My eyelids are heavy. So damn heavy. I want to open them, and I try, but each of them feels like they weigh a ton.

My brain sends the command for them to open and they fail miserably… until they finally obey. A little. But then they close again when they see the bright light coming through the windows.

The sun is incredibly bright, but low, which could only mean that it’s late afternoon. And I’m still in bed.

Why?

Pound. Pound. Pound. The drummer inside my head doesn’t miss a single beat.

What the hell went down last night? Did Avery and I party too hard?

Last night’s events are fuzzy. And then the fuzziness begins to fade a little.

I was inside that bedroom where I’d been held captive… for how long? Two days? Three?

The man in the black suit with the ginger hair and beard—the one who called himself Smith—brought dinner to me. And then things get fuzzy again.

I peek through slits and discover that I’m no longer in that hotel room, but in a different bedroom. And I have no memory of how I got here.

I rise and prop on my elbows, taking in my surroundings. Luxurious bed and bedding. Wood flooring covered by a thick, plush rug. Tall ceilings that must be at least fourteen feet in height. Exquisite medallions on the ceiling. Marble fireplace mantel. The finest millwork that I’ve ever laid eyes upon. Opulent. I’m the home of a very wealthy person.

Tristan. Broussard.

The softest linens that I’ve ever felt in my life are against my body. All of my body. Shit, I’m naked. Completely naked.

How? Why?

I reach between my legs and touch myself. No wetness. No soreness. No swelling. Nothing feels out of the ordinary. I hope that’s an indication that Tristan Broussard didn’t violate my body while I was out of it.

Out of it. Exactly why was I out of it?

The wine is making me warm. And very relaxed.

Not the wine. The sedative cocktail—that’s what’s making you feel so calm.

A sedative cocktail. That fucking asshole drugged me.

I assume that she needs STD testing? A complete panel?

Yes. Everything. I need one too since this is a new relationship.

There was a woman here. She and Broussard undressed me.

What the fuck did they do to me last night?

Scrambling to the floor, I take the comforter with me and wrap it around my naked body. There are four doors in this room so I go for the closest one.

Bathroom.

Fuck.

I go for the one next to it.

Closet.

A closet filled with women’s clothing and shoes and accessories. Everything brand new with tags.

I pick up the tag on the dress closest to me. I hope that I’m wrong, but I already know what I’m going to see before I look.

Size 6.

Fuck.

I pick up a Jimmy Choo and silently pray that it’s not a fit. I don’t want to be Cinderella.

Size 7.

Fuck… again.

I leave the closet and return to the bathroom, yanking open drawers and cabinet doors. They’re filled with my favorite cosmetics. The brand of facial cleanser that I use. My kind of toothpaste. My favorite bodywash. Hygiene products down to the brand and size of tampons that I use.

Tristan Broussard meant every word that he said. He intends on keeping me.

“Good afternoon, Emma Lia.”

I step out of the bathroom, ready to tear into his ass. He stands between the window and me, his silhouette surrounded by a halo of light. But this man is no angel.

The nearly black hair. The captivating blue eyes surrounded by lashes that any woman would envy. The broad chest and shoulders. The lips curved in a slight grin, making his jawline appear even stronger.

All. Man.

He’s absolutely stunning.

And utterly sinister.

I quickly scan the room looking for a weapon and see a candlestick on the dresser. Swear to God that I will beat the fuck out of him if he comes near me.

“I hope that everything meets your satisfaction.”

Does he expect me to be happy about being brought here against my will?

“No. Everything doesn’t meet my satisfaction. Not even a little. You drugged me. You could have killed me.”

“The sedatives and anti-anxiety meds that you were given were harmless.”

“You aren’t a doctor. You don’t know that.”

“I’m not, but I did get the medication from someone who knew what he was doing. The dosage was calculated specifically for you. It was perfectly safe.”

“A doctor helped you drug me?”

“A pharmacist.”

“A corrupt pharmacist.”

“He’s not corrupt. I’ve known him for a long time, and he’s a good man. He mixed the drug combination as a favor to me; I needed you to be safely sedated while being transported from the casino to my house. I didn’t want you to be high on some junk that came from a drug dealer on the streets.”

At least he had the good sense to have a knowledgeable medical person prepare controlled pharmaceutical drugs instead of resorting to a dealer for something uncontrolled. “I guess I should thank you for not shooting me up.”

“I would never do that to you.”

I pull the comforter higher and step backward when he moves closer.

“I know that you don’t believe me—and I understand why you don’t—but you were never in danger. I stayed by your side all night. I didn’t leave until this morning. Your safety is my number-one priority.”

No worries, sweetheart. I’m going to take care of everything, including you.

“You told me that you were going to take care of everything, including me.”

“I am.”

I clench the comforter in my fist. “Why am I naked? What did you and that woman do to me?”

“That was Dr. Catherine Miller. Cat. She did an exam on you.”

“What kind of exam?”

“Routine pelvic exam for you and STD testing for both of us. It’s standard stuff for this lifestyle when you switch partners. All of our test results will be back in a couple of days.”

She did a pelvic exam on me? A pap smear? While I was unconscious? That can’t be legal. But neither is kidnapping or blackmailing or drugging someone, and he’s done all of those things.

“My sexual health is none of your business.”

“Your sexual health is very much my business; I need to know that you’re clean before I fuck you.” My heart rate increases by about a million beats per minute. “And I want you to know that I’m clean so that you can enter into this relationship with full confidence that you are safe with me.”

Safe with him? I will never feel safe with him. Not after the things he has done to me against my will.

“What is happening here? Are you holding me prisoner or what?”

“None of the doors are locked. You can walk out right now if you like, but I suggest that you don’t. At least not until after you’ve heard my terms.”

“What terms?”

“We’ll discuss them over dinner.” He brings his wrist up and looks at his watch. “Which will be in an hour. I’d like you to shower and wear one of the black dresses in your closet. Hair down. Minimal cosmetics—your face is beautiful. I don’t want it covered with a bunch of unnecessary garbage.”

Again with the shower and wear this order. But this time he’s adding hair and makeup directions. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Give me specific instructions on what to wear and how to look?”

“I like what I like, but occasionally I’m in the mood for a different flavor.” His eyes roam over my body. “I’m not opposed to your coming to dinner as you are minus the comforter if that’s what you prefer.”

He could change his mind and tell me to come to dinner naked if I’m not careful. “Actually, I’m looking forward to wearing one of my new black dresses.”

He smiles. “I’ll be back to fetch you at six sharp. Be ready. I don’t like to wait.”

Not another word. He simply walks out. Leaving me alone. Leaving the door unlocked from the other side. Leaving me unguarded. Expecting me to obey his commands.

And I do. Because I’ve seen what happens when I challenge him.

I get into the shower, hoping that the water will help the pounding in my head and queasiness in my stomach. No luck.

I pick up the bottle of shampoo and look at the label. My favorite brand. And it pisses me the fuck off. This asshole knows everything about me. Every. Thing. Down to the kind of tampons that I use. That’s just fucked up.

Why is he doing this to me?

Who the hell does he think he is that he has the right to take me away from my life? I’m a fucking human being, for God’s sake.

I concentrate on the anger raging inside me. It helps suppress the panic, the urge to cry, the impulse to run.

Six o’clock arrives, and Tristan doesn’t come for me. I’m certain that he said six sharp. I recall his telling me that he doesn’t like waiting. Well, I don’t like waiting either.

I open the door and peek down the hallway. No sign of the lunatic so what the hell am I supposed to do?

“Miss Grant.”

I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear my name. “Yes?”

A man in a dark suit ascends the staircase and approaches me. “Hello, Miss Grant. I’m Ray.”

“Hello.”

“Mr. Broussard had an unexpected visitor. Dinner will be delayed.”

I’ve already seen how mad he gets when things don’t go according to plan. I bet he’s good and pissed off about this interruption.

“Do you know how long the delay will be?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t.” Ray gestures toward the bedroom. “Mr. Broussard has requested that you wait for him in your bedroom.”

My bedroom? I don’t think so.

“May I bring you anything while you wait?”

My throat is parched, and my tongue feels like leather. Whatever drugs that asshole slipped me last night have given me a severe case of cotton mouth. “I’d love some water. And something for a headache.”

“Right away, miss.”

Ray is much more accommodating than his employer, or whatever Tristan is to him. Mr. Broussard could take a lesson or two from Ray.

I swallow the two white capsules, finish off the bottle of water, and wait. And pace the floor. And wait some more. I don’t have a watch or a clock to tell me how long it’s been, but it must be at least an hour. “This is just fucking ridiculous.”

I consider storming out of this bedroom. I consider stalking down the hall and barging in on Tristan and his unexpected visitor. I also consider telling him to kiss my fucking ass before I blow this joint.

But I don’t.

Tristan Broussard has terms. He also has the upper hand. And I don’t think that he’s bluffing.