Apparently, a conscience is a useful thing to lack.

“How are you feeling, my pet?”

At Julian’s murmured question, I tilt my head to look up at him, realizing I’ve been silent for the past few minutes. “I’m okay,” I say, cognizant of Rosa’s presence a couple of feet away. “Just digesting everything.”

“Oh?” Julian gives me an amused look, loosening his grip on me so I can sit more comfortably. “Food-wise or thought-wise?”

“Both, I guess.” I smile, realizing my unintentional joke. “It was a good meal.”

“Yes, it was.” Even in the dim interior of the car, I can see the sensuous curve of his mouth. “Your parents did a good job.”

I nod. “They definitely did.” I wonder what it must’ve been like for them, having dinner with the man who abducted their daughter.

With the criminal who’s now their son-in-law and father of their grandchild.

Sighing, I snuggle back against Julian’s side and close my eyes.

The insanity of my life has reached a whole new level.

* * *

It takes less than twenty minutes to reach the wealthy community of Palos Park. Growing up, I’ve always known of its existence, driving past it on the way to the Tampier Lake preserve. The residents of Palos Park tend to be lawyers and doctors, and I’ve never heard of anyone renting a house there for a couple of weeks.

Of course, Julian isn’t just anyone.

The house he chose is on the very edge of the community, isolated by a tall, wrought-iron fence. Once we get past the electronic gates, we drive down a winding driveway for another couple of hundred yards before reaching the house itself.

Inside, the house is luxuriously appointed, nearly as nice as our mansion at the estate. From gleaming parquet floors to modern art on the walls, everything about our vacation residence screams “extreme wealth.”

“How much did you pay for this?” I ask as we walk through an enormous dining area. “I didn’t realize a house like this could be for rent.”

“It’s not,” Julian says casually. “I bought it.”

My jaw falls open. “What? When? You said you rented it.”

“I said I got a house for our visit,” he corrects. “I never said how I got it.”

“Oh.” I feel foolish at my assumption. “So when did you have a chance to buy it?”

“I began making the arrangements right after we agreed on this trip. It took almost a week for the prior owner to move out, but the house is now ours.”

Ours. The word rolls so easily off his tongue that it doesn’t register for a second. Then I process what he said. “We own this house?” I ask carefully. “As in, both of us?”

“Technically, one of our shell corporations owns it, but I made you a fifty-percent shareholder in that corporation, so yes, we own it,” Julian says as we enter a spacious bedroom with a four-poster bed.

“Julian . . .” Stopping in front of the bed, I look up at him. “Why did you do this? I mean, the trust fund was more than enough—”

“Because you belong to me.” He steps closer, a familiar heat igniting in his gaze as he reaches for the buttons of my dress. His fingers brush against my naked skin, making my nipples pebble with need. “Because I want to take care of you, spoil you, make sure you’ll never want for anything in your life . . .” Despite his tender words, his eyes gleam darker as he finishes unbuttoning the dress and lets it fall to the floor. “Any other questions, my pet?”

I shake my head, staring up at him. I’m now wearing only a blue thong and a matching bra, and the way he’s looking at me reminds me of a hungry lion about to pounce on a gazelle. He may want to take care of me, but at this particular moment, he also wants to devour me.

“Good.” His voice is a deep, menacing purr. “Now turn around.”

My pulse quickening in nervous anticipation, I do as he says. Even though I crave the darkness now, there is a tiny, instinctual curl of fear in my belly. Julian has always been unpredictable. For all I know, the domesticity of this evening reawakened his sadistic desires, unleashing the demon he’s kept in check these recent weeks.

A warm, treacherous throb begins between my thighs at the thought.

As I stand there, I hear a quiet rustling, and then a soft cloth covers my eyes.

A blindfold, I realize, holding my breath. Deprived of my vision, I feel infinitely more vulnerable. My right hand twitches with the sudden urge to lift my arm and tear off the piece of cloth.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Julian catches my arm, his fingers like steel cuffs on my wrist. Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “Who said you could do that, my pet?”

I shiver at the heat of his breath. “I just—”

“Quiet.” His command vibrates through me, adding to the heated pulsing between my legs. “I will tell you when to speak.” Releasing my wrist, he pushes me forward, causing me to stumble and land face down on the bed. “Don’t move,” he orders, stepping closer.

I obey, hardly breathing as he runs his hands over me, starting with my shoulders and ending with my thighs. His touch is gentle, yet somehow invasive, like that of a stranger. Or maybe it just feels that way because of the blindfold. I can sense him behind me, but I can’t see anything, and he’s touching me like he would an object . . . doing with me whatever he pleases. I can feel the calluses on his large, warm palms, and the memory of our first time together flashes through my mind, making my belly tighten with anxiety and dark need.