James
TWENTY-ONE
Five-star reviews are difficult to earn in the kidnapping industry. Apparently, “excellent breakfast” only gets you so far.
I reach for her now-empty mug, but she hugs it to her chest, drawing my eyes to the cleavage peeking through my shirt.
“I haven’t had my fill,” she tells me.
“You’ve had two cups.”
“As I said, I haven’t had my fill. Don’t come between a woman and her caffeine fix before 10 a.m.”
I swipe a hand down my face and shake my head. This is going to be a test. Of what? I’ve yet to decide.
I turn and pull out two pill bottles and hand them over to her. She swallows the antibiotic and grimaces at the painkiller.
“You’ve got bruised ribs,” I remind her.
“Silly me. I hadn’t noticed.”
Brat.
I fold my arms and stare her down. “Take the pills.”
She shoves the bottle away. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like the way they make me feel.”
I arch a brow and wait for her to explain. She huffs. “Out of control. Detached. Giddy, but sad.”
Ah, now I understand. She spent a lot of time having her choices taken away from her. Now that she has control, she isn’t willing to give it up. “It’s temporary, and you are safe here,” I remind her.
Her lips twitch. “Pain is a necessary thing. It reminds us we’re alive and warns us of things we should avoid. Masking it serves no purpose.”
I press my lips into a thin line, knowing I’ve lost this battle. “If it gets too much, or if you can’t sleep, do you promise to take them?”
Her eyes flick away from me. “Sure.”
Such a bad liar. I drag in a breath. “Go grab a shower, then I’ll give you that tour. I’ll even include a snack stop.”
Finally, she lifts her eyes to mine, a spark of interest in them.
Did she think I was going to lock her in her bedroom and make her wait this out?
Surely she knows she’s free. Although I kidnapped her, Camryn ran with her.
Maybe her mind is stuck on those things.
I’ll just have to convince her otherwise.
Stephanie disappears down the hall, muttering something about kidnappers requiring a better hospitality package while clutching her third refill of tea in the ladybug mug.
I rinse the plates under hot water before stacking them into the dishwasher. It would be quicker to leave them soaking in the sink until later, but my mother raised me to leave a kitchen cleaner than I found it. Some habits survive regardless of the life that follows.
My phone vibrates against the worktop.
Daisy: Reminder. Vacation officially starts today. If you need me, holler.
A second message arrives before I finish reading the first.
Daisy: Actually, don’t need me. That’s the whole point of a vacation. But I worry about you.
The corner of my mouth threatens to betray me as I type a reply. What does a dominatrix do on vacation?
Jake: Enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine.
Three dots appear almost instantly.
Daisy: You used punctuation. Are you dying? Blink three times if you need help.
I lock the screen without answering. Daisy has an irritating habit of recognizing changes in me before I’ve acknowledged them myself.
The shower starts. She’s about to discover the full bottle of fruity shampoo that is clearly not for me.
I try very hard to ignore the small signs that I was preparing for her arrival.
It might make sense if I’d bought these things in the last few days, but the truth is, they’ve been there for months.
A therapist would have a field day with my mind before they condemned it as irreparable.
I carry my coffee into the study and glance across the security monitors, more out of routine than concern. Every camera reports exactly what it should. The perimeter remains clear. Motion sensors are quiet apart from a rabbit choosing violence against my vegetable patch.
The amber weather warning catches my attention. Snow is expected. Nothing significant yet, but enough that the first flakes have begun drifting across the nearest camera.
I back out of the study, stride through the kitchen, and head into the storage room, setting the mug down on one of the metal shelving units.
Supplies are piled onto the shelves, organized with military precision.
Spare blankets. Flashlights. Medical supplies.
Waterproofs. Thermals. Boots. Camp stove.
Bottled water. A variety of canned goods that would survive a nuclear fallout.
Toiletries to maintain basic hygiene. I’m good to go for a harsh winter should I get stuck here.
I need to check that the snowmobile tank is full and that there’s enough wood for the burner.
The shower stops, and a few minutes later, footsteps echo along the hallway. Stephanie emerges wearing the gray sweats from yesterday, her hair still damp from the shower and hanging over one shoulder in loose waves. She scrubs at it with a towel while studying the windows.
“I think your weather is broken,” she announces. “White bits are falling out of the sky.”
“It’s called snow.”
“I’ve heard rumors of this so-called snow.”
I glance at her. “You’ve seen snow before.”
“Not proper snow.”
“There’s improper snow?”
“The decorative kind that lands on ski vacations while someone hands you expensive hot chocolate.”
“And this?”
She smiles. “This looks like the sort that traps people in cabins and gets them murdered in horror films.” She reaches for the front door.
“Don’t.”
Her hand freezes on the handle before she slowly turns to look at me. “I wasn’t escaping.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“You were going outside dressed like that.”
She glances down at herself. “The snow is offended because I’m competing for the most bland color scheme ever?”
“You’re not wearing enough of them.”
“I appreciate your concern for my modesty.”
“My concern has nothing to do with modesty.”
She smiles, clearly pleased she’s dragged me into her banter. “I knew there was a gentleman buried under all that emotional constipation.”
I shift through the house, snatch my hoodie hanging over the dining chair, and nod at her. “Arms up.”
Her gaze drops to the black garment before returning to me. “Your hoodie?”
“Yes.” I’m not thinking about the stack of brand new ones I should be offering her.
“I feel like we’re progressing through abductee relationship milestones at an alarming rate.”
“We’re preventing hypothermia.”
“I liked my version better.”
Her fingers trail across the soft fabric for a moment before she lifts her hands in the air and tilts her head. Her smile promises a whole world of trouble I shouldn’t have any interest in partaking in.
The fabric swallows her. The sleeves disappear over her fingers, and the hem hangs halfway to her knees.
She pushes her hands through the cuffs and looks down at herself. “I appear to have been adopted by a particularly cosy bear.”
“It fits me.”
“I gathered.” She lifts the hood over her head and grins. “Do I look intimidating?”
She looks like a cute emo wannabe princess. “No.”
“I could growl.”
“I don’t think that would help.” She lets out the least threatening growl I’ve ever heard. “I stand corrected.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
I shake my head and pick up my keys from the bowl beside the door and turn on my heel to take her out the rear entrance. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“You wanted to explore.”
Her entire face brightens. “The official kidnapped orientation tour?”
“If that’s what you’re calling it.”
“It sounds much more exciting than ‘walk around the gardens.’”
“It isn’t a garden.”
She falls into step beside me. “Are there gift bags? Complimentary slippers? A welcome brochure?”
“No.”
“Disappointing.”
“I’ll take note for next time.”
“Oh good. Kidnapper feedback forms. I was hoping this organization valued customer satisfaction.”
I unlock the back door and hold it open. She stops beside me instead of walking through. “You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m opening a door.”
“They are not mutually exclusive.”
I meet her gaze. “So I’ve been told.”
She laughs as she walks outside, and I close the door behind us, wondering why, of all the sounds this lodge has heard over the years, that one is becoming my favorite.
She sucks in a breath and tucks her chin into the neck of my hoodie, her hands disappearing inside the sleeves as she steps onto the covered decking.
For half a second, she shifts closer to me, the instinctive move so small I doubt she notices it.
I do, and because I notice everything about this woman, I step down first to block the wind cutting across the open ground.
Tiny flakes drift through the air, more hesitant than committed, catching in the damp ends of her hair and clinging to the black fabric swallowing her body.
“This is beautiful,” she murmurs.
“It’s cold.”
“Must you strip romance from everything?”
“I’m stating a fact.”
“Facts can still wear a pretty dress.”
I glance at her, finding her smiling at me as if she finds me most entertaining.
“This way,” I mutter.
The lodge sits in a shallow dip carved between the trees and the first rise of a mountain, positioned so the worst of the weather breaks against the ridge before it reaches the house.
From the rear, the decking stretches wide, following the length of the building before dropping onto a gravel path that curves towards the woodshed, the vehicle bay, and the greenhouse I built because eating canned food through an entire winter is a miserable way to live.
Stephanie turns in a slow circle. “I take it back. This is not a garden.”
“No.”
“This is a villain estate.” She gestures at the trees, the wide stretch of land, the dark timber lodge behind us, and the mountains wearing low clouds beyond. “Come on. You cannot tell me no one has ever arrived here expecting to be dramatically murdered or seduced.”
“Most people don’t arrive here.”
“Definitely something the villain would say.”
“You’re welcome to go back inside.”
“And miss kidnapped orientation day? Absolutely not. Lead on, emotionally constipated mountain man.”