by Lori Foster
More prominent than his need, though, was her reaction to his questions. She was usually so forthright that her avoidance now worried him.
Pressing her head to his shoulder, he drew a few deep breaths, giving them both time to recover before asking, “What rules?”
Still limp against him, she muttered, “God, you’re stubborn.”
Her hair felt like silk through his fingers. “If we’re comparing...”
“We’re not.” She huffed, but didn’t try to get away. “If you must know, I bluffed through most of my nervousness. I didn’t want them to know that I was concerned so I acted like they were nothing, less than nothing.”
That didn’t surprise him at all. Sahara could be terrified, and she’d show indifference. “Pride?”
“In part, sure. But I also wanted to find out what I could about Scott, so I kept pushing.”
Like she often did with him. Only he wasn’t a kidnapper, and they both knew he’d never hurt her.
Seconds ticked by before she softly added, “I was told to behave or I’d be stripped naked and tied to the cot.”
Motherfucker.
“Obviously I couldn’t let that happen.”
She couldn’t have stopped them—and that’s why she’d been making the weapons. He gathered her closer, proud of her, impressed and overwhelmed with the need to protect.
Forget beating the shit out of the guy; he’d kill him instead.
She whispered, “It frustrates me that in some ways women are weaker than men.”
When it came to possible rape, she meant, and he wanted to crush her closer still. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
“Even that vile threat wouldn’t have been so unsettling, except...well, I don’t know if I imagined it or not, but he seemed to...” She gave it some thought. “Like isn’t the right word, but then neither is want. It’s hard to explain and I might be way off base but I think he...”
When she curled a little tighter against him, Brand said, “I’ve never known anyone as smart and intuitive as you. Whatever you’re thinking, I’d bet a championship belt that you’re dead-on.”
She pushed back to see his face. “Really?”
“Really.” Sahara always packed a sensual punch, but now, with her hair loose and her eyes vulnerable, she could bring him to his knees. “You have great instincts, honey.”
Her teeth worried her plump bottom lip before she gave it up. “He admired me, Brand. Now isn’t that bizarre?”
“No. I can’t imagine any man not admiring you.”
“I...” She closed her mouth, opened it again and finally said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Seeing that she was a little more relaxed, he asked, “How could you tell what he felt?”
“The way he’d look at me as if I’d surprised him, and the way he’d smile at me. I even made him laugh a few times, and not necessarily on purpose. He constantly warned off the other guys but then he’d touch me when he shouldn’t, when there was no reason to. Like sitting so close that his thigh was against mine.” She shuddered.
To keep her talking, Brand suggested, “Maybe he wanted to play on your helplessness.”
Umbrage brought her brows together. “I was never helpless.”
No, she probably hadn’t been, at least not in her mind. Unfortunately for her, not everyone shared her delusions. “You were a woman alone with six armed men.”
“I guess, but it never really felt like they meant me harm, not really, and that’s why the main guy’s attention bothered me. You know, I’m the first to admit I’ll dive into a battle of wills, but for him it was more than that. I couldn’t gauge him, couldn’t figure out his intentions, and that made him more dangerous.”
“It bothers you that you backed down?”
Again indignant, she asked, “Who backed down? I bided my time wisely and at the first opportunity, I made a weapon.” Under her breath, she muttered, “No one is getting me naked without my explicit permission.”
So damn fearless. It was a serious discussion, and still the corner of his mouth twitched into a near smile. “You were as prepared as anyone could be.” He didn’t stop himself from kissing her again, softer this time. “For the record, Sahara, you impressed the hell out of me.”
She tried to lean in for yet another kiss, but they both knew where that would lead. He controlled himself, and her, which suited him, but was something she disliked.
Getting her back on track, he asked, “So the man who threatened you is the same one who carried you?”
“Yes. He didn’t let anyone else touch me at all. He barely allowed them to look at me. While we were still in the van, he’d tied my hands—not very well, but I didn’t think it’d be prudent to pull my hands free right in front of him. That would have just gotten me tied more tightly, and who needs that?”
“Smart,” he said, to cover the burgeoning rage. If Sahara hadn’t been so savvy, if she’d been more intimidated, what might have happened to her?
For all her brass, she was a soft, very feminine woman. The thought of anyone handling her roughly, tying her, threatening her, burned like acid in his blood.
“Having my hands tied made it difficult to stand up once we needed to leave the van, especially in the heels I favor. So he dragged me on my behind to the doors, got out and hefted me over his shoulder.”
“Like I did?”
She cast him a disgruntled frown. “Well...not as gently.”
“I’m sorry—for both times.”
Her hand went over his shoulder to his nape, and her fingers started a slow tease over his fevered skin. “It was necessary when you did it, but if I ever see him again, I’ll make him sorry.”
“Yeah?” Her words were a distinct contrast to her touch. “What will you do?”
She opened her mouth—then suddenly sniffed the air and scrambled off his lap. “I have to turn the chicken, and in ten minutes it’ll be time to eat.”
Another avoidance?
Brand didn’t know if it was because she couldn’t think of anything dire enough, or because she already knew what she’d do and she didn’t want to shock him.
With Sahara, it was probably the latter.
* * *
AS THE NIGHT wore down, Sahara wasn’t sure what to do. So far, none of her efforts had moved Brand. It was like smacking her head against a brick wall, unproductive and painful.
He’d enjoyed her dinner, giving her a lot of praise and eating every last bite.
“Another cookie?” she asked, sipping her coffee.
“Two’s plenty for me. You made them yourself?”
“Yes.”
“You’re an amazing cook.”
He’d already said that a few times. “Why do I get the feeling you’re shocked?”
He smiled lazily and shrugged. “You said it yourself that you’re a business shark. Seems like overkill to be Suzy Homemaker, too.”
That made her laugh. “I’m not. I mean, I could be.” She was pretty sure she could do anything she set her mind to, and if she did it, she’d damn straight do it top-notch. “I’ve enjoyed cooking, but cleaning—not so much.”
He looked around again. “I guess you have a crew who keeps this place in order?” As he said it, he stood and headed to the sink with his dishes.
“What are you doing?”
“My share of the cleanup.”
“So gallant.” She popped the last bit of the cookie into her mouth then pitched in.
Anything was better than calling it a night.
As they worked, she deliberately brushed against him. He acknowledged her efforts with a satisfied and very male smile, but nothing more.
She could probably strip naked and he wouldn’t give in.
She wiped off the table while he dried the baking dish that couldn’t go in th
e dishwasher. Any second now he’d walk out, and she wasn’t ready for that.
When she would be ready, she didn’t know, but it definitely wasn’t tonight.
Sidling up next to him at the sink, she made another effort to keep him around. “Brand?”
He looked down at her, watching her rinse the dishcloth. “Something on your mind, Sahara?”
So many things. If she told him she was nervous, that she didn’t want to be alone, he’d stay. Unfortunately, she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words. They’d make her feel weak, and worse, they’d make her look weak. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
“I was going to ask.”
“You were?” Well, damn it, if she’d just waited...
“This place is so huge, how do you know everything is still locked up?”
“Good security system.” She rethought that real fast and added, “But it can’t hurt to check, right?” After drying her hands, she gestured. “This way.”
As they went around the interior, she tried to take her time, showing off artwork and things her brother had specifically chosen, but Brand seemed more interested in the security system and the keyless locks on the doors.
“Everything is well lit,” she pointed out, after they’d gone through the library, two studies, a gallery, a guest room, kitchen, dining and breakfast area, a formal living room, and a cozier entertaining room.
“What’s through here?” he asked, poking his head into a suite of rooms.
“Technically those are service quarters. My brother used to keep a full staff around.” She shrugged. “I prefer my privacy so now that I live here, I just have a cleaning crew that comes by once a week.”
He gave her a funny look, then took the lead going downstairs. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“My rooms are upstairs.”
“You use more than one bedroom?”
“Well, there’s my bedroom, my changing room, sitting room, bathroom—”
“Got it.”
Did he think she was bragging? Yes, wealth was something she’d taken for granted, but it wasn’t something she had to have to be happy. Because she wasn’t afraid to work, she couldn’t see herself as a pauper, but neither was she a snob who needed so much luxury. “You know the house belonged to my brother, right?”
“Yeah.” Brand got to the bottom of the stairs and headed straight to the back of the main room to the large double doors that opened into the backyard. “You ever think of selling it?”
Appalled by that idea, she scowled at him. “Of course not.”
He glanced at her.
“I would never willingly part with anything of Scott’s.”
Nodding, he turned back to double-check the locks, examining them in detail. “Justice cleared these as secure?”
“He did.” Justice had stayed with her before as her personal bodyguard, using rooms on the main floor. Out of all of them, Justice had a special knack for understanding alarms and the best way to wire a system.
Moving on to a window, Brand kept his back to her. “Leese said that he’s stayed here, too?”
“Yes.” Once, when necessary, Leese and Catalina had used the rooms in the basement.
Brand went to the right, and she followed. “Most of that area is used for storage. There are no windows, so no way for anyone to break in.”
He did a cursory glance through each room anyway, before backtracking and going to the far left where a pool table and other games filled a large section.
Watching him prowl around did funny things to Sahara, making her think of things she never had before.
Like how nice it’d be if she weren’t alone.
Trying to summon up some of her notorious poise, she opened the guest bedroom. “This is the room Leese and Catalina used. There’s an attached full bath, a sitting room with a PC, and a bar with a sink and microwave.”
“All the comforts of home.”
She inhaled, worked up her best I’m-in-charge smile and said, “Does that mean you’d like to stay for a visit?”
“I’m definitely staying.”
Crazy reactions happened inside her: elation, uncertainty...lust. Having Brand in her bed would go a long way toward helping her forget the horrible day and night.
She licked her lips, trying to decide what to say next, then decided to hell with it and asked, “You want to stay down here? Because, Brand, it’s awfully far away—”
“Exactly. Too far away.” He approached, his dark gaze assessing her, making her think she might get another kiss—or more.
He only took her hand. “Let me see your rooms.”
That sounded like a euphemism to her, and in her mind, she gave a mental fist pump into the air. Finally, Brand was giving in. Once she got him in her room, nature could take its course.
Going for serene confidence instead of triumph, she said, “Sure,” and got them on their way.
Racing would be too obvious, so she forced herself to a measured stride.
It wasn’t easy. Brand dwarfed her with his size and she thrilled at the contrast, her thoughts jumping ahead to how his weight would feel over her, the heat of his skin and all those delicious muscles...
“You’re quiet.”
She cleared her throat. “Just thinking.” And getting myself turned on.
The staircase was wide enough for them to go up together, still hand in hand, back through the house, and then to the double staircase that split her large foyer and led upstairs.
She picked up her manufactured shank from the bottom step, holding it in her free hand. Looking toward her discarded shoes in the entry, she decided to leave them rather than release Brand; she could get the shoes tomorrow.
She smiled at him and started up, her heart already galloping in anticipation.
They were on the third step when he said, “I can use the rooms Justice had. That’s only one floor below you.”
Sahara froze. It took her brain a second to compute what she’d just heard.
Rejection again. Damn it, when would she learn?
Maybe it was the buildup, thinking he’d finally be hers, but she rounded on him in the grip of unreasonable anger. “You want to sleep on a separate floor?”
He stared down at her. “It’s not about what I want, Sahara. It’s about what makes sense.”
Disappointed, infuriated—despondent, damn him—she tried to snatch her hand away. “Great idea!”
The blasted man held on.
She stopped tugging and through her teeth, said, “Let. Go.”
His thumb rubbed over her knuckles. “Sahara—”
On the verge of losing it, and knowing she couldn’t do that in front of him, she hissed, “Let me go right now! I don’t need you to inspect my rooms. They’re fine. The house is fine. I’m fine.” Liar—but her personal turmoil was no longer any of his business. “The security is the best money can buy, so I don’t really need anything at all. Since it’ll be morning soon, you should probably just go on home.” Mortified that her voice broke there at the end, she spun around and dashed up the steps, her shank swinging at her side.
“Be careful,” he yelled. “If you fall you’re going to stab yourself.”
“Go to hell!” She reached the landing at the top of the stairs and, still running, went to the left, farther down an unlit hallway and then right through the open door to her bedroom. She slammed the door shut and locked it, sealing herself into the dark interior. She rested her forehead against the cool wood.
Emotions welled up, too many of them to count, too varied to define a single one. Things she didn’t want to feel bombarded her.
She left the lights off. A large mirror hung behind her dresser, another full-length mirror beside it. Not only did she refuse to let Brand witness her pathetic upset, she didn’t want to see it either.
Breathing hard, fighting off idiotic tears, she made her way to her bed by rote and sat down with her blade across her lap. “Stupid,” she mumbled to herself. “So stupid.”
A second before she heard the sound, she sensed the movement behind her. All the air whooshed out of her lungs.
She leaped off the bed and swung the dagger at the same time, colliding with jarring impact against something solid.
“Jesus, Sahara.”
Oh dear God. She knew that voice and it terrified her. “Don’t you dare move,” she threatened, keeping her tone strong despite her terror. “I’ll cut your head off, I swear I will.”
To the side of her, in the darkness, her kidnapper asked, “Will you now?”
“Yes.” She quickly rolled over and off the bed away from him, sweeping out with the blade as she did so, thinking she’d feel a hard hand grab her wrist or ankle at any moment and then what would she do? Panic raced through her until her feet were again on the floor.
No one touched her.
Slowly, as silently as possible, she backed up until her shoulder blades touched the door frame next to her dressing room.
The door was open when she always kept it closed. A cool evening breeze wafted in around her.
Had he somehow come in through the window?
What if he’d brought the other men with him? They could all six be in her room with her! She wouldn’t stand a chance.
Why had she so stubbornly insisted on coming home?
And what the hell had happened to her security system?
Eyes wide, she tried to see through the darkness. She might bump into one of them any second now...
No, she told herself. Stay calm, keep your head and think. She couldn’t count on Brand hearing her, not from a floor away—if he had even stayed after she’d ordered him to go.
Please, she silently prayed. Please, Brand, still be here.
She needed a way to gain the upper hand. If she knocked over something—a lamp or a chair—perhaps Brand would hear it.
But what if he didn’t? She’d be giving away her position. She needed to see the bastard, to know where he was.
An idea occurred to her.
Holding the blade tight in her right fist, she used her left to feel for the light switch just inside the dressing room.