Until You

About Conor.

Tears blurred her eyes and slipped down her face, into her tangled hair. Conor. Oh, how she'd loved him. Trusted him. But he hadn't loved her. He'd used her, deceived her.

She made a soft, choking sound as she began to weep. Had he? She'd overheard his conversation with Eva, but she might have misunderstood.

If only she'd listened, when he'd tried to explain. If only she hadn't run away...

"Ah, ma petite, how good it is to see you again."

Miranda's eyes flew open, her body jerking in startled response to that soft, well-remembered voice. She twisted her head on the pillow and the blood in her veins turned to ice. Edouard was coming towards her, his handsome face set in the smile that had once seemed so charming, his trim body draped in the Armani he'd always favored—and a cold cruelty in his eyes that sent her heart thumping against her ribs.

"For shame, Vincent," he purred. "You have put a gag in Miranda's lovely mouth."

"Yeah," Vince said, leering over Edouard's shoulder, "she was making too much noise."

"Surely, she understands that we are surrounded by sea and sand, and that no one can hear her."

"Sure, but she screamed anyway. It hurt Joey's ears."

Edouard sighed. "Does the gag bother you, my dearest Miranda?"

Miranda nodded.

"Do you wish it removed?"

She nodded again.

"You must not scream, if I remove it. Poor Joey is quite delicate."

Miranda bucked against the bindings. Edouard smiled.

"I take that as a

yes," he said, and he leaned down and took off the gag.

She gasped and drew air deep into her lungs.

"Poor darling. The scarf has left marks beside your beautiful mouth." Edouard sat down beside her. "Better now?"

"Water," she whispered hoarsely.

"Of course." Edouard snapped his fingers. "Vincent, a glass of water for my beloved."

Vince brought the water in a tall tumbler. Edouard took it, put one hand beneath Miranda's head and raised her from the pillow.

"Here," he said gently, "that's it. Drink. Not too quickly... ah, you have spilled some on the blanket."

"I'm—I'm sorry," she whispered. "But I was so thirsty..."

Edouard swept the blanket away.

"It is no matter, darling Miranda. Why would we need this blanket, anyway?" He smiled into her eyes and, as he did, he laid his hand against her throat. "We are all friends here, yes?"

"Edouard. Edouard, please, please, let me go. I don't know what it is you want, but—"

She gasped as he turned his hand so his knuckles pressed into the hollow of her throat. For an instant, the pressure was terrifying; she knew that he had only to deepen it and her breath would be cut off. But then he smiled and the pressure lessened; his hand drifted slowly down her skin, to her breasts, and he cupped first one and then the other.

"What I wanted, beloved, was respect."