Page 17
“I’m here.”
She lifts her face.
Rain clings to her eyelashes. Her lips are pale from the cold, and a streak of mud crosses one cheek. She has never looked more beautiful.
“You found me,” she whispers.
“Always.” The word escapes before I can stop it.
Her expression changes. For one suspended second, the forest disappears.
I want to kiss her. The desire hits with enough force to frighten me. I want to cover her cold mouth with mine and pour three years of silence into her. I want to carry her back to my bed and show her every reason I had to run.
Instead I place her feet on the floor. I kidnapped her to save her… not to force her into my demented obsession.
“Mrs. McCrae doesn’t live this way,” I add, trying to add levity to the situation.
“How far did I get?”
“Two miles.”
Her shoulders droop. “That’s all?”
“In the wrong direction.”
She looks into the darkness surrounding us. The anger leaves her face, revealing the fear beneath it.
“I really was lost.”
“Yes.”
“I kept trying to find the road, but everything looked the same. Then my flashlight started dying.”
“I know.”
“And every time something moved, I thought it was one of those men.”
Her voice trembles again. I straighten and step closer.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
She gives a brittle laugh. “You tried to tie me to your bed.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
Her eyes search mine. The apology costs me nothing compared to the thought of what could have happened to her.
“I was afraid you’d run,” I continue. “I was right.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No.”
“You still kidnapped me.”
“Yes.”
The walk back is slower. I could move faster, even in the storm, but Sophie is cold and her ankle needs to remain stable. Every few minutes, her grip tightens when I step over a log or cross a patch of uneven ground.
