My pulse hammers.
“And do not ever allow feelings to enter into the situation.”
My head jerks up at that, a laugh escaping, sharp and nervous. “That’s actually one of the rules?”
He stares at me steadily. “Yes, it is. Probably the biggest one. Obedience, I can train. Desire, I can master. But feelings and love? Love destroys. It makes people weak. It causes deceit. You keep that part locked away, Cassandra, or we are finished before we begin.”
The seriousness in his tone makes me second-guess my reaction. I close my mouth and wonder if agreeing to this means turning myself into someone who can live without emotion.
“If you stay,” he continues, “you obey. If you cannot obey, you leave now and we part without argument.”
The relief that runs through me is so sudden, I heave a subtle sigh. He sees it, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. He has given me an out, and he is daring me to take it.
“And the other rules?”
“There are several, but they all fall under three: privacy, precision, and truth. You will not speak of me to anyone. You will do as you are told, precisely as you are told, once you have agreed. And you will not lie.”
My throat tightens. The last one is the worst, and I’ve already broken it.
“Even if the truth is unflattering?”
“Especially then. I can assure you I’m a very careful man. I do not break my toys, Miss Hewitt.”
“I’m not a toy,” I say, surprised by the force behind the words.
“Nor am I a boy who plays,” he replies.
My wrists begin to ache against the rope. It’s not pain, it’s more like awareness. I pull in a breath through my nose, releasing it slowly through my mouth.
“If I say yes,” I whisper, “what happens right now?”
“Right now, you learn the first lesson.”
“And that is?”
“How to obey. Stand up.”
I try to push up with bound hands before I remember I’m attached to the bed. He watches, amused for a moment, before lifting my hands up and sliding the knot over the notch on the headboard. I’m still bound at the wrists, but at least I can move.
I plant my feet on the ground and stand, shoulders square.
“Good,” he says, the word simple yet landing with ridiculous force. “Eyes on me.”
“They are.” The words escape before I can cage them.
Steel-blue eyes narrow at me. “You will learn when to speak and when to stay quiet. Open your hands.”
I turn my bound wrists to show my palms, fingers splayed. He reaches for my wrists, loosening the binding before sliding the rope off and setting it aside.
“Turn,” he says next.
I turn around and close my eyes, savoring his scent of cedar and winter citrus.
“You lack skill, but you are not careless.”
“I can learn,” I once again insist, my voice steadier.
“You just did.” He gathers my hair to one side, his fingers never touching skin. “Now. Say yes.”
