SERAPHINA
His body hits mine like a freight train.
The impact drives the air from my lungs in a sharp gasp as we collide, his momentum carrying us both forward. I try to twist away, to keep running, but his arms are already around me—one banding across my waist, the other clamping over my mouth before I can scream.
We slam into a wooden trellis post, and the rough bark bites into my cheek as he pins me face-first against it. His body is a wall of heat at my back, solid and immovable, pressing me into the wood until I can barely breathe.
"Caught you."
His voice is low and dark, spoken directly into my ear. The warmth of his breath against my cold skin makes me shiver violently—from fear, I tell myself. Only fear.
I struggle against his grip, but it's useless. He's so much bigger than me, so much stronger. Every time I try to move, he just presses harder, using his weight to keep me trapped. My bare feet scrabble against the frozen ground, finding no purchase.
"Shh." His hand tightens over my mouth when I try to bite him. "None of that. You ran beautifully, but the chase is over now."
I shake my head frantically, still fighting even though I know it's pointless. My heart is slamming against my ribs so hard I'm sure he can feel it through my back. Tears prick at my eyes—tears of frustration, of fear.
"I'm going to take my hand away," he says, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "And you're not going to scream. Do you know why?"
I don't respond. Can't respond with his palm sealed over my mouth.
"Because there's no one to hear you." He lets that sink in for a moment. "We're alone out here. Just you and me and endless acres of vineyard. You could waste your energy screaming as loud as you want, but the only one who'll hear is me."
He removes his hand slowly, and I suck in a ragged breath but don't scream. He's right—there's no point. No one is coming to save me.
"Good girl."
The praise sends a jolt through me that I desperately want to ignore. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to think, trying to find a way out of this.
"What do you want?" My voice comes out shakier than I'd like. "Money? I can?—"
His laugh cuts me off. Low and dark and genuinely amused. "I don't want your money."
"Then what?—"
"I think you know what I want."
His free hand—the one not pinning my wrists to the post above my head—trails down my side. The touch is light, almost gentle, tracing the curve of my waist through the thin silk. It'ssuch a contrast to the violence of the capture that my brain short-circuits trying to process it.
"Please." I hate how breathless I sound. "Please, I don't?—"
"Don't what?" His hand pauses at my hip. "Don't want this?"
I should say yes. I should say I don't want this, that he needs to let me go, that this is wrong and terrifying and I want it to stop.
But the words won't come.
Because my traitorous body is telling a different story. My nipples are hard points against the rough wood. My thighs are pressed together, trying to ease an ache that's been building since I first heard his voice over those speakers. And between my legs...
I'm wet. Embarrassingly, undeniably wet.
He seems to sense my hesitation. "That's what I thought."
Before I can respond, he's moving. His hand leaves my hip and reaches up, grabbing something from the trellis above us. I hear a snapping sound, and then rough fibers are wrapping around my wrists.
Vines. He's tying me with the grape vines.
"What are you doing—" I try to pull away, but he's already secured one wrist to the post, and he's working on the other with practiced efficiency. The vines are rough and unyielding, the dormant wood scraping against my skin as he winds them tight. "We can’t, please?—"
