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“Hating you.”
He’s quiet for a long moment as rain runs down his face and soaks through his sweater. “Do you hate me?”
The honest answer is no. I should hate him. He kidnapped me, held me prisoner, and threatened my life. But what I feel is far more complicated and dangerous than hate. “I want to.”
“But you don’t.”
It’s not a question, and I don’t answer it. Instead, I let him guide me back to the SUV, help me into the passenger seat, and sit quietly while he turns up the heat until the warmth starts to penetrate the cold settled in my bones.
The drive back to the safehouse passes in silence. I stare out the window at the storm-lashed forest and try to figure out what happens now. He caught me and is bringing me back. The escapeattempt failed, which means I’m exactly where I started, except now he knows I’m capable of more than he thought.
The knowledge should terrify me, but instead, it feels almost like relief. No more pretending to be helpless. No more playing the victim and hoping he’ll take pity on me. We both know I’m a woman willing to risk everything for freedom.
The question is what he plans to do about it.
Back in my room, my prison, he locks the door and turns to face me. His dark hair is still damp from the rain, and his sweater clings to his chest in a way that makes it hard to concentrate on anything else.
“Give me the keycard.”
I reach into the pocket of his coat and pull out the stolen card, holding it out to him. Our fingers brush when he takes it, and the contact is like an electric shock.
“How long were you planning this?”
“Since I realized I was going to die here. If you believe I’m Irina, you’ll kill me. If you accept I’m Sabrina, you’ll still kill me as a loose end you have to address.”
He winces slightly but doesn’t address that. “And the pickpocketing?”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “Since you leaned close and I realized you were distracted. I’ve been looking for an opening, expecting it to come from the guard who brings my meals, not you.”
His mouth curves into something that might be a smile if there was any humor in it. “Distracted by what?”
I don’t answer. We both know what distracted him, just like we both know this conversation is heading somewhere dangerous.
“You could have killed yourself out there.”
I shrugged. “Better than waiting for you to do it.”
“I would never hurt you.”
The words come out quiet and fierce, and there’s something in his voice that makes me believe him despite everything. “You kidnapped me.”
“I thought you were someone else.”
I arch a brown. “And now?”
“Now, I know you’re exactly who you said you are.”
I stare at him, trying to process what that means. “So you’ll let me go?”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I can’t.”
I nod slowly. “Because I’ve seen too much.” He’ll either keep me alive as a prisoner, or he’ll have one of his men kill me if he truly can’t bring himself to do it.
“Because I don’t want to,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
The admission makes me blink and second-guess my confidence that I’m going to die here. He takes a step closer, and I should back away. I should put distance between us before this goes any farther. Instead, I stand my ground and watch something hungry and desperate flicker in his gray eyes. “This is insane.”
“Probably.”