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Chapter Thirteen
Diana
As expected, Cranky isn’t amenable to helping me ditch my V Card—he turns me down with a hard eye roll and a “no way in hell.”
Unexpectedly, he unties me without further debate and heads back outside.
“Um, thanks?” I rub at my wrists and stare at the open door through which he disappeared, expecting him to stomp back inside any minute. But he doesn’t. I’m alone in the sudden silence for several minutes, and then I hear the crack of his axe hitting wood.
He’s splitting logs.
He’s out there splitting fucking logs while the fate of the world hangs in the balance and his brother is being held prisoner by a pair of sociopaths.
With a huff, I swing my feet off the bed, but instead of charging across the room, my legs buckle, and I end up in a trembling tangle of limbs on the rough wood floor.
I curse and squeeze my eyes shut. I have to eat something, or I won’t have the energy to give Cranky a piece of my mind, let alone save Jacob.
Crawling over to the table, I drag myself to my feet, focusing on pulling in long, deep breaths as the world spins around me. I’m not the kind of girl who faints. I run almost every day. I play field hockey and back in the old days, before Maxim started treating me like a prisoner, I could dance from midnight to sunrise without a break.
The fact that I can barely stay upright as I toddle over to Cranky’s primitive kitchen to poke around in his cupboards should give me serious pause about my fitness to fight.
But it doesn’t. I refuse to give up that easily.
I’m sick of sitting on the sidelines or being locked away in my tower while everyone else calls the shots. And sure, in hindsight, maybe helping Willow escape wasn’t the best idea, but I pulled it off. I liberated a woman from one of the most fiercely defended pieces of property in Manhattan.
I’m smarter and more capable than most of the people in my life give me credit for. And I’m not some spoiled, naïve, useless little virgin.
Jacob’s brother is seriously underestimating my value as an ally.
“So, change his mind,” I mutter as I drag a loaf of what looks like homemade bread and a jar of hippy nut butter off the shelf and locate a knife. I make myself a quick sandwich and eat, moaning in a mixture of pleasure and relief as the sweetness of almonds and the faintly sour taste of the bread explode on my tongue. A beat later, my aching stomach starts a party in my midsection.
I don’t know if this is the best sandwich ever—or if I’m just half-starved—but I swear I can feel it giving me life. And hope.
And ideas…
I demolish my first snack, pour myself a glass of water from a jug on the counter, and make another sandwich—this one with extra almond butter. I pace the room on stronger legs as I chew, putting together my argument.
After a third sandwich and an apple I find in a cool storage area beneath the sink, I tidy up and head outside.
Lifting a hand, I squint into the sun, relieved to see it’s still high in the sky. There’s plenty of time before nightfall. Plenty of time to either win Cranky over or escape from his clutches.
Though, he doesn’t seem to be too interested in holding me prisoner anymore…
As I wander outside, he glances up from his wood splitting for only a moment before getting back to business. He has his flannel shirt off now and his skin gleams nut brown in the sun, his powerful muscles rippling as he swings the axe.
He’s an impressive specimen, no doubt about that, but not my type at all. I like lean, cocky, smartass boys who know what to do with a skateboard, not socially backward hermits. And I like boys I have a connection with. I want to sleep with Jacob because I love Jacob—his soul and his heart, not just his body.
But the fact remains that if I have to lose my virginity in an “only available human” type of situation, I could certainly do worse as far as humans are concerned.
At least in the looks department, Cranky is, objectively, hot as hell.
I circle around his wood pile, my hands propped on my hips through the hideous linen dress I was given at the camp, wishing I had my tracksuit. I feel so much more powerful in pants. And a sports bra.
Though my lack of undergarments might serve me well if I’m forced to seduce Cranky. I left my cardigan at the end of the bed inside, and I can have this dress up and over my head in two seconds’ flat.
The thought sends an unexpected—and shocking—ticklish feeling fuzzing between my hips.
A part of me is horrified that I’m getting a little turned on by this miserable situation. The other part of me, the ruthlessly determined part, says this is good news.
