Oh. Of course.
Slowly I open the opposite drawer from where I found the hairbrush and find a toothbrush still in its box and a small tube of toothpaste. I brush my teeth quickly but thoroughly. When I’m finished, I open the door to find the Viking standing right outside.
“You’re welcome,” he says gruffly.
“If you expect me to thank you for the simplest accommodations when you are the entire reason I need them, you’ve got another thing coming!”
“Another think coming.”
“What?” I sneer.
“The expression is anotherthinkcoming. Not another thing. Aren’t you an author?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and I get the helpless-kitten feeling again before he sweeps me into his arms like I weigh nothing and carries me back to the bed, propping me up on a bunch of stacked pillows. He grabs the stuffed dragon from the other side of the mattress and tucks him into my side.
“How’s that?” he asks, adjusting me.
I give him the finger.
With a huff, he plants his hands on his hips. I’m getting under his skin, and the thought gives me an unexpected thrill. I want to punish him for what he’s done to me, and I find that although my body is in pure fibro hell, my mind is unusually clear. But there’s something more. Deep down, I sense he’s safe. He won’t hurt me. Maybe he can’t. Taking out my pain and frustration on him is as easy as breathing and surprisingly distracts me from the pain.
“I’m going to make us something to eat. Do you have any allergies or foods you just can’t stand?” he asks.
“What, no bread and water? No gruel? What kind of prison is this?”
“Fucking pain in the ass,” he murmurs under his breath. He heads for the door. “Fine, you’ll get what you get.”
“Wait!”
He glances back at me.
“When am I getting out of here? Did you get what you wanted from Roman?”
He frowns, his gaze drifting away again. “I’m working on it.”
“He didn’t kill that woman. You’ve made a mistake.”
He slips out the door, and this time he leaves it open.
I should get up. The door is open. If nothing else, I should scope out the place. See what I’m up against. Make a plan to escape. But the thought of moving makes my body ache. I hug the stuffed dragon to my chest, resting my chin on its plush head. He’s obnoxiously cute, rose gold with movable legs and a sweet face. I decide when I leave here, I’m taking him with me. I close my eyes. Tomorrow. I’ll worry about escaping tomorrow.
The sound of pans and utensils clanking together somewhere in the house wakes me sometime later, and then the scent of bacon wafts into my room. My stomach grumbles. Can the Viking cook? I smell cinnamon. I adjust myself on the pillows. My mouth is watering.
He appears in the door with a bed tray and places it over my lap. The sight of what he’s made for me almost makes me cry. A Dutch apple pancake, lightly sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon, piping hot and steaming in a mini cast-iron skillet. Four slices of perfectly crisp bacon crisscross a side plate, neighbored by coffee with a tiny silver pitcher of cream. Juice that looks like he squeezed the oranges himself finishes off the meal.
I adjust myself higher on the pillows and wince. My stomach is growling, but lifting my arms to feed myself is going to be a chore. Lo and behold, the Viking grabs theextra pillow and shoves it behind me, then starts cutting up my pancake. My face heats. Is there anything more humiliating than having a man who looks like him feed me like a child?
I push the unwelcome feeling aside. Why do I care? He’s a criminal. My kidnapper. Why do I have to keep reminding myself of that?
“Open,” he commands.
I’m too hungry to put up a fight. I open my mouth, and he shovels in a bite. “Oh my fucking God,” I blabber as I chew the literally best food I’ve ever tasted in my life. “Did you justmakethis?”
His answering grin makes me ashamed to have forgotten my disgruntled-prisoner routine. Fuck, I’m weak. My body needs food. I open my mouth and let him feed me another bite.
“I’m a professional chef. The least I can do is make sure you eat well while you’re here.”
