Page 50 of Addiction

“Would have?” Time was frozen around her as he stared at his liquor. “So, she’s dead?”

Had she known that? Tucker had mentioned his mother when he’d shown her the deadly nightshades at the cabin, but Ella couldn’t recall him specifically referencing her death. He’d always been so private up until then. She would surely have remembered.

His attention rose languidly from his drink, his blue eyes sad as they landed on her. “Yes.”

She immediately regretted the tactless way she’d asked the question. “I’m sorry, Tucker.”

Grasping his free hand, she searched his face for any sign of displeasure that she’d used his name, her heart accelerating at even the faintest possibility of yet another intoxicating punishment, yet all the while, it was sorrow for his loss that swelled. She’d been without a father most of her life, but she couldn’t imagine not having her mum.

“Thanks.” He lowered his glass. “But you really shouldn’t call me Tucker.”

“I know.” She inched closer, eyeing his whiskey-covered lips and considering how good they’d taste. As she recollected, they tasted amazing, even without the alcohol. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Forgiven.”

“Do you miss her?” she probed.

What a stupid question! She frowned at her own absurdity. Of course, he misses his mother!

“Sometimes, I miss her badly.” His grip on the tumbler tightened as his gaze drilled into the crystal. “I know that sounds inane. At my age, with my experiences, I should be tougher, but…”

“There’s nothing inane about missing the people we love, sir.” She couldn’t believe he was admonishing himself for perfectly natural feelings. “I’d think less of you if you didn’t miss her.”

The quiet swirled around them, his mouth forming a small smile in recognition of her reply.

“Thank you, Ella. I believe she would have liked you a lot.”

Like me? It was the second time he’d issued the compliment. What does that mean?

“Can I ask how she died?” Yet again, she wished she’d found a better way to articulate the question, but the burning blue intensity of his eyes gave little away.

“She was shot.” He answered eventually, pulling in a breath as if the act was painful.

Shot? Dread furled in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m sorry.” She gripped his bicep gently. “Is that why you dislike guns so much?”

It made sense. Ella could never understand why an ex-soldier would have held such disdain for the weapons, but if his own mother had been the victim of a gunshot, it explained his loathing of guns.

“Right.” He raised the glass to his lips and tipped the remaining amber liquid past them. “I hate the fucking things.”

“I’m really sorry.” Fumbling with the blanket between them, she realized she was starting to sound like a wind-up toy stuck on repeat. “I’d have treated the blanket better if I’d known it was your late mother’s.”

“It brought you solace.” He glanced at the blue material. “That was what was important, little girl, but I had to take it with us when we left. It’s the only thing of hers I still have.”

“Really?” Ella couldn’t imagine losing her mother and having nothing to show for their love except one old blanket. It didn’t seem right, somehow. “Wow.” She lifted her glass to her mouth and sipped at the gin cocktail, but the drink didn’t taste as good as it had before.

“You’ll take care of it, little girl.” A new warmth lit his eyes as she lifted her gaze to meet his.

There was depth in those deep blue pools. There always had been, but the more she discovered about her would-be captor, the more she found she wanted to know. The man who was unfolding in front of her was so much more than only blades, ropes, and barns in the woods. He was a deep-thinking enigma.

“I know you will.”

“I promise, sir.” She reached for the table and put down her glass. “I’ll treat it as though my mum had given it to me.”

He nodded, draining his glass before placing the tumbler down by his feet. Her gaze followed its path reflexively, her breath hitching as she remembered how light those large feet had seemed propped on the small of her back.

“Can I kiss you?” He leaned toward her, those ocean eyes swirling with an even greater emotional intensity.

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