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Declan removes my handcuffs long enough to dress me in one of his white button-down shirts, then recuffs me and drags on a pair of black jeans. Barefoot and bare chested, he leads me into the kitchen. He sets me on a stool at the huge marble island and kisses my forehead. Then he sets about rummaging through his huge refrigerator for something to feed me. I watch him, marveling at the masterpiece of architecture that is his back. “How often do you work out?” “Every day. Ham?” He holds up a plastic bag of deli meat. “Is it salad flavored?” “No.” “Exactly.” He peers at me over his shoulder. “Are you a vegan?” “What did that background check you ran on me tell you?” “Many different things, none of which concerned your diet. Are you?” “No. I just really love veggies. I used to eat a
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