The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner Page 0,22

able to get that car out of here anyway.”

He looked at her for a long time, and she could see that he was making up his mind about something.

Finally, he spoke. “You can sleep in one of the guest rooms,” he said, and then headed out of the living room toward the kitchen.

Chapter 8

Francesca stood rooted to the spot for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then she turned and hurried after him.

He was standing in front of the refrigerator, staring at his food.

“Mr. Lindström,” she said.

“Viggo.”

She shook her head. “I’d prefer to keep things professional.”

“Whatever. Do whatever you want.”

“Mr. Lindström, how long do these lockdowns usually last?” she asked.

He shrugged. “No telling. Could be hours. Could be days. Won’t let up until tomorrow at the very least. You need the sun to melt the snow.” He pulled out a wedge of white cheese, took it to the cutting board on the island, and began to cut off some slices. “Have some, if you want,” he said, taking a bite for himself.

“I’m not hungry,” she lied.

He chuckled. “All right. But would you mind picking up the apple core you dropped in my living room? That carpet is expensive.”

Francesca flushed—she had forgotten all about the apple core in the excitement that had followed—and hurried back into the living room. She returned to the kitchen, core in hand.

“Garbage?” she asked.

He pointed to a silver canister tucked into the corner. Francesca went over and threw the core away.

“Eat some cheese,” Lindström said. “I’ll feel like a bad host if you don’t.” The corners of his mouth twitched.

“I’m glad you find all this funny,” Francesca said. Still, she couldn’t deny that she was hungry, and she went over and took a few slices of the cheese.

“Should we have some wine?” Lindström asked.

“No.” She squinted at him. “I think you’re drunk already.”

“Maybe a little,” he said.

“Where were you before you were here?”

“Pub.”

“Figures.”

“Meaning what?” His eyes darkened.

Francesca felt suddenly, viscerally aware of the fact that she was locked down with a man who was much bigger than she was. A man she didn’t know. A man who had been accused of a terrible crime.

Her hand went automatically to her gun, though she didn’t draw it.

Lindström’s gaze tracked her movement. “You’re going to have to put that away while you’re staying with me,” he said. “I can’t have you carrying a loaded gun around my house.”

No chance. She held her hand still, ready to act if she had to.

“When you said it figured that I would be at the pub,” Lindström said slowly, “what did you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Never mind.”

“You meant that I had killed someone when I was drunk. In a hit-and-run,” he said. “You meant that I’m the kind of man to drink and be irresponsible.”

She saw no point in denying it. He had her. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what I meant.”

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.

“I’m going to bed,” he said. “You can take any of the five guest rooms. I don’t care.”

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Five guest rooms? I only saw one when I searched the house.”

“Of course you searched the house,” he muttered. “The other four are on the third floor. I assume you didn’t go up there?”

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “I didn’t know there was a third floor.”

She should have known, though. Just looking at this place from the outside should have been enough to make clear to her that she hadn’t seen the whole of it yet.

Lindström led the way upstairs. On the second-floor landing, he opened a small door that Francesca had taken for a closet. She saw a narrow column of stairs made of neat blond wood leading up to a third floor she had overlooked entirely.

“Okay,” she said and then hesitated. “Thank you.”

He shook his head. “Don’t thank me,” he said enigmatically and turned toward the master bedroom. He let himself in and closed the door firmly behind him.

Francesca bit her lip, frowning at the peach-colored guest room she had explored earlier. It had appealed to her, but suddenly it seemed very close to Lindström’s own room. Though it went against her instincts to put her adversary between herself and the exit, the fact of the matter was that neither of them was going anywhere for a while anyway.

A little distance would be a good thing.

She went up the stairs, pulling the little door closed behind her. Almost at once, she felt herself begin to relax at the