The mountain of bloody paperwork to transfer Charlotte to his care took forever. Jarid Sark knew it would take a while once he'd gotten Lady Shaw's approval but he hadn't counted on the temporary who was trying very hard to get things right and learn the job all in the same day. Mr. Whattington was off having a baby suddenly and everything ground to a halt.<br/><br/>It took three hours but he had Charlotte's file in hand when he unlocked the front door. He stepped to the music room. Inside the sound booth he put the file away in the locked file safe. He checked his emails then went to the kitchen to heat the kettle.<br/><br/>He fancied a spot of tea. Water in the kettle, kettle on the stove. Stove burner lit. He walked to the rocker and was about to sit when he heard her scream.<br/><br/>He thought at first ... and dashed in to the bed room. His heart pounding, fists clenched ready for the fight. Then he stopped. No one but Charlotte was there. So it wasn't what he thought. It was something else he wasn't as prepared for.<br/><br/>He went towards her as she struggled all tangled in the covers. Calling her name as he touched her fore arm.<br/><br/>He called her name again as he brought her and the tangle against his chest. Cradling her in his arms. Rocking her as he spoke her name. Telling her he was there.<br/><br/>Because he knew it wasn't alright with her and saw no sense in lying to her. She was having a nightmare. She might have lots of them. It was part of being a slave, being sold to someone after being trained for every desire.<br/>Charlotte had gotten a decent sample of what men desire. He too desired her. But the gift she had was more precious to him than immediate gratification of passing sex.  He wasn't willing to risk the death of her gift for a few moments of heavy panting and sweating as she fought him begging him not to. He did not want to be part of her nightmares.<br/><br/>He wanted to feed and grow her passion for the piano. Create the concert pianist that she was meant to be. He could sell her recording on secondary markets even as inexperienced as she was now. She was that good. But she would be so much better. Good enough to play for the Queen's birthday.  She was that good.<br/><br/>He sat on the edge of her cot rocking her in his arms. Rubbing her back to sooth her and give her time to wake up. Safe. As safe as a slave could be at Lady Shaw's school. He would see to that.<br/><br/>"Take your time. We'll have a cup of tea when your sorted out."<br/><br/>