Page 43 of My Favorite Kidnapper

“Okay,” she agreed with a surprised look on her face. But she knew better than to ask questions.

I tore my gaze from the paper and the mysteries it held and pushed away from the door. I had to leave before the lure of Brianna’s wild hair and the outline of her supple body drew me closer. Simply the glimpse of her bare leg and shapely calf peeking out of the blankets drew my attention. I wanted to crawl into that bed with her and wake her up in a fashion she’d never experienced. Since learning she was a virgin, I’d found my mind filled with all the things I wanted to be her first with. I was like some overgrown frat boy with one thing on his mind.

Getting the girl.

Thoughts of the other day drifted through my head. After giving in and eating the picnic I had brought out, she had fallen asleep on the blanket, still exhausted. I watched her for a while, wondering why she fascinated me so. Nothing about her screamed spectacular, yet I found her endlessly engaging. I enjoyed her reactions. The way her dark eyes emoted her inner feelings. How her cheeks flushed when she was angry. Her use of odd expressions to relay her feelings, never swearing, but her anger raging.

I had packed up the food, then stooped and carried her to the golf cart I used to get around the estate quickly. She made a small sound in her throat, burrowing into me. I hated to set her in the passenger seat but did so, and I drove carefully down the winding drive to the house. I carried her up the stairs, marveling at the fact that she didn’t wake or stir, instead nestling close again, her hand fisting my shirt. She showed so much trust to me in her sleep. Trust, I hoped, that would extend to her waking hours soon enough.

Once again, I shook my head as I headed down to the kitchen for coffee. What was it about this girl that brought out all these foreign feelings and desires? Without a clue as to the whys, I could only hope once I sated them, and sent her away, I could go back to my life before Brianna.

I ignored the laughter in my head.

* * *

Gia showed her into my office promptly at ten. Brianna was wearing another set of her overalls—these lime green with a yellow T-shirt underneath it. Both looked worn, and I wondered why she hadn’t picked one of the new sets I’d made sure to purchase for her.

Brianna looked around in curiosity. My office took up a large section of the third floor. The view outside the windows was spectacular. I had opened the walls so the office ran the full length of the house, and you could see both vistas clearly, the rolling hills, vineyards, and trees an endless source of beauty for the eyes.

I had a lot of art on display. My favorite pieces I had collected. Sculptures, paintings, pottery. Whatever I truly loved was in this room, for my eyes only and those few I allowed into this space. If I was receiving other visitors, I met them at the gallery, or downstairs in a smaller office I used mostly for show. This was my private sanctuary.

I watched her wander. Studied her studying the paintings. Tracing the sculptures with her eyes. Her hand rose more than once as she copied the lines of a piece midair, a delicate rendering she was committing to memory. She was a joy to observe, taking it all in.

Then I cleared my throat, and she spun on her heel, coming over to the desk.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “So many lovely things.”

“I’m glad you like them. Do you enjoy art?”

She smiled, looking self-conscious. “I don’t know anything about it. I couldn’t tell you something real from something fake. Or who an artist was by the brushstrokes or subject. I only know what I like.”

“That means something.”

“I used to go to the galleries on free nights or weekends. Look at the paintings. I’d hear people discuss them, but I never understood it. I only enjoyed what I saw.”

“You create art with your cakes. You elevate them.”

She frowned. “I never thought about it that way.”

“It’s true.”

She peered around again, still curious. “You own an art gallery, you said?”

“A few, yes.”

“You pointed one out in the town we were in. Could I see it one day?”

I sat back, crossing my legs. “Are you staying, Little Bee?”

She sat up straighter, all business now. I withheld my smile at her sudden fierceness. Good God, she was delightful.

“If you meet my demands.”

I folded my fingers together, keeping my voice neutral. “Let’s hear them.”

“Sixty cakes, sixty days.”

I nodded.