Page 47 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

He grabs my hand, the same way he has every morning, and my skin tingles against his. I can feel every inch of where our palms touch. His fingers are rough against mine – strong. He feels steady. Secure. All the things I know he’s not. Not really. Because a man I can’t trust will never be steady or secure. And how could I ever come to trust the man who kidnapped me – who took me away from my life, no matter how good or bad it was.

I couldn’t.

Now I just need someone to tell that to the moths fluttering in my stomach.

They don’t dissipate when Stryker releases my hand to let Draco and Bones out of their crates. They stick around while he feeds the dogs and grabs the bag that I know is packed with water, protein mixes, and bento boxes. And they’re still there when we reach the end of the trail and all throughout setting up our picnic breakfast.

I look over the view I’ve seen every day for the last two months and I marvel at it. Not even Stryker and hisI’m beggin’ youcan ruin this. It’s just as gorgeous as it was the first time – maybe even more so now that the leaves are a riot of colors. More moths take flight in my stomach.

“For you,” Stryker says. I tear my eyes from the mountains to see him holding out a green bento. It’s already opened, revealing the most adorable little blushing faces made of rice. I love them immediately.

I glance at the bento he’s chosen for himself and notice that he’s given me the cuter one. I don’t know how he does it, but he always seems to know exactly which one I’ll prefer. Probably some sort of stalker side effect, I think, willing the moths to flutter far, far away from me. They donot.

Annoying.

“Thanks,” I tell Stryker’s left ear. It’s incredibly easy to talk to – much less handsome than his right.

He nods and focuses on his own food. I relax. Okay. Maybe he’s going to forget what happened last night. That’s perfect. We can forget all about it, and my silly moths can go away. A win-win.

“I thought we’d go swimming today,” he says. I blink. It’s fifty degrees outside.

“Swimming?”

He grunts in response.

“It’s kind of cold for that, don’t you think?”

“Pool’s indoors,” he tells me.

“Oh.” Eloquent, Millie. “Um… do you swim in more than you hike in?” I ask, worried. He hikes every day – no matter the weather – in those same type of tiny shorts he wore the first time. Thigh tats areout, and Millie is suffering.

“About the same,” he responds, his voice laced with sick amusement. A bone-deep panic sets in. Stryker. Tiny shorts.Wet.

“Where’s your gun?” I ask, then startle when a laugh booms out of him. He hooks one large arm around my neck and topples me into his torso. Hisnakedtorso. I can feel as well as hear the vibrations of his laughter petering out into soft, low chuckles.

“You’re cute,” he says once his chuckles have subsided. My face scrunches. I’m not trying to be cute.

I push against his chest to create some space between us. Blessedly, he allows it, and I settle back into my spot a couple of feet from him.

Accepting that I will not be given charge of a gun today, I dig into my food.

I groan when the first bite hits my tongue. Rosie continues to outdo herself.

We eat quietly while the dogs laze not far from us. Stryker washes his food down with one of his ogre smoothies, as I call them. They’re green and yucky, and he’s big enough to be a swamp monster, so it seems fitting. I once called them that to his face, and he responded by promptly organizing an ogre-themed movie night where he made everyone drink his beverage of health and sadness. It was terrible – the drinks, that is. The movie night was fun. Not that I told him that.

He finishes his protein drink and packs up our stuff. I take a final, lingering look at the view before we head back down the trail.

The hike back involves a lot fewer moths. Mostly because the space they were using to flutter is now taken up by a giant lead weight of anxious terror.

“You know,” I say, stepping over a small log, “We could always not go swimming instead.”

Stryker chuckles.

“Scared you’ll faint at the sight of me half-naked and wet?” he asks. Well, yes, actually.

“Of course not!” I squeak. “It’s just that I think we could stay in and watchMiraculousor something. I heard there are new episodes!” I heard no such thing, but Stryker has proven himself to be a man that enjoys a good teenage love square, so maybe I can tempt him.

“You haven’t heard anything. You don’t have access to any news sources.”

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