Aggravation floods his eyes. “You know, you were the one who stabbed me while trying to escape,” he retorts. “You just had to push and push me.” The words snap out of him, and for an instant, his expression looks like he wants to take them back.
I gape at him. I can’t believe he has the gall to try to shift the blame on me. No way am I falling for that. And no way am I going to argue with a man who holds the key to my freedom. Swallowing my words and my pride, I ask, “What time is it?”
He accepts the change of subject without comment. “Five in the morning. Friday,” he adds before I can ask.
“How long have I been...” I grapple for the words.
“Out of it?”
“Yes.”
“Pretty much the whole of Thursday.”
I can’t disguise my shock. I was unconscious all that time. He could have done anything to me.
As if he can read my thoughts, he says roughly, “Give me more credit. I haven’t descended to that level.”
Maybe not, but he’s fallen far enough. “What happens now?” I ask.
“How about a shower?” is his unexpected answer. “You can lock the door from the inside and take your time.”
My cheeks flush with surprised pleasure. It’s an obvious diversionary tactic, but I’m all too aware of thestale smell clinging to me. This time, at least on the surface, it appears to be an offer with no baited hook dangling at the end. “A shower would be good.”
#
I linger in the shower for a long time, washing my hair, soaping myself twice, grimacing at my hairy legs and underarms. Stepping out of the shower, I peek inside the bathroom cabinet. Lying on the shelf is a razor, just as I dared to hope. I make quick use of it, reveling in the feel of smooth skin. I toy with the notion of keeping the razor but decide to leave it in the cabinet. My little secret.
After my shower, I change into the sleeping shorts and tank top Kane left out for me on the laundry basket. No doubt they belong to Nolene or that joke-playing female friend of his. I experience an uncomfortable stab in my midsection. When I identify it as jealousy, shock churns inside me and my skin prickles with shame. This man is my kidnapper. He’s done horrible things to me. He hates my father, and it’s obvious that hatred spills over onto me. I see it in his eyes—the contempt for my wealthy lifestyle, for my carnivorous diet, for the clothes and accessories I wear made of animal products.
And yet my body responds anyway, betraying me. Like fear has nowhere else to go and mutates into something reckless and dangerous instead.
I use the toothbrush on the counter to brush my teeth, staring at my freshly scrubbed, makeup-free face in the mirror. I look younger, more vulnerable. I release an unsteady breath. I miss my father so much it’s like an ache in my bones.
Oh, Daddy, I need you to come get me before something happens. Before I do something I won’t be able to forgive myself for.
I open the bathroom door and spot Kane leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, dark shadows under his eyes.Kidnapping must be a tiring business,I think without an ounce of sympathy.
My eyes drift to the bandage on his head.I did that to him. The admission comes with a mix of surprise and satisfaction. A dangerous and admittedly stupid desire to goad him sweeps through me. Some twisted part of me wants to prove I still have power. Another part wants to punish myself for even noticing him.
I ignore cautionand ride the impulse. “You ready to manhandle the big, bad prisoner back to her room?”
His eyebrows lift at my tone, but he says mildly, “I’ll escort you back.” He gestures for me to go ahead of him.
Actually, I have no desire to return to my room. I’m tired of being cooped up, of feeling as if the walls are closing in on me. Kane’s remoteness also annoys me. I want to unsettle him, to disrupt his life as he’s disrupted mine, to let him taste how it feels when the center of your world tips and can’t right itself.
I cross my arms and stay stubbornly where I am, the rain outside beating a tempo that matches the rapid pace of my heart.
A thoughtful look crosses Kane’s face as he processes my mood. His gaze sweeps down my body, seeming to register my skimpy outfit for the first time. Something dark creeps into his eyes. “Let’s go,” he orders brusquely.
Ah, this is the sort of power I’m used to.
Hiding a pleased smile, I raise my arms above my head in a deliberate stretch, watching Kane’s mouth tighten and feeling the stomach-plunging thrill of a tightrope walk. Ignoring the warning voice in my head, I flounce ahead of him, the slate-gray tiles cool under my feet and his gaze burning hot on my back. The shorts are skimpy enough to show off my best asset, my long, toned, now-smooth legs.
Nolene, that viperous partner of Kane’s, has an excellent figure. From the possessive way she behaves around him, I’m guessing they’re in a relationship. They suit each other, sharing the same warped beliefs.
If I can make Kane look, then I’m not just a victim. I’m someone else. Someone dangerous. Someone I don’t fully recognize anymore.
#
