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The man standing inches from her, arms folded so that every muscle in his torso stood in sharp relief.

Mia’s heartbeat quickened. She took a step back.

“It’s late. And I’m exhausted. Do you plan on letting me get some sleep, or is this interrogation going to go on until I collapse?”

“Interrogation?” His lips drew back from his teeth. “Baby, you don’t know what the word means. All we’re doing is having a conversation.” He glanced at his watch. “But you’re right. It’s late and it’s been one hell of a long day. I’d say yeah, it’s definitely time to call it a night.” He jerked his head toward the hallway. “Let’s go to bed.”

This time, her heart leaped into her throat.

“What—what does that mean?”

“Why, sugar, what do you think it means?”

His smile was one part sex, one part torment. He clasped her elbow but Mia refused to move.

“I’m not going to sleep with you, Mr. Knight.”

“Can’t get that name straight, can you, baby? It’s Matthew. I mean, considering the circumstances, it would be foolish to stand on formalities.”

“I said—”

“Yeah. I heard what you said.” His tone, and his smile, hardened. So did the grip of his hand. “Seems to me we’ve been over this ground already. You’ll do what you’re told.”

“No.” Her voice was shaky but she forced her eyes to stay steady on his. “I won’t sleep with—”

She gasped as his hand slipped to her wrist. His fingers dug into the tender flesh.

“Get moving.”

“Matthew. Please—”

“Enough,” he growled, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder.

Shrieking, she pounded her fists against his back. He ignored her, carried her through the dark house and into an enormous room where he dumped her on her feet and flicked on the lights.

“My bedroom,” he said tonelessly. “I hope the accommodations suit the lady.”

“Don’t do this! You aren’t the kind of man who’d—who’d—”

“Aren’t I?” Matthew locked the door. Then he turned to Mia, his eyes like slivers of emerald ice. “So far, you’ve accused me of being everything from muscle for hire to a killer. Why wouldn’t I be happy to add rape to that list?”

“Because,” she said, heart thumping. “Because—”

“Never mind.” He strode past her, his body brushing hers, and fell back against the pillows ranged along the teak headboard of a massive bed. “I’m too tired for this crap. You want to make this out to be rape, that’s your problem.” He yawned, folded his arms behind his head and toed off his boots, which clattered to the tiled floor. “The shower’s through there. You first.”

“If you really think I’m going to—to get myself ready for—for—”

“Sweet mother of God,” Matthew roared. Mia shrank back. Too late. He grabbed her, hustled her into a bathroom that seemed bigger than most people’s houses, and turned on the overhead spray in a shower stall big enough for a party.

“Get your clothes off.”

“I won’t. I told you—”

“Then I’ll do it.”

She gasped and put up her fists, which would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so damned tired.

Instead he swatted her hands away as if they were nothing but fruit flies, then undressed her with clinical efficiency, tugging off her T-shirt, peeling off her sandals, unbuttoning her jeans and pulling them down her l