A Quick Bite(7)

After she'd left the room, he'd lain there, his mind blank for several moments before the situation he'd got himself into had begun to sink in. Greg had spent the time since then in bewildered contemplation of what had happened. His own behavior—never mind the woman's— didn't make any sense. It was as if he'd temporarily lost his mind. Or control of it. Unable to solve the quandary, he'd turned his thoughts to more immediate concerns, such as what was going to happen now that he was here?

"My daughter is going to love you. You are my best birthday gift ever." These words—along with the fact that Greg was presently spread-eagled on a bed—had first made him fear he was some sort of sexual gift. A sex slave, perhaps. That possibility had immediately had him imagining being ravished by some huge, homely creature with a bad complexion and facial hair. For surely only someone terribly unattractive would need a man kidnapped and tied to her bed to get sex in today's sexually free climate?

Just as Gregory had started to hyperventilate at the imagined horror, he'd given himself a mental slap. The woman—the mother—couldn't be more than twenty-five or thirty years old at most. Surely no daughter of hers would be old enough to want a sex slave? Or even to know what to do with one, Besides, why would anyone want him for a sex slave anyway, he'd asked himself.

Greg had a healthy self-esteem, and knew he was attractive, but he wasn't a rock star or GQ-model gorgeous. He was a psychologist who dressed in conservative suits, had a conservative haircut, and lived a conservative life based around work, his family, and little else. Well, his work, his family, and attempting to escape all the blind dates his sisters, aunts, and mother would have set him up on, he corrected himself wryly.

Greg's thoughts were disturbed when the bedroom door opened again. Stiffening, he jerked his head up to peer toward the door and saw that it was the woman from a moment ago. He eyed her with wary interest. Except for her long blond hair, she looked very like the brunette who had brought him here. She was beautiful, with full lips, an oval face, a straight nose, and the same silver-blue eyes as her brunette counterpart. Obviously, they bought their contacts at the same place.

No, Greg decided. The eyes weren't exactly the same. They were the same color and shape, but the brunette's eyes had held a sadness and wisdom that had belied the youth of her skin and features. This woman was lacking that. The blonde's eyes were clear, untouched by regret or true heartache. It made her seem younger.

The blonde was obviously a relative of the brunette though, Greg thought as he watched her walk to the dresser against the wall adjacent to the bed and open a drawer. Probably her sister, he guessed. He let his eyes run over the short, formfitting black dress she wore, then to her shapely legs, and the thought crossed his mind that it was almost a shame that she was too old to be the brunette's daughter. He wouldn't have minded being her

gift-Rolling his eyes at his own wayward thoughts, Greg watched her close the dresser and waited expectantly for her to turn her attention to him, but she didn't. Much to his amazement, she merely walked back to the door, obviously intending to exit the room without so much as a by-your-leave. Greg was so shocked that his mouth opened and closed twice before he managed to get out a simple, "Excuse me."

The blonde paused at the door and turned to peer at him curiously.

Greg forced a stiff smile and asked, "Do you think you could maybe untie me?"

"Untie you?" Appearing surprised by the request, she moved to the bedside to peer down at him.

"Yes, please," he said firmly, noting the way her gaze slid over his hands. Greg knew his wrists were red and abraded from tugging at his bindings. Their state seemed to confuse and distress her.

"Why didn't Mother calm you? She shouldn't have left you like this. Why—" She paused and blinked, then understanding filled her face. "Oh, of course. Bastien's early arrival must have interrupted her before she could properly settle you. She probably meant to come back and finish with you after, but forgot."

Greg didn't have a clue what she was talking about, except that she seemed to think her mother had brought him here and he was positive she was wrong. "The woman who brought me here was too young to be your mother. She looked like you, but had dark hair. Your sister maybe?" he guessed.

For some reason his words made her smile. "I don't have a sister. The woman you're describing is my mother. She's older than she looks."

Greg accepted this with some incredulity, then his eyes widened at the ramifications of what she was saying. "Then, I'm your birthday gift?"

She nodded slowly, then tilted her head, and said, "That's an odd smile. What are you thinking?"