled chest almost as hot as the snickerdoodles. I leaned over to see if he wasn’t totally naked. No, he was wearing a pair of basketball shorts, dammit.

I fanned myself with the oven mitt. God, I had to get over this attraction. I blamed the heat of the city, but any way you looked at it, it was just weird to feel this way about a family member. Kinship by marriage is still kinship, right?

“You know,” Nathan said around a mouthful of already cooled cookie, “you don’t need to keep buttering me up.”

Oh god. My brain just went to a really dirty place.

“Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate this.” He went for a second cookie. “But you don’t need to clean the apartment—I have a cleaning lady for that. And you don’t need to do my laundry.”

I blinked. Was it so wrong to want to see his underwear? God knows he had to put up with mine hanging around while it dried. It was only fair.

Okay, I didn’t need to make him a bag lunch for the day, but on days when I decided to make one for myself, it was just as easy to make it for both of us.

“Did you talk to your dad?” I asked.

“Nope.”

My chest caved in. Without Benny’s backup, I might have to look for a hostel with a secure locker for the rest of the summer. Shit. I took a deep, shaky breath and turned back to the oven.

Nathan rounded the island and came to stand beside me. We both stared at the cookie sheet, the smell of sugar and cinnamon curling up to us. “Zoe,” he said gently, “this is not a good idea.”

“You prefer chocolate chip.”

“I mean you staying here.”

Oh. “I know.” I pouted.

At least I was already dressed for work, and mostly still packed. I’d been living out of my suitcase in Nathan’s den. He got me a fancy air mattress that was more comfy than any bed I ever had in the dorm. Gajillion thread-count sheets made a big difference, too. I’d miss those sheets most of all. Well, second most.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to quell my goosebumps in the blue sleeveless sheath dress I wore.

“But…”

My head snapped back to look up at Nathan.

He searched my gaze, then reached out to rub his hands up and down my upper arms. “You’re cold.”

“But…?” I echoed. His touch left a layer of fire on my skin.

He stopped rubbing, but his hands remained on me. Another ripple of awareness went through me. “But what kind of brother would I be if I threw you out into the cold?”

I laughed. “It’s eighty degrees outside.”

“Metaphorically speaking.”

“You mean I can stay?” I was already bouncing up and down on my toes with anticipation.

“I suppose,” he sighed.

I’d like to say that I just shook his hand to thank him like the sophisticated new professional I was trying to be, but who was I kidding? I jumped him. Only my narrow dress stopped me from wrapping my legs around his waist.

I’d only hugged him once before, on the first night, but it was like he’d imprinted on my muscle memory. Immediately I recognized the awareness flooding me at his smell, the feel of his hard body against mine. The difference was that this time, we were skin to skin in more places.

It was like getting a shock of static electricity when my face nuzzled his bare chest. His abs tightened as my hands went around his waist. When I whispered my thanks, his brown nipples visibly hardened in reaction.

“You’re welcome,” he breathed into my ear.

Damn. Six-thirty in the morning, and I had to change my panties already. Maybe he was letting me stay out of the kindness of his heart, but I wasn’t feeling very sisterly toward him. It wasn’t the big, bad city that I was afraid of swallowing me up—it was Nathan.

As though he’d read my mind, he gently pushed me back and retreated to behind the island again. He dragged his hand through his messy bedhead hair. It already looked like sex hair, and his finger combing didn’t make it less so.

“But there are rules,” he warned me.

I smoothed out my expression, nodding. “Of course. Anything.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin. “Anything, huh?”

Heart. Stop. Beating. Mouth dry. Panties not.

His thoughtful hum vibrated through my belly, and lower. “Nathan…”

“No loud parties. No smoking. No animals. No drugs. No drinking.”

Suddenly I felt like I was fifteen being left alone at home for the first time. I wanted to roll my eyes, but the look on his face told me he was completely serious.

“Do I have a curfew too, Dad?” I put my hands on my hips.

“I’m not your father.” He scowled. “Thank god,” he muttered.

Hey, what was that supposed to mean?

“But if you’re going to be home later than midnight, I’d appreciate a text so I don’t worry.”

That seemed fair, so I said as much.

He rubbed his hand over the morning stubble on his jaw. “I’ll, uh, clean out a drawer or two in my room for your stuff. There isn’t room in the den for a new dresser. And I’ll make some space in my closet as well.”

A pained look flashed over his face. I was probably the first woman in history to be awarded a drawer from Nathan Brownlow.

“There’s always the hanging space in the, uh, Den of Iniquity.”

“Zoe!”