When Sin comes in this time, he makes no attempt at stealth. I’m annoyed with him for tying me to the bed before he left, so I shoot him a dirty look as soon as I see his face.

Instead of the smirk he favors, he smiles at me again, leaning against the doorframe. The sight of his smile unsettles me the same way it did last time. There’s an almost playful glint in his eye as he leans there, his gaze wandering over my body. When his brown eyes land on my cuffs, his smile widens.

I shift, trying to sit up, but because of where he’s standing and the fact that I’m still wearing this dress, I don’t want to move my legs too much and give him an eyeful.

“Can you get these off me now?” I ask.

Pushing off the frame, he strolls over to my side of the bed. His eyes aren’t on me; they’re on my night stand. “I don’t know,” he says, almost absently as he picks up my phone. “I sorta like you tied to my bed.”

I wasn’t completely prepared for that, so I don’t know what to say. I’m also not sure what to say about him checking my phone right now like it belongs to him. “There’s this thing called privacy,” I tell him. “Want me to tell you about it?”

Now I get the little smirk. “I know about privacy.” He flashes me the screen. “Your sister wants to know why you’re ignoring her calls.”

“Tell her a maniac in Vegas has me chained to his bed periodically, and I need her to send help.”

“Spotty reception,” he reads aloud as he types. “Call you later.” Second guessing himself, he glances at me. “Exclamation? Smiley face? Pointless l-o-l?”

Cocking an eyebrow in disbelief, I inform him, “I am not going to give you tips on how to fake texts from me.”

“Dolphin emoji it is.”

“What?” I demand. “How does that make sense?”

“I don’t know, it’s in your recently used icons, not mine.” Putting the phone down, he says, “Nothing from Rafe.”

I roll my eyes. “Broken heart emoji. Crying emoji. Coffin emoji.”

“Coffin emoji?”

“For ‘I’m going to die alone,’” I explain.

“You’re weird,” Sin tells me, but he says it like it’s a good thing.

“I’m aware of that,” I answer.

Now that he’s sated his desire to go through my phone, he peels off his jacket. That’s acceptable. It gets a little less acceptable when he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“Um, what are you doing?” I ask, jerking on my chain. “I need out of these.”

“Is it hot in here? I’m hot,” he answers, peeling off his shirt and dropping it on the ground.

I watch the fabric fall, hoping he at least keeps his pants on. It’s so much harder to remember he’s my captor when he takes off his clothes. “It’s not… No, it’s comfortable in here right now. Is something wrong with you?” I ask, noticing he’s acting a little off. I don’t know what he left to do, but I think he’s acting funny.

“Lots,” he answers, putting a knee on the bed and climbing across me to get over to his side.

I nearly object to him climbing on top of me when he could have easily walked around to his own side of the bed, but then I catch a whiff of alcohol and it all clicks into place. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not entirely sober,” he admits, collapsing on the bed beside me and grabbing a pillow to cover his face with.

I can’t quite stifle a smile. “Oh, my. Can you uncuff me before you pass out, please? I’ve been stuck here all day.”

Removing the pillow, he looks up at me. His eyes narrow, but it seems more playful than legitimately annoyed. “So you can escape? I don’t think so.”

“I promise I won’t try to escape. I’ll go grab us both bottles of water, hit the bathroom, and come right back,” I tell him.

“Why would you bring me water?”

“Because you have clearly been drinking. Alcohol dehydrates the body. You need extra water to replenish.”

Sin shakes his head, watching my face. “Why do you care? I’m your kidnapper, for Christ’s sake.”

“Well, sure, but you’re a reasonable kidnapper. You feed me, keep me company, and uncuff me sometimes. Speaking of which…” I rattle my chain again.

“Why wouldn’t you run? I’m slightly compromised right now; if you were going to run, this would be a good time.”

“I don’t need to run. You have to let me leave soon anyway. I’ve done everything you asked. I stayed the night in Vegas—”

“Because I handcuffed you to my bed.”

“—I agreed to talk to Rafe—”

“But then you made me text him from your phone.”

“—I have been a cooperative, well-mannered hostage,” I summarize. “Consequently, it’s pretty much time for the crazy train to coast into the station and let me off. It’s been an interesting trip, but I do have a life to get back to.”

“I’m not letting you go yet,” he says, like it’s just that simple. Like it’s his decision to make. “I need a little more time.”

“I’m starting to feel like this is an excuse, and a bad one. If you need time, I need to know what it’s for. Also, we need to come up with a much better system than handcuffing me to the bed every time you have to leave the house, because this is getting old fast.”

“You don’t like the cuffs?” he asks, raising up and looking over at them. “I like the cuffs.”

“I like having the freedom to move as I please,” I inform him.

“Overrated,” he assures me. “Just lie there like a good little hostage and be quiet.” Now he puts the pillow back over his face.

Okay then. So, my captor is shit-faced and not terribly helpful right now. I try to lie here quietly, but I’m bored. I’ve been stuck in this bed for hours by myself, and now that he’s here, I want to talk.

Poking him in the leg with my foot, since my hands are tied, I ask, “Why are you drunk this early, anyway?”

“Rafe wanted to get drinks.”

“Oh. You were out with him?”

He just told me he was, so he doesn’t bother repeating himself. I can’t help feeling a little awkward about it. Rafe didn’t seem to know I was still in Vegas earlier, and I don’t understand what Sin’s end game is. He keeps saying he needs more time, but he doesn’t explain why. Time for what? I’m not involved in anything here, so the only thing I can come up with is he’s worried I’ll get an abortion if he lets me leave. Whatever his reasons, he clearly does not approve of that plan. I remember Vince wasn’t a big fan either, when I asked him about this. Maybe it’s a Morelli thing. Carly said they’re not terribly progressive where women are concerned, but it seems odd that Sin would take it upon himself to guard a pregnancy he has no stake in. I mean, the man has literally imprisoned me in his bedroom. I doubt he even enjoys my company, since he seems to prefer quiet and solitude—ironically, the two things he would never have if he were the one faced with single parenthood. I should point that out. He’s a major hypocrite.

“You know what? If you’re set on keeping me prisoner until I decide to go through with this pregnancy, I have a proposition for you. How about I let you adopt? You can be a single dad. Say goodbye to sleeping through the night and quiet, say hello to messes everywhere and ‘I’m hungry’ every five minutes of every single day.”

Removing the pillow again, he pushes it off to the side and looks over at me. “I know kids aren’t quiet. I’m the one who likes quiet, not you. You’ll be fine without it. You never shut up.”

“That’s not true. I like peace and quiet just as much as the next person. In fact, I need it to study. I can’t concentrate if people are being noisy all around me—it’s the worst part of having a roommate. I hoped I would luck out and get one who would never be home, but nope.”

“Male or female roommate?”

“Female.”

“Tell her if she doesn’t shut up, you’ll chain her to her bed.”

I crack a smile at his antisocial problem-solving techniques. “I don’t think that threat would be quite as effective coming from me. Wanna come to Chicago and issue it for me?”

He glances at my mouth before resuming eye contact. “Maybe. What kind of payment would I get for it?”

It’s the strangest thing, but I feel like he’s flirting with me when he says that. It’s probably the alcohol loosening him up. Only I haven’t consumed any, and I have the craziest urge to flirt back. “I don’t know, what kind of payment would you want?”

His gaze leaves my face, none too subtly drifting down my body. It’s strange watching interest flash across his features, knowing that despite my attempts to keep things light-hearted, I am completely at this man’s mercy. No one knows where I am—not even Rafe. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming to Las Vegas in the first place. It also seems like Sin probably isn’t a man who gets a lot of visitors. Realistically, he could probably keep me here for a while before anyone got suspicious, and once they did, they would never know to look for me here.

That’s an unsettling epiphany.

He has let me keep my phone charged though, so as long as he does that, I should be okay. Phones can be tracked, right? If he keeps me here longer than a week and never lets me explain my disappearance to Carly, she’s going to realize something is wrong. I wouldn’t just evaporate into thin air. In no feasible scenario would I walk away from the only family I know and never talk to her again. All she really has to do is start prodding Vince. If he tells her about the “assignment” I interrogated him about, she’ll put two and two together. She’ll know Rafe is the only possible man who could have knocked me up, and…

Actually, I don’t want to think beyond that. Vince isn’t allowed to step foot in Vegas without Rafe’s permission, and if he does, he’s dead. Even though Vince was born to this family, he doesn’t have the same connections as the others—not anymore. All his bridges have been burned. It would literally kill him to ask Mateo for help, and even if he asked, now that Rafe and Mateo are friendly and Vince has nothing his evil cousin wants, there’s little chance Mateo would help him.

Although if it made Mateo curious enough, he might call Rafe and ask a few questions. Maybe Rafe would care that I’m missing and look into it. Probably not. Bastard.

If he did though, Rafe would know Sin is the last person I was with before I disappeared. One way or another, this has to end soon. If Sin doesn’t let me go within a week, the world will begin to notice and this arrangement will come to an end.

A week isn’t so long.

Even as I’m considering exactly how much captivity I’ll have to endure, my captor’s gaze rakes over my body. I remember how I felt out with Rafe last night—inferior to the Barbies he paid attention to, several leagues below him. That wasn’t the way I wanted to feel around a man, so I should probably be glad he behaved like such an asshole. Once he got me alone, who knows if I would have been able to hold onto my brain? I sure hadn’t last time. Rafe would make me miserable, but when he takes control of my body I can’t seem to remember that.

This feels nice, though. It shouldn’t, all things considered, but Sin isn’t looking at me like I’m one woman in a crowd. Right now I feel like the only woman. Even last night, I felt like the only woman. He wasn’t checking out the trio of scantily clad ladies who approached our table; he was more interested in eating his steak and harassing me.

I don’t like playboys like Rafe.

I do like loners like Sin.

Fuck, I have bad judgment when it comes to these Morelli men. Apparently that extends to associates. I don’t know what it is about them; I’m not like this with normal guys. I’ve gone on lots of dates with ordinary guys and left the evening bored and worrying about my sexuality. Sometimes I would leave date number six not even wanting to kiss the guy. My roommate calls me a prude, for pete’s sakes. Clearly, she just needs to hang out with me when I’m around dangerous criminals, then she’ll see I’m no prude.

I’m attracted to the man who chains me to his bed—and not even in a kinky way.

Sin is not my type in any practical way, though. Yes, on a physical level I am wildly attracted to his sexy, tattooed body, and on a crazy level, I am intrigued by this dangerous loner thing he has going on, but the man is openly oppressive. He clearly doesn’t care what I want or take my desires into account about anything. He pushes me to talk to Rafe even though I don’t want to, he kidnaps me so I can’t make a choice about my own pregnancy, he tricks me into missing my flight home and cuffs me to his bed because I won’t go along with his offer to put me up in a hotel. I can handle a domineering personality as long as I know I’m ultimately respected, but Sin seems to have no regard for my preferences.

Okay, I’m starting to remember why he’s bad.

There’s also the teeny tiny fact that my whole life is back east, so even if I ignored all that sound logic and our utter incompatibility, our lives are impossible to intertwine.

The most I could have with Sin would be a vacation hook-up. While I’ll admit to being attracted to him and curious about what the sex would be like, I’ve already been in this position once before. I already did the vacation hook-up with a dangerous stranger, and it holds much less appeal now that I’ve watched that one crash and burn. I told myself—and my sister—that I was just going to let loose and have a few days of harmless fun with Rafe back in Chicago, and look where that landed me.

So much fucking fun.

No, there’s no such thing with these men. They can’t give you no-strings fun; they’re made of fucking strings, and tumbling into bed with one means you get all tied up with them—in my case, very literally.

Thankfully, Sin never answers me. He dropped the line, I took the bait, and instead of reeling me in, he just looked me over until I finished eating the whole worm.

Now the moment has passed and I have reclaimed my brain, processing and dumping the terrible idea of indulging this ill-fated attraction. Clearing my throat to get his attention, I flash him a straight face and pull on my cuffs. “Take these off, please. I need to go pee.”