Page 45 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

“I thought you were a minimalist!” Oh, good one. Plausible, even. High fives to me! He shakes his head.

“You have got to be the most ridiculous creature I’ve ever encountered. If you weren’t so cute, I’d throttle you.”

I ignore him calling me cute. I’ve had much practice at this point. My Denial Island is chock-full of boxes.

“You’re very rude!” I tell him. He sighs again, longer.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” he says, then he grabs my arm and continues our journey to the bedroom, guiding me into the bed once we’ve reached it. He tucks me, just like he has every night since the first time he did it, then settles onto his cot. I pout at the ceiling.

“You can’t just give a person a house,” I tell the room. A shuffling noise comes from Stryker’s cot.

“Already did,” he answers. Hmph.

“I don’t want it.”

“But I made it green, just for you.”

I jolt upright.

“What did you just say?” I squeak. Stryker’s head and shoulders come into view as he sits up too. He’s backlit by the moonlight coming through the window – a shadow against the bright night.

“I made it green for you. Your favorite color.”

I can’t breathe.

He… he made it green. For me. Because that’s my favorite color.

And he knows that because he stalked me for months.

This is not a sweet gesture. It is, in fact, incredibly insane. Clinically so, probably.

My eyes are wet.

It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.

“Stop Stockholming me!” I throw a pillow at his shadowy head. He catches it – the jerk – and tosses it lightly back onto the bed.

“It was a couple cans of paint, not an elaborate plan to psychologically bond with you.”

Yeah, right. I believe that about as much as I believe in Santa Claus.

And yet, my heart is beating a mile a minute. The tears in my eyes topple over.

“You can’t do things like that,” I tell him, my voice as watery as my eyes. He stands up, crawls into the bed, and wraps his arms around me, holding me tight against him.

“The paint doesn’t matter. It was easy, throwaway. I’m going to give you the things that really matter, Millie, and that’s when you’re allowed to cry, yeah? So stop this right now. It’s not time for your tears. You can give them to mewhen you’re settled and have accepted the love and family I’m trying to give you.”

I sob. What’s “easy, throwaway” for him is precious to me. I hate that it is, but every time I look at this room full of green, I’ll think about how heseesme – how heknowsme. It’s a feeling I’m never going to forget for as long as I live.

It’s almost enough to make me stay. I could live in this green room in this green house, and I could be seen and known everyday in the smallest of ways. It’s tempting.

So, so tempting.

Stryker lays down, pulling me with him. He settles me practically on top of him, one of his long arms around my waist and the other in my hair, stroking down the back of my head over and over.

Yeah, staying here is tempting.

“You can’t do things like this,” I tell him, but I don’t pull away.

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