Flight Risk by Amelia Wilde

Author:Amelia Wilde [Wilde, Amelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-04-24T18:30:00+00:00

12

LILY

I wake up in a bed.

Crap. My plan failed. I was going to get the highest grade possible in captivating my kidnapper, then run away when he fell asleep. The last thing I remember is sitting at the window seat, a wide, excited grin on Jameson’s face, and then…

Nothing.

I peek one eye open and discover I’m still in the window seat. Oof. It’s not big enough to stretch out in, and I slept curled up in a ball.

As soon as I understand that, I can’t stay all folded up anymore. I sit up and stretch, keeping the blanket gathered around me. The blankets. There are two. He double-covered me and brought a pillow.

What kind of weirdo mind game is this?

I’m still tired from how long he made me stay up last night. The thought of having another orgasm makes me want to cry. But I’m not hurt. And he made me a little bed.

My body is heavy and slow, which makes sense given the activities of last night. Also, what time is it? Late, I think. The sky outside doesn’t give much of a hint. Thick, gray clouds cover every inch of the sky.

Footsteps come from the direction of the bedroom, and Jameson comes back into view. His hair is in a breathtaking man-bun. Like…I can’t breathe. Then I can breathe, and it’s bad. It’s awful.

He smells even better fresh out of the shower.

Some men use soap that must act as a homing beacon for people who get turned on by massive amounts of Axe body spray, but not Jameson. What was the name of his body wash? It had a pear scent. Green tea? I liked it last night.

I love it now.

It goes exceedingly well with his skin.

He doesn’t seem to notice that I’m awake. Jameson goes into the kitchen, his mind clearly elsewhere, and steps briefly out of sight. Tweet-tweet-tweet-tweet, sings his bird. It sounds thrilled to see him.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “Bet it’s because of the clouds.”

A lower set of tweet-tweet-tweet-tweets.

Jameson huffs. “She’ll be fine. Get off my ass about it.”

I cover my mouth with my hand to keep a confused, affectionate laugh from spilling out. I have no affection toward a kidnapper. There’s no reason for my chest to get warm because he’s talking to a bird about me.

It’s the bird I’m affectionate about.

Jameson goes to the sink and runs some water dish while the bird gossips at him.

“Snowball, I swear to God,” he says. “It’s wind. You should be one with the wind. You’re small, but you’re not pathetic, you know? And we’re inside the house.”

A gust of wind rattles against the big pane behind me, and Jameson turns.

When he first sees me, his eyes get huge, and his mouth quirks like he’s about to smile. To grin. Maybe even to laugh.

Then he pulls away.

Not with his body. The smile stops, fades, and his eyes dim. He’s guarded again.

What happened to you? I want to ask, and I want him to tell me.

Neither of those things is going to happen.

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