Page 99 of Stolen By the Billionaire
Romain nodded. “The ability to command an army must be genetic. She should have been on a white horse at the front of the battle, leading the charge. Dieter doesn’t let her enter the fray, of course, but her operations always run smooth as butter.”
Blaze nodded. “I’m glad she’s all right. Being held hostage or prisoner can be detrimental to mental health.”
Former POWs called the suicide prevention line in droves.
Blaze looked over to where Sarah was standing in the kitchen, leaning on the island countertop and chewing on another slice of pizza with her eyes closed in absolute bliss.
He’d made her a prisoner, even if he’d done it for her own good.
Blaze frowned.
Romain said, “Time to go.”
Blaze walked over to where Sarah was tossing the last half of a crust into the trash.
She asked, “When are we leaving?”
“Now.”
27
The Aston Martin Vantage
Sarah
Walking into that garage again was an exercise in what a difference a day makes.
Less than a day. More like eighteen hours.
Eighteen hours of thinking she was being held prisoner, being tied up with ropes in a way that still made her body feel funny when she thought about it, waking to assassins training guns on her face and then a desperate fistfight at the foot of her bed, pacing in the gym that was obviously a safe room while minutes crawled on the clock, and mercenaries walking into the house and taking over.
And then Blaze held her in his arms and grabbed her hand on the stairs, and then he’d held her hand again when they’d been sitting on the bathroom floor and talking.
It was a lot.
It was a whole lot for an Iowa farm girl whose idea of excitement was a particularly well-formed carrot harvested from the garden.
Sarah felt like she’d fallen into a K-pop fanfic, maybe a slashfic considering those ropes, except Blaze was definitely not a K-pop-inspired character.
He was just too big.
And his hair was too short.
But other than that, he was absolutely slashfic fantasy material.
Behind her, Blaze’s soft footfalls on the concrete garage floor hurried, and he flanked her, grabbing for the car’s passenger-side door handle.
Sarah’s mind had flashed back to the fanfics she’d read—ropes, kidnappings, Stockholm Syndrome, and hotter things—and she didn’t stop walking when he did.
She was a doofus and clotheslined herself on his arm, flopping forward at her waist.
The gray floor rushed at her face as she fell.
Her elbows were trapped behind Blaze’s arm that was curving around her waist as he snatched her out of the air.
He dropped their duffel bags and stepped behind her to wrap both his arms around her waist and torso, yanking her backward against his chest. “You okay?”
The fact that she was no longer in mid-face-plant took a second to lodge in her head.
