No more.

She about-faced and set her butt against the kitchen cabinet, began the slow and careful procedure of taking off the apple skin in one long strip. Round and round she went, sinking the sharp blade in just the right distance, her concentration absolute. She was a pro at this. It had been her trick at the school when she’d been rostered on to monitor lunch breaks. The kids loved it. Had loved it. There was something almost Zen about it.

She did her best to ignore him when he joined her, his stare set on her practised hands.

Not so f**king relaxing. Because she couldn’t have a minute’s peace, could she?

Sure enough, the atrocious testosterone-laden scent of him clogged up her nose. Damn it. He stood far closer than necessary, but she could block it out. Hold her breath so his smell couldn’t reach her and concentrate on the task.

But he radiated heat. The back of her hand warmed, the one carefully wielding the knife while her left tended to the apple. Round and round she turned the fruit, keeping the depth and width as consistent as possible. It was so much damn harder to do with him scrutinizing and distracting that she went much slower than normal. She could feel her face scrunching up in concentration. The tip of her tongue sat firmly between her teeth.

Good, this was good. Already, she felt more like she had herself back under control.

A nice slow exhale followed by a robust inhale, that’s the way. She hunched over further, focusing, trying to block him out. No problem. She’d done this a thousand times, a million. He meant nothing to her. He was a nonentity. Then he shifted slightly. He moved his weight from one foot to the other.

Her hand slipped, slicing through the apple’s skin, and the length of red peel tumbled to the floor.

“Fuck, no.” Inconceivable. That hadn’t happened in years.

“Never mind,” he said, like it was nothing. Like what he did to her life was nothing. What he did to her.

She lifted her head and glared at him. “You did that.”

His eyes widened. “Roslyn. I didn’t touch you.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“What are you on about?”

“You were lurking,” she said, voice rising with every word. She enforced her point with the tip of the knife, waving it directly below his nose. Anger didn’t begin to cover it. Fury coursed through her, making her tremble and shake. “You’re always lurking.”

Nick leant back, gaze glued to the blade. “Calm down.”

“Calm down? I can’t even get away from you for a minute and you’re back again, hovering over my shoulder. Stalking me. Sticking your nose into everything I do. You’re f**king insane! You’re keeping me hostage! Who does that? Huh? What kind of f**ked-up individual pulls this sort of shit?”

Her livid words bounced around the cabin, echoing off the walls. The air hummed with them like static electricity. She could see the exact moment he snapped, when her abuse released the demon in him. Someone had flicked a switch.

“So put us both out of our misery,” he roared. His face morphed from calm to enraged, lips drawn back in a snarl. He snatched up her hand, gripping it tight, and pressed the shiny blade to his own throat. “Go on.”

“Nick!” If he frightened her before, he scared the hell out of her now. Strong fingers clenched her hand, making her bruise sting. The apple fell, forgotten, as she tugged on her wrist, fighting him for possession of the blade. “Stop it.”

“Do it.”

“No!”

“You know you want to.” His eyes were lit with anger or desperation or who the f**k knew what. They terrified her. “The key to your padlock’s in my back pocket. Now’s your chance, sweet.”

“Let me go.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, Ros. You gonna co-operate?”

“I mean let go of my hand.” She pulled, but he pushed back. His skin compressed into a single tortured point then gave. The tip of the knife punctured his neck. It was a pin-prick, nothing more. But blood bloomed bright and horror tightened her throat. “Nick.”

He bared his teeth at her in a wide, manic grin. “It’s not so hard, killing people. You can do it. God knows I deserve it, keeping you locked up like this. I’m an animal. You’re right.”

It felt like fire speared up her arm, her muscles straining furiously. He was too strong. But if he did this …

“No regrets. Nice and fast, Ros. Come on.” His fingers tightened around her hand. Panic scattered her wits and her heart beat so hard it hurt. Her pulse roared in her ears. No, no, no.

“Don’t you dare,” she cried, her eyes hot. Her vision swam. She blinked back tears, desperately trying to see him. “Don’t you f**king dare, Nick!”

The man stopped and stared, eyes fierce and mouth tight. Incredulous—that’s how he looked, as if he’d woken startled from sleep. “Me?” The back of his hand stroked softly across her cheek. “How about you? Crying is cheating.”

“I’m not crying,” she yelled in his face.

“You’re about to.”

“Yeah, well, you’re hurting my hand,” she said, the first thing to come to mind. His grip was bruisingly tight, but who cared? Compared to him threatening to slit his own neck with the knife, it didn’t really factor. It might distract him, though.

“Sorry.” He frowned. One by one he peeled back his fingers. Her skin was striped pink from his grip. “Didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.