Page 18 of Romancing the Reaper

I waste far too much time trying to make the handle turn. I try everything that I can think of short of hurling a chair against it. But, no matter how hard I wish and pray, it doesn’t budge. Irritation heats my skin from somewhere deep in my core.

The last room in the off the narrow hallway is a small gym. Again, like the rest of the rooms, it’s only furnished for function. A small rack of free weights, a punching bag, a treadmill. It’s the room that has the most wear and tear in it. I can tell that Kieran spends a lot of time in it. No doubt it’s the room that he owes hisimpressive figure to. I can just imagine him in here, barefoot and dancing around this very punching bag.

Absently, my fingers trail over the duct taped surface of the punching bag, letting it swing from the chains holding it to the ceiling. I bet he works out shirtless, and the thought of seeing him like that should not appeal to me in the way that it does. His body is a finely honed weapon, and he no doubt knows how to wield it perfectly.

I blame his hair washing skills.

If he hadn’t been so damned good with his fingers, then I could have continued to hate him in peace.

Yes, that must be it. Nothing else.

Frustrated that I’m not finding anything that I can use, I head back to the living room and the small library that’s slightly off from the main entrance. More of an alcove than a library, or perhaps a bonus room that was never finished. It’s the most appealing space in this whole house because it’s the only place that is fully furnished. The three slender shelves are packed full of books on a variety of topics. History, philosophy, and a surprising amount of classical literature. The thought of Kieran actually sitting in this worn leather armchair and taking the time to really read anything in this otherwise uncomfortable place feels… weird.

I pull a book off of the shelf at random, flipping absently. I don’t think I read anything like this outside of what was requiredreading in school. Even then, I mostly only focused on the cliff notes. Maeve did get me into some of those romance novels that she liked so much, but it was more of a phase than anything else. I put the book back, and continue my search until my eyes start to feel heavy.

Sleeping in this place feels like I’m betraying myself.

All my training says that I cannot ever let my guard down. I should be planning to somehow overpower him or escape, anything that will allow me to contact my brother or find freedom somehow.

No matter what, I’m not going back into that room that I woke up in. It’s not a bedroom, it’s a torture chamber. He had left me a damned bucket for Christ’s sake.

Which leaves only Kieran’s room.

At least there’s a bed in there, and pillows, sheets, and a warm looking blanket. Biting my bottom lip, I head into his personal space. It’s about the only space in this whole place where the walls don’t feel oppressive, rather making me feel a little bit safer. I find a clean pair of boxers on the stacks of folded clothing on his bathroom counter and put them on, at least I’m covered and I feel a little more secure. It feels a little intrusive to be in here without permission, but I have to remind myself that he kidnapped me, so he doesn’t get a say in what I do.

I crawl onto the king-sized bed that dominates the space. The scent of him is everywhere in this bed. The pillows and theblankets, it’s like I’m wrapping myself up in him. It’s damned intoxicating.

I really need to find more things about him to hate. Being a kidnapper who wants to marry me to get revenge on my brother isn’t doing it when he smells this good. The scent is clogging my brain, clearly. That’s the only excuse that I can fathom for the lapse in rational thinking. I slide under the fluffy covers and envelop myself in pillowy warmth. The lack of food and general stress of the day is starting to catch up with me.

My eyes are heavy, but I can’t sleep.

I just keep thinking back to our fight earlier and Kieran’s intensity. His eyes had burned with some invisible fire that I can’t help but want to play with. There has to be something wrong with me for wanting such a thing. Can somebody get Stockholm syndrome so quickly? No, impossible.

But… he had touched me so gently. His fingers in my hair, the way he was so careful only to touch me where I said that he could. He had no reason to be so nice. Never mind the fact that he actuallylistenedto me when I spoke.

Kieran is arrogant, and clearly selfishly motivated. He doesn’t care about my future or my family. He quite literally wants my brother to suffer. He has a massive chip on his shoulder, there’s no denying that. But he is also understanding.

Whenever I’ve spoken to people about my eating disorder in the past, the few and far in between, they never wanted to know toomuch, like something ugly that should be hidden. They knew it was there but it was too uncomfortable to look at directly.

Talking about it, being honest about how it started felt… well, it was a relief to have finally said it out loud.

For a moment, my sanity lapses further, and I imagine that instead of Kieran’s blankets wrapped around me so tightly, it is his arms holding me. His solid, warm body behind me, pulling me back into his chest as he holds me possessively.

I roll onto my back, the image of him in my mind’s eye rolling me over as he settles between my thighs. I drift into a place between awake and asleep where shame doesn’t exist.

I put one hand above my head, as if he was holding it there, while my other dips between my thighs. They close around my hand, feeling the wetness that’s already dampening the borrowed underwear. Twisting my hand, I slip my hand inside of the cotton fabric, my middle finger running along the seam of myself, indulging fully in the possibilities of Kieran doing it to me instead. That Irish brogue whispering in my ear, muttering filthy nothings in a language that I can’t understand as he has his way with me.

Alternate versions of what might have happened in the shower if he had pinned me against the wall and taken me there. There had been so many opportunities for him to have taken advantage of me, if he had wanted to. If anything, he is letting me come to him.

Two fingers slip inside as my hips buck upward to the montage of images that assault my imagination. My breathing hitches, Kieran’s name a ghost on my lips as I imagine his tough yet gentle hands roaming over my body. I can’t stop, and I don’t want to.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

KIERAN

Ihave no reason to feel guilty over not telling Ada who my mark is.

The bag in my hand hasnothingto do with the guilt that I absolutely do not feel. I haven’t known her long enough for me to care about what she thinks or feels about such things. I have a job to do and nothing is going to get in my way. Including how she feels about what I have no choice but to do.

---