Page 34 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

Unlike me, Gavino knew what he was doing.

He cinched the handcuff tight. Not enough to bruise, but enough that I knew there would be no getting out of it.

“Remember these?” he asked, that smile I saw him fighting back breaking free. And it did interesting things—appealing things—to his handsome face that I hated myself for noticing.

Then I watched, too dumbstruck to move as he lifted the other bracelet… and attached it to his own wrist.

What the hell was going on?

“Now,” he said, toeing out of his shoes, “I’m fucking exhausted. So, I’m going to take a nap. And since you can’t be trusted, you will stay right next to me. Then, when I get up, we are going to have a little chat about your father.”

He was moving then, taking me with him to the bed, giving me no choice but to climb on when he did, both of us resting on our backs, staring at my ceiling fan. That was embarrassingly dirty. Not that I should have cared what the guy who’d just handcuffed me to him thought.

But, well, I kind of did.

I turned my head on the pillow, glaring at his profile until he looked.

“I could scream.”

“I have duct tape in my pocket,” he said, eyes closed, looking perfectly at ease. “Don’t make me use it.”

“I could suffocate you in your sleep.”

His eyes opened.

His head turned on the pillow.

His lips twitched up ever so slightly.

“You could try.”

With one wrist in a handcuff and the other in a cast, we both knew my chances of success there.

“Now take this,” he said, grabbing a book from the stack on my nightstand and handing it to me. “Keep yourself occupied, and be quiet so I can sleep.”

I clutched my book to my chest, watching him as he closed his eyes, his breathing slow and even.

I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or climb him like a tree.

Wait.

No.

Not that last one.

I was just… delirious with fear.

That was the only explanation for that random, intrusive thought.

The only problem with that argument, though, was that I wasn’t. Afraid, that is. All the panic that had assaulted my system when I’d first seen him, when I’d fled from him, had evaporated.

In its place was an unexpected sort of calm.

And a feeling of safety I couldn’t begin to explain. Not even to myself.

So I didn’t try.

I brought up my knees, rested the book there, and started reading.