I gulp as Liam shovels the veggies into his mouth. The mere sight of food makes me want to steal the fork right out of his hand.
My stomach growls. Loudly. And his hand stops midway through the air while the fork was on its way to his mouth.
His eyes connect with mine.
Shit.
He definitely heard.
My cheeks turn red as a beet again.
“I won’t ask again,” he says. “Eat.”
I mull it over for a second, grinding my teeth before I reply, “Fine.”
And I sit down on the opposite side of the table while my eyes immediately investigate the area. There’s a bunch of tiny cupboards all around the kitchen and a closet in the middle of the room as well. Maybe he hid my phone in there somewhere.
“Where did you hide my phone?” I ask.
He snorts. “There’s no reception out here.”
I frown. Well, there goes my plan.
Might as well check out the rest of the cabin. The exit is to my right, only feet away, and the thought of making a run for it does cross my mind.
“Don’t even think about it.”
His ominous voice fills the room and brings chills to my spine.
“It’s locked,” he adds.
I fold my arms. “I’m just checking out the place. That’s all.”
He narrows his eyes at me, so I look away again and inspect the rest of his residence even though there isn’t much to look at. We’re confined to a very tiny cabin. I’d consider it a cute vacation home if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m being kept as a prisoner.
SCREEET!
The sound of his chair scooting back makes me hyperaware of his presence.
“I can grab you another plate,” he says, clutching the table with both hands, towering over it. Even without his grizzly beard, he still looks menacing … though this stubble does suit his face better. Not that it matters. “Would you like that?”
What kind of question is that?
I fold my arms. “Is this a new game?”
“What game?”
“Where you pretend you suddenly want to take care of me,” I reply.
“Why do you think I don’t want to take care of you?” His face is all serious. I can’t tell if he’s trying to trick me or if he’s being genuine.
When I don’t reply, he walks to the kitchen and grabs another plate, fork, and knife, making sure to keep an eye on me at all times. He returns and places it in front of me while I stare him down, wondering what his endgame is.
He knows I still want him dead, doesn’t he?
“You know this changes nothing between us, right?” I ask.
He quietly sits back down again and scoots the tray my way without saying a word, and it pisses me off so much I pick up my fork and knife and hold them as though I’m about to start a war.