Witch Fire by Anya Bast Page A

already healing. That doesn’t seem likely…. Anyway, that’s what it looks like.”
    â€œI helped it a little.”
    She scowled at him. “Not possible.”
    His gaze held hers steadily. “You have a lot to learn about what’s possible.” He studied her face for a moment. “You have very pretty eyes. They can’t decide if they’re brown or green.”
    She blinked and fought the urge to lower her gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Thanks.”
    He held her wrist for another heartbeat, and then released her.
    She pulled away from him and put on the necklace. “I suppose I’m meant to stay here for some length of time?”
    â€œI suppose you are.”
    â€œI’m going to need things if I’m going to be a prisoner. I have no clothing, other than that what your… friends may have left, and they, apparently, weren’t human judging by their insignificant size. I need proper soap for my face, non-male-smelling shampoo…and, goddamn it, I need fresh underwear!” she finished grouchily.
    He walked to the desk, got out a pen and pad of paper, and handed them to her. “Make a list. I’ll get whatever you need.”
    She took the pen and paper, raising her eyebrows at him. “You’re not going through my underwear drawer—”
    â€œJust make the list.”
    She sat on the edge of the bed and made out the list while Jack finished dressing, then handed it to him.
    â€œI swear I won’t go through your underwear drawer,” he said. “Now, are you hungry? I made breakfast.”
    She mumbled “yes” and followed her nose to the kitchen. Mira hadn’t gotten a good look at the rest of the apartment the day before since she’d been unconscious the first time she’d gone through it and fleeing for her life the second time.
    It was decorated much like the bedroom—expensively. The floors were polished wood and area rugs lay in front of the couch and in the foyer. A matching runner lined the hallway. Most of the heavy furniture was also wood. Modern artwork hung on the walls and sculptures stood on tables.
    The apartment had an open floor plan. A spiral staircase in the corner led to a loftlike area, a hallway, and a series of closed doors on the second floor, probably more bedrooms or maybe an office.
    It looked like a rich man’s bachelor pad and had probably been decorated professionally. She couldn’t really picture Jack picking out the elegant beige couch with the matching red embroidered cushions, or the gorgeous blue glass vase on the classy pedestal that stood against one wall.
    Or maybe one of his friends had helped him. Maybe after they’d gone shopping, he’d stripped her, pressed her over the back of the loveseat, and taken her from behind until she’d yelled out her climax to his swanky soundproofed apartment.
    Mira sighed. Clearly, she needed counseling and medication. The sexual thoughts and images that kept leaping into her mind were unusual for her. Not to mention, the thought of Jack with another woman seemed strangely unwelcome. She glowered at Jack as she passed into the kitchen as if it was his fault she’d taken leave of her senses.
    Well, hell. It was his fault.
    The kitchen was large, with a middle island. Above the island hung a big rack with copper pots and crystal wine glasses. Two places were set at a table in the recessed breakfast nook. Jack walked over with a pan and scooped a couple eggs and a few pieces of bacon onto both plates. Her stomach growled.
    She sat down at the place set with a bottle of aspirin. He was so considerate, her abductor. Mira poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table and dug in only to get a mouthful of yuck. “It’s cold,” she complained.
    Jack reached out and touched her plate. “That should be better.”
    Shooting him a look that clearly said I think you’re crazy , she