Aimee’s soft moans drifted through the house, making Trace’s cock already harder than it had been after their kiss.

Jesus.

To focus on something other than what she was doing behind the closed door, he recited the alphabet backward.

Fuck.

The fact that she was masturbating drove him mad. Protecting the professor’s seriously hot body had just become one of his most difficult assignments ever. He’d never been this attracted to a client.

If they’d met under different circumstances, he might want to introduce her to BDSM. Then again, maybe not.

He tossed back the sheet and dropped to the floor to do push-ups.

The women he scened with knew the score. They were experienced players and had similar no-strings-attached expectations. They liked the thrill as much as he did.

But Aimee, despite her blasé attitude, was an innocent.

Since he made it a point not to play with anyone new, that shouldn’t appeal to him. But fuck if he didn’t want to be the man to introduce her to her more primal desires.

Trace continued to push himself until his arms shook from the exertion. He had no idea how many push-ups he’d done. Counting wasn’t the point. Forgetting how sweet Aimee’s mouth had tasted was.

Finally, she cried out with a slight whimper. She’d climaxed, which should allow him to shove thoughts of her aside so he could go to sleep.

Should.

He continued to drive himself to fatigue. His form sucked, which meant he needed to stop.

Trace returned to the couch and couldn’t settle. Too damn hot, and the couch wasn’t long enough. Until tonight, that hadn’t been a complaint. Through his career, he’d slept in a whole lot worse places—dirt floors, craggy mountains, blanket rolls, camping cots.

After checking the house again, he opted for a quick shower.

The cool Colorado water gushing over him did nothing to diminish his raging erection. And thoughts of what Aimee must have looked like as she slid her fingers—or was it a toy?—across her clit tormented him. He ached to be inside her.

Recalling her sensual moans, he took his cock in hand and stroked up and down, pulling hard, picturing her beneath him. He wanted her whimpers filling his ears. Wanted to devour her cries with his hungry mouth.

In spite of the millions of reasons he needed to think about anything other than Aimee, he closed his eyes and stroked harder.

Then, consumed by her, he ejaculated in long ribbons, her name on his tongue, her image seared into his brain.

With a shake of his head, as if that would clear his mind, Trace rinsed off. Then he toweled dry with more force than necessary.

He pulled on his sleep pants and tugged a T-shirt on. Jacking off hadn’t helped. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Knowing she was next door, all snug in bed, made his dick swell again.

Before leaving the bathroom, Trace raked a hand through his short, damp hair.

Aimee’s door stood ajar. With a frown, he returned to the living room.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she confessed, standing in the living room. A sleep shirt covered her to midthigh, but his imagination filled in the rest.

“You need to go back to bed.” His voice was rough, cut with warning.

“I know.” Yet she stayed where she was, smelling of seduction. “I…uhm…”

He waited.

“About my reading material.” Her expressive blue eyes drew him in. She was all feminine sensuality and softness, awakening the predator inside him.

“Aimee, I’m here for your safety.” This moment, she needed to protect herself from him.

She nodded. “I’m curious. About BDSM.”

Sweet Jesus.

“I mean, from a scholarly perspective. I may want to write an academic paper.”

“An academic paper?”

“Okay. No. That was a lie. A white one, but still. I’m interested because… Well, I’ve wondered. And I have a few questions.”

“And you think I’m the right person to ask?”

“Uh… Did I misunderstand? Do you…?” She flushed.

“Look.” What the hell should he say next? Hoping he wasn’t walking into quicksand, he answered her. “Yeah. I have a fair amount of experience.” He searched her face. “The only thing you want to do is talk?”

“That’s a good place to start.” She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “Right?”

Her hair was tousled, maybe from the way her head had moved against the pillow as she’d pleasured herself. “Could you put a robe on?”

“I thought…” She blinked and looked down at herself. “This is long. Longish, anyway.”

“You’re not nearly covered enough.” A low, menacing growl undercut his voice.

Still, she hesitated.

Trace spoke again, and this time, there was warning mixed with a command. “Go and change, Aimee. Right now.”

Like the smart woman she was, she went back to her room. Foolishly, perhaps, she returned.

Thank God, she was encased in a floor-length robe. Not that it made any difference. “We’ll sit in the dining room.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in that quizzical way he’d come to expect from her. It wasn’t necessarily an argument, but something didn’t make sense to her logical, professorial mind. “The couch is more comfortable.”

Making it far too easy for her to scoot close to him. “I prefer the table.” Instead of arguing, he crossed to the dining room and pulled out a chair for her.

Eureka blinked at them, then closed his eyes again.

“I’ll make tea.”

“You sure caffeine is a good choice?”

“Chamomile. It’s herbal. Soothing.”

He took a seat and watched her fill the electric kettle.

“Can I brew you a cup?”

If it would take away his tension, maybe he should ask for a gallon. Instead, he shook his head.

While the water heated, she took down a tiny cup and matching saucer. No way would his finger fit through the little curlicue handle.

She sat across from him. “Are you a Dom?”

“What’s your understanding of what that means?”

Smoothing back her enticing, mussed hair, Aimee sighed. “You’re supposed to be answering the questions.”

“Sorry.” He gave a halfhearted grin. Her frustration wasn’t funny. “This isn’t a college lecture. There will be nothing academic about this discussion.”

“Well, most of my reading has been fiction, but…” She cleared her throat. “Well, you looked at my bookcase. You know I’ve got a couple of manuals that a friend of mine recommended.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve read about safe, sane, consensual play. And safe words.”

“You have done your research.” Of course she had. “Good.”

She squirmed. “This is making me uncomfortable.”

“It’s your choice of whether to go on or not.” He preferred she didn’t.

“No. I mean, I want to know, and it’s the only way I’ll find out. Right?”

He shrugged.

The kettle shrilled. As if being given a reprieve, she jumped up.

He tracked her as she turned off the heat. Her hand shook as she dumped a tea bag in the cup, then added the hot water.

She carried it back, then took her seat again. Staring into the depths of the cup, she continued. “I know that some people are masochists and others are sadists. Which can be impact play or more than that, right?”

“Please look at me.”

Twin scarlet streaks were painted on her cheekbones. Sweet and tempting.

She cleared her throat and sat up, perhaps like she might in the classroom. “There’s a lot to it. A lot of different kinks, and I guess no two people do it the same.”

“Agreed.”

“For example, some people like light bondage, maybe handcuffs and nothing else. Or blindfolds.” She cleared her throat. “Subs. Slaves. Bottoms. Tops. Masters.” She paused. “Owners. It can be a little confusing.” Her tone was a little distant, as if she wasn’t talking about herself. “My friend and her husband limit scenes to the weekend, and she knows other couples who keep it in the bedroom only. She tells me a number of people just like to go to clubs—or dungeons. I’ve also heard about submissives who are into it because they enjoy the service parts of it.”

“Which applies to you?”

“To…” She pulled the lapels of her robe closer. “Me?”

“Not some hypothetical couple. You, Aimee. When you read, I’m sure you’re drawn to certain things. In your fantasies, what do you like?”

“A lot of different things. I do know that a full-time thing wouldn’t work for me, although…” She picked up the string of her tea bag and dragged it from side to side in a figure-eight motion. When she met his gaze again, her eyes were wide. “I have to confess that I read a fair amount of those kinds of stories.”

“What did you choose earlier this evening?”

“How did you know—”

“I heard you.”

“Oh.” She dropped the string. “I’m going to die. I think I’m going to die.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, especially in light of what we’re talking about. BDSM is about honesty. It’s about trust. You have to be able to tell me anything. And more, you have to face who you are and what you want. Not that you can’t—or won’t—change and evolve, but you’ll never get your needs met unless you’re able to look them in the face and share them, if not with me, then someone else.” On the final word, he clenched his back teeth. Suddenly, he had no intention of letting any other man near her. “You’re safe with me, Aimee. Your body, your mind, your limits. I know it’s hard to admit certain things, but getting what you want comes with risk.”

She pulled out the tea bag and placed it on the saucer. “I was reading a short story. About a duke and a princess.”

“He was the Dom?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.”

“Just checking that she—and by extension, you—were not the Domme.”

“No.” She shook her head in denial. “Absolutely not.”

“Tell me more about it.”

“Well, it was kind of a Taming of the Shrew kind of story. He married her, but she didn’t behave like a proper princess.”

He nodded. “So he used corporal punishment?”

She took a sip of her drink, then took her time swallowing it. “A crop.”

“What kind of experience do you have?”

“None.”

“By none, you mean…what, exactly?”

“I have never had a scene.”

His cock rose demandingly. He did his damn best to ignore it. “No boyfriend, date, has ever tied you up?”

She shook her head.

“Spanking? Even playful?”

Her eyes took on a faraway look. “No.” Pain wove through her admission, and he ached to soothe it away.

He’d been with plenty of masochists and subs, and he’d never probed this deep before. They met, discussed their various kinks and safe words, then made an agreement or wished each other a polite good evening. Aimee was different, and it wasn’t just because he was assigned to her. He wanted to get to know her. “But you’ve wanted to?”

“I had a serious relationship, and I hoped that maybe one day…” She moved the bottom of the cup in little circles in the saucer’s indentation. “I didn’t trust him.”

“He was a boyfriend?” She didn’t need to answer, but he wondered if she would.

“It was more serious than that. Thankfully I managed to get out before the wedding. I’m not sure what would have happened if I had ever given him that kind of power.”

Yet she was talking to him. Fuck if that didn’t make him happy. Stupidly so.

“But I asked about you. If you were a Dom.”

“As you said yourself, it’s complicated. A Top, for sure. That can be used interchangeably with Dom in some people’s eyes.”

“You told me—when we had our first run—that you had a girlfriend. Was BDSM part of that?” She abandoned the cup in favor of looking at him.

“Yeah. For a time. She and I had different views on what that meant, and neither of our jobs were conducive for sorting that out. We didn’t have long stretches of time to talk about it. I was on the SWAT team and would get called away. And she was a cop too. Then she joined the military. She shipped out to basic training less than twenty-four hours after telling me. She kept it secret for who knows how long. Days? Weeks?” He shrugged, even though there was nothing casual about it to him. It had fucking hurt. He’d failed, and it still bothered him.

“Was it part of any other relationship?”

“No. And I’ll be honest with you, Aimee—I’ve never considered it again. If the experience taught me anything, it’s that my job is better suited to less formal arrangements, so I keep it that way.”

“That makes sense, I suppose. But I don’t really understand what that means.”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I enjoy my kink at clubs or parties, where the players understand and agree to the rules and everyone has been vetted. No strings. I don’t know what drove Monica to leave in that way. But the ending is a regret I carry.”

“A good relationship takes two people being fully committed and working hard, Trace.” Her tone was soft, rounded by sympathy. “It can’t be all your fault.”

He appreciated Aimee’s fierce loyalty, and she cracked open a part of his heart he’d long since walled over. “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

“Any more questions? Or should I send you back to bed?”

He watched her draw her eyebrows together as she contemplated his question, no doubt weighing what was best against her natural curiosity.

“I’m curious about the psychological parts of it.” She looked at him. “From what I’ve heard, and read, it’s a bit of a mind fuck.”

“Subspace, potentially. An endorphin rush.” He shrugged. “Experiencing new things. Pushing boundaries. Surrendering to someone else.”

“It’s a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“I should go to bed.”

“Yeah. You should.” Before I can’t let you go.

She stood, slowly. Reluctantly, he wanted to believe. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and clutched her robe’s lapels. “Good night.”

He tracked her movements down the hall, noted her hesitation before she gently closed her bedroom door.

Trace stayed where he was for a while. He should be relieved. Instead, regret pounded through him, hard and relentless.

“I’d like to go for a run.” Aimee breezed into the kitchen to grab a protein bar from the cupboard. As she tore open the wrapper, she tried not to breathe in Trace’s power or scent.

It was still early, right before dawn, and she hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours.

Trace didn’t seem to be faring much better. He stood in front of the coffee maker, waiting for the miserly thing to give up its first cup. “Now?” Judging by the fact that he was still in his sleep pants and that he hadn’t shaven, he hadn’t gotten any more rest than she had. A tiny part of her was glad that last night had bothered him.

She’d spent the night alternating between tormented dreams and lucid fantasies. It was nearly dawn when she fell into a fitful sleep. Aimee wished she’d been strong enough not to run. But his comment about surrender had ricocheted in her head, and for a moment, old fears—of Jack—had returned. Since him, she’d kept her guard up, trusting no man.

Aimee had enough self-awareness to recognize that the two men couldn’t be compared. Trace had ten times more restraint than her ex. But still, he was a dominant, bossy alpha male. And turning over her body and mind to him, with only a safe word as a lifeline, was an enormous risk.

Though nervous energy streaked through her, urging her out the door immediately, it was still dark out, and he deserved at least one cup of coffee. “Will twenty minutes be okay?”

“Yeah. Should be fine.” He poured a cup of coffee, took a gulp that must have burned his mouth, then went to the living room, grabbed his duffel bag from beneath the end table, unzipped it to pull out running clothes. He paused to look at her. “Don’t think about going alone.”

Because of the energy gnawing at her, it had been a consideration. “I know better.” But that would make the whole team scramble, and that wasn’t fair.

With a tight nod, he headed for the bathroom.

“Aimee! Out! Out, out, out!”

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

After putting her uneaten breakfast back on the counter, she opened Eureka’s cage and placed her hand inside. “Step up.”

“Whee!” He soared into flight and stole her protein bar.

Since it was too heavy, he ended up dropping it. “Now neither of us get to eat it,” she said.

He cruised back to his cage and perched on the top. “Pretty bird.”

“Uh-huh.” She got him a walnut, since it had been effective for Trace, and placed it inside the cage.

When he went to grab it, she closed the cage again.

“I need to go for a run. I’ll let you out again when I get back.”

Trace turned on the shower, and her thoughts once again returned to the previous evening. What would have happened if she hadn’t run? Sex? A spanking? Nothing?

That wasn’t an option. After his kiss, and then refusing to be alone with her until she’d dressed in a full-length robe, she’d known he was as interested in her as she was him.

Trace joined her, his hair damp, smelling of spicy soap. “Let me check in with the team first.” He touched a button on his high-tech watch. “Falcon wants to go for a run.”

“She going to leave you in the dust again, Romero?”

She grinned. Sounded like Riley.

“You’re welcome to take my place.”

Silence returned, and she exchanged grins with Trace.

Intimacy. How had it happened? When had it happened? Slowly, over the time they’d shared, the weeks of watching television, sharing meals, taking care of Eureka, sleeping beneath the same roof.

At times, like yesterday, it still chafed. Occasionally, she liked it.

“Come back,” Riley said, some seconds later. “We have a bad connection, Romero.”

“Two minutes,” Trace said. “I’m hoping she takes pity and allows us to run on the track.”

“I’d rather do the trail,” she replied.

“Your lucky day, Romero.” Riley’s voice was ridiculously cheerful.

About sixty seconds later, his voice again filled the living room. “All clear. Martin is heading over there now.”

She frowned, glancing up from her fitness watch. Though it made sense, she hadn’t realized another agent ran with them.

“Joseph Martin?” Trace asked.

“Yeah. He’s back on duty.”

“Good to hear.” Trace glanced at her. “You ready?”

She tightened her ponytail. “I am now.”

Because she was tired and groggier than she would ever admit, she set a reasonable pace, and Trace didn’t have to work as hard as normal to keep up. He’d done better every day as he acclimated. “Who’s Joseph Martin?” she asked as they reached the end of the street.

“A fellow agent. He was shot while protecting Wolf Stone.”

She’d heard stories about the legendary Stone, and knew that there’d been a huge bounty on his head, to prevent him from testifying in a high-profile court case. “I’m glad he’s okay.”

“So am I. For a long time, we weren’t sure he’d ever be fit for duty again.”

The trail was single track, which meant they couldn’t talk once they started the ascent. Maybe that was the reason she’d chosen Green Mountain rather than opting for the high school where he could remain by her side.

She kept her heart rate where she wanted it and reached the end of the trail. Trace was right behind her, barely winded. “Nice job, Romero.” With a grin, she headed back down the mountain.

At the end, she slowed to a walk. Now that she had some energy, she wanted to talk, and it was easier outside than in the confines of her house. “I thought we might walk back.”

“You’re showing mercy? Now?” he asked.

“I didn’t sleep well.” She shrugged, as if the admission hadn’t cost her much.

“You want to tell me about it?”

Grasping for courage, she nodded.

He fell in step next to her. “I’m all ears.”

“I want to know why you got into BDSM.”

“Does your mind ever stop?”

She slid him a glance. There was no judgment in his voice, but rather, genuine interest. “Honestly? I’m trying to make sense of the whole thing.”

“You know, Miss Inamorata, you keep wading into very hazardous waters.”

Yet she couldn’t stay away.

A minute later, when she wasn’t sure whether or not he would respond, he spoke. “There was a guy at the police academy who belonged to an exclusive club in New Orleans. The Quarter. We drove down for a few days after graduation and visited the dungeon. I didn’t participate, but it wasn’t anything like I expected. I guess at the base level, it was the same thing that drew me to police work. The thrill.”

“And you already had the handcuffs.” She shouldn’t have said that, provocative, flirting in a way.

“I already had the handcuffs,” he agreed. “I joined a club in Dallas. Had to go through some classes first, and I was assigned a mentor. Learned the ropes. So to speak.”

It was his turn to tease, and butterflies of awareness danced in her.

“I like the implements, how they each do different things to a woman’s body. And pleasing a submissive is the most sublime of experiences. There’s a rush I don’t get anywhere else. We might be in a room filled with people, dozens of scenes going on, but no one but her exists. I’m focused—maybe in the same way I am right before I deploy into a dangerous situation. Her responses become my world.”

Was it really that way for a Dom. She drew her eyebrows together.

“What?”

They turned onto her street and passed the SUV that Riley and Bree Mallory occupied. Bree, always reserved, surprised her by lifting her coffee cup in salute as they walked by.

“I think she likes that you kick my ass.”

She grinned. “Since it’s probably the only thing I’ll ever win at, I’m going to celebrate my victory.”

They put their conversation on hold until they returned to the house. As usual, the ever-vigilant Trace locked the door, then checked all the windows, then each room, before disappearing into the office, no doubt to check the surveillance video.

She opened the cage for Eureka. Trace nudged her aside as she pulled down a bag of coffee from the cupboard. She scowled. He’d turned off the switch before they left, and the remnants in the carafe were cold. He might be tough enough to drink a warmed up cup, but she wasn’t.

“I’ll do it. You can, ah, relax. Relaxing is good.”

Eureka flew over and perched on the top of the refrigerator to watch him, and no doubt to secure more food of his own.

“How about I make you an omelet?” Trace offered.

The contents of the fridge were a little bare since they hadn’t been to the grocery store recently. She’d spent her days working, her evenings thinking about Trace. “That would be great. Thanks.”

“We should call the supermarket and have them deliver some food later.”

“I’d rather go myself.” When he raised his right eyebrow, she sighed. “Right. We’ll go together.” Along with half of the Hawkeye team. “We can combine it with my coffee run.” That would save them deploying another two times. The logistics of getting through the day unnerved her.

“Uhm, I need to get eggs from the refrigerator.” He eyed Eureka.

“Off there,” she told the bird, putting her hand in front of him.

Eureka just stared at Trace.

“Eureka…” The two had been getting along so well. Even when it was just her and the bird, he occasionally misbehaved, but Trace’s presence made the mood swings more prevalent. “Off there,” she repeated.

“He likes oranges, right? We can share one with him.”

Traced cut an orange into sections, then showed a quarter of a piece to Eureka before carrying it to the cage. Still watching Trace, Eureka stepped onto her hand.

This time, she didn’t close the cage so that he didn’t learn to associate treats with being closed in. As smart as he was, it wouldn’t take him long to figure that out.

Trace added green peppers and onions to the omelets while she set the table. And fortunately, the coffee was ready, so she poured them each a cup.

After plating their breakfast, he joined her at the table.

“You frowned earlier.” He’d waited until they’d had a few bites before speaking. “When I said I love pleasing subs.”

“You surprised me.” And he’d done so a second time by bringing it up, after all his warnings to avoid the conversation. She carved off a small section of her omelet but put down her fork without trying it. “That’s not why I thought the Dom—Top—would be into BDSM.”

“Tell me more.”

She knew why she would be into it. The brain chemistry, subspace, made sense to her. Even thinking about it was enough to consume her. “I thought it was about the Dom issuing orders, getting the sub to do what he wanted so…” She took a breath when he sat back. Her words sounded ridiculous to her. “I’m messing this up, aren’t I?”

“No. Not at all. I’m listening… I want to give you my full attention.”

“Maybe I have some misconceptions, but I thought the Dom, the Top, got his joy from the power. From getting a woman to follow his orders.”

“That would have a certain charm, I’ll admit.”

She could get lost in his eyes. A teasing smile curved his lips. Despite the tension inside her, he was teasing. “You’re hinting that I haven’t been the easiest client.”

“In all honesty, querida? You’ve done much better than I ever would. It’s been three weeks. That’s a long time to have your life turned upside down.”

“You haven’t been the worst jailer ever.”

“Thank you. I think.” Then, just as fast, his expression changed. “Back to your very serious question—maybe some Doms are in it for that reason, but I don’t know anyone like that. Yes, I enjoy wielding the power that my play partner gives to me. I accept the honor and responsibility with the greatest respect. My true pleasure comes from watching her, drinking in her whimpers that fill the room, tracing the streaks of red on her skin. Her gratitude feeds my hunger.”

He wove a spell so compelling that she wanted to step inside his world.

“If you didn’t derive pleasure from it, neither would I.”

She scooted back in her chair and curled her hands around her mug.

Eureka climbed out of his cage and made his way to the perch on top. He rang the bell and admired himself in the mirror, repeating, “Pretty bird.”

“I want my sub to get off, to have exquisite orgasms.”

His words rocketed through her, making her hot.

“I want her to be able to let go of her worries and stress, focusing only on herself.”

“You make it sound like a spa day.” She gave him a halfhearted smile, but he didn’t return it.

“It’s my responsibility to keep her safe so that she can get there.”

Had he always been like that? Protective, with a hero complex? Compelled by duty to save the world?

“The more my partner trusts me, the deeper she can go, the more she can receive.”

“Last night…”

He waited. Not that it surprised her. He knew what he wanted, and if patience was the way to secure it, he’d take all the time it required. It was comforting. And a bit confounding. “I wanted to know how you’d—we’d—proceed if…” She crossed her arms on top of the table. “You know.”

“No. I don’t know. And this is too important for me to make guesses.”

“If I wanted to learn more.”

“How much do you want to know? What do you want to know? It’s one thing to talk about it, and knowledge is good, but there is no amount of talk or reading, even watching videos, that can adequately prepare you for the real-world experience of someone being solely focused on you, your pain inextricably bound to your pleasure. Theory is one thing. Experience, another.”

A shiver rippled through her. “I meant…” She looked at him pleadingly. But he continued to regard her in silence, not making it any easier for her. “I’d like…” She blew out a breath. “Hypothetically, if you were interested, what would we do first?”

“Before we began, I’d want to learn about you, discover what intrigues you, what turns you on, what satisfies you. Hypothetically, I’d touch you, explore you, see where your pain threshold is. I might start with a few commands to see how you respond, if you’re willing—or able—to give up control. It might be that you just like a little kink in the bedroom, a blindfold, a soft pair of cuffs. To be clear, whatever your preferences are, they’re fine. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

She was pretty sure she wanted more than that.

“You have nipple clamps.”

So he had found her toys that first day when he rummaged through her bedroom. After the conversation they’d been having, nothing should have embarrassed her, but it did.

“Do you play with them?”

She took a drink of her cooling coffee, stalling though she didn’t know why. “I do.”

“Has anyone ever put them on you?”

“No.”

“But…? You’ve thought about it? Wanted it to happen?”

The confession was difficult. “It’s sometimes part of my fantasies.”

“Mine too. I love tormenting a woman’s nipples, just at the edge of what she likes, not too much. The exact right amount.”

Which was how much, for her? She swallowed.

In the office, her phone rang. She glanced at the clock. Her heart fell. Trace had held her so spellbound that she’d lost track of her very real responsibilities. “My conference call.” To discuss ideas for correcting the code so that the mosquito injection mechanism achieved a ninety-nine percent effective rate.

“If you’re interested, this evening, after dinner, let me know. We can go as slow as you want. Or not at all.”

The phone rang again, yet she hesitated before dashing to answer.

Trace’s eyes were rich, beckoning. Tempting. She wanted to trust him. She wasn’t sure if she dared.