by Kylie Scott
He shifted a little closer and sniggered in her ear. “I’d take you as my hostage every time, Roslyn. Promise.”
“Hate you,” she said, sleep blurring the edges of her words.
“I know,” he said soothingly. “I’ve got the scar to prove it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Roslyn woke up alone in the bed again. Beyond the wide-open bi-fold doors the sun shone bright and birds were singing. Again. Also, an axe was swinging. Took her a while to place the noise, but that’s what it had to be. Having grown up in the city, hearing axes swinging wasn’t exactly the norm. She’d only moved to the country a year back when the job at the school had come up. It had probably saved her life.
The idea of a tree change had intrigued her, but it had been a career move. All part of her plan to work her way to the top and be the big boss librarian in an elite city school by thirty. Her precious life plan had been shot to shit.
The noise broke her out of her pity party.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
It came from somewhere beyond the back door, presumably where Nick was. Next came whistling. Something by AC/DC, maybe? Nothing she recognized.
She rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, where she brushed her hair and washed her face and so on. The chain clinked cheerily behind her the whole way—he’d put it back on her as he slept.
God how she hated this. Him touching her, the chain, all of it.
The scent of him lingered, reminding her she’d woken up once or twice during the night and each time he’d been there, plastered to her back with an arm thrown over her. It made for quite the desensitizing program. The second time she woke, her cheek had been mooshed up against his bicep, skin damp with sweat. No need for so many blankets with him right there, invading her space and treating her like his teddy bear.
She didn’t want to cuddle. Not with him.
On the kitchen bench her breakfast was laid out for her. All knives, fire pokers and anything else she might have thought to use as a weapon were absent, as per the usual. She should dig his heart out with a soup spoon. Nice and blunt and messy.
She slathered her still-warm floury roll thing in jam and ate it. Because of course he’d been baking. Proving himself to be an excellent provider wasn’t going to convince her. No matter the buttery brilliance of the breakfast.
What to do with herself for the day? The shelf of dusty classics sat on the wall, taunting her. If only she had her glasses. Already she missed her books. A big fat copy of War and Peace sat staring back at her. It wasn’t like she didn’t have the time to read it again.
The back door stood open and her chain reached just far enough to let her stick her head through. He’d moved the pickup, likely to get it out of the way so he could bring firewood inside.
The industrious man stood beside a tree stump with axe in hand. No shirt on. Dirty marks stained the side of his blue jeans, as if he’d been wiping his hands there. He had just the right amount of chest hair and his sweaty body gleamed appealingly.
Even sunlight was against her.
The axe rose high above his head, the handle held tight in both hands. Muscles moved in his arms, his shoulders, flexing and shifting in an amazing manner beneath his skin. His face appeared the picture of concentration. Eyes focused entirely on his target.
And down it came. Thunk.
Two hunks of wood toppled to the ground. Nick pushed his brown hair back from his forehead, shoving his fingers through the sweat-dampened mess. The axe dangled from his hand as he breathed deep and stared off into the distance. He looked like an ad for testosterone.
He was unaware that he was being perved upon. Thankfully.
Everything inside her felt in flux. Something about the sight of him half naked stirred her up, stupidly. Her only defense was that it had been a bloody long time between dates. Her body warmed to the view, an all too willing traitor. She could actually feel her pussy flutter with interest. Shit. No. Not him. She needed to gird her loins. Close her eyes and picture him as another version of Neil. Or worse, Heathcliff. She’d never been a fan of that abusive bastard.
Nick’s head lifted and his gaze snagged hers. “Morning.”
“Hi.”
His lips widened into a smile, a cautiously warm one. The wound on his forehead was a blue-gray mess and yet he attempted to be friends.
Or something.
The chain looped around her ankle sparkled silver in the sunlight, an all too pertinent reminder of her situation. She should retreat back into the cabin. But damn, she hated being in there. The walls were closing in on her. Even the chain felt tighter, like it was rubbing at her skin.
“I want to come outside,” she called out.
“Alright.” Nick leaned the axe against the tree trunk. Six feet worth of capable male strode in her direction, up the walkway and across the gangplank.
Excitement at having the chain removed far outweighed her nerves about having him near. She shifted aside, ankle at the ready. Her heart beat double time. To get it off for more than five minutes’ respite. Yes, yes, yes.
Another brief smile as he walked straight past her toward the bed. Not removing the chain from her foot. Not even a little. She’d foolishly fallen for his shit again. Disappointment drowned her.
A pistol butt stuck out of the back of his jeans. She should shoot him in the ass with it.
“You’re going to tie me up outside?” Her voice sounded strangled. “Seriously?”
He looked up from where he was crouched at the end of the bed, busy undoing the padlock. “I don’t feel like running after you when you attempt your next great escape. Sorry.”
“But there are infected somewhere out there. It’s not safe.”
“I’ll be right there the whole time, Roslyn. I won’t leave you alone for a second.”
Breakfast tossed and turned in her belly.
“No,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll stay inside.”
Nick let the chain slither through his fingers and fall onto the floor. He remained crouched by the end of the bed. “Ros.”
“Really, it’s fine. Forget about it.”
He licked his lips and made a pained expression, brows drawn down. “Come on. You want a change of scenery, don’t you?”
Would have been easy to throw out an insult, because God, yes, she wanted away from him. Didn’t want to be looking at him another moment, him or his bare chest. Inside she felt small and cold and defeated. Her shoulders slumped. She hated it, but it was true. Not as if anything had really changed, though. The chain would remain and she was stupid. Hope sucked. To put it poetically, it was a motherfucking sucker punch. Not necessarily the words Austen would have chosen, but germane just the same.
“Look at me.” He wandered toward her. Eyes narrowed and head angled as if in scrutiny. She could smell him and the scent was warm and rich and male. It scattered what remained of her wits.
“Roslyn, promise me you will not try anything.”
Her mouth opened but nothing came out. She hadn’t thought of escaping him. Instead she’d been all over the idea of blue sky and fresh air. And the chance to watch him at work. It was entirely possible she was the worst hostage ever.
“I’m serious, Ros. You stay where I put you and you do not pull any shit. Understood?”
She nodded furiously. “Yes.”
“Do you see this?” He got right in her face, finger pointed straight at Exhibit A, the big gray lump and long crusted cut on his forehead. “This says I shouldn’t trust you, loud and clear. Doesn’t matter why you did it. You did it. To me. Didn’t you?”
No denying the evidence. She nodded again, fingers twined tight. Bone-breakingly so. It lay on the tip of her tongue to say sorry. But it would be a lie. Deep down where it really counted it would be a big, fat whopper because he had deserved it, and eleven times out of ten she would do it all over again.
“Because it really fucking hurt, sweet,” he said. A muscle in his jaw danced.
Another nod. She tr
ied for contrite, really and truly tried with sad puppy eyes and everything, but she struggled to hold back an ecstatic grin at the idea of heading outside. Damn her lack of acting ability.
He scowled so hard that little wrinkles appeared beside his nose. “Okay. You break our deal, I’m going to take a belt to your ass. Hard. You will not sit for days.” He dropped to his knees and dark eyes glared up at her. “Understood?”
A belt? Like hell. She’d kill him first. Kill him painfully, via the soup spoon.
“I understand,” she said.
Rough hands got busy with the padlock and the chain fell free, clattering onto the hardwood floor. Her heart beat so fast as if it would explode out of her chest, like a bird taking flight. Free. She’d be free.
Warmth swelled inside of her. She could have clapped her hands for glee. Jumped around. Sung. Made clothes out of curtains or recited a sonnet. Nick would probably just look at her funny and slap the chain back on. So she kept it all inside, not wanting to spook him, delicate creature that he was.
“Come on.” He stuck his hand out to her, face not particularly happy. Who cared? His eyelids were at half mast, dark eyes dangerously bright. There were lots of sidelong glances of the suspicious sort. So giggling was right out.
She clasped his warm, calloused hand and he led her out into the sunshine. Open air. Blue sky. Gum trees waved high above her in welcome. Her head spun with delight.
He set a cracking pace, leading her across the gravel parking lot. Sharp stones hurt her socked feet, but she ignored them. His hand tugged at hers, hurrying her along. Ah, the breeze on her face. She bit back a sigh of pure pleasure. They stopped a few meters out from the tree stump and he pointed at a patch of grass. “Sit. Please.”
Due to the please, she sat cross-legged on the straggly bit of lawn. Once upon a time, the resort would have had nicely manicured native gardens, but they were reverting to wilderness now.
“Stay,” he said.
With a parting, hard-faced look, Nick meandered back to the tree stump. She sat out of range of any flying wood chips while remaining firmly at the edge of his field of vision. Never did the man fully take his eyes off her. When she leaned over to snag a dandelion his head snapped round at light speed.
“Just making wishes,” she said cheerily, waving the dandelion in his general direction.
He grunted and set up a big chunk of wood. Raised the axe, then swung it.
Thunk.
The log split straight down the middle. It was kind of impressive. The poetry of all that lean, hard muscle being put to work made her want to fan her face. Much safer to concentrate on the view, what little of it there was from her vantage point behind the buildings. The nearest cabin sat about seven or eight meters away from theirs.
Not theirs. “Theirs” indicated some sort of coupledom.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“Nothing.”
“You were frowning.”
“I was thinking of you.”
His chin rose, but he said naught. The man turned back to his wood chopping.
Maybe she should make a run for it. Now, while his back was turned. Where would she go? The driveway led straight back out to the road, but there wasn’t much out there. He’d taken some sort of higgledy piggledy route to get them here, but the truth was, there was little out here. They were a good twenty minutes’ drive from town. Doubtless he could run pretty damn fast. Faster than her. She could hide in one of the nearby sheds and play cat and mouse with him. Hope to find a vehicle to get her the hell out. It was worth a try.
Thunk. Thunk.
She rubbed her socked foot against the ground, flattening some long blades of grass. No shoes. It could be a problem. Had he thought of her lack of footwear when he brought her out here? It would slow her down.
Roslyn took a deep breath.
Gravel crunched beneath Nick’s boots as he paced toward her. The noise snapped her straight out of her daydreams. He hunkered down, much closer than he needed to be, as was his wont. Again, the smell of him infected her. Highly unwelcome, clogging up her brain.
Sweat dripped from his brow and trailed down the side of his face. “You’re thinking bad thoughts.”
She tensed. “No, I’m not.”
“What did I say about lying?”
“You’re not a mind reader, Nick. Don’t pretend. You’re simply not that special.”
“Ouch,” he mumbled, shuffling closer. “I’ve decided what I want for letting you come outside without the chain on.”
“What!”
“You know me, Roslyn. I don’t do things for free.” His smile was hard and his eyes intent. It was his bastard face. Long, thick, dirty fingers splayed out over his jean-clad thigh. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want?”
“No.”
“Come on, you’re curious about everything. Aren’t you dying to know what’s on my mind?”
“I don’t need to be a mind reader to figure that one out.”
He snorted. “Why don’t I save you the trouble and tell you. I want a kiss.”
Her eyebrows felt ready to part from her face. “NO.”
“Yes.” He stared at her, his jaw set. “Just one kiss. Pretty reasonable of me, really.”
“I don’t want to kiss you.”
“A small, harmless peck on the lips.”
“You’d have to force me, Nick,” she sneered. “Now where would the fun be in that?”
He licked his lips and grinned, apparently pleased by her vehemence. Though it was unlikely he even knew the word. “I don’t have to force you. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
“Like I think you’re a sociopathic, misogynistic, kidnapping cretin?”
“Like I’m a man you’re attracted to.”
Like hell. “I prefer my version,” she said.
“I’m sure you do. But you’re still going to give me that kiss.” And he looked awful damn sure of himself.
Fuck him. She bared her teeth. “You’re insane. Better yet, you’re projecting. Do you know what that is, or shall I explain it to you?”
“I think I can figure it out.” The bastard actually winked at her.
“Bright boy. The summation of it is this: I do not want to kiss you.”
“You mean you don’t want to want to kiss me. There’s a difference.” The corners of his mouth curled upward. What she wouldn’t give to wipe the smirk off his face with the flat of her hand. “Would you like me to explain what that is, sweet?” he asked.
She held in the snarl of rage. Just. Her hands clenched into tight fists. It made the bruises from decking Neil ache. “You’re full of shit and I have no interest in touching you, kissing you or coming within fifty yards of you. Do you understand? Are those words little enough to penetrate your thick skull?”
“Oops. You said penetrate. You know what I’m thinking now?”
She blinked, stupefied.
“I want my kiss,” he said.
“I want you dead.”
He hung his head, but his gaze stayed on her face. “Come on, Roslyn. Just one. Why are you putting up such a fight over one insignificant little kiss? Hmm?”
She covered her face with her hands, blocking all sight of him. Just a second to pull herself together, that was all she needed. Because lunging for his throat with her bare hands wouldn’t end well. No matter how tempting.
“Sweetheart, we were all cozy and warm last night. Every time you woke up and saw I was there, you went straight back to sleep. Just like a baby, safe and sound in my arms.”
She lowered her fingers to glower at him. “You didn’t give me any choice.”
“Mmm.” Dark eyes narrowed and he gave her an assessing look. “You prefer it that way, don’t you? Me making you do things?”
“No.” Her hands fell away and she literally saw red, a sheet of it, swamping her vision. A hot blood-red veil covered her world. How dare he insinuate such shit about her. “Absolutely not.”
“What do you
think that means? That you like me being in charge?”
“I do not like you being in charge!” Birds fled from a tree nearby as her voice hit a pitch just short of shattering glass.
“Roslyn,” he groaned. “Why don’t you just give me the kiss?”
“I don’t want to kiss you because you’re holding me hostage, you idiot.”
“But besides that?”
“You’re a dickhead and an asshole and I hate you. You repulse me.”
“Really? Do I?” He laughed in her face.
Murder was too good for him. Only torture would satisfy the sick shame and anger hiding inside her.
“Yes,” she said. “You make me want to puke.”
His hand rubbed at his mouth, half smothering a smile, and he made a noise of disbelief.
“You do! You’re dirty and sweaty and you stink and—” And then the bastard kissed her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Roslyn did nothing for the longest time.
Nick pressed his lips against hers and waited. His hands cradled her head, holding her to him. He didn’t try to take it deeper and didn’t try for tongue.
Just kissed her, hard but chaste.
And wouldn’t she be impressed he even knew that word.
He poured all his lust for her into it, trying to show her how much he wanted her. Fuck but her lips were soft. He opened his eyes to find her staring at him with the familiar look of shock and horror in her wide eyes. But she didn’t move. She seemed to have frozen rock solid before him.
Reluctantly he stopped and pulled back, hands still in place. Silky strands of hair slipped between his fingers. He sat there on his haunches, staring at her closed mouth. Not getting distracted by the set of breasts heaving beneath her baggy sweater. Her upper lip was a perfect dusky pink cupid’s bow. Was her pussy the same color? Her nipples?
Nick sat patiently, panting, waiting for her to do something. Shit, she didn’t even seem to be breathing and he was about ready to hyperventilate.
Suddenly her face twisted into something like grief, eyes hurt and confused. A strangled, angry noise escaped her, and she shoved him hard with both hands. An action so fast and violent it sent him reeling back onto his ass. He should have been ready for it.
