5
HOLLY
But here's the thing, I'm not the kind of girl to shy away from a fight.
And that unlocked door is practically begging me to sneak through it.
But I decide to wait. To give it some time for my kidnapper to go to bed. To wait for the lodge to settle.
I pace the length of the bedroom, my fingers twisting together as I count down the minutes.
An hour passes. Then two. The lodge falls silent except for the occasional creak of settling wood and the whisper of wind against the windows.
I crack open the door, wincing at the soft click of the latch. The hallway stretches before me, dimly lit by wall sconces that cast shadows across the walls. My heart hammers against my ribs as I slip through the doorway, my bare feet silent on the carpet.
The lodge is even more magnificent than I realized. As I creep down the hallway to the landing that overlooks the great room, I can't help but notice all the impressive details. The luxurious furnishings. The expensive artwork. The plushcarpet that muffles my footsteps. Everything screams wealth and power.
I keep moving, scanning for any possible escape route.
That's when I hear it.
A grunt. Low and guttural. Coming from somewhere deeper in the lodge.
I freeze and strain to listen. The sound comes again. Something rhythmic and rough that I feel low in my belly. It's coming from a room down the hall.
I'm in two minds. I should keep looking for an escape route. Find a phone. Find car keys. Findsomethingthat could help me get out of here.
But curiosity wars with common sense, and before I can stop myself, I start walking toward the sound.
The door is ajar, and warm light spills into the hallway. I press myself against the wall and peer around the doorframe.
Inside, Nikolai is shirtless, still wearing his dress pants and belt, but nothing else. His hands grip a pull-up bar mounted in the doorway leading into an ensuite. His back is slick with sweat, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing with each controlled movement.
I tell myself to look away but I can’t.
His body is too spectacular. All hard lines and defined muscle.
I should leave. Run back to my room before he notices me watching.
But I’m rooted to the floor.
He drops down from the bar, landing lightly on his bare feet. His chest heaves with exertion, and for a moment, he just stands there, head bowed, his hands on his hips.
Then his head rises.
And his eyes find mine in the reflection of the mirror across the room.
Time stops.
Those bright, dangerous eyes lock onto my reflection with the precision of a predator spotting prey. His expression doesn't change, but something shifts in the air. Something primal and electric that makes every nerve ending in my body light up with alarm.
I don't wait to see what happens next.
I flee.
My feet barely touch the floor as I race back down the hallway, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. The artwork on the walls blurs past me. I don't look back. All I can think about is getting back to my room, locking the door, and praying he doesn’t come after me.
6
