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She shakes her head. “I’m still wound up. I have some sedatives in my purse. But you’ll be on your own if something happens.”

“I have an idea.” I move closer. Close enough to offer my hand. “If you trust me.”

She looks up at me with vulnerability in her blue eyes and places her palm in mine.

My entire body lights up. I’m warm everywhere.

I don’t question it. I pull her to her feet. I lead her out of the house, down the stone steps, to the rock slab of the beach.

She follows with steady steps, but she’s still not the Jamie I know.

This isn’t my expertise. Not at work, anyway. I’m not there to handle anyone gently.

But I do know her, even if I’ve never seen this side of her.

How did I not notice, back then, that she never truly let her guard down?

I was so busy worrying about the weight of my secrets, I didn’t think about hers.

She told me plenty of places she hurt. The way she always felt out of place, growing up in her stuffy suburban town. The way it changed, when she grew breasts, and men started to like her, even with her macabre interest.

The way that become the center of her life. That men only wanted her for her body. She refused to make it a chain around her neck, but it wore on her still. She worried it was what I liked most about her.

I love the way you love my body, baby. God, you feel so good against me. It’s primal. I get it. But I need the full package too. Everything.

She was so fucking good.

And she was selling a story I wanted to believe.

Of course I didn’t see it.

Now that I do, this is different, but I don’t know what that means. Only that I need to help her now.

What would Jamie say in this situation?

I step out of my shoes and socks. “You know, you didn’t have to get kidnapped to get my clothes off.”

She watches as I strip to my boxers. “No?” She holds my gaze for a moment, starting to slip into her old role, but she stops. “I’m sorry, Matteo. I’m not feeling very playful.”

There’s something scary about seeing Jamie without her armor. I want to protect her. I want to bring her back.

“Take this off.” I motion to her blouse.

“I’m not in that mood either.” Her eyes stay hazy. She’s looking towards me, but she’s not looking at me.

I bring my hands to the collar of her shirt. “Is Jamie Moriarty turning down sex?”

She raises her arms so I can pull her shirt over her head. “It happens.”

“It’s happened?” I ask as I toss the shirt on the rocky coast.

She looks at me with confusion in her blue eyes. She’s still the Jamie who commands the room, but she she’s small and vulnerable too.

“It’s not a sexual offer,” I say, as I motion to her pants. Take those off too.

“This is a fixation of yours, huh? Telling me to strip then insisting you won’t fuck me.” She finds some lightness in her voice.

“It is,” I say. “I love to torture you.”