Chapter Fourteen

R achel pressed her back against the cottage's front door and inhaled deeply. One. Two. Three.

Her body locked up, frozen in place, unable to move.

She banged the back of her head against the door in frustration. All week long, she'd tried to step outside the house while Ruger was gone to prove she was strong enough, and every time, she chickened out.

Since the kidnapping, she'd turned into someone she no longer recognized. She hated how her days were filled with fear.

Loud noises made her jump.

The sight of blood made her sick.

The darkness brought nightmares.

The unknown left her vulnerable.

As much as she wanted the old her back, she dreaded her life, returning to how she lived when her brother was out of prison. She was safe with Ruger.

Every day. Every night. Being around him filled her with a growing desire that made it hard to stand still. She wanted to move, talk, and get to know him better, deeper, and without restraint.

That new craving had her standing at the door all week long, attempting to go outside by herself to prove that nothing bad would happen. In her head, she knew that she was safe at the cottage. But her body thought otherwise and refused to move.

The idea of having her power and freedom stolen from her by the men who kidnapped her infuriated her. She wanted to achieve her dreams and adjust to the real world.

Knight jumped off the arm of the couch, looked at her, and pounced into the kitchen without a worry in the world. Ruger had given the kitten a safe place to live, too.

"Okay, okay," she whispered. "I can do this. I have to do this."

On the count of five, she'd do it. That gave her more time to gain the courage to open the door.

One—her legs trembled.

Two—tears slipped through her lashes.

Three—she panted, struggling for air.

Four—dots entered her vision.

Five—she screamed.

All the anger, fear, and adrenaline burst out of her. In a rage, she pushed off the door, scrambling to turn the doorknob, and stumbled outside. Her chest wheezed in the briny air. She fell against the porch rail, hugging the wooden post.

The salt in the air coated her tongue and filled her nostrils. She compulsively nodded, reassuring herself that she'd done it. She'd come outside by herself.

Giddiness bubbled inside of her. She pressed her palm to her racing heart. Every muscle in her body weakened, leaving her loose and free.

She looked around. Her inability to appropriately react to something so big left her wanting to share the moment, but Ruger wasn't home.

Collapsing to her knees, she rocked back and forth as the sobs she'd held in for too long escaped. She let her head fall back, looking up into the cloud-filled sky.

Her chest expanded. Her heart thrummed.

She was alive. Shady was in prison, safe from the evil men. Despite the gravity of the situation, hope pushed to the surface that they'd be okay.

A loud rumble filled the air. Her spine stiffened. It wasn't her heart making that vibration. A motorcycle was near. Pushing to her feet, she rocked to her toes, eager to share her achievement with Ruger.

She spotted him as he rounded the corner and headed toward the cottage. Unable to stand still, she bounced, waiting for him. Every second made her more excited.

She jumped off the porch as he turned the motorcycle onto the driveway. She arrived at his Harley before he could get off the bike. Throwing herself into his arms, she squeezed his neck in excitement.

"I did it." She pulled back, looking him in the face. "I went outside, and nothing happened. Oh, my God, my heart is pounding." She picked up his hand and placed his palm on the middle of her chest. "Feel it."

She laughed uncontrollably at the way his lips parted. Throwing herself around him, she almost toppled them both off the Harley.

"Kickstand, Rach." Ruger shifted, toed the stand, and then picked her up and set her sideways on his lap. "How long have you been trying to go outside?"

"All week." She played with the ends of his hair. "But I only now opened the door."

"You've been crying." His rough voice rolled through her as his hand dried her cheeks.

"I'm okay." She inhaled deeply, still reeling from what she'd done.

He smoothed her hair back from her face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I depend on you too much already. I didn't want you to think I'm more helpless than—"

"Stop." He framed her face with his hands. "I was there. I know what you lived through. What you survived. Don't talk as if it was a fucking walk in the park. It was hell."

"I'm still scared to leave you," she whispered.

"One day, you'll be glad to get rid of me." He set her back on the ground. "Hungry?"

To her surprise, she was starving. "I am."

"Want breakfast for dinner?"

She took his helmet from him and carried it to the house as she walked beside him. "Sure, but I'll make it."

He glanced at her but kept his opinion to himself. Now that she'd walked outside alone and conquered one of her fears, she felt like doing more around the house. Usually, Ruger brought food home or made something in the evenings, and then they'd eat together. She had never made him a meal before.

She'd cooked since she was a little girl and had often made meals for her dad before he passed away and then later for Shady. But they never sat at the table together. Only families on television and those who wanted to share parts of their day would sit at a table and eat a meal the mother or father made.

Until living with Ruger, she had never shared a meal. He always sat with her, and though they might not talk about their day, it was nice to have him want to spend that time with her.

They had no waffle maker, so she used the Bisquick mix to make pancakes in one skillet and got the eggs out to put in the other pan.

"Over easy?" she asked, knowing that was how he usually had his eggs.

He grunted behind her. She smiled to herself.

For the next twenty minutes, she made enough food for both of them. He always had two to three times the food she consumed, but that was expected. He was much bigger. However, she was regaining her lost weight since moving to the cottage.

She cut her pancake up into small bites, keeping the syrup from running into her eggs on the plate. Ruger was the opposite. He stacked a pile of pancakes in the middle of his plate and ran each bite of an egg through the extra syrup puddling around the edges of his plate.

Her meal forgotten, she watched Ruger lift the fork to his mouth. His lips separated, surrounding the prongs, and he dragged the speared pancakes off the utensil. She licked her bottom lip, seeing the syrup cling to his lip.

Ruger slammed his hand down on the table. She shrieked, startled out of her fantasy.

"Wh-what did you do that for." She pressed her hand to her racing heart. "You scared me."

"Stop looking at me that way." He picked up his plate.

The legs of the chair screeched against the wooden floor. She watched him walk away from the table.

Her heart pounded. Embarrassment heated her face. She was tired and annoyed that he kept pushing her away whenever he believed she looked at him the wrong way. Rejection stung.

She left the table, leaving her plate behind, and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. If she had to mind where she looked and what she thought around him, then he could do the damn dishes and clean up from dinner by himself.

She turned on the bathtub faucet and stripped off her clothes. As soon as several inches of water were in the tub, she sat down and hugged her knees, letting the warmth soothe her as the tub filled. The shakes consumed her. She rested her cheek on her knees, letting the water run until it threatened to spill over the top, and then she shut off the faucet.

How would other women handle themselves in the same kind of situation she found herself in?

It seemed foolish to spill her guts to Ruger when he did not communicate his feelings. She couldn't love him, could she?

As soon as she questioned her feelings, she vehemently accepted that it was love. Her father had never taken care of her the way Ruger had. Her brother never considered her feelings the way Ruger had.

He'd protected, cared for, and fed her. He was her safe place. Even now, he let her live with him.

That had to mean something.

The silence in the bathroom only made her hyperaware of what was happening in other parts of the house. Where was Ruger? Had he left? Was he watching television? Had he gone to sleep?