door.”
His voice was gruff, impatient, and she moved toward the cabin without looking at him. She hesitated when she got to the rotting first step.
Behind her, she heard the trunk open. Paper rustled, and then something thudded to the ground. She glanced over her shoulder. He was taking a bag out of the trunk. Without giving the impulse a second thought, she kicked off her heels and dashed toward a thicket of trees.
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.”
Chapter Three
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…”
