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“What do you mean?”

“During my presentation,” he rests his book on his lap, “he was touching you, wasn’t he?”

“He–” I swallow, “he didn’t enter me.”

He nods, those pale eyes sweeping over my body before going back to the phone.

“What are you looking at?” I ask, wondering what makes a man stare at a phone rather than at a naked woman.

“My dog.”

“A video?” I grab the black leotard and step into the leg holes.

“No, he’s got a tracker that tells me how much activity he gets a day. One of the brothers was assigned to walk him today. I just want to make sure they actually did it.”

Instinctively, when he says the word ‘tracker’ I touch the scar tissue behind my ear. It had been there so long I forgot about it and was removed by my kidnapper. The King hadn’t placed another one in me. Why? Does he not care if I’m snatched away again?

No. The Barons are watching me, keeping me safe.

“I’ve never really been around dogs. My uncle only kept the guard kind. Big. Mean. Trained to hate everything.”

He looks up at me then, his gaze softening, the usual wariness slipping from his shoulders. “Ares isn’t like that. He’s nervous, sure–but not mean.”

I catch his eyes in the mirror. “Why’s he nervous?”

Hunter pockets his phone, then crosses his arms. “I found him last winter after a shift at the radio station. Looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. And his eyes…” He trails off, shaking his head. “They had that thousand-yard stare. Like he wasn’t reallyin his body anymore. Like someone had wrung the soul out of him.”

My chest tightens. “Was he… abused?”

Hunter nods once. “I think so. You can tell in the way he reacts to things. Don’t ever pick up a stick or broom or anything around him.”

I blink. “Will he attack you if you do?”

“No.” His mouth twists. “He’ll just get scared. Might knock something over, or hide under the bed for hours. It’s not anger he remembers. It’s fear. It didn’t take much for him to trust me: regular food, a calm steady voice, and now he’s completely loyal.”

“Maybe he’ll like me,” I say, more to myself than Hunter. Wiggling into the leotard, I get above my waist and then suck in a breath before pulling the compressed fabric over my breasts. “I hate these things,” I suck back a sob.

“The outfit?”

“The piercings.”

His eyes flick back to my tits. “They hurt?”

“What do you think?” I snap, tugging at the top, and face him. “Tell me the truth, can you see them?”

Sliding his phone into his shirt pocket, Hunter stands and walks over. His eyes are zeroed in on my chest and he says, “Definitely.”

“Ugh. My teacher isn’t going to like that. She wants clean lines and we’re supposed to look professional, not like dancers down at the Gentlemen’s Chamber.”

His eyebrow lifts. “You know about the Gentlemen’s Chamber?”

“Of course.” I pull at the fabric near my tits, trying to make some room, but the spandex snaps back and I yelp. Wincing, I add, “My uncle has meetings there. I’ve heard him talk about it.”

Hunter stares at my chest, forehead creased in concentration. Again, he reacts without speaking, going back to the chair–no, the bag by the chair. He opens the primary zipper and digs around, finally locating something. He palms it, and crosses back over to me, tossing it once in the air before catching it.

“What’s that?”

“Tape.”