“You should have discussed the arrangements with me before acting.” Roark didn’t look at the other man as he continued to watch the woman.
“I understand,” Shelby responded.
The fire cracked and popped as the room came alive in golden light. Roark took a step closer to the chair. A blood soaked rag covered her tied hands. “Remove the rope,” he demanded.
“Think twice before you allow the hellion freedom. Don’t let her size fool you,” Shelby huffed.
“The rope. Now,” Roark forced the words through tight lips. He could handle men three times his size and had no doubt he could control a wisp of a delicate female.
Shelby did as commanded. He removed the cord and tossed it into the fire. The flames licked at the twine and sparked higher as if the woman’s DNA fed the blaze. The aroma of woman and blood swathed the room, making Roark hypersensitive. He gained focus and moved to stand in front of her, pacing his breathing. Although her hands were now untied, she stayed still.
“Leave us,” Roark ordered to Shelby and Crenshaw. He didn’t need an audience.
Shelby opened his mouth, as if he wanted to argue. A quick glance from Roark made him remain quiet, which was a good thing. His logical reasoning was on shut down and his instincts were on overload with the woman near.
“Come on, Crenshaw.” Shelby motioned for the other man to follow. Crenshaw didn’t even give Roark a second glance as he moved into the hallway, but Shelby stayed at the threshold. “Would you like me to stay close?” he asked.
Roark folded his arms over his chest. “You can go. I want to be alone with her.”
Shelby nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
Minutes ticked by while Roark remained quiet, watching her and wondering why she wasn’t making a move. If he were in her position he’d fight, but fighting was in his blood. There was a long line of great warriors in his lineage, yet he knew she too had a stubborn streak.
Disappointment twisted its way through his chest. A lot rested on this strange woman sitting before him. He realized she had no clue of her power, and proving it to her would take time. His heritage couldn’t stop with him and he’d do almost anything to prevent that from happening. Others counted on him as their leader and letting them down wasn’t an option, even if that meant he’d suffer the consequences.
The silence became overbearing and he growled in irritation.
“I’ll remove the mask,” he whispered and waited for a response, but nothing came.
He moved in and slowly lifted the cover from her head as if he opened the door to a panther’s cage. A large mass of black curls rolled onto her shoulders and down her back. Her face lowered and the hair blanketed her features. His fingers itched to touch the length and he started to reach to satisfy his need but caught himself. He moaned deep in his throat as he forced the desire away and replaced it with anger, which numbed any other feeling. He’d gotten used to putting up walls of fury.
Frustration spiraled through him like barbed wire. “Lift your head, woman.”
Nothing. He didn’t have the time for this. He grabbed her chin and lifted.
She clamped her teeth down on his thumb and he jerked his arm back, causing her to release her grip. He looked down at the teeth marks and the blood oozing from his skin. “Good try, but I’ve been bitten harder by a flea.” He laughed. At least he’d gotten a reaction from her.
Caught up in the moment, he hadn’t expected her next move. She brought her knee up and planted it into his crotch. Humor fled as he fell to his knees, a sickening pain flooded him and bile rose into his throat. He coughed and sputtered as his vision blurred. “Why does every woman have to go for the balls?” he said through tight lips. He heard rustling and looked up as the woman darted from the chair. “Fuck!”
Pushing past the throbbing ache between his legs, he reached out and grabbed her ankle, sending her falling face first onto the thick rug. While he had her foot trapped in his grasp, she brought the other up and kicked him hard on the chin. He heard something snap in his jaw but it was nothing compared to the misery he felt in his balls.
Grabbing the other leg, he held her as she squirmed like a fish on land. “We can do this all night,” he said. “Do you really believe you can get away?”
“Let me go!” She continued to struggle against his grip.
Shaking his head, he waited until she finally quit moving, and then loosened his grip on both of her legs. “One thing I know, as feisty as you are, I’m much stronger, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Leave me alone!” Her scream resonated off the walls and pounded through his skull. She jerked and whipped around, attempting to free herself from him again. Her fist came up and connected with his nose and he squinted. He felt wetness and wiped his face across his shoulder, seeing a trace of crimson.
“That’s enough blood for one night!” He crawled on top of her, pinning her under his two- hundred-twenty pound frame, securing her wrists high above her head while his body constricted her movement. She still thrashed underneath him although it was unproductive. “Give up,” he whispered next to her ear.
“Screw you.” Her lips trembled.
He stared down at her, the pain in his groin forgotten as the warmth of their bodies pressed together stirred other sensations. His sore cock twitched and attempted to rise. He almost found it embarrassing that she had that much control over his nether region.
With each rapid breath she took, her firm breasts pushed against his chest, sending waves of longing through him. Her long hair was scattered across the floor and tendrils rested on her face. He blew the wisps away. He wouldn’t have been more stunned if someone had punched him in the stomach. Her eyes…they were an amazing deep green, just as he’d dreamt night after night. They reminded him of cat eyes, two glimmering mirrors that could see through a person and into their soul.
Taking a deep breath, he refused to let her shake him—not in his heart, his mind, or anywhere else. He had a slip up in his barrier, but he’d make sure he kept his walls up.
“Who are you and what do you want with me?” Her voice was low and hoarse, her eyes narrowed.
Once he was certain that his voice worked, he said, “You should know, but your memory fails you.”
Confusion took the place of annoyance in her expression. “I’ve never met you. Tell me why I’m here? Why did those men bring me?” she said in between filling her lungs with air.
Bitter veracity rose in his chest. “How sweet it must be to live each day without knowledge of the pain you’ve caused. And yet, I’m responsible for watching over you.”
“I have no clue what you’re saying. You must have the wrong person. Now let me go!” Mist appeared in her eyes.
“Not only do I have the right person, but it’s time for you to correct what you wronged.”
“You’re insane. You are out of touch with reality.” Her lips clenched.
“Insanity would be a welcome break from this life of torment,” he said.
“Do you want money? I don’t have a lot,” she said.
“Money is useless to me. You will give me a child.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth parted. “Are you crazy? You’d better let me go. My fiancé will have the entire city looking for me.” Her words came out in spurts. “If you don’t let me go, you’re going to regret it. I promise you.”
“Unfortunately, your fiancé isn’t expecting you. I’m sure he thinks you’re on a flight to paradise.”
“How did you know?” she asked.
“It’s taken months to see this through.” He shifted his hips to release the strain in his cock. The zipper in his pants didn’t stretch far enough.
“You…you jackass!” She tried pulling her hands away from his hold. “You can’t keep me against my will. How dare you!”
His nostrils filled with her scent. “Stop fighting. We’re not strangers.”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life. You’re a lunatic!”
“But I
know you.” He smiled. “You can refuse me all you want, sweetheart, but until you deliver me what I request, no one will see you again. The sooner you understand those words, the better for the both of us. I’m only heartless if the need arises.”
Her eyes glistened like emeralds. He thought she’d cry but she didn’t—he guessed she had too much pride. “I’d rather die than give in to whatever you’re asking,” she spat. Determination cocked her chin. “You and your hooligans can go to hell!”
“Well—” Roark slid the tips of his finger along her jaw line and down the smooth curve of her throat. He stopped at her collarbone and splayed his palm over her chest. “—your wish came true long ago.” A tear slid from the corners of her eyes and moistened her pale skin.
“You’ll have to kill me,” she whispered.
“Too bad I need you alive.”
“Then go ahead! Do what you need to do. I’m not afraid of you!”
She lied—he knew she was frightened. He could smell her fear and it burned the back of his throat. He loosened his hold but remained on top of her. Why couldn’t this be easy? “Can we do this a way that’s constructive? I’m telling you that you’ll be here for a while. Believe it or not, it’s by your spiteful hand that you’re here now. You could even say that I’m saving your life.”
“If it’s by my hand that I’m here, then I choose to leave.”
“Not a possibility, at least not until you give birth.”
“And that’s not a possibility,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m not even pregnant!”
“First things first.” He lowered his gaze and saw that her hand was bleeding worse. “You’re soiling my expensive rug.”
****
Bronte allowed the man to pull her up from the floor. The last place she wanted to be was on her back. She scanned the large room and its furnishings with a close examination, looking for a weapon and an exit. From the dark sleek furniture, the luxurious Persian rug, the walls lined with expensive framed art and personal memorabilia, it all reeked of money. This blew the idea that she was being kidnapped for ransom, which had been her first thought when she’d woke up in the back of the car. Kidnappers didn’t reside in rich homes. And if they’d done their research, they’d have known she came from comfortable living but she was far from wealthy.
Bringing her gaze to his face, she met his stare. Did she know him and couldn’t place his face? He didn’t look insane, but any man who demanded that a stranger have his baby would have to be cuckoo. “Are you angry with me?” she asked. “Did I turn down a book you’d submitted? Did I give you a bad review?” She’d gotten a lot of hate emails over the years from disgruntled writers, but none had ever gone this far.
“No,” he answered.
“Look, if you brought me here because you want me to read your material, I swear this isn’t the way to get your work recognized. Let me go and—”
“Are you serious? Do you think I’d go as far as bringing you here just to get you to read something I’ve written? You must come across a lot of desperate writers.”
She shrugged. “You’d be surprised what writers will do to get published.”
“I assure you that I’m not a writer and I’m not in need of your publishing services. Now let’s go.” He took her hand and practically dragged her toward the door. He was physically fit and strong, obviously. When she’d bitten him, he had showed no signs of pain. Her knee into his goods had done the trick, but not long enough. She had no chance against him in bodily force, leaving her hoping that she was smarter because it could be her only way out. A crazy person couldn’t be trusted and the man needed put away.
As they made their way into the shadowed hall, she looked around for the men who’d brought her here. They were gone, like he’d directed. She knew their faces well though and could identify them if needed. She’d like to personally see that the bigger one of the two was put in prison so he could be manhandled like he’d done her. Fighting him hadn’t gotten her anywhere, and the last thing she remembered was a sharp ache to the back of her head before everything went dark. She hoped her purse and briefcase were left behind so Fallon would realize something had happened. Yet, she had a sinking feeling that the men were detailed in their work and made sure they didn’t leave any evidence.
Yet, eventually Fallon would call her—Bronte knew she would. And what would her friend do when Bronte didn’t answer? She hoped Fallon’s flawless instincts worked in this incidence.
Bronte hadn’t realized she’d stopped walking until her captor nudged her. “Keep walking, Bronte.”
Hearing him use her name made her stomach roll and she realized it wasn’t a random act of violence. It’d been planned, like he’d said. But why? She lived life by the book, never had committed a crime, at least not in her adulthood, and she’d always been fair to everyone she met. She didn’t socialize with unsavory people and she paid her bills on time. No one would have any reason to kidnap her.
They moved toward the staircase and her apprehension elevated.
“Where are we going?” she snapped.
“To my bedroom.”
“I’m not going upstairs.” She reached out and grabbed the handrail, looking at him through narrowed gaze.
Humor lit his expression and it irked her. “By now you should know that antics like this won’t change the end result.”
Clinging to the spindles would be fruitless and harmful. She let go with a sigh. They made their way up the spiral staircase, each step bringing her closer to doom, she was certain. Did he plan to rape her? Her heart sped up and terror filled her chest. She’d kill herself before she’d allow that to happen.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve been known to take what was mine a time or two, but women are not included. They’ve all been willing.”
The vain meaning of his words drove through Bronte like a stake. Her biggest concern was how did he know what she was thinking? “Rest assured, I’ll never be willing.”
His chuckle echoed off the walls. “Rest assured, I’ll have you writhing like a cat in heat. I can’t wait.”
Bronte added narcissistic to his list of bad characteristics. A loony, self-centered, strong bastard…just her luck. She had a feeling that all of the hours spent in the gym, all of the self-defense classes her father made her take when she was younger, were all for naught. Now she wished she’d listened when friends told her she should carry a gun. As badass as this man was, a bullet would take him down…she’d hope.
Turning slightly, she caught a glimpse of her captor’s profile. While he’d lain on top of her, she’d gotten a good feel of steely toned muscles. She’d guess he was at least two-hundred pounds, if not more, and well over six feet. He towered her five feet five, one-hundred-ten pound frame, which wasn’t a huge feat.
He’d said that she wasn’t a stranger. She knew she’d never met him—she’d remember. Men like him were hard to forget. There was something in the way he looked at her, as if he held resentment, which contradicted her impression that when he’d touched her she’d felt something tender…familiar.
“In here,” he said roughly and led her into a bedroom. She tensed and he shook his head. “Relax. Like I said, willing.”
“Go to hell!” He would say anything to get her guard down, and she wasn’t about to trust anything that passed his lips.
Pulling her thoughts together, she soaked up every detail of the room, looking for anything personal, any clue where she was and who he was.
Even under dire circumstances, she could appreciate the décor. It was masculine like the downstairs. The antique walnut bed looked like it’d been handed down from a king. It was fitting for a man of great and reputable status. Figures! No doubt her captor had it handmade to match his ego.
He pushed her further through another set of wooden double doors. The bathroom. Once again, it was luxurious with sleek fixtures and tidy. “Sit.” He pointed to the toilet.
“I don’t have to,” she said. And if he th
ought she’d use the potty with him standing there he was crazier than she first believed.
“That’s good to know.” He gave her shoulder a gentle shove and she dropped to the cold seat. “But not what I had in mind.”
Bronte looked up at him and anger ripped through her. “I don’t like being man handled.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “And I don’t like being bitten and having my nuts driven into my stomach.”
“Hopefully that’ll deter any babies in the future,” she said in loathing.
He looked down at her and his deep blue eyes twinkled. The look reminded her of a cat playing with a mouse before he ate it. “No fear, sweetheart, you’ll soon find that performance and result won’t be a problem.”
She gulped air. He really thought she’d allow him to touch her. “Unfortunately, I’ll never care to find out.”
“If a child could be created without sex, I’d agree, but reproduction requires the benefit of mating.”
“Who are you? Besides the father of this fantasy child you’re conjuring up.”
“Roark.” He took a step to the medicine cabinet, opened it and retrieved items— bandages, antiseptic ointment and a clear vessel. He lined them up on the sink.
“Roark? Just Roark?” she asked. As he reached above her, he took a washcloth from the cabinet, stretched over her to the faucet and moistened the cloth. She didn’t care one bit that he smelled nice. Or that his zipper bulged.
“Just Roark.”
“Is that your real name or is that something you pulled out of a comic book?” she asked.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I don’t lie. Or fantasize. If this was all a made-up dream, I’d have envisioned someone much better looking to be the mother of my child, but in any case, you’ll do.”
Her mouth fell open. She started to tell him to kiss her ass, but why give the ogre the satisfaction? A part of her couldn’t let it go, though. “That’s real interesting. Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“Men don’t rely on their looks like women do,” he said casually.
His response wasn’t shocking. At this point, she couldn’t imagine being stunned at anything he said. “That’s good because you’re not God’s gift to women,” she said. “You’re not even handsome.”
Wicked Pleasures Page 2