Kidnapped by the Dragon Harem

by Savannah Skye

  I wanted to say; “you can call me whatever you want”. But I settled for nodding.

  "Tell me about yourself, Ella. Start with the daycare center. How long have you been working there?"

  If there had been something more than work in his penetrating stare before, he seemed all business now. His questions were to the point, focusing on my schooling, training, experience and enthusiasm for working with children. I didn't mind answering them—they were on my favorite subject and I was here for a job—but I was beginning to wonder if I had misread the situation. Perhaps I had just been hoping there was more going on here and so had convinced myself. As time passed, it became less and less likely that he was going to sweep the glasses from the table and take me across it while the rest of the bar stared on in awe. Or even take me back to his place.

  As we were talking—or as I was talking and MacKenzie drank in my words, somehow making the act of listening quietly sexual—a band was setting up in the corner.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm MacClarens' welcome to the Wild Rovers!"

  I loved a good pub band and the Wild Rovers were classic examples of the genre, erring just on the right side of cacophony, clattering through classic numbers with enthusiasm. They did, however, make it a little hard to carry out a job interview.

  "When I left…” I trailed off and cleared my throat, amping up my voice. “WHEN I LEFT SCHOOL, I—”

  MacKenzie held up a hand to stop me. "I don't think you're going to beat the band. Maybe we should put a pin in it for now.“

  Somehow, his soft, dark tones carried above the music without him having to raise his voice. He looked round at the band and then back to me, one eyebrow cocked in an expression of almost boyish mischief.

  "Do you feel like dancing?"

  I tried not to let my reaction show on my face, but it was hard when the question had me both terrified and giddy with excitement. “Sure.”

  I wasn't sure I could even stand, but I'd find a way. My hopes that this might be more than an interview cautiously began to rise again. Certainly this was the first job interview I'd had during which I'd been invited to dance—that had to mean something.

  Didn't it?

  If the other women in the bar had hated me before, that hatred reached a new level as I strolled out onto the makeshift dance floor and MacKenzie slung a confident arm about me.

  He moved like some sort of predatory animal; confident, strong and sinuous. His touch, even through my clothes, made electric shocks of sharp arousal fire through me, and when a creased up corner of my blouse allowed his finger to graze against the bare skin of my waist, I thought I might explode. The women around the room seemed to have given up hating me now, and had settled instead for naked jealousy, practically drooling into their drinks. And who could blame them? MacKenzie danced like he did everything; with quiet, sultry perfection. When I moved he was there with me, when I dipped he easily caught my weight in his strong arms, he spun me and I laughed for the sheer pleasure of it. It had been a long time since I could remember having this much fun. Then, as the music slowed, he drew me to him and I went, unresisting. My heart pounded with excitement in my chest, so hard that I was sure he'd be able to feel it against him. My nervousness made me clumsy and I trod on his toe.

  "Sorry," I muttered, embarrassed of being so inadequate next to him.

  But MacKenzie did not even seem to notice. "You have the bluest eyes."

  With the lightest of pressure he held me closer, so I felt I could count muscles in his abdomen as they moved against me. I tried to remember how long I had known this man, and what I was doing here with him, but all my good sense had melted away in the flame of the unbelievable attraction I felt for him. I wanted him.

  The band stopped for a break and we took our seats again. I was breathless with the exertion of dancing, with the nervous energy of first attraction and the hot desire fluttering in my chest.

  "How about a mojito?"

  "Sure." I couldn't have said no to that voice even if I had wanted to, and any reservations I might have had, had vanished one dance ago. Still, I managed to retain a veneer of this being about business. "By the way, I meant to ask; how many children would I be taking care of?"

  MacKenzie frowned at the question as if I had misunderstood the evening completely. "I don't have any children."

  This time, the hot flush that claimed my cheeks was nothing to do with arousal. No kids? Then what had all this been about? Unpleasant possibilities crowded in on me. I had accepted drinks from this man, what if one of them had been spiked?

  But then, why would he tell me what he just had if he had ill intentions?

  I shook my head. I was making excuses for him because I wanted him to be honest, I wanted this to be... something. I was more attracted to this man than I had been to anyone since Jack Sanders, the best looking boy in school. But, of course, that hadn't meant that he was a nice guy—Jack had turned out to be a scumbag. A handsome face didn't mean anything. So was I sitting here, desperately desiring a psychotic who was trying to hire me to look after his non-existent children for some ulterior reason? Or... Come to think of it, what was the other option?

  If this situation had occurred with any other man then I think I would have just run, but with MacKenzie I had to give him the right of reply, even if it was a dumb thing to do.

  "If you haven't got kids," I asked, cautiously, "then why do you want to hire me?"

  Mackenzie shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm looking for a mother for my children."

  I choked on my mojito, spitting it across the table into the face of the most handsome man I'd ever met.

  Chapter 3

  Without batting an eyelid, MacKenzie pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table and wiped mojito off his face.

  "I probably should have built up to that."

  I burst out laughing, high, shrill and slightly hysterical, waiting for him to join in to let me know that this was a joke. But his face remained impassively serious. There was no hint of a smile in the strong line of his mouth and no trace of humor in his vivid green eyes. It had to be a joke, he had to be joking and was now just pushing it too far. But deep down I knew that this was no joke. I didn't understand exactly what was happening here—what he wanted or how the hell he expected this to work out—but I knew that he was as serious about it as his face suggested. He wanted me to be the mother of his children. Was he crazy? Was he dangerous? What was his plan?

  Uppermost in my mind should have been fear and a desire to get the hell out of there, but instead I found the most prominent emotion to be regret. Why did the most attractive man I had ever laid eyes on, a man who made George Clooney and Ryan Reynolds look like carnival attractions, and a man who actually seemed to be interested in me—why did he have to be a weirdo? Where was the fairness in that? For a half moment I wondered about taking my chances. What if he wasn't a dangerous lunatic? How stupid would I feel then? Giving away my chance to be with this man. What was the worst that could happen? Unfortunately, my mind was quick to furnish me with answers to that question and I realized that, despite the burning arousal that had set up camp in my downstairs, there was only one reasonable course of action. Though, I still cursed myself for taking it.

  "I'm just going to the bathroom."

  MacKenzie nodded. "I'll be here when you get back."

  I was sure he would be as well. I could not help remembering a guy I had met in a bar a few years ago; I had gone to the bathroom and when I got back he had picked up a stunning dark-haired girl and was grinding against her on the dance floor. But MacKenzie would not be like that, I was sure. The man might be psychotic with unhealthy designs on me, but he was clearly a gentleman.

  That was a crazy thing to think! How had this man managed to get inside my head so much so fast?

  I shook my head, as if that would dispel the hold he had on me. But with each step I took away, I felt like a bungee cord attached me to the table and
to MacKenzie. It took all the strength I had to go into the bathroom, knowing I would not be going back.

  In the comparative safety of the ladies’ room, I stared at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and my breathing was coming quick and fast. That might have been fear at a bad situation but I had a hunch that it was more than that. The woman looking back at me from the mirror was a woman who had not been with a man in so long that she/I had stopped keeping track, because it had become a bit of a downer. Was that woman really going to walk away from a man like the one out there waiting for her? If what was stashed in his jeans was anywhere near as impressive as the rest of him, then... But he was clearly unbalanced.

  But it would feel soooo good. Foolishly, I allowed myself to imagine what it might be like; to have him on top of me; to be pressed to the bed; to watch as he stripped off his clothes revealing that body, sculpted in its muscular perfection; to pull down the zipper on his pants, reach in and touch...

  I gasped to bring myself out of the self-indulgent trance into which I had slipped. My face in the mirror was tomato red and a light sweat had broken out on my forehead. I had to get away now, before I did something truly dumb.

  The window was small and not built for a woman with curves but I managed to wriggle through with a complete absence of dignity into the alley behind. The gate at the far end of the alley was locked and the razor wire on top made climbing it an absolute no. The only other way out took me past the big, broad window at the front of the bar. Would MacKenzie be looking for me? I had been gone some time now and he might have become suspicious. I hurried to the edge of the window, then ducked and crawled along the cold ground, trying to ignore the Mission Impossible theme playing in my head.

  Once I was past the window and out of danger, I was back up onto my feet and running, my breath showing in clouds in the cold night air. The adrenalin of panic still seared through me but there was a curious thrilling sensation too. I had escaped and had a little adventure. I felt like James Bond—although Bond would have stopped for sex. That thought made me run a little slower. Was I being stupid? I was running away from a man who was interested in me. Women in my position—long dry spell and without much free time to meet people—don't have the luxury of running away from that. Of course, he had said something unbelievably creepy, but had he seemed the type to take advantage? Hard to tell. He was certainly strong enough, I would be like a rag doll in his hands. On the other hand, he had seemed like an old-fashioned gentleman, right up until the whole “mother of my children” section of the conversation. Perhaps I had misheard what he'd said?

  Was I still trying to make excuses for MacKenzie? How hard up did a girl have to be to do that? But then again, there was something about MacKenzie.

  I arrived back at my car, still parked near the daycare center, and started. MacKenzie was leaning casually against the passenger door.

  "There you are. For a moment I thought you weren't coming. That would have been embarrassing."

  I gulped, forgetting to breathe as, for the first time, a real fear stole coldly through me, slipping through my veins like ice water.

  MacKenzie seemed to notice my fear and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to scare you. Though, I suppose it may have been somewhat inevitable. I did my best to make this a comfortable experience, but from here on in I'm afraid I have no choice."

  "What are you going to do?" I blurted out.

  He lifted his head so his green eyes met mine and, for a moment, they caught the light of a street lamp, reflecting them cat-like, making him seem almost inhuman.

  "I can promise you won't come to any harm, but I doubt you'd believe me. We need you, Eleanor. You have to come with me."

  "No, I don't!" From somewhere, I found a flash of resistance. If this was happening—whatever this proved to be—then it wasn't happening without a fight. I frantically groped in my purse—I never carried mace—it never seemed necessary—but hairspray in the eyes should do the trick. My fingers closed on something hard and cylindrical and I pulled it out of my purse to point at MacKenzie.

  "Ha hah!"

  There was a beat of faintly ridiculous realization undermining the seriousness of the moment as we both registered the vibrator in my hand, pointed threateningly in his face. It let out a feeble buzz and then the green light turned orange as it rattled one last time and died.

  Shit.

  The only thing less menacing than a vibrator was one with a dead battery.

  Mackenzie managed to bite back a smile. “I’m flattered, love, but we hardly know one another yet.”

  He took a step forward and I opened my mouth to scream for help.

  But no sound came out. His eyes had caught mine and suddenly they seemed to fill my head. I tried to look away but he took a couple of quick steps forward, catching my chin in one strong hand, turning me to face him, forcing my wide-eyed stare to meet his. Sensation overwhelmed me, as if MacKenzie was looking into the most intimate depths of my soul. And right at that moment, I wanted him there more than I had ever wanted anything.

  The sharp green of his eyes seemed to shift before my stare into a swirling silver. I couldn't look away. The rest of the world faded. Sight, sound, taste and touch were numbed, leaving only the keening feel of his gaze penetrating my soul.

  Then there was darkness.

  Chapter 4

  The first thing I became aware of was the cold. My foot had strayed out from under the blanket and felt like a block of ice. Still cloaked in the muzziness of sleep, I pulled the foot back beneath the covers and wondered vaguely why my bed was so hard this morning. At least it was a Saturday so I wouldn't have to go to work. My head felt thick, as if I'd had too much to drink last night.

  Last night...

  With a start, I was wide awake as the events of the previous evening rushed back in on me with frightening clarity. As my eyes shot open, I was met with another shock. It was not just that I was in a strange room; I was in a strange room. I was lying on the hard floor, an animal skin of some sort protecting me from the cold flagstones, another heavy fur covering me like a blanket. Beside me, a huge fire crackled away, sending long, eerie shadows dancing up the walls. Aside from the fire, the light came from candles dotted about the room; some on the floor, fixed in a pool of their own congealed wax; others on black iron candlesticks or elaborate gold candelabra; two stood on a bare wooden table by the wall. The room they illuminated was like something out of a gothic fantasy, all dark, cold stone like the inside of a castle. I could not see the extent of the room, as the candles were all placed around me, leaving the periphery wreathed in shadows, but the word “cavernous” immediately suggested itself. If I had dared to make a sound then it would have echoed around the distant walls and high ceiling.

  Where in the hell was I? How many kidnappers owned their own castle? Where did one even find a castle in the US to buy? What sort of money is there in kidnapping daycare assistants that anyone could afford that? Or maybe I had fallen through a portal into another world or another time, like that woman from Outlander. I seem to recall it worked out alright for her in the end. The only other option seemed to be that I was losing my mind. Right now, that seemed like the best possible outcome.

  A sharp shiver of cold made me tremble. Despite the fire, the unyielding stone surroundings made the room icy, and I drew the heavy fur around me more closely. It was only then that I noticed I was naked. My skin prickled to goose-flesh, and only partly because of the cold. How had I ended up like this? I didn't remember undressing myself. I didn't remember anything after confronting MacKenzie at the car. Which meant that he or someone else undressed me.

  The thought was a troubling one and came with a lot of still more troubling associations in tow. I tried to calm myself, to breathe deeply, think clearly and listen to my body. If “something else” had happened to me—and I was afraid to even think the word that hovered unsaid in my mind—I was sure that I would know it, and I did not feel that that was the case. Which was a
relief, but only made me worry for what might yet happen. You don't kidnap someone and strip them without fairly specific designs.

  Without much hope, I checked around for my cell phone, even getting up and shaking out the fur blankets between which I had slept, hoping to hear it clatter onto the hard, stone floor, but to no avail. Of course, he had taken it.

  He.

  MacKenzie.

  By the light of one of the more distant candles, I caught sight of a wooden door and raced towards it. It was heavy, bound and studded with cast iron fixings. I grasped the massive handle and tugged as hard as I could, but it would not move. Locked. I thought about banging on it and screaming for help, but that would just let him know that I was awake and bring him back to silence me. MacKenzie. The handsome man who had used my weakness and his own undeniable charm to bring me here so he could... What? Well, whatever it was, he was not going to find it as easy as he might expect.

  My bare feet cringed against the icy cold of the stone floor as I began to search my prison for something I could use as a weapon. Anything was an improvement on what I had tried to use last night. It is a strange facet of the human condition that, no matter how dire the situation, no matter that we may be facing death or worse, no matter that you may wake up naked in the medieval castle of a kidnapper with evil designs on your body—we still have the capacity to feel embarrassed over something like using a vibrator to threaten an attacker. Even in the cold, a warm flush of crimson embarrassment suffused my body, stealing across my pale skin. What an idiotic thing to do. Who the hell tries to fight off an attacker/kidnapper/potential serial killer with a sex toy that was running out of battery?

  Funny the things you think about when you're in danger, as if your mind is trying to keep you occupied, to make you think of anything other than the dire situation you’re in.

  And my current situation was feeling pret-ty dire.

  How was I going to explain this to Janet on Monday? Assuming I got out of it alive to be in a position to explain it. Or Ruth? Valentina, I imagined, would take it in her stride—there are certain subjects that are off-limits at work for obvious reasons, but I did know that she was into some…stuff. Waking up naked in a castle was probably a pretty typical weekend for Valentina. Still, however I decided to tell the story, if I lived to tell it, I might leave out the bit with the vibrator. It only undermined the drama of the central narrative.