It’s true. I may be a fool for selling my virginity but I am not a complete idiot. The animals I auctioned my body to save are not just little bunnies and owls. This land is full of wild beasts and I don’t want to be anyone’s midnight snack.
The idea sends my mind to another place entirely. I was supposed to be someone’s midnight snack tonight—someone’s dessert. Someone who paid good money for me. Five million dollars for me.
“I shouldn’t be here. I should be at The Landmark. You ruined everything,” I sob. “And why?”
He runs his hand over his thick beard, raising an eyebrow at me. “I’ll tell you, but I’m fucking hungry. Are you?”
I make a sharp laugh. “You want to eat right now? How can you even be thinking about food?” I bite my bottom lip as he shrugs and turns from me toward the small kitchen. “Aren’t you going to lock me up in the closet or something? What kind of kidnapper are you?”
He pulls two bowls out from a cupboard and sets the table. Napkins, spoons, a loaf of bread in a basket. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about me fleeing the scene.
The cabin is one room, a twenty foot by twenty foot square box. I think his garage is bigger than his house. But it isn’t the creepy home of a serial killer. There is a worn leather couch and wood stacked in a tidy pile. There’s a well-stocked kitchen, fruit in a bowl and enamelware dishes on open shelving.
“I don’t lock up women,” he says gruffly, ladling something from a crock pot. It’s steaming hot, smells like stew, and my stomach growls.
I roll my eyes, walking toward the table, unable to help myself. It smells good. And I was such a bundle of nervous energy today that I can’t remember the last meal I’ve had.
“You just throw them over your shoulder?”
That gets a half-smile from him.
Not that I want a smile.
I want to beat him to a pulp. I mean, he freaking kidnapped me and I’m in a strange cabin with him and he could be planning on chopping me up into little pieces and feeding me to the bears.
He walks over to the wood stove, throws a few logs in and strikes a match. My eyes follow his every movement. I know I said it was a creepy cabin, but I twist my lips knowing this place isn’t creepy at all.
There’s a wool blanket over one of the two easy chairs flanking the stove, a braided rug on the floor. His bed is large, made, and the quilt looks handmade. He may be a mountain man, but he doesn’t send up any red flags. I mean, besides the fact he kidnapped me.
“You should sit and eat. The soup’s gonna get cold, you realize that?”
“I probably can’t eat it. I’m vegetarian.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Figured as much.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I know who you are, an animal rights activist or whatever. Being a vegetarian kinda fits the bill.”
“So?”
He smirks. “So, what?”
I put my hands on my hips, not interested in getting on friendly terms with this man. “So does the soup have meat in it?”
“A stranger kidnapped you and you’re getting picky about the food you’re being offered?”
I smile, proud of my ideals. “I am not going to change my ethical code just because you’re hiding me in the middle of nowhere.”
He sits down at the table. “I know.”
“You know what?”
“I know you’re not. You’re the kind of woman who sticks to her guns. I can appreciate that. Luckily I made a vegan lentil soup.”
I frown. My kidnapper is not supposed to be nice. Or make me soup. The two things don’t match in my mind.
He sighs, turning from the table and reaching for me. “Come here. I know you aren’t gonna come willingly.” He tugs at my waist, and I’m unable to resist—I feel my body become jelly at his touch.
Which should not be happening. This rugged man took me against my will—I will not allow myself to melt under his touch.
He tells me to sit. I do. Then scoots in my chair.
“Fine,” I say, exaggeratedly. “But now you have to tell me why I’m here.”
He gives me that infuriatingly sexy smirk again. “I don’t have to tell you anything, Justine.”
I deflate, wanting to understand why I’m here and not making good on my auction. I hate thinking there is a man waiting for me.
“You know there is going to be a search party for me, that you won’t get away with this?”
“I understand,” he says, picking up his spoon.
“And you don’t care that you are committing a crime and will go to prison for this?“
“Honestly, I didn’t think that part through.”
“Well, you should have. Because even if you somehow convinced a judge to let you off, I’d sue you in civil court. Basically, you’re fucked.”