I lunge for the door.
He sighs as I yank at it, and it doesn’t budge. I fall back, defeated.
“People are looking for me, you know. You won’t get away with this.” My bravery feels good, if rather like a shot of something alcoholic and sweet that will inevitably be regretted. I’m doing well. “If you just release me?—”
“Tess Summerfield,” he drawls.
All the blood drains from my face, along with capacity to control my muscles. My mouth hangs open. How does he know that?
“I messaged the girls you live with and told them you’re visiting your dad,” he says casually, tossing my phone onto the sofa next to him. “The university you attend—psychology, interesting choice of study—has received a note from your doctor that you’re unwell. And your parents…” He trails off.
I fill in what he’s polite enough not to say. They won’t notice that anything has happened.
They barely contact me. Both are so busy with their new families, that are so much better than the one they tried to have with me.
No one wants me.
But somehow, this man knows all my secrets. Eyeing him warily, I approach. That mask is disconcerting, and muffles his voice in strange ways. But even so, I’m sure I’d remember his face anywhere. It will be in my dreams forever.
“Please, just let me go,” I mutter. If I can get to my phone without him noticing, perhaps I can call the police.
My kidnapper shakes his head.
“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” I sound pathetic.
“You saw my face.”
“It was dark, I don’t know what I saw.”
He regards me silently through the neon-glowing mask.
“Please don’t kill me.” My tone goes up on the last word, almost a question. Did I just mess up and remind him of an option he’d forgotten. I’m so confused about what the right thing to do is.
“I haven’t decided what to do with you.”
My clit pulses at the sound of his dark, husky voice.
Oh god. Not now, body. This is not the time to discover interest in a man.
Focus, Tess.
“You could let me go?” Not even glancing at my phone, I sit down on the other end of the sofa and scoop up the little device. I lean forward so the tops of my boobs are on show a bit, and tap on the phone where I think the right numbers are, praying that if it works, he doesn’t hear the operator answer the call.
“Tess…”
He waits until I’m looking into the glowing crosses of his eyes.
“I restricted your phone so it can only directly contact me, and anything you attempt to send will be checked by me. If it’s appropriate, for instance, an email letting your professors know you are unwell and can’t attend class, then I’ll allow it. A call to the emergency services isn’t on the approved list.”
I slump.
So much for my great idea. Two years of a degree in psychology, and I can’t figure out how to get away from a serialkiller. They say university doesn’t teach practical skills, and they weren’t kidding.
My eyes unfocused, I stare at the sofa, defeated.
His fingertips touch my chin, and my heart leaps as he gently lifts my face up to look into his.
The grinning mouth sends a bolt of fear and excitement down my chest and arms.
