She blinked. His tone was so casual that she almost missed it, but then Will wasn't an in-your-face kind of caretaker. Instead he was subtle, found a way to slip in a disturbing question and get it out of the way. Most strangers wouldn't have cared, much less made the effort to steer into a potentially awkward problem.

She thought that just maybe her attraction to him was more than ordinary old sex appeal. Damned if he wasn't coming through like a seriously good guy.

And then she tried to answer the question. "I'm bound to have a few bruises show up tomorrow, maybe even a nasty one on my neck. But I don't need a doctor. Nothing serious." Yet suddenly she needed to snug her arms tight under her chest. "I have to admit, though, that I keep feeling…weird. I was never mugged before, never had anyone touch me with the intent to hurt me. I can't seem to shake it off. There's just a high…ick…factor."

"Sit. I was going to make coffee, then figured that was stupid. You need caffeine like a hole in the head. So it's tea. French-style. With a bunch of sugar. Sugar for shock, right?"

"Actually, I never need an excuse to use sugar, but that'll do."

The kitchen was mostly copper and blue, with white trim. There was no dishwasher, and no place for one, she noticed with shock. The sink was messy, but cleaned fairly recently, and the counter just looked typical of a guy, dishes reproducing since the night before. Her scrutiny kept picking up details. A small fridge, a couple bottles of unopened wine, the luxuriously sexy smell of fresh bread, a heap of fresh fruit in a bowl. The eating table only had room for two chairs, was hardly big enough to put plates on, but it overlooked the boulevard below, the whole view of thick, old trees, the steady snake of cars and street traffic. Sunlight ribboned through fresh green leaves.

"Ever since I got here," she murmured. "I keep seeing the same things I could see at home. Cars. People. Buildings. Spring flowers and smells. But somehow it's incredibly different."