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She only got halfway through the distressing passage when something on one of the monitors caught her eye and she saw Mr. Black rising from chaise. She stuffed his journal back into his satchel and turned everything off quickly, panic coursing through her body. She reached the door and looked back to see his briefcase wide open. She forgot to latch it, but there was no time. She quietly closed the door, locked it and hoped that he didn’t hear the noisy old latch when she did. She heard her name called out and sprinted into the master suite across the hall and into the bathroom, planting her ass on the seat.

Hearing footsteps on the stairwell, she suddenly remembered she still had the key and necklace in hand. She flung both out into the bedroom near the chair facing the wall and prayed he believed it had fallen off during their physical altercation.

He came sauntering in, rubbing the back of his neck, none the wiser of her little investigation. She kept her eyes to the floor as she tried to make herself urinate. She didn’t dare make eye contact for fear that he would see right through her little charade. Mr. Black was right – learning the skill of lying might just come in handy, especially around him.

Without so much as an acknowledgment, he unceremoniously undressed and climbed into the shower. Only then did Elsa let out the breath she had been holding. Her mind was still racing with what little she had read and she was itching to get her hands back on that journal.

Chapter Eight. So that’s what she was to him and now his words from Thursday made perfect sense. He had stated that she was no different than the other Chapters and she was dying to know what exactly he meant by that. She was different. She didn’t need to read the rest of his journal to know that, but that didn’t keep her from wanting to read about the ones before her and to see what else he had written about her.

But could she handle what else was written on those pages? His upsetting words were hard to forget. He admitted to enjoying her anxiety from the very beginning and she had only given him what he wanted by reacting the way she did. He also stated he was a sick and depraved fuck. Did he really believe that? If that was true, what a frightening thought. More than frightening. Mortifying.

It made her want to bolt in the opposite direction and to call the authorities, but who would she call? The police? What would they do when one of the FBI’s best was accused of being sick and depraved? Like Mr. Black had pointed out, those are subjective qualities. After all, other than the slap, he hadn’t really hurt her physically. Her allegations would go over like a lead balloon and no doubt her words would fall on deaf ears.

But the other side of him… the one he had shown her in her apartment… where did that part of his personality play into all of this? Or was his duality all part of his damned game to lure her in only to cruelly punish her? Damn Mr. Black and his secrets and games.

If she was Chapter Eight, then there were only seven others before her. She shook her head at the absurd notion. Of course there were more than seven other women he had relations with in his lifetime. Maybe he just didn’t chronicle them all. Perhaps he only recorded his writings about the ones that he showed a particular interest in.

“Why don’t you join me,” she heard from the other side of the shower door.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. She was still fuming from what he had put her through. When she didn’t respond and rose to leave, the door slid open, steam billowing out all around her. His large hand reached out for her but she darted past him before his grip took a hold of her.

“Elsa,” his voice boomed, halting her attempted escape.

Glancing over her shoulder, his well-developed, wet physique came into view and she was unable to stop her eyes from taking all of him in – all 200 lean pounds and six feet and however many inches he was.

He ran his palm over his face, wiping the water droplets from his eyes and gave her an insistent look as his eyes scanned her from head to toe.

“Ms. Cassidy,” he spoke strictly, “Shower. Now.”

“No thank you, I’ve already had one,” she huffed before leaving him to finish his shower alone.

She checked the state of her dress to find it still too damp to wear and went back downstairs to eat. Finding the soup that Mr. Black had made earlier, she reheated it and seated herself at the table. Halfway through her meal, he reappeared in only a towel wrapped around his waist and seated himself across from her. She kept her eyes focused on her food, refusing to make eye contact.

“How long are you going to be angry?” he asked without inflection.

“Until I’m not.”

“That man doesn’t deserve…” he started in.

She dropped her spoon loudly into the bowl and glared up at him. “How dense are you? I’m not angry about Patrick – I’m angry about what you did to me,” she said softly, barely able to hold back from breaking down again.

She could feel her temperature rising slowly and her body heated under his stern, green-eyed gaze. When her eyes became blurred with angry tears, she only became more incensed with herself for not being able to contain her emotions.

Her expression grew somber and she rigidly choked back her tears. “Haven’t you ever loved before?” Her throat began to close up and she forced her words out as she held his chilly gaze. “Haven’t you ever been so consumed with someone that you would do anything for them only to have them wreck you completely?”

Mr. Black leaned over the table, his normally insensitive eyes becoming liquid as he stroked her arm, but she turned away and tried to make herself as small as possible, not wanting to give him the pleasure of seeing her pain.

“How could you do that to me?” Unwelcome tears began to stream down her blanched cheeks and she swiped them away quickly.

In a flash, he was kneeling next to her, pulling her to his chest.

“Let him go, Elsa.”

“You really are thick,” she pulled out of his grip to face him. “I let him go a long time ago. I only called him because… I don’t even know why. I drank too much and… And what should it matter to you? I’m just another woman on your long list of physical associations,” she blurted out. And just another Chapter she reminded herself; a Chapter who was just like all the others in his eyes.

Knitting his brows together, he backed away from her and seated himself back at the table.

“Answer me: have you ever loved before?” she repeated.

His jaw tensed and the gritting of his teeth could be heard. “I don’t answer personal questions about myself.”

Elsa pounded her fist on the table as she straightened up in her chair. “Then let’s fuck and get this weekend over with.”

He frowned as he pushed his damp hair off his forehead.

“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” she griped.

“Sex isn’t the only thing I want from you.”

Surprised by the sudden unexplainable sentiment in his voice, she challenged him. “Prove it.”

Reaching across the table, he grabbed her hands and turned them palm up as he circled his thumbs over them. His lips parted but only a sigh was heard. He did this several times, each time shaking his head as if he couldn’t find the words. Elsa became entranced as she watched his inner battle play out before her. His fingers continued sensually caressing her hands, the erotic tingling moving up her arms and hardening her nipples.

Hushed and barely audible, Mr. Black finally found the courage to speak. “Yes, I’ve loved.”

He gulped hard and shook his head again as his mouth opened one final time before he clamped it shut. That was all he was going to share; three words that carried the weight of a thousand. His dark eyes showed the tortured dullness of lost love and she knew he had been punished in his own way by love’s cruel fury and her heart ached for him.

Perhaps the harshness he had put her through earlier was his way of exacting some kind of misguided revenge on the one who had broken his heart. Or maybe he believed that doing what he did would force her to let Patrick go and keep her from ever loving another man again and being hurt.