Hunger for her body flashed briefly in his eyes before he raised them to hers. The smoldering in his amber-colored gaze matched the heavy pulse of awareness ravaging her body.

“I like that you remove all your hair, Jinan. Have I ever told you that?” he said hoarsely. “A woman with skin as smooth as yours makes a man mad with passion.”

She let the hunger show in her eyes, telling him she was more than happy to please him.

His touch lingered under her arms and then moved lower to lift the weight of each breast. He leaned in and pulled the taut peak with his teeth, his tongue flicking out to wet the tip. Moisture gathered at her center, the engorgement and pulsing of her hidden pearl building by the moment.

Only his touch inflamed her senses this way.

Only Rothburn made her yearn for the love a man gave a woman.

How did he have so much power over her? Why had she surrendered her every sense to this man? How easily he had passed all her carefully erected defenses.

This was her last night with Rothburn—she needed to keep reminding herself of that.

But parting was so much easier said than done.

She could play this game one last time. There were no attachments to the patrons, no tendre allowed to mature. It made her want to weep that she would lose this man who long ago stole her heart. How she, a trained whore, had let this unnatural attachment go on so long, she wasn’t sure.

But Rothburn was an addiction more dangerous than cantharides.

It did not help that she became more intoxicated, more obsessed by him, with every moment spent in his arms.

She was foolish to refuse his attentions at a later date. But with her son growing up so fast, any connections with the English could have her discovered. It was too risky.

He’d already torn down many of her defenses. If anyone found out the truth of her whereabouts, the shame it would bring to her name—Jonathan’s name—was unacceptable.

She was Jinan. Could only ever be Jinan.

Elena had died years ago. There was no possibility of resurrecting her from the ashes that bore her shame. She’d never be able to live with herself and what she’d become if forced to face her past. The path she’d readily accepted for her child’s future.

There were no more yesterdays. There was only the present. The now.

She wrapped her fingers around the cloth that tied her to the pole and hauled down hard with all her weight, tightening it. A small pain shot through her wrists, down her arm, and brought her back to the game. She couldn’t afford to think of anything but the man in front of her. He was always quick to note her inattentiveness and to question her until he knew the train of her thoughts. He already knew too much.

He gave her a long assessing look and an awakening pinch to her nipple. “Spread your knees farther apart.”

She did as told because she wanted to concentrate on the moment and to stop thinking about what she gave up in ending their contract.

“Close your eyes and arch those pretty breasts toward me.”

As she leaned her head back against the wall, his mouth trailed hot kisses over her flesh. He shifted, and with his weight no longer pressing into her, she raised her head to see what he was about.

He retrieved a few lengths of silk, giving her that warm smile when he noted her curiosity. It was his boyish, naughty smile. Where the dimple in his left cheek winked at her.

“Do you remember our first night together?”

As if she could forget. All that had gone through her mind that night was a hope that he didn’t recognize her. Blindfolding her was a game they’d played often—until she’d finally removed her veil for him.

He wanted her helpless. Did he feel helpless when she refused to show her face?

If he couldn’t see her, she wouldn’t be permitted to see him. It was that simple. Her price for shielding her true identity.

“That is how we will start the evening. You were so abandoned to your sense of duty that night. Will you free yourself to me again?”

She’d been some wild creature living in a fantasy that night, but managed to say, “Yes, anything for you. You know that.”

A few more hours and she’d leave her heart in his hands. She wondered if he had other games planned. Regardless, he would have to live out the last of his fantasies—she’d lived out all but one of hers.

Loving him. What was love anyway? There was no love here. Not for her. Love played naught in this game.

This was Lord Rothburn’s last session. His last night in paradise.

What Griffin would give to know Jinan’s mind right now.

He could see her thoughts scattering to the wind; her eyes were expressive enough to show him the truth of her state. Her gaze was distant, unfocused, and looking beyond him to the window.

It was in the way she no longer watched and anticipated his next move. The haze of the drug he’d given her was gripping her mind. Dragging her under. He hated that this was the only way to keep her. Hated himself for reducing her to his mercy, making her so helpless. But it was necessary.

No matter how often he tried to convince her it was better for her to leave this place, she refused his assistance. He could help her. Though she might not think he did just that after tonight. He was drugging her to remove her from the island. What did that reveal about his character? Aside from his being an ass?

He watched her bear down on the material around her wrists. Those dark eyes of hers focused on him again. They were cloudy, sleepy, the pupils dilated for reasons other than arousal.

Sure that her mind no longer wandered, he said, “Spread your knees farther apart.”

She complied, of course. She always did. Very rarely did she disobey a direct command. He wished she would, just to give him a better idea of her willfulness. In the coming weeks she was bound to fight him, but to what extent?

Her eyes slid shut for a brief moment, and he thought she might be holding back a moan as his fingers slid between the lips of her sex. Did she realize her whole body trembled when she fought to control her desire?

She looked him full in the eye. Her gaze seemed sad, melancholy. Did she regret this being their last night? He should feel guilty for what he planned. Though he wouldn’t forget any time soon that she’d been the one to refuse the renewal of their contract in a year’s time when she stood on auction again.

Drastic measures for drastic times.

Hadn’t he made it clear that he could not let her go? Hadn’t he warned her there was more than a contract between them?

“Close your eyes and arch those pretty breasts toward me.”

How did she bury her past so easily? Everyone had hardships to overcome in life.

He’d been in his own personal hell and back; he knew all about it. He’d tried explaining that on more than a few occasions. Tried to open up to her. Not once had she admitted to the truth of how she’d ended up on this island.

Sometimes, he was sure she longed for something deeper between them. It was in her gaze, her touch.

She didn’t realize there was no giving her up. Not for anything in this world would he do such a thing. He’d always been a one-woman man. Even in the arms of other cyprians over the years, his mind was never far from this one woman.

Could she comprehend what a reprehensible act he was willing to commit to have her? How he hoped her hate would abate after a few days in his company. Time would tell, he supposed.

He hated doing this to her. He was selfish enough to steal her away from this life whether she genuinely liked it or not. He’d prove to her, somehow, that a life with him was better than this place could ever be!

He stood up from the divan. He’d bind her eyes; pretend this was like any game they had played in the past. Really, enjoyment was impossible, so overpowering was the disgust and anger he felt toward himself. Anger against the act he was forced to commit in the name of the woman he loved.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as if that would relieve the stress clouding his mind. He retrieved the silk strips hanging over the chair he sat on earlier. It would be easier on him if he didn’t have to watch her eyes cloud under the hazy hold of the drug.

He turned to see her studying him with an avid eye. As avid as her drugged mind could be.

Silently cursing his stupidity, he managed to ask, “Do you remember our first night together?”

It was there in her expression. Such an easy woman to read.

It was easier to pretend a repeat of their first night than to reveal the depth of his deception. It was for the best, he had to keep telling himself that. She’d forgive him in the end. He had so much more to offer her than did this gilded whorehouse. This sad, low life. If she’d asked, he’d have given her the world. She never had. And he had to know if it was because of fear from living on this island with her owner. The only way to do that was to take her away from this place. He’d make it up to her in the end. He promised himself that.

Strange, though, there was still that niggling feeling he shouldn’t deceive her this way. That he should take her away from the island without the cloak of lies he was relying upon. It was too late now; there was nothing that could convince him this wasn’t better for her for him.

In the long run, better for their future.

Because he wasn’t willing to part from her again.

In a few days she would be free from this place. Free to live the life she was meant for, and in time, any fear from being a slave should dissipate. Never had she given him reason to believe she’d been abused here. Not once had she shied away from his attentions, nor had she ever cowered in the presence of her owner. What was unfathomable was her wanting to live out the rest of her days here.