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I glance up into his golden-green eyes and I know.

He knows.

Deliberately, I shove down that blip of fear, concentrate on the things I do know.

He’s kind.

He won’t hurt me.

That’s not something my heart or brain is telling me.

It’s pure primal instinct.

Somewhere deep inside, my body knows that this man is safe for me.

“I’m a good listener,” he says. “Because I don’t mind doing it.” A beat. “So long as you want to talk.”

I take a breath, let it out.

It’s not that I want to talk.

It’s another need.

“I had an escape plan,” I murmur. “Two years ago. I had money set aside, a plane scheduled to take me away from here. I thought…” I sigh. “I really thought I was going to get out. I was so careful—or I thought I was so careful. Then Dylan found out.”

“How?”

“Our housecleaner. She found one of the bags I’d packed and told him, and then…”

“What happened?” His question is quiet…and full of rage.

But again, I’m not scared of this man.

“He shouted and yelled and”—I close my eyes, my hand convulsing around his—“it was the first time he got physical with me.”

“Dammit,” Hudson growls.

“I lost my allowance then. Couldn’t so much as go out and grab a cup of coffee without him or one of his assistants glued to my side. Since then, I haven’t made a move he hasn’t known about—until you helped get me out of the hospital.”

“Princess,” he murmurs and I see the thread of anger in his eyes.

And the pity.

“Don’t feel bad for me,” I whisper. “I’ve done bad things, even though I had everything from the moment Willow’s World premiered.”

“Those teen shows are ripe with abuse, misbehavior, and vulnerable children.”

Vulnerable.

Yes, I’d been that.

Vulnerable to drugs, to bad influences.

“Yes,” I agree. “My mom was there, so deeply woven into my life I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but they still managed to get to me. I was harassed by directors, told I would never measure up in any way by producers, given far too much freedom and access by co-stars. I drank by ten, got high within that same year, and my teen years were a mess. And the press ate it up.” I rub the throb in my temple again. “Dylan helped me out of that. I was getting there—tired of using, of the partying, of waking up with people I didn’t know in bed beside me, of looking in the mirror and seeing a facsimile of myself. He wanted me in his film and he took a chance and…in a way he saved me because he gave me a way out and kept me away from the bad influences until I was strong enough to handle them.”

“A good thing.” A beat. “At first.”

“Yes.”