She has on another knitted or crocheted top that ties between her tits but hangs open to expose her stomach and the little diamond bellybutton piercing.
Her hair is half up and laying in silky waves against the lounger under her. Even when I sit in the lounger next to her, she doesn’t say anything or look my way.
She’s pissed.
Setting the boxes next to me, I take a deep breath as I rest my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands. “Look, I know this sucks…”
I don’t get to finish what I’m saying before she interrupts me. “I can’t do this. Especially not knowing how long I have to live this way. I’d rather face the guy who came through my window than do this.”
My heart sinks, but I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t want her to get hurt, or if I just don’t want her to leave. It’s both.
Either way, she’s my assignment, and I shouldn’t have an emotional reaction to her at all. But just the thought of her being assigned to another agent spikes my blood pressure.
Instead of arguing with her, I pick up the boxes and hold them out to her. Her eyes drop to the offering, and some of theanger falls away as she sits up and pivots to face me as she reaches for them. Her long blond hair falling around her arm.
“You got me a phone and an e-reader?” Crossing her legs under her as she sets both boxes on her legs, she opens the phone box first.
Without thinking, I rest my hand on top of hers to break the news about the phone. “Don’t get your hopes up, your use on the phone is limited, unfortunately. But you can call your family.”
Her eyes drop to my hand on hers for a moment before looking back up at me. It wasn’t something I did consciously, it felt second nature, but I quickly pull away.
She looks back down, her gaze on her hands, and after a few moments takes a deep breath. “So, even though I didn’t do anything wrong, I’m the prisoner?”
I wince before I answer. “It’s a safety precaution. I’m just trying to protect you.”
Setting the empty phone box and the still-boxed e-reader on the lounger next to her, she swings her legs over the side. When her eyes meet mine, she pauses, phone in hand. “I’m sorry.”
Fuck.
She’s going to call someone to come get her.
She stands and starts to walk to the back door. I should just let her go, she’s been a distraction from the first moment I saw her. But if she goes back to that cabin, they’ll kill her, and I can’t let that happen. Fear for her safety is pinching my chest.
Pushing to standing, I close the distance between us in two steps and grasp her arm. Her reflexes are fast, she spins on me, and I catch her wrist just before her palm lands on my face. Grabbing her other wrist, the phone falls and clatters on the ground, I back her up against the wall next to the back door, pinning both hands against the wall by her head.
Her hazel eyes are wide and locked on mine. “Let me go.”
“No.” Her soft jasmine perfume wraps around me.
Logically, I should let her go. The agent in me is screaming at me to let her go, but the man in me wants to keep her here. I want to keep her safe and close to me. I’m so twisted up by my head, my dick, and the frequently changing sensations in my chest that I know I’m in a shitload of trouble.
Fast, angry breaths are coming from her nose, and her eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”
Her hands are balled into fists, her knuckles white, so I adjust my grip on her wrists to slide my index fingers along the heels of her palms just under her fingertips that are curled over, stroking the skin to encourage her to relax her grip.
It works.
I can feel her eyes on my face as I watch her slim fingers gracefully uncurl, trusting me. Keeping her hands against the wall, I flatten my palms against her wrists, her erratic pulse beating against my skin, my fingers against her palm.
Lowering my eyes back to hers, I take a soft breath. “I’m keeping you safe.”
The angry huffs from her nose have calmed, and her eyes move between mine, her eyebrows twitch. “I don’t want to live like a prisoner.”
“Tell me what I can do to make it feel less like a prison.”
Tell me what I can do to get you to stay.
Her pink tongue wets her lips as her eyes lower to my chest, and she takes a small breath. “I need my art supplies, access to streaming music, and I left my journal in my bedroom.” Her eyes lift to meet mine. “I need it.”
