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“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He put me on my feet and turned me around. “You really are afraid to be locked in there.” He ran his hands up and down my arms. “I can feel it. It’s not an act.”
I jerked a shoulder, keeping my gaze on his chest. His sternum had a red mark from where I must have jabbed him with my elbow. More shame washed over me.
“All right,” he said. “I can’t let you stay in here, not while I’m asleep, but there’s an empty suite next door that you can have. But you’ll be locked in—that’s non-negotiable.”
“Okay.” It wouldn’t be easy—I hated being locked in at all—but as long as it wasn’t a dark, cramped box like the room he’d ordered me into, I could deal.
He lowered me into an armchair and handed me a glass of water, then pulled on his boxers and sent a text to someone. While we waited, he dampened a washrag and wiped the tears from my face, so gently I felt my eyes sting again.
A knock sounded on the hall door. “It’s Talon,” said a deep voice.
Brien invited him in and told him to put me in the empty suite for the night. “Lock her in and put a guard outside her door.”
Talon’s brows climbed, but he nodded. “No problem.”
“Tomorrow,” Brien added, “she’s to be allowed as much time as she wants outside. And have Avril order her some clothes—she needs something besides that evening gown.”
“Will do,” said Talon.
Brien stroked the backs of his fingers down my tear-damp cheeks. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
I caught his wrist. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. You’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine.”
* * *
The suite they put me in was similar to Brien’s. Talon waited until I’d turned on the light before locking the door.
I still had a spurt of panic as the door locked behind him, but this time, I was prepared. I set my jaw, fisted my hands and took several deep breaths. Then I took a long, hot shower before crawling into bed.
When I woke up, I had no idea what time it was. No clocks, of course; vampires can sense the passing of time.
My empty stomach announced it was time for breakfast, or maybe even lunch. The first thing I did was to try the outer door again. It was still locked.
I hammered my fist on the door. “Hey, I could use a little food here.”
“I’ll inform the cook,” said a voice from the other side.
“Thank you,” I called back.
That’s when I saw the packages piled on the couch. I forgot my hunger and made a beeline for the couch. Yeah, Lainey Q had been a cover, but the best disguises contain something of yourself, and I have a weakness for pretty, quirky clothes and these were just what I would’ve picked out for myself if I had the money for expensive, one-of-a-kind pieces.
I may even have squealed when I saw the red patent-leather Christian Louboutin stiletto heels. And I gasped when I unboxed the silver Prada high-tops.
I found everything I needed, including underwear, and all in my size. I shimmied into a pair of silver shorts and a trendy black tee with a lace-up neckline.
I was pulling on a pair of pink socks when a woman knocked on my door, calling in French, “May I come in?”
“Oui, bien sûr,” I returned.
The lock disengaged and a woman in black pants and a crisp white shirt entered with a tray of food holding a typical French breakfast: buttery croissants, three small quiches and fresh fruit. She’d even brought a pot of coffee and a tiny pitcher of cream.
My stomach growled as she set it on the coffee table. “This looks great,” I said. “Thank you.”
