the table?”
“You have a choice of water, Coke or orange juice.”
“Water, please.” She stared down at the tray, avoiding his eyes. “I’d really like to eat at the table.”
He stayed silent for so long that she finally looked up. He studied her, his brows slightly furrowed, as if considering her request.
“It’s not as if I can escape.” She gave him her best smile. “You’re right here, and I couldn’t get far on foot, anyway.”
Snickering, he shook his head as he went to the refrigerator and got out a bottle of Evian. Her hope faltered and then resurfaced when he set the water on the table.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he said as he approached her. “No more chances after this.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“I hope so.” He jerked the knot loose. “You run again and you stay handcuffed. Period.”
She believed him. He looked tired, crankier since the phone call. The scarf fell away from her wrist and she rubbed the offended area. Feeling his gaze on her, she lowered her hand and scooted to the edge of the bed, and then picked up the tray he’d left her and carried it to the table.
After sitting in one of the two chairs, she opened the bottle of water and sipped, her mind racing with possibilities. The call had most likely been made to the people who hired him. If he didn’t like what they had to say, maybe she still had a chance of bribing him.
She picked up one of the gherkins and nibbled at it, wondering how to approach the subject without ticking him off, when he came to the table and took the other chair. He’d brought a sandwich and a Coke with him.
He popped the can open and took a big gulp, and then studied his sandwich with a frown. He tore off the top crust before taking a bite.
“You don’t like the crust?” she asked.
“Does it look like I do?”
God, he was crabby. She’d only been trying to make conversation. “I just wondered. You made the sandwiches. Why didn’t you cut off the crust in the first place?”
He glared at her.
“Never mind.” She nibbled more of her gherkin and traced the bottom of the Evian bottle. This obviously was not the way to prep him.
“What’s wrong with your sandwich?”
She looked up. He had extraordinary blue eyes. “Nothing.”
“You aren’t eating.” Half of his was already gone.
“I guess I’m not very hungry.” She pushed her plate toward him. “Here.”
He made a face. “Whole wheat?”
“It won’t kill you.” She thought for a couple of seconds. “Of course that would solve my problem.”
His lips curved in a wry smile. “Think so?”
She sighed. “Don’t eat the sandwich. I don’t care.”
He pushed the plate back at her. “Eat.”
“What difference does it make?”
“I don’t want you getting sick on me.”
“Why? Most kidnap victims don’t make it out alive. Right?”
“Jesus.” He got up from the table and kicked his chair in.
“Don’t go.” She bit her lip when he stopped and narrowed his gaze on her. “Sit with me.”
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