I sit in the center of the bed, arms clasped tightly around my knees. My feet are finally warm again, but I’m still trembling.

I feel exactly like the idiot Thorn tells me I am. I can’t believe how stupid and childish I was to try escaping like that, with no planning and no foresight at all. As much as I hate to admit it, Thorn probably saved me out there. I wasn’t going to get much further without shoes. And even if I had eventually managed to find help, I might have suffered frostbite at the very least. I could have lost toes, or worse.

The thought of going back out there and facing him is mortifying. I can’t stand to think of how angry he probably still is at me. And it’s even harder because his anger is justified. He’ll treat me even worse now than he has been, and I’ll deserve it. As pissed off as I am at my father for shutting me away like this, it’s not Thorn’s fault. He’s only doing his job. And in this case, I should be thankful that he did it as well as he did, or I’d probably be out there in the woods alone crying, with icicles for feet.

I look down at Thorn’s socks covering my now-warm toes, and bite my lip, remembering how gentle his hands were as they took off my soaking ones by the fire. A little shiver runs through me as I think about how he carried me in his arms all the way back here. He was so strong, and in spite of the pain I found myself feeling… safe. Protected. Like nothing could hurt me as long as he was holding me. It was such a strange sensation. Except for my mother, I’ve never felt like anyone was really looking out for me before. Gazing up into his dark, brooding eyes, I almost wanted the trip home to be even longer, so I could stay safe and warm in his arms.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I hang my head and rest my forehead on my knees. I can’t believe this. Am I actually starting to have feelings for the man who’s holding me captive? I snort softly at my foolishness. I must be lonelier and more hard up for human contact than I thought. And hell, maybe all the romance novels I’ve been reading on that Kindle are getting to me. My mind is probably going into overdrive from lack of any other stimulation. I need to get myself together. Lifting my head, I shake it dramatically back and forth a few times to clear it. But it doesn’t do much, other than making me feel a little dizzy.

“Ugh,” I groan. I fall back against the pillows, my arms flailing out to my sides. I stare at the ceiling and sigh. “Iz, you’re pathetic. Get a hold of yourself. This is the way it’s gonna be until Oz decides he’s had enough of treating you like Rapunzel. So you may as well make the best of it, and stop torturing yourself with stupid ideas.”

An hour or so later, a slow, methodical thumping begins outside. I emerge from the bedroom and look out the window to see Thorn chopping wood again. He’s taken off his shirt, and his strong, muscular back is glistening in the late afternoon sun. I tell myself to turn away and stop looking, but I don’t listen to me. Instead, I can’t help but admire how really distractingly sexy this man is. He’s pretty much perfect, physically. The tattoos that line his back, arms, and chest only accentuate the perfection. I watch his hands as they grip the ax, strong and sure, and can’t help fantasizing what they would feel like caressing my skin, or gripping my hips…

My skin goes goosebumpy at the thought, my nipples growing taut as my eyes flutter half-closed. There’s no denying it. I want Thorn. I can’t ever remember wanting a man like this. Of course, the few boys I ever dated in high school and after were just that — boys. Thorn is all man. All sex and virility. It’s impossible to deny it. Even when he looks at me with his habitual pissed off glower, it just makes him all the more delicious to look at.

God, how fucked up is that?

“Good thing he hates me,” I mutter to myself. I snicker sadly at how ridiculous I’m being, and finally tear myself away from the front row seat to his sexiness.

Thorn stays outside chopping for a while. I wander restlessly around the cabin, wishing for something to do. Given my current aroused state, I don’t feel like opening up my Kindle when I know I’ll just be picturing him as the leading man in the romance I’m reading. I don’t have my phone, so I can’t even waste time looking at social media. Where is my phone, anyway, I wonder? I vaguely remember dropping it when Dad’s men grabbed me. It’s probably still sitting in the parking lot of the road house, maybe crushed by now. Remembering that night makes my thoughts turn to my friend Deb. God, she must be worried sick. I’ve barely thought about her since this whole thing started. I feel terrible that I can’t even tell her I’m okay.

Well, there’s nothing to be done about that now. Pushing the thought from my head, I continue wandering around the cabin and start to snoop around a bit. I open up the kitchen cabinets one by one, searching through them more thoroughly than I did yesterday. I don’t discover much that’s new, except for a couple of cans of off-brand Spam in something called “pizza flavor.” Grimacing, I put the cans back and close that particular cupboard. “Who are these freaking savages?” I murmur to myself in disgust.

Moving on to the living room, I open the top drawer of a side table next to the couch. There’s a couple packs of playing cards, what looks like a marijuana roach, and a plastic bag of poker chips. I shrug and open the door at the bottom to see a stack of board games, some of which look like they’re for kids. Huh. It’s hard to imagine any of Thorn’s MC brothers having children, but what do I know? Besides, some of my dad’s men have families.

I find myself wondering if Thorn has an old lady. Or kids. He hasn’t mentioned anything. But why would he say anything to me, if he does? The thought isn’t a pleasant one, and I chastise myself for even caring.

I close the door and wander a few more steps, when my eye lights on Thorn’s open duffel bag, sitting in the corner. Hesitating for a moment, I kneel down and carefully lift up one of the flaps to peer in: shirts, a pair of jeans, some socks that match the ones I have on. Nothing special, or interesting, and I’m too chicken to dig down and look any further. I’m disappointed there’s nothing here that would give me any insight into his life.

Footsteps on the porch interrupt my thoughts. I let out a little squeak and hurriedly stand. Moving to the fireplace, I pretend to be warming myself by the fire when Thorn comes in with a load of wood in his arms.

“You not warmed up yet?” he grunts as he comes over to dump the load next to the fireplace.

“No, I’m okay,” I murmur, feeling my face redden. “It just feels nice here, is all.”

He glances at me for a second before turning away. “This should get us through tonight,” he says, gesturing toward the wood. His shirt is back on, but sweat is already beginning to soak it through. “I need to take a shower,” he grunts. “So…” He nods toward the chair where I was tied up yesterday.

“Thorn,” I begin, hesitating. “I’ll understand if you have to tie me up. I know I deserve it. But I just wanted to say I’m sorry about earlier. It was stupid, I know. And I know I’m lucky you came after me. I’d be out there freezing to death by now if it wasn’t for you. So, well… I’m sorry. I mean, I know I already said that. But…” My eyes fill with tears. I swallow hard, feeling like a dope that I’m close to crying for some reason. “I guess I’m trying to say, I promise I won’t do that again. So, you can tie me up, and I won’t argue. But I wouldn’t go anywhere, even if you didn’t.”

Thorn fixes me with a hard stare and narrows his eyes. “You know I’d be a fool to believe you?”

“I know.” I swallow again and shrug. “I just wanted to say it anyway.” I turn and go to sit down in the chair. “It’s okay,” I say, holding out my arms. “You can tie me up.”

Thorn continues to look at me for a few moments without moving. Then, without a word, he reaches over to the side table for the rope and kneels down to bind my feet. I let him, placing my legs to help him, then move my hands behind the chair back so he can tie them as well. He works slowly, frowning and silent. I don’t know he believes me or not, but at least I hope he accepts my apology.

When he’s finished, he puts his hands on his knees and stands. His eyes meet mine, unreadable.

“I’ll untie you as soon as I’m done,” he murmurs softly.

Then he’s gone.