“Grant, why have you ignored me all week?”

"What?" Her blatant question took him aback. “Isabelle, I don’t think it’s the right time for this discussion. You need to untie me.”

“When will be a good time?” she asked, coming closer, her eyes flashing in annoyance.

Women always had such inappropriate timing. “Listen, I promise that when this is all over, we’ll sit down and talk about it. But right now, you need to set me free before those guys come back.”

“Guys?” Isabelle sat on the edge of his desk with her legs crossed. One stocking clad leg peeked out from the opening in her coat, and for one insane moment, he wondered if she had on garters like she had worn last Saturday. Garters and stockings he’d gripped as he’d pounded into her tight, wet sheath. His cock swelled in remembrance, and he held back a snort of self-disgust. She smiled. “How many men do you think did this to you?”

"I don’t know." Grant’s ego demanded he lie and tell her it had taken at least a half dozen thugs to subdue him, but the truth was he had no idea how he’d ended up in this situation. “I’m having a hard time remembering. They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“Why would you care?”

"Please, Isabelle," Grant snarled. The idea of anyone laying an uncouth hand on her roused a jealous beast inside him, one he’d never met before. The protective, possessive instinct shocked him. He was a man who lived for one night stands. “I know I’ve acted like a jerk this week, but that doesn’t mean I want you to come to harm.”

“So you admit being an asshole, do you?” she asked, her eyes glittering triumphantly.