“I don’t believe so. Why do you ask?”

“You sure?” I glance at him again. “No fever, muscle spasms, hallucinations?” I briefly pause to give him time to respond, but he remains mute. “Because you seem to be experiencing sensitivity to light. Should I be concerned that you might pounce? Try to bite me?”

A deep laugh thunders from the shadows, rich and velvety, filling the space. My fingers hover above the keyboard as that sound swaddles me, like a thick, warm blanket.

“If I start experiencing those symptoms, I’ll let you know.”

Ugh. Not only does he wear suits and smell amazing, but he can also take a joke at his expense. It’s as if the universe got a hold of my “perfect man” checklist and started ticking off all the boxes. Too bad Rafael is a kidnapping, blackmailing bastard.

Still, I’m curious to know what he looks like.

“I’ll do what I can from here, but I’ll need to check your main server at some point. Is it in the house?”

“It’s at my corporate building, in Taormina.”

“I’ll need access to it.” My eyes dart to him over the laptop’s edge. “And I’ll need clothes. Your cleaning staff seem to have taken away my things. I want them back.”

“Yet, you appear to be handling that situation rather well. That’s my favorite shirt, by the way.” How he says it, with a hint of amusement in his tone, makes me wonder if there isn’t some hidden meaning behind his words.

“Is this some twisted payback? Weird psychological torture to make me feel more powerless or something?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoy the sight of you in my clothes, Miss Petrova.”

I swallow, brushing off the silly excitement that swells within me from the husky, deep timbre of his voice. Like a lover seducing his partner into bed, each syllable strokes my skin, promising naughty carnal things.

“I will not go around wearing your tent-size shirts. Also, I need underwear, mister.”

“That can be arranged,” Rafael says and leans forward, placing his forearms on his knees. Suddenly, it’s twenty degrees hotter in here. I can feel his eyes on me, searing me from the darkness.

Taking a deep breath, I push up the sleeves of the borrowed shirt that keep slipping down my arms. Pulling up the diagnostic software, I set it to run a scan of the system, then grab a pencil from the desk drawer and start chewing on it.

“Why did you reorganize my bookshelves?”

“It’s therapeutic,” I mumble around the good old HB2 in my mouth while warnings pop up on the screen. The invoicing application in the accounting directory is flagged as non-responsive. The data storage system has a warning about updates not being installed. Even the maintenance system shows errors.

“This is not possible,” I murmur, gaping at the list that keeps growing. “My code was only designed to create a back door, not to fuck up the rest of the network.”

“Maybe someone else stumbled upon your ‘back door’ and decided to sabotage my company. My competition, most likely.”

I throw him a look. “You seem awfully calm about that fact.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? You’re going to fix everything.”

The pencil cracks between my teeth, so I take it out and refocus on the laptop screen. The scan is still running. My eyes wander to the single green fig lying on the desk by the pen holder. It was there when I came into the room, looking scrumptious as hell, tempting me to take a bite. I reach out and pick up the fruit. The moment my teeth break the smooth leathery skin, sweetness fills my mouth, and I moan.

“You like it?”

I glance at my kidnapper. “Yes. I’ve only tried figs once before, and those weren’t even half this tasty.”

“You know what they say—stolen fruit always tastes sweeter.”

“You stole it?” I ask, munching on the bell-shaped delicacy. “Why? You’re obviously loaded.”

“Old habits die hard.”

I arch an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. I shrug and get back to watching the diagnostic program run its course. Minutes pass. An hour. Rafael remains in his spot, observing me in silence.

It’s disturbing.

Unnerving beyond all measure.

I like it.

But feeling his steadfast stare is making me fidgety. The urge to glance at him magnifies with every passing second, and it’s getting harder to fight the pull.

Squirming in my seat, I grab the small pad of yellow sticky notes and start doodling on it with the ruined pencil. No one would ever accuse me of inheriting my mom’s artistic talent—Yulia is the lucky recipient of that—but I need something to focus on. Something that will keep my eyes from wandering to the massive shadow at the far end of the room.

I try drawing a bird, but I keep getting distracted by Rafael’s mere presence. Even as I succeed in not glancing his way once, my poor creation ends up looking like a horse.

In this deafening silence, while the scanning process steadily progresses, I swear that I can feel my captor’s eyes boring holes into my head. Crumpling the note, I throw it away and start another sketch. I draw the shape of a man sitting on a chair. Okay, it’s a stick figure, wearing pants, but the idea is the same. I add a jacket and a vest underneath, which ends up looking like an apron. Then, a big wide mouth full of sharp teeth. To finish, I draw a speech bubble.

Fix your mess, Miss Petrova!

A smile pulls at my lips as I tear the sticky note from the pad and attach it to the top right corner of the laptop screen. It’s really bad, actually. Yulia spent hours trying to teach me how to draw. Somehow she’s always managed to transform weird cylinder shapes into people’s faces, but I’ve never quite got the concept.

When I glance up, Rafael is still laid back in his recliner, arms crossed over his chest. I didn’t notice him removing his suit jacket, but it’s now lying on the armrest. The combination of the white shirt and dark vest he’s wearing makes his chest look even wider.

A single ding signals the end of the diagnostic scan, and the results window displays sixty-seven detected errors. More than half are flagged as critical.

“Good. The analytics are done. I’ll start with the accounting program first thing in the morning.” I close the laptop with a loud clap and bend to unplug the power cord.

“The laptop stays here. We’ll continue tomorrow evening. Same time.”

“And what am I supposed to do the whole day until then?”

“You’re free to do whatever you wish, as long as you keep our agreement in mind. Good night, Miss Petrova.”

Gritting my teeth, I rise and march straight to the door that leads from the office to the bedroom where I’ve been sleeping. And I make sure to slam it closed in my wake.

I head to the en suite bathroom to take a shower and brush my teeth, then put on another of Rafael’s fancy shirts, using it as a nightgown.

I’m somewhat comforted that Rafael doesn’t seem to want anything from me other than fixing his damn computer system. Aside from those few comments about my clothes, he hasn’t said or done anything that tells me he’s interested in me.

It’s strange. I’m so used to guys trying to get me into their bed within minutes of meeting me. Rafael’s apparent indifference has left me feeling slightly confused.

Maybe I’m simply not his type?

Good!