Page 35 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

“So approaching the subject is the number one thing not to do on a reconnaissance mission.”

Hmph. All I’m hearing is that I could’ve had pasta that day instead of eating a box of cheese crackers in my car for dinner.

“Stop grumblin’,” Stryker orders. I wrinkle my nose.

“A lady never grumbles,” I let him know.

“As I said, stop grumblin’.”

Well, I never.

He continues to make our food, adding just the right amount of garlic and Parmesan to the sauce. That is to say, a metric ton. I give a happy wiggle when he slides my bowl in front of me. I amstarving.

Not waiting for Stryker, I dig in. He comes around the counter and takes the stool next to me. We’re close, ourknees touching, but we get even closer when he hooks a foot in my stool and pulls me into him. I nearly lose my forkful of pasta from the move.

I send him a dirty look, and he flutters his lashes at me, the picture of innocence. Yeah, right. Huffing, I try to scoot away, but get nowhere, of course, with his massive leg holding my chair in place. He could probably hold onto a bucking rhinoceros with that leg, judging by the size of it.

“Do we need to be this close?” I ask.

“Nope,” he says, not relinquishing me.

I appeal to the ceiling, “Please, next time, let someonesanekidnap me.”

“Won’t be a next time,” Stryker says severely. I eye him.

“Anything can happen. I didn’t think there’d be a first time, yet here we are.”

Ooh boy, he does not like that.

“Nobody’s f–” Oof, that language. “–ing taking you from me.” He jerks my stool closer, getting rid of the last centimeter of space between us. He glowers.

“I’m not yours to keep,” I tell him. His glower turns into a glare.

“The f–” Seriously,language.“you’re not.”

“You have a terrible potty mouth.” He keeps glaring. I shift so that not quite all of my thigh is touching his. He makes a low, growly noise in his chest, and his hand lands on my leg, large and warm. He pulls it back to its spot against his.

“I’m serious, Millie. Don’t say that –”Morelanguage. “– again.”

I’m starting to get annoyed.

“I’m serious, too. I’m not yours. This isn’t ancient times. You can’t kidnap a person and then declare you own them. That’s slavery, and I’d shoot myself with your gunbefore I let you make a slave out of me.” I’m breathing hard. “And stop cussing at me,” I snap.

“I’m not trying to make you my slave. That’s absurd,” he says, sounding exactly like a man who has just heard something absurd.

“You just said you own me!”

“Not likethat. What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“The kind that kidnaps a woman and then murders a man in front of her!” Uh oh. I didn’t mean to say that. “I– I mean–”

He stands up, pulling me with him. Both of our stools fall to the ground, clanging on the hardwood, then I’m swung up into Stryker’s arms.

He stomps us to the couch, sits down, and holds me in his lap. I push to get out of his arms. He shakes me – not hard, but enough to get my attention.

“We’re going to talk about this now,” he says. Oh no. No, no, no. We are not.

“That’s okay! We can talk about it later!” Later being never. The last thing I want to do is admit to him that some of his crazy is maybe not so crazy. What if he thinks that excuses all his other madness?

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