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“Tell you what?” I slam my fist on his chest and grab his shirt, unsure if I’m holding onto him for balance or trying to shove him away.

“Tell me to kiss you. Cross the line.”

“You have no lines.”

“I do when it comes to you.” His jaw clenches. “I have so many lines I feel trapped in a spiderweb of my own making.”

My body ignites; sparks stirring in my belly. “This is wrong.” Tipping my chin up, I look at his lips. The feeling of his hands holding me tight, almost too tight, is a feeling I could get used to. Being touched. Hugged. Loved.

“Then make it right. Tell me I can kiss you.” He cups my face. I lick my lips, and he practically moans.

“No,” I mutter, hating myself and applauding my sanity.

He shuts his eyes; air rushes between us, but the heat of his hands on my back burns even hotter. He bites his lip in frustration.

That’s when it hits me—I have power here. Power over him. Maybe I can use it to my advantage, maybe even to escape.

Escape where? If he is telling the truth, other people are after me.

He mutters something in another language, closes the gap, and suddenly I’m airborne.

I scream, “Put me down!” I smack his back as he carries me up the hill toward the house.

“You’re going to eat, rest your ankle, and I’m going to finish telling you what needs to be said.” His voice is stern but a smirk plays on his lips.

“Why are you gloating?”

“Because your body just relaxed in my arms.”

“Did not.”

He rolls his eyes. “One day you’ll beg me to kiss you.” He says it with such certainty that, for a moment, I almost believe him. He strides up the slope, carrying me with ease, as if I weigh nothing.

“In your dreams,” I mutter,

“You don’t want to know what I do to you in my dreams, Rylan.”

I narrow my eyes, but the heat rising in my cheeks betrays me.

We break through the trees and end up back on his driveway again. “Why do you think this is wrong?” he asks in a low voice, suddenly sounding insecure.

“Because you’re my abductor.”

“You fear this is Stockholm syndrome.”

“Obviously.”

“That means you do feel something.”

I shrug in his grasp. “You’re handsome.”

“And you’re irresistible.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me.”

“What will?”

“Freedom isn’t an option?”