Page 46 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

“Shh. Let yourself have something good,” he whispers. “You have to know that I’d give you the world. I’d rip my own heart right out of my chest and hand it to you if you’d let me. I wish you would. I’mbeggin’ youto let me love you the way that you ought to be loved. I can give you what you need. What you want. I can give you security, love – a family. I can give you everything I am. I’d love you until the moon falls from the sky and further. You just have to let me, darlin’. Please, Millie.Let me.” My chest hurts.

“You can’t give me everything,” I whisper. He tightens his hold on me.

“What can’t I give you? Tell me, and I’ll find a way.”

A shaky breath leaves me. He can’t be that dense, can he?

I remember – for maybe the millionth time – that Stryker is, in fact, a man. He can be – and often is – thatdense.

“You can’t give me trust, Stryker. I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me. This house might as well have beenpaintedin distrust with how much we have swimming around us.” I shake my head. “You have to see that a life like this isn’t healthy. Nobody could live this way forever. It’s just not feasible.”

Another squeeze.

“Trust…” he murmurs. “I can work with that.”

I try to pull away, but he holds me firm. I grunt in annoyance.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” I snap at him.

“I hear everything you say, sweetheart,” he replies. I twist my hand to pinch him, my fingers closing on hard muscle.

He doesn’t react.

“There’s nothing to ’work with’, Stryker. You can be sweet sometimes and overwhelmingly thoughtful, but that doesn’t erase that you kidnapped me and are holding me hostage. There is no scenario that can remedy the fact that I don’t trust you not to harm me, and you don’t trust me to not leave. You can’t fix this in a way that ends how you want it to.”

“You were able to get past my job,” he says, face set stubbornly.

“That’s because you kill people who deserve to die,” I tell him. “I did not deserve to be kidnapped.”

“That’s debatable,” he responds. I let out a noise of pure frustration. His hand, which was on my head, moves to my back, rubbing circles.

“We’ll see who’s right in the end,” he says. “I wouldn’t place any bets on you, though.”

“This isn’t going to end the way you hope,” I tell him.

He hums a noncommittal sound.

“We’ll see,” he repeats.

Chapter Sixteen

The next day starts like every other day in the compound. Stryker wakes up, waits until the sun has barely crested the horizon, then scoops a grumbling, tired me into his arms. He plops me in the bathroom, and threatens to get me ready himself if I take too long. Not quite brave enough to call his bluff, I prepare for the day quickly.

In early November, Heidi declared I needed a “wardrobe overhaul” and replaced all of the one-shoulder lounge sets with enough clothes to last a lifetime. She bought me plenty of long sleeves and layers, so I’m well-prepared for the colder temperatures of autumn. Most of what she got me are dresses, and I’m definitely not complaining. They may not be practical for my escape plans, but they keep me warmer than the one-shoulder tops I’d been living in, and they make for some excellent princess twirling in the moments I find myself alone. They make me feel whimsical and light.

I quite love them.

The walk next door to Stryker’s house – hisactualhouse – reminds me of our conversation last night. Of how I fell asleep in his arms. Of how I woke up in them.

My face warms, and I nearly miss a step going down the porch. He catches me, and my whole body lights on fire.

I’d rip my own heart right out of my chest and hand it to you if you’d let me. I wish you would.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmurs, steadying me.

It’s December. So why is it sohot?

I mumble a thanks and wonder if I should have left my coat at the cabin.

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