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“It was. She had nothing. No one. I helped her to the hospital and paid the bill. Then I aided her in finding a job and somewhere to live.”
“Wow, that was good of you.”
“I felt a sense of responsibility for her.”
“And you fell in love.”
He frowned. “I’m not sure if it was love. How do you know what love is?”
“You’re asking the wrong person. I thought I loved the guy I was with before Carl. But I think that was more about desperation, about not wanting to be alone.”
“Yes, I understand that. Loneliness can be hard.”
Don’t feelanything for him.
Do not feel anything for him.
He’s the enemy, remember? He’s holding you here against your will. He’s not a good guy.
Except right now, it was hard to see him as anyone other than a sweet, vulnerable, gorgeous guy. Sheesh, sometimes it was difficult to even look at him, he was so hot. She had to keep averting her gaze, worried that her interest in him would be broadcast loud and clear.
And that would be a disaster.
What was it called when you fell for your kidnapper? Stockholm Syndrome? That was it.
Did captors normally make their prisoners picnic breakfasts from scratch? Wouldn’t it be easier to just buy some of this stuff rather than make it?
But Zander had made it. For her.
Because he was worried about her not eating. And now here he was, telling her about himself. Things that kind of explained why he was the way he was. Being raised on his own by an uncle who’d taught him to hunt and shoot, but who hadn’t thought that he might need to socialize with his peers. To learning to cook. To helping his last girlfriend.
She wondered where she’d gone. Because surely she wouldn’t have left Zander of her own accord.
Right?
That sounded like madness.
“Would you like me to feed you?” he asked.
She came back to reality with a bang. Feed her? What? Why?
The idea of it sent a rush of longing through her even as she carefully shook her head.
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t shake your head,” he scolded. “I have some painkillers here, too. Is your head hurting? Webb really needs to check you over.”
“No, I don’t need him to check me over. I’m fine.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Yeah? Then eat.”
Bastard.
She glared at him. “Maybe I just don’t want to.”
Thankfully, her stomach didn’t take that moment to gurgle in protest. That would have been embarrassing and a giveaway that she was lying.
Well, he seemed to have figured that out, anyway.
“Go on. I dare you.”
