I was locked in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with a hot stranger — an unabashed killer — and I was practically dripping.

Eww.

Okay, biological functions were out of my control.

He was big and scary.

Apparently, that was a turn-on for me.

Good grief, when did I turn into that girl?

I chewed my bottom lip as I pretended to ignore Dex, as if I was completely absorbed in the decades old magazine I’d managed to ferret out because, you know, knowing how to craft the perfect lasagna was my life’s goal.

But, newsflash, the magazine could’ve been upside down for all the attention I was giving it.

I was too busy replaying that little situation in the kitchen like my own private movie.

Confession: I’d never been manhandled by anyone.

I mean, not that I wanted to be tossed around like a head of lettuce but there was something incredibly hot about the way Dex just held me there, captive, unable to get away, bending me to his will.

Double eww.

I was that girl!

Decades of die-hard feminism just wailed inside my head.

How humiliating.

I snuck a look at Dex. He was on his cell. I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Of course, he’d tossed my cell phone.

Generally, when you kidnap someone, you don’t let them have something to signal for help, so no a big surprise there.

Not that I had anyone I could call in this situation aside from the police.

Maybe I should’ve been more social.

It was kinda humbling to realize that if you died, no one would really notice.

An unexpected tingle at the base of my sinuses told me tears were coming.

No.

Not gonna cry.

Not in front of him.

But to be fair, tears in this situation, seemed highly appropriate, right?

As much as I was completely honest with Dex about my circumstances, the troubling question remained, why would someone want me dead?

The solution was painfully obvious.

I needed to fully embrace the reality that my would-be killer was now my only hope for survival because while I appreciated Dex’s restraint, I doubted anyone else would hesitate.

And I didn’t want to die.

Funny how the rest of your problems faded away when faced with life or death shit.

I no longer gave a damn if Torrence kept lying about eating my organic yogurt that I kept in the break room. I knew he was ignoring the label with my name on it and chowing down on my blackberry medley.

But who cared?

Choke on it, Torrence.

And my inability to keep a house plant alive? Big deal. Plastic lives forever and never needs watering.

My baby toe with the funky toenail? Whoop-de-do. Toes were ugly anyway.

A hiccup of giggling popped from my mouth, attracting Dex’s gaze.

Oh God. Those eyes — they were like lasers of pure lust beaming straight at me.

The magazine dropped from my fingers and I scrambled to retrieve it, pretending as if he didn’t affect me in the least.

“You’ve been reading that same article for about ten minutes,” he observed as he tucked his phone into his back pocket.

So much for believing he wasn’t paying attention to me.

I deliberately turned the page. “It’s very good.”

“I didn’t take you for the Better Homes and Garden type.”

I shrugged. “I’m a woman of many interests.” Total lie. But I hated being that easy to figure out. “In fact, I’ve always been a fan of Italian cooking.” That much was true. Pizza was practically one of my primary food groups. Gluten-free crust, of course. “So, anything of value to report from your fellow killers?”

“Not yet. I need more information from you.”

I would’ve preferred for him to remain across the room but he joined me on the lumpy sofa, as if he couldn’t have plopped his near-perfect behind elsewhere.

“There are other chairs,” I pointed out in case he was blind.

“Tell me about your life.”

“I already did.”

“I need to know more detail. Intimate details.”

I shivered at the word, intimate. What did that mean? I covered my sudden thrill with a scowl. “Meaning?”

“Last hook-up or boyfriend?”

“I don’t casually date,” I answered with as much disdain as I could muster. It was easier to pretend my dateless Friday nights were out of choice rather than admit that I had a hard time connecting with regular people. Unlike him, I would guess. Women probably tossed their soaking wet panties at him as he walked by.

Annoyed, he countered, “All right, last serious relationship. I’m trying to build a profile. No one springs out of the dirt like a Greek myth.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. “Well, if you must know, I’ve been in a bit of a drought lately.”

Drought. Ha! Good word for total celibacy.

Dex dared to chuckle as he sprawled against the sofa, stretching out as if we were a couple and it was totally natural to chill together.

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning.”

Relieved we didn’t have to start talking about my embarrassingly short dating history, I answered with as much detail as I could manage, which was not much.

“Born and raised in New York. Raised by a single mom. Never knew my dad. Unremarkable childhood. I discovered photography when I was in middle school. The yearbook club needed someone to take pictures and they thrust a camera into the hands of the shy girl in the back of the room. I fell in love with pictures from that moment forward.”

“But you prefer landscapes and animals.”

“Yes. Well, I don’t mind inanimate objects, too. Still art but animals are fun and landscapes remind me that there’s an entire world out there just waiting to be discovered.”

The shy girl in the back had worlds she wanted to explore; a camera put the passport in my hand.

I hadn’t meant to answer so wistfully but photography was my Achilles Heel. Photography touched a part of me that was solely mine.

The fact that I was talented enough to make a living in the cutthroat world of photography was my secret source of pride.

And I hadn’t meant to share that with Dex.

I bit my lip as if to prevent myself from spilling more.

But Dex had already moved on and I had little time to acknowledge the small pinch of disappointment.

“Your mom, did she ever talk about your dad?”

“No. He died when I was a baby, before I was born, actually.”

“How?”

“My mom said it was a car accident.”

“Got any pictures of him?”

I frowned. “One, maybe. Somewhere. I didn’t know the guy so I didn’t feel his loss, you know?”

Dex chewed on my answers for a minute. He betrayed little in his expression but his eyes were like a storm. My heartbeat sped up a little. What would it be like to stare into those eyes, skin to skin? My throat dried and I wished I hadn’t tossed the magazine because I could’ve used something to occupy my nervous energy.

“How’d you become a killer?” I blurted out, then winced. Smooth, real smooth. Too late to take it back, though. His story was likely far more interesting than mine, anyway.

“Military. Trained to kill on the government’s dime. Then, when I was released from service, I knew there was one thing I was good at.”

I tried not to shudder. Normal life didn’t prepare you for these kinds of conversations. “That’s it? I mean, lots of people go into the military to pay for college and they don’t come out as trained assassins. You couldn’t have become an accountant?”

He laughed out loud. “Can you see me as an accountant?”

I tried not to smile but failed. “Yeah, probably not.”

I wasn’t throwing shade on accountants, because, hey, the world needed good bean counters, but sticking Dex behind a desk would be a crime.

Err...but killing people was also a crime...

My head began to swim.

“Did you always want to be...a...um...killer for hire?” I asked. “On career day at school, did little Dex raise his hand and say, ‘I want to murder people for money!’?”

His smile faded a little as he shook his head. “Not that I remember.”

“What changed?”

But he was done answering my questions. I could tell by the way his gaze shuttered that I’d been put outside whatever door had just slammed shut.

He shocked me by pulling my feet toward him. I held my breath as he removed my socks. Would he freak out at my weird toe?

“What are you doing?” I asked, my heart fluttering like a drunken butterfly.

“Tell me what you did for fun,” he said, beginning to rub the sole of my foot.

“W-when?”

No one had ever rubbed my feet.

I’d never even had a pedicure.

Like I said before, toes were ugly.

Why would I want anyone to touch them?

But Dex’s hands on my feet...yeah, the wetness had begun all over again.

Dex’s mouth quirked in a small tease of a smile. “Anytime. What does Breezy Grace do for fun?”

Was this seduction?

It was working.

I’d make a terrible spy.

So much for my iron will, right?

I wet my bottom lip. “I...I like to fly kites.”

What?

I’ve never flown a kite in my life. “No, that’s a lie,” I admitted, bunching my brows to keep from moaning. “I don’t know why I said that but you’re distracting me with your foot magic.”

His grin deepened with amusement at my accusation.

It was certainly his fault that I couldn’t think straight.

I’d fallen down a rabbit hole and Dex was either the Mad Hatter or the Cheshire cat.

Jury was still out on which one.

I tried to pull my foot out of his grasp but he shook his head in warning. His threat in the kitchen bloomed bright and vibrant in my memory.

Would he really tie me to the bed?

What else would he do to me if that happened?

I suppose I could erase all doubt and ask.

But you know what they said about that curious cat.

Spoiler alert: it died.