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my car fixed as was on my list, he bought me an extremely overpriced sports car. Now that one wasn’t so bad to live with, except I hadn’t gotten a vote in that either and I would have liked to have at least picked the color.
    I hated red. It was gaudy. And I had picked that other car out with my gram. It had been a complete lemon, but well, I’d gotten it with my gram. How many people could say that?
    I couldn’t even get excited about my new sports car or that I was down fifty pounds in two weeks from his miracle blood. If I weren’t so fucking depressed from Conall, I would have said I was feeling the best I ever had in my life. I wasn’t at my high school weight yet, but I felt great. No migraines, no backaches or pain, or anything from being, oh, over eighteen.
    The next week he furnished the front room out of what looked like the British museum catalog—if there was such a thing—nothing like I would ever have gotten, nor what I wanted to do with that room, and never asked me. I was down seventy pounds, Tim was starting to look at me in a way that made me extremely uncomfortable, and Conall was getting impatient with me, asking to read what I’d been working on.
    I finally handed over half of one of the books I’d written, worried if I didn’t… Honestly, I had no clue what would happen. Part of me hoped he would leave but I didn’t think I would be that lucky.
    He loved it, more excited than ever to order more ugly ass promo shit I was mortified to put any of my pen names on.
    The next week he redid the master bathroom, that was actually gorgeous and I told him so. Unfortunately that seemed to give him a gold star on something finally and he took that as a sign that we were moving our relationship in the right direction… Sexual.
    “I was beginning to worry when you stopped enjoying my bites the past few weeks,” he murmured against my neck, his hand teasing the waistband of my shorts. I flinched away so fast I lost my balance and fell out of bed, hitting my head on the nightstand on the way down, the loud crack of bone breaking worrying me as wet stickiness ran against my head. “ Fuck , Nina.”
    “Don’t,” I whimpered, trying to scoot away when he touched me. “You never said that was part of the deal.”
    “No, of course not,” he grumbled, his fingers parting my hair and checking my head. “I would never force myself on you. I apologize. I thought you were coming around to the idea.”
    “I’m not,” I blurted. “I never invited you into my bed. You did.”
    “Nina,” he whispered, his voice cold, dead, so much so it echoed in the room. “Are you saying I have not been welcome in your bed all this time?”
    “My head hurts,” I replied instead.
    “ Nina ?”
    “Conall, I don’t feel well,” I slurred, lights flashing behind my eyes. “Something’s wrong.”
    “You will be the death of me, woman.”
    “I think the same thing of you,” I admitted to him, wincing at how much trouble that could get me in later.
    A quick trip to the emergency room, and we found out I cracked my skull, minor concussion, and I had to stay there overnight… At least I found out I was down ninety pounds. Ninety pounds in a month, almost every stretch mark gone, no saggy skin, or anything. Wow.
    “Lovely,” Conall sighed, shaking his head. “I have some calls to make. Will you be okay for a while or do you want me to send Tim to stay with you.”
    “I’m fine. They’ll send someone in every hour to check in on me.” I gave him a weak smile that seemed to appease him. Fuck, I was grateful for the vacation away from the crazy. Part of me wished I’d had my own car because it would have been the perfect escape point. Then again, it wasn’t my own car anymore.
    It was his car he’d given me. I bet it was LoJack’d out and shit. Damn, there wasn’t a single aspect of my life he hadn’t invaded.
    Made that much more apparent when I got home the next day and found out he’d fired my editor