Bulletproof Bride. Diana Duncan

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      “Tessa,” Gabe spoke with quiet patience. “The only way to get to dry land is to climb into the launch.”

      “I can’t.” Caught between two agonizing, impossible choices and crazed with terror, she whimpered. “Hit me.”

      “What?”

      “Hit me; knock me out. I’ll never make it to shore.”

      He sighed. “Close your eyes.”

      Desperate, she obeyed. But instead of the blow she expected, he swept her up into his arms.

      “I’ve never hit a woman in my life, and I’m not about to start with you,” his satin voice murmured into her ear. “Even we bank robbers have our principles. Hang on.”

      Eyelids squeezed tight, she clung to him. His rock-hard biceps bunched, a door creaked, and then holding her with one arm, he stepped downward. The splashing grew louder. He lowered her to a cold metal bench that rocked wildly. She gripped the edge so hard her fingers ached.

      “Keep those eyes shut,” he commanded before moving away.

      Ragged breaths raced in and out of her dry throat, but she obeyed, even as a new round of sobs shook her.

      The motor chugged on. Gabe’s warm, solid body pressed against her side. She eased her eyes open and he slid one arm around her. As the boat leapt forward, the sharp sea breeze slapped her face. Shaking, she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, clinging to him.

      “It’s all right,” he murmured. He stroked her back in a soothing caress. “When I was a little boy and I would wake up scared in the night, you know what my foster mom did?”

      She gulped down her sobs and pulled away to gaze up at him.

      “She used to give me kisses to hold in my hand. That way, I always had her love with me.” He touched his soft lips to her forehead in a sweet, comforting kiss.

      Her fear receded, replaced by a shocking awareness of the man holding her so protectively.

      The boat leapt upward, then plunged sickeningly down. The bow crashed through a huge swell and icy spray stung her skin. She lurched sideways, an involuntary scream bursting out.

      Gabe’s arm tightened around her. “Whoa, it’s okay.”

      She huddled in his encircling arms as he whispered words of comfort, until the boat finally slowed and he moored alongside a weathered wooden dock. He jumped to the pier and lifted her out beside him, but her trembling legs collapsed. Holding her, he sank to the dock and pulled her into his lap. “You’re safe, sweetheart,” he murmured, tugging the lifejacket off.

      She let him hold her until the tight bands around her chest eased and the sick, shaky feeling faded. “Now, what was that all about?”

      “I’m afraid of the water.”

      “No kidding.” He brushed her damp hair away from her face, the clasp that had held her curls in order long gone. “Why?”

      “Wh-when I was six, my brother pulled me into the ocean and I went under. I almost drowned. The lifeguard rescued me. Sh-she had to perform AR and I spent the night in the hospital.”

      He cupped her face in his hands. “Your fear is a normal response to trauma. But,” he hesitated, “I’m trying to help, not put you down, okay? You shouldn’t have to feel that the fear overpowers and controls you. Being terrified is no way to live.”

      “I’ve tried to conquer it. Intellectually, I understand. But forcing my emotions to obey is another story.”

      “This sounds simplistic, but concentrate on something else. Stay focused, so you don’t have time to panic.”

      Maybe he was onto something. For a few minutes in the launch, she had forgotten her terror. That had never happened before. But she’d been focused on him. Bewildered, she shook her head. “Is that what you do?”

      He was silent for almost a full minute. “Yeah.”

      “You don’t seem like you’re afraid of anything. What scares you, Gabe?”

      A dark shadow clouded his eyes for a second. Then the mischievous sparkle returned and he gave her a dazzling smile, deepening the cleft in his chin. “Martha Stewart’s ‘to do’ list—now that’s scary.” He stood and helped her to her feet. “Nightfall will hit soon. C’mon.”

      She recognized a distraction when she saw one. “Where?”

      “I always have a Plan B.”

      He supported her while they navigated the dock and toiled up a rocky path bordered by pines. But instead of his touch making her his captive, she felt protected. Her bewildered gaze scanned the thick Oregon forest. A scarlet maple leaf drifted down to land on her shoulder. Inhaling a breath of crisp fall air sharpened with tangy wood smoke, she brushed it off. From the shadows, crickets chirped a singsong chorus.

      The setting sun stretched long gold fingers of warm light across the path by the time they finally reached a log cabin at the top of the bluff. Below, hungry white-capped waves hammered the shore. With a shudder, she jerked her gaze away. “Where are we?”

      He unlocked the door. Instead of answering, he waved at a green-and-navy plaid sofa. “Have a seat. I’ll start a fire.”

      Perfect. While he was busy, she’d summon help. She didn’t give a rip who he was, or what he was mixed up in, she wanted out. “I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

      “Sure. But don’t go climbing out the window. The kitchen overlooks the bluff.” He grinned. “There’s canned soup in the cupboard and bread in the freezer. You didn’t eat in the car. You should get some chow in your stomach.”

      Tessa strode into the cozy, spotless kitchen. Red-checked curtains framed the window, accenting the wooden walls and navy-tiled countertops. Her gaze darted around the room, looking for the phone. Oh, no. No phone. Her hopes flatlined. She squared her shoulders. Fine, she’d devise another plan.

      She made the coffee and then opened a cupboard. The sight of Road Runner mugs inspired a reluctant smile. The cartoon cups fit Gabe’s mischievous, faster-than-a-speeding-bullet personality to a T.

      As she filled his mug, a daring idea hit. Her hand slid inside her pocket and gripped the bottle of anti-nausea pills. Two had knocked her out for several hours. If he ingested enough…

      She stood there, the plastic lid cutting an imprint into her clenched palm. What if she accidentally killed him? Drugging him felt like a sneaky, dirty trick. He’d treated her very decently. Get real, woman, the guy kidnapped you. She quickly smashed six tablets and stirred them into his coffee.

      In the living room, a cozy fire crackled in the hearth. She couldn’t meet Gabe’s eyes as she handed him the mug. Perching stiffly on a navy chair near the fire, she cradled her own warm drink.

      With a contented sigh, he propped his stocking feet on the coffee table. Dressed in a fisherman’s sweater and snug, faded jeans, he looked relaxed and comfortable. And not at all like a bank robber. As he took a sip, guilt СКАЧАТЬ