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I reach into my purse and grip my Mace. “On second thought, it’s getting late. I don’t think—”
“Stop.” Marrok tells the driver.
The cab screeches to a halt at the mouth of a narrow dirt road lined by ancient sycamores that stretch endlessly on either side into a seemingly unbreachable forest. Is he kidding? We’re in the middle of nowhere.
Marrok pays the driver, exits the taxi, and raises an impatient brow at me. The drum of disquiet thrums in my chest. Follow this guy to God knows where?
Honestly, what do I know about him?
Chapter Eleven
“Out you go,” the driver barks, flashing stained teeth in the rearview mirror.
“Take my hand.” Marrok extends his, palm up.
I don’t move.
The cabbie huffs. “I’ve got other fares.”
“Give me a second!” I glare at the driver.
But what am I deliberating? The fare isn’t unreasonable…but it’s more cash than I’ve got. I shouldn’t run up my credit cards. And bottom line, I need Marrok’s art. If I want to see his collection in person, I have to shake my misgivings and get brave. Besides, he’s odd, not an axe murderer or rapist.
Right?
Marrok leans in, his stare delving into my soul and melting away my worries. “Come with me.”
If he wanted to hurt me, would he really look at me like that?
I place my palm in his.
Fire, hot and lightning fast, zaps my fingers and zips straight to my chest. My heart stutters, then slams. The sensation is so intense, I stumble from the cab.
The moment I’m on my feet, Marrok jerks away, his fist clenching.
I don’t get this guy. First, he comes on strong. Then he insults me. When he returns, he apologizes…but he still won’t give me a straight answer. Now his eyes are hot with the lust I know he felt when we met. And he seems angry.
What the hell is going on?
I’m still reeling when the taxi speeds off in a cloud of dust, leaving me alone with a man I barely know, without a way back to the city.
“Where are we? Where are you taking me?” I demand.
He marches down the dirt path, not waiting to see if I’ll follow. Then again, now that the taxi is gone, I don’t have much choice.
“To my home.”
By the glow of the waxing moon, I fall in behind Marrok.
The surrounding forest thickens, full of towering trees and blazing fall leaves. This place is too remote. Too still. Too quiet. With every step, I feel swallowed up. Foreboding gnaws my belly. “I don’t see any houses out here.”
“I live in the forest.”
Where no one will hear me scream. Oh, god. What if he’s not another odd artist after all? What if I misread him, and he’s the sort of madman who will chop me into little pieces?
Premonition, the gut instinct I’ve ignored too often, tells me that my life is about to change forever.
I’m not ready.
