Page 54 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

“We’re going to talk,” he says.

Ha! That’s what he thinks. I wiggle, trying to find a weak spot in his hold. There isn’t one.

“Stop acting like a child.”

I stop struggling immediately. My head turns slowly toward him.

“What did you just say?” I ask, knowing there’s no way he would say the stupid thing out loud again.

“I said stop acting like a child,” he repeats. I was wrong. Apparently therewasa way he would say the stupid thing out loud again.

I yell and redouble my efforts to escape his grip.

“Of all the stupid–” He dodges a headbutt. “–idiotic–” My elbow grazes his side. “–moronic–” He wheezes as an elbow connects with his stomach. “–just plaindumbthings you could have said! I am not a child!” I stomp my foot down, aiming for his, but miss and slam my foot into the tile instead.Ouch.

He effortlessly shifts me to a locker room style bench where he maneuvers me sideways in his lap. One of his massive thighs pins my legs down, while the other supports my back. His arms wrap around me, holding me firmly against him. I turn my head to glare up at him, and find him already scowling down at me.

“I wouldn’t have called you a child if you weren’t in here havin’ a fit like one. Pouting in the bathroom for an hour and then throwin’ a tantrum when I try to have a conversation sure seems childish to me.”

“You kissed me! I wasprocessing,not pouting. When a girl is kissed by the man who kidnapped her – no matter how hot he is – a girl needs to process. That’s, like, girlhood 101. Everybody knows that!”

He raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m hot?”

Do I–

“Are you serious?!” I screech. He flinches, but doesn’t lose his stupid stupid stupid smirk. If I could move my arm, I’d punch him. I have to settle for a third ineffectual headbutt that does nothing to improve my mood.

“Just nice to hear it in words,” he says, nuzzling his nose into my hair.

“Get your head out of my hair! We’re fighting,” I snap. He chuckles. Chuckles!

“You’re fightin’,” he tells me. “I’m over it.”

I’m going to kill him. For real. I’m going to kill him, and then I’m going to find the keys to my car and vroom away until the only thing around is sand and deep blue ocean.

“You’re not going to kill me,” he says. “And if you wanted to go to the beach all you had to do was ask.”

“Get out of my head!” The man is infuriating.

“Said it out loud, darlin’,” he informs me.

Oh. Well.

That’s embarrassing.

“We can go to the beach next weekend,” he says. “I just need to make a couple of calls first.”

“I don’t want to go to the beach with you,” I tell him.

“We’ll get you a one-piece. Something a little less tempting, so I can keep my head,” he mutters.

“I’m not going to the beach with you, Stryker.”

“We can take Heidi and Baz if you want. Heidi loves the beach.”

“I’m not going to the beach with you!”

“Fine, Archie can come too, but he’s not riding with us.”

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