Her composure was wrecked, and his perceptive eyes seemed to capture every crumble and twist of her face. She needed to toughen up, put on her best mask. The scary part was she didn’t want to wear one with him.

His features softened. Even when frowning, his lips formed a serene curve. “Okay, Liv. I’m going to let that sit for a minute.” He blew out a breath. “First, I wasn’t trying to steal your phone. You’re not exactly forthcoming, and I need to know what you’re not telling me. Second, why did that bastard text you seventy-eight times?”

“He’s probably worried.” Or horny.

“Really? He let the friggin’ door shut while you were bleeding and unconscious on the floor.” His nostrils flared at her flinch. He scrubbed a hand over his stubble. “Look, I don’t know what your relationship is with him—”

“There’s no relationship.” She let her heavy head fall to his chest. The protection of his body was a persuasion she couldn’t resist with her mind as fuzzy and achy as it was. He felt like the safest place on Earth.

“Have you told him that?” His voice vibrated through her, powerful, dependable.

She should’ve been punishing his disobedient ass, whipping him into the shape of a dutiful, cock-sucking slave. Even if the thought wasn’t so ludicrous, she had neither the energy nor the will to hurt him. “Let me just lie here a minute.”

“Thank you, God,” he murmured as his fingers combed through her hair, not coiling and yanking, just soothing the strands and stimulating the roots along her scalp. “How much pain are you in?”

“I’ll manage.” Every inch of her bare skin relished the support of his warm musculature. She brushed a hand down his ribs, hooked a finger around the belt loop of his jeans, and yanked it hard enough to pinch his balls with the pull of denim. “Why am I naked?”

A deep noise strangled in his throat. “Your sprayed-on leotard was constricting your breathing.” He bent his knees, and she settled snuggly in the cage of his hard thighs, chest to chest. “Don’t think it’s passed my notice that I’m supposed to be the slave, yet you’re the one lying here battered and troubled.”

The beat of her blood accelerated.

“I’m just going to talk through this and hope that you’ll fill in the gaps.” He stroked her hair. “I’ve tried to figure out why I need to consent to do things with Van.” His caressing paused and began again. “Van doesn’t hit me, hasn’t raped me, but he wants to. What’s his deal?”

She tightened her hand on his waistband. “The buyer wants the appearance of a willing slave. One who desires a man despite his innate heterosexuality. If Van raped you, that outcome wouldn’t be achieved.”

He laughed, coarsely. “Thank God for that. So, that’s a requirement?”

“Requirement one. Slave has never experienced sexual intimacy with a woman. Slave is heterosexual but hates women. He desires only his Master.”

A soft chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I could never hate women.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Nor can I hate you.”

His tender embrace made her heart thump against her ribs. The backs of her eyes burned with the kind of ache she hadn’t felt in a long time. Swear to God, if she cried over a hug, she’d never regain her position with him.

His lips touched the crown of her head and retreated. “If you fail to deliver a slave as prescribed…” His silence stretched for so long, she raised her head and found him staring down at her. “Mr. E will kill you?”

A swallow hung in her raw throat. “Worse.”

His face twisted. “What’s worse than death?”

Mom always said if she could confront the wind at 10,000 feet, she could confront anything. But falling out of the sky felt a fuck of a lot safer than exposing her awful, selfish truth. “Ask yourself that question.”

He stared at her with such intensity she closed her eyes against it. He was the only person who had ever tried to peek beneath her masks, and damn her, she wanted him to find what he was searching for. After a long moment, he rolled her off his chest with gentle arms and settled her on her side. Then he sprang from the bed.

She shifted to sit with her back against the wall, pulling the blanket around her chest. As he paced through the room, the contraction of his tense body captivated her.

Powerful legs stretched the denim of his low-waist jeans. His biceps flexed as he ran his fingers through cropped strands of his black hair. “Who is he threatening? Your parents? A husband?” He stopped at the mattress, fists on his hips. With the agitation straining the tight fabric of his t-shirt, the hard line of his lips, and his eyes sharply focused, there was no way he could pass as a boy. In fact, he looked like a man prepared to take on the world. Especially when he shouted, “Who, Liv?”

Why did she feel so compelled to open up to him? She pressed her fist to her lips, stifling the song that suddenly and violently ripped through her mind. He wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t use her fears against her. Drawing a deep breath, she swallowed her panic and whispered, “My mom.”

In the next breath, he was kneeling beside her, holding her hands in his. “Your mom?”

She pressed her back to the wall, her hands sweating and shoulders stiff. “And my daughter.” She kept her eyes on his, but her voice was so small she was sure he didn’t hear her nor did she want him to. She would’ve done the world a favor if she’d died giving birth. But her body had recovered, just like it always did. A fucking curse she couldn’t bring herself to end.

His face paled and his hands convulsed around hers. He lowered his head and tilted his ear toward her. “Say that again.”

An onslaught of dizziness spread through her head. Her cheeks numbed and her throat tightened. “My daughter.”

He leaned back, searching her face as a whirlwind of emotions crashed over his.

Chapter 22

Liv held her breath, waiting for her revelation to sink in. She circled her thumbs over his hands. What would he do with this information? How would his reaction impact Mom and Mattie? “Say something.”

His jaw hung. He closed it, blinked. “Who’s her father? Where is he?”

When her eyes flicked to the door, he sucked in a breath, his face contorting in disbelief. “Him?” His voice was guttural, strained. “You have a child with Van?”

A wave of nausea rolled through her, trembling her body. Disgusted with herself and his reaction to her, her eyes averted from his. She forced them back, met his steady gaze. “There’s a story.”

“Then you’ll talk while you’re eating.” He cupped her chin. “But you sure as hell aren’t going out there—” he stabbed a finger toward the door “—until we have a plan.”

Her back stiffened, and she jerked out of his hold. “A plan? Don’t you think I’ve thought through every possible solution?”

He climbed off the bed and scanned the room. “Do you have anything to eat in here?”

Why wasn’t he badgering her with questions? She pointed at the trunk.

As he strode around the mattress, his eyes held hers, heavy with intent. “We’ll walk through our options after you eat.”

Clearly, she was no longer steering this…whatever this was. Not that she’d ever really gained control of him. The thought both petrified and thrilled her, a testament to how wildly her world was tilting on end. She knew she should order him to strip and kneel and kiss her feet. She also knew if she peeled away the layers of bullshit around her heart, she’d find a hopeful girl who wanted him stubborn and fierce and whole, exactly as he was.

He returned with an armful of energy bars, apple chips, bottled water, and surprisingly, one of her long nightshirts. “I thought this might make you more comfortable.”

Her heart tripped. The shirt was a kindness she wasn’t accustomed to receiving and certainly didn’t deserve, considering his week-long nudity. She slipped it on, her insides quivering with the realization that he could destroy her at a fundamental level. She’d hidden her vulnerability by pretending not to care, but in the span of a week, he’d sliced a deep cut in her mask.