Natalie talked to herself throughout the punishment or whatever it was—Dexter's power trip. She didn't do it audibly: he could see her through his little blinking camera. It was possible he could also hear. Instead, she spoke in her mind. The process helped her stay awake. Fainting was always an option; it would lessen the pain from the floor and her position, but then what?

What would he do?

He’d told her not to even try to contemplate the possibilities. Truly she couldn’t let her mind go there. Instead, she concentrated on what she would do.

She wouldn’t faint. She wouldn’t beg. She’d survive. She’d do it without giving him another reason to punish her or exert whatever power he thought he possessed. If he were cold and uncaring to her, she would be the same to him. She would fight his ice with ice, his commands head-on. Somehow she would convince him that he could trust her, and then the first time she finally found herself on the other side of the door, back in the sunlight, she'd run.

It didn’t even matter where they were. No matter where he had her, what country, there had to be a US embassy. Her father was wealthy and influential. Anthony Rawlings had friends and business associates all over the world. They may not be the type of friends he invited to his home for a barbeque; nevertheless, they were the type of friends who would come when he called. Her father would move heaven and hell for her. Of that, she had no doubt.

Natalie wouldn't be forgotten or allowed to disappear simply because she supposedly decided not to join her family. No matter who that other woman was, Dexter's plan was flawed. Natalie’s immediate family may be in Nice, but that didn't mean that her father didn't have connections. The abrupt change in her plans would serve as a red flag signaling her family’s security—Phil’s people—to track the other Natalie. Once it was discovered that the other woman was an imposter, it would be all over the international channels: Natalie Rawlings was missing.

As time passed, the pain from her position subsided until she felt nothing at all. Her extremities lost feeling, the needled sense of having fallen asleep morphing into nothing at all. To keep her mind moving, she'd contemplated her situation. In hindsight, it was clear that she’d been Dexter’s target all along.

But why?

What was Dexter's motivation?

Since she was naked, sitting—no, make that kneeling—on a concrete floor in basically a dungeon, the sexual component was obvious, but there had to be more. He could have kidnapped any woman, but he didn’t. He’d set his sights on her. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the more was money. Anthony and Claire Rawlings's daughter was a valuable commodity.

All of her life her parents had preached caution and safety. The cameras and bodyguards seemed like second nature while at the same time felt like overkill. Natalie had never in twenty years seen or felt a threat. Had there been some and Phil's team had thwarted them? Had everyone in her father's world kept the specifics away from her to protect her?

What had that false sense of security cost her?

If only she’d flown to Nice on a Rawlings plane as her mother wanted.

Her regret was stifling, compressing her soul as tears continued to flow.

Natalie recalled times when she'd pondered a life away from the watchful eyes of her father's security. It wasn't that the security bothered her. Knowing she was watched hadn't changed her plans or behavior, because it always was. Yet there'd been a part of her that longed for a simpler life than living up to the high standard set by Nichol.

Getting away from the Rawlings expectations had sounded like a dream. If this was the fulfillment of that dream, the reality was a nightmare. The realization that this was truly happening—the nudity, the stark cell, the now-cold drink and food that were forbidden yet close enough to touch—triggered more tears. Each salty droplet burnt a trail down her cheeks, dripping off her jaw and landing in a warm splash on her cold breasts. Each tear took a piece of her soul until the pieces begged for glue—for a way to come back together.

She wouldn’t give up. Natalie’s hope was her knowledge of and confidence in her family. The Rawlingses would never hesitate to monetarily pay for her return. It was her goal to convince Dexter that they'd pay more if she were returned unharmed—unsoiled, so to speak.

Buzz.

Natalie's chin snapped upward. Despite her crying, her tears were now mostly dry, and her nose had ceased to run. Her plan was in place. She'd had her breakdown. Now it was time to appear strong and indifferent, the same way he appeared. If Dexter wanted to believe she would play his sick game, she'd let him.

His scent reached her first, the aroma of his cologne. It brought back memories of his suit coat, the one he’d given her as a blanket in the car.

Still facing the bed and the tray of untouched food and drink, Natalie couldn't see what was happening behind her, only hear it—the tap of footsteps and swish of wheels.

Wheels? Did she hear wheels moving over the hard floor, like wheels on a cart?

If only she could turn, but she refused to give him another reason to retaliate. Instead, her mind filled with possibilities. She pictured the carts used by the staff at the estate in Iowa that brought food to the dining room or to the suites. There were the carts used in hotels when room service was summoned. Each of her thoughts had a common denominator—food.

Her stomach had surpassed grumbling, giving up as it had grown accustomed to emptiness. That was until the new sounds revived it: a pang and softer rumble murmured in the damp, musty air.

She closed her eyes and tried to summon non-food alternatives. There were the carts the maids used at the estate as well as in hotels, ones with bedding and supplies. That possibility even excited her. A towel for the bath or a sheet for the bed. Such simple needs.

Natalie pushed down her expectations. If she didn't hope, Dexter couldn't disappoint. She feared that would be worse than more punishment.

As each second ticked by, marked by the tap of his shoes upon the concrete, she began to wonder if he planned to talk, to acknowledge her obedience—anything. The anticipation of what may occur brought her tired, aching body back to life, restoring the circulation and bringing needles to her veins. The new rush created a painful and prickling sensation.

Natalie stifled a cry, biting her lower lip, careful to stay silent and vowing to keep secret her suffering. And then Dexter changed the rules by giving her what she feared most and what she had believed was only hers to find—hope.

The door shut with a thud. Before she could fathom that he'd left her again, Natalie wobbled as an all-encompassing heat enveloped her.

His lips came close to her neck as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. “I'm very proud of you, my bug.” He kissed her hair.

It wasn't just a blanket. It was a warm blanket like the cloths on the airplane or a garment recently removed from a heated dryer. The plush heat tingled her cold skin. The circulation that had resumed, generated by anticipation, now sprinted to life. The temperature was heaven, but the consequences were hell. Pleasure and pain. Natalie didn't know which instigated her tears.

Dexter crouched beside her, wrapped the blanket tighter. And then with his hands on her shoulders, he asked if she could stand.

Natalie stared.

There was something different in his gaze. His eyes were lighter, his expression serene.

“Bug, answer me.”

She tried to reach up, to lift even her hands. Her arms were dead weight, raising them only a few inches took all her strength. Her legs were nothing more than noodled pincushions. It was as if her bones had lost their rigidity. She shook her head. “I-I don't think so.”

What would he say? Would he be upset?

Dexter nodded and stood. Her heart sank. Would he leave her there?

After removing the tray from the bed and placing it on the floor, in one swoop he reached down and lifted Natalie from the floor, pulling her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

Nat cried out as her toes and legs exploded in pain. It was worse than any cramp or charley horse she'd ever experienced. Gritting her teeth, she buried her face against his broad chest.

She hadn't meant to find comfort in his attention, but she did. His shirt filled her senses with the memory of fresh air—clean and cool, so unlike her surroundings—while his cologne added just the right amount of musk and spice.

With her cradled in his arms, Dexter sat upon the bed.

She didn't know what to say or do. This wasn't the same man who'd made her kneel for hours on end. It was, but it wasn't. In her deprived state, her thoughts couldn't keep up.

“Tell me,” Dexter said.

Natalie looked up to his face, trying to decipher the riddle. Even his tone was different. Maybe it was hunger making Natalie delusional. She couldn't be sure, but for some reason her plan of being indifferent was forgotten. She wanted to answer. “My toes...” Her eyes closed, her lashes dampened with tears. “My legs...”

“They hurt?”

Natalie nodded.

Balancing her on his lap and against his chest, Dexter reached for her foot and his large hand squeezed.

Pain shot up her leg. Natalie screamed, louder than before.

“No, bug,” he said soothingly. “It'll get better. Give it a minute.”

Biting her lip, she watched as he massaged one foot and then the other. As he continued to caress and apply systematic pressure, she found that he was right: the prickling subsided and before she knew it, she started feeling better.

“Remember my saying that the rush of blood to starved tissues can be more painful than the pressure?”

She nodded.

“That's what happened.” He kissed her forehead. “I didn't think you'd make it. I really didn't. You're so much stronger than I realized.”

His words flowed through her, providing the same effect as the blanket. She didn't want to like pleasing this man, but she did. She enjoyed this tone, the way he held her and wiped her cheeks. And then he placed her upon the edge of the mattress and stood. All at once, she was hit with the startling realization that she didn't want him to leave. She didn't want to be left alone again, even with the blanket.

“Dexter? Are you going?”

When he turned, his lips parted. There was something new in his gaze: shock or surprise. She was too sore and hungry to understand.

He dropped to one knee and placed his hand over her blanket-covered leg. “Say that again.” His command wasn't urgent, more of a request.

“I-I'm sorry if I shouldn't...” This was all so new. She didn't know what she was supposed to say.

Caressing her blanket-covered thigh, he explained, “No, just say what you said, exactly as you said it. I want to hear it again.”

“Are you going?”

His head shook. “My name. You said my name.”

“Dexter?”

“It's the first time you've said it.”

She blinked. “It was?”

Again, his knuckle ran the length of her jaw. “Yes, bug. And I like hearing it from your lips.”

“Are you leaving again?”

“No, not yet.”

Unexpected relief came with his answer.

He reached for her hands. “Now can you stand?”

“I’ll try.”

The circulation had returned the feeling back in her legs. Gingerly, she shifted her weight to her feet and rose. Her legs quivered and her feet were heavy, but his grasp of her hands gave her the extra-needed leverage. Like a newborn deer, she stood unsteadily.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Sore, but I can stand.”

“And walk?”

Natalie nodded.

Dexter tilted his head toward the bathroom. “Go do whatever you need to do. I'll give you privacy. When you come back out, we'll have the talk we didn't have this morning.”

She tugged the blanket around her, but after only one step, she stopped. “May I...” It felt strange to ask for such a mundane thing. Dexter said they'd discuss the rules, but they hadn't. She wanted to be sure she wouldn't upset him. She'd do whatever was necessary to avoid the cement floor. “...may I keep the blanket...around me?”

He nodded. “I think for now...you earned it.”

“Thank you.” Nat hurried toward the bathroom as too many diverse emotions fought for supremacy.

Somehow, after everything, it was gratitude that prevailed.

Her mind told her she was being ridiculous. Grateful for a blanket? Yet she was. She could cover herself in the bathroom. She could keep it wrapped around her while they talked. Yesterday, she would have told herself it was silly to be thankful for a blanket. That was before.

Today, her life was different.