Chapter Seven

The Bucket List

Tucker

Tucker had no reason to believe her. God knew every time he'd given the girl an inch, she'd tried to take a mile, but staring at her frantic green eyes, he sensed something was different this time.

There was a shift in her, as though the climax had changed her perspective. He certainly hoped so. God knows he'd been desperate for his own release after sharing hers, his cock ready to burst by the time he slid his fingers from her wet cunt, yet almost as soon as he'd moved to liberate it from its fabric prison, she'd drifted off to sleep in front of him.

At first, he'd been incredulous. How dare the little prick tease get him so worked up, then fall asleep without so much as a thought for his needs? Her father's philosophy had drifted into his mind. Bennett never had any qualms about taking what he wanted from a woman—whether she was awake or not.

But he wasn't Bennett.

As he'd watched her resting after her orgasm, his mood had altered. Liberating her limbs from the bondage of his ties, he'd resecured only her wrists to the ropes he'd fastened to the middle of the bed. The new binds would be much more comfortable for his little girl to endure while ensuring she stayed just where he wanted her.

His little girl.

So much had shifted so fast between them, but he had to remember that none of it was her doing.

Everything she'd been through was down to him. He'd agreed to take her as collateral from Bennett. He'd hoisted her over his shoulder and stalked her through the forest, and even though he'd been acting with her best intentions, he'd even made her eat the rabbit pie. Tucker was responsible for the state she was in, and primarily, that was exhausted. That was why he'd let her sleep. He was thrilled that she'd permitted him the pleasure of ripping such an intense orgasm from her gorgeous body. God willing, there would be other opportunities for his passion.

Watching her now, he noticed the softening of her demeanor. She hadn't resisted calling him ‘sir' and, in fact, had done so without prompting.

Maybe she's warming to me?

A part of him longed for it to be true. Having her there willingly in his bed would be a thrill he'd scarcely contemplated until his digits had stroked her sex. He'd all but given up on female company out there in the woods, convincing himself he didn't need it, but it had been untrue. Ella's arrival had reminded him of everything he'd denied himself these last few years.

He blew out a breath. She was wonderful, but equally, he was old enough to know better than to hang onto false hopes and dreams. Ella would have to use the bucket, but he wouldn't make the same mistake he'd made before. This time, he would monitor her every move.

"I'm going to release you." His attention moved from her face to the ropes at the wrist farthest away from him. "Do us both a favor and don't try anything stupid."

"I won't, sir."

Her voice was breathy as her gaze burned into his fingers. Seconds of silence stretched out around them as he emancipated first one, then her other wrist.

"There." Rising to his feet, he offered her his palm. "You can go. I left the bucket close to the fire for your comfort, but be careful. The metal could be hot."

Swinging her feet to the ground, her focus flew toward the fire. "You're letting me go on my own?" Wariness echoed in her voice.

"I am." He hoped she wouldn't make him regret that decision. "But I'll be right here, little girl. Don't forget that."

Her widening eyes suggested how unlikely it was that she would forget him. "Okay." She rose to her feet unsteadily, her fingers gripping tightly at his mother's blanket.

He wanted to tell her to leave the cover, that it was his mother's, and he didn't want it dragged to the bucket she was destined for, but he didn't have the heart. He'd already condemned her to the bucket's use. It would be wrong to force her to do so without the blanket's protection.

I'm getting soft in my old age.

There was an irony to the admission as she shuffled past him. He'd expected his years of solitude to have hardened his soul. His experiences had certainly done nothing to temper his views about those who owed him money, but it seemed the first time his conscience had been tested by the fairer sex, he'd succumbed. Ella had only been with him just over a day, and already, he was willing to give her pleasure without any promise of its return.

There had been absolutely nothing soft about his reaction to her arousal, either. Tucker couldn't recall his cock being so hard for many years.

"Will you turn away while I go, sir?" Her words were like a sigh, conveying she surely already knew the answer to her own query.

"‘Fraid not, little girl." His chin rose to acknowledge her even deeper blush.

Ella's skin reddened so easily. It was one of the many things he'd grown to love about her, as well as her smokin'-hot body and fiery spirit. Naturally, that feistiness drove him nuts at times, but secretly, he respected the fight in her. That essence was one he recognized and knew all too well.

"We both know I need to keep an eye on you." He folded his arms across his chest, admiring her long lashes as her gaze landed on the bucket.

"I can't believe I have to do this." She'd said as much when she'd squatted in the forest, yet ultimately, she'd managed. She would have to manage again.

"You'll get used to it."

He couldn't say he knew that for certain. She looked pretty disgruntled as she hiked up the cover to her middle and crouched over the container, but she'd have to learn to live with the new situation. Tucker had done worse when he'd been on reconnaissance. Hell. He did worse now.

"You'll be pleased to know I have something else for you to eat today." He intentionally avoided her gaze as he walked behind her toward the fire. She deserved at least a slither of dignity in return for her recent compliance.

"Not rabbit, then?" Squatting over the bucket, her breathing was irregular as she presumably tried to relax.

"No." He wanted to laugh at the way her toes balled against the floor. Ella appeared to be finding this tribulation as trying as the last one.

Poor thing.

"I will finish the pie and make soup for you." Tucker had a store of vegetables in the outhouse and some by the side of the hearth, any of which could be used to create a broth that would keep his little girl fed and warm.

An odd pride settled over him as he mused on the idea. Suddenly, he was enthusiastic about the thought of keeping her safe and well. It was a far cry from the one-dimensional man who'd fired bullets into other people for a living. Increasingly, he hardly recognized himself.

"Soup sounds good, sir." She sighed as her muscles finally relented and allowed her to pass water.

"It will be," he promised, leaning against the brickwork of the hearth as she concluded. "I do make a mean soup."

"I'm done." She couldn't meet his gaze as she rose from the bucket, her attention fixed on its contents as though there was anything to be ashamed about.

"Can I trust you to stay there while I throw your effort out of the front?"

He couldn't even believe he was asking. After her sprint into the woods yesterday, he'd vowed to take no chances with the wildcat, yet the version of her he'd bound to the bed had bewitched him. Staring at her flustered face as she wrapped the blue blanket tighter around her body, he could barely recall the banshee who'd left him high and dry.

"Yes." Her chin lowered to her chest. "I won't try anything."

"Sit on the bed." He pointed to the structure as though she'd somehow forgotten the place she'd been tied to. With a reluctant sigh, she walked in its direction before perching on the end. Pushing the blanket between her legs, she pressed her knees together. His breath hitched at the thought of what was waiting at the apex of those thighs. He already knew how intoxicating she was. "I expect you to still be there when I get back." He growled the instruction, ignoring the flicker of desire that ignited. "I mean it, Ella."

Sniffing back her emotions, her head lifted to look at him. "I won't move." She sounded close to tears, her most recent experience of peeing into a bucket apparently no better than her visit between the trees.

"Sorry?" There was no need to nudge her, really. Her manners had been almost perfect since she'd woken up, but still, he couldn't help himself. The prospect of subjugating her was just too bloody delicious to turn down.

"I won't move, sir." She hissed the final word, the sound sparking his regret. They seemed to have found an equilibrium of sorts since their intimate encounter, and a part of him was loathed to let it go, but he realized it was necessary.

However much he craved her, she was first and foremost his captive, a surety that one day his money would be returned.

But what good is money compared to this?

Tucker dismissed the nonsense perspective bandying in his mind. His money was everything. Cold, hard cash was the only certainty he had in a cruel world. He'd seen enough suffering firsthand to know people certainly couldn't be counted on.

His thoughts flitted briefly back to Collins. He'd thought the man who'd maneuvered him from the enemy bunker that day had been his savior, but he'd been wrong. Collins had turned out to be even more of a weasel than Bennett.

"That's better." Balling his hands into fists, he moved to the bucket and lowered to collect the handle.

The ghost of Collins and the others would have to wait. His wildcat and he were on the verge of a significant moment—could he finally turn his back on her without living to regret the choice? The last time he'd tried, he'd been instantly remorseful. The trek through the woods and run-in with the bear had reinforced the point, and he'd had hours to think on the matter since then, but deep down, he sensed they had turned a corner.

If he wanted to move forward with her—even as his hostage—he had to trust her.

Fuck.

What a quandary. His training urged caution and warned him not to have faith in anyone, but a wiser facet of him knew his self-imposed solitude couldn't go on forever. If Tucker had been waiting for a sign that his life had to evolve, then Ella was it.

It could be time to transition into the next stage of his life—a phase where he could discover a balance between his past debauchery and his more recent reclusive experiences. Anxiety knotted in his stomach as he lifted the vessel and backed toward the door.

"I'll only be a moment." Their gazes locked as he dug into his pocket and gripped the key between his digits.

A few seconds to unlock the door, then another few to dispose of the contents of the bucket. That's all he required. But for peace of mind, perhaps it was better that he locked the door behind him?

"Okay." Her gaze flitted to her feet. "I'll wait here, sir."

"Make sure you do." His voice was firm, demonstrating an authority he didn't feel as he slipped the key into the door and pulled the bolt open.

Swallowing down his apprehension, he yanked the door open, but as he walked outside, a flashback of the moment he'd taken the exact same step the day before flooded his senses.

He'd trusted her then, too. Had assumed she'd been too weary—too keen to please him—to betray, but he'd been wrong. He risked a quick glance at her before he pulled the door closed. Her face was pale, and her fingers white where they gripped the blanket, but whether her anxiety stemmed from the conditions of her captivity or her traitorous intentions, he couldn't say.

Acting in slow motion, he pulled the door closed behind him and forced the key into the lock before twisting it. The knot of trepidation tightened inside him as the sound of the mechanism locked. He spun on autopilot, carrying the bucket a few feet to the side of the cabin and tipping the contents onto the grass.

His heart thrummed with urgency as he strode back to the door, his feet insisting on a casual pace despite his concerns. What was going on behind that door? Had she kept her word and remained seated, or was she already lurking behind it with a weapon in her hands? There were plenty of tools around for her to choose from. Why hadn't he thought to remove those or at least bind her to the damn bed? Maybe she'd moved and slid the bolt back into place in his absence? He hadn't heard the metal gliding into its original slot, but then he'd been a few feet away from the cabin. She could have moved it without him being aware…

"Stop this!" he muttered into his chest, drawing in a deep breath in pursuit of composure.

He was smarter than this, wasn't he? Braver than the quivering-hearted man who stood on the veranda of his cabin? He'd been through too much in life—in combat and in solitude—to be so overwhelmed by one woman and her devilry.

Time to be brave again.

For too long, he'd hidden out there in the woods, playing it safe and avoiding stepping out of his comfort zone. He'd thought the peace had done him good—and maybe it had—but standing there, he accepted it might also have kept him small and insignificant, and those were things Tucker could never be.

Putting the bucket down on the decking, he closed the distance to the door and turned the key in the lock. There was only one way of knowing her fate, and that was to be bold.

He'd open the door to see where his wildcat was.