“Amy…” he says, taking another step towards me.
Just the thought of him coming closer is enough to send me into a panic. I don’t know what will happen if he gets close but I know it won’t be good. And it’s not because I’m afraid he’ll hurt me. No, I’m afraid he’ll do something worse… like kiss me again. I’d rather submit than endure that.
I’ll take humiliation over the confusing attraction to keep him at a distance.
At least for now.
With a sigh, I look away and drop back down to the couch.
Andrew seems to relax, the tension going out of him. His shoulders drop and he cracks his neck.
He stares at me for a long moment, the air crackling between us, then walks over to the dining room table.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
I shake my head. My stomach is so twisted up just the thought of food is making me feel sick.
“You should eat,” he says and looks at me pointedly.
It takes me a moment to realize what he’s trying to say. When I realize he’s looking at my stomach, my face burns with mortification. He can’t be seriously suggesting… Oh my god, he is… He’s totally eluding that I could be pregnant.
I can’t even.
But maybe I am…
My brain just shuts down, having reached its limit of acceptable craziness.
Over the next few minutes, I’m vaguely aware of Abigail bouncing up and down beside me, singing along with a cartoon princess.
Pregnant. I could be pregnant.
In the kitchen, Andrew cleans up the mess from breakfast.
If I am, then what?
I’m so paralyzed by my thoughts, I just sit on the couch in stunned silence. I didn’t think my situation could get any worse, but now it’s about as bad as it could possibly get.
It’s not until Andrew is done cleaning up and almost upon me that I feel like I can move again. All my muscles tense up and I’m prepared to bolt.
He drops down on the couch and wraps his arm around me just as I try to stand.
Bicep tensing, his arm squeezes around me to drag me closer to him. I try to push up. I try to scoot away from him. But my desire to move away only seems to make him that more determined.
I know this drill, we did this last night, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
The more I fight him the more his hold tightens.
He traps me against his side, arm wrapping around my shoulder, and his heavy hand coming to rest on my arm.
Abigail glances over at us and he grins at her.
To my dismay, she smiles back at him.
I take a deep breath, hold it, and count to ten. If I just relax, maybe eventually his hold will loosen enough for me to escape.
I exhale the breath I was holding, and tired of staring off into space, I take a good look at him, familiarizing myself with him. After all, it’s always good to know your enemy.
Last night, in the dark, I couldn’t see him though I got to know him quite intimately.
In the light of day, he seems to loom even larger, if that’s even possible. It must be because he’s so close, practically breathing down my neck.
I look down at the huge hand upon my arm and note the scars on his knuckles. I wonder how many men he’s hit with his hands. How many women? How many children?
Shivering with that thought, I jerk my gaze away only to have it fall upon his lap. I definitely don’t need any reminders of how big he is in that department.
I drag my eyes up until they fall on his face.
He stares down at me with a dark, hungry intensity that takes my breath away.
Why is he looking at me like that?
And why is his big head growing even bigger?
Oh, it’s because he’s dipping his face, coming in for a kiss.
Leaning back, I blurt out, “If you’re going to keep us stuck in this house, Abigail will need more to do. Watching cartoons all day isn’t good for her.”
He frowns, pausing a breath away from my lips, looking chagrinned.
“I don’t know how long you intend for this to go on,” I continue, now that I’ve got his attention. “But we’ll also need some clean clothes and all our toiletries.”
He nods his head, his eyes locking on my lips, and murmurs, “It’s already being taken care of.”
“It is?” I ask with some surprise, not expecting that answer. “In what way?” I press, more warily.
Is it being taken care of because he intends to release us? Or is it because he doesn’t expect us to be alive long enough to need more than what we already have?
“Johnathan is bringing—” he starts only to be cut off by someone knocking loudly on the front door. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters and unwraps his arm from around my shoulders with a look of regret.