“Sometimes there is, and sometimes there isn’t,” he says, tearing his gaze from mine and stepping past me to pick up the dead snake.
“Noooo,” I groan, even as my stomach aches with hunger. The breakfast buffet this morning seems very, very long ago. He slings the snake around his neck, and I grimace.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He walks toward me and takes me by the hand to help me up the steep bank.
I look longingly over my shoulder at the beach. “Can we explore the beach a bit? It would be better than walking through these woods.”
I wince when my tender foot comes in contact with the rough branches. Without asking me, he bends, lifts me in his arms, and effortlessly walks while holding me. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck. I’ve never been carried by a man. I feel his muscles flex around me. He’s warm and strong, and I feel weightless in his arms.
I like this.
“No,” he says with determination. “It’s too dangerous until we know where Will is. We’re too exposed down there.”
I don’t fight him. I let him carry me. And maybe that’s the catch. This is still my choice. Even when he dominated me on the bank, that was my choice, and I loved every second.
“Not so crazy about being the helpless female,” I mutter.
“That’s too bad,” he counters, his voice deep and husky. I look up at him, but he doesn’t make eye contact, he’s so intent on making sure we’re getting back to safety. If I believed in things like werewolves, I’d think I was being carried by one, and it’s not just because of his long, ragged hair and beard, or the thick snake draped around his neck like a scarf. I shudder and look away from it. There’s more to it than that. There’s a certain ferocity in the way his eyes roam about the forest. Sometimes when he speaks his voice is rough and raspy like he’s half-growling, and the way he killed that snake…
I swallow.
He’s a man, not a beast.
Is he both?
His lips twitch. “I, on the other hand, quite like you being the helpless female.”
And just like that I’m turned on again and more than a little irritated about it. I’m no helpless female.
“Is that right?” I can’t keep the ire out of my voice. “I just arrived here. Give me some time—”
But then I stop speaking when I realize what I’m saying. I’m not taking it for granted that I’m going to be here a while. I don’t want to be. I want to be home, back with my brother, back to my job and my home, the little piece of heaven I built for myself.
And yet, when he looks down at me, and his full lips quirk up at the edges, my heart does a little flutter in my chest. He leans down and brushes his lips to mine. I stop breathing.
“You’ve got no one here to prove anything to, Harper,” he says and then, with a shrug, his lips tipped up and eyes twinkling, he brings his mouth to my ear. “No one to come save you. No one to hear you if you scream.” I shiver, and my pulse ratchets harder. Even though he looks a bit playful, the rough sound of his voice in my ear affects me. “I own you now, Harper.”
I feel my cheeks heat, and a full body tingle shivers down my body.
I should protest, but I don’t trust myself to speak.
I own you now.
The way he says that makes my heartbeat thud.
No one owns me.
But there’s something about being alone with him that makes me wish it were so.
I toss my head back, which doesn’t have quite the dramatic effect I’m aiming for since he’s holding me to his chest, and I tip my chin in the air.
“You don’t own me, sir,” I say with as much haughty dignity as I can muster. My voice sounds high and squeaky. I’m trying to play off being teasingly serious, but I only end up sounding like a child play-acting.
He sobers, his lips thinning and his grip on me tightening. “We’ll see about that, now, won’t we?”
Is he serious? Is this some wild man form of flirtation?
Though I like being held by him, I can’t help but try to fight this.
“Put me down, Cy.” I push against his wall of a chest.
His jaw clenches. “No.” He isn’t even winded.
“Yes,” I counter lamely as he steps over a large, fallen log.
“Talk back again and you’ll find yourself over my knee.”
“Excuse me?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You heard me.”
Why does the threat of a spanking make my heart race even faster? I crave his domination and control so hard it scares me a little.
I decide to push it a little. What if he does spank me? I’ll live. And I want to know what it’s like. So with my heart racing, and my palms all sweaty, I put on a brave face and clear my throat.