AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Good morning,” he says in a husky voice like he’s still sleepy and he lazily puts the newspaper down, before giving me his full attention. “I was wondering when you were going to wake up.”
He’s talking to me. Actually talking to me like we’re friends or like I’m some girl he dragged home from the club and had a one night stand with. This isn’t how a kidnapper is supposed to talk and the notion that my thoughts don’t match reality alarms me.
Jerkily lifting my chin, I ask, “What is this? Why have you brought me here?”
If he’s bothered by my distress, he doesn’t show it.
“This is my home.” He drags a smoke and somehow makes it look appealing but his mouth is firm and strong-minded, not at all a lenient mouth. “And now it is yours too.”
He’s crazy. He’s crazy if he thinks that I’m going to stay here. He has kidnapped me and he’s acting like he’s done nothing wrong.
“Who are you?” I ask, my arms trembling at my sides and my hands are clammy. I think I’m running on pure adrenaline. It’s the only explanation to why I haven’t fainted or begun attacking him in the hopes that he’ll let me out.
There is a flash of disappointment in his eyes. Disappointment because of what?
“For now you can call me...,” he slightly tilts his head to the side as if thinking this through, “...Husband.”
My throat snares. Husband? That’s such an intimate title, reserved for the biggest love of a woman’s life and he wants me to give that honor to him?
I don’t want to call him that and why doesn’t he give me his real name?
I sway, forced to lean against the wall to regain balance when I feel a sudden spark of relief. He’s probably not going to kill me. If he is planning on hurting me then he might as well give me his real name.
My eyes go to his again and whenever I look straight at him, it feels like I’m spiraling and like he’s the only who can catch me if I fall too fast or too hard.
“You can’t do this,” I say, “this is illegal. Let me out of here.”
In response he slowly shakes his head and he does it with confidence. Like he doesn’t care if it’s illegal. And like he’s never planning on letting me out.
“Sit down,” he says, kicking a chair and it scrapes over the floor. “Join me.”
I don’t want to join him but something in his face tells me not to defy him. Maybe I should play along some. Just for a little while. Besides, I already know I can’t get out. Not until he opens that door. My eyes go the chair in hesitation but I cross the floor and I’m trying to hide my shaking when I sit down.
Now I’m close to him. If I want to, I can reach out and touch him and if he wants to he can reach out and touch me.
Luckily he keeps his hands to himself but his eyes don’t leave me for a second, traveling over my face and hair and body and there is so much longing in them that for some reason I don’t know whether to laugh at how bizarre that is or start weeping from unexplained emotions.
Why is he looking at me like that? His eyes go to my breasts and he licks his lips. It makes my face warm and I look away. He’s calm and collected, so calm that his stillness almost has a serene effect on me. Almost.
He averts his gaze, nodding at my plate. “Eat,” he says. “Help yourself.”
There’s an entire minor feast spread out in front of me and usually this would make my mouth water but I don’t have much of an appetite. Being kidnapped does that to a girl.
Crossing my arms, I answer, “I’m not eating. I’d rather starve than take anything from you.”
He throws me a sharp glance before taking my plate and to my surprise he places a piece of toast on it. Reaching for a knife he butters it then adds a dollop of apricot jam. Grabbing a jug with what looks like juice he fills up a tall glass before handing it to me together with the plate.
I stare at the plate, at the apricot jam that’s my favorite and he reaches for his cigar again, nodding patiently.
“Please,” he rasps.
My eyes go to his and my heart does a jolt. The more he looks at me the more my body responds and I glance at his wide chest, hating myself for thinking how safe it looks. Safe? Am I really so desperate for safety after the robbery that if only I see a man who brims with strength, I automatically assume he’s safe despite what he’s done to me?
This man is not safe. He’s dangerous.
“And if I refuse?” I ask and his eyes narrow. His lashes are so dark that the contrast between them and his eyes is disorientating.
“Then you will go hungry. And how will you be able to escape from me if you don’t have any strength?”
