“I have been taking care of myself for a long time now, and I can—”
“End up as a sex slave in somebody’s basement…or worse.” His coffee voice floated low and rich through the room again, and as the words “sex slave” passed over his lips, the heat coursing through her reached a fever pitch, settling between her thighs.
His charge to watch her twenty-four-seven could not happen. If even one full day passed and he remained beside her, she had a bad feeling about what her body, the damn betrayer that it was, might consider without the consent of her sense of reason.
Twenty-four-seven. The thought sent two chills down her spine—one of fear, the other something a lot like lust.
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