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I wonder if she has any idea how attractive she is. In the interview, despite my staring at her captivating perfection, she did not show that she did. It was like she was completely unaware of it, which seems insane to me. How has somebody like her gone through her life without men fighting each other for her attention?

“You can keep asking, but you’re not going to get any answers.”

After a long pause, I snap, “I was at your apartment because you mentioned the Vultures and you sounded terrified, Evie. I could tell you didn’t mean to mention them, but when you did, you looked like you were going to break down. I thought you were in trouble–and I was right.”

She says nothing for a long time, then whispers, “Is this the part where I reveal all my secrets because you’ve given me the most basic explanation?”

I grind my teeth. “Has anybody ever told you how annoying you can be?”

“If you won’t let me go, I’m happy to drive in silence.”

“Fine by me,” I grunt.

Forty minutes later, we’re driving through the isolation of Topanga Canyon. My estate comes into view beneath us as we turn on a small hill. From this rise, I see it all: my estate stretched across the canyon like it belongs here. The glassand stone main house catches the sun, surrounded by terraced gardens, with an infinity pool spilling into the view. Winding paths cut through olive trees and wild sage. It’s quiet, private, exactly how I like it.

Evie strokes her cat, who has fallen asleep in her lap. Neither of us has said a word since we vowed to be silent, but when my property comes into view, she sighs. “Oh, to be rich…”

“You like it?”

“I don’t think I could ‘like’ any prison. Look at those tall walls; look at that big gate. I bet you’ve kept people here as prisoners before.” Bitterness laces her voice.

“That’s a losing bet.”

“So, I’m special, am I?” she says sarcastically.

She is, but I don’t tell her that.

“If you’re ready to start talking, I might not have to keep you here.”

“Might not,” she repeats. “That’s an interesting way to phrase it.”

I pull up outside the gate, lower my window, and brush my thumb against the pad. The gate makes a mechanical whirling noise as it opens onto the pathway that winds toward the main entrance.

“So, if I want to escape, I’ll need to cut off your thumb,” she says.

I smirk at her. “Do you think you’re capable of that?”

She raises an eyebrow with the sassiness I’m already finding addictive. “Don’t tempt me.”

She’s the one who’s tempting me every single second. At several points during the drive, I’ve struggled to keep the hunger in me at bay.

I was relieved when her cat clambered into her lap just because it meant I couldn’t devour her legs with my eyes, imagine slipping my hand between them, gently pushing them apart, pressing against her sex and discovering if her rejection of me is all for show… or if her body would tell secrets through the wetness of her desire.

These aren’t the thoughts I should have at a time like this, but sue me. I’m a man and she’s hotter than hell.

The garage opens automatically as I approach, then closes behind us.

“You’ve got two choices now,” I say, as we sit in the semidarkness of the electric lights. “You can come with me to the panic room while I figure out what to do next. Or I’ll take you there.”

“Takeme there, huh? That sounds like a euphemism. Almost like you don’t want to admit what you’re doing. You don’t want to accept that you’re kidnapping me.”

“I’m keeping you safe?—”

“If protecting somebody means doing something against their will, is that really protection?”

“Yes.”

“Try saying that like you mean it.”