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“I suppose you say that because you prefer to be called Lise instead of your full name Annalise. Does that sound right?”

“Maybe.”

“Sinclair is my name. You can call me that.”

“But what if I called you Cory instead?” Finally, I made eye contact with him again, hoping to gauge his reaction.

But I couldn’t read him. “Cory…doesn’t sound like me.” I took that as a no, but he was still pondering, so I returned to tracing the figure eight on his chest, as if a tiny ice skater was practicing. “Edna told me once that my mother used to call me that.”

What little I’d read of what I now considered her pregnancy journal had suggested that. “But you don’t remember?”

“I was a baby when she died. I don’t remember her at all. Edna’s the closest thing I ever had to a mother.” Although I didn’t speak, I flattened my hand, now stroking his chest with my palm, as if that could soothe any pain he might feel from her loss. “If I said yes,” he said, his voice soft as he placed a finger under my chin, urging me to make eye contact, “you mustn’t ever call me that outside this room.”

I suspected I knew the reason but I still wanted to ask. “Why not?”

“Outside this room, you are my employee and you need to show respect. Calling me by a nickname that no one else has ever heard would not only make others question our relationship but might also cause them to lose respect for me—and I will not tolerate that.”

I wasn’t about to say it aloud, but my mind screamed MORE RULES! And the defiant imp inside me wanted to rebel almost immediately.

But then I focused on something else he’d said…something I needed to clarify. So much I needed to clarify.

First things first. “So this…us. This is secret?”

“It must be. We’ve crossed a line, Lise—and it would be foolish to broadcast that.”

“You said relationship.” Now I touched his cheek, those little prickles of stubble rubbing against my hand, reminding me of how my chin was also slightly sore, easy to ignore when there was a stronger pain below. His eyes softened, as if he’d been a savage beast, and all it took was a loving touch to soothe his ire. “This isn’t a one-time thing?”

Then I saw something cross his eyes, pained, as if he’d been stabbed. “Do you want it to be?”

“No.” I shook my head and, impulsively, kissed him gently on the lips.

“I don’t either. But we have to keep this to ourselves.”

That idea didn’t bother me. I would have felt ashamed if anyone knew what we’d done here tonight—not just if my father had found out, but Edna, Gregory, Henry…all the people I knew here. It might have seemed to them as if I were sleeping with the master of the mansion to earn favors. I didn’t want to have to insist to people that Sinclair had offered me the chance to attend college before we’d become involved with each other.

But…we’d kissed before that, hadn’t we? We’d both been attracted to one another, thinking about each other in inappropriate ways long before we’d actually consummated.

Did that count?

I wasn’t about to broach that subject. “Okay.” And my heart opened wide. “As long as I can have you here and call you whatever I want, I can keep all this to myself.”

Chapter 9

I awoke the next morning to the sounds of Sinclair’s door opening—but he wasn’t leaving. Instead, he was entering, light streaming inside through the sheer curtains.

For a moment, I panicked. Would anyone have been able to glimpse through them last night to see what we were doing? But as I looked over at them, I couldn’t see the yard outside. Although they were sheer and let plenty of light in, they weren’t so filmy as to be see-through.

As he walked past the bed, I said, “Morning.”

He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, no doubt returning from the third floor where he’d been working out. “Good morning, lovely. How did you sleep?”

“Great.” It was true—except for twice in the night when I’d had to turn and felt the pain between my legs, I’d slept like a baby.

And he’d held me most of the night. I hadn’t expected it, but I’d appreciated it.

Sitting up, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. He asked, “Did you want to shower?”

Remembering what he’d said the night before about discretion, I responded, “I should probably do it in my room.” He nodded as I stood but didn’t say anything. “And I should probably grab my clothes out of the bathroom before you shower.”