Chapter 20

20

Abe woke with a start.

A shaft of dawn pierced the drawn drapes.

What time is it? But he couldn’t check his watch—Freya was lying on his arm. Her body was still pressed against his, as if neither of them had moved all night. His half-awake body reacted immediately to her soft warmth.

Fuck. He needed a cold shower to shake off the pull of her closeness, the way she felt so right in his arms. He never stayed the night with women. It always led to expectations—commitment, a relationship—and he wanted none of that.

At least, that’s what he’d believed for so long. But Freya? She challenged that with every extra minute he spent in her company.

Carefully, he freed his arm without waking her. Past six .

He stood, peeking through the drapes. Outside, the dawn lit the barren landscape, painting it pink and alien, like the surface of the moon.

Today they would make progress.

He showered then dressed before sitting on the bed to lace up his boots. Freya was still asleep, knocked out from the schnapps last night. If she wasn’t used to alcohol, it might hit her hard. Maybe she was still sleeping it off.

He placed a hand on the curve of her hip, recalling what she’d shared last night. She’d opened up to him, revealing her true self—something he usually avoided. So why did he crave to know every part of her? To unravel the complexities that made her tick?

It was safer to keep things light. Fun. Uncomplicated.

Is that what I still want?

Unbidden, thoughts of Mariam surged forward. She had been a supernova, setting his bed ablaze with passion. He’d been foolish enough to believe she was everything he wanted. But none of it had been real. All of it had been a lie.

And yet. His gaze drifted back to Freya’s sleeping form, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.

The desire coursing through him now made his memories of Mariam feel hollow. What he felt for Freya was different—deeper. A bone-deep hunger, primal and consuming. How was it possible that this self-contained woman could ignite such a fierce longing within him?

Freya stirred, a soft sigh escaping her. Even in sleep, her guard was never fully down. She fought so hard to conceal her true nature, to present a facade of cool logic, all spreadsheets and numbers. But there was so much more to her, and last night he’d glimpsed the woman beneath.

His Duchess.

He shook his head to clear it of distracting thoughts. Now was not the time. There was too much danger ahead. He needed to keep her safe.

He removed the chair from the door and stepped onto the landing. The house was still as he padded down the stairs, the only sound weathered wood protesting beneath his feet.

The living room was empty—Asta was gone—but Moose wound around his legs, his purrs vibrating through his furry body. Abe made his way to the kitchen, the cat head-butting his shins, threatening to trip him at every step.

“Okay, okay, I hear you.”

He rummaged through the cupboards, eventually finding a box of cat kibble. He poured some into the bowl near the back door. Moose wasted no time sticking his face in the bowl with loud, crunching enthusiasm.

Abe leaned back against the counter. Damn cat has no manners.

From where he stood, he could see out the window. The decrepit Land Rover parked close to the house yesterday was gone. Asta must have gone into town for supplies. There was a greenhouse at the edge of the garden packed with bags of compost next to an ancient-looking generator. She was self-sufficient, but no one could grow coffee or rice out here.

Movement caught the edge of his eye.

The box of kibble slipped from his fingers, thudding onto the counter. His hand instinctively went to the gun tucked in the waistband of his pants.

What the fuck? Tell me that was an arctic hare or some rare Icelandic deer.

He waited, holding his breath, fiery blood scouring his veins.

Clouds scudded across the sky, momentarily casting the world in shadow—and one of those shadows moved. To his left.

He swung out of sight of the window.

Shit. Shit.

What had he missed?

Asta wasn’t here. Had she been contacted? Had she given them away? Where the hell was she?

Doesn’t matter.

He took the stairs three at a time, the bedroom door slamming against the wall as he blasted in.

Freya jolted upright, her hair askew, blinking in confusion. “What?—”

He grabbed her boots and tossed them onto the bed. “Put these on.”

She pushed back the comforter, still dazed, as he crossed the room to the window. Standing behind the drape, he used the barrel of his gun to widen the gap. From here, he had a bird’s-eye view of the land below.

Dark shapes moved, darting between cover. Taking positions.

Fuck.

“Abe?”

He spun. Freya still didn’t have her boots on.

“I said get your boots on. They’ve found us.”

“What? No.”

He raised his voice. “ Freya .”

Her expression pinched, but she hurriedly laced up her boots while he collected their few possessions from around the room. He stuffed Freya’s spare clothes into the backpack, adding a water bottle he’d picked up from the kitchen. He grabbed hold of her hand. “Come on.”

She followed him down the stairs, her breath coming in quick shallow pants. At the bottom, Abe spun around, gripping her chin to make her look at him.

“You do as I say, and we’ll get out of here safely. Do you understand?”

She nodded, but there was a glimmer of tears in her eyes. “What about Asta? Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t say anymore. Was Asta being gone and their discovery a coincidence?

“She wouldn’t give us up. I know her.”

“Her Land Rover is gone.” The words tasted bitter. He’d been so careful, covered their tracks. There was only one explanation that made sense, and he didn’t want to voice it. “Maybe she thought it was better if we handed ourselves in.” The admission felt like a failure. If it was true, he’d failed in his duty to Freya to spot that Asta was a weak link.

“That can’t be it. Asta’s like a mother to me.” She rested her gaze on him. “She wouldn’t—Abe, I think?—”

He couldn’t help himself. He needed her to be on track. To listen to his every word and command as if her life depended on it—because it did. He pulled her close, his lips crashing against hers. His hand slid to the back of her neck, where the heat of her skin seared his palm. She felt so good, too good. The taste of her hit his system like a shot of adrenaline.

She gasped, her body responding, back arching toward him, pressing herself against his chest.

What the fuck am I doing? The thought blazed through his mind, even as he deepened the kiss. This was reckless, insane. He had to stop.

But her lips were warm, soft, and addictive. So sweet. The world outside vanished, dissolving into this one perfect moment. All he could taste, feel, and breathe was Freya—mint, heat, and something intoxicatingly warm. Her scent wrapped around him, threatening to pull him under.

Focus.

He broke the kiss, pulling away as reality crashed back in.

Freya wobbled, but he caught her by the elbows, steadying her as her breath came fast and shallow. She was looking right at him. The kiss had done exactly what he needed—it had interrupted her panic and snapped her back to the present, alert and ready.

He ran his thumb across her lower lip, the fullness of it drawing his attention for a heartbeat longer than it should.

“We’re going to get out of here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his command clear. “And we’re going to stay alive. Do you hear me?”

She blinked, touching her lower lip with trembling fingers. But she nodded, her breathing slowing, syncing with his. As he held her gaze, the air between them thrummed with a dangerous energy, the kiss lingering like a fuse waiting to ignite again.

A shrill ring shattered the moment.

Abe spun, his instincts flaring. He locked onto the mustard-yellow rotary phone hanging by the back door, its old-fashioned ring rupturing the air like an alarm.

It rang again, louder this time.

Impatient.