I look at him. “What you did to me, was there justice in that?”
Kane flinches. “No.”
“No,” I echo resentfully. “You got that right.”
An indefinable emotion wells up inside me. I spent most of last night crouched in the dark, waiting for one of them to open the door and walk in. And now my escape plan has failed. I’d have to stay in this room, at the mercy of two people who want to use me as a means to their end.
I’ve had enough. Feeling as though I’m suffocating, I buck against his hold. Wincing with the effort, his legs still wrapped around me, Kane rolls me onto my back. He wrenches my arms above my head and uses his shoulder to swipe at the blood on his cheek.
With his face suspended only inches above mine, I observe how pale his skin is, how his mouth pinches at the corners. It’s hard to tell where I managed to cut him because there’s blood everywhere. In his dark hair, on his face, his neck.
Astonishment sweeps through me. I did that to him. Me, Amy Hutchinson, who fainted when a friend dropped a dumbbell on his toe and it splattered like a crushed grape. The burst of satisfaction fades when the truth hits me that, despite the show of blood, he’s the one on top.
“Amy, I’m not proud of what I did to you last night.” Kane’s voice is low and hoarse. “That kind of stunt was never on the agenda. I was angry at you and I let that anger lead me.”
His confession is so close to an apology I’m momentarily taken aback. Do kidnappers apologize to their victims? How am I supposed to respond? Accept his halfhearted apology or throw itback in his face? There’s no rule book to cover this. I know what I want to do, but emotional indulgence is now too great a risk.
I swallow. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No,” he answers forcefully.
“Are you going to...humiliate me again in some way?”
There’s the faintest hesitation. “I can’t answer that.”
“You just did.” My eyes examine his face, the hard line of his jaw, the proud slope of his nose, the faint crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. I’m searching for something that can touch the core of this man. “Let me go,” I whisper.
“I can’t.”
“I’m begging you—”
Kane’s jaw clenches. “Stop.”
He says nothing more, but he doesn’t look away either, keeping his eyes locked on mine. The moment stretches out.
Then everything changes.
His gaze trails from my eyes down to my mouth.
Trapped along the length of his body, I still, not daring to breathe, sensing his interest, and stunned my body is reacting to it.
His eyes stray up to mine again. I stare into those gray depths, unable to tell what he’s thinking. His head lowers, and I hold my breath, the air between us so charged it feels as though my skin is burning.
With a curse, he leverages himself off me so abruptly I wince. The look in his eyes is volatile.
I scoot backward until my back bumps the wall. Kane kicks the door shut with his foot, pressing the palm of his hand to his side, the blood stark against his white T-shirt.
There’s a beat of silence while we both wrestle with what nearly happened between us. I see in his face the same realization no doubt reflected in mine, the knowledge that something dark and dangerous has opened between us. Something we both have to back away from.
Kane lifts his hand, staring at the blood on his palm. “You planning any more dirty tricks?”
“No,” I lie.
“Forget it. It was a stupid question.”
I bite my lip. “I’ve seen your face.”
“It wasn’t your smartest move.”
