Page 48 of Property of Rattler

Last night, we’d kissed. He started it, and I responded without thinking. A sudden impulse, which I wondered whether I’d soon regret, worrying he might believe I was offering something I was not yet ready to give. But while I knew he had sexual needs—I’d been so embarrassed when I’d picked up his clothes and the evidence of his release had been all over them—he hadn’t pressured me for anything else. He hadn’t even moved his hands to anywhere I’d deem inappropriate.

He knows I’m a virgin, of course, I’d virtually spelled it out to him back in that store cupboard. I wasn’t totally inexperienced, but last night I’d learned I’d been kissing boys, not a red-blooded man. I’d never been kissed so sensuously before. I never understood how the innocent touching of lips could make my toes curl, and the very core of me throb.

I’m scared of my body’s response to him, concerned about giving him something society taught was prized and precious, worried that it was just the circumstances, and not a real attraction between us. He’s a handsome man. Christ, at night I replay seeing him as I had that day in just his underwear. He had the famed six-pack and a V leading to a nirvana I could only dream of. He’s started stirring feelings inside that I’d only ever read about.

If he’d pushed, if he’d attempted to take more, I might have given in.

But he hadn’t. He’d shown a respect for me that I wouldn’t have expected. And that, surprisingly, had made me wish he’d take things further to do something to assuage the rising urges I could feel within me. Too naïve, though, I hadn’t been able to ask for what I wanted.

When we’d finally pulled apart, he’d left a parting peck on my lips and had totally ruined the mood by asking, “Do you want to use the bathroom first?”

Maybe if I’d been more seasoned, I’d have replied by asking whether he was fucking joking. But as I’m not, I just stuttered a single word, “Yes.”

Taking my flashlight, I went to the bathroom and returned. As he’d gotten into the habit of doing, he’d moved the seat cushions and made his bed on the floor. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him whether he’d prefer to share mine instead. But those words went unsaid. Instead, I’d waggled my hand at himin an embarrassing wave, and then I’d gone to climb the ladder-like steps that took me up to my bed.

He’d awoken my body and had left me frustrated. At that moment I’d regretted leaving so many things behind when I’d run, and not least, my trusty vibrator. I’d used my fingers, a poor substitute. But at least I’d gotten myself off.

My sleep wasn’t dreamless. He’s haunted me throughout the night, that kiss replaying on repeat in my mind. Stockholm Syndrome, I’d had to remind myself, when I woke in the morning. If we were anywhere else, I probably wouldn’t look at him twice. I’m lying. I’d found him attractive from the start, for a whole two seconds until he’d opened his mouth.

It’s not all one-sided. I’ve noticed a softening toward me from him. The proof being he wouldn’t have initiated that kiss if he still hated being trapped here with me. That thought pulls me up. Who exactly is being held captive? I’m only here because I need protection from my brother. Flynn? Well, he’s here because he was ordered to be.

I twirl the wedding band I still wear around my finger. I didn’t have to keep it on. The marriage license and the record, in whatever court register it’s been entered into serves its own purpose, letting Malachi know he’s running out of time and forcing him to make a move to find me.

For the first time, I realise the threat to Flynn if my brother finds me. Even though the terms of the will mean that if it’s a childless marriage, and he has no reason to hurt Flynn, he’d do it out of spite toward me. Then that sends my thoughts shooting in a different direction. If Flynn and I made a baby, I’d receive my inheritance immediately.

I tense.Could Flynn have kissed me to soften me up?Is it possible he wants his money sooner rather than later?

A leopard doesn’t change its spots that fast. Two, three weeks ago—that’s how long we’ve been at the cabin—he’d hated me.Perhaps he still does now. Could this biker really have come up with a plan to get me pregnant? As far as he and his club are concerned, that would solve everything. And me? Would Malachi accept that he was beat? As soon as my money was in my hands, I could write my own will. I could leave it to anyone, a damn animal charity, just to keep it away from him. Or would he still come after me simply because he hates me?

I decide I need to be wary and resist whatever charm offensive Flynn is on.

Resisting him proves more difficult than I had anticipated. When I’d gotten dressed and ventured down those death-defying stairs, he was already up and dressed, the cushions that formed his bed on the floor already put away.

“Morning,” he greets me. “You wanna go get your shower while I rustle up some breakfast?”

My eyes immediately narrow. “You don’t cook.”

He shrugs. “I just haven’t up to now. Never said I couldn’t.”

Do I go with it, or look this gift horse in the mouth? My earlier thoughts remind me I have to be careful. But it would be fantastic not to cook for once. What’s the worst that could happen? He’s hardly likely to deliberately poison me. He wouldn’t risk killing the fatted cow.

Against my better judgement, I accept.

After I’ve returned from my shower and have towel-dried my hair, I enter the cabin to the tantalising smell of bacon, unfortunately tinged by the odour of burning.

“What the fuck?” I rush in, seeing him smother a frying pan with a wet towel.

He turns around sheepishly. “Was trying to fry sausage links, think they got a bit overdone.”

Flames extinguished now, I use tongs to prise off the ruined cloth. “You think?” I prod at the inedible links of charcoal.

“I did bacon, though, it’s in the oven keeping warm. And there are eggs.” He points to another pan. I lift the lid, unable to hold my grimace. The eggs have been cooking for so long, they look like rubber. The wooden spoon bounces back as I prod at them.

He leans over my shoulder to look at what he’s achieved. “Oh fuck.”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.

His face crumbles. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”