She rambled about clothes and food, truly inconsequential things. Anthony interrupted, “That’s all very nice, but what have you discovered about your situation?” He couldn’t contain his condescending tone, perhaps he didn’t want to. After all, she needed to know who held the answers. “Do you even know where you are?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I’m in Iowa, or at least somewhere near Iowa City.”

How the hell? He’d scanned hours of video—did someone pass her a note of some kind? Anthony couldn’t imagine that they’d disrespect him like that. “And … you learned this … from whom?”

“I learned it from the Weather Channel—Local on the Eights. The local weather for this area comes from Iowa City, Iowa.”

Anthony exhaled. Damn, he was on edge. Her flippant attitude needed readjustment. “Very well, that will spare me telling you. For the sake of clarity, since that seemed to be a problem in the past, you’re aware that your indebtedness to me can only be determined paid by me?”

Her smile appeared pained, yet she managed to keep it in place as she nodded. Anthony waited for an answer. When she didn’t speak, he proclaimed, “I prefer verbal confirmation.”

“I am aware that you are the only one who can decide when my debt is paid in full.” Though her words sounded too calm, her hands remained clenched. She’d never know how that unconscious act helped to calm her captor. He wanted—no needed—to know that she understood his authority.

He continued, “You are also aware that your duties require you to be available to me whenever, wherever, and however I demand?” His eyes never left hers.

“I am aware.”

He reiterated for clarification. “You’re aware that you must at all times obey my rules?”

“I’m aware that I must do as I’m told.”

She was good. He didn’t believe a damn word she said, but he had to admit, she was good. Oh, he considered demonstrating more of his authority, but perhaps Catherine had been right. Claire Nichols was lonely, and she was grasping at the straws of any interaction. Perhaps no interaction would prove to be the most educational tool. Besides, he had plenty of time—as much as he wanted—for interaction. Finally, he spoke, “Very well.” He stood and walked toward the door.

Before he reached his destination, Claire’s determined tone rang throughout the suite. “Wait.”

Anthony turned, unable to hide the shock at her demand, his eyes locked onto hers.

Apparently, she had the good sense to realize her breach of station. Immediately, her tone softened, “I’m sorry … but may I leave this suite?”

Apologetic and requesting permission—yes, Anthony could deal with that. “As long as we are certain on the terms of our agreement, and you follow the rules and orders given, I see no problem with your roaming the house.” He reached for the door handle. “It’s rather large. I’ll be working from home tomorrow. Your services will be utilized then, so be prepared for my call. When I have a chance, I’ll give you a tour of the house and define your limitations. I think it’s best that you don’t roam tonight. I don’t want you getting lost.” Within his pocket, he depressed the sensor, causing the beep to sound once again. Anthony reached for the handle.

“Anthony?” The earlier strength he’d heard in her tone was gone. “I don’t have any … duties tonight?”

“I’ve recently arrived from a series of meetings in Europe and am quite tired. I’m glad to know we have a mutual understanding. Goodnight, Claire.”

As he shut her door, he heard her say goodnight.

Walking toward his office, he thought about the bourbon he’d left sitting on his desk—there were about fifty emails that needed reading and probably responses to be written—and he had at least two web conferences tomorrow. He’d need to check to see if Patricia had sent him his schedule.

Oh, yes, and apparently his acquisition was adapting to her new reality—that was good. Anthony Rawlings had too many things to think about other than to be concerned with the woman upstairs. Hell, Catherine had been spot-on with the isolation. Perhaps he should allow her to deal with the day-to-day maintenance; he’d utilize Claire when it fit his schedule. Besides, a little alone time seemed to be just what the doctor ordered.

Damn, in a week and a half the proposal from Arkansas was coming in. Did he have that preliminary report? There were too many other things to think about besides Claire Nichols; however, it was comforting to know she’d adapted. Tomorrow, Anthony decided he’d take that theory to the next level. Would her actions be as accommodating as her words?

* * *

The morning light had yet to penetrate the heavy drapes of his suite when Anthony turned toward the red numbers. It was only 4:42 AM, yet he was wide awake. The woman—about whom, he reminded himself, he didn’t give a damn—was inside his house. She was undoubtedly sleeping soundly under his roof. How many nights had he imagined what it would be like to have her where he could watch her, train her, and control her? Now she was here and he was a floor away. If he went upstairs and took what his body obviously wanted, what difference would it make? This wasn’t a normal dating scenario. Claire wasn’t going to go to the press and proclaim his actions. She wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, this wasn’t about sex, although he was painfully erect. It was about power. Everything about her existence was his to determine. If he wanted her to sleep, she would sleep. If he wanted to use her, he would use her.

Though the thought of entering her suite—no, not her suite, the S.E. suite—and asserting his dominance while assessing her reaction appealed to him, Anthony reconsidered: the more accommodating he made her, the better. He didn’t relish the idea of continued daily battles. Yes, he liked things his way; however, his energies could be better utilized if she were more compliant.

Catherine was right. Showing up to the office with scratches on his face or arms would instigate questions. Making his way out of bed, Anthony walked to his bureau, opened the top drawer, and found what he’d purchased in Europe. Running the long lengths of black satin across his palm, his mind considered the possibilities of their use. It wasn’t that he was into the kinky shit; this was more about self-preservation. He could even consider it a favor. Claire’s fighting hadn’t worked well for her in the past, and he wouldn’t allow it in the future. With the use of satin restraints, he would assure that when he exited the S.E. suite, he’d be scathe-free, and with her cooperation, albeit forced, Claire would be able to boast the same.

In his mind, he was giving her a choice. She would accommodate him; how much independence she had while doing that would be up to her.

A little after 7:00 AM, Anthony scaled the grand staircase. He hadn’t acted upon his earlier thoughts of Claire; instead, he’d gone to the pool, swam laps, and lifted weights for an hour. After a shower and breakfast, he decided to spend some time preparing for his web conferences. As he read, each sentence disappeared into the memories of the innocent emerald-green gaze from last night, the one that asked, I’m sorry … but may I leave this suite?

He wasn’t concerned about fulfilling her desires. It was basic psychology: operant conditioning—positive consequences for positive behavior, negative consequences for negative behavior. Her respectful tone, her demeanor, and her appearance—they all deserved a positive consequence. After all, wasn’t that what he wanted to do—to promote the positive and rebuke the negative?

He also remembered telling her to be ready in the morning. Would she be? Did she truly deserve a positive consequence?

The beep sounded as he moved silently into the S.E suite. Scanning the room, Claire was nowhere to be found. His first thought was the bathroom, but the door was ajar and no one was there. Before he could look further, he heard movement from the closet/dressing room. Staring in that direction, he waited for her to emerge. When she did, the startled yelp, accompanied by the dropping of her shoes, made his cheeks rise. “Good morning, Claire.” She was ready—another reason for a positive consequence.

“Good morning, Anthony; I didn’t hear you come in.”

Amused, he watched as she picked up her shoes and feigned calmness. It was then he noticed her uneaten breakfast on the table. “Are you ready for your tour? Did you plan to eat first? I have a web conference in forty-five minutes.”

She asked him about a web conference. As he answered, he had difficulty suppressing his amusement at her behavior. It was as if carrying on a mundane conversation with the man who held her future in his hands was an everyday occurrence. Snickering to himself, he reasoned, it will be from now on. Maybe she was working from her years as a bartender. Whatever the cause, her ability to converse effortlessly was a welcome surprise. Before long, Anthony found himself leading her down corridors and describing the estate. As he discussed pieces of furniture and fine works of art, he knew that there was no way Claire could know the items he pointed out were originally owned by his grandfather. She didn’t know that it had taken Anthony years to track down significant pieces of his history, after they’d been auctioned off to undeserving bidders. She also couldn’t know how the mention of each item fortified his resolve for restitution; instead, Claire walked beside him, blissfully unaware. A saying about a spider and a fly came to mind.