Page 14 of Love Undercover
Despite her discomfort, she dropped into a fitful sleep. She woke numerous times, heart hammering as she tried to orient herself to the facts. And she would still hear footsteps outside the room, a ceaseless activity that made her squeeze her eyes shut and clamp down on the urge to panic. Rest was her best friend until she could figure out a plan.
When the sun painted the woods outside with early morning light, she gave up on sleep.
And still, he was moving around before she’d even gotten her bearings. The bright side of the early wake-up was that it gave her the time to formulate a plan, even if her efforts were futile. After all, he was a big dude.
The grand plan came from a movie she’d seen once. It involved a hand towel, and an individual trained in martial arts, but still. She tiptoed to the bathroom, snatching the plush cotton from the rack and snuck back to the bedroom.
Pressing her back against the wall and making herself as flat as possible, she turned her head toward the door. He was noisy as he walked, almost as if he wanted her to know he was coming.
Like a chain reaction of tension, every muscle in her body contracted as the footsteps drew closer. She tightened her grip on the towel, pulling it taut as she heard a tentative knock.
The knob twisted, turning her stomach with it, and the door opened slowly.
Chase’s blond head appeared first, his eyes set on the unmade bed directly across from him like he expected her to be there.
Before she could second-guess or he could see her coming, she launched herself at him, whipping the towel around his neck, yanking the ends in an X across his throat, and pulling down with her body weight.
The bedroom door slammed against the wall as he lost his balance, knocking into it.
The thrill of success and adrenaline shot her eyes wider, and she jerked the ends of the towel tighter as Chase stumbled into the room. A wave of red crept up his face as she cut off his airway.
His big hands clamped around her wrists, yanking. Her grip loosened only a little, and they spun in circles like it was some sort of morbid death dance.
His eyes locked on hers, wide and questioning—and something else that made her falter a little.
A fraction of a second later, his foot was behind hers, making her stomach drop out as she tripped over it and fell to the floor.
His first gasp of oxygen punctured the silence as the towel slid from around his neck. He tossed it aside and came toward her.
She shrieked, scrambling away from him in a crab walk that reminded her of the game she had her students play when the weather was too bad for them to have recess outside.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he rasped, but his face was still red, and he was lumbering toward her like a drunken bear.
“Like heck!” she hollered, kicking her sandal-clad foot at his head.
He pulled back slightly to avoid the bludgeoning by espadrille. “Sadie!” he bellowed.
She froze for a second. He remembered her name? Or had he done research?
“You kidnapped me!” She bumped into a small table, feeling on the top for the digital clock she’d seen there earlier, and yanked it down before flinging it at him.
He ducked, letting the clock sail over his head to crash against the wall. “I was trying to keep you alive!”
“Yeah, right!” She twisted and scrambled to her feet, running headlong for somewhere to hide or something else to use as a weapon since he was between her and freedom. She should’vethought the towel thing through a little better. It seemed like her only option at the time.
His hands landed on each side of her hips, and he yanked her backward. He was so much stronger than she was, and she tumbled back into him. The unexpected collision threw off their balance, and they both went down.
Sadie landed hard on his abdomen, and all the air expelled out of his lungs with an “oof,” and her brain fritzed as she registered the ceiling above her.
They both lay stunned, her panting, him working to pull air back in for a second time. She scrambled off of him, forgetting that his momentary incapacitation meant she could get a head start. The door was open, but instead of taking off, she was urging him to take a breath like he was a hurt student.
He rolled to his hands and knees, the sound of his lungs re-inflating a comically cartoonish sound that made her burst out laughing.
She was insane. She was delirious. She was in shock. She was having a nervous breakdown. Something.
He looked at her from the corner of his eye, gasping for more oxygen now that he was breathing again.
“Why aren’t you running?” he croaked then coughed. “The door is wide open.”
