He was beyond splendid. He made her breath catch and her heart race, her temper flare and her sense of humor sharpen. He had her sexuality dancing for joy.

He wanted her to trust him, but how could she trust someone she didn’t understand?

How could she love someone who admitted he didn’t even know what love was, who claimed her as his possession, and who was capable of almost killing his oldest, most trusted ally and friend?

Wait a minute. She didn’t just think that, did she?

Well, it wasn’t true. She was suffering from a supersized value meal of Stockholm syndrome. She would admit to having a mouthwatering crazy going-on for him. Heh, not like she could deny that at this late stage. But she would not admit to the L word.

Oh God.

She wanted to go home, but she didn’t have a home. Her apartment wasn’t hers anymore. It might be let to someone else already. Even if it wasn’t, she was afraid that if she were able to step back inside that space, she would find it was cramped and too small and just as alien as everything else had become in her life.

The shower stall opened. She started and shrank back, covering her br**sts in a reflexive gesture, as Dragos stepped in fully clothed.

He knelt in front of her, gripping the bench on either side of her thighs. The severe lines of his face and muscled body were drenched in moments, the gold of his eyes shadowed. She plucked at the collar of his soaked T-shirt and sighed. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve been crying again,” he said. “Why?”

She chuckled, a small, hollow sound. “Hard day, I guess.”

“Don’t deflect,” he said. “Tell me why.”

“What if I don’t want to,” she snapped.

“Tough,” he told her. He took hold of her shoulders and drew her into his arms. “You have to tell me so I can learn not to do whatever it is I did.”

Damn him. How could he end up saying the exact right thing just when she needed it most?

“Who said it was you? I already told you, everything’s getting to me.” She tucked her face into his neck and nuzzled, reveling in his warm, wet skin.

“Still deflecting,” he said. He reached for a bottle of herbal scented body wash, squirted some into a palm and began to massage her neck and shoulders. “You were having a good time with the gryphons. It was me.”

“We weren’t always having a good time,” she grumbled. She bit back a moan at how good his hands felt as he dug into tired muscles. “I’ve had to exert a great deal of my considerable charm on them these past few days.”

His chest moved in a silent chuckle. His fingers roamed the pale violin shape of her back, trailing suds. He paused and said in a dark tone, “You have a hell of a bruise on your shoulder.”

“Don’t even start that with me,” she said. She rubbed his back. “After all my hard work we did end up getting along pretty well today. I’ll have you know I was having a perfectly splendid time mopping the floor with them when you broke the party up.”

He pulled back and stood to strip off his sodden clothes and fling them into one corner. She stared at the sleek strong lines of his nude body and her heart started to pound. She couldn’t deal with the strength of her reaction to him right now. She averted her gaze.

He sat on the bench and picked her up. She tried to pull away. “Dragos, don’t. I can’t.”

“Hush. Trust me.”

He put her on his lap and tugged her around so that she was facing him. Then he leaned back against the wall, wrapped his arms around her, laid his head on her shoulder and just held her. She laid her head on his shoulder too, and he rocked her.

He said, “Take it off.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” She sighed, removing the dampening spell.

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to her clavicle.

His erection pressed between them, but he made no sexual moves. She sniffled as warmth and comfort stole through her limbs. “And I’m such a wuss.”

“So speaks the young lady who Rune said tossed four of my toughest fighters around like throw pillows,” he said. He squirted shampoo on top of her head and lathered her hair. “I frightened you again, didn’t I?”

“No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know.” She straightened and looked at him. Water trickled down the hard planes of his face and spiked his black eyelashes. “How could you do that to him? He’s your second-in-command. You’ve known each other for . . . for far longer than I can comprehend. If you could do that to him, who else could you do it to?”

“Right now, I could do it to anyone but you.” He eased her off his lap, stood and lathered. He washed his groin and genitals. He handled his erect penis with brisk practicality, but she still had to glance away from how mouthwatering he looked. She finished rinsing her hair as he sluiced off. He turned off the shower.

She wrapped her hair in a towel and dried off with another, while Dragos rubbed a towel over his head and body. The domesticity of the scene was both bizarre and seductive. She fought against giving in to a sense of belonging. It was an illusion. She slipped on the black Dolce & Gabbana robe and saw his eyes light with approval.

“Why anybody but me?” she asked. “Why am I the only one who’s safe?”

Why can I trust you? she wanted to ask. But the strain had eased from his features and she didn’t want to disturb the peace that had crept in to take its place. She took the towel from her hair and started working a brush through the wet length.

He stood behind her, a towel slung around his hips, and took the brush from her. He smoothed out her hair as she watched him in the mirror. The wet braid at his wrist was the same darkened shade of honey.

After several moments of looking thoughtful, he said, “You don’t know much about living in Wyr society, do you?”

She shook her head.

“I forget how secluded you’ve been.” He kissed the nape of her neck. “It will all come clear in time. I promise. Just believe me when I say that not only will I never hurt you, I will protect you from anyone else who would hurt you.”

She did believe him. It fit with how he responded to her when she worked to calm him, with everything that he had said to her and with all his actions. Things settled back in their rightful places. “All right,” she said. “But how do we make sure that you don’t hurt the others then? They’re so loyal to you, Dragos.”

“I know they are. They’re good men. You’ll have to take my word that they understand what happened earlier, maybe even better than I do. We were all a bit too careless today. It won’t happen again.”

“Can you be a bit more enigmatic?” she asked. Irritation brought out the sarcasm in her like nothing else. “A few of those sentences made sense, you know. What won’t happen again?”

He smiled. “Are you hungry? Let’s have supper. It should be set up in the dining room by now.”

Once he mentioned eating, she noticed how famished she was. All of a sudden she felt hollow and shaky. “I’m starving. All I had for lunch was a salad.”

He frowned as he strode into the dressing room. “You should eat more than that. It must take a lot of lettuce and carrots to keep up any kind of normal body weight.”

“Very funny.”

He cocked his head at her. “I wasn’t aware I was making a joke.”

She followed him and picked out a sleeveless red tank top and a matching white skirt splashed with large red poinsettias. She slipped on lace panties but didn’t bother with a bra or shoes. Dragos’s eyes gleamed with approval when he saw her. He had dressed simply as well, in another white Armani silk shirt, rolled at the sleeves, and black slacks.

They walked to the dining room. Her stomach growled at the appetizing smell of roasted meat, fresh bread and garlic.

Appetizing smell . . . roasted meat . . .

A dizzying wave of nausea hit her. What the hell? She came to an abrupt stop, braced one hand on the wall and pressed the other to her stomach as saliva flooded her mouth.

Dragos whipped around. He snaked an arm around her waist. “What’s wrong?”

She held up a hand as she concentrated on deep breathing. The dizzy nausea passed after a moment. She straightened. “I’m all right.”

“You’re going back to the bedroom,” he said. His face set into harsh lines. “I’ll send for our Wyr doctor.”

“No I’m not, and no you won’t,” she told him. She tugged against his hold. He refused to let go of her. “Dragos, please. Cut it out. I’m all right. I didn’t eat much earlier today and I’m just—a whole lot hungrier than I realized. All the good smells are down that way and you want to go in the other direction? Don’t be so mean.”

He acquiesced and let go of her with obvious reluctance. She raised her hands and shrugged at him. He continued to watch her as they went to the dining room.

Two places were set at one end of the large polished mahogany table near the window, surrounded by several covered dishes. White candles were lit, and there was a bouquet of large white roses in a fluted crystal vase. The city skyline was the backdrop for the setting.

Pleasure flooded her. “How beautiful. I adore roses.”

He smiled. “Good. I hoped you would.” He held her chair for her and then sat too.

A platter of some kind of sliced roast meat was near Dragos’s elbow, along with roasted potatoes and gravy. Revolted by the sight and confused, she averted her gaze. Near her was a dish of bow-tie pasta with red peppers and broccoli in a garlic sauce topped with vegan grated “cheese” and a spinach salad topped with mango slices and pecans. Between them was a basket of white and whole grain rolls. An opened bottle of Pinot Noir sat nearby.

Her stomach gave another unsettled lurch, but she was so hungry in spite of it that she forced herself to take a bite of the pasta. The nausea disappeared like it had never been. She said, “This is delicious.”

“If you have a sweet tooth, you might want to save room for dessert,” he said. “There are strawberries dipped in dark chocolate.”

She sighed. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Silence fell as they concentrated on their food. She felt again that sense of the bizarre, sharing such a simple domestic scene as eating supper with him. Caught in the grip of compulsive hunger, she ate like there was no tomorrow. Then it eased so she was able to think again.

Feeling tentative she asked him about his day, and she was surprised and flattered when he responded with every appearance of prompt frankness. He told her of Urien’s disappearance, their corporate conflict, the mayor, and the Elves. She bit her lip as disquiet intruded. “This isn’t going to have a quick or easy resolution, is it?”

He regarded her from under lowered brows as he took a drink of wine. “It doesn’t appear that way. It might be a good idea for us to spend some time at my country estate. Not only is it quieter and more private, it’s well defensible.”

Us. We. Her clothes in his bedroom. Sleeping in his bed. She thought of their confrontation with the Fae King on the plain and how Dragos had denied his instinct to pursue so that he could protect her.

“Dragos, what’s going on here?”

“What do you mean?”

She put down her fork. He watched her, thoughts shifting in his gold shadowed gaze. After a few moments she said, “I would like to ask you a series of questions, if I may.”

He put his fork and knife down as well and rested his elbows on the table, hands clasped loosely, steepled index fingers pressed against his mouth. “Go on.”

She began to pleat the edge of her linen napkin. “Would you be hunting Urien yourself if I weren’t here?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.

For a moment she lost her breath. Implications tried to crowd her mind. She shied away from them and focused on another question. “What happened to my apartment?”

“I presume it’s where you left it,” he said. “Why? Do you want something from it?”

She clenched her hands. “What if I wanted to leave? What if I wanted to go back there?”

“You promised you wouldn’t.” His voice was steady, ruthless.

Fair enough. She started pleating the napkin again. “What if I want my own room?”

Silence.

She forced herself to continue. “What if I want to go see my friends? What if I want to start working at my job again?”

Silence. She looked up and met the dragon’s gaze. He hadn’t changed position, but his hands had clenched. His fingers were longer and tipped with razor-sharp talons.

She wasn’t sure what emotion moved in her at the sight. He was far too dangerous a creature for pity. She did feel concern. She reached across the table, holding her hand out to him, and said in a gentle voice, “They’re just questions, big guy.”

He regarded her hand as it lay on the table, her fingers curled over an empty palm. For a moment that became more terrible than she could have imagined, she thought he was going to ignore her reaching out to him. Then those long taloned fingers wrapped with the utmost delicacy around hers.

He said without expression, “What do you want?”

Something was on the line in this undefined place they were in. She chose her words with a great deal of care. “I’m not sure, other than I would like to know my wishes matter. I don’t want to be talked about in the third person while I’m standing right there or for my life to be arranged without my consent. I would like to make sense of what we’re doing.”

“That would help both of us,” he said. Lines bracketed his mouth.