Debbi Rawlins - Secret Defender

She’d made it just a few yards when he grabbed her around the waist and they both hit the ground. His body pressed hers into the hard earth. She clawed the grass, struggling to get out from under him. Dirt packed under her nails, and her knees stung where gravel scraped her skin.

“Stupid, Sydney, very stupid.” He got up and yanked her upright. He pulled her so close she had to tilt her head back. “How far did you think you’d get?”

She forced her eyes to meet the fire in his and hoped he didn’t smell her fear. “You didn’t really expect me to roll over and play dead, did you?”

“Look.” He fisted her blouse and brought her closer. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He stared down at her, and she flinched when he raised his other hand. He flicked some grass off her cheek. “Unless I have to.”

“That’s supposed to be reassuring?”

“Just cooperate, dammit.” He let her go so abruptly she stumbled backward, her cuffed hands useless to help maintain her balance. He made no move to catch her. “Get inside.”

Her shoulder hit a tree trunk hard, but at least she stayed on her feet. She bit back the remark that nearly glided off her tongue. It was a snooty thought that surprised her. But he seemed just so damned earthy. Primal. He was out of her experience, and she hated feeling at such a loss.

Instead, she edged toward the porch, stooping to pick up her black Ferragamo pumps and discreetly spitting out the dirt in her mouth. The rotting steps were tricky, but she gingerly maneuvered them without ending up on her fanny. The door was slightly ajar, and she pushed it with her toe. It creaked open farther and she peeked inside before crossing the threshold.

The room was small. Nothing separated the kitchen area from the old army-green couch or the unmade double bed. There was one door that she assumed led to a bathroom. As she got farther inside, she was surprised by the cleanliness of everything from the ancient wood floor to the single kitchen countertop. No dust or grime was visible, and in fact, the portable refrigerator was smudge-free and shiny. Odd.

Sydney was a bigger mess. Mud coated her blouse and skin, thanks to the water she’d spilled. A few gobs were in her hair—her newly shampooed and styled hair. Darn it.

When she heard Luke step up on the porch, she moved quickly to give him a wide berth. She saw then that the door did lead to a bathroom. An absurdly tiny one, but at least it had a tub and a door.

“I have some things here for you.”

His voice startled her, even though she knew he was inside. The place was just so damn small, and he was so big. She glanced at the bed again. Only one. A double. She hoped he wasn’t…

“Are you listening?”

She slid him a glance and nodded.

He held a medium-sized black leather bag. As if reading her thoughts, his gaze went briefly to the bed, then back to her. “There are a few shirts and shorts in here and some toiletries. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“How considerate.”

At her sarcasm, his left brow went up. “I’ll get us something to eat in about an hour.”

“You leaving?”

For the first time, his mouth curved slightly, and his gaze lowered. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here all night.”

Sydney swallowed. “There’s only one bed.”

He glanced at it in mock surprise. “So there is.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“Right next to you, darlin’.” His smile broadened as he tossed the bag on the bed. “We’re having sandwiches tonight.” He eyed her with misgiving. “Unless you know how to cook.”

She gritted her teeth. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“You saw it.”

“Can you unlock the handcuffs?”

“Nope.”

“But we’re stuck in the middle of God knows where.” She sounded breathless, afraid. She hated that.

“If you need help, just holler.”

Like hell. She turned away and unzipped the black bag. She took the first shirt on top. It was denim. Not one of his, but brand new, a size small—something he might have bought for her. Next, she pulled out a hairbrush and toothbrush, and wondered if all kidnappers went through this much trouble.

She kept the things away from her wet, muddy blouse, and without looking at him, headed inside the bathroom. The back of the toilet was the only available surface, so she draped the shirt on the doorknob and set the brushes near the sink faucet. When she tried to swing the door shut, something blocked it from closing.

Poking her head around, she saw the toe of Luke’s boot pressed to the bottom of the door. Her gaze slowly traveled up the worn denim covering his leg, to the white shirt he’d partially unbuttoned, to the exposed wedge of smooth muscled chest, to the strong, square, stubbled jaw.

She finally met his eyes just as he said, “Leave it open.”

Sydney stared back at him. “What did you say?”

“Leave the door open.”

“Why?”

“In case you get stupid again.”

“I’ve learned my lesson.” At his implacable expression, her heart pounded and her palms grew damp. He couldn’t possibly expect her to leave herself that vulnerable. “There’s only one small window in here—”

“Big enough for you to crawl out.”

“It’s too narrow.”

He ran his gaze down her body, lingering around her hips, studying her every curve until her insides trembled. “The door stays open.”

“I can’t go to the bathroom with you out here and— I can’t do it.”

“We’re going to be here a week. Get over it.”

“A week?” She swallowed, but her mouth was so dry the act was painful. “And then what?” She tried another painful swallow. “Are you going to kill me?”

His brows came down in impatience. “I already said I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Wh-what…” She stopped and took a quick breath, despising how weak she sounded. “What are you going to do with me?”

He studied her a moment. “Nothing, as long as you cooperate.”

“But—”

“No more talking.”

She had no choice. She had to believe he wouldn’t hurt her, as foolish or naive as that seemed. Backing up, she caught her bedraggled reflection in the mirror above the sink. Mud smeared her cheek. She looked at him again. He had smudges on his shirt and dirt in his hair. “Can’t you just bolt the window from the outside?”

He laughed. It was more a grunt. “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in any of your goods.”

He walked away as if the matter were closed, and she stood watching him, horrified that his demeaning remark stung. Anger simmered with the fear churning in her stomach. At least he’d moved away from her.

“By the way.” At the kitchen counter, he began unloading a paper sack. “If I so much as hear the door creak, I’ll take it off the hinges.”

“Why are you being so cruel?”

He looked sharply at her.

She cleared her throat, hoping to sound more assertive. “You already have me. It’s unnecessary to be so…unkind.”

Frowning, he shoved the sack aside. “Cruel?”

“Why do I need to be handcuffed and have the door open? Are you that afraid of me?”

His sudden bark of laughter startled her. “All right.” He dug into his jeans’ pocket, and her gaze helplessly drew to the worn denim straining across his fly.

She blinked and raised her gaze, unsettled by the jittery feeling in her tummy.

He produced a small key and started toward her. Her first impulse was to run; instead, she stepped outside and held up her bound hands, anxious to be free of the cuffs. He scanned the front of her muddy, wet shirt before inserting the key. “Do anything foolish again, and I’ll—” His gaze fastened on the inside of her wrists. “What the hell?”