I realize how confined my hiding place is, how obvious it is. If I stay, Rhys will find me here, if he hasn’t already. There is only one thing to do.

Run.

I shoot out out of the tree like a ball out of a cannon. Rhys is not standing directly outside as I feared but I sense his presence nearby, feel him gaining on me as I try to navigate the maze of fallen debris, bushes and roots. Of course I’m making too much noise as I struggle through the underbrush, my skirts getting caught on everything. Because I’m so loud, I can’t hear him, but I can feel him and every time my skirt gets snagged, I gasp, fearing it’s him. The scratch of a branch against my bare arm is Rhys’s hand reaching for me. The breeze on the back of my neck is Rhys’s breath, taunting me, letting me know how close he is.

Suddenly I’m caught and I squeal, the sound part fear and part laughter bordering on hysteria. But it’s just a sharp protuberance from a tree. The broken branch looks like a two-fingered hand and I hastily tug at my dress, tearing the beautiful skirt in the process. I laugh uneasily at my mistake and take a quick glance over my shoulder.

Is that a shadow? Yes. There’s definitely someone behind me, flitting in and out between trees, wearing fatigues so as to blend in with the forested surroundings.

Holy hell! This whole thing feels too fucking real! The line between the panic of being chased and the thrill of being chased is imprecise; Rhys just talked me into an amazing orgasm minutes ago and now I feel as if I’m running for my life.

Jesus! I’ve never felt more alive.

Or…more lost. I have no idea where I am but there’s no time to stop and get my bearings. I just have to trust my instinct and let my feet guide me, not that I have any back country experience to rely upon. Yep. I’m in big, fucking trouble.

“You’re very agile.”

My already roiling tummy twists at the sound of his voice. “Where are you?” I gasp.

“Right behind you.”

Fu-uck!

I head toward a clearing and find that it’s actually the opening to a path. While it’s the obvious route, going is so much easier along the path than through the forest, I take it, casting furtive glances over my shoulder every few seconds. One minute I think I see him, the next I don’t, making me wonder if he’s heading along a different path intent on cutting me off. The thought boosts my adrenalin and I run faster than I’ve ever run before in my life. Until I get to a fork where I skid to a halt.

Dammit! Which way?

As if reading my mind, or watching me from very close proximity, Rhys says, “What now, Tessa?”

Of course I don’t answer. For one, I’m too out of breath, for another, I don’t want to give my position away in the unlikely event that Rhys is not as close behind me as I think he is. I take only a second to decide and then follow the path on the left. I hope I’m heading back towards the estate, but I’m so completely turned around, I basically have no idea.

The winding path takes me up and then down a hill where the trail switches one way and then the other. Before each blind corner, I slow my pace, both fearing and hoping Rhys will surprise me on the path ahead. To my relief…and disappointment, he’s doesn’t.

The path opens up—finally—and I’m flying down a slope, my skirts billowing out behind me, my legs spinning beneath me like the roadrunner in the Looney Tunes cartoons—beep, beep! By the time the ground levels out, I’m laughing like a kid, giddy and out of breath. There’s a small wooden structure to my right and the pond—which is more of a small lake—directly in front of me.

No Rhys.

I head for the boat tethered to the wooden dock, my slippers sliding on the smooth, bleached wood. Skidding up to the mooring where the boat is tied, I stoop to untie the rope, but it’s too wet and stiff.

All the running means that my hands are shaking. Add to that the fact I hear the crunch of boots on gravel, and my fingers fumble on the knot. I don’t turn around. I don’t have time. I grunt, struggling to loosen the knots.

C’mon! For fuck’s sake, c’mon!

Finally, I get the rope undone and jump inelegantly into the boat. It bobs unevenly beneath me and I come pretty damn close to toppling into the water but manage to stabilize the rocking by collapsing into the bottom. Using my feet, I push the boat away from the dock, fully expecting Rhys to be standing there, reaching for the rope as it trails across the bleached wood, pulling the boat…and me, back to him. Catching me.

Immobilizing me. Having me the way he wants me…

He’s not there. Not in person anyway, but his voice is with me.

“Well done, Ms. Savage.”

I scramble to the seat and manage to get the oars in the water, rowing so that I’m far enough away from the dock that Rhys can’t catch me. I search the shoreline for signs of him. There’s a shadow standing in the trees by the boat house only a few yards from where I was. How long has he been there? Could he have caught me if he wanted to? Is the man toying with me, purposefully drawing this out?

I pull harder on the oars, positioning the boat in the middle of the lake. “I can stay here all day,” I shout.

The shadow disappears just as Rhy’s voice fills my head. “I don’t thinks so.”

“What do you mean.”

“Look in the bottom.”

There’s a puddle of water, wetting my shoes, seeming to grow. Shit!

“Slow leak. With your weight, I calculate you have fifteen minutes to reach shore before the boat sinks.”

My best bet is to row to the opposite side of the lake, wade out and run. Dammit! Who knew this fantasy would require so much physical exercise! I prefer to save my energy for the bedroom, not expend it all beforehand. But there’s an incredible thrill involved in all this adrenalin and exertion. It’s an unexpectedly exciting form of foreplay.

“You know what I love about you?”

It’s like he’s in the boat with me, his voice fills not only my head but my chest cavity, my abdomen and creates lovely vibrations down between my thighs.

I grunt in response. Rowing is hard fucking work.

“How responsive you are.”

How is it that he never sounds out of breath? It’s not fair.

“How wet your pussy gets when you’re aroused.”

Dammit! His words have me throbbing against the wooden bench of the boat.

“How eager you are to be fucked.”

Oh God.

“You want it now, don’t you? You’re aching for me, even as you run from me.”

The opposite shore is coming up, my oars strike the sandy bottom of the pond and I coast in until the bottom of the boat hits land. Removing my shoes, I climb out and wade the few feet to shore where I put my shoes back on. Now what? This side of the lake is less forested. There’s less cover. At least that means that there are fewer places for Rhys to hide.

“Give up now and I’ll give you what you want.”

I try to get my bearings from the view I had from my window. I don’t reply until I devise a strategy. “I don’t thinks so.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates up and down my spine. “Good. I like having to work for it.”

“Good. I like making you work for it.”

I know exactly where I am. This is the south facing part of the estate, leading down into the vineyard. I hurry down the hill and duck beneath a thick vine, ending up in a neglected row. The vines are heavy with foliage, but I can still see all the way to the end. Moving swiftly, I make my way down the row as stealthily as possible, all senses on alert.

What’s that?

Was that movement from the row to my left?

Oh God! One little snap of a branch, crackle of a leaf and my heart rate springs into hyper drive! It’s crazy.

“What do you think of my vineyard, Tessa?”

“A little neglected,” I say. Turning, I sprint back the way I came. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch sight of a man standing at the end of the lane, not running, just watching.

Adrenalin spikes through me like a thousand volt electric shock.

I scramble up the bank at the end and glance back just in time to see him disappear to the right. I head five rows left and start down, moving swiftly between the vines. I find a gap in the foliage and duck inside, spotting a little furrow—an animal den, maybe?—and settle into the space to wait.

“Where are you, Tessa?”

Of course I don’t answer. All senses are primed, listening for sounds of him.

“You can’t have gone far.”

I wait, the seconds feeling like hours, hoping he’ll keep talking, alerting me to his presence. He doesn’t. I want to ask him where he is, but I don’t dare.

Finally I move, carefully, cautiously, peeking my head out and surveying the lane. Up and down. Up and down. I push myself to my feet, dust myself off and tiptoe down the row. It takes forever, and though I’m moving slowly, the situation in my lungs makes me feel like I’m still running. Near the end I catch sight of the house and buildings and decide to head in that direction. I need to get out of the forest where Rhys clearly has the advantage; tracking me in his fatigues while I’m like a beacon in my flowing white dress. Plus, it would be nice to get out of the sun, to find a cool, dark place to rest after all of this fucking running.

As I hurry forward I stumble, more than once, just like a victim in a horror movie. My feet feel like wooden pegs on the end of nebulous legs. My arms swing awkwardly at my sides. I trip because I can’t seem to negotiate the uneven ground, the signals firing inside my brain are all wonky and confused from exertion, panic, thrill…arousal.

I make for the nearest building, heading for a door that looks like it might have been a service door at the back. True to his word, this door is unlocked and I slip inside, closing it softly behind me, hoping, probably unreasonably, that Rhys didn’t see me. Hoping, strangely, that he did and he’ll end this torture. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

Once my eyes adjust to the lack of light, I realize this was an industrial kitchen. Though the surfaces are dusty from disuse, boxes and crates line the wall and the counters. Is Rhys planning on reopening sometime in the near future? My heart rate slows as I run my hand along the top of a box labeled FRAGILE in bold letters. Rhys wasn’t just in Paris for fun, he was there for research, he clearly plans on running this vineyard. Does that mean he’s done with the military? The thought makes me realize how little I know about the man. How much I’d like to get to know him better. I open the lid on a box and pull out a wide bowl wine glass.

The glass reminds me of Paris, of Rhys holding a wine glass in his big hand…

There’s a noise from the next room. A whisper? A footstep? A door?

Shit!

I slip silently into an adjacent storage room, packed with more boxes, and crouch down, making sure my skirt is tucked around my legs, not visible from the door.

The groan of unused hinges makes me gasp and I cover my mouth.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.”

I tiny little mewl squeezes out between my fingers at the sound of approaching boots on tile.

“I can smell you, Tessa. Your skin is warm from exercise, making your perfume stronger.”

I would not be good at special ops, or whatever the hell it is that Rhys Blackstone does for the military, because I keep choosing to hide in places where there is only one exit point. Not smart, Tessa.

The minimal light is muted. Rhys must be standing near the door to the storage room blocking it. I shut my eyes, waiting.

“Tessa?”

The compulsion to answer is so strong.

“I can smell your pussy.”

Oh fuck.