Chapter 10
G host fought the urge to berate Mila for escaping again. The shitty reality was that he was the one she’d run from.
She stared at the towel around his waist as if she were afraid the damn thing would jump off and his cock would lunge out. Slowly, her eyes moved over his chest and met his gaze.
He’d snapped at her. And the wounded glimmer in her eyes reminded him of other blue eyes from long ago. Younger ones. Those of an innocent he hadn’t protected well enough.
Shoving the memory from his head before it could fully form, he set the first aid kit on the counter and motioned for her to tip her head down. “Let me get a look at that.”
She obeyed, and her hair fell in a long, wet curtain over her face. He bunched the strands into his fist, hating how silky they were, and slung them gently over her opposite shoulder. Droplets glistened on her ivory skin, so smooth and blemish free he wanted to taste her.
She’d been honest about her name. Mila. Christ, the name was almost as pretty as her.
“This is gonna sting.” He sprayed the antiseptic liquid on the wound at her hairline.
She tensed and hissed.
“Sorry,” he grunted. The solution bubbled, cleaning the cut. After soaking the wound once more, he placed a bandage over her forehead, careful not to get her hair in the adhesive. “There. All better.”
She lifted her head and brushed the spot with her fingertips. “Thank you.” Her voice was soft. She seemed to be in awe.
“Don’t mention it.” He tossed everything back in the kit and stowed it in the cupboard. “Come on. Bedtime.” He paused at the door, waiting for her to approach.
She stood, her legs wobbly and her arms tight around her towel. His gaze roamed down her legs. Fuck, the towel barely covered her. If she turned around and bent over—
Christ.
When she got close, he breezed into the bedroom. “I’ve got some clothes you can wear for tonight.” He yanked open one of his drawers and found an old T-shirt and sweats. He tossed them on the bed before grabbing his own clothes to wear.
Gingerly, she picked up the clothing. Her gaze sought his. “Thanks.”
He gave one nod and gestured to the bathroom. No way he was leaving her in the bedroom to change and risking her darting again.
She closed the door and a second later, the lock clicked. He let out a sigh and got undressed. As he tugged on clean clothes, his attention fell to the lone queen-sized bed.
A rush of excitement took the fast lane to his dick.
Dammit, he was acting like a creep.
But her sleeping anywhere else was out of the question. He glanced at the still-shut bathroom door. “I need to run downstairs for a sec,” he barked. “Don’t try anything.”
“Okay,” she sang mockingly.
Shaking his head, he made his way downstairs to the workout room, which housed a closet with a gun safe. He entered the code and ignored all the weaponry that yesterday he’d have been tempted to use on her. Today that wasn’t an option and he didn’t want to think about why.
On the shelf was a set of handcuffs. He snatched them up, shoved the key in his pocket, locked the safe, and bounded up the stairs. The floorboards creaked as he entered the bedroom.
Mila sat on the edge of the mattress, her hands pressed together between her knees and her hair loose in long, damp waves. She swam in one of his black T-shirts, and if she stood, the sweatpants would likely sink to the floor.
Her gaze landed on the cuffs and her eyes widened. “Oh, no!” She bounced to her feet, catching the pants before they went south. “You’re not chaining me to anything, asshole.”
Ghost rocked his jaw. “Yes, I am.”
She folded her arms over her chest and tucked her hands under her armpits so he’d have to wrench them out. “No. I won’t do it.” Fire sparked from her orbs.
Warning flashed through him. He narrowed his eyes, running the short chain between his fingers. “Why don’t you want the cuffs, Mila?”
Her eyes flew to his. Panic was painted all over her face. “Who would?”
“You know what I mean. There’s something more there. I can see it.”
“I-I just don’t. I can’t.”
He shrugged. “Well, you’ve proven to be a flight risk. I don’t want to do this either, but—”
“Bullshit. I bet you like it kinky.”
He chuckled, then dragged his free hand over his face.
Amused but also done with this conversation, he tried to lock down his expression and stay serious.
“Yeah, I do. But trust me, I don’t get off thinking about someone who tried to kill me.
” That was a blatant lie because all he’d done so far was think about fucking her.
“You can sleep here with me and a pair of cuffs or head back to the shop.”
“You’ll have to drag me.”
He snorted and closed the distance between them. “Honey, if by now you haven’t realized I can carry you with ease, you might have hit your head harder than you think.”
One eye narrowed.
“Come on.” He motioned for her to hold out her wrist. “You’ll be so tired you won’t even feel them.” Why he was trying to reason with her was beyond him.
Maybe he was the one who’d hit his damn head.
She pivoted to look at the bed. “If you lock me to the headboard, my arm’s going to be over my head all night.” She propped her hand on her hip. “How would you like to sleep like that?”
He couldn’t process what she’d said because now all he could picture was her locked to his headboard.
“Listen,” he snapped. “I’m fucking tired. I’m in a bad mood from chasing your ass around these damn woods to keep you from jumping in a river or headfirst into a goddamn tree. Either put the handcuffs on or take yourself back outside.”
She compressed her lips, but hell if the bottom one didn’t tremble a bit. She stuck out her arm, and hate contorted her pretty face.
He accepted her smooth, dainty wrist and slid a cuff over her skin. It cinched in place and she inhaled a slow, shuddering breath.
Tears misted her eyes.
His gut twisted.
Without much thought, he snapped the other cuff over his own wrist.
She blinked. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t have an answer. Not one that wasn’t dipped in lies. Because if he was being completely honest with himself, he wanted to eliminate the pain creasing her forehead. Whatever memory had upset her.
“Why’d you do that?” she pressed.
He sighed, clicked off the lamp, and walked to the bed, towing her next to him. He tossed back the covers and slid underneath while she stood motionless. “Because you escape faster than Houdini.”
He flipped onto his side, making her arm stretch across him. Moonlight streamed through the large windows in the doors leading to the balcony. He’d meant to buy better coverage for the glass than the sheer curtains. At least they allowed him to see right now. “Hurry up.”
She hissed with annoyance as she scampered over him. Her knee hit his calf and her elbow dug into his side and he grunted. If she cared she’d just about taken out his rib, she didn’t show it.
She flopped onto her back next to him. Her arm was draped over her abdomen, the cuff attached to her left hand and his right.
“You done?” His voice sounded sleepy and resigned.
She sent him a withering look. “I haven’t even gotten started.” She lifted her chained hand. “This isn’t going to work, by the way. You’re going to roll over and drag me on top of you.”
He closed his eyes, ready for her to stop talking. “Go to sleep.”
“Fine,” she said with a grumble, rolling to face the patio doors. The action pulled his arm over her waist. His fingers flexed on her belly.
She froze.
He clenched his muscles against the stirring inside him. A rush of awareness fell over the room. Her breath stilled and his came out hungrily. He balled his hand into a fist and pressed it into the mattress next to her abdomen.
All he wanted to do was slide his hand up her shirt, feel her satiny skin, and then dip his fingers below the too-large sweatpants she wore.
He did none of that because despite his dick’s lack of common sense, his brain still functioned. Mila might be feminine, sexy, and seductive in her mouthy, go-fuck-yourself way, but she was bad news.
Even though she smelled like flowers and sex and every bad decision he wanted to make.
***
Bright light beamed against Mila’s face. She fought the instinct to open her eyes. Fatigue hummed low in her ears.
Wait. That sound wasn’t coming from her.
She snapped open her eyes and saw the walls of a log cabin. Large patio doors with white curtains allowed sunlight into the room. Warmth poured over her back and thighs. A huge, thick hand was splayed on her skin just above her belly button.
Her heart rate picked up as she heard the sound once again. Ghost’s hot, even breath feathered over her neck. She tensed and took stock of the rest of her body.
The sweatpants and shirt still covered her, but aside from that, their bodies were glued together. Under normal circumstances, she’d slip out of bed and avoid waking him. Glancing down at her left hand, she caught the glistening metal encompassing her wrist—tying her to him.
She couldn’t run away.
Urgency filled her. Now that he’d slept, would he press her again about who’d hired her? Resume the torture-chamber practices? He sighed and pulled her closer, anchoring her ass to his very large, very hard groin.
Her nipples tightened and a thrill twinged between her legs.
“Not going to try to escape?” Ghost’s gruff voice broke the quiet.
She wiggled a few inches away from him. For a second, his arm held tight.
Then he let her go but his palm stayed attached to her abdomen.
She didn’t dare bring attention to the fact he was touching her so intimately.
If he so much as hinted at moving his hand north or south she might just start grinding for more.
“Kinda hard to do that,” she said distractedly.
His fingers twitched on her skin. “True, but I’m surprised you didn’t try. Guess you liked being so close to me.”
She scoffed. “You’re the one draped over me.”
“I don’t hear any complaints.” His voice vibrated against her spine, warm and delicious.
“Consider this a complaint.” Just then, her stomach rumbled loudly.
Ghost chuckled. “Is that you complaining or your stomach?”
“Being as I haven’t eaten in forty-eight hours, the latter.”
His laughter stopped and his hand retreated. “Shit.”
He rolled onto his elbow, and the movement made her rock onto her back so she was staring up at him. His dark hair was disheveled, his eyebrows low over those penetrating gray eyes that made her heart dance and question her sanity.
The bristles on his jaw were longer than yesterday, but their unkempt appearance only added to his sex factor. Hot. That’s what he was.
Dangerously, deadly, infuriatingly hot.
“I guess that means I have to feed you.”
The need for food quickly replaced every other need her traitorous body had conjured. “That’d be counterproductive to you killing me,” she said pointedly.
His mouth twitched. “You callin’ my bluff?”
She swished her lips to the side. “Kinda. But the question remains. Are you going to keep me prisoner forever?”
Any trace of humor left his face. His jaw tensed, and he shifted into a sitting position. Delving into his pocket, he pulled out the key to the handcuffs. In one quick movement, he fit it into the lock and her wrist was free.
“Go use the bathroom or do whatever you need to do. I’ll be downstairs.” The hard edge to his voice sent a quake through her.
She shouldn’t have asked.