Page 17 of He Will Come for Me

“Mr. Stone. Miss McKenzie,” he greets us.

I tip my lips up in a small smile. “Hi Phillip.”

He glances back and forth between the two of us. “I’m grabbing my list to go grocery shopping. I’ll be back in time to cook lunch.”

“Don’t rush Phillip. I’m sure we can manage if you’re not back in time,” Phoenix tells him.So, he will be here all day.Phillip thinks about it for a few seconds before nodding.

“Okay. I think I’ll stop by the restaurant and give them my newest recipe.” Phoenix nods and Phillip walks to the pantry to grab his list.

“Restaurant?” I ask. Phoenix runs his hand over his head and crosses his feet.

“I own a few restaurants in Savannah. Phillip creates recipes for them and trains the chefs.” My mouth forms a small O.

“I’d like to go to one of them.” Phoenix stiffens. And that’s my answer. I wave my hand at him. “It’s okay. I didn’t think when I said that.” Disappointment settles in my stomach like acid.I really am his prisoner.

“We can go.”

I tilt my head at him. “What?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice.

“If we go, we will have security. More than what you have here. Understand?” I nod eagerly. Getting out of this house, away from this place, I didn’t realize how much I needed it.

“We’ll go tonight. Be ready by six.” I break out into a big smile, and Phoenix shakes his head at me.

“All I have are leggings and T-shirts,” I tell him.

“Have you gone into your closet at all?” he asks. I have, but I’ve refused to look at everything. Plus, what’s the point of wearing nice clothes when all I do is bake, read, and occasionally go for walks with Rex? I wonder if Phoenix will go for a walk with me today instead. Shaking my head, I push that thought away quickly.

“I’ll go look. Is there a dress code?”

He shakes his head. “No. You could go in leggings and a T-shirt and it would be fine.”

I huff and roll my eyes. “What are you going to wear?”

“What—”

“Let me guess, slacks and a button-up shirt?” I interrupt him, and he narrows his eyes at me. I laugh at his expression, and he pushes away from the island and walks toward me. My breath catches in my throat as I take a step back and run into the counter.

“Are you making fun of me?” he asks. His hands land on either side of me, caging me in. I swallow and lift my head to look up at him.

“I’d never make fun of you.” My voice comes out breathy, but I can’t find it in me to care.

“I’ll make sure I roll up my sleeves.” I want to crawl into a cabinet and hide. He’s noticed me staring at his arms. He’s hard not to stare at when he’s in a room. “As long as you wear your hair down.”

He lifts his hand and pulls at the hair tie around my messy bun, releasing it so my hair falls around my shoulders. I can’tseem to find my voice, so I simply nod.He likes my hair?It is the one unique thing about me.

“Good girl.” He turns and walks out of the kitchen. My knees give out and I slide down the counter to the floor.

I am so screwed. I can’t have these feelings. Whatever these feelings are. Lust? Like? Definitely lust. When’s the last time I had sex? Have I had sex? I can’t remember. Maybe in college?

I take several deep breaths and push myself off the floor. My heart is racing, but I ignore it as I finish adding the batter to the rest of the cupcake liners. Leaning back against the kitchen island to wait for the first batch to finish, I put the hair tie on my wrist and snap it a couple of times.

My wrists healed nicely. I have a couple of scars, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. I’m still a little self conscious about the track marks on the inside of my arm. Those have healed too, but there were a lot of them and they’re noticeable. I refused to wear short sleeves the first couple of weeks, but I forced myself to get over that. Dr. Chamberland said they would heal too, but I might have a couple of scars.

I’m not letting whoever kidnapped me control me. Phoenix walks back into the kitchen. His eyes trail over me and my stomach flips.

“Not reading?” I shake my head. He grabs a glass and fills it with water. “How long before the cupcakes are done?”

The timer goes off just as he says it. “This batch is done,” I answer as I take them out and put the second batch in, setting the timer again and leaning against the counter. “This one will take about fifteen minutes. They’ll have to cool before I can put icing on them.” He takes a sip from his glass and I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs. Every part of this man is finely tuned.

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