“What’s going on?” I look around me.

Just as I thought, I’m in a hotel room. It’s dark here, except for the warm light from the table lamp on the night stand, the one on my side of the bed . . . although there’s nobody else on the bed, so technically they’re both my sides.

I knew the sheets were going to be perfectly crisp except for the bit I lay on. I didn’t feel anybody climb into bed with me.

All I knew was that someone was in here, in the same room as me.

But was that someone . . . Luca? Has he been here from the beginning?

“Are you PuppetMaster?” I ask, shooting straight to the point.

Luca’s sitting in front of me, wearing an expression I can’t quite decipher. Half his face is covered in shadows, giving him an unnervingly sinister look.

He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt, as usual. Like stark white gallery walls, his simple outfit allows the artwork on his body to shine. Luca wears a white shirt and a pair of jeans most days, even if they invite stares from curious small-towners who don’t often see heavily tattooed men.

(He wears a different white shirt every day. I checked. He has a bunch of that same shirt in his wardrobe.)

Luca’s tattoos normally look like beautiful works of art. But now, they’re all kinds of crazy colors, their original greens and reds dyed by the yellow light.

His eyes, darker than usual, are the color of wet moss. He’s looking right at me, but his stare is vacant, like he’s not really seeing me.

Luca sighs. He’s scarily sober tonight—and not good-scary either (as in when a guy is obviously about to do me real hard), but the kind of scary that sinks heavily in my stomach and makes me sick.

“There is no PuppetMaster,” Luca says flatly.

“What do you mean? I chatted with someone online. Was that you? That was you, wasn’t it?” I ask question after question. In my head, even more questions pile up. But I have to give him a chance to speak if I want answers.

“Yes,” he says in his baritone voice.

He admits it!

What’s going on? Is this part of the role play? Are we still fucking? Do I want to do it with Luca?

I mean, he’s still the hottest, most irresistible bad boy in town, and I’m nothing if not a sucker for a guy like him: a damaged guy who looks like he can do some serious damage on me, too. Except I know Luca’s a sweetheart inside.

“So you are PuppetMaster?” I ask again.

“No.” Luca shakes his head slowly. “PuppetMaster doesn’t exist. It was just a name I came up with to get you to confess.”

“Confess to what?” I don’t know what he’s accusing me of, but I’m already offended.

“Confess that you have a problem.” Luca’s eyes meet mine.

“A problem with what?”

I swear, he’s making me want to kick him in the shin right now. Except I know he’ll easily overpower me.

On the other hand, he’s not going to really hit me back, and I may just enjoy being manhandled for a little bit. Perhaps it’s not such a bad idea after all . . .

“You’re addicted to danger,” Luca says with certainty.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, even as my heart pounds guiltily in my chest.

Luca cocks a dark eyebrow. “Going online to find a stranger to do anything he wants to you. No rules, no safe words. Does that sound like something a sane person would do?”

“Are you calling me crazy?” I raise my voice.

“No, you’re just an addict,” he says casually. “There’s no shame in it. I used to be one, too. That’s why Peter told me to keep an eye on you.”

“Okay. Firstly, I’m not an addict. I know it looks bad, but I don’t do this all the time. But we’ll get back to that later.” I lean forward on the bed and watch Luca closely. I want to hear what he has to say to my next question. “What exactly did Peter say?”

“A lot of things,” Luca says. “But the gist of it is, he’d been wrestling with addiction his whole life, and he knew you were at risk, too. So he wanted me to keep an eye on you after he was gone and make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

“Jesus, Luca, for once in your life, tell me a complete story.” I usually find his calm, quiet demeanor sexy and mysterious, but right now it’s irritating. Looks like I’ll have to ask specific questions. “Why did my brother think I was at risk?”

“He told me about your underage drinking,” Luca says, seemingly unperturbed by my growing impatience.

“What underage drinking?” My guilty heart beats even faster.

“I don’t know if he told you this story. But one night, Peter woke up from one of his drunken stupors. He saw you picking up a bottle, filling up the flask he thought he’d lost, and sneaking back up to your room. That scared him enough to get sober.”

“So you and my brother used to sit around the campfire and talk about how everybody else was an addict too to make you feel better about yourselves?” I ask angrily as I bury my shame deep inside of me.

Peter never talked to me about that incident. I thought I’d hidden my drinking from him. I guess I wasn’t as good a liar as I thought I was.

Either way, that bad habit went away when Peter started going to AA meetings and locking up the drinks cabinet.

I really thought nobody knew.

“Not everybody else,” Luca says matter-of-factly. “Just you.”

Ouch.

I’m glad the light is so dim in here, otherwise Luca might see my cheeks flushing red.

“So you’ve been spying on me?” I ask, trying to drag him down with me. Look at yourself; you’ve done something wrong, too! I want to yell at him.

“I’ve been monitoring you,” he says calmly, with no remorse.

I wonder if he’s seen the romance novels I read, or the kinky porn websites I subscribe to.

But what does it matter? Luca already knows how broken I really am inside.

“That’s how you knew where to find me. You knew my identity.” I found it hot when I knew PuppetMaster was stalking me, but this is not the sexy situation I hoped it would be.

“You were going to tell any guy who said the right things where to find you anyway,” Luca says with just a hint of anger.

“How did you know I wasn’t just posting for fun?” I ask.

“I didn’t,” he admits, shadows shifting in the dark with every syllable he utters. “But I had a feeling you might do something like this.” Luca pauses. “I remember when you sought me out for a tattoo and a one-night stand. I remember your grandmother had just died.”

It’s not a question. Luca knows he’s right, and I do, too. He’s got me figured out.

How does he do that? What has Peter been telling him?

Oh, God. Did Peter know about my dark cravings?

“So, what do you want?” I ask. It doesn’t matter whether I really am addicted to anything, but I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.

“I want you to live with me until I’m convinced you can behave in a sane and responsible way on your own,” Luca says in a practiced tone. It’s probably something he’s quoting from some book on addiction.

“Luca, I’m telling you, I’m not addicted. I don’t do this often, I swear.”

“I know. You only do this when you’re upset,” he says, again guessing correctly. “But it only takes one mistake. One bad guy. I could’ve murdered you. Hit you over the head and drowned your corpse in the lake.”

“Fuck, Luca. Do you have to be so morbid?” I pretend like the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.

“I just want you to understand how dangerous this is. You’re playing with fire. This is exactly the kind of risky behavior that’s fueled by an addiction, which can flare up during stressful times,” he says.

“What textbook are you quoting from?” I ask sarcastically.

“Sarah, this is serious,” Luca says as he leans forward, propping his elbows on his thighs and leveling his penetrating gaze at me. “You should live with me, at least temporarily. It’s for your own good. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.”

My eyes prickle as they grow wet. Damn it. He can’t bring my brother into this. It’s not fair.

“It’s late tonight, and I’m sure you’re tired,” Luca says. “You can sleep here. I’ll take you back to the clinic in the morning. I’ll pick you up after work. Pack some clothes.”

He’s being really bossy right now. Next thing I know, he’ll be telling me what colors to wear and what toiletries to use.

“Yeah, okay.” I don’t see any other choice here, especially if this is what Peter would’ve wanted for me. I add, “But only for one month.”

“You’ll stay for as long as it takes for you to deal with your grief in a healthy way.”

Ugh. Bossy. But I’ll have to admit it’s kind of hot that he’s calling the shots.

“Fine.” When I blink, two drops of tears escape my eyes and roll down my cheeks

As soon as the word leaves my mouth, Luca gets up off his chair.

“Where are you going?” I ask, sniffling as I watch him rush to the door.

“My room. Next door,” Luca says right before he disappears and the door shuts behind him.

I almost roll my eyes. Men. The sight of my tears probably made him uncomfortable.