by Taylor Dean
“’Oh, I get more than that. But it isn’t fit for a lady’s ears.”
Guess he meant her. Except she wasn’t feeling very ladylike right about now. Jill cast him a withering look. “The meat’s burning.”
“Shoot,” he yelled as he tended to the smoky pan. When the situation was under control, he proceeded to destroy a tomato with his non-existent knife skills. Next he butchered an onion and Jill couldn’t help but laugh at the ensuing tears running down his face.
“Quit laughing. It’s not easy to cook for a chef, you know,” he said, wiping his face with a paper towel.
“Am I making you nervous?”
“Yes. Stop staring or I’ll put you in the other room facing a wall like a misbehaving child.”
Please do. Watching you is torture. And not because you suck at cooking. Completely deadpan and monotone, she said, “Oh no, please not that. Somebody help me. Help. Help.”
“No one can hear you, sweetheart,” he said with a crooked smile. Luke approached, leaned towards her, placing one hand on each arm of the chair. “Gonna go use the restroom.” This time his smile was pure evil. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Jill breathed in and out deeply and heavily. “I’ll just be right here,” she said, as if she had a choice. “This isn’t awkward at all, Luke. Not at all.” The bathroom door closed and she wondered if he’d even heard her.
As soon as he left the room, Jill tugged on the handcuffs, hoping to dislodge the connecting piece of wood she was handcuffed to. Dang, if furniture wasn’t well made back then. She stood and started to drag the chair toward the front door. It moved with her easily, but was much too noisy. Then a thought occurred to her and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. She positioned herself behind the chair, angled her hands until she could grip the arms, and picked it up, no problem.
Moving as quickly as possible, she carried the chair towards the door. One slight push with the chair sent the screen door flying open. Jill and her new companion walked into the open air with a sigh of relief. She caught the door with a backward flick of one foot—a move Fred Astaire would be proud of—and let it close ever so softly.
The steps off the front porch were a little tricky, but she managed. Once on the upward slope of the cement driveway, she moved along at a brisk pace, her muscles beginning to scream in rebellion. Sweat gathered on her forehead and dripped down her cheeks. Her breath came in quick puffs as the brick of a chair that seemed feather light moments ago, now seemed to weigh a ton. No doubt, it was a solid, well-made piece of furniture, which is why it had lasted as long as it had. She made it to the end of the long driveway and had to take a break before she passed out.
While it was early evening, the day had been an unusually hot day in April and the heat had hardly let up. She collapsed onto the chair, feeling as though she’d just run a mile. So much for being in shape. At this rate, it wouldn’t take her hours to walk twenty miles, it would take her days. Maybe if she just held the chair over her head and crashed it down onto the ground, it would splinter into a million pieces and she’d be free. Or it would just bounce back and hit her in the face. Maybe she could throw it against a tree or . . .
“Jillian Claire Barrett, what the heck?”
The game was up. Luke stood on the front porch, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t even in a hurry to catch her.
“Really? Where do you think you’re going to go?”
Then he started to laugh. Not just a laugh, a drawn out, deep belly laugh as if he suddenly found the situation hilariously funny.
I love that laugh.
“Now there’s a convenient mode of travel for a getaway. Get tired? No problem. You happen to have a chair handy.”
He threw his head back and laughed heartily. Jill was pretty sure she even heard him slap his knee.
She didn’t let herself join him. Nope, not even a slight curve to her lips.
He approached slowly, his mirth making him weak. “I can hear the police report now. ‘Missing girl alert. Last seen at the side of the road sitting in a chair. The girl and her chair have been reported missing for three hours. The description of the chair is . . .’ ” He couldn’t finish. Laughter got the best of him.
Jill kept a straight face. Only just.
“Go ahead. I’ll give you a head start. Let’s see if I can catch ya.”
Jill crossed her legs and settled into the surprisingly comfy chair.
“Maybe I should’ve handcuffed you to the bed. Would’ve slowed you down a bit, but hey, nothing like traveling in style.” Luke laughed with gusto at his own joke.
And he thought her jokes were bad.
When she didn’t join him, he finally sobered. “All right, c’mon, let’s get back in the house,” Luke said, motioning toward the ranch house. When she didn’t respond, he did like he’d done earlier. He leaned down so they were face to face, his hands resting on the arms of the rock solid chair. The close proximity made her heart thump in her chest.
Luke.
“Don’t make me carry you. I promise it won’t be a smooth ride.”
Jill reminded herself to keep it light. With his lips an inch away, it was awfully hard. “Ooooo, your threats are so scary, Luke.”
“Oh, you don’t think I’ll do it?”
“I don’t think you can.”
“What do you weigh, Miss Four-Foot-Eleven? Ninety pounds?”
Ninety-eight. But he didn’t need to know that. Luke didn’t move, his face only an inch from hers. She felt his breath on her cheeks and breathed him in. His eyes lowered to her lips for a second, then went back up to her eyes.
Luke. My Luke.
“I’m not moving. So if you want me inside, you’ll have to put me there.” Jill maintained her false bravado even though she really wanted to lean forward and kiss him.
So close, yet so far.
“If I do it, will you stop trying to escape?”
Jill crossed her fingers. “Deal,” she said innocently.
“You’re such a bad liar.”
“You’re such a bad kidnapper.”
“Touché,” he said, flashing a crooked grin.
Luke stood behind her and in one giant heave, picked up the chair with her in it. Deliberately, he walked a curvy path down the drive, making the ride as bumpy as possible. Jill couldn’t help but laugh with delight right along with him, the sound ringing out and echoing through the trees.
7
Luke and Jill
April 2003
Present Day
Upon entering the ranch house Luke unlocked the handcuffs and for a moment she was finally free of the brick some people called a chair. He’d carried her and the chair as if they’d weighed nothing and she was still mad at herself for not trying a little harder to make the “great chair escape.” Her anger kindled when he proceeded to handcuff her to the matching couch. It had to weigh four times as much as the chair.
“Let’s see you carry that outside the door,” he said cheekily. He laughed to himself a few times as he placed the finishing touches on dinner. Jill rather enjoyed making him laugh. Evidently, she was the evening’s entertainment. Top billing even.
“I’m here all night,” she announced.
“Oh yes, you are.”
Game on, Lucas Graham. This little battle of wills they were playing was sort of fun. Like a carefully choreographed tango, they circled one another, eyeing each other with caution. They approached one another with rising emotions, almost touching, but then separating at the opportune moment. There was despair, disdain, even loathing, and yet, all the while an undeniable longing to give in to their desires and come together. The tension between them was building, becoming more intense by the moment. Her outrage and his determination were at war.
Let the dance resume. She had every intention of winning the battle.
Except winning meant escaping. And if she escaped, she’d be leaving without Luke. In which case, she’d be losing. Totally and utterly. Jill felt hersel
f deflate like a balloon. What exactly was she fighting for?
With that somber thought in mind, Jill ate her dinner, even though she’d briefly considered a hunger strike. Unfortunately, she wasn’t disciplined enough to refuse food. The tacos Luke had made were delicious, even if the meat tasted a little charred.
“My compliments to the chef. That was really good, Luke.”
“Coming from you, that’s high praise.”
Luke cleared the plates and put the food away. When he entered the living room, he stilled and simply stared at her for a moment. Whatever he was about to impart, it weighed heavily on him, that much was obvious. The moment of truth was upon them and Luke seemed to be filled with trepidation. She felt for him.
“Just relax for a moment, Luke. You’re making me nervous.”
He readily agreed. “I just need a second to compose my thoughts.”
To her surprise, he spread out directly next to her on the same couch, his feet lightly resting against her thigh, his hands clasped over his chest. With his head propped up by a throw pillow, he studied her thoughtfully from his comfortable position. “The story I’d like to tell you is not a short one.”
“It would appear I have a lot of time.”
He didn’t laugh, or even smile. He let out his breath with an exaggerated sigh and stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. “I’m not even sure where to start.” Briefly, he closed his eyes and then opened them again. His blink was long and slow. “You’ll probably wonder why I’m telling you stories from my childhood.” His eyes, seeming heavy, closed again. This time they didn’t open. “There’s a reason and it’ll all make sense in the end, I promissssse,” he slurred, evidently feeling quite relaxed.
Jill’s imagination went on overdrive. Stories from his childhood? How did childhood stories relate to their current predicament? Silence crept over the room for at least a full minute as her thoughts churned wildly. The tension between them slipped out of the room like an unwelcome guest. Jill finally began to feel at ease. Anxious to hear his story, she said, “Go on.”
Silence.
“Luke?” She searched his tranquil features.
Luke’s slow rhythmic breathing told her he’d drifted off. He wasn’t snoring, but steady puffs of air whispered past his lips in a gentle cadence.
“Luke?” she said again.
He was out cold. After all of his efforts to get her here and all of his worry about time, he’d slipped into oblivion at the all-important moment.
Jill sighed and stared at her surroundings, feeling alone without an awake and vibrant Luke. Now that he had her here, he was going to sleep? What happened to his urgent need to talk to her?
Jill couldn’t help herself, her eyes wandered over his relaxed form. His features in repose were soft, the angles undisturbed with worry. His chest rose and fell with a peaceful tempo. His stomach was flat and firm, his legs long and lean. He was perfect, an ideal specimen of manhood laid out for her perusal. And she perused.
I love this man.
Her eyes wandered, getting their fill, and then came to a screeching halt on the slight bulge in his jeans pocket.
Were those his keys?
Could she get to them? Hmmmm . . . the dance was about to get very interesting.
Ever so slowly, Jill stood without disturbing him. Letting her wrist spin freely inside the handcuffs, she tiptoed her way around the back of the couch. Leaning forward over Luke, she carefully reached out and slipped two fingers into Luke’s pocket.
He didn’t react and his breathing remained slow and steady. If his breathing changed it would be a dead giveaway that he had awakened and knew she was up to something. It would be just like him to fake sleep and catch her in the act. Jill was not about to let that happen.
Gently, she grasped the key ring with her index finger and thumb and tugged on the keys ever so slightly.
No response from Luke.
She took her time and tugged just a fraction of an inch every thirty seconds or so. Her hair fell forward, the wispy ends tickling Luke’s arms. She froze in place, her heart racing at epic speed, and beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Luke shifted slightly and threw one arm over his head, narrowly missing slapping her on the arm. Jill held her position for a full minute after that, waiting for Luke to fall back into his deep slumber. Her muscles screamed in rebellion at the awkward stance. She distracted herself by letting her eyes devour Luke. He really was a beautiful man, made up of muscles, smooth olive skin, and a perfectly proportioned physique. A wave of longing beset her. She missed his presence in her life. If only things could be different right now.
At a snail’s pace, Jill tugged on the keys a few more times, leaving nothing but a trail of barely perceived baby’s breath in her wake, a touch so light and airy he could’ve been kissed by a cloud and never even known it.
Success.
She held Luke’s keys in her hot little hands.
Nimbly, she knelt next to the couch, not letting the keys clink together. She studied the keys in her hand and guessed the odd looking key was the handcuff key. Weren’t handcuff keys universal? She had no idea. It wasn’t as if she’d had much experience with handcuffs. Choosing to go with the odd looking key, she awkwardly used her left hand to place the key in the lock. She was right handed and her clumsy attempts equaled a monkey fumbling around with thick, fat fingers. She found success after her fifth attempt. The click of the lock seemed overly loud and she was sure she’d awakened Luke, but he remained still, his breathing stable. Adrenaline made her want to move quickly. Instead she maintained her slow tempo, freeing both herself and the handcuffs from the wood framed couch.
Jill moved to the center of the room, debating what to do next. Leave without disturbing Luke? Let him wake up to find her gone? Or give him a taste of his own medicine and handcuff him to the couch?
The idea of one-upping him was too much of a temptation. She simply couldn’t pass up this opportunity. He’d already thrown one arm over his head, placing his wrist directly next to the wooden slats connecting the arm of the chair to the base of the couch. It just didn’t get any better than this.
Kneeling next to the couch once again, Jill moved painstakingly slow as she clicked one end of the handcuffs onto one of the couch’s wooden slats. Then she smiled to herself at what was about to happen. Luke would now be the captive. Her captive. But first, she paused. With her face close to his, she breathed in his breath. What would happen if she pressed her lips to his right now? Would he reject her? Would he welcome her kiss? Or would he simply handcuff her again?
The lack of confidence threw her for a loop, leaving her drowning in insecurity. She moved so quickly, Luke hardly had time to react. She snapped the handcuffs onto his wrist and clicked them closed with a defining clap.
He gasped and his eyes flew open. For just the smallest second, their eyes met as she hovered over him. Still in the realms of sleep, he whispered, “Jill?” His tone didn’t imply wonder at what was going on. It said, “Is it really you?” As if he’d longed for the moment when he could awaken with her close by.
Or maybe that was what Jill wanted to hear. Her imagination was running wild, after all.
She moved away from him swiftly, before she did something she would later regret.
Coming to his senses, Luke sat up, tugging at the handcuffs as if he couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong with his arm.
Jill stood just out of arm’s reach and tossed the keys in the air and caught them, over and over, as if she didn’t have a care in the world and her escape had been massively easy.
As realization hit, Luke stilled, his eyes narrowing. “Give me back my keys, Jillian.”
“No can do, Lucas,” she said, faking nonchalance.
“Jill, c’mon. Don’t do this.”
“Hmmmm . . . funny, I remember saying something similar earlier today.” She took a few steps toward the door.
“You’re not gonna leave me here?”
“Don’t worry, I�
��ll call mommy and tell her to come and rescue you. No, wait, even better, I’ll call the guys at the station and let them know an officer is in need of assistance. I won’t leave you here for long.”
A small smile played on his lips. “You little minx.”
“You asked for this, Luke. You drew first blood.”
“Don’t mess with Rambo.”
“Already did. And won.” She blew him a kiss. “See ya, Luke.”
Jill stepped onto the porch and hesitated. Her fake smile died a quick death. All of the life inside of her seemed to drain from her body, making her feel heavy and downtrodden. Even though she’d won, she’d lost. Big time. They could fake this was all one big funny game between them, but really the stakes were high and they both knew it.
Jill turned and walked back into the ranch house. Luke hadn’t moved, his handcuffed hand lying limply next to him on the couch. He looked slightly forlorn.
All humor gone, she said, “Come to my house tomorrow morning. I promise I won’t avoid you. I’d like to hear what you have to say.” Her voice seemed unrecognizable to her own ears; serious and subdued.
His eyes tense, he stared her down, saying nothing.
“Bye, Luke.” Jill ran to his truck and climbed in. There were five keys on his key ring, one being the handcuff key. She tried all four keys with shaking hands and none of them fit the ignition. Telling herself to calm down, she tried each one a second time.
None of them were a match. Jill rested her head on the steering wheel. No wonder Luke was so calm. He knew she wouldn’t get far. She toyed with the idea of walking twenty miles. For all her bravado, she didn’t relish the idea of wandering around by herself in the countryside. She’d rather take her chances with Luke. Besides, she couldn’t leave him handcuffed for hours on end. What if she got lost? In spite of everything, she couldn’t treat him like that. It would be cruel.
The screen door banged loudly behind her as she entered the ranch house. Luke still sat on the couch where she’d left him, but he dangled a set of keys in front of his face, mocking her, a crooked smile on his face.
He was much too handsome for his own good, the scoundrel. Game back on. Jill felt like grinning from ear to ear like the proverbial Cheshire Cat. “Give me the keys to the truck, Luke. We’ll make an even trade.”