Page 73 of The Beast Who Bought Me
“Good, you’re awake,” she says with a smile. “You gave everyone quite a scare.”
“I did?” I rasp.
In the corner of the room, a shadow shifts, and I give a startled jerk.
It’s him. Damiano.
“Easy now.” She presses a hand against my forehead, and I lean into the touch slightly—her fingers feel nice and cool. “Yeah, you’re still burning up. I’m Darla, honey. I’m a nurse. Do you know your name?”
“Cal,” I say.
“Very good!” She sounds so pleased with me that I smile back at her. “So, I hear you passed out. When’s the last time you had a proper meal?”
I blink. “Yesterday? Maybe...”
Her eyes are still kind, but they narrow as she looks to the side. She’s smart enough not to turn around and openly glare. But she seems so nice, I don’t want her to do anything that might get her hurt.
So I try to sit up. “I was in the shower—” The world tilts and I collapse back against the pillows.
“Don’t do that,” Darla says gently. “You need to rest.”
Across the room, when it swims back into focus, Damiano looms like a thundercloud, arms crossed, face cold. But his eyes—Christ, his eyes are burning holes through me with the same intensity as the first night I was in his house.
“Do you have any underlying conditions?” Darla asks, following my gaze briefly before refocusing on me.
“Just the usual.” I let my voice carry a hint of flirtation. “Apparently I’m irresistible to beautiful women.”
She laughs. “Well, that’s not in any medical textbook I’ve read.”
In the corner, Damiano’s hands are clenching into fists.
“So, is this something you do part-time while you build your career as a supermodel?” I continue.
Darla’s smile widens. “You can flirt as hard as you like, it won’t change your blood pressure reading.” She adjusts the cuff around my arm. “Since you ask, I’m a registered nurse, but I’m also in medical school to become a doctor. I do some freelancing here and there. Off-the-books work, mainly for people who…well. Prefer their privacy.”
People like Damiano. People who can afford to keep their secrets buried.
Darla turns to him. “Could you grab me a fresh washcloth, please, Mr. Orsini?”
He hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave us alone together, before turning and stalking from the room. The door closes not much quieter than a slam.
As soon as we’re alone, Darla leans closer, all her smiles evaporating. “If you’re in trouble, Cal, I can help you. I have friends who can get you out of here.”
I let myself imagine it: walking out of this steel-shuttered house, disappearing, breathing fresh air again.
But there’s ten million dollars on the line.
And the killer is waiting out there somewhere for me.
I think of the golden cage, the collar. Of Damiano’s hands—teasing me with the plug, spanking me until I came, sliding inside me.
I think about him taking a knife for me.
I signed away my autonomy in return for ten million and protection for a year. And hehasprotected me, hasn’t he? At the opera. And he didn’t leave me lying on the floor of the shower. He got me medical help. I’m not in his basement anymore—I’m in his room, his private sanctuary. Back in hisbed.
I even haveclotheson. Pajamas that fit, though the legs are a little short.
A surge of reckless confidence flares within me. He’s still controllable. I just need to find the right strings to pull. As for this nurse, maybe she means well, but…
