watch where he went. But the whole point of this cooperative captive thing was to convince him it was safe to let down his guard.
She heard the scrape of wood against wood, and then Hunter’s big, warm hand flattened against her spine, sending shock waves rippling through her flesh. Clenching her jaw to control her body’s helpless reaction, she turned and found him eyeing her, his expression wary. He gestured with his free hand toward the ladder-back kitchen chair he’d retrieved for her. “Sit down. Let me take a better look at your feet.”
She sat as he asked, curling her fingers around the edge of the chair seat when he picked up one foot and propped it on his knee.
“May I?” He met her narrowed gaze before nodding toward her foot.
She nodded briskly, and he untied her shoelaces, easing the sneaker from her foot. Her feet had definitely swelled a bit, if the painfully tight fit of the shoe was anything to go by. The socks he’d provided were stained in places, sticking to her foot here and there where blood had dried. But she barely felt any pain, her nerve endings focused entirely on the light rasp of his work-roughened fingers against her bare skin.
He winced a little as he tugged the fabric away from a particularly large scrape. “Sorry.”
She took the chance to tug her feet away. “I can take it from here.”
He left the front room, disappearing somewhere into the darkened back of the cabin and returning a short time later with a wet washcloth. He handed it over, and she gasped a little at the coldness of the water.
“Sorry. It takes a bit for the water heater to kick in, and I didn’t want to make you wait. Warm it a minute in front of the heater if it’s too cold.”
She didn’t wait, welcoming the sharp bite of the cold cloth on her skin as a necessary distraction from her body’s troubling response to his touch. The last thing she needed to do was get sucked into some stupid Stockholm-syndrome crush on the man who was, for all intents and purposes, her captor.
No matter how sexy he looked when he watched her with those smoldering green eyes.
He passed her a tube of antibiotic ointment when she’d finished washing the scrapes and cuts on her feet. “Want me to make sure you got all the dirt out of those wounds?”
She shook her head quickly and took the ointment. “I’m good.” She slathered the ointment over the abrasions, rebandaged her feet and took the clean pair of socks he offered. “Thanks.”
He settled back on his haunches, looking up at her through narrowed eyes the color of the Atlantic in winter, somewhere between green and gray. “I know you’re scared,” he said in a low, gravelly tone that scattered goose bumps along her arms. “I won’t let anyone find you here. I promise.”
Pretend you trust him. Get him to drop his guard.
She forced a smile. “Thank you.”
He gazed at her for a long, unnerving moment before his lips curved at the corners and those incongruous dimples appeared in his lean, hard face. “I’ll go get the heater in the bedroom cranked up so you’ll be nice and toasty. Sit here a while longer and thaw out.”
She watched him until he disappeared through the door that led somewhere in the back of the small cabin. Releasing a gusty breath, she looked into the glowing wires of the heater and willed her trembling limbs to stillness. She wanted to believe him, she realized with alarm. She wanted the warmth and kindness she’d heard in his voice to be real.
But it couldn’t be. Even if he was telling her the truth, he had his own agenda and it had nothing to do with her. She’d be a fool to trust her life to him or anyone else.
If she’d learned anything in the last twelve years, it was that the only person she could depend on was herself.
* * *
S HE WAS GOING to run again. Hunter didn’t think it would be tonight, not after her close call in the woods. She might even bide her time here for a day or two, let her battered feet mend a
She heard the scrape of wood against wood, and then Hunter’s big, warm hand flattened against her spine, sending shock waves rippling through her flesh. Clenching her jaw to control her body’s helpless reaction, she turned and found him eyeing her, his expression wary. He gestured with his free hand toward the ladder-back kitchen chair he’d retrieved for her. “Sit down. Let me take a better look at your feet.”
She sat as he asked, curling her fingers around the edge of the chair seat when he picked up one foot and propped it on his knee.
“May I?” He met her narrowed gaze before nodding toward her foot.
She nodded briskly, and he untied her shoelaces, easing the sneaker from her foot. Her feet had definitely swelled a bit, if the painfully tight fit of the shoe was anything to go by. The socks he’d provided were stained in places, sticking to her foot here and there where blood had dried. But she barely felt any pain, her nerve endings focused entirely on the light rasp of his work-roughened fingers against her bare skin.
He winced a little as he tugged the fabric away from a particularly large scrape. “Sorry.”
She took the chance to tug her feet away. “I can take it from here.”
He left the front room, disappearing somewhere into the darkened back of the cabin and returning a short time later with a wet washcloth. He handed it over, and she gasped a little at the coldness of the water.
“Sorry. It takes a bit for the water heater to kick in, and I didn’t want to make you wait. Warm it a minute in front of the heater if it’s too cold.”
She didn’t wait, welcoming the sharp bite of the cold cloth on her skin as a necessary distraction from her body’s troubling response to his touch. The last thing she needed to do was get sucked into some stupid Stockholm-syndrome crush on the man who was, for all intents and purposes, her captor.
No matter how sexy he looked when he watched her with those smoldering green eyes.
He passed her a tube of antibiotic ointment when she’d finished washing the scrapes and cuts on her feet. “Want me to make sure you got all the dirt out of those wounds?”
She shook her head quickly and took the ointment. “I’m good.” She slathered the ointment over the abrasions, rebandaged her feet and took the clean pair of socks he offered. “Thanks.”
He settled back on his haunches, looking up at her through narrowed eyes the color of the Atlantic in winter, somewhere between green and gray. “I know you’re scared,” he said in a low, gravelly tone that scattered goose bumps along her arms. “I won’t let anyone find you here. I promise.”
Pretend you trust him. Get him to drop his guard.
She forced a smile. “Thank you.”
He gazed at her for a long, unnerving moment before his lips curved at the corners and those incongruous dimples appeared in his lean, hard face. “I’ll go get the heater in the bedroom cranked up so you’ll be nice and toasty. Sit here a while longer and thaw out.”
She watched him until he disappeared through the door that led somewhere in the back of the small cabin. Releasing a gusty breath, she looked into the glowing wires of the heater and willed her trembling limbs to stillness. She wanted to believe him, she realized with alarm. She wanted the warmth and kindness she’d heard in his voice to be real.
But it couldn’t be. Even if he was telling her the truth, he had his own agenda and it had nothing to do with her. She’d be a fool to trust her life to him or anyone else.
If she’d learned anything in the last twelve years, it was that the only person she could depend on was herself.
* * *
S HE WAS GOING to run again. Hunter didn’t think it would be tonight, not after her close call in the woods. She might even bide her time here for a day or two, let her battered feet mend a
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