Okay. Weird question. Then again, was she really expecting normal ones from Mister Hot-and-Insane? "I was only booked at the resort for a week."
One big hand shot out, encasing her throat in a clenching heat. Terror squeezed her chest. This was it. He could crush her windpipe in an instant without even noticing. He would kill her now, and she'd never even know why.
For three long heartbeats, he seemed to consider the situation, tipping on the edge of a fatal decision. She said nothing, but just held his gaze, hoping he had some humanity in him.
Just as quickly, he dropped his head and let out a sigh. He didn't release her throat from his grip, but it softened, turning into the touch of a lover. "You know what I'm talking about. Explain it. After everything we've been to each other, you owe me that much." His thumb moved on her skin. Not violent, but gentle. Caressing. "This is why we're talking instead of you being dead already. The things you did... I can't understand. You made me believe you loved me. Even now, I want to make excuses for you, believe you did this for the good, that you were being threatened and did it to save us. But then my people show me pictures of you dancing with other men. It makes no sense. Why would you give me such a gift and then just leave?"
Over the course of his speech, his intimidation had turned to something like vulnerability. If her hormones had been in overdrive earlier, they were burning jet fuel now. Her neck had turned into an erogenous zone, and the gentle trail his fingers traced on her skin stole her breath. There seemed to be such... care behind his touch. As he spoke, his threats circled the drain, as if he had steeled himself to say these things to her, but he would never have the heart to actually hurt her.
With her body reacting to him as if she'd known him forever, she barely managed to keep his words in her head. Barely managed to speak. "What gift is that?"
With a mocking snort, he pulled his hand away from her throat. "All this time I thought you were a bad liar. You are wasted in Newark. Have you thought about Hollywood?"
She responded with all the heat of her betraying body's response. "Have you thought about a mental institution?"
"I fear you will drive me to one." He cocked his head at her. "Did you sleep with any of them?"
For some reason, she knew exactly what he wanted to know. That muscle in his jaw twitched, revealing this last question was ten times more important than anything he'd asked her yet. She fought the urge to lie just to hurt him. Not a good plan. It might make her life take a turn for the painful.
"Did I sleep with any of the men at the resort, you mean?" She'd definitely gotten a couple of offers, from guys who seemed great. They hadn't interested her, though, something she hadn't been able to explain to herself. She'd enjoyed flirting, but didn't feel like going any further. "No," she told him. "I just wanted to dance."
He searched her face for a moment, his smoke-filled eyes questing for truth. She found herself hoping he believed... and what did that mean? Why would she care if he thought she had an orgy with three guys in a hot tub and uploaded the film to YouTube? She couldn’t answer the question herself. Not only was he a guy she'd just met, he was holding her against her will, handcuffed to a chair. She shouldn’t care about his feelings. Yet, something about him scraped her raw. And she was a moron for letting it.
"Why was I so weak when it came to you? How can you cut me open so casually and then walk away? Do you even have a heart?" He leaned back in the chair, studying her like some kind of a puzzle. "Are you really Max Foss?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Only since the day I was born."
He paused, considering. "I believe you," he said, in an intellectual tone.
As if to reward her for a correct answer, he got a sandwich from the plate on the table and lifted it to her mouth. It took her only a second to realize the hunger pangs that would come from refusing weren't worth her dignity. If a person cuffed to a chair had any dignity left. The sandwich was fantastic, filled with chicken flavored with exotic spices. She barely controlled her instinct to open her mouth for more, begging like a newborn bird in a nest.
"So," he continued after he swallowed his own bite and took a drink of wine. "Who do you work for, then? And how long have you worked for them? Is it the Crimson Hand?"
She frowned at him. "You suck as a stalker, don't you? I've been on LinkedIn for two years now. You could have checked it out there. I work as a project manager at RocketSoft. I've been there thirteen months now. I don't know any company called Crimson Hand, and if I did, I'd tell them to hire better marketing folks to rebrand them with something less creepy."
"This is a fun game," he said, in a bland tone that said the opposite.
"I'd like to play," she responded.
"By all means."
She shrugged as best she could with her arms restrained. "Who are you?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw, as if it was the only part of him out of his control. He reached for a sandwich and chewed a bite while he seemed to chew his answer in his mind. She waited, trying to seem patient, just as casual as him.
Finally, he decided on his answer. "I am Sayd al Zahar, of the kingdom of Ramadi. And I am your husband."
Chapter Two
Max couldn't help it. Maybe it was the jetlag or the drugs or the leftover adrenaline from being kidnapped. She couldn't control the peals of laughter that busted out of her. She laughed until her abs hurt. She laughed until tears streamed down her face. Her uncontrollable shaking threatened to overturn the chair.
The guy—the so-called Sayd al Zahar—didn't laugh. He just watched her, white teeth showing between parted lips as if he couldn't figure out what to say.
"Okay—okay—" she gasped between hoots. "You can murder me now. I'm ready. I've just heard the best joke of my life and I'm ready to die. Best. Abduction. Ever."
For the second time, he captured her chin between strong fingers and tilted her face to his. Compared to her, with her small boobs and her upturned nose, he was a god. Though, truth be told, she must have gained some weight at the resort because her breasts had strained at her bra for the last couple of days. Still, she tried to imagine any possible world where this man would tie himself to her. The idea was so stupid she nearly started giggling again.
"I always thought you the most wretched liar. That's why when you disappeared from the hospital three months ago, I was certain you had been taken from us. Then last week, you checked in to the hotel in the Dominican without even trying to conceal your identity, I couldn't understand. These actions made no sense." He seemed confused to his core, trying to understand what was going on by talking it out.
But she was way ahead of him in his delusion. She closed her eyes and let the scenario wash over her. It was better than the plot of any outrageous soap opera. Actually, if she'd seen it on TV, she would have changed the channel. "I get it." She couldn't stop grinning, though he was probably working up to suffocating her with a pillow. "I'm your wife, but I don't remember it. This explains everything."
She gasped as the sheer depth of his psychosis plunged clearly before her. "The Crimson Hand. It's not a software company. It's a terrorist organization. They're using me to get to you. You're going to have to kill me to protect yourself. I might be a sleeper agent. Someday I'll get a phone call that will activate me, turning me into a mindless automaton, bent on your destruction."
He seemed less amused by the idea. In fact, he seemed to have trouble breathing. "What year is this?"
She told him the year. And she told him the name of the current U.S. president, just for kicks.
He exhaled a sigh, his shoulders drooping just an inch. "No, there is a new president now. You have lost two years of your life. If you can be believed."
"Gained a husband, though," she said, brightly.
"And lost him again."
His grief, as he scrubbed a hand over his suddenly tired face, seemed genuine. Max felt a twinge of sadness for him.
* * *
"And this one? Does it mean nothing to you?"
He held up another photo.
Sayd had left her handcuffed to the chair as he showed her doctored photo after doctored photo on his mobile phone. Now that she felt like he wasn't going to slit her throat in the next few minutes, she found herself just as interested in the phone itself as the photoshopped pics. The cell seemed like a prototype model of something a certain high tech company had just announced for release in two years. She didn't know how he'd managed to get a beta testing model, but he was a damn lucky madman. The photos showed her living a blissful life in her "husband's" arms. Too bad he was so very insane, because he could make photo editing software sit up and beg. Serious waste of a graphic artist there. She looked smiling and happy and natural in every picture. Every once in a while, he skipped over one before showing it to her. Those might have been his less brilliant creations, she imagined.
"Don't remember that one either," she told him. "Have I told you how much I like your version of my life?"
He set his jaw, clamping down on something he badly wanted to say.
Now that she saw the whole thing from his point of view, his actions made total sense. The kind of sense that include committing a federal crime, but sense. To his mind, they'd been together for years when she'd disappeared mysteriously. He'd assumed someone had kidnapped her (Irony there), but hadn't received any ransom demands. In his fantasy world, he'd searched for her for months with no luck, suffering the agony of wondering if she was hurt or dead and not being able to save her. Her "reappearance" having a fun time at a resort didn't fit with his made-up scenario. If she'd been taken from him by force, wouldn’t she run back into his arms? The only answer was that she'd left him, and instead of telling him, she'd just disappeared. No wonder he was so pissed off he'd abducted her. In his delusion, they'd had this great relationship that she'd ended with a huge betrayal. Thus, the kidnapping. To get some answers, and to punish the hell out of her. She even went over some of their conversations in her mind and found his reactions to what she'd said a lot less crazy than when they'd been actually happening. No wonder her telling him to get off her doorstep had enraged him. To him, she was pure evil.
Still, the name Sayd al Zahar itched in the back of her mind. She knew it from somewhere, or maybe something like it, but not quite the same. A Bollywood star? It could be the name of the actual ruler of the real-life Ramadi. It was so familiar. She should be able to place that name. It was going to drive her crazy—and he already had enough crazy for the both of them.
"Uh, Sayd? Do you think we could take a break here?"
"Just as well," he agreed. "I need more wine to face this."
"Hmmm, wine might be the problem for me."
Gray eyes looked at her in confusion. He'd done that a lot since revealing he imagined she was his wife.
"Do I have to say it?" She'd crossed her legs a dozen photos ago. "I need to use the washroom. Unless you want me to have an accident in this chair, you're going to have to unlock me."
Her bladder wasn't that bad. In truth, she hoped she could find something to use to escape in the washroom. He'd drugged her, so if she found something in his medicine cabinet to use against him, turnabout was fair play. She might get out of this after all.
To her irritation, he didn't undo the cuff on her wrist, but unlocked the cuff from the chair. Her gut soured as he clamped it on his own wrist. So much for that plan.
"Uhm, I think I can hold it, actually," she told him.
"And I was so looking forward to watching you use the toilet," he said. "Hayati, I promise you your privacy, but I can't let you leave here without me."
"Because of the Crimson Hand," she said, unable to keep the misery out of her tone.
"They would have Ramadi stay in the dark ages forever. They do not care for you as my queen. You are in danger from them until we get you back to the palace and under protection." As he talked, he freed her other hand.
She made a show of rubbing her wrist.
"The cuffs were not tight, Max. You are a terrible liar," he said. "Or an Oscar-worthy actress."
She held back a snort and gave up trying to make him feel bad. She got to her feet, but sitting for so long, plus the bike ride, and maybe the leftover drugs, had turned her knees to goop. Her legs gave way.
Just as she thought she was doomed to do a face-plant on the Turkish carpet, she felt herself caught around the waist by Sayd's muscled arm. Rescued.
In her relief, she leaned on him. She didn't have a choice; her legs refused to hold her up.
His solid, warm chest pressed against her larger-than-usual breasts. They each wore a tee shirt, but that seemed like nothing now. They might as well be skin to skin. And his skin smelled great. A little smoke from the bike, a little pine from the forest, and some spicy undertone that seemed to be his natural smell. She just breathed it in, helpless to stand on her own.
He lowered his face as if he couldn't bear to look at her. "Forgive me," he said simply. "I have missed you so much."
She opened her mouth to ask what she should forgive him for—and he took advantage of the moment to kiss her.
He pulled her even closer to him as he pressed her lips with his own. The kiss was hard and insistent. He gave her no choice. He explored her mouth with desperation, as if she might disappear at any moment.
He tasted even better than he smelled. Every molecule in her body responded on cue, turning into a charged particle. Her cuffed hand, carrying his along with it, clamped against the back of his neck, feeling the contrast of hard muscle with the silk of his hair.
It wasn't a tender, tentative first kiss. It was the kiss of long practice, of knowledge of secret desires. Of intimacy.
And then he broke it off, leaving her legs even more jelly-like than before.
"I'm sorry, hayati." He leaned his forehead against her own, his beautiful grey eyes closed in something like pain. "I shouldn't have done that. But I once vowed I would never lose you again. Now it seems that I have. And I was a fool for so long, thinking I would forget you, that my life meant anything without you in it. When I admitted to myself it was hopeless, that I could love you only... That was the day I truly began to live. Yet I had known it all along. I studied in school only so you would think me intelligent. I worked hard so you would not think me a useless person who had only inherited his position. And I trained my body so you would want me in your bed."
She was too stunned to say anything. All she could do was hang on and try to absorb the insanity coming out of his mouth.
"So, I did stalk you, as you say. I had kept up with your life by sending detectives to tell me about you every few years, telling myself I did it out of friendship. But once I admitted it was a love I could feel for no other, I arranged for you to win tickets to a resort."
"You're a liar," she said, but her voice came out weak as dishwater. "It took me three tries to win that radio contest."
"And if I'd had to pay for ten more tickets before you won, I would have. Radio WYOW found me an excellent patron. They kept their silence well."
She stiffened. When she'd finally gotten through on the line, she'd known the answers to all seven trivia questions, no problem. Like the contest was designed for her to win it.
"I knew that if you could return my love, no man would be happier than me, but if not, no man was more wretched." He bent his face into her shoulder, inhaling her scent. "It was no difficulty for me to find you at the resort. Charming you into spending time with me was more difficult. But once someone gets past your defenses, you have the warmest heart. I still don't know why you fell in love with me, hayati, but I will always be grateful."
Max's pulse beat in her ears like the countdown to an explosion. Even though she wasn't sure of her legs, she shoved him away. He was deluded, even if it was a tempting delusion. She couldn't believe a word he said. This was the man who kidnapped her, she reminded herself, trying to call up the terror being abducted, of having a drugged cloth pressed to her face and losing consciousness and control.
Pain crossed his features, but he masked it quickly. "Yes. It is too soon. I know it is too soon. I apologize."
"I need the washroom," she said, unsteady on her feet and in her mind.
* * *
Sayd gave her privacy, in a way. He stood outside the door; she closed it as best she could, but the chain between the handcuffs held it open a crack. Luckily, he had planned well, since...
"Why did you free my left hand instead of my right?" she asked, a little afraid of the answer.
"Because you're left-handed."
She was. But he could have seen that or something. He'd admitted to stalking her, after all. It was a 50/50 chance, really. It didn't mean he knew her better than that.
Once she flushed and arranged her clothes, he came in, filling the small room with his large body. I trained my body so you would want me in your bed, he'd said. If he wasn't insane, she would want him, she admitted. Hard to get past the whole "abduction" thing, though. No matter how certain he seemed that she belonged to him.
Sayd stood behind her at the sink and they washed her hands together. He entwined his fingers with hers. His hands were even warmer than the water. He took his time sliding the soap over her palms like they were an erogenous zone. With his arms around her, it felt like they were.
"Sayd." Her voice was barely louder than the water. "Why was I in the hospital?"
"Routine check-up," he answered instantly, as if he'd prepared to say it.
She let it go. Just his imagination, after all. If she'd been in the hospital, she'd remember. Besides, there were more important things. "If you're royalty, where are your bodyguards?"
"I slipped away from them to come to you."
"But the Crimson Hand?" There, she said it without laughing. Almost as if she believed he was being followed by terrorists.
"Have never attempted to kill me," he clarified. "Only you."
His crazy was air-tight; she had to give him that. "Something you said confused me."
"Just one thing?" He gave her a half smile as he turned off the water and began to wipe every drop of moisture off her fingers with the softest towel she'd ever felt. She didn't have to do anything but hold her hands out.
Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart Page 37