close my eyes.
Why must she be such a reasonable, positive little pixie?
I squeeze her hands.
“No, I don’t,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever I have to do. Or not do.”
I’m about to ask for one last shag when Anna says firmly, “From here on out, no kissing, no holding hands or touching until this is all over. No doing anything that could look suspicious.”
Her eyebrows go up and I reluctantly nod, then let her hands slide from mine. I am secretly not in agreement, though I understand her caution. When did Anna become the cautious one when it comes to being caught?
This blows.
I take care of Father’s death rubbish later in the morning—funeral home, Realtor, and lawyer. It’s not hard to feign mourning, being as I’ve been sworn off sex. I sign loads of papers and nod, frowning, as people pat my back and shake my hand, and say they’re sorry for my loss.
If only that arsehole were truly dead.
I take Father’s urn and all the paperwork, and leave the lawyer’s office, grumpy as ever.
The plan is to call Father and tell him I’ve captured Anna, but every time I think about it I want to be sick.
Anna is ready. Her father is ready. The other Neph are at the ready. I’m the only one who’s not bloody ready. But I tell myself I’ll keep playing along until it gets to be too real. Then I’ll call it off and take us into hiding. I’ll force her. I’m bigger than her.
It’s after one in the afternoon when we get to my old house. Whisperers are still out searching for Anna, and I figure they won’t bother looking there. I walk her down to my old room and she glares at the bed like it’s a murder scene, probably imagining how it’s been worked. I should have taken her upstairs to use the shower, but the other bathrooms have been emptied. I clear my throat and give her a towel.
She goes in the bathroom and I turn on the stereo. I sit on the edge of the bed and lean my forehead against my hands as the music fills my ears. I hope it will drown out all my thoughts of what’s to come. Anna doesn’t take very long in the bathroom. When the water shuts off I switch off my stereo and look at my dresser. A dark thrill snakes across my skin as I eye the second drawer.
I have to make this “capture” of Anna look believable, don’t I?
I slide open the drawer and see the flash of silver in the corner—my high-grade handcuffs. I take them out and shut the door. I can hear Anna humming and I glance around for whisperers. How she can feel content enough to hum is beyond my understanding. Must be the angel blood. I sit back on the bed and turn the handcuffs over and over in my hands while Anna gets ready.
She opens the door and I slowly lift my eyes to her. She’s fresh and natural with her summery clothes and wet hair. She stares at the handcuffs with apprehension as I turn them over. That’s good. I want her to be scared.
“It’s not too late to run,” I say.
She stares a minute more, then whispers, “Yes, it is.”
She stays exactly where she is when I stand and move toward her. I watch her chest rise and fall a bit faster as I stand before her and slide the bag from her arm. I watch her face and she says nothing as I click the cuffs first around one wrist, and then the other. Her breathing is quicker now, and she’s right to be frightened. She’s mine and I will do what I want with her. That includes throwing her arse into a car and disappearing into the boonies of West Virginia. I hear it’s quite nice there.
I look down at her body and the severity of the metal holding her wrists together. The contrast is something beautiful.
“Damn.”
“What?” she whispers.
“You look amazing in handcuffs. And you’re officially my prisoner.”
I’m blasted with the warm scent of pears and freesia and I know that if I wanted to, I could make Anna take back that “no sex” rule.
“We can’t,” she says, reading my mind. But her words are breathy and unconvincing.
We most definitely can. And the low pain in my abdomen begs me to.
She fumbles for words, trying not to look in my eyes. “Remember, you told your father you don’t