casually.
“Yeah, I do.” His tone was flat.
She tried again. “You must have spent a lot of time in these mountains.”
He shrugged. “Some.”
“Growing up in Chicago, I dreamed of spending summers in a place like this. Exploring in the woods, picking wild berries, making s’mores over a campfire.”
Silently, he poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her.
“So how about you? Were you lucky enough to spend time around here as a kid?”
He sighed. The woman was like one of those yapping little ankle-biters. She latched onto something and just wouldn’t let it go. “Give it up, Cass. I’m not going to suddenly be overcome with a wave of nostalgia and spill my guts so you can get a heart-wrenching scene to put in your latest book.”
“Fine,” she snapped. She took a tentative sip of the coffee and made a face. “I don’t suppose there’s any sugar?”
“Oh, you’re going to be fun to be around today. Altitude headache, caffeine withdrawal, and no sugar fix.”
“You mean this is decaf? Just kill me now and put me out of my misery.”
“I’m considering it,” he muttered.
She took another sip. “Where did you put my shoes?”
“I got rid of them.”
“Are you crazy? Those were $400 shoes! Not to mention the fact that now I’ll have to go outside barefoot.”
“I don’t plan on having you go outside at all. But if you do try to run away again, I doubt if you’ll get far sprinting through the woods shoeless. With all those briars and sharp rocks out there, not to mention the copperhead I saw yesterday, you’ll be huddled on the ground, whining, before you get fifty yards from this place. Or maybe you’d prefer that I just tie you up again?”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and caught her blush. She must have been picturing the same thing he was—the way his hands had fondled her breasts and lingered between her legs when he tied her up last night.
“N… no,” she stammered. “I’ll just stay inside.”
“Too bad.” His glance became a leer. “Tying you up—and then untying you later to spank your ass and fuck you—was a great way to kill time.”
He hated himself for saying it, hated the stricken look that came into her eyes. But he didn’t want her thinking that just because they’d had sex, she was free to treat this as a romantic getaway with a new boyfriend. Fucking her had been a mistake, but it was one he was determined not to repeat. No matter how sexy she looked. Her face scrubbed free of makeup, the sunlight glinting off her long hair, her bare feet tucked up under her on the couch; she gave off a well-fucked vibe that made him want to take her right back to bed.
He forced himself to look away and began rummaging through the cabinets. “There’s flour and baking powder and half a bottle of syrup. Can you make pancakes?”
“Sure. Find me a box of Aunt Jemima just-add-water and I’m your girl.” Her voice sounded determinedly cheery. Good. She’d put on her brave “it didn’t mean anything to me either” face.
“Never mind.” He found a mixing bowl and set to work. Neither of them had eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. Maybe these wouldn’t be the best pancakes ever, but at least they’d be hot and filling.
* * *
She watched him bustle around the kitchen with a mixture of lust and confusion. The man had kidnapped her, tied her up, spanked her ass, and then fucked her better than anyone she’d ever been with. She should be frightened out of her wits, but every instinct told her Zander Coleman, a man on the run who’d admitted to brutal crimes, would never really hurt her.
As the day wore on, she became more and more certain of it. Sure, he talked big. He’d threatened to tie her up again, made it sound like he’d practically raped her last night. But she’d never heard of a rapist who held off his own satisfaction until his victim had come—twice—then cradled her gently in his arms afterwards. Or a ruthless
“Yeah, I do.” His tone was flat.
She tried again. “You must have spent a lot of time in these mountains.”
He shrugged. “Some.”
“Growing up in Chicago, I dreamed of spending summers in a place like this. Exploring in the woods, picking wild berries, making s’mores over a campfire.”
Silently, he poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her.
“So how about you? Were you lucky enough to spend time around here as a kid?”
He sighed. The woman was like one of those yapping little ankle-biters. She latched onto something and just wouldn’t let it go. “Give it up, Cass. I’m not going to suddenly be overcome with a wave of nostalgia and spill my guts so you can get a heart-wrenching scene to put in your latest book.”
“Fine,” she snapped. She took a tentative sip of the coffee and made a face. “I don’t suppose there’s any sugar?”
“Oh, you’re going to be fun to be around today. Altitude headache, caffeine withdrawal, and no sugar fix.”
“You mean this is decaf? Just kill me now and put me out of my misery.”
“I’m considering it,” he muttered.
She took another sip. “Where did you put my shoes?”
“I got rid of them.”
“Are you crazy? Those were $400 shoes! Not to mention the fact that now I’ll have to go outside barefoot.”
“I don’t plan on having you go outside at all. But if you do try to run away again, I doubt if you’ll get far sprinting through the woods shoeless. With all those briars and sharp rocks out there, not to mention the copperhead I saw yesterday, you’ll be huddled on the ground, whining, before you get fifty yards from this place. Or maybe you’d prefer that I just tie you up again?”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and caught her blush. She must have been picturing the same thing he was—the way his hands had fondled her breasts and lingered between her legs when he tied her up last night.
“N… no,” she stammered. “I’ll just stay inside.”
“Too bad.” His glance became a leer. “Tying you up—and then untying you later to spank your ass and fuck you—was a great way to kill time.”
He hated himself for saying it, hated the stricken look that came into her eyes. But he didn’t want her thinking that just because they’d had sex, she was free to treat this as a romantic getaway with a new boyfriend. Fucking her had been a mistake, but it was one he was determined not to repeat. No matter how sexy she looked. Her face scrubbed free of makeup, the sunlight glinting off her long hair, her bare feet tucked up under her on the couch; she gave off a well-fucked vibe that made him want to take her right back to bed.
He forced himself to look away and began rummaging through the cabinets. “There’s flour and baking powder and half a bottle of syrup. Can you make pancakes?”
“Sure. Find me a box of Aunt Jemima just-add-water and I’m your girl.” Her voice sounded determinedly cheery. Good. She’d put on her brave “it didn’t mean anything to me either” face.
“Never mind.” He found a mixing bowl and set to work. Neither of them had eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. Maybe these wouldn’t be the best pancakes ever, but at least they’d be hot and filling.
* * *
She watched him bustle around the kitchen with a mixture of lust and confusion. The man had kidnapped her, tied her up, spanked her ass, and then fucked her better than anyone she’d ever been with. She should be frightened out of her wits, but every instinct told her Zander Coleman, a man on the run who’d admitted to brutal crimes, would never really hurt her.
As the day wore on, she became more and more certain of it. Sure, he talked big. He’d threatened to tie her up again, made it sound like he’d practically raped her last night. But she’d never heard of a rapist who held off his own satisfaction until his victim had come—twice—then cradled her gently in his arms afterwards. Or a ruthless
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