‘I’m not a prisoner, you know.’
He looked at her intently. ‘No…there’s another word for what you are…’
Sorcha sagged back and fell silent.
An hour later Sorcha looked around her in dismay. Somehow someone had persuaded everyone to go to a small bar not far from where they were staying, and even though she dreaded going back to the hotel, and hadn’t really contemplated what would happen when she did, she wished she was anywhere but there. With everyone getting drunk around her—apart from Romain, of course, who was in complete control, and disconcertingly as at home here as he had been in five-star surroundings—Sorcha felt absurdly sober.
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