The light in the room shifted from the harsh white of noon to the golden hue of late afternoon. Bella's legs had gone past numbness into a prickly, burning agony. She had been sitting in the same position for four hours.
Adonis's breathing hitched. The deep, rhythmic pattern broke.
Bella froze. Her hand, which had been absentmindedly stroking his hair, stopped mid-motion.
Adonis stiffened. He pulled back, his head lifting from her lap. He blinked, his eyes focusing on the fabric of her dress, then moving up to her face.
For a second, there was confusion. Then, cold, hard reality slammed into him.
He scrambled backward, pushing himself across the floor until his back hit the side of the bed. He looked at Bella as if she were a grenade that had failed to detonate.
"What did you do?" he rasped. His voice was rough from sleep.
Bella tried to stand, but her legs gave out. She slumped back onto the ottoman, wincing as blood rushed back into her limbs. "I didn't do anything. You passed out."
Adonis ran a hand over his face. He checked his hands. No blood. He touched his temples. No headache. The ringing in his ears-the constant, high-pitched screech that made him want to drill into his own skull-was gone. It was just... quiet.
He looked at Bella again. This time, he didn't see a victim. He saw a variable.
He crawled forward on his hands and knees. He moved like a predator stalking prey. Bella pressed herself against the ottoman, her heart restarting its frantic rhythm.
"Stay back," she warned.
Adonis ignored her. He leaned in, burying his face in the crook of her neck, right where she had applied the oil earlier. He inhaled deeply.
Bella shuddered. His nose brushed her skin. It was invasive, terrifying, and confusing.
"That smell," he muttered. "What is it?"
He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. His grip was firm but not crushing. His eyes were clear now, an icy, piercing blue.
"It's... it's a blend," Bella stammered. "My grandfather made it. For anxiety."
Adonis's thumb brushed her lower lip. He seemed fascinated by the texture of her skin, or perhaps by the fact that she wasn't screaming.
"And the pressure?" he asked. "Behind the ear?"
"Acupressure," she said. "It blocks the pain receptors."
The door opened. Hansel entered with a dinner cart. He stopped, seeing Adonis on the floor, leaning over Bella.
"Sir?" Hansel asked, hope coloring his voice. "You're... awake."
Adonis stood up in one fluid motion. He smoothed his wrinkled pants, instantly regaining his towering, imperious aura. He looked at Hansel, then pointed a finger at Bella.
"She doesn't leave," Adonis said.
"Sir?"
"She stays in the West Wing," Adonis commanded. He turned his back on Bella, walking toward the bathroom. "She handles the night shift. Exclusively."
Bella's jaw dropped. "What? No! That wasn't the deal!"
Adonis paused at the bathroom door. He looked over his shoulder. A ghost of a smile-cruel and possessive-played on his lips.
"The deal changed," he said. "You're not collateral anymore, Miss Miller. You're my prescription."
He slammed the bathroom door. Bella sat on the ottoman, staring at the closed door, realizing with a sinking dread that she had just saved herself into a deeper hell.
