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“No.”
“Soreness?”
“A little.”
“Do you want your wrists restrained again?”
“Yes.”
“Tied together or separately?”
“Separately.”
“Above your head or behind your back?”
“Above.”
His fingers move toward the gold ribbon. I close my hand around it. Callum’s gaze lifts.
“You don’t get this yet.”
“No?”
“You haven’t caught me.”
His head tilts.
“You locked yourself in a chapel with me.”
“I walked here.”
“Because I called you.”
“I could leave.”
“The door is locked.”
“You would open it.”
“Yes.”
The answer comes immediately. I place both palms on the altar.
“Then you haven’t caught me.”
Callum moves behind me. His hands close around my hips. My breath catches.
“What would count?” he asks.
I feel the hard line of his body against my back.
“Make me forget I can leave.”
The Scarecrow becomes silent. For several seconds, nothing moves except the candle flames. Then Callum bends until the rough fabric of his mask scrapes my cheek.
“Put your hands above your head.”
I smile.
