Page 42 of Fixation
The way he looks at me is as multifaceted as my feelings for him.
He isn’t closed off. Concern wars with something unhinged inside him.
What’s going on here?
Biting the inside of my cheek is the best I can do to stop the tremors.
“You woke up.” His fingers are warm against my shoulder. He squeezes it like a decent physician would, and I could scream. “That’s a good sign. In a couple of days, you’ll be as good as new.”
Despite the fact that he’s still in his green scrubs, he’s the furthest thing from a real professional.
His arms aren’t what makes me think that. While I was out, he took off his undershirt. Now I see the intricate barbed wire ink that goes from his wrist and continues under his scrubs.
They’re just tattoos. He isn’t better or worse at his job for them.
What I’m talking about, trying to at least, is that I’m looking at my kidnapper.
Doctors are supposed to heal people.
Kidnapping a person isn’t helping.
Fear curls around my throat. Anger pounds against my temples.
I want out.
I want out.
I want out of here!
“Let me go.” I’m less loud, less adamant than I would’ve liked. Since monsters feed on fear, I clear my throat before he can get a word in. Lift my chin. “Let me go.”
“In a few days.” He runs his hand down my arm. Stops above my elbow. I almost mess it up. I almost lean into his warm, hard, yet soothing touch. “When you’re better. You need the rest.”
What I need is to wake up from this nightmare. “Why are you doing this to me?”
My kidnapper cocks his head.
He isn’t perplexed about my question. He’s threatening me.
“You mean, why am I helping you?” he finally asks.
My soul orders me to stand up to him.
My body has other plans. I cower into the bed, away from him. By an inch. That’s as far as my restraints allow.
As far asheallows.
“This isn’t helping me.” I snap my chattering teeth shut. My fever and the fear of him conspire against me, dammit.
His eyes flash.
He’s caught me trying to hide how scared I am, and he’s getting off on it.
I don’t get off on his touch. On the barely contained lust in his expression.
Not me.
Not the rational part of me, anyway.
