Page 38 of Captive Heart

"May I service you please, Master?" Melody asked, all earnestness and innocence.

Sweat popped up on the back of his neck and his stomach roiled. "Micah!" he bit out more harshly than he intended, and Melody flinched at the reproach.

With an effort, he softened his tone. He needed to make her understand.

"You do not owe me anything, Melody. There is no payment or reciprocation needed. Not today or any other day. What I do for you, I do freely, do you understand that?"

"I know," Melody murmured softly. "You told me that before, but I think I would like to have sex with you."

Micah shook his head and then had to look away from the hurt he saw in her eyes.

"I told you, Melody, that is not something that you need to do," he reiterated firmly.

"But…" She paused, clearly gathering her resolve. "…I want to," she whispered. "It feels different with you."

"No!" Micah bit the words out before he could soften his reaction. He dragged in a deep breath and confronted the awkward situation head on.

"Melody, what you feel for me is simply gratitude, and it isn't necessary for you to trade yourself in return. I understand the concept is difficult for you because of everything you've been through and how you view your role and your worth," he asserted insistently. "But what sort of a man would I be if I took advantage of your appreciation and allowed you to prostitute yourself in return for what any decent human being would give without thought of reward?"

She was looking more and more fragile, and Micah felt horribly torn between doing what was right and bolstering her confidence by allowing her to do what she asked.

He gave a ragged sigh, hoping he could make her understand. "It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture, Melody. And it's not that I don't find you attractive. I hope you can recognise that. There's a moral principle here, and I crossed a line when I allowed things to go so far in the hydro pool. I should have put a stop to it then. Whatever you think you feel, Melody, it's just an illusion. The kind of restitution you want to show me, well, that's a line I can't ever cross again, so please don't ask me to.”

Melody seemed to diminish right in front of him, as if the little bit of strength and spirit she had regained was withering away. Micah hated himself for making her feel that way, but he would hate himself even more if he took advantage of her when he should be protecting her. He needed her to accept that he would be less of a man if he took what she was offering while she was completely dependent on him. That doing so would devalue who he was as a person and belittle her in the process, even if she wasn't able to see that right now.

As he rubbed his hands over his face, Micah rolled out of the bed and hoped she understood that what he was doing was for her own benefit.

Melody listened to Micah leave the room. A small part of her appreciated that he had no expectations; that his intention to help her came freely, with no strings attached.

Still, it rankled that the only man she had ever offered herself to had turned her away. And while logic told her it wasn't outright rejection, it still felt that way. It still hurt that way.

Melody rolled into a foetal position and drew into herself. She wanted to be stronger than this, but she simply couldn’t help it. Everything she was experiencing was overwhelming and she didn’t know how to deal with it.

It was a while before she managed to drag herself out of the bed. When she stared at herself in the huge ornate mirror, she felt her lungs squeeze and her face heat with shame and inadequacy.

While her hair was cleaner than it had been in forever, the flyaway tresses had escaped from the confines of the long plait she had secured it in and hung around her face in disarray.

The bruises on her face had turned a sickly yellow-green and her body was covered with marks from cigarette burns to lacerations to lash welts. The distinctive pattern of finger marks bruised the tender skin at the tops of both her thighs, and her little toe stuck out at an unnatural angle where V had deliberately broken it when he'd first snatched her—a stark and painful warning against trying to run away.

It was little wonder that Micah didn't want her. Just look at the state of her. Why would anybody?

27

Ten days later, things had settled into a routine.

It was almost three weeks since Melody had escaped from her captor, and most of her bruises and all of the minor abrasions were gone.

A course of antibiotics, a healthy diet, large doses of vitamin C, and plenty of Vaseline to keep her healing skin supple meant the larger wounds were free of infection and now nothing more than thin scabs, which would be gone in a few more days.

The addition of high energy protein and vitamin shakes meant she had gained almost six pounds and lost the gaunt, skeletal look she'd had when Micah had found her, though she still had a way to go.

Her skin had also lost its sallow complexion and now, though still pale, Melody had a healthy pink glow, and her hair a glossy sheen which had been missing in the beginning.

Xavier was pleased with her recovery. Even her frostbitten toes had healed well, though her little toe still needed close scrutiny. It had blackened and showed signs of necrosis, undoubtedly exacerbated by the poor blood supply in the distorted phalanges. But it would take weeks, maybe months, to ascertain whether the underlying cells were still viable or if there was a possibility of gangrene.

Still, Melody was almost unrecognisable from the frail, dirty waif Micah had initially taken in.

He hadn't realised just how swollen her face had been until the inflammation had receded. Her features were a lot more defined than he’d first thought, with high cheekbones and a fine bone structure which had been obscured by the swelling.

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