She lowered her eyebrow. She wondered how S0ren would feel about her showing off her bruises to Kingsley. Only one way to find out.

She threw her backpack on the floor and shrugged out of her coat.

"On the way back from the funeral, S0ren told me you used to be in the French Foreign Legion."

"I was a captain, oui."

"So maybe you can answer a question for me."

"What's the question?"

She unlaced her boots and kicked them off. He wanted to see the bruises on her thighs, so she'd have to take her shoes and tights off under her skirt. Luckily the cold weather gave her an excuse to keep every bruise covered and then some. So if Kingsley wanted to see her bruises, she'd have to strip. She yanked off her tights and stuck her foot in Kingsley's lap.

"Do I have trench foot?"

Kingsley grabbed her leg by the ankle and raised her foot off his lap. He ran a finger down the arch of her foot.

"You have one blister, not trench foot. Stop wearing combat boots without socks."

"Thank you. I was worried we might have to amputate."

She placed her bare feet back on the floor, grateful Kingsley kept the Rolls warm and toasty. He must be feeling overly warm in his suit as he, too, started to remove his jacket.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she said.

"Taking your clothes off for me in the back of my Rolls-Royce?"

"That." She unb.u.t.toned her shirt.

"Get used to it."

She turned her back to him and lowered her shirt. Kingsley moved to sit behind her on her seat. His surprisingly gentle fingers traced the outline of the bruises that dotted her skin. His touch on her body made her feel treacherous sorts of things in her stomach and a little lower.

"Where else?" he asked.

She pulled her shirt back up and turned around. Feeling obnoxious, she threw her leg over his thighs and raised her skirt.

"Glad I shaved my legs this morning," she said as she displayed the bruises on her upper thighs.

"So am I."

"So you shaved your legs, too?" She pushed her skirt back down and put her feet on the floor once more.

He narrowed his eyes at her as she b.u.t.toned her shirt back up.

"You're intelligent."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." She put her boots back on and left her tights off. She'd worry about her trench foot later.

"Intelligence is dangerous in a woman. Next thing we know you'll say that marriage is a trap that tricks women into becoming unpaid cooks and housekeepers."

"Even if I were stupid I'd be smart enough to know that."

She turned to face him, pulling her legs into the seat cross-legged. She had a feeling he could see her underwear from this angle but for some reason she really didn't care. If S0ren trusted Kingsley, she would, too.

"You're an interesting young woman. I thought he was out of his mind when he first told me about you."

"What did he tell you about me?"

"Nothing I'll tell you. What is important is that you're here now, and there are things you should know."

"I want to know everything."

"As soon as you turn eighteen, I'll take you to a club."

"Why eighteen?"

"Because you have to be eighteen to enter BDSM clubs in this state."

"Yes, I can see you're a law-abiding citizen. I've been in your house, remember?"

"You came uninvited."

"You were having an orgy that involved people betting money on s.e.x."

"A friendly gentleman's wager. I never play, though."

"Why not?"

"No fun in it. I always win."

"I heard some rumors you were good in bed."

Kingsley plucked a nonexistent thread off his trousers and smiled at something out the window.

"If I were you, I would believe them."

The casual confidence in Kingsley's tone made something twitch inside Eleanor.

"I want to believe them."

"I would take you to a club right now and prove it to you if I could. I am under orders at the moment. Je suis desole."

"Blondie won't let me play yet?"

"Not at a club."

She heard something in his voice-a hint.

"S0ren said you weren't allowed to take me a kink club."

"He did. But he didn't say I couldn't take you to my house."

Kingsley grinned and for a beautiful, terrifying moment Eleanor wanted to kiss Kingsley as much as she'd ever wanted to kiss S0ren.

"What are we doing at your house?"

"A little demonstration of BDSM in action."

"BDSM?"

"Bondage. Domination or discipline. Sadomasochism. Or what I like to call 'my favorite hobbies.'"

"Can you pick me up from school every day?"

Kingsley laughed and pulled her into his lap. He gave her a quick kiss on both cheeks, going nowhere near her lips.

Then he sat her bodily onto the bench seat before moving to sit across from her.

"Enough playing," he said with a more serious expression on his face. "I believe you have a question for me?"

Eleanor straightened her skirt, flattening it against her thighs.

"S0ren told me to ask you why I should be afraid of him. Do I want the answer?"

"Only you can tell me that."

Eleanor glanced down at her boots, her Goodwill combat boots.

"I want to know. But S0ren said you wouldn't answer."

"I won't answer. Not the truth anyway. But I can tell you a useful lie."

"That'll work, I guess."

Kingsley shrugged, sat back in the seat and smiled at her.

"He's a s.a.d.i.s.t, cherie. The most brutal s.a.d.i.s.t I've ever known. There are four women in the city who he plays with on a rotating basis. Once a week if he has time. It can take well over two weeks for them to heal entirely from a few hours with him."

"Jesus. What does he do?"

"Flogging, whipping, caning, cutting, candle-wax burns, bastinado ..." He ticked the terms off on his fingers. "I'm forgetting something. What is it?"

He tapped his forehead.

"Oh, humiliation." Kingsley snapped his fingers. "I always forget that one. I don't do humiliation play so I forget it."

"What do you do?"

"Everything else. My specialty is rape."

Eleanor gaped at him.

"Rape?"

"Rape play. It's a game. There are women who love to be overpowered and treated like s.e.xual property. It's their fantasy to be raped by a man they desire. I make the fantasy come true. It's all in good fun. Want to try?"

"How does it work?"

"Something like this." He grabbed her calf and yanked her so hard she ended up flat on her back. Before she realized what was happening, Kingsley hovered over her, his hands on her wrists, his body weight holding her immobile beneath him.

"Get off me," she said, grunting at the shock of his weight on her. "You're wrinkling my skirt."

"It's pleated."

"Oh. Good point. Then stay there." Obviously he was trying to scare her. She grew up with a dad in the mob. She didn't scare that easy.

"You take all the fun out of it." He still held her down, his hands on her forearms. It hurt, but she refused to let him see her in pain.

"Why? Because I'm not scared of you, either?"

"I have you pinned underneath me, and you aren't even nervous?"

"Sorry." She smiled up at him and batted her eyelashes. In all honesty, fear was last on the list of feelings she was experiencing at the moment. Ahead of fear were the following: first, enjoyment; second, desire; followed by curiosity third with embarra.s.sment coming in a close fourth. The embarra.s.sment ranked fourth only because she felt feelings one through three.

"Have you ever had s.e.x in the back of a Rolls-Royce?" he asked her as he pushed his hips meaningfully into hers. What she felt pressing against her caused fear to jump ahead a few places on her emotions-currently-experiencing list. Fear and desire both shot right up her list.

"I've never had s.e.x, you know, ever."

"Poor girl. Would you like me to take care of that little problem for you?"

"I'm Catholic, so I'm waiting."

"Until marriage?"

"No. I'm waiting for my priest to f.u.c.k me."

"Are you tired of waiting?"

"Yes. There's no reason to wait. He's being overprotective."

"He cares about you."

"Wish he cared less and f.u.c.ked more."

Kingsley laughed as he sat up and let her go.

"He said you and I would be friends. I didn't believe him at first. I think he might be right."