Pick Your Poison

by Roxanne St Claire

  She blinked again, the light distant now, ambient and far enough away so that she could see…

  The devil. There he was, right in front of her, as black as she’d imagined. Midnight hair, inky eyes, shadows of evil over mean and merciless bones. He was so, so dark. And so, so… warm.

  “Callie.”

  The devil knew her name. And he lifted her, making the pain slice through her head and then his lips—his evil, satanic, black-hearted, hot lips—came down on hers, kissing but breathing, too. Breathing life. Breathing warmth. Breathing hope.

  Nothing about this devil was exactly… hellish.

  “You’re alive,” he murmured into her lips.

  Was she? She couldn’t think, couldn’t remember. Her mind was completely blank, her body ice cold, and her mouth… Oh, my, but her mouth wanted more of the devil.

  Without thinking about how wrong or dangerous it might be or how much she hurt, she pulled herself into him, sliding her hands around his body, hungry for heat, dying for him.

  She kissed him furiously, clutching with any bit of strength she had, her mouth open to devour the sweetness of his tongue.

  “I’m alive.” She sighed into his mouth. So, so alive.

  Slowly, he pulled away, stealing his warmth and that mouth she had to have more of.

  “Did she shoot you?”

  Did… she…

  The gunshot. She remembered the gunshot. The noise and the cold and the shock sending her flying back to hit the floor. But…

  She looked down, half expecting a hole in her heart, but there was no blood. Only pain in the back of her head and a dull throbbing in her temple.

  “She hurt you.” He put his hand over her cheek and she flinched, sucking in a breath.

  “I’m okay.” She was, wasn’t she? “Where am I… who are…?”

  Wisps of memories started to curl around the agony in her head like fog over the farm on a chilly morning, teasing her as she glanced at her fisted hand. She opened her fingers slowly to reveal a handful of black petals.

  “I’m Ben,” the devil said softly, still cradling her with strong arms and luscious warmth. “And we’re locked in a freezer in the basement of a hotel.”

  It all came back, a smack of reality as hard as the butt of that gun that woman had slammed into her head. That woman… that chef woman. She was—

  “Ben.” She almost pushed him away as she forced herself to sit up, rooting around for the right words, the relief of life instantly washed away by reality. “The chef. The governor. They’re in it together.”

  Even in the narrow band of light from what she guessed was a cell phone, Callie could see surprise register, then he grunted softly as the truth hit. “I should have figured that.”

  “The two of them are trying to kill Mrs. McManus and make it look like an assassination gone wrong.” A cold shudder shook her whole body on the last word, and he pulled her into his body, letting her arms slide under his sports jacket, desperate to absorb his warmth.

  “We have to get out of here,” she said, reluctantly backing away. “Now.”

  “We’re locked in.”

  “What?” She jerked completely away from him. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” He tilted the phone so it highlighted every feature on his face and the raw determination etched on the handsome lines.

  Handsome? A minute ago she thought he was the devil. He tapped the screen. “With no signal. But we have a light.” He beamed it toward the locked door. “I can figure this out.”

  “There should be an emergency release,” she said.

  “Tried that. It’s either broken or frozen.” He stood slowly, stealing all the warmth.

  “Please.” She held her hand up. “Don’t let me go.”

  “God, what am I thinking?” He tore out of his jacket and draped it around her, helping her slide shivering arms into the sleeves with a tremble of quick relief, embracing her to add to the warmth. It helped a little, but not for long in sub-zero temperatures. How long would they be in here?

  “There has to be an alarm,” she said quickly, blowing on her hands.

  He started to move away, but she stayed with him, desperate for his body warmth. Together, they examined the wall around the door, using the light of his phone.

  “Found it!” she exclaimed as she hit a red plastic square built into the stainless wall.

  “Wait.” He grabbed her hand. “Not yet. Not until we have a plan. Not until I know you’re safe no matter who opens this door.”

  They searched each other’s faces in the dark, eyes somewhat adjusted now, each thinking.

  “I’ll pretend to be dead,” she finally said.

  “What?”

  “It’s what they expect, she told me that. If Stone or McManus is out there, I’ll be lying right there, as if I’d poisoned myself. They won’t know you know about him. You’ll have the element of surprise on your side.”

  He didn’t say anything, his nostrils flaring with each tortured breath.

  “You’re trying to come up with something better and can’t,” she said.

  “True.” His eyes shuttered as he inched imperceptibly closer. “But mostly I’m trying to remember the last time I met someone as fearless as a little flower farm girl in the country.”

  The compliment warmed her, or at least his proximity did. “I’m not little. And I’m not a girl. And, the minute I can sell that damn farm and move to a city, I won’t grow flowers anymore.” She managed a smile. “So one more insult, Youngblood, and you eat the roses.”

  “Lie down and play dead.” He issued the order with a full embrace, pulling her so tight into his body that there was no way she could comply. “After I kiss you again.”

  And there was no way she could not comply with that order, lifting her face, relaxing her trembling lips, and inhaling the taste of him when they kissed. His mouth was soft, his chest was hard, his tongue wet, and his arms like a vise holding her still.

  Slanting her head, she took his kiss and gave back everything she had, her blood suddenly… thawing.

  Finally, he ended the kiss, his eyes still closed. “Now you can play dead,” he said huskily, as affected by the kiss as she was.

  “If I can walk.”

  “From the cold?”

  “From that kiss.”

  He smiled. “There’s more for you, Daisy Duke. Let’s just get out of this mess.”

  “Oh, take this.” She slipped out of his jacket and handed it to him. “Wouldn’t it be more believable if you’re in it?”

  He shook his head. “Put it over you. I don’t want you really dead.”

  She nodded, falling to the floor and covering herself with his sports jacket. She pulled the expensive fabric over her face, inhaling the last whiffs of his scent before it all froze off in the cold.

  “I’m ready,” she announced. “Hit the button.”

  She closed her eyes, squeezed her hands, and braced for the deafening scream of an alarm.

  But all she heard was a click. And more cussing.

  Oh, this couldn’t be good.

  Chapter Six

  For a moment, Ben’s mind went uncharacteristically blank. He just froze and not because he could now see his breath and the thermometer on the wall, which read a bone-chilling three degrees Fahrenheit.

  Now what? Forget McManus and his chef partner in crime. And forget the governor’s wife who may or may not be dead right now. Ben didn’t give a shit about anything but getting Callie out of here alive.

  “Don’t you have a gun?” she asked.

  “It won’t shoot through the steel and insulation.”

  “Can’t you blow the lock off, like in the movies?”

  He snorted softly. “Guaranteed to jam the locking mechanism and…” Write our death certificate. “That wouldn’t be good.”

  “Is there a vent? An escape hatch? A drain? A back door? An axe?”

  As her voice rose with ideas and panic, he mentally ticked off every possibili
ty, turning with his phone light. “All good thoughts, but…”

  “We can’t just die here, Ben.”

  “We won’t.” He dropped to his knees to hold her, hearing the reedy note of fear through her chattering teeth and shivering body. Already her breath was slowing, her metabolism kicking in to increase the blood flow and oxygen.

  She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and ten, and had nothing but paper-thin clothes on and bare feet in heels.

  “Here,” he said, yanking open his tie to slide it out of the collar. “Wrap your hands. And take this.” He started unbuttoning his shirt.

  “No, Ben, you’ll freeze without a shirt on.”

  “You’ll die without it. Put the shirt on and my socks, too.”

  She let him help her slide his black dress socks on her feet. Then, he put his bare feet back into his shoes before gathering up his jacket and helping her back into it.

  Cuddling her into him, he took her tie-wrapped hands to his mouth, breathing on the tips of her exposed fingers, earning a soft sigh and closed eyes for the brief respite.

  “We’re not going to die,” he promised her. “We’re going to get out of here alive.”

  She bit her lip, as if willing herself not to quiver or cry, then nodded. “We have to think. I’ve been in a zillion flower coolers. There’s always some way out.” She squeezed her eyes shut, losing the battle against tears.

  “Don’t cry,” he said. “Don’t panic. The worst thing you can do it stop thinking clearly. I have to look around.”

  She grabbed him, horror in her eyes. “Don’t let me go. Don’t let me go, please. Just one more minute to get warm and then we’ll look together.”

  Without arguing, he pulled her onto his lap, ignoring the agony of the freezing floor on his ass. He tucked her deep into his hips, folding his legs to envelope her more, pulling her into his chest, letting her nuzzle her cold nose into his neck.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Just one minute. Make me warm for just one minute.”

  “Do what you have to do,” he said.

  As if invited, she kissed him this time, her mouth open as she sucked on his tongue like it was life support. He gave willingly, already feeling the infinitesimal rise in temperature they both needed so much. He’d get out of this, he knew he would, but he had to keep her alive, had to keep her warm, while he figured it out.

  “Touch me,” she begged, grabbing his hand and slapping it over her breastbone. “Make me warm. Touch me.”

  In any other situation, he’d take that as a positive sign, but this wasn’t sexual, it was survival. He flattened his palm and rubbed, creating as much friction as he could over her heart, his hand mirroring the gesture on her back.

  He lowered his hand over her breast, rubbing too hard to be considered tender, but neither one cared. Her nipple puckered like a bullet against his palm, the contact electric and satisfying to both of them.

  “Oh, yes, yes, don’t stop,” she pleaded, her voice still thin from fighting the cold, her shivers calming more with each kiss and touch. “It’s so warm. It’s so perfect. I need this, Ben. Please.”

  He eased her head back to breathe warm air on her neck and down the bodice of her blouse, making her moan in gratitude as she arched her back and thrust her breasts closer to the source of comfort.

  His ass was numb, the cold biting through his whole lower half, but he refused to stop transferring warmth to her, rocking his hips for another point of contact against her. She rocked back, her body pressed completely against him, a single spot of fire in a dark, airless, icy cave.

  Every place he touched got hot. Her hands, bound by the tie, were trapped between their chests, their hips practically sparking from the friction. Aching for heat, desperate for the balm of warmth, he kissed her furiously and she gave it right back.

  His blood pooled low in his belly, deep inside where his body didn’t know the outside was freezing. The beginnings of an erection shocked him, but she felt it and rolled against him, letting her tight skirt ride up her thighs so she could straddle him and he could swathe the sides of the sport jacket around her legs.

  “We’re in a ball,” she whispered, smashing her face into his neck again, tunneling her nose like a terrier in the dirt. “But not having one.”

  “Speak for yourself,” he teased, getting a miraculous bit of laughter from her.

  Very slowly, she lifted her face, sliding her hips from side to side over his hard-on, eyes widening. “Isn’t it too cold for that?”

  “Apparently a minute in sub-zero temperatures is all it takes with you.”

  A smile threatened. “Impressive.”

  “Worth living for?”

  Biting her lip and rocking again, she nodded. “Is my minute up yet?”

  “Not quite.” His voice was rough but his hand gentle over her breast. “Ten more seconds in paradise, farm girl. Make it good.”

  She did, kissing him again, dragging her bound hands lower to rub between their legs. Ten seconds might have been twenty, or even thirty. Might have been an hour and a half because with that kiss and this woman, time stood still. Everything burned, blissful, delightful, and warm. He touched her everywhere his hands could reach, up her thighs, cupping her ass, and sliding into her panties. There, his finger found slick, wet warmth.

  She groaned in pleasure as he slid into her. “Guess some liquids don’t freeze,” she whispered into his ear.

  As he dipped deeper, the heat finally reached his brain and he actually felt a cohesive, intelligent thought form.

  Liquids…freeze.

  He stopped moving, pulling away from the kiss, getting an unhappy groan in response.

  “Liquids freeze… and expand.”

  She stared at him, her blue eyes nearly black from arousal. “That’s sexy.”

  “They expand and can break… the lock.” He almost pushed her off him, but she was up as fast as he was. “We need water, Callie. We need to melt some ice for water, then figure out a way to get the water into the lock. When it freezes again, the pressure should break the lock.”

  All of that would take a half an hour, which would be about all she had left.

  She rubbed her arms, the effects of their kisses already gone. “How are we going to melt water in here?”

  He just smiled. “I can’t believe you have to ask.”

  ~*~

  “Holy shit, this is perfect.”

  Callie was too cold to complain about his language, spinning around from her own search of the shelves to see what he’d found. There wasn’t much; the freezer might be kept ice cold, but it was obviously not in regular use.

  Meaning no one might happen in on them… for days. No one knew where they were except two killers.

  “What is it?” she asked with a nearly uncontrollable shiver, hugging herself as they met in the middle.

  He held up a clear plastic squeeze bottle with a nozzle at the top, the kind Granny Belle used to serve her homemade barbeque sauce. “All we have to do is melt, squeeze, and freeze. Here, start thawing the bottle while I get the right size of ice.”

  He tucked the bottle between her breasts so she could use her wrapped-in-tie hands to rub the frozen plastic. As she did, a wave of dizziness threatened her stability. Slowly, she lowered herself to the icy cold floor, knowing it would make her colder, but hardly able to stand any more.

  “Hey, hey.” He pulled her up. “We need to stay standing. The less of your body that touches the cold surfaces, the longer you’ll stay alive.” He tipped her chin up to face him. “You’re not losing it, are you, Callie?”

  She bit her lip, shocked that ice was forming on it. “I’m fine,” she lied.

  “You will be,” he promised, setting his phone on a shelf so it cast a pale light into the center of the freezer, putting a rod-shaped icicle next to it. “Give me the bottle.”

  He took it and started to unscrew the top, the light beaming on the muscles of his bare chest, catching the tips of frozen hair tufted between
sculpted pecs. His body tense, every cut in his abs showed a classic washboard on a very, very sexy man. A much focused and still sexy man.

  “How come you’re not shivering?” she asked.

  “I’m bigger than you,” he said.

  “Certainly have more… muscles.” She stared at them again, not too cold to imagine… kissing that chest. Those abs. That bulge she couldn’t forget. “Really nice muscles.”

  He glanced up, eyeing her carefully. “You know, a victim of hypothermia can feel symptoms of drunkenness.”

  “I’m not drunk,” she countered. “I’m cold. And you’re hot.”

  He chuckled. “Help me get this icicle in, then. So we can get out of here and you can do whatever it is you’re thinking about doing.”

  The tie fell off her hands, the silky fabric so frozen it wasn’t helping anymore, so she could hold the bottle while he worked the ice into the top, licking the point of ice to make it slide in.

  “Your tongue’s amazing,” she said.

  “You don’t even know. Yet.”

  The last word sent a welcome and unholy heat through her. “I’d like to,” she admitted.

  He lifted his gaze from the bottle, raising her temperature a few degrees with one smoky look. “You will.”

  The promise was enough to stave off dizziness and hypothermia.

  When he got the ice into the bottle, he held it up for them to examine.

  “Is that going to melt into enough water?”

  “Absolutely.” He stepped closer to her, his confidence almost as dizzying as the cold, and the closeness of him. “But now we have work to do.”

  She took a step closer and he put the bottle dead center on his solar plexus, holding it with one hand while he pulled her into him with the other. The ice bottle touched her shirt, making her cry out softly, but he barely flinched with it against his skin.

  “Heat, Callie. We need friction and heat.” He smashed them closer together, nestling the bottle between them. “That means we have to move against each other.”

  She looked up at him. “We can do this,” she said.

  “Damn straight we can.” He rocked left to right.

  “You cuss too much.”