Page 29

Sweetheart.

God.

I drop my bag beside the couch and shrug off my coat. “You call all your kidnapped women sweetheart?”

“You’re not kidnapped.”

“You literally told me I wasn’t allowed to leave.”

“You’re allowed.” He pulls two mugs down from a shelf. “You’d just be stupid.”

I stare at him.

He pours coffee calmly like he didn’t just say that.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re still here.”

That shuts me up for a second because annoyingly, he keeps doing that. Keeps saying things that hit harder than they should.

I move toward the fire instead, rubbing my cold hands together while the heat rolls over my skin.

Behind me, cabinets open and close quietly.

Then Rhett says, “Two sugars. Little cream.”

I turn slowly.

He holds out a mug toward me.

Exactly how I drink coffee.

My brows pull together. “How do you know that?”

“That’s how most people drink their coffee, unless you like it black.”

“I’m not a savage.”

“I am.” He pours his own mug, his eyes intent on me the entire time.

That should not affect me the way it does.

I take the mug carefully, our fingers brushing briefly, and the contact sparks harder than it should. His gaze drops to my mouth for half a second before lifting again.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

“You stare a lot,” I murmur.

“You notice a lot.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

His eyes hold mine over the rim of his coffee mug. “Didn’t say it was.”

The tension settles thick between us instantly.