Temptation to Submit by Jennifer Leeland Page B

restraints, the van were all part of the scene, right? It was clear all she had to do was signal him that she didn’t want this and he would stop. Wouldn’t he? The doubt added to the thrill.
    He hefted her onto his shoulder like she was a sack of grain. She smelled pine and damp soil. Finch unlocked a door, and the scent of wood oil, mothballs, and old books flooded her senses. He plopped her down on something springy but soft. She heard him shifting something around. Then, the distinct smell of burning wood coupled by instant warmth.
    Where the hell had he taken her?
    “Did you think you could get away from me?”
    Finch couldn’t be serious. He was taking this straight out of the kidnap fantasy playbook. Worst of all, it worked. Her heart rate rose, and she started to feel alive again.
    The gag made drool collect on her lips. She yanked on the restraints. Finch ripped the blindfold off, and she blinked in the dim light of the fire. They were in a cabin, complete with log furniture and solid bookcases. The floor was covered with a large square of woven material that looked like it might give her rug burns if she was on her knees. She had no doubt that Finch would demand it.
    His face was grim, and in his dark eyes, she noted hurt, not anger. Determination set his jaw, and his lips were tight. “This isn’t a game, Victoria. I want answers. From you.”
    She shook her head and struggled to free herself. There was no way she was going to talk about this. Especially tied up and helpless. But her body betrayed her. How had he known? How had he reached inside her dreams and plucked out this erotic scene for her?
    But he wasn’t playing. He wanted answers. She grunted and tipped her chin, silently begging him to remove the ball gag. She turned her body and gave him the agreed-upon signal, the two pinkies out. She couldn’t do this in a scene. Yes, she needed to tell him, but honestly, as Tori, not a kidnapped victim. At the sight of her two pinkies, his nostrils flared, and he flicked the buckle to release the gag.
    “My mother died three days ago.”
    ATTICUS FROZE. FOR a moment, he thought he hadn’t heard right. “She didn’t die when you were a teenager?”
    “No.” Victoria slumped on the couch.
    “There was a death certificate. I saw it.” He’d been thorough, but apparently there was more to this.
    “There was one night that my mother…” She closed her eyes, and Finch had to flex his hands to remain still. “It was one of those pointless confrontations with a drug addict, and I escaped to my Aunt Angela’s.” Her lips tightened. “When the police came to visit, they told me there was a dead woman in the apartment where my mother lived.” She raised her head and met his gaze; the misery in her green eyes made his heart clench. “My mother had stolen her identity, set the place on fire, and ran.” Her voice was hoarse. “For all I knew, my mother had killed the woman. I identified the dead woman as my mother. My aunt didn’t contradict me. I think she wanted my mother out of our lives too. I think my aunt might have taken it another step and forged documents and paid my mother off.” Victoria shook her head. “My aunt is a formidable person. I never knew what she did. All I knew was that my mom was out of my life, and I was free.”
    “And if you revealed the truth—”
    “My aunt might have gotten in trouble. I don’t think they would have blamed me for lying, but my aunt was a different story.” She shook her head. “I wanted my mother to be dead. For years.”
    “And then she showed back up.”
    Victoria nodded. “When I was twenty. She’d appear for a few days, always under a different name, and then disappear again. I tried a bunch of times to get her help. Rehab. Anything. But she’d reject it every time.”
    There was a bleak, resigned look on Victoria’s face that made Atticus clench his fists. He’d thought the worst thing had been when she shut him out, disappearing