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He had his arm wrapped around my shoulders, my head resting on his thick bicep. I ran my fingers over his stomach, saw the muscles clench involuntarily, the abs so defined. I didn’t know how I got into this situation, lying in bed naked with the brother of the man who kidnapped me. I was so head-over-heels for Wilder it made my head spin.
I tipped my head back and looked at his face hidden in shadows. He looked so peaceful, yet despite the gentleness I saw, felt from him, I knew how dangerous Wilder was. I knew how strong he was.
His short black hair was disheveled from when I dragged my fingers through it, tugged at it when he’d been buried between my thighs. The sticky reminder of what we’d done coated the inside of my thighs, the pleasure he’d given me for the first time in my life like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I had never even imagined it could be this good.
I lost myself in Wilder.
I lost myself to Wilder.
I closed my eyes and pictured what we’d done just an hour before, and the hour before that, and the hour before that. He’d taken me over and over again, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he’d been insatiable. I’d never felt such a consuming sensation before. When I thought I couldn’t take anymore, couldn’t have had gotten off again, Wilder proved to me that I could, that he’d draw the measure out of me until I writhed for him over and over again.
God, I didn’t want to leave him. I wanted this to work, wanted to be with him. But I was terrified, and the desire to have happiness was always ruined. Fear ruined things. I was a runner, despite telling myself and anyone else the opposite. I pushed myself up and looked down at him, my palm sliding to the bandage. He didn’t have it fully wrapped around him anymore, and now it was just a thick square of gauze, a “four-by-four” Kimber had called it. Everyone was shocked he was even alive, let alone healing as well as he was.
I smoothed my hand gently over the gauze, over his healing wound. I closed my eyes again and pictured the first night I met him, the first time I stared down into his pale face as he bled all over me, as his brother kidnapped me. In that moment, I knew this man would change my life forever. I just hadn’t realized it would be this way.
Even from where his wound was, I could still feel his heart beating. It was strong and steady, comforting and reassuring. I swallowed down my emotions, refusing to cry. And I would’ve if I had been weaker. I would’ve just opened up and let the tears fall like a dam being burst open.
He shifted slightly on the bed but remained sleeping. I had to do this now or I wouldn’t be able to, wouldn’t have the strength later on, because the truth was, I’d fallen in love with Wilder. I’d given this man my heart, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I had something that could be just mine. But with happiness came heartbreak… disappointment.
As was life.
And it was that possibility that had me quietly, gently slipping out from under his heavy, muscular arm and getting off the bed. He shifted again, and I held my breath, thinking he’d wake, that he’d stop me. I had no doubt about that. I believed him when he said he wouldn’t let me leave, that he’d come for me… that I was his. But I was good at running. I’d made a lifetime career out of it.
Because everyone was gone, tonight was the perfect night to do this. No one would try to stop me. But God, it was hard leaving, almost impossible moving away from Wilder, because he was like my own sun, my personal shot of endorphins.
It was for the best. This way, no one got hurt.
Those thoughts felt like acid as they rolled around in my head. Even then, I was trying to talk myself into going, because my heart and brain were at war.
I slipped on my clothes—the outfit I wore on the very first night I’d been brought here. Amelia had washed and dried them for me, but I still saw the remnants, the stains from Wilder’s blood. I ran my fingers over it.
After I was dressed and had my shoes on, I walked over to the little table by the couch and grabbed my purse. I knew Wilder had been the one who’d gotten my bag back for me, had made Frankie give me my phone as well. He trusted me, and I knew he thought what we shared and felt for each other was a permanent thing.
