Page 71 of Luke, The Profiler

Or so I hoped.

“You did so well, genius.” He pulled me to him, and since I was as limp as a ragdoll, he positioned me half-sprawled on his chest as he lay back against the pillows, then tugged the sheets and comforter over us both. “A control freak like you, allowing me to tie you up like that? I’ve gotta say, I never thought we’d get this far.”

“Don’t forget, pal, I’ve got a degree in psychology, too,” I mumbled, half-asleep as I lay there against the world’s sexiest chest. “I knew what you were doing.”

“And what was that, love?”

“Mm.” I pressed my lips to the place where his heart beat the strongest before resting my cheek on it. How I loved that sound. “When you tied my hands up, you were giving me the gift of realization that there are some things that not even a control freak like myself can make happen. I can’t make the situation with my father be better just because I want it to. I can’t control his recovery—or if he recovers at all—just because I want him to be better. Sometimes a human being must accept that there are forces in this world that they can’t control, no matter how much they might want to. To consciously give up control is a beautifully freeing experience. I’ve never gone through anything like this before, but the peace I feel right now… it’s a gift beyond measure, my monster. You can tie me up and take control any time you want. I trust you to take care of me.”

“And that right there is what I get out of it. Knowing you believe in me so completely you’re comfortable putting yourself in my hands is the greatest rush I’ve ever known.” His mouth lingered in my hair, his arms tightening around me. “Though I’ll admit I missed the feeling of your claws raking down my back when you came.”

“I don’t completely rake you. I mean, I hardly ever draw blood.” I laughed and snuggled closer, pulling at the bedclothes. “Maybe I should get my nails trimmed.”

“Don’t you dare, I love your claws.” He brought my hand up to kiss my nails before he tucked the comforter more firmly around my bare shoulder. “You cold, baby?”

“Mm, I think it’s going to be a cold night tonight. I hope it doesn’t snow, though. Timothy always conks out when it gets cold and I haven’t even been around to start him up for the past day or so.”

“Give me your car keys in the morning and I’ll have one of the guys start it up for you. Hell, I’ll pay them to have it winterized so you don’t have to worry about it. You have enough on your plate without worrying about Timothy.”

Aw. “You’d do that for me?”

“Hell, yeah, no worries.” Again his mouth pressed against the top of my head. “Why did you name your car Timothy, anyway?”

“He’s Timothy the Fourth, to be precise,” I said, smiling against his chest. I inhaled his scent—soap with hints of cedarwood and musk—and decided right then that he had to be the best-smelling man on the planet. “I guess it comes from my weird childhood of not being allowed to have a pet. My cars have all become my pets, and they get named Timothy.”

“Why that name, though?”

“I told you when I was growing up with my father that he wouldn’t allow any pets, right?”

“Yeah. Some bullshit about how animals reminded him of all the pigs he grew up with.”

I nodded. “But I really, really wanted a cat. Then, when he first started HEG, he decided to fully lean into the whole family-first angle to bring in more rubes, but at that time all he had was me. So we borrowed our neighbor’s cat, Timothy, and that became our official New Year’s photo that went viral.” I lifted my head a bit to wrinkle my nose at him. “Can you imagine naming a cat Timothy?”

“Well, you named your car Timothy, so yeah. Timothy the cat’s not a hard stretch at all.”

I laughed and settled back onto his chest, letting my eyes drift closed. I supposed he was right. Naming all my cars after that silly orange and white fluffball was probably a little weird…

My car named Timothy.

Timothy the cat.

The Timothy-lookalike cat, dead on Timothy the car’s hood.

Timothy on Timothy.

I jerked as that realization hit, my eyes springing wide open.

“Genius?” Sounding sleepy, Luke held me close. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered faintly, because I could barely manage to fill my lungs with air. It felt like I’d never be able to breathe right again. “Yeah. Just a bad dream.”

Too bad that bad dream was actually my life.

Chapter Nineteen

Golden Opportunity

“In the past twelve hours or so, your father’s done a remarkable turnaround.” Sitting at a round table in a private room off the ICU’s main waiting area, my father’s neurologist Dr. Abrams addressed us, along with some random caseworker with the perky name of Fritzi. Beside me, Luke held my hand under the table while giving the doctor his complete attention. “It’s pretty common for head trauma victims to be in an altered state when they first come out of sedation—not knowing who anyone is, even themselves, or where they are. It’s a scary thing, so that’s pretty much what your dad went through yesterday. But he’s had time to fully resurface, and we’ve got some heavy-duty antianxiety meds going with him now, so he’s coming back in a big way.”

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