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as awkward on her wrist, and Flick imagined sleep would be allusive. But at least for now she was out of harm’s way, and in this situation that was the most she could hope for.

Chapter Two
     
     
    With th ere being no windows in the room, morning couldn’t intrude upon them. But the shack must have awoken because something made Flick stir. The woodsy smell mingled with a musky something she couldn’t identify.
    B ut in the mumbling of her dream-soaked mind she wriggled into the warmth that encircled her. This fog was comfy and cosy and she’d be happy to stay in it for a while.
    Except on another sigh something vibrated against her chest. The hard bed that heated her seemed to be gr umbling. On opening her eyes Flick realised her bed was breathing. Hot, humid breath clouded her hair and the memory of last night smashed into her.
    Trying to shove up ward, her arm stalled against the post he’d tied her to. Flattening her palm on his naked pectoral she pushed up from her base, snagging her hair on his stubble where her head had been snug under his chin.
    Flick was on top of him, their bodies chest to chest. Rushe’s eyes were closed, so she figured he was still asleep. But with him on his back, taking up all of the bed space, and her restrained Flick couldn’t slip off of him; there was nowhere for her to go. His arms were heavy and strong around her. One of his hands twined through her hair on the back of her skull.
    The other han d was under the shirt Flick wore. The apparel had been shoved out of the way to allow his large hand to palm her buttock. It rested there with entitlement. If she was offended she quickly got over it when she felt what was under her, pressing into her abdomen; thick and long, and hard. The daunting lump could only be one thing, and it made her eyes water. If he forced that on her, or any woman, she’d be split in two.
    Trying desperately to stay still Flick became hyperaware of every breath. The deeper she inhaled the farther that intruding, pulsing wood beneath her became. Flick’s experience with men was limited. She wouldn’t for a second consider herself worldly. In her first life – which was the life she’d left when her parents cast her out – men were careful. Or maybe they weren’t that worldly themselves.
    Having two older sisters meant Flick was used to being in shadow. Both of her sisters were gregarious and had the attention of the playboys who came to the Country Club. Her parents turned a blind eye to any dalliances in their younger days, and both women fell into line when their father deemed it time.
    Lucia married Roger Willis three years ago, and when Flick last saw them Vivian had been engaged to Martin Schifford. Both men were now executives in their father’s firm. Despite how things had ended she thought about her family every day. The disappointment she’d caused them all hung like a lead weight around her neck.
    Knowing that this situation she found herself in now was enough to be dealing with Flick told herself not to revisit that past pain. Thinking about what had happened was difficult enough without having to acknowledge the fact that she’d likely never see any of them again. Flick wouldn’ t have the chance to get her grievances off her chest, and she wouldn’t have any time to make amends.
    Thus far a truce had been impossible because her family wouldn’t acknowledge their own fault in the circumstances. The only concession they’d been interested in was Flick’s, and it was only when she refused for a final time that all ties between them had been cut.
    Her shack mattress grumbled and sucked in a breath, raising her up, and digging that lump further into her. As Flick thought about her family, she’d been relaxed, considering the issue, stroking her hand up and down his muscled flesh. With another mutter, Flick was thrown aside and he sprang out of bed. Rushe stretched and strode out of the room without a word.
    The cold he’d warned her of