Page 143 of Lust & Lies

I tried to back away from her, but my legs gave out. My head felt too heavy. So did my eyes. And then, everything was tilting. I was falling, and no one tried to catch me. I hit the ground hard seconds before everything went black.

When I woke up, I was in a car. My head was pounding, my neck still stinging. The man and the woman were seated in the front seats. They were whispering, their voices muffled as if underwater.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even stay awake. Darkness crept over me again, pulling me under. This time when I woke up, I was more alert. I remained silent, listening to them talk.

“My nose finally stopped bleeding,” the guy said.

“I’m sorry she hit you. We should’ve just drugged her to begin with instead of trying to talk to her.”

“Ellie, she’s been out for a while. Should we pull over and check on her back there?” the guy asked.

“No. The drug should keep her out until we make it to our destination. When she wakes up, I’ll explain to her again what’s going on and what’s at stake.”

“Do you think she’ll believe you?”

“No.” The woman sighed. “I may wait until next week to tell her everything via a phone call. You saw how she yelled at me earlier. If you hadn’t drugged her, we never would’ve gotten her in the car. And Aiden would’ve blamed us for not delivering her to him.”

The guy started to say more, but went silent when bright lights blinded us in the dead of night as a car barreled toward ours. The car slammed into us. Our car swerved as the woman screamed, and the man’s arm shot out to protect her.

The memory faded just as quickly as it came, leaving me with so many questions. I tried rereading that scene in the book again, hoping that doing so would bring the memory back or at least let me finish it. It didn’t. But one thing was clear: Aiden had sent people to bring me to him.

And those people had to drug me to get me in the car. That was proof that I hadn’t wanted to go to him. Yet, here I was. With him. Kidnapped. I sighed as I walked upstairs, holding my bowl of fruit in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.

I moved quietly, hoping Aiden didn’t come out of his office and see me. I was almost to my door when his office door openedand he stepped out. I froze. So did he, gaze landing on me. He looked like hell.

His eyes were barely open, his shoulders slumped, his arms limp at his sides. I stiffened, clutching the water bottle tighter when he stepped toward me. He was moving like a zombie or something.

Maybe he wasn’t coming toward me. Maybe he was heading to his bedroom because he looked like he needed some rest. I moved out of his way, pressing my back to the wall, hoping he’d continue past me.

He didn’t. He turned my way. I stepped left. He followed. With my back against the wall, I stared up at him, wondering what he was about to do. He lowered his face toward mine, inching closer.

Was his kidnapper ass really about to try to kiss me? I was surprised when he simply leaned in until his forehead rested against mine. And that was it, he stayed that way, forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“I love you,” he whispered after a few seconds had passed.

My throat tightened, but I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. He inhaled deeply, breathing me in like he needed me to survive. Like I was his oxygen. And damn it, I felt the same way. I wanted to hold him close, to tell him everything would be alright.

But I couldn’t bring myself to do so. I was not Noelle Park. I was not his wife. I was not supposed to be here. I needed to get away from this man.

“Aiden, did you need something?” I asked.

“You,” he whispered.

I never should’ve asked that question.

“It’s late. I’m going to eat my snack and go to sleep,” I told him.

“In the morning, I want to talk to you over breakfast,” he whispered, eyes still closed.

“Okay.” I stood there, waiting for him to move. He didn’t. “Go to bed, Aiden. You look like you’re about to pass out. Go to sleep.”

He gave me a slow nod and turned to leave. He barely made it a few steps before he stumbled.Shit. I placed my items on the floor and rushed over, catching him before he hit the wall. He leaned against me without a word, one arm slung over my shoulder.

I should’ve let his ass fall to the floor. But I couldn’t. I helped him down the hall to the guest room. He kicked off his slippers the second we got inside. I guided him to the bed and helped him lie down.

“Make sure you shower in the morning,” I told him. “You’re too tired to do it tonight.”

And I refused to help him bathe. He grunted, barely awake as I pulled the covers over him. I tucked him in, then stood there, staring at him, taking in his weary state. I wanted to hate him. I really did. But no matter how angry I got, I couldn’t hate this man.