Page 12 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

I stretch, long and lazy.

Stryker’s bed is nice. I should find out what mattress he has. Or maybe it’s the duvet? Whatever it is, I need it in a permanent kind of way. I am in an emerald haven of goodness and comfort. I hug the fluffiest pillow I’ve ever touched and snuggle back down. A few more minutes of sleep couldn’t hurt, right?

Wrong, apparently.

The covers are torn off me, and my pillow is taken away. Injustice! And this early? I’m suing!

I squint one eye open to see the perpetrator of these grave crimes bending over me. What is he doing? Did he miss some sliver of my comfort that he meant to ruin? I aimmy eye down more to see if there’s a stray bit of nest left unscathed. I don’t see anything, but – ack! – I yell as his arms go under me, and I’m lifted up into the stratosphere to be held against his body.

He hasgotto stop doing this.

“Put me down!” I order. If it ends up screeched in his ear a little, who’s to say?

“Sure thing,” he responds.

Anyone else think that sounded uncharacteristically agreeable? I side-eye as he takes two of his gigantor-sized steps to get us to the bathroom. Uh… he better not be trying to take me in there with him. No way, no how is that happening. Not now, not ever. Yuck.

Thankfully, he doesn’t take me in. Not so thankfully, he drops me in a painful heap on the floor before entering the bathroom and slamming the door. I spend several minutes lying there, staring at the ceiling and recovering from this latest indignity.

It’s a nice ceiling. Green – like everything else – and popcorn, but the type of popcorn with stamped flower designs to give it some pizzazz. I like that. It feels whimsical and nostalgic. My childhood bedroom had a white version of the popcorn flowers, and they always made me feel like a princess.

I don’t feel so much like a princess now, lying on the floor of my abductor’s bedroom tired and aching. I send a longing look to my nest of blankets. I felt like a princess there – before stupid Stryker came and ruined it. I huff.

He’s such an entitled jerk. Who gave him the right to manhandle me whenever he likes? It’s rude. And annoying. And inappropriate!

I turn my head to glare at the bathroom door. He’s on the other side of it right now, taking his dear sweet time and making me sit on this hard floor when it’s early enoughthat I still have sleep gunk in my eyes. It’s one thing to be mentally ill; it’s another thing entirely to act like such a monster. I hope when we get him help, it’s the uncomfortable kind – straight jackets and sedation pills for you, Mister.

I wonder if they still give out lobotomies these days. You know, just curious. For no reason at all.

Truly.

Ugh, he’s taking forever. I stand up and look around the room for a clock. I can’t see one from my current position. I don’t remember seeing one yesterday either, but I was a teensy bit distracted by being kidnapped and all subsequent activities. Clocks were not exactly on my mind.

I look at the window. Hmm. Back in the day, they used the sun to tell time. Surely, if my ancestors could figure it out then so can I. It’s in my blood or something. I turn myself to get the best possible view of the window and put on my focus face, the better to succeed at my task. I concentrate on the angle of the sun rays coming through the glass. The angle is… acute. Probably. Which means… uh…

“Stryker! Hurry up!” How long could it possibly take? He’s been in there for ages. I’m starting to have need of the room myself.

“Stryker!” I yell again when he doesn’t answer. “Stry– oh.” The door opens, and there he stands, brows furrowed and lips pursed. It brings me no joy that this is an expression that works for him. He looks like a brooding cover model for World’s Biggest Men magazine. My eyes get caught on a small hunk of dark curls falling out of place and into his face. So divinely rumpled.

My world becomes that curl. The shape of it, the texture. It looks soft – springy. I wonder how long it would be if I stretched it out.

“Oh for the love of–” Stryker’s voice fades as my knees buckle. One fleeting moment of weightlessness and I am once again being held against a wide chest. I point my red hot face toward the ceiling, focusing on the petals of the popcorn flowers and breathing deep.

“You have to stop doing that,” he tells me. My cheeks get warmer.

“Believe me, I’m not doing it on purpose,” I answer. He sighs.

“That almost makes it worse, darlin’.” I hate how gently he speaks sometimes, as if he’s saying a secret just for me. It makes my pulse race. Someone as brutal as he is should not have that sort of softness in them. It’s disquieting at best and disarming at worst.

“Will you please put me back down now?” I ask him stiffly. He does, keeping his arms around me until I’m fully planted on two feet. I keep my head down and my eyes on the floor as I slip past him into the bathroom. I close the door firmly behind me.

I do a slowed down version of my usual morning routine, taking advantage of the fact that I’m not in a public restroom with a line outside the door waiting on me to finish. It’s a luxury I don’t often have, and I have to fight not to feel grateful to Stryker for it. The man kidnapped me. He deserves no thanks.

Most of my embarrassment has left my face by the time I’m ready to leave the bathroom. Still, for safety’s sake, I keep my eyes as far from Stryker as possible. He doesn’t say anything, only moving to the cot and working to undress it, creating the same neat pile it had when we got here. I take his cue and make the bed I slept in, lamenting that I wasn’t able to appreciate it more. I fluff the pillows extra as a thank you for their service. They will be dearly missed when I’m gone.

“Heidi should be here soon for breakfast and a meeting. I told her I’d let her know when you’re ready,” Stryker says, still in that gentle voice. My stomach turns over. I guess breakfast would be a good idea. I nod.

“I’ll show you the rest of the house while we wait for her,” he says, then leads the way out of the bedroom. Our first stop is at the bathroom in the hallway. It’s a half bath that houses a toilet, sink, and linen closet. The closet is packed with more towels and blankets than I think any one man could ever possibly need, but who am I to judge? I have six blankets stuffed into my car – a place where storage space is sorely lacking, but a priority is a priority. I stick by my blankies.

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