Page 49 of Addiction

“Thank you.” Nodding in her direction, he strode to the door and slipped out into the cool hallway.

His thoughts flitted to what Ella was doing as he reached the refrigerator, found the tonic water, and finished making her drink with ice from the freezer. Tucker refused to allow his paranoia to rule him. If he chose to take control—and he did—then he had to be in control of himself as well.

Finding a straw for Ella’s drink, he carried the finished cocktail back to the lounge. She was there, cuddling the soft furnishings, just where he’d left her.

“You are getting good at obedience.”

His tone was sarcastic as he fetched his own whiskey and brought both drinks to the glass coffee table by her toes. It hadn’t been that long since she’d acted as his furniture in the space right beside that table, but now there he was, playing the waiter as he served her the gin and tonic.

“I guess I had a good teacher.” She flashed him a mischievous smile as she accepted the glass. “Thank you, sir.”

“Cheers, little girl.” Settling on the sofa beside her, he raised his tumbler in an impromptu toast. “Here’s to our happiness.”

Lifting her glass, she clinked the vessels together gently before her expressive green eyes met his.

“To happiness, sir. I like the sound of that.”

Chapter Twenty

Blanket Memories

Ella

Sipping her drink, Ella allowed the alcohol to flood her senses. It had been too long since she’d reveled in a decent drink, and she intended to enjoy it. Her gaze scanned the room as she settled the glass on her leg, her attention finally landing on the enormous bag Tucker had lugged around the forest with them.

“You brought the backpack in here.”

She glanced at the thing, a flashback of the red-haired guy Tucker had killed to keep them safe bursting into her mind. She could still see the sneer on the bastard’s face and hear the final noise that had escaped his throat when Tucker had dealt with him. As the disturbing memory gripped her, she wondered if she could ever ‘unhear.’

“What’s wrong?” Reaching for her, Tucker squeezed her knee as he gazed at her crumpled expression.

“I just remembered what happened on our journey here.” Her hand shook as she pressed the glass harder against her robe-covered thigh. “That guy who wanted to attack us before you...” Her sentence dried up as she struggled to articulate what she’d witnessed.

Before you killed him…

“I’m sorry again that you had to go through that.” His hand rose to steady hers, his long fingers encasing her palm. “But I couldn’t allow him to hurt you, little girl.”

“I know.” She shuddered, trying not to recall what she’d seen. Tucker had been trying to protect her, but it didn’t change the dreadful outcome.

He’s dangerous.

A rush of adrenaline spiked in her body at the acknowledgment. She’d always sensed that he was, yet now there was no denying it.

“It was just scary, sir, that’s all.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His serious tone gave way to the smirk that painted his lips. “At least, not on that occasion.”

She chuckled despite the nervous energy twisting in her body. Tucker had evoked just about every emotion known to humanity, yet still, she wanted him. In fact, if it was possible, he’d only become more magnetizing since he’d brought her to the city. The plush surroundings helped to put her at ease, as did finally being clean and relaxed, but it was more than that. It seemed as though Tucker had started to open up to her since they’d arrived at his apartment, and she craved more of that. Whoever the dark, brooding stranger was who’d captured her, she wanted to know him.

“Will this help?” Placing his tumbler down on the glass table, he rose from his seat and paced to the backpack. Tugging it open, he yanked out the baby blue blanket she’d clung to at the cabin and flung it toward her. “I know you liked it.”

“I did.” She smiled as she grabbed the soft fabric and pulled it against her. Even though its scent reminded her of captivity, and God knew that hadn’t been a bed of roses, there was no doubt she’d grown fond of its cozy material. Its presence had been comforting. “Thank you, sir, but it’s yours.” She gestured in his direction. “You should take it.”

“It was my mother’s.” His brows knitted as he crossed the rug and took his place beside her again. His expression was one of seeming surprise as he reached for his drink, as though he couldn’t believe he’d told her the origins of the blanket.

“Oh.” His mother’s? She hadn’t expected that. “Then you should definitely keep it, sir.”

“I’d like you to have it.” He pushed the fabric away as it was passed to him, swirling his whiskey around the tumbler. “I think she would have liked you.”

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