Page 13 of Snowed in with the Villains

But what if I’m doomed to be killed by a mafia guy called The Sledge Hammer, and that would be the end of me? No. I won’t leave my sister alone in this world with my mother.

I remember thinking I needed to eat something, but I must have fallen asleep—in the lingerie I was trying on—out of pure exhaustion after telling myself everything was going to be okay.It had to be okay. I vividly remember my dreams, though, and the men who were in it. Three faces. Agent Philips. GD. The man who saved me from a mugging.

I stretch again. The bed is so toasty, and there’s that scent again. Men’s cologne. I snuggle into the pillow and inhale deeply. Peering through one eye, I take in my unrecognizable surroundings. Heavy wooden furniture. A fireplace crackled softly against one wall. Thick rugs strewn here and there.

A bookcase with hundreds of books piled haphazardly occupies the other side of the wall. A little further is a quaint kitchen with copper pans hanging on hooks from the ceiling.

It looks like a dream winter getaway, a place where you can forget all your worries, drink hot chocolate, and read a romance novel. I shift my head and blink at the sight of a glass wall showcasing the soft, subtle cascade of snow outside. Is that the peak of another mountain I, see? Does that mean we’re really high up?

Wait, who exactly iswe?

My eyes widen. I shift onto my side slowly to get a better view of my surroundings, with both my eyes wide open now.

I see everything I did before but without the sleepy haziness.

I’m in the wrong place. There is no reason on earth I should be in a place like this unless… unless I’ve been… kidnapped.

I lie very still. Reality hits me hard. Oh my god. Someone kidnapped me. I don’t know who or where I am, but the need to escape, right now, runs rampant through my veins.

My breathing sounds like a fire engine in my ears. I tell myself to calm down. I can do this. I can escape. But fear also has me paralyzed. No. This is not how I’m going down.

And now I have to face the truth. The one I boxed in the back of my mind, because acknowledging it is so terrifying, I won’t be able to breathe if I do.

My kidnapper is lying next to me.

I can still feel the imprint of his arms around me as he held me while I slept, the weight of his leg, which was huge and heavy and kept me warmer than ever but also pinned in place. The feel of his hand on my hip, scorching the soft gossamer of the lingerie when he drew me closer. The searing touch of his thumb when he seemingly absentmindedly stroked my nipple through the sheer fabric covering my breasts.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

I turn my head surreptitiously to the side, frantically searching for something I could use as a weapon to knock him out. There are only more books. I just need to find one heavy enough.

Also, why would anyone want to kidnap me? For ransom? Well, joke's on them. I refuse to think of any other reasons.

Okay. I can’t just keep lying there, doing nothing. Maybe he’s so fast asleep he won’t feel or hear me climb out of the bed.

As slowly and carefully as I can, I shift my foot off to the side of the bed and then, not daring to breathe, lift my head.

My head is not even an inch off the pillow before a hand the size of a paw wraps around my waist and pulls me back. I’m pinned to the bed by a giant of a man.

In the dimly lit room, aided by the firelight, two dark, stormy green eyes stare at me.

Oh god. Oh no. No. No. No.

I could instantly recognize those eyes from a million pairs of other eyes in a heartbeat. Without his ski mask, The Great Dipper—GD—is so frighteningly and ruggedly gorgeous, I can’t help the groan that escapes my lips.

There is absolutely nothing soft about him, except maybe his ridiculously long eyelashes and his hair, which is buzz-cut short.

His huge frame towers over me, and if he weren’t holding himself up by his forearms, he could crush me to death. He nudges my legs apart with one of his knees, then settles some of the weight of his thigh between mine. The only kind of panties I’m wearing is a small handful of silk that barely covers my pussy and butt.

He presses his thigh against my pussy. My clit starts to pulse. Unsolicited wetness leaks from my folds onto the scrap of fabric between my legs.

“Princess,” he murmurs.

In case my brain needs reiterating, the man who kidnapped me is The Great Dipper, the client I spoke to for around seven minutes before he hung up on me. The client who made me remove my corset so he could see my breasts.

With that out of the way, my mind goes into overdrive. He’s wanted by the FBI. A notorious villain, Agent Philips had said. A dangerous man. No one gets those titles for nothing. He can only be a killer, and now he’s going to kill me.

A scream rises in my throat. The rest of my body is frozen in place.

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