A gunshot seemed to echo in her ears even as Jacqueline jerked awake. A gasp tore from her lips, and she grabbed for the—
The silk sheets around her? Yes, black silk sheets covered the enormous bed. A bed that didnotbelong to her.
Her breath sawed in and out even as the last vestiges of the nightmare left her. Jacqueline sat up, slowly, and took stock of her situation. She was still in the white dress. An exceedingly dirty dress because of her frantic run through the woods, but the white still stuck out in sharp contrast to the dark bedding.Hisbedding? The man from the bar. The stranger with the too-handsome-to-be-real features. Movie-star perfect in the middle of nowhere. Thick, lustrous hair that had tumbled over his forehead and a devil-may-care grin that had made her heart race even as she silently prayed…
Please, please help me.
And he had. Jacqueline slid her legs to the side of the bed and grimaced when she got a look at her feet. She’d gotten his bed all dirty and felt bad about that. Though she tried to pull up the memory, she didn’t even recall coming into the bedroom. But they must have walked in there together after they’d arrived…Wait, where am I?
Her gaze darted around. Gleaming, wooden walls. Big windows that were covered by rather sheer curtains. Heavy furniture. No pictures. No real hint of softness in the room except for those curtains and…
Her eyes fell on the screwdriver that rested on the nightstand. Jacqueline vaguely remembered clutching tightly to that screwdriver and crouching in the floorboard of Remy’s truck. She’d been utterly terrified because he’d stopped the truck, and someone had been in front of them. She’d feared Remy would turn her over to the guy. After all, whywouldn’tRemy give her up? Not like he knew her. Not like he understood why she was running. For all he knew, she was some sort of terrible criminal who was being hunted for her crimes.
But Remy hadn’t betrayed her. He’d gotten her out of there.
And she couldn’t really remember much else. Once more, she surveyed her surroundings. She spied a bathroom and scampered inside. Surely, he wouldn’t mind if she borrowed his toothpaste, would he? After she washed her hands, she put a bit of toothpaste on the tip of one finger to clean off her teeth and when she was done…
Jacqueline couldn’t help it. She used more of his soap and one of his white, fluffy towels to clean off her mud-covered feet. She was still stuck in the mud-spattered and torn dress, but she was better. Definitely better. Squaring her shoulders, she exited the bathroom. Then the bedroom. A few moments later, she found herself standing at the top of the stairs, and again, she had zero memory of climbing those stairs. Her hand curled around the banister as she began to tentatively creep down the steps. “Remy?”
No answer, but she could hear something. Sounded like…pounding? Vibrations? Her steps were a little faster as she hurried down and, as she descended, the pounding grewstronger. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she didn’t turn toward the den and its truly massive fireplace. Instead, Jacqueline spun for the right. She followed the pounding that was starting to almost feel like a throb that vibrated through the cabin. She slipped through a kitchen. Went past high-end appliances and, as she drew closer to the source of the sound, Jacqueline realized that she was following the hard, pounding beat of rock music.
The trail led her to a closed, red door. Her hand lifted, and her knuckles knocked lightly against the door. “Um, Remy?”
Nothing.
She knocked again. A little harder and louder. “Remy?” She needed to talk to him. To come up with some sort of plan. To see if maybe—hopefully, magically—he had a pair of women’s shoes somewhere in the cabin that she could borrow.
But he didn’t answer her.
Her fingers curled around the doorknob. When she twisted, Jacqueline realized it was unlocked. She opened the door a few inches so she could peek inside. “Remy?” Even louder. “Remy, are you—”
Naked from the waist up.Showing off a truly fabulous chest and rippling abs as the music blared around him. Specks of what appeared to be black and green paint dotted his powerful arms, and he gripped a long paintbrush in one hand as he stared with complete and total focus down at the canvas in front of him.
She stepped forward, and the floor beneath her gave a long creak. The sound could not have been louder than her knocks at the door or her calls of his name, but for some reason, that creak had his head snapping up, and his dark, deep chocolate eyes locked on her.
All the moisture seemed to leave her mouth.
She had been desperate the night before. So very afraid. She’d been aware of the fact that he was ridiculously handsome, but in the light of day, Jacqueline had thought that maybe she’d imagined some of that perfection. By the time she’d seen him in the bar, adrenaline had been the only thing keeping her going.
Nope. Did not imagine how hot he is.Remy was absolutely gorgeous. Probably not what she should be focusing on considering the nightmare of her life but…
He was.
“Ah.” Remy smiled and flashed his perfectly straight, white teeth at her. “You and your screwdriver are inseparable again. Nice to see that some things haven’t changed.”
Jacqueline looked down and was vaguely surprised to see that she gripped the screwdriver in her left hand.
“You’re not here to try and do wicked harm to me, are you?” He didn’t seem particularly concerned as he put his paintbrush in a white cup. He stepped away from the table and the canvas and strolled toward her. On his stroll, he paused to turn off the music.
The silence that followed felt deafening.
Too good-looking. Too muscled.Her head shook in anomotion because she needed to respond to him. It certainly wouldn’t be good form to attack her hero. Jacqueline slapped the screwdriver down on a nearby shelf. “J-just bringing it back to you.” Because it was his. The whole place was his. Her gaze whipped around, and she realized that she was standing in an art studio. Canvases were everywhere. They peeked from beneath heavy cloths that had been draped on top of them. The room smelled of paint, and she could see dozens of paint tubes and containers on other shelves. The sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the right, sending in what had to beincredible light for an artist. And that was clearly what the man stalking toward her was. An artist.
He stopped about a foot away. Crossed his arms over his powerful chest. His paint-spattered jeans hung low on his hips. “You have adorable feet.”
Her head snapped down to look at her ever-so-average feet.
“Not that I have a foot fetish or anything.”