Her head bobbed eagerly, gratefully, the liquid brown of her eyes as smooth as melted chocolate. He brought the glass to her mouth, gently cradling the back of her head as he relished the feel of her silken hair beneath his hand. He watched her drink greedily, and then he drew the glass away even as she tried her best to follow it. She made a gagging sound as the rope at her neck reached its limit, choking her.

“Don’t worry,” he crooned, leaning close, whispering his gentle reassurance hotly against her cheek. “There’ll be more. And I brought you breakfast too. You can eat just as soon as we get you cleaned up.” He reached for the bowl of warm water and squeezed the excess liquid from a washrag. He smoothed it tenderly, gingerly, across her forehead, and down her cheeks to her neck. He took his time, patiently taking great care with his task. He hesitated when he reached the top of her blouse.

She squirmed, and started to moan, but clamped her lips tightly as she turned her head away from him. She didn’t protest. And she didn’t scream.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized earnestly as he unbuttoned the top buttons and slid the washcloth inside. He was nervous around her, and he reminded himself that they were still getting to know each other, that they were only dating.

His hands shook, and he kept his gaze averted while he worked, telling himself that this was necessary. He couldn’t allow her to wallow in her own filth. He was doing her a favor.

When he finished, he released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“There,” he announced. Things were progressing well. They’d just passed another milestone. “That’s better, right?” When she didn’t respond, he lightly tugged her chin with his finger, drawing her gaze back to his. He scowled at her until the shadow of a smile touched the corner of her lips. It was tight and tentative, but it was a smile nonetheless. He was certain of that.

“Now, I bet you’re ready for some food.” He smiled back at her with no tentativeness at all. He felt elated. “And after that, a treat.” He lifted the bottle of nail polish. “How do you feel about lilac?”

Chapter 7

“ARE YOU SURE YOU HAVE TO WORK TONIGHT?” Violet asked, leaning through the open window of Jay’s black Acura. “Maybe you could call in sick. Just this once.”

The sounds of other students and engines starting filled the lot. The rain had lifted just before lunch, and the sun was making intermittent appearances between clouds that drifted idly across the sky, warming Violet’s back. Like the weather, her bleak mood had cleared as well.

“You know I can’t. Al’s counting on me. Besides, I need the money.” He lifted her chin with his finger, compelling her eyes to his. “I have tomorrow off, though. We can hang out then.”

Violet’s lips pulled into a demure smile. “You read my mind.”

“I’m starting to think maybe I got a little psychic thing goin’ on too.”

She crossed one foot over the other and leaned closer, so that her mouth was precariously close to his. She felt bolder now, her lips parting slowly, purposefully. “Then what am I thinking? Read my mind . . .” She let the words hang like a promise as her breath mingled with his.

Jay reached around her neck and slipped his fingers into her curls as he dragged her so close she was almost inside the car now.

She let go of her backpack, and it fell to the ground with a thunk as she balanced on her toes, leaning half-in and half-out of his window. She pressed the flat of her hand against his chest to steady herself, feeling his muscles bunch beneath her fingertips.

His breath was warm as his lips feathered over hers. Her pulse fluttered in the base of her throat. And before she knew it, they were kissing, heat uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, making her crave more. His lips and tongue moved with hers, until she felt fevered and restless.

When she pulled back and looked into his dazed eyes, she felt something stir within her, something fierce and feral. She felt like a cat toying with a mouse.

“I’ll be at work until nine, nine thirty,” he explained, his voice shaky. “Maybe you can stop by the store and visit me.” And then he grinned at her, all lopsided and boyish, and Violet realized she was the mouse in this scenario. Whenever he smiled at her like that she wanted to nod stupidly, agreeing to whatever he requested of her.

But this time she never had the chance, because all at once, his expression changed, a scowl shadowing his face. Violet knew something was wrong.

“What’s the matter?” she breathed.

“What the hell?” Jay muttered. “What’s he doing here?”

She followed his black gaze, craning her neck so she could see behind her.

Her breath caught when she saw Rafe standing near the edge of the school parking lot. His stance was casual as his eyes met hers, a red motorcycle helmet tucked beneath his arm.

Rafe lifted his chin, giving a cursory nod, and Violet couldn’t help wondering if it was meant for her or for Jay. She didn’t miss the smile that tugged at his lips.

Violet’s grip on Jay’s arm tightened. “I don’t know.” She wasn’t lying. Rafe hadn’t been to her school since the first time he and Sara had come there, searching out Violet in the parking lot after she’d discovered a missing boy on the waterfront.

And he fit in just as well today as he had back then, with his torn black jeans and his jet-black hair—basically, not at all.

Jay’s gaze raked quickly over Rafe, taking him in before he turned back to Violet. His jaw clenched. “Well, I guess you better find out. I doubt he came all this way to ask about the weather, Vi.” She was relieved when he didn’t sound angry; his voice was resigned, passive. But the effect was just as painful for Violet. She hated that he was uncomfortable, even if he had no reason to be jealous of Rafe.