He begins walking toward me, and the look on his face has my heart speeding up. “Could always join in, inocencia.”

Why the hell does he keep calling me that?

“No thanks,” I mutter, trying to step past him.

He puts his arm out, stopping me. “You scared of me?”

I tilt my head up and meet his eyes. “No, not at all.”

“Then why won’t you join in?”

“Because you don’t really want me to, and because I’m only here because I made a deal with you to behave. You’re selling me, there’s really no point in me trying to befriend anyone.”

“Keep your friends close,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “and your enemies closer. Didn’t anyone teach you that, inocencia?”

“They did,” I whisper, biting my lower lip.

Why does he have to come so close? I can smell the rum on his breath as he leans down, meeting my gaze. God, he’s gorgeous. Tonight he’s wearing a tight black T-shirt, with a pair of faded blue jeans, heavy black boots, a dog chain around his neck and his dark hair is ruffled and messy. He has these thick gold and silver chains around his wrists that just seem to give him something extra. Perhaps the of bad boy that is needed for his look.

“There are many ways to get to sleep,” he says, staring down at my lips.

Shit.

Walk away, Indigo.

“Sure there are,” I try to say, but my voice wavers. “This is just the best one.”

“A warm body usually does the trick for me, sweetheart.”

Did he just call me sweetheart? Why is my heart thumping over that?

“I have a name, you know?”

A small, gorgeous grin spreads across his face. Lordy he’s beautiful when he smiles. “Indigo,” he purrs.

“I should…go.”

I try to squeeze past him, but his hand lashes out and grips my hip. I stiffen and swallow, turning toward him. He takes another step closer, and stares down at me. “If I didn’t have to,” he murmurs, “I wouldn’t sell you. You’re just what I need.”

I stiffen and shove him back. “You’re such a jerk. I’m no one’s bedmate!”

His eyes widen, and he takes a step back. “And yet you’re the one who is wet at the thought of me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snarl.

“If I put my fingers between your legs right now, inocencia, you would be dripping for me.”

“You’re wrong.”

He steps closer, forcing my body back against the counter behind me. “Am I?”

“Stop it,” I whisper, shaking my head.

“Just say the word, and I’ll let you go.”

He’s challenging me. I hate that he’s right. My body is alive for him, but I won’t show him that. My pride won’t allow it. I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and growl, “Let me go.”

He takes a step back, his eyes hazy and relaxed.

“If that’s what you want, inocencia, but I don’t offer twice,” he rasps, and then turns and leaves the room.

Damn him.

He wasn’t meant to make me feel like I made the wrong choice.

“I have new sheets for you,” Jess says, coming into my room the next day with a bundle of sheets in her hand.

I’ve been wanting to ask her why she’s here, and after watching her flitter around the room, I finally get up the courage to blurt out, “Why do you do it?”

She’s just placed the sheets on the sofa, but at my words she turns and stares at me, her green eyes confused. “Why do I do what?”

“Stay here…with them?”

She looks around the room a moment, as if double checking we are really alone, then she walks over and sits down on the sofa beside me. She places her hands in her lap, and stares at Hendrix’s bed, just watching it for a long, long moment.

“He saved my life.”

“Hendrix?” I say, shocked.

“Yeah, he saved me.”

I don’t say anything, I just stare at her, willing her to go on with my pleading look. She closes her eyes a moment, and then she begins speaking softly.

“I was a foster child, thrown through the system after my parents died when I was only four years old. I went through family after family, but my last family…they were awful. Well, one person in particular was awful…my foster father. He was abusive, and cruel, and one night…he raped me. I was fourteen years old.”

My chest seizes for her, everything inside my body clenches tightly, as if recoiling from the words.

“It went on for about four years. When I was eighteen, I lost it, and I killed him. I was so tired of it, so drained. I wanted to be free. I wasn’t thinking, I knew killing him wouldn’t free me from my pain, but I had no other choice. It wasn’t going to stop. One night, I tucked a knife under my pillow. When he came in, I stabbed him so many times he was unrecognizable. I ran, covered in blood and frantic. I ended up at the wharf, I don’t know how, and I ran into Hendrix when he was docking to load his ship. I didn’t know what he was, I just knew I was beside myself, and he calmed me down and managed to figure out what was going on through my babbling. He told me he would make me a deal. He would take me, hide me and keep me safe, if I promised to become a medic on his ship. I had no medical experience, but he paid for some basic study, and the rest I figured out on my own. He told me after five years I could leave if I wanted; until then, I was under his protection.”