Page 38 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

This is all Stryker’s fault. Stupid man with his stupid shoulders and eyes and… and… and lips! That he thinks he can just touch anybody with. Who does he think he is? He ruined my nap!

I throw the covers off of me. My feet get twisted in the sheets as I move to get up, and I fall off the bed in my struggle to untangle them. I hit the ground with a painful thump.

I’m still trying to escape them when the door slams open. Stryker bursts into the room in all his stupid glory, gun in his hands. What an idiot.

“Put that thing away!” I snap. I’m not trying to get shot just because he’s feeling like a drama queen. I mean, really. A gun. For a fall. It’s ridiculous.

He stops just inside the doorway, pointing his gun at the floor and taking me in. He flicks the safety on. Then, to my great aggravation, he folds in half, letting out the loudest guffaws I’ve ever heard. Hmph. Does he have to look so pretty when he laughs? It’s annoying.

“This is all your fault!” I tell him, finally tearing my feet free. He doesn’t hear me over the racket he’s making. So,soannoying.

I scramble up while he’sstilllaughing, and my eyes narrow on his hunched form. Three steps and a swift kick and he’s on the floor. Unfortunately, I am also on the floor because he grabbed me as he went down. I land on top ofhim with an “oomph”, but he quickly flips me underneath him. He hovers over me, the echo of his laughter living in his smile. Gross.

“You’re very rude!” I tell him. His smile doesn’t change. I pout at the ceiling.

“You just kicked me to the ground, and you’re callin’ me rude?” he asks, his voice laced with humor. I harumph.

“You kissed my forehead!” Best to get to the heart of the matter, I always say. His face softens.

“It’s a very kissable forehead.” His voice is soft too, though no less amused.

“Not for you, it’s not!” I hiss.

He grins, leans down, and kisses it again. Ack!

“Stop that!” I order.

“Stop being so kissable,” he says, giving me another kiss.

“This is inappropriate.” I snap. He stops kissing me.

His forehead presses against mine, noses almost touching, our mouths breathing the same air – or they would be if I was breathing. His eyes are closed. Relaxed. One of his hands covers my shoulder, then slides down my arm to my hand. His fingers close over mine.

“Breathe, Millie.”

I do. Small, barely-there breaths that leave my lungs unsatisfied.

“Big breaths.”

I concentrate on taking a long inhale, careful not to move my face as I do, lest I accidentally touch him.

“Good, sweetheart. That’s perfect.” A snag in my “perfect” breaths makes him chuckle. He rubs his nose against mine, causing another snag. It’s like he doesn’t really want me to breathe at all.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask him. His face sobers, but he doesn’t answer.

“I won’t kiss you again,” he says. My body relaxes. “Not until you ask me to.”

I recoil.

“That won’t be a problem,” I tell him. He rubs our noses together again.

“We’ll see.”

Then he’s off me, standing on two feet, and holding a hand out to help me up. I’m just dazed enough to grab it.

“Are you,” I hesitate, feeling silly, “planning to seduce me?” The idea is ludicrous. And yet…

“’Seduce’ has such a crass connotation,” he says. “I’d like to suggest ’woo’ as an alternative.”

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