Captive at Christmas (3 page)

Besides, neither she nor John were entering into any kind of a physical relationship – even if she
was
the kind of woman who could separate emotions from the physical side of things – so she didn’t have to worry about looking good clothed or in the nude.

The man in question leaned over the small island counter on his elbows, watching her every move. When she first came in to the cabin, the kitchen looked a fair size, if not a little on the cozy side. Now, the entire main living area felt impossibly tiny with John in it. At least he seemed a little less anxious around her now and it made Hannah want to solve the mystery of him.

Only a little.

“Can you pass me that spatula?” She pointed to the thin metal object with a black rubber handle by his left elbow.

“This?”

Hannah nodded. “Yes please.”

Using a fair amount of caution, he handed the spatula over, eyeing her every movement.

“Thank you.”

He grunted in response.

She scraped the bowl, using the spatula to fold the hand-whipped cream into the chocolate frosting. John’s intense grey eyes never left her and Hannah felt warmer under his gaze, though she desperately wished that her body would stop responding to him.

“What is that?”

“Frosting,” she replied shakily. “Want to taste?”

Eyeing her suspiciously, John shrugged. “You first.”

Good grief, he must think she poisoned it or something. Hannah dragged her finger around the edge of the bowl and brought it to her mouth, trying to no enjoy it too much. Wow, this recipe would be going in the definite make-again section of her cook book. She sighed, closing her lips around her finger and sucked the frosting off. Rich, creamy and yet light from the whipped cream.

John cleared his throat again. “It’s that good, huh?”

Thoroughly embarrassed, Hannah finished removing the icing from her finger and went to wash her hands. “Help yourself,” she mumbled over her shoulder.

While he attempted the frosting, she saw to the dishes and, for the first time since arriving, took a good look outside. Of course she’d seen snow before, but this … It came up to the middle of the large black SUV parked near the door. She couldn’t even see her car anymore.

“Wow,” she breathed, moving to the door.

With lightning speed, John threw himself in front of her and secured her wrists in one hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Mouth hanging open and eyes wide in shock, Hannah stared up at this strange man and tried not to think of what he might have been through in his life to make him so suspicious of everyone’s motives. “To look at the snow,” she answered truthfully.

“You can see it through the window!”

Hannah swallowed, trying to back away from him but John yanked her closer. She slammed into his chest, feeling like she hit her head on a brick wall. His grip tightened and she thought her hands might snap off. “Okay,” she sobbed, no longer fighting him. “You have successfully managed to terrify me. I don’t need to look at the snow.”

“Jesus, I didn’t know the
snow
was so damned exciting,” he groaned, releasing her from his grip. “Put your outerwear on and we’ll go out together. I might as well get my things and collect some more firewood.”

She immediately brought her hands to her chest to soothe her aching wrists, not daring to meet John’s eyes. The more time she spent in his presence, the more she believed that her assessment of him was correct. Though Hannah knew better than to try and fix him.

After what happened with Erik, she wouldn’t dare.

Just follow the steps
, she reminded herself,
and at the very least, he might act like a human being if treated like one
.

“Well?” he barked.

“Oh, right.” Hannah quickly donned her boots, gloves and jacket.

He opened the door and held it while she walked under his arm, without needing to duck down even a little. The instinct to run as fast and far as she could came over her but Hannah stood her ground.

More likely, he would shoot her in the back as she fled or catch her and snap her neck. She shuddered at the thought of such violence, simply for self-preservation. It actually saddened her that anyone had to – by choice or not – live the way that he did.

Giving her attention to the snow, Hannah turned her head to the sky and looked up. This reminded her of the very last family vacation she took with her parents and Erik, before he went off to Quebec for his basic training. They drove up into the highlands of British Columbia and rented a cottage for seven wonderful days of family time. Two weeks later, Mom and Dad were gone.

Filled with a sense of loss all over again, Hannah plonked herself down on the ground and stared out into the sea of white. So this was what her life had come to. No family, no boyfriend and no home, stuck in an isolated cabin on a mountain in the United States with her captor. Would he really let her go when the two weeks were up?

“You’ll catch a damn cold,” John mumbled, grabbing her arm and pulling Hannah to her feet.

She sighed, unwilling to fight him. The hold on her arm tightened and she winced as his fingers bit through the fabric of her jacket. It’s not his fault, she reminded herself, someone made him this way.

“Seen enough snow for now?”

Just as she opened her mouth to reply, the timer on the oven went off, beeping loudly. John dragged her inside with his weapon pulled, aiming it everywhere he looked. So paranoid. She couldn’t imagine living like that. “It’s only the oven, John,” she reminded him, keeping her voice soft. “Why don’t you get your stuff from your truck while I take the cakes out and put the bread in?”

After scrutinizing her for a minute, he delivered a sharp nod and released her arm. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he warned.

She held her hands up, palms facing him. “I promise.”

Hannah watched as he backed out of the cabin. The look in his eyes said he really wanted to trust her, but clenched jaw and tension in his body told her that he didn’t have it in him. The oven beeped again and she busied herself, sliding the oven mitts on to take out the chocolate cakes. They looked perfect though she had no appetite now.

Turning the temperature down a little, she placed the now puffy dough, already in bread tins, into the oven. The tray of rolls went in next, little knots for sandwiches. By the time she closed the oven door and removed the mitts, John had come back inside. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he dropped the large wicker basket of logs beside the fireplace and shoved his small black bag into the bedroom.

Knowing that conversation with the man would be nearly impossible, she pretended as if he weren’t even there. Hannah used a knife along the edge of the cake pans, making sure they didn’t stick while cooling, and then she went into the bedroom. John cursed as he hit his head, jumping up to follow her. She kept her hands visible and knelt down beside the bed with her suitcase on top.

“What are you doing?”

Deep breath in and out, in and out. “Unpacking, since I have to stay here. Would you care to watch?”

His response came in the form of a backside planted on the edge of the bed and his eyes sticking with her wherever she moved. Hannah worked quickly, using just half of the dresser though she knew he wouldn’t be unpacking his bag. When her hands fell on one of her books, she lifted it out to see it was the one she wanted to read first.

Not saying a word to him, she closed the suitcase and pushed it under the bed. Hannah stood and took her book to the couch where she sat down and opened it up. The clock on the fireplace mantle read five-oh-seven and she wondered what they should do about dinner. Then again, preparing a meal for the man holding her hostage didn’t sound too appealing.

With the fire built and roaring, Mac settled himself in the arm chair in the corner. It afforded him the best view of the cabin, of Hannah. He knew there was something about her, something she hid and it kept him on high alert. Each scare tactic he used to try and weed out the truth seemed to have the opposite effect on her.

Of course he frightened her, but she didn’t react in the way he hoped, simply took whatever he gave and then looked at him with those damned sad eyes.

Who is she, really?

Mac pulled out his phone and tapped a few commands into the screen. He typed up an encrypted e-mail to someone he could trust, asking them to dig up whatever information they could on one Miss Hannah Kamille Magnus.

Strange spelling of the middle name.

Reminded him of something European.

And her surname, Magnus, that sounded Scandinavian.

Those thoughts aside, Mac sent the e-mail and tucked his phone away. Hannah continued reading her book, she only stopped to check on the bread and ice the two cakes. Everything smelled and looked incredible. He wondered if she would be so inclined to share her food, even though he was holding her against her will. Technically, she had no reason to.

“Are you hungry, John?”

Her soft voice roused things inside of him that he didn’t think existed any longer. Desire flowed through his veins, heating his body. Sure, he felt awful for deceiving her with his name, but Mac still couldn’t trust her. “I could eat. What’s on the menu?”

“Well,” Hannah paused, inserting a bookmark and closing her book, “I was just going to gorge myself on cake, but I guess that’s not very nutritious.” Her eyes veered to the mantle, no doubt checking the time. “I could do soup and sandwiches, if you’d like. Not canned soup though, I made some at home and packed it.”

He detected a flush in her cheeks and forced his mouth into a straight line. A woman who could bake, cook, and embodied his every sexual fantasy? She couldn’t be real.

Tread carefully
, he told himself. “Sure.”

Hannah stood up slowly and he mirrored her every movement, feeling the hard steel tucked under his sweater at the small of his back. After four and a half hours together, she seemed to be getting used to him shadowing her around. Though it was taking him a lot longer to become accustomed to the constant arousal she caused. It got to the painful stage, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing the affect she had on him.

Leaning on the island counter, Mac watched her taking things from the fridge. The woman thought of everything, including condiments and seasonings. She placed everything in front of him before going back for more.

“Turkey, ham or chicken?” Hannah asked from the fridge.

Mac raised his brows, staring at her in disbelief. “You brought three kinds of cold-cuts?”

Her face fell with a sigh. “Yes, I did. My ex teased me enough about food and weight, so please don’t pick up where he left off.”

A growl tore through the room and at the stunned look on her face, Mac realized that it came from him. “Sounds like you’re better off without him. And I would never be so disrespectful as to insult anyone regarding their weight, even if they did have a problem.”

“That’s easy to say when you look like you do.”

She left him gaping after her and poured two measured cups of soup into a pan on the stove. While he tried to come up with a response, Mac knew there was nothing he could say to that. Sure, his body was hardened from years of excessive physical exertion, a necessity due to his former profession. But what she didn’t see were the mutilations, proof of his past.

If she saw his body without his clothes on, Hannah might not be so quick to put herself down.

After nearly two years as a prisoner where the only rule was that there were no rules, he had his fair share of battle scars. Mackenzie endured almost every torture known to man and some that only the devil himself would commit.

The flesh of his back crisscrossed with long purplish welts that were still healing.

Burn marks covered his chest and abdomen.

It would take a long time for them to properly heal, but he would bear those marks for the rest of his life.

At least he could always cover them with clothing. And, just one more reason why he preferred to live in colder climates, where more clothes meant less chances for them to be seen by anyone.