"Yes, please," he said firmly, noting the way her gaze slid over his hands. Greg knew his wrists were red and abraded from tugging at his bindings. Their state seemed to confuse and distress her.
"Why didn't Mother calm you? She shouldn't have left you like this. Why--" She paused and blinked, then understanding filled her face. "Oh, of course. Bastien's early arrival must have interrupted her before she could properly settle you. She probably meant to come back and finish with you after, but forgot."
Greg didn't have a clue what she was talking about, except that she seemed to think her mother had brought him here and he was positive she was wrong. "The woman who brought me here was too young to be your mother. She looked like you, but had dark hair. Your sister maybe?" he guessed.
For some reason his words made her smile. "I don't have a sister. The woman you're describing is my mother. She's older than she looks."
Greg accepted this with some incredulity, then his eyes widened at the ramifications of what she was saying. "Then, I'm your birthday gift?"
She nodded slowly, then tilted her head, and said, "That's an odd smile. What are you thinking?"
Greg was thinking he was the luckiest son of a bitch alive as his mind automatically readjusted his earlier imaginings of a large, ugly woman stripping and climbing on top of him. to this woman doing so. He allowed himself to enjoy the fantasy for a moment, but then realized that his body was enjoying it way too much, a noticeable bulge was growing in his pants. He gave his head a shake. As delightful as a night as this woman's sex slave might be, he had plans--a trip full of sandy beaches, palm trees, and half-naked women gyrating on a dance floor. And it was already paid for.
Now... if after his trip this woman wanted to go on a date in the normal way, then tie him to a bed and have her way with him... Well, Greg liked to consider himself an obliging sort. Besides, in this case, he thought being a sex slave might not be so bad. Realizing his thoughts were wandering into areas better left alone for now, Greg gave himself a mental kick and forced a stern look to his face. "Kidnapping is illegal."
Her eyebrows rose. "Did Mom kidnap you?"
"Not exactly," he admitted, recalling how he'd climbed into the trunk under his own impetus. Kidnapping generally required being forcibly taken away. Greg supposed he could have lied; however, he was a poor liar. "But I don't want to be here, and really I don't have any idea why I climbed into the trunk of your mother's car. It seemed the most natural thing to do at the time, but I've never..."'
Greg's voice trailed away as he realized that the blonde wasn't listening to him. At least, she didn't appear to be. She was staring at his head with concentration and a deepening frown. She was also moving closer to the bed, though he suspected it was a subconscious action. She seemed wholly concentrated on his hair, but then she shook her head with apparent frustration, and muttered, "I can't read your mind."
"You can't read my mind?" Greg echoed slowly.
She shook her head.
"I see... and... er... is that a problem?" he queried. "I mean, can you usually read people's minds?"
She nodded, but it was an absent action, her thoughts were obviously elsewhere.
Greg tried to ignore the disappointment suddenly pinching at him as he acknowledged that the woman was mad, or at least delusional if she thought she could read minds. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. The mother couldn't exactly be normal, or she wouldn't allow strange men to climb into her trunk--for she'd been behind him and had to have seen him climb in. Anyone else would have run screaming for building security instead of taking him home with her.
It seemed madness was running rampant tonight. The first example had been his behavior, then the brunette's, and now the blonde thought she could read minds. It made him wonder if there wasn't some sort of citywide madness occurring. Perhaps men all around Toronto were climbing into trunks and letting themselves be tied to beds. Perhaps it was some sort of drug released into the city's water reservoir; a terrorist plot to incapacitate the men in Canada.
On the other hand, perhaps this was all just a weird dream, and he was really still at his desk at work, head down and sound asleep. Greg decided that was the most likely possibility. It provided a most satisfactory explanation of his own inexplicable behavior in getting himself here. Of course, none of that really mattered. Asleep or awake, mad or not, he was here, and even if it was a dream, he wanted to get himself home. He had a flight to catch.
"Listen, if you could just untie me, I promise I'll forget all about this. I won't bring in the authorities or anything."
"The authorities?" the blonde echoed. "You mean like the police?" She seemed startled at the prospect, as if it hadn't occurred to her.
"Well, yeah," Greg said with a frown. "Okay, so I came here apparently willingly enough," he admitted reluctantly. "But now I want to go home, and if you don't untie me, it's forcible confinement, and that's a criminal offense."
Lissianna began to gnaw on her lower lip. She'd tried to slip into the man's thoughts to soothe and control him as she'd done earlier with Dwayne, as her mother should have done before leaving him, but she couldn't get into his thoughts. It was as if there were an impenetrable wall around his mind, and while she'd heard of this, she'd never run across it herself. Lissianna had never met a mortal she couldn't read and control. Though she had run across individuals she found it difficult to read and control. Usually, that difficulty eased or disappeared altogether once she was feeding on them.
She tilted her head and eyed her gift, debating whether to try feeding off him to make it easier to slip into his thoughts and soothe him. The only problem was that if she couldn't slip into his thoughts even a little, Lissianna wouldn't be able to keep him from experiencing the pain when her teeth first sank into his neck. Unless...
Mirabeau had once told her about coming up against a similar situation. She'd said she'd kissed and caressed the man, relaxing him, and had managed to slip into his thoughts the moment her teeth sank into him.
Lissianna considered the matter briefly. She'd never seduced anyone before. Born and raised in Georgian England, her life had been rather sheltered, and while society had grown more promiscuous the last fifty years or so, Lissianna's life hadn't. Her parents were old, with old values and beliefs that were slow to change and modernize. While her mother might have allowed her more freedom, her father would never have bent to society.
Still, she simply couldn't leave the man lying there distressed, Lissianna decided. Besides, she wouldn't mind a little preview of her birthday dinner, rather like a lick of the icing off a cake before it was served. Okay, she'd like a little more than the equivalent of a lick, but just a quick bite, just enough to ease her hunger, she assured herself.
Yeah right, Lissianna thought dryly. This man looked yummy enough that she'd be tempted to suck him dry, a temptation she couldn't recall having in several decades.
"The rope is really tight."
Startled out of her thoughts by his complaint, Lissianna glanced again toward the burns at his wrists and felt her uncertainty melt away. She'd been taught that it was bad form to play with your food or allow it to suffer needlessly. And this man was suffering. It was her duty to get into his thoughts and soothe him. It was hardly her fault that she couldn't do so the normal way and was going to have to try more extreme measures.
Mind made up and conscience appeased, Lissianna settled on the side of the bed. "You shouldn't struggle, and you shouldn't worry. I hate to see you distressed this way."