Chapter Four

Kade

I don't think this is considered kidnapping, but I bet it goes in the same box since I've carried a woman into my home and have no plans on letting her go.

Fuck! What the hell am I doing?

"Are you seriously locking me in here?" She pouts her pretty red lips and stares up at me through long lashes. Why am I obsessing over what she'd feel like? What her lips would feel like on my cock. What her tight little virgin pussy would feel like stretched around me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I need help. I shake my head and stare at her. "Yes. You're here until I figure out this thing with your ex."

"I told you, he's harmless."

"He's not harmless. He's hurting you constantly. He even flew a thousand miles to hurt you again. That's not harmless."

She rolls her eyes. "I thought you didn't do feelings?"

I laugh. "I don't. I'm doing the decent human being thing."

" For sure. The kidnapping proves that."

"I'm helping you. You don't see it now, but I am. That asshole is back at your house waiting for you, I guarantee it. You want to deal with that tonight?"

She glances up at me and I watch a lump in her throat move as she swallows hard. "I need to talk to him. It's one conversation then we're done."

"He didn't fly all this way for one conversation. He wants to pressure you."

"And I won't let him."

"Just like you didn't let him back at the farm." I groan as I say, "You'd have taken his ring back if I weren't right there."

Her cheeks turn pink, and I wonder if I've said too much. "And maybe I would have. I know Wyatt. He has a good job, he works hard, he's smart, and he makes me laugh sometimes. He got cold feet. It happens to a lot of people."

"Wait." I narrow in on her and say, "He makes you laugh?" Now, I'm laughing. "He also makes you cry. You okay with that too?"

"I'm sensitive. Everyone makes me cry."

"Have I made you cry?"

"Not yet. but give it ten minutes and I'm sure you will."

I roll my shoulders back and pull out a dining room chair to set her in while I decide how the hell I'm going to get my point across. On one hand, I'd love for her to choose to stay. On the other, I'd love to tie her up and make her do what I know is best, what deep down, she knows is best.

"Why are you looking at me like a piece of meat?"

"I'm deciding if I need ropes."

"Ropes? You do realize I can probably sue you for this. You really want your tree farm to go down in history as the place where the weirdo loner kept all the girls he tied up?"

"There are no girls. There's only you."

"Wow, I feel so special," she says sarcastically. "What is it about me that sets me apart?"

"You're a smart ass for one."

"God! I'm being sarcastic, and I don't think being a bitch really sets me apart from other women. We're all bitches."

"No, you're unique. Your smart-ass comments come from a good place. You're being obstinate for the fun of it all. I like that. It's challenging."

Her shoulders relax and I swear her eyes warm a little. "Challenging? Wow, that's the adjective every woman hopes to be described as."

I ignore her comment and change the subject because clearly, that complement was a fail. "I made dinner. Eat some food with me, then we'll talk about when you're leaving."

She laughs. "I've got a shift tomorrow, so I assume I'm leaving by then."

I ignore her comment and spoon hot soup into a bowl before covering it with crushed crackers.

"You make soup, and you kidnap women? What else do you do with your time?" She bites back a grin as she spoons into the meal.

"You're lookin' at it. The farm takes up most of my time and this body doesn't recover from a hard day's work like it used to, so that recliner gets what's left of me."

She glances up from her bowl. "This isn't half bad. What is it?"

"Venison. It's something I made up."

Her lip curls and her brows narrow. "Like… a deer?"

I guess they don't eat deer in San Diego. "It's protein, and deer are abundant around here."

"So, you hunt?"

"I forget you're a city girl."

"I also love animals, so…"

"You can still love the deer." I bite into the stew, realizing now why I'm alone. I didn't think to ask her what she wanted for dinner. That would've been a smart choice. Maybe she doesn't eat meat. Maybe she would've rather eaten pasta or something more mainstream.

She doesn't respond, but her eyes are telling a story. A story that says she's irritated and frustrated with me, though I don't know why.

"Did I say something wrong?"

She shakes her head. "No. I just… I didn't know that about you. I'm learning a lot tonight."

"Does it bother you that I hunt?" I've never even thought of asking a woman that question before, mostly because I didn't care whether they liked it or not. It's what I do. It's a way of life for me.

She shakes her head. "Not a lot of that going on in San Diego, but my dad would take me out skeet shooting on Sundays. We never killed anything." She stares down at the table then up again. "Does it bother you… to take a life?"

"Yeah, I mean, I don't like it, but I like knowing where my food comes from. People disconnect themselves from grocery store meat. That cow still had to die to feed you, but for some reason the guy who eats it without blood on his hands is better." I brush my hand down over my beard. "I don't buy that. I use every part of the animal and honor its life."

She nods and sips her beer. "I never thought about it much. How often do you hunt?"

"A deer will last me about a month, so I go every three weeks. I also keep a harvest of fruit and vegetables in the root cellar. Got more apples down there than I know what to do with."

"My grandma made the best apple everything. Pie, cider, butter, tarts. You name it, she made it. She lived in Washington and her backyard was an orchard. I used to love spending summers up there. She taught me so much. Do you have orchards here?"

I nod, desperate to drag the apples up from the cellar and see what she can do with them. "On the other side of the property. We do u-pick apples in the fall with the best donuts you've ever had. In the spring and summer, we focus on wildflowers."

"Wow, you've really got stuff figured out. I'm impressed!"

"You shouldn't be. I have nothing figured out. I have a family tree farm, a family farmhouse, and a load of fucking apples, but no one to share any of it with."

She leans back, taking her beer bottle with her. "I thought you liked being alone?"

"I do for the most part, but there are days when I wish I had someone to come home to. Someone to tell the stories of my day to, ya know?"

"I do." She picks at the label on the amber colored bottle. "That's why I'm afraid to give up on Wyatt."

"Yeah, but it's not about having just anyone. It's about having the right someone."

"Right," she nods, "but there are people that spend eons looking for the perfect someone and they miss out on great things because they're so afraid of choosing poorly. Hell, even the right person could come at the wrong time and then you lose them for good."

"You can't lose the right person," I groan. "That's the point. They're the right person. The wrong person would leave, giving you space to find the right one."

"Not true. Those are the lies we tell ourselves so that heartbreak doesn't hurt as much, but you can meet the right person and they can leave for a variety of reasons. The time has to be right. The circumstances have to be right. Both people have to be ready for a relationship. It's a lot of drama, and I don't know if it's worth it anymore. I've been contemplating a shack in the woods. Do you think solitude would suit me?"

"You'd be lonely," I nod, pulling a sip of beer. "Besides… love doesn't always equal marriage. People fall in love all the time and it never amounts to more than a year of memories."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm just saying… real love is work."

"That's where we differ. Real love shouldn't be work. It should be effort , but not work."

She glances toward me and there's silence. "Effort and work are the same thing."

"No, effort implies a desire. Work implies obligation."

Her eyes widen. "You do have an obligation to your partner. That's the point."

"Not true. The day love becomes an obligation is the day it dies. Love, real love, should be intentional, passionate, and genuine."

"Okay, well… for not being a feelings guy, you've got a lot of thoughts on feelings." She rolls her eyes and stands to toss her bottle in the recycling.

"Why the contempt?" I lean against the counter next to her. "If this is about the Wyatt thing again, that's not love."

"I don't know what love is then. I mean, how could I? I just spent two years telling a man I loved him. Two years… and he broke off our engagement the day after we sent out the invites." Her eyes widen. "I had to call everyone and explain. I had to listen to their sulky apologies when God knows they hung up and gossiped about the whole thing like it was news and not my life." She looks toward me tears falling from her face. "That's what I know love as, so…"

"That's not love."

"And how do you know? Have you had some secret, amazing relationship you just haven't told me about yet?"

My chest tightens as I stare at her. "I've never been in real love before, no."

Her shoulders relax as though that's the answer she was looking for. "Right. So, I guess you don't get to have all these strong opinions on it, do you?"

"There's that attitude again."

"Ah, yes." She grins. "The one that ‘ challenges' you."

"For the record, I want it noted that neither of us really knows what love looks like." I don't know how I keep getting myself into these conversations. Usually, I avoid them like the plague, but for some reason, with Jovie, they're entertaining.

She sits back in the chair at the table and rests her feet on the opposite side, lifting her knees so that the short black skirt she's wearing falls to the sides and her panties clearly show.

Lord, why are you testing me like this?

"If neither of us know what love looks like, then why don't you tell me what you wish it was." She twists her hair to the side as she talks, then drags her hand slowly up and down her thigh as though she's soothing herself.

Fuck! I want to tell her the right person has long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and the sweetest hidden smile I've ever seen before. "I don't know. I guess she'd be a good listener. She'd have a beer with me on a Saturday night and we could easily talk about life. Real shit, not the weather or what's on TV. We'd talk. We'd dance in the kitchen . And we'd fuck… hard… everywhere." I laugh. "What about you?"

She smiles. "Wow, that's… graphic."

"True, though. When I'm in love, I like to express myself."

Laughter ensues. I think the beer is helping the conversation along. "Makes sense. Thanks for sharing."

"What about you?"

"Umm…" She sets the bottle on the table and leans forward. "Validation seems to be big for me. I like to feel heard and seen. Like, in my dreams, he remembers how much I hate grocery stores, and he calls me or texts me while I'm shopping to tell me what a good girl I am and he's ready to come get me if I need him," she shakes her head, "but that probably doesn't exist."

"Why do you hate grocery stores?"

She shrugs. "The people, the unpredictability, the choices, the noise. What's there to like?"

Our eyes meet, and my heart warms and bangs against my ribcage. "That's fair. It's probably why I hunt and grow as much as I can. Not sure I'd be in one if it weren't for Oreos. Can't grow those."

"Well," she laughs, "you can stock up on them."

Silence ensues for a moment. I don't know what to do next. I could easily tell her what a good girl she is for doing things she finds difficult. I could make her feel seen and heard. I could do her one better and hold her close every second of my life for eternity.

Fuck! I need to knock this shit off. She's too young, she works for me, and whatever conversation we're having ends at dinner.

"Ya know," she picks up the beer again, "I don't think Wyatt and I ever kitchen danced… not for real. I mean, I'd ask him to, and I always felt like he was doing me a favor."

I stand and reach for her hand. The movement is involuntary as though my body has gone rogue.

She blinks up. "What?"

"Dance with me."

"What?"

"Yeah. I like to dance, you like to dance, so let's dance."

Her mouth drops open, and for a second, I think I've taken things too far. She hasn't moved and I can't fathom why I've pushed past the boundaries I set for myself. Truth be told, I don't trust myself to dance. A dance won't be just a dance, not with Jovie.

Before I second guess myself any further, she tucks her hand into mine and stands, closing her body against me. I wrap her close as her head rests against my chest. The beer must be making her decisions, but I'm not complaining. I soak in the moment, dragging in the cranberry scent on her skin

Her small hand moves up the center of my back and over my shoulders. "You're strong."

A surge of something hormonal streams down my spine and into my groin, lifting my cock to attention. It's the same feeling I had earlier when she talked about her virginity. It's sick and I should push it down, but it feels so damn good up here at the surface that I let the feeling linger.

She steps back and stares up at me with wide, dark pupils that stay focused on mine as a soft hum leaves her lips. "This is nice."

The music could stop, and the house could be burning down around me, but I'm not sure I'd notice. Right now, her full red lips, her dark blonde hair, and the soft shadows that dance on her chest is all I see. It's all I'll ever see again.

My hand moves up her arm, over her shoulder, and onto her neck, landing flat against her throat. It's not an intentional decision. My body is doing things now that I haven't given it permission to do. And though a gentleman would step back and take his time, I don't have plans for that.