Ara wasn’t sure how she should be feeling, but she was certain that instantly at ease was not the appropriate reaction for being swept away by a stranger to live in a remote compound on the southern cape.

Still, it didn’t matter was she was supposed to be experiencing. All she knew was that her feelings were something far beyond gratitude, deeper than appreciation for Titus and Anders for rescuing her from certain hell in prison.

Ara could not shake the quickly mounting sensation that she had known Titus for a long, long while, and despite being sure she had never been in the gated estate where she was free to roam and explore, she could not stop herself from wondering about her benefactor.

Everyone has heard of Williams Technology, she reasoned. That’s probably where I’ve seen him before. And Anders Williams is one of the hottest criminal defense attorneys in the world. No one has a license to practice law in more countries than that man.

But she still couldn’t help thinking there was more to the story than that.

It didn’t explain why, when she looked into Titus’ eyes, she was overcome with a sense of déjà vu so strong that it almost knocked her to the ground. It didn’t account for the flood of memories that threatened to drown her but never took shape as they teased the recesses of her mind.

Of course, Titus was nowhere around to question him further on their almost subliminal connection. He had disappeared just after they returned to the compound, leaving Ara to wander through the twenty-thousand-square-foot estate.

“Are you hungry, Ms. Pinot?”

Ara jumped at the unexpected voice behind her, and she spun to see a pleasant-faced woman smiling at her.

“You startled me!” she gasped, realizing that the woman must be a member of the house staff.

“I’m Marta,” she offered.

“Ara.” They stared awkwardly at one another for a moment, and Marta cleared her throat.

“Are you hungry?” she asked again, and Ara blushed. She nodded in response, and Marta appeared relieved. “Come with me to the kitchen.” She turned to leave, and Ara followed, calling out after her.

“Where is Titus?”

The housekeeper seemed to pause mid-step and then continue.

“He’s working in his garage,” she said slowly. “He’s asked me to attend to you if there’s anything you need.”

I need to talk to him, Ara thought, but she decided to keep her request to herself. “Thank you.”

The women wove through the maze of halls through a section of the house that Ara hadn’t yet seen.

“This place is enormous,” she muttered, more to herself than to Marta, but her companion chuckled dryly.

“You’ll get used to it,” she replied. “There’s a method to its madness. Tito built it himself.”

“Really?”

“Well, he designed it himself. He’s got quite an eye for that kind of thing.”

Ara nodded, even though she knew Marta could not see her. What does one man do with so much space? Does he have a family? Children?

Eventually, Marta led her into a commercial grade kitchen at the back of the house, and Ara blinked at the blinding stainless steel and massive equipment. She didn’t know what half the appliances on the metal island were for, but the aroma of food wafting into her nose deterred her from thinking about anything else.

The last thing she had eaten was something supposed to resemble oats slapped onto a plastic tray through her jail cell that morning. Whatever it was that sat beneath the covered pans on the restaurant-sized stove smelled at least a billion times better, and Ara inadvertently began to salivate.

“I hope you like boerewors,” Marta said. “I just pulled them off the grill.”

Ara licked her lips as Marta lifted the lids, and the scent of the spiced sausage almost overwhelmed her.

“Yes,” she muttered, even though she wasn’t sure she did. Nothing that smells that good can taste bad, she decided.

The sharp yap of a dog broke her attention, and a blond border collie hurried into the room, his tail wagging.

“Oh!” Ara cried. “Who is this?”

“Janus,” Marta growled, eyeing the sneaky canine as he licked Ara’s hand.

She leaned down to pat the dog, who shook with happiness at the attention.

“Hi, Janus,” she murmured. Any man who owns dogs can’t be bad, she thought, and she wondered where she had come to that conclusion. Her father had two Rottweilers and they were as miserable as he was. “There’s nothing miserable about you, is there, Janus?” she whispered.

“Did you say something?” Marta called, and Ara straightened herself, embarrassed.

“Can I help?” she asked timidly.

Marta glanced up at her in surprise. “No, nunu. Just sit and relax. After you eat, I can take you to your room to rest, or you can continue to find your way around. There is lots to do here. We have a basketball court, a library, bowling lanes, and even a movie theater. It looks like you might have a companion in Janus also.”

Ara’s eyes widened. She had come across the impossibly big library with the baby grand piano and the rows upon rows of books in the strangely circular room in her exploration. In fact, she had stood in the doorway, gaping at the two stone fireplaces, marveling at the hand-carved banisters leading up toward the dome skylight.

Ara had been afraid to go inside, lest she ruin the ethereal beauty of it. The room was bigger than any library she had ever been inside, even back home. It was mindboggling that it belonged in a house.

This is not a house, she reminded herself. This is a castle. A palace with a bowling alley and movie theater, apparently. A castle that Titus Williams built.

Slowly, she sat at a glass and wrought iron table away from the center of the kitchen, her eyes skipping over the pristine surroundings.

“How many people live here?” she asked, hoping her question did not sound too nosy. I can’t help it! I don’t understand any of it! I have a right to know what I got myself into!

Even from the distance between them, Ara read the smile on Marta’s face.

“There are only three of us,” she answered. “Tito, Solomon, and me. Solomon is the driver and landscaper. And handyman. And pool boy.” Marta paused for a second, a faraway look in her dark eyes, as if she suddenly realized just how much Solomon did around the estate. She shrugged and turned back to the food preparations. “And I have extra help come in once a week to do a massive clean of the baseboards and cupboards, things like that.”

Marta laid an overflowing plate before Ara, and she was almost dizzy by the scent. For a terrifying moment, she thought she might pass out.

“Are you okay?” Marta asked, alarm in her voice. “You just turned gray!”

Ara nodded quickly. “I haven’t eaten properly in a few days,” she confessed, eyeing the food warily. She wanted to inhale the bun whole, but she feared her stomach would reject it.

As if sensing her reluctance, Marta hurried to get her a glass of water. “Small bites,” she encouraged, giving Ara the cup. “With sips of water in between. If I had known how poorly they treated you in the jail, I would have made something lighter.”

There was anger in Marta’s voice, and Ara understood that the housekeeper knew exactly who she was: a parolee whom her boss had rescued like a stray cat.

Maybe that’s his thing. Maybe Janus was a stray dog once, too, she mused silently. She chided herself for thinking so fatalistically, but she desperately wanted to understand how she had come to be there and why.

“Oh, no!” Ara protested, feeling ashamed that she was being read as ungrateful. “This is wonderful.”

Marta watched her as she tentatively picked up the roll and took a bite, chewing delicately. The pork and coriander melted on her tongue, and Ara released a groan of pleasure.

“Oh, my God,” she muttered. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

A smile of amusement exploded over Marta’s face, and she turned away, satisfied. “Good! Eat only as much as you can handle. If you are hungry later, there is plenty of food.”

As the nourishment filled her belly, a sense of comfort enveloped Ara’s exhausted body.

It’s okay to relax, she told herself. You’re safe here. No one is coming after you in Titus Williams’ house.

Ara raised her head to ask Marta another question, but the housekeeper had disappeared, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She was already full, half the sandwich remaining, and she felt guilty about leaving it.

Her father’s voice somehow echoed through her mind.

“You think we’re made of money, Arabella? Eat your goddamn pork and beans!”

Inevitably, Ara’s eyes would travel to his half-empty mickey of whiskey before darting back to her mushy dinner, and she would slowly force the canned horror into her queasy gut. Later, she would throw it all up, but not until after her father passed out.

There was always money for whiskey and oxy, she recalled. Never money for pancakes and bananas.

Ara shoved the memories away and rose from the table. There was no one there to give her grief about leaving the table with the food half-eaten. In fact, she had been encouraged to wander around.

It was foreign—all of it.

Like a curious yet scared cat, she ventured toward the back doors, peering into the bright afternoon sunlight. Janus remained on her heels, happily bouncing along as if he wanted to play tour guide. Ara was happy for his furry companionship.

Where she stood, the air conditioning made her momentarily forget about the smoldering heat outside. Still, Ara was suddenly curious about what else the grounds held, and she pushed her way out into the almost suffocating humidity.

This isn’t much different than the smoggiest days in San Francisco, she thought, except I don’t feel pollution filling my lungs with each step I take.

She slipped over the back deck, around the side of the kitchen and again, then stopped in her tracks as her vivid eyes tried to take in the opulence of what she was seeing: a two-tiered swimming pool sat above a slight hill, the smaller one pouring endlessly into the larger one like a waterfall.

It seemed to go on as far as her eyes could see, but when she raised her head, Ara could just make out the shape of a hot tub over the curve of the slope, and without realizing it, her legs had carried her further toward the sight.

As she ventured along the edge, she noticed a small pond off to the side, and when she approached it, a cabin appeared abruptly from behind the line of trees.

Everywhere I set my eyes, there’s something else to see, she thought, shaking her head. I feel like I’m reading a fairy tale. She admitted to herself that there was something very similar to her situation and that of a children’s book. For a worrying moment, she wondered if she wasn’t about to simply wake up from a dream. It seemed to be the only place in which good things happened to her.

Striking the idea from her mind, Ara headed toward the building, and she suddenly realized she was staring at a garage. Her travels had taken her to the other side of the house, and she was looking at the extended building off the round driveway inside the front gate.

Janus barked at her, as if to warn her from going in, whining slightly.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “I can’t go in there?”

To her surprise, he simply turned and bounded away, leaving her alone again to study the garage.

From inside, Ara could hear music playing softly, but she couldn’t make out the genre, only the faint beat as she opened the side door.

The structure was a disarray of technical equipment, set up haphazardly on cheap plastic tables. Computer screens, circuit boards, and keyboards were strewn about without any rhyme or reason. Wires and capacitors sat in crates, a jumble of disorganization. But none of that held her attention very long.

Titus had his head bowed over something, a soldering iron in his hand as goggles blocked his grey eyes. He hadn’t heard her come in, and he seemed lost in concentration as he continued to work, his fingers skillful.

I wonder what that brilliant mind is working on now, Ara thought to herself. She dared not distract him, unsure if she should even be in the room, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. What is it about him? What is he doing to me?

As if Titus heard her silent question, he raised his head and stared at her, blinking once as if he thought she might be an apparition.

“Bella,” he gasped, putting down the tool and rising. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Why does he keep calling me Bella? she wondered. It had been years since anyone had called her that, a nickname reserved for her childhood and only out of the mouth of her favorite uncle before he died. But when Titus said it, her heart began to pound, the adrenaline pumping through her as her mind struggled to recall… something.

“Bella?”

“I’m fine,” Ara responded quickly as Titus slipped the goggles from his face. “Sorry I interrupted you.”

He shook his head, his smoky eyes sparkling. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, taking a step toward her. “I get so caught up in what I’m doing, I lose track of time sometimes. It’s good to have a reminder that I am surrounded by beauty.”

The sincerity of his words warmed Ara, although in the back of her mind, she wondered why she was not stepping back and out of his nearing reach. Quite the contrary: her body was responding to his approach with her own movements.

Before she knew what happening, Titus’ face was inches from hers, and she realized he was going to kiss her.

Yet there was no warning in her head to avoid it, not a single chime of alarm. Instead, Ara found herself tilting her head back to eagerly accept his mouth.

“Do you remember?” Titus breathed. “Do you remember who you are?”

Ara bit her lower lip. Lie to him, a small voice whispered, and she nodded slowly, knowing that was what he wanted to hear.

Relief exploded over his face, and his muscular arms embraced her tightly, sweeping her into a tight hug. His eyes gazed into hers, and Ara felt herself quivering in anticipation.

“Bella, I had given up on ever finding you,” he murmured softly. “I’ll never let you go again.”

Ara dismissed the twinge of guilt firing at her mind, knowing that she was not the woman he was looking for, but she was unable to resist the meeting of their mouths.

It doesn’t matter who he thinks you are, she told herself sternly. There is something between us—oh…

His lips parted, a burst of heat transferring from him to her, and Ara sighed, her slender frame relaxing into him as his hold on her tightened.

“Oh, Bella,” Titus moaned, his mouth traveling along the side of her jawline, pausing to bury his nose in the depth of her curls. “You smell just as I remember.”

Shivers flooded Ara as her arms reached up to encircle his neck, drawing him close, her fingers shaking as she slipped them into his blond waves, lacing them against the softness of his tresses. His palms spread against her back, inching toward her small but firm buttocks, and when he cupped her cheeks, the heat between her legs came forth with a shocking force.

Titus’ mouth continued along the line of her neck, Ara dipping her head back to allow him to taste the prickled flesh as his tongue lashed out. Even if she had wanted to fight it, she would have been powerless, paralyzed by the overwhelming waves of desire sweeping through her body.

She anticipated it seconds before he grasped her in his powerful hands, her legs elevated to wrap against his broad waist as he moved them toward the small, worn loveseat nearby. Gently, he placed her onto the sofa in a sitting position, his mouth still locked against the skin of her throat, suctioning, prodding with his tongue.

Ara reached forward to pull his t-shirt from his wide back, and Titus sat back just long enough to allow it. Their gazes met again, the energy coursing between them a palpable force that was making Ara dizzy with pleasure.

She tossed his shirt aside and reached to pull off her own. As the material slipped over her head, his face was back to hers, their lips locking. His hands pulled her pants away effortlessly, his mouth never losing contact with hers, their eyes widening in unison as his palms slid across her bare nipples.

Oh, my God…

Titus’ fingers closed around the erect skin, his thumb rolling against the rigidness as bolts of pleasure shot through Ara’s gut.

When his head finally dropped to taste her yearning breasts, she moaned quietly, yanking his head toward her. Her legs gripped his waist, wanting to feel the obvious bulge in his pants, but he kneeled on the floor, his mouth moving along the flatness of her belly, toward her center.

When his fingers hooked into her panties, his hands pushing her thighs apart, Ara was ready for his prodding tongue, and she mewled as he latched onto her throbbing nub.

If I don’t know him, why does it feel like we’ve done this before? she asked herself. He knows every part of me better than I do.

Titus’ teasing tongue became more insistent, his palms cupping at her rear once more to draw her fully against his face. Ara bucked up against him, knowing that his masterful movements would bring her to climax in no time.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh…” She felt as if she had lost her ability to speak, her hips rocking against him in rhythm to his perfect strokes, and she tensed, her fingers squeezing against his head. “I’m—Oh Titus—!” she cried, her words escaping in tiny gasps as a flow of her pleasure streamed from her core and over his enthusiastic lips.

Ara’s head was light, as if she was somewhere else, watching Titus from a distance, but when he raised his head, his fingertips trailing over her excited middle, she could sense that he was not finished with her.

Her rosebud mouth parted as he pulled himself up, his shirtless, barrel chest gleaming with sweat. Ara knew she needed him inside her.

“Take me,” she begged him. “Please.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes blazing with desire.

“I couldn’t stop myself if I tried,” he rasped, falling onto her.