Page 35 of Suspicion

He’s awake!

Apprehension soared as she processed what that meant. Would he take pity on her or just torment her more? Her toes curled inside her boots at the possibility of the latter. After so long suspended in the rope, she was sure she wouldn’t cope with much more, but what choice would she have?

Tucker had made the dynamic between them abundantly clear—he was in charge, and he wasn’t interested in a negotiation. Whether she liked it or not—and she most assuredly did not—while she was stuck there with him. His word had become her law.

Slowly releasing the air she’d held, she waited. Suddenly, there was stillness, as though he’d woken and abruptly fallen back to sleep, but she knew that wasn’t true. She could tell he was awake and sensed the weight of his stare in the gloom. She imagined him in the dark, enjoying the thought of her there at his mercy.

“Fuc-ker.” She mouthed the word around the gag again, her heart pounding at the power he held over her.

The atmosphere in the musty barn had definitely shifted in the last few moments, an air of expectancy swelling until she was forced to pull in another breath.

“Ella?” His voice was hushed as the sound of a match striking broke the strained silence.

Gasping, she turned toward the flame, unable to focus on anything else as he used it to ignite the oil lamp. Fleetingly, she wondered at the matches when he’d used stones to spark the fire in the cabin, but the thought disbanded. Who cared why Tucker acted as he did? There was light, at least, and within seconds, its patchy illumination lit the space around him.

“Good morning.” He offered a smile as he climbed to his feet, glancing toward the doorway. “Although I don’t think the sun will be with us for a few hours yet.”

Good morning? Was he joking? She’d been strung up there for goodness knows how many hours. What was so good about that?

“How are you?”

His lips twitched as he looked back and strode toward her. That same lustful look swam in his gaze, but this time as he reached for her, it was only to pull her damp tee shirt and sweater back from their impromptu home behind her neck and tug them back into place in front of her. Wandering to her side, he eased her joggers back to her middle and covered her cold and exposed backside.

Thank God.

Relief flooded her system as the protection of her clothing enveloped her. Even soggy, she’d never been more grateful for basic attire.

“I’m going to remove this now.” Raising one finger, he jabbed lightly at the ball between her teeth. “And I don’t want a mouthful of abuse.”

She stared into his eyes, wondering how on earth he had the balls to stand there and make such a demand. But she was no one’s fool. If that’s what she needed to acquiesce to for the damn gag to be gone, then so be it.

She marveled how she might agree to anything in order to be able to stretch her mouth and speak again.

“Got it?” His gaze hardened as he waited for her to respond, and duly, she offered him a small nod. “Good.”

He walked from her view before she felt a sharp tug at the strap behind her head. Seconds later, the fastenings fell free from the side of her face, leaving her holding the ball between her teeth.

“Here.” Striding from her side, his hand appeared below her chin. “Drop it.”

She spat the tormentor into his palm—her gaze narrowing as she saw the evil black plastic—but the resentment was fast overwhelmed by overarching relief. Finally, her jaw was freed. She could have cried at the liberation, but of course, she didn’t. There was no way she was going to give Tucker the thrill.

“Did you get any sleep?” He examined the black ball briefly before pushing it into one of his pockets.

“No.” Her voice was so husky that she barely recognized it.

She wasn’t entirely sure if her answer was the truth but concluded it hardly mattered. Perhaps she had snatched a few minutes of shut-eye against her shoulder, or maybe she hadn’t. Even if she had, it had been the least comfortable rest of her life.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded genuine enough as he glanced up above her to the rafters. “I’d hoped you could rest.”

“Apparently not.”

She had no desire to debate it with him. What she wanted was to be released and get the hell away from him and his crazy cabin, though she admitted in the short term, she’d accept a warm fire, a hot meal, and a good night’s sleep.

“That’s not good.” A line appeared in his brow. “It’s not my intention to mistreat you, Ella.”

Had she had any energy remaining to conjure the comedic response, she’d have laughed at his response. He didn’t want to mistreat her, yet he’d tied her to his rafters, gagged her, and left her to suffer?

Well, that made perfect sense—if you were insane.

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