The Getaway Bride

She didn’t make it to the door.

Gabe had played a little football in high school. The old moves came back to him as though by instinct when he took her down in a flying tackle. She hit the wood floor with an “oomph,” but didn’t waste time regaining her breath before she began to struggle.

Kneeling to straddle her, Gabe caught her flailing hands and pinned her to the floor. He was mad enough that he had to make an effort not to hurt her. He would have liked nothing more at that moment than to turn her over his knee. Unfortunately, she would probably bite him in a particularly sensitive area if he tried it

“Let me go,” she cried, struggling furiously beneath him. “Don’t you understand that I hate you for doing this to me? I don’t love you—I don’t love anyone. I don’t need anyone. I only want to be left alone. Why won’t you go away and leave me alone?”

There was an edge of hysteria to her voice. Gabe listened to that, rather than to her fierce words.

With every moment he spent with her, he became more convinced that she was in serious trouble. And regardless of whatever she felt about him now—and whatever he felt for her—he found that he couldn’t just let her go.

“Face it, Page. I’m not giving up,” he told her, leaning to hold his face very close to hers. “There hasn’t been one day since you left me that I haven’t searched for you. Do you really think that now that I’ve found you, I’m just going to let you brush me off with a crock of lies?”

She’d finally gone still, staring up at him with a mixture of anger and desperation. “You can’t hold me here forever.”

“Once I’ve gotten my answers, you can have me arrested again,” he advised, suddenly weary. “This time you’ll have cause. Charge me with whatever you like. Jail couldn’t be any worse than the hell you’ve already put me through.”

Her eyes were unnaturally bright, though he didn’t see any tears. “It would have been better if we’d never met,” she whispered.

Better for her? Or for him? She hadn’t specified, and Gabe didn’t want to think about it. He had to focus all his energy on the present, on getting the truth out of Page somehow. Something told him it was going to take all his patience and willpower.

“Let me up, Gabe,” she said.

He looked at her suspiciously.

She shook her head against the floor. “I won’t try to run again. Not yet, anyway,” she added candidly. “I haven’t eaten since sometime yesterday and I’m still groggy from whatever it was Blake shot me up with. I know I can’t get away now.”

Gabe was almost amused at her implied warning that she would run again, once she had her strength back.

He was still crouched over her, her wrists in his hands, her face inches from his own. He became suddenly aware of the intimacy of their position.

The memories threatened to swamp him, making his body respond. He pushed the emotions ruthlessly aside as he released her more quickly than he’d in . tended, springing to his feet and backing away from her.

He’d be damned if he’d let his long-deprived body embarrass him in front of her now, when he had the upper hand for the first time—at least temporarily.

“Come into the kitchen,” he said gruffly. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

She stood slowly. He didn’t trust himself to offer her a hand. He motioned for her to lead the way out of the bedroom. He was making it clear that he had no intention of turning his back to her.

She glared at him, but turned and stalked to the door. He followed, staying very close, but he was careful not to touch her again.

THE CABIN was an old hunting and fishing retreat a few miles from Table Rock Lake. It hadn’t yet been opened for the season, so the windows were still boarded and the furnishings were sparse. While waiting for Blake to arrive with Page, Gabe had made a halfhearted attempt to wipe away some of the dust, but the place could still use a good cleaning and airing.

He hoped they wouldn’t be here long enough for that to matter.

Gabe hadn’t asked how Blake had found the cabin, nor exactly how he’d managed to get Page here, other than to reassure himself that she hadn’t been harmed. He had long since formed the impression that Blake was a good man to have on his side, but would make a formidable enemy.

Gabe wasn’t even sure he wanted to know where Blake had developed the skills he’d needed to kidnap Page so competently.

Blake had somehow arranged for the kitchen to be stocked with minimal supplies. Ordering Page to sit at the table, Gabe opened the refrigerator, keeping one wary eye on her. He was relieved when she sat quietly, without appearing to look for a way out.

It was nice while it lasted, he thought wryly, piling food on the counter. He didn’t expect her cooperation to last long.

He took a skillet out of a cabinet, and set it on the gas stove. He found a wood-handled knife in a drawer with some mismatched flatware. He used the knife to chop an onion, finding the blade sharper than he’d expected.

The only meat he could find was sliced for sandwiches. He frowned, then started cutting baked ham into cubes, deciding it would do. He didn’t have a shredder, so he cut cheese into cubes, as well. He was beating eggs in a bowl when it suddenly occurred to him what he was making. An omelet.