Page 42 of Love Undercover
But this didn’t feel like impulse. Not really. It felt like inevitability, two stars caught in each other’s gravity, pulled into a crash course. Even knowing that it could end in a burning, devastating collision, she still slid her hands from his shoulders, settling them behind his neck, fingers playing a little bit with his hair.
“We are really going to get ourselves into trouble here,” he murmured as she pulled his face closer to hers.
“I can’t help it,” she said, pressing her lips to his, “with your hands on me like that.”
“Hmm, like this?”
She gasped, dropping her head back as his hands shifted higher. “Chase.”
He pulled back suddenly, his breathing ragged. His eyes flashed, sending warmth into her cheeks as his gaze roved her face.
“I have half a mind to go back into town so we can end this torture.”
“I have half a mind to let you.” She was ridiculously breathless, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel embarrassed.
He raised a brow, the edge of his mouth curving up. “How do I know you won’t disappear on me again?”
“I can give you my word.”
His jaw muscles rippled as he fought his self-control yet again. It gave her quite the thrill to see him struggle so much. To be desired that much was heady, and she let her smile break through.
“Your water’s boiling,” he said softly, pulling back. “And we’re about to have company.” His hands slid from her waist, his eyes on whatever vehicle she now heard coming down the dirt drive.
“What?” she squeaked, fear washing through her, sharpening with the grim look she saw on his face. “Who?”
“Zimmerman’s guy,” he said darkly. “Santiago.”
She started to hop down, but he held a hand out toward her.
“I don’t want them to see you. Not yet, anyway.”
He chewed his lip for a second, then reached to turn off the burner. His hands went to her waist again. “We have to make it look like I actually kidnapped you.”
“You did.” The words were out before she could stop them.
He huffed. “I mean like you’re actually afraid of me.” He lifted her off the counter, setting her down gently. “I’m going to have to tie you up again.”
Her fingers became claws on his biceps, the fear twisting in her stomach like a writhing snake. “Why?”
“They need to believe I’m holding you here against your will.” He plowed on before she could say anything. “And, no, I’m not.”
He shuffled her toward the bedroom, and her stomach twisted again because there was genuine concern in his eyes, ripples of anxiety coming off of him in waves. A part of her still wondered if the level of trust she’d extended toward him was wise. There was still no actual proof of the story he’d fed her, but his demeanor, the way he’d taken care of her, made her feel he was telling the truth.
So if he was nervous about who was about to walk through that door, she should be too. And she should do exactly what he told her to.
Once in his room, he scanned the space. “The bed,” he said, nodding toward it.
While she sat, he walked out of the room, rushing back in with a zip tie in his hands.
He bared his teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to tie you to the bed.”
She swallowed the rising unease. It would only be temporary, right?
“It’s fine,” she croaked, her throat tight.
He’d already said it, but his eyes said sorry again, the apology a glimmer in the mossy depths as he positioned her hands and pulled the plastic tie tighter.
She couldn’t help her wince when it bit into her skin.
