Even after all she’d done, I still wanted her. I think I wanted her even more now. My desire for her seemed to grow the longer this cat-and-mouse game went on. She’d bravely gone up against The Smuggler, not backing down. Respect and admiration swept through me. I had the sudden wild desire to tame her, make her bend to my will. Make her give in to me. I wanted to handcuff her to the bed like she’d done to me. And then strip her bare. Make her vulnerable. And then have my way with her, licking and kissing and sucking every one of those freckles, letting my hands and mouth roam every inch of her delectable body. As pissed as I was at her, I was on fire with need. Carajo!
A foster mom.
That blew me away. Grace couldn’t be any older than me, and I was almost twenty-eight. What woman that age took in foster kids? Was she for real?
She’d agreed to give me one night if I freed her foster girls. I was dying to get my hands on her. I’d dive into hell for a chance to touch her again.
I should have just agreed to her bedroom rules so she would let me go. But I was enjoying the power struggle—and the feel of her body smashed between my legs—and hadn’t wanted to let her go. So I’d stated my own rules. She’d stubbornly refused.
But she’d come out the winner in the end. I was still handcuffed to the bed.
About thirty minutes later, she knocked on the door, then shoved it open. She came in carrying a tray of food.
“I brought breakfast,” she murmured, watching my eyes. She came around the bed, making sure to avoid my legs, and set the tray on the nightstand. As flexible as I was, even I couldn’t flip my legs that high to grab her and pull her onto the bed, not with my arms stretched tight. She was smart to steer clear of my legs this time.
She was wearing a pink satin robe, her hair damp from a fresh shower. Her scent reached me, a mixture of clean woman and some kind of fruity shampoo or shower gel that made desire stir inside me. Carajo! Why did she affect me like this?
“How am I supposed to eat with my hands still cuffed?”
She cleared her throat. “I’ll feed you.”
Oh, hell, no. “Like hell you will. Get the fuck out. Don’t come back until you decide to free me.”
She hesitated, then lifted her chin. “You haven’t agreed to my rules.”
I glowered at her. “And you didn’t agree to mine.”
She sighed and picked up the tray, turning from the bed. “Fine. Starve.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” As pissed as I was, I didn’t want her to leave me shackled in here any longer. I wanted my freedom. But I was stubborn. And so was she. Damn her!
She paused, turning back to me. Indecision flickered in her eyes. A second passed. Two. “One hand,” she murmured at last. “I’ll undo one hand so you can eat.”
Yes. One hand was all I needed. I was an escape artist, after all. With one hand, I could escape.
She came back to the bed and set the tray on the nightstand. She pulled the key from the front pocket of her robe.
Our gazes locked. Fuck, this woman made me crazy. I wanted to toss her on the bed and show her who was stronger. The very idea made me hard. I wanted her naked beneath me. I wanted her to submit to me, while I took her, possessed her. Made her mine. Again and again.
She reached for my hand closest to her—my right hand—lifting the key to the handcuffs. She didn’t know that I was ambidextrous or that having two dominant hands helped me to escape from just about any situation. It didn’t matter which hand she freed. In this particular situation, I would need one hand free in order to escape from the other handcuff because she’d stretched my arms so wide and the cuffs were so tight that moving my hands—let alone escaping as I was now—was impossible. Though in most other situations, I could generally escape even if both hands were secured. But I wanted her to think she was still in control of this situation.
I watched intently as she slipped the key in the lock and turned it. The cuffs fell away, falling onto the mattress. I slowly sat up, pulling my hand into my lap, watching her face closely.
She bounced back quickly, out of my reach. Then she picked up the tray of food and gently set it on the edge of the mattress next to me, close enough that I could reach it, but far enough that I couldn’t grab her while she slid it toward me. She steadied the tray, careful not to spill the cup of coffee.
She moved warily toward the door. “I’ll let you eat now, then I’ll be back so we can negotiate some more.”
I reached for the coffee first, taking a sip. Strong and black. Just the way I liked it. I was on my way to freedom. There was no stopping me now. She’d left my left hand—the one with a missing pinkie finger—inside the handcuffs. With a little maneuvering, and help from my other hand, I could easily free my left hand from the handcuffs. Losing my pinkie finger had its advantages, for it allowed me to make my hand narrow enough to escape. Being an escape artist would be easier without a pinkie finger.
I smirked. When she came back, there would be no negotiating. At least not from me. This was one battle I was looking forward to winning. When she came back, I would be the one in charge, and she would be my prisoner.
She just didn’t know it yet.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grace
Had I made a mistake in freeing one of his hands?
The man obviously couldn’t eat without a hand free, and he hadn’t wanted me to feed him. And sympathy had tugged at me, guilt overriding my fear and causing me to set him free. I wouldn’t like to be tied up like that, either.
He still hadn’t agreed to my rules. Time was wasting. We needed to find the girls. One of us needed to relent. As stubborn as I was, I would rather myself be hurt than Teresa and Camille, so if he wanted kinky stuff, I might have to give it to him in order to free the girls.
I would give him a few minutes to eat, then come back so we could talk. If he still refused to my conditions, then I would just turn him loose and negotiate with him later after the girls were free. The idea of submitting to him for one night made heat coil in loins. Would I like what he did to me? Would he hurt me?
I would do what I had to do to free my girls. Even let The Smuggler have his way with me for one night.
I had a feeling it would be a night I’d never forget.
I dressed quickly in leggings and a sweatshirt, then pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I didn’t bother with makeup since I didn’t have to work today. Because I’d helped with the undercover sting last night, the chief had given me a couple days off. Hopefully Tony would be able to figure out how to save my girls before I had to go back to work.
Taking a deep breath for courage, I knocked on the door to my bedroom before pushing it open.
Two things registered at once.
One, the bed was empty.
Two, I was foolishly unarmed.
I raced for the nightstand where I kept my Glock 19, only to find the drawer empty. Bastard. He must have searched my room and taken it.
Spinning on my heel, I raced for the living room where I kept my other weapon hidden beneath the couch cushion.
I made it as far as the end of the hallway before Tony suddenly materialized in front of me without a sound. I let out a startled scream, unable to stop in time, and rammed into his hard chest.
No! How did he get free?
How did he appear in front of me from out of nowhere?
He smirked, holding up both of my weapons. “Looking for these?”
Arse! I lunged forward, trying to knock the weapons out of his hands, but the man was too damn fast. He tossed both guns on the couch and turned back to me with bared teeth.
We fought across the living room, arms thwacking, legs smacking, fists crunching. Thrusts, grunts, twists, and throws.
Then he tossed me over the couch. I came up, holding both weapons, and pointed them at him. “Assaulting an officer is crime. Now I’m going to have to take you to jail, you eejit.”
He bared his teeth again. Then—Smack! Crack!—he knocked the guns out of my han
ds.
I gasped, diving to retrieve the weapons, but he was faster. He tackled me onto the couch and quickly overpowered me.
“You big arse!” I squealed as he caught my hands and yanked me to my feet. I squirmed and fought again, using every defensive move I’d ever been taught, but he was too quick. Too skilled. Nothing fazed him. He simply deflected every blow I tried to land.
Then those arms of steel wrapped around me, securing me against him, holding my arms tightly against my sides.
“Bastard!” I bucked forward, backward, sideways, to no avail. He simply tightened his arms around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs, and forcing me to stop my futile attempts to escape. Breathing heavily, I tilted my head back to glare up at him.
I was tall for a woman at five-ten. But Tony was taller. He had to be six-two or three. And he was a hell of a lot stronger than me. I wasn’t soft by any means. I worked out regularly. I also ran. I kept myself in shape. It was essential for my job. But apparently I was no match for The Smuggler.
“How’d you do that?” I demanded, trying to hide the fear from my voice. No one—criminal or otherwise—had ever managed to outwit and overpower me like this before. I was truly frightened for the first time in my life.
His eyes were black with menace as he stared down at me. He lowered his head just enough that his breath tickled my ear. “Don’t you know I’m a vengeful bastard? If you try to fuck with me, I’ll fuck you back twice as hard.” Before I could respond, he scooped me up like a rag doll and tossed me over his shoulder. Then he marched back down the hallway.
No!
I squirmed violently, doing everything I could to dislodge myself, but his arm simply wrapped tightly around my legs, holding me in place. I pounded my fists against his ass, his thighs, every part of him I could reach. It was like hitting a brick wall. I hurt myself more than I hurt him with the blows.
“Let me go!” I screamed. “You big arse!”
He reached my bedroom and strode forward, tossing me onto the bed. I scrambled backward, but he was on me in an instant, snagging my left wrist and lifting it toward the bedpost with intent.
Oh feck. He was going to handcuff me to the bed the way I’d handcuffed him.
I arched my body, upward, side to side, squirming, pulling, trying to yank back. But it was no use.
The handcuff closed around my wrist and clicked closed.
He reached for my other hand.
I jerked my arm back out of reach.
He sat heavily on my stomach, squishing me, holding me in place, and reached for my other arm again. With a desperate cry, I raked my nails down his face, drawing blood.
He hissed out, his eyes darkening, before he finally caught my arm.
I bucked beneath him, but I couldn’t dislodge him. He was too heavy. “You bastard! You arse! You son-of-a-bitch! You dirtball! You eejit! You pig! You monster!” I shouted every insult I could think of—both Irish and American.
Tony’s lips twitched. Ignoring me, he lifted my arm and handcuffed it to the opposite bed post. Then he sat back and smirked.
A small trickle of blood oozed from a scratch on his cheek from my fingernails. It didn’t give me much satisfaction, not when I was handcuffed to my own bed posts.
Breathing heavily, I glared at him. How had this happened? How had he gotten away?
“Who’s the captive now?” he asked softly, his voice full of menace. “Are you scared of what I might do to you?”
“No!” I hissed. I would never admit to him that I was afraid. Never. That would give him power. “You don’t scare me.”
A dark brow shot up. “No?”
I bravely held his gaze. “No.”
I looked away, needing something else to look at besides those vengeful black eyes, and found myself staring at that splendid, muscular chest that I now knew was as hard and as unrelenting as a tree trunk.
“Aren’t you going to ask how I got away?”
Don’t look into his eyes. Don’t let him see how scared you are.
I kept my gaze lowered, not answering.
He lifted his left hand, wiggling his fingers. “No pinkie finger made it easy to squeeze my hand free.”
Shite. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I’d been outsmarted. Bastard.
He smirked. “I’m The Smuggler, remember? I’m also a magician and an escape artist. I would have escaped even if I still had my pinkie finger.”
A magician. The tattoo. Despite myself, I was fascinated. I’d never figured him to be a magician.
I tried to distract him from whatever evil intent he had in mind for me. “Your tattoo. It’s a magician hat, right?”
His gaze narrowed suspiciously. He didn’t respond.
“It’s really cool. Very detailed.”
Still, he didn’t say anything. He just studied me, his gaze scrutinizing.
Then he shocked the shite right out of me. He spread out on top of me, forcing my thighs apart and settling between my legs, his groin pressing against mine. I stiffened, jerking my gaze back to his.
“What the feck are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. Leaning up on his elbows, he lowered his head and kissed along my throat and behind my ear, leaving a hot, wet trail across my skin. I shivered. Desire raged, making me gasp softly and squirm beneath him. “Stop it,” I ordered. “Stop it right feckin now.”
He lifted his head. “I don’t even have to free your foster kids to get what I want from you. What’s stopping me from just taking you right now?”
He rocked his hips against mine, the bulge in his pants an obvious threat. A show of power. Pure dominance.
My heart pounded, a mixture of excitement and fear. I was helpless right now. He could do whatever the feck he wanted to me.
“Because that would be rape,” I shot back, unwilling to give in. I refused to surrender. I would win this war, not him.
He smirked. “I can’t rape the willing.” He lowered his head again and kissed across my throat to my other ear.
I shuddered. Feck him. I couldn’t deny his words. I was more than willing. I was eager. I wanted him. I was already wet.
He latched onto the side of my neck with his mouth, sucking heartily. I gasped, heat spiraling through me. He would leave a definite mark on my pale skin. The idea both repulsed and excited me. What the feck was he doing to me? If that sexy mouth of his made its way to mine, I’d probably have an orgasm right on the spot. The chemistry between us was combustible.
“Stop,” I protested again, more weakly this time. “This isn’t funny.”
He lifted his head, his gaze swirling with lust. “Who’s laughing?”
And as I stared into his smoky eyes, desire flared again. Undeniable. In that moment, I wanted him to kiss me. So badly. I ached for his lips on mine. Desperately. I wanted to give in. I wanted to surrender. I had no shame. I lifted my mouth toward his, seeking.
Just kiss me, please.
His gaze jerked to my mouth, something hot and dark smoldering in his eyes. Then he pulled his gaze back to mine. “Surrender,” he whispered. “I’ve already won this battle. Admit it. You’re trapped. You’re not getting away. I defeated you. I outwitted you. So just admit you lost, and I’ll set you free.”
Disappointment swept through me. Then pure shame. He wasn’t going to kiss me. He was just toying with me, making me want, but denying what I longed for, keeping it just out of reach.
I swallowed hard and held his gaze, anger flaring. Arse. I refused to admit defeat.
What about the girls? The longer you stubbornly refuse to give in, the longer it will take to find them. This isn’t about winning, Grace. It’s about saving Teresa and Camille.
Just swallow your pride and admit defeat.
“You didn’t agree to my rules, yet,” I reminded.
That dark brow shot up again. “And you didn’t agree to mine.” He shook his head back and forth. “You’re a stubborn chica.”
He leaned away.
Was he going to
let me go now?
He slid off the bed and headed for the door.
I guess not.
He paused at the door and turned back to me. “I’ll give you some time to think about it. The longer you hold out, the longer your foster girls are at the mercy of the Flesh King.”
I glared. Feck him. He couldn’t use my concern about my girls against me. It wasn’t fair.
Arse! He couldn’t do this. I wouldn’t beg. I wouldn’t surrender. I refused.
Don’t be stupid, Grace. Just give in. Admit defeat.
But for some reason, I couldn’t get my mouth to say the words.
With a smirk, he strolled out and closed the door behind him.
Feckin bastard!
The battle wasn’t over yet.
It had only just begun.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Grace
I stared at the clock on the nightstand, willing Tony to come back and set me free.
An hour passed. Two. How long did he plan to leave me handcuffed like this?
I noticed that his gun and knife were no longer sitting on the dresser where I’d set them earlier, which meant he was now armed, while I was completely helpless, handcuffed to my bed. He’d also stolen my two handguns. Arsehole!
Another hour passed. Noon crept closer. Closer. Would he bring me lunch? Or let me go hungry? Was he even still here?
I barely resisted the urge to scream at the top of my lungs for him to let me go.
Teresa and Camille were in danger. If the Flesh King had them, then I needed The Smuggler to get them back. My stubbornness wasn’t going to help them any. I really needed to swallow my pride and admit defeat. It might be the only way to save my girls. I’d never before met a man who was as stubborn and willful as I was. Feck, he pissed me off.
The house was silent. Had he left? Would he just leave me like this?
My stomach growled.
Just do it. Admit defeat so you can go get Teresa and Camille. You can sort out the rules of his one night later.
The Smuggler Page 6