“Let me see your wrist,” he said like I was just supposed to listen.
“Where’s my phone?” I’d tried to leave the room but found the door locked after Jameson left. So, I rummaged in my purse, trying to keep calm, ready to make my own calls and maybe even book a taxi out of here, but my credit cards and cell had been taken.
That’s when I had to start breathing exercises to calm down.
“I’ll replace the phone. We don’t need anyone tracking your location.” When a man offered an explanation so readily, I knew it wasn’t real. “Now, wrist.”
“You locked me in this room.”
“Mia … it’s for your own protection while—”
“Don’t ever do it again,” I blurted out, my breathing starting to get erratic again.
“Interesting that you think I’ll take on your demands.” And truly I think he was somewhat puzzled by it, like he wasn’t used to grown women telling him anything. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. “Tell me why you don’t like being held against your will.”
No, really?“Does anyone?” If he thought I was going to confide in him, he was grossly mistaken. My response was normal, or at least much better than it would have been three years ago.
“You’re especially opposed to it,” he pointed out, way more perceptive than I wanted him to be. “So much so that you’ll stupidly hurt yourself. Why?”
Stupidly? Did he hear himself? “It’s not stupid. You could have killed me. It was self-defense. And I’m opposed to being held against my will, like any woman should be, because a man who thought he had power over me tried to exert it by locking me in a room the same way you did.” I was breathing hard, not realizing how much I’d disclosed until after I finished my sentence.
I shut my eyes, irritated with myself. What Jameson had done was notexactlythe same. He hadn’t taken advantage of me. He hadn’t built my trust from childhood to adulthood and then preyed upon it in a locker room as my coach had back in college.
No one had taken advantage of me like that since then.
And I would make sure no one ever would again.
“Who?” Jameson demanded quietly, and when I opened my eyes to meet his, that blue color was dark and cold in some sort of restrained anger.
“Well … that’s not really important.” I frowned, shaking my head.
He cracked a tattooed knuckle as he walked over. “I want a name.”
He also probably wanted the whole story, but too bad. A growl bubbled up from inside me. “None of your business.”
The glare that he shot my way was lethal. My heart jumped in my throat, but I reminded myself I’d already be dead if he wanted me to be. Something stopped the man from actually hurting me, most likely Franny. “Most everything in my house is my business.”
“Not me.” I couldn’t keep from snapping at him to save my life, so I was happy my relationship with Franny was doing that for me. In my defense, this wasn’t exactly a teacher-parent relationship where I was to show him respect. And it was clear from my last year in academia that I didn’t have much respect for parents overall anyway. Not after I found out that Maisy’s dad had hired the same coach and that he wouldn’t believe her claims. “Just leave the first aid kitandthe door open on your way out.”
He let out a long sigh. “Don’t be difficult, Mia. It’s your right wrist. Fixing a bandage with your nondominant hand is going to be annoying.”
“I could be left-handed.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “You’re not.”
“Well, I’m more than capable.” I lifted my chin even though I was sitting on the plush bed and had cradled my wrist into my lap. Knowing my luck, at this point, it was probably broken.
“I didn’t ask if you were capable, Mia.” His tone suddenly was as crisp as the sound of a whip as he walked over and sat down right against my body, his side touching mine like we didn’t need any personal space whatsoever.
I couldn’t hold in my gasp at feeling him so close, but he ignored it to softly grip my forearm, looking at the damage.
He hummed and frowned at the dark spots under my skin. I’d gone a little overboard trying to get free from the bedpost.
“It’s not broken. Might be lightly sprained, though.” He waited a beat. “And bruised because of your outburst.”
“Oh, like you’d know,” I snapped. Frustration bubbled inside my veins at my lack of control with him.
“My daughter wasn’t lying when she said I was a doctor. So, yes, I would know.” He slid his hand into my palm and then threaded his fingers through mine enough that he could move my wrist with his up and down. “Movement is fine. No pain?”
