Page 33 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

After our second round of tea, Rosie serves up two perfect triangles of pie for us.

We eat in silence, me pondering Stryker’s surprisingly philanthropic career path, and Rosie studying me. When the pie slices are reduced to nothing but crumbs, Rosie retrieves a deck of cards from a drawer by the sink, and we commence a series of games – each more competitive than the last.

Stryker returns to find us in the middle of a rather heated round of gin rummy. Rosie slams a card down with a triumphant, “Take that, yankee!” and I can’t help but smile at her. The woman’s a loon for sure, but I’m starting to suspect it’s only in the best of ways.

Stryker stands hesitantly in the doorway, a mix of uncertainty, hopefulness, and confusion on his face. My eyes hit his and dart away, my cheeks flaming.

Ugh. I thought I was over this! I was making eye contact with him just yesterday!

That was before you knew the guy was an avenger of the innocent in the world’s dark underbelly, Millie.

Embarrassed, I tuck my hair behind my ear. Well, I try to anyway. My fingers get caught in a mess of tangles, and my face burns hotter. I rip my hand out of my hair with a grimace.

“Thank you, Rosie,” Stryker says, his voice rough with emotion. Rosie dismisses his thanks with a flick of her hand and gathers up the cards.

“It was no trouble at all, love. You know I’d do anything for you, and Millie’s an absolute delight,” she tells him.

I raise my eyebrows. An absolute delight? I threw up in her trash can and drank all her green tea. She ignores my pointed look.

Stryker hefts his massive body off the door frame and makes his way to Rosie. He dwarfs her completely, making her look like a tiny doll of a woman next to him. He kisses her cheek.

“Seriously, Rosie. Anything you want – it’s yours,” he says earnestly. “I owe you.”

She shakes her head, smiling softly. Stryker returns her gentle smile before turning his attention to me.

His smile stays put while he studies me, and I find myself unaccountably fascinated with the dusty blue of the wall behind him. It’s pretty – fits well with the rest of the blues in here. Rosie has excellent taste in color.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go get you cleaned up,” he says, freeing me from the agony of his eyes on my face. I nod, and he grabs my hand, leading me through the house. Rosie calls a cheerful goodbye behind us.

We’re out of the house and across the road in no time. Stryker maintains his grip on my hand the entire way, not letting go even when we’re up the steps, across the cabin’s porch, and through the door.

He leads me to the bedroom hand in hand and only reluctantly lets go to root through the dresser. Despite my protests that I can do it myself, he pulls out a change of clothes.

He meets my scowl with an amused look that borders on ecstatic, then lightly nudges me into the bathroom, tossing my clothes in after me and shutting the door with a firm order to shower. I consider ignoring His Bossiness, butone jump scare look in the mirror has me turning the water on to boiling.

I triple-check that the door is locked before getting in the shower. I cleanse myself with a combination of scrubbing, soaping, and boiling off all the yuck. By the time I step out, I feel like a brand-new woman.

I put on the clothes Stryker gave me, wondering if the one-shouldered tops will be here to stay, even without the cuffs. Or does he plan to put the cuffs back on? I eye my wrist, hoping not. I quite like this newfound freedom of movement.

Body clean and freshly clothed, I move on to tackling the issue of my teeth. I brush them twice, do an extra-long mouthwash rinse, and give special attention to flossing.

When I decide I’m as clean as I could possibly be, I exit the bathroom. I’m unsurprised to find Stryker in the bedroom. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his eyes glued to the bathroom door. A blush hits my face at the intensity of his gaze, and my eyes dart away.

They land on the bed – more specifically the bedding. It’s giving big hasn’t-been-made-in-days energy, and I don’t like it.

I don’t like it at all.

“We should wash the bedding.”

“Millie.” Stryker stands and takes a hesitant step toward me.

“I think I saw an extra set in the linen closet, so we can strip this and have it changed over in a flash.” I edge sideways in an attempt to go around him.

He turns to keep face with me and steps closer, “Mill–”

“We can wash your cot stuff, too,” I interrupt, continuing my path around him and taking steps back when he gets closer.

“Millie.” He’s close enough now to touch me, andthat’s exactly what he does. He wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me in tight. His other hand snakes its way into my hair, coiling it around him as he goes. Boy, he really likes this position.

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