Her mother’s voice filled the air, assuring her that Molly was safe and sound. Claire pulled a face at the machine. Disloyal cat. “Should have bought a dog,” Claire mumbled, crouching down to store the fresh vegetables in the bottom drawer, fending off feelings of resentment over her cat’s betrayal.

“… Oh, and I bumped into your friend Gideon. Such a nice young man, very handsome…”

Claire stood so fast her head smacked against the freezer door she had left swinging open.

Rubbing the top of her head, she scowled at the machine, her unease exploding into full panic as her mother went on to say, “I told him you should bring him to dinner when you get back from the lake…”

With her heart in her throat, Claire spun around, desperate to put as much distance between herself and the cabin as possible. Only she collided into a wall. A wall that hadn’t been there a moment before.

With a cry, she staggered back, crashing into the open refrigerator door. The bottles and jars lining the door rattled noisily. Had she been small enough, she would have crawled inside the refrigerator and closed the door. But she wasn’t. She had nowhere to run. Her eyes lifted and settled on a furious Gideon March.

He twirled a pair of handcuffs on his index finger and took a menacing step forward. “You have no idea how much trouble you’ve put me through.”

Obviously not enough. He had found her. No thanks to her mother.

She darted past him. Hard fingers caught the ends of her hair and gave a yank. Arms flailing, she careened into that familiar wall of muscle. His arms came up to lock around her, squeezing her ribs until she couldn’t draw air. Even panicked, she was conscious of the way her breasts rose and fell on top of his forearm, conscious of how heavy and achy they suddenly felt, of how her nipples hardened. The air deepened into shadows of hazy red and purple, mirroring her varying emotions—rage, fear, excitement.

He pressed his mouth close to her ear and growled in a voice that sent shivers down her spine, “We’re through talking.”

Oh God. He’s here to kill me.

Guided by instinct, she flung her head back, crashing it against his chin. With a grunt of pain, he loosened his hold. She broke free and bolted, snatching her purse from a wall hook by the door.

Her hand barely grazed the doorknob before her feet flew out from under her. One moment she was airborne, the next flat on her back—every bone in her body painfully jarred. Dazed, she saw a flash of silver overhead and remembered what had dangled from his hands. Handcuffs. Crouching over her, he grabbed one of her wrists with the cuffs poised in the air, ready to shackle her.