Page 62 of His

“What, the books? Like, right now?”

“Yes.”

An idea sparked in my mind and made it to my tongue before I spent any time thinking about it.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“A trade?”

He smiled.

“You know me too well, kitten. What do you want from this trade?”

That was easy. There was one thing I’d been dreaming about for all the hours he had me locked up in the basement, for all the hours he had me tied up to his bedposts.

“Take me outside.”

His eyes flashed dangerously as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

“Outside?”

“Just for a little walk. My legs are so cramped from staying inside.”

He thought for a moment, one hand stroking his chin where his black stubble had been growing like a lawn after the spring’s first rainstorm. Such a liar. He would be perfect on a cover.The Pirate Rogue, I thought to myself.The Handsome Killer.

“Yes. That’s a fair trade.”

He sat down in the arm chair next to the bed and motioned to the books.

“Well?”

My heart skipped a beat.

“Are you going to stay and watch?”

“Of course. This is a trade, after all. How could I be sure you’d truly pleasured yourself unless I was a witness?”

I blushed, then cursed myself for blushing. God, here I was with a murderer, a serial killer, someone who I’d tried to kill, and I was embarrassed to have him watch me get myself off while reading a romance novel. Some things just don’t make sense.

“I’m not really in the mood right now,” I said.

“That’s what the books are for.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I was about to speak again but then he cut me off.

“We can stay here for a while. Until you’re ready. I’ve already been outside once today.” So nonchalant. Such an asshole.

In the window beyond his chair, the pine branches beckoned.

“Fine,” I said. It wasn’t fine, but it would have to be. I really did want to go outside. For one, I wanted to see what the house looked like underneath the windows, if there was a possible escape route from the bedroom. And for two… well, I hadn’t been outside in days.

I shoved the pillows up to the top of the bed and lay back, propping my elbows on my knees. Picking upThe Cowboy and the Bride, I began to read.

Gav

At first, I could tell she was nervous. The book’s pages flipped rapidly, and I saw her cheeks flush pink. One hand rested on her knee, and the other held the book open, creasing the well-worn spine. How many women had held that book this way, I wondered?

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