“Fuck!” I shout, anger burning through me as I kick at it, furious that he won.
Carrson comes up smiling. The bastard.
“Let me go,” I shriek, trying to pry the rope off but it’s wound too tight to wedge my fingers under it.
He crouches, out of reach. His cheeks are more flushed than usual, his eyes bright, and I hate it, how handsome he is. Almost unearthly. I hate that I notice, even now.
“No,” he says, one hand holding the rope, the other relaxed at his side, as if this is nothing. As if I’m not on the ground in front of him, caught, my heart slamming so hard it might crack my ribs open.
His gaze runs over me, taking in every detail, the dirt on my hands, the rise and fall of my chest, the way I keep trying to push myself backward even though I know it won’t work.
He pulls the whip and I’m dragged closer to him. I turn onto my stomach and dig my fingers into the ground but it’s no use. Within minutes, his hand closes around my ankle. He pulls me into him and hauls me up. He tugs on the rope,freeing it from my ankles, then quickly uses it to tie my wrists together. That done, Carrson throws me over his shoulder.
I pound against his back with my joined fists but it’s no use. Hitting him is like fighting a glacier. He’s as cold and unmovable.
“You know why I caught you so quickly?” He says, as he walks us back toward the clearing where the horses wait.
I stop my thrashing.
He continues, “It’s because you didn’t really try to get away.”
“That’s—that’s not—” my denial falters, weak even to my ears. “It’s because you’re fast.”
A faint smile. “I am.” He takes another step and I bounce lightly against him. His shoulder digs into my stomach, “But that’s not why I caught you.”
“Then why?”
“Because you wanted me to.”
I laugh, making it loud on purpose. “You’re insane.”
“Am I?” He holds me with an arm over the back of my thighs. “You kept glancing back,” he continues. “You didn’t change direction. You didn’t even try to lose me.”
“So?” I challenge, working hard to keep my voice from betraying me.
“You ran,” he says. “But you never left me. You stayed exactly where I could find you.”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
“Do you want to know what that means?”
My silence answers for me.
“It means you’re not afraid of me,” he says, his voice dropping. “Even though you should be.”
My stomach flips but he doesn’t stop.
“You’re curious. Reckless. Self-aware enough,” he adds, “to know what you’re doing.”
I press my lips together, determined not to answer.
“I want you to admit it. You don’t run from me.” His hold turns unyielding. “You runforme.”
Isnort. “Never.”
We’re back to the clearing now. Carrson sets me on my feet but keeps his hand on the rope.
“You know,” he says, “You’re most predictable when you’re lying. Which is why you’re going to enjoy this next part, even though you won’t want to admit it.”
