If Only She'd Loved Him

Chapter 16

He frowned.  "Quid pro quo, you sound like that idiotic new boyfriend of yours.  Do you even know what that means?"  He ignored the glare she shot at him.  "Plus," his tone shifted. "You have nothing to bargain with.  What will you give me if I answer your questions?" 

Nervously, she tried to lock out his gaze.  Drops of wine shook from her glass as she set it back down on the table.  "You wanted to talk, talk means two people discussing, not one person threatening.  If you want answers, you have to give me answers too, quid pro quo."  Her voice was firm.  He found her response amusing. 

A smirk, not a smile crossed his face.  Standing up, he crossed to her side of the table.  For a moment, he just stared down at her, his fingers drifting towards her still damp hair, then he mock bowed.  "Shall we have this discussion someplace more comfortable?"

Megan nodded her head.  He pulled out her chair, waiting for her to stand.  She stood at the table, fingers clinging to its edge for balance.  Taking no notice of her trembling, he inclined his head towards the door.

"Open the door.  Make a right and sit down in the living room.  And Megan," he added, shaking his head at her.  "Don't try to make a run for it.  I'll tell you now the door is locked, and I have the key."

Shoulders stiffening, she tossed her hair.  Instantly she regretted the movement as the floor swerved up to meet her head.  Holding still for a minute, she regained her balance, and unsteadily made her way into the next room.  The first thing she saw was an easy chair.  With a grateful thump, she fell into its cushy center.  More at ease now that she wasn't in danger of tripping, she sat up and began to make mental notes.  The place was obviously a hunting cabin. There was even a dead deer head staring at her above the fireplace. Its glass eyes caught the light, and Megan turned her head away, hating those sightless yellow eyes.  Even to her fuzzed ears, the place was too quiet.  Megan was used to music, noise, anything that made her feel she wasn't alone.  She looked around for a TV, a radio, something to distract her ears from what Erik was about to say.  But the outlets she saw were empty and dirty; they obviously hadn't been used in a long time.  What about a phone?  He had to have a phone, didn't he?  But she didn't see one anywhere.  Erik frowned as he saw where she was sitting.  He shook his head, his index finger gesturing to the sofa.

"Uh-uh, sweetheart, try the couch."

He patted the space next to him.  Megan didn't move.

"I'm quite comfortable here, thank you."  She stretched her arms out across the back of the chair, reaching up towards the sky.

Erik maintained his calm by enforcing his will.  Lifting her up off the chair by her wrist, he propelled her towards the couch, sitting her down where he wanted.  "But I think you'll be more comfortable here." 

He tilted her chin towards his face, forcing her to look him in the eyes.  "Now," he said pleasantly.  "I believe you were about to tell me how you escaped those handcuffs."

Megan moved her head, looking this way, that way, down at the floor, up at the deer head, but he wouldn't let go of her chin.  Finally, she did what he wanted, but she studied her hands in her lap as she spoke, avoiding his eyes. "I slipped them," she admitted.

"How?"

"I just did.  It was easy."  Megan shrugged her shoulders, her whole attitude conveying a carefully fabricated, completely untrue, self-assurance.

Eyebrows raised, he shook his head.  "I don't believe you, love, not one word.  I saw your wrists.  If you had just slipped those handcuffs off, they would have taken half your skin with them.  Now tell me the truth."  His eyes darkened as his fingers tightened their grip.  Two dots of pain burned into the bones of her chin.