Taken With The Enemy

by Tia Fanning

  Fucking cameras.

  Huffing, I pushed past him and made my way toward the courtyard. My escort followed silently. When we arrived outside, I went straight to the center of the garden, sat my ass on the stone bench, and stared off into the trickling fountain.

  I should have been embarrassed by the things my escort probably had seen, or at the very least, had heard about. And in a way I was. But that was not why I was so hurt. The more I thought about last night, the more I played with the thought that my captor might be avoiding me.

  How ironic.

  What a damn coward.

  I wanted to avoid it all, but I made-or was going to make if he'd been here-an effort to talk about it.

  He could be gone again ... and maybe he just didn't say goodbye?

  I glanced over at my escort, milling about. “Hey, is my captor around?"

  He looked up at me quizzically, as if he had no idea who in the hell I was referring to.

  "You know, my captor. The other guy who usually takes care of me."

  He continued to give me an empty expression.

  There was no way he didn't know who I was talking about. He had to know. I asked a yes or no question, so what was the problem here?

  "Okay, I've only met two of you,” I explained. “I don't know his name. He's my ... my captor. The one who brought me here."

  When my escort winked at me, I finally figured out what he was doing...

  Friggin great. I guess in his mind, I wasn't a prisoner either. I didn't know how he could think otherwise. After all, my escort was carrying a rifle just to walk me around an enclosed courtyard.

  "You know damn well who I'm talking about,” I muttered.

  My escort had the gall to smirk.

  I threw up my hands in frustration. “Fine. You win. Is my ... host here? In the building?"

  He nodded.

  That meant ... “He's avoiding me."

  My escort didn't deny or confirm my statement.

  "I take it you saw what happened last night. The kiss and all."

  At first, my escort just stared at me. But I held his gaze, demanding that he answer the question. Finally, he slowly nodded, a smile touching his lips.

  I wanted to ask him why he was here with me and not my captor, but that would be an open question. So, I figured I'd have to go through the list of possible reasons as to why my captor wasn't here.

  I went with the reason foremost in my mind; the one that worried me the most, the one question with a ‘wrong’ answer that could literally shatter me into a million pieces. Did I really want to know?

  "Is he embarrassed?” I asked. “Is that why he did not come to collect me?"

  My escort went wide eyed in shock. He actually looked at a loss for words—or gestures in his case.

  Taking his silence as a concurrence, I hung my head in shame, tears of humiliation instantly welled in my eyes. Oh, my God. He was embarrassed to have kissed me. In my mind, it had been the most amazing kiss of my life. I guess my captor felt differently.

  "Was it that horrible for him?” I whispered.

  Suddenly, my escort's booted feet came into view. I glanced up when he put his hand on my shoulder and leaned in. He pointed at me and shook his head. Then made an indication of bringing a glass to his mouth.

  "Embarrassed because I had been drinking?"

  He smiled and nodded. He then put the back of his hand to his forehead and tilted his head to the side.

  "And then I passed out,” I offered.

  He nodded again.

  I gave a half-hearted giggle, then covered my eyes with my hands and abruptly started sobbing in relief. If he only knew the real reason why I fainted.

  My escort sat down next to me, awkwardly patting my back in comfort. I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me and stroked my hair while I cried into his chest.

  I had to stop this. I had to get control of myself. I shouldn't be crying this much. I knew I was in a rough situation, but I had to be strong, to overcome. And more importantly, I had to figure out why my captor had such an impact on me, and I had to eliminate that power.

  "What's going on here?"

  My head shot up.

  My captor glared down at us, his usually placid expression showing how unhappy he was. No, not unhappy—a stronger emotion. Pissed. Yeah, he looked very pissed off. I resisted the urge to move away from my escort like some guilty girlfriend caught cheating.

  "Well?” he asked coolly.

  Fuck, Brenna. Say something! Anything!

  Blank.

  When I didn't answer, my escort did, in Arabic.

  A terse conversation ensued. Suddenly, my escort rose to his feet, growled one last thing, and stomped off.

  My captor pinched the bridge of his nose and silently paced in front of me, throwing a funky look in my direction every few seconds.

  I glanced over in the direction my escort had disappeared. “What's wrong with him?"

  "He says I made you cry again."

  Wiping my eyes, I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “Well, you did.” When my captor stopped in mid-stride and looked at me, I regretted my comment. “I'm kidding,” I added.

  "No, you're not."

  "Seriously, I am. I'm fine. I'm better now."

  "You say that often, but it's not true, is it?” he whispered. “I think you want to be fine, but you're not, are you?"

  Thankfully, I caught my tongue before ‘well, you did kidnap me’ slipped out. But true to his uncanny ability to read people, I think he knew my thoughts anyway.

  He came over and squatted before me, grasping my hands with his own. His dark eyes grew intense, and his distinct scent filled the air. “I'm sorry that this has been so hard on you. I won't say I regret bringing you here, because honestly, I don't. It goes beyond needing you here for the mission. I ... I..."

  With bated breath, I waited for his next words. Was he going to say that he needed me?

  Exhaling heavily, he continued. “I apologize about last night. It won't happen again. As much as I want to, I won't kiss you again, at least not while you're here. Forgive me?"

  I nodded slowly, finding it weird to hear my captor—my enemy—asking for my forgiveness. I was about to explain that he hadn't taken advantage of me, that I wanted it as much as he did, but he rushed on before I could.

  "Brenna, you'll probably be going home sooner than you think. I can't give you an exact date, not because I don't want to, but I don't know one. But it'll be soon. I need you to trust me. I need you to believe me. I need you to hang in there just a little bit longer. I know it's hard, but please, will you at least try? For me?"

  I didn't know what to say. I wanted to give in to his heart wrenching request, but I couldn't. I couldn't give him anything—couldn't do anything for him. It would be wrong.

  "I understand that you have to follow your principles and beliefs, try to escape from here, thwart me at every turn, and so on,” he said. “I want you to be okay. I need you to be okay emotionally. Fuck, I'll just say it. It hurts me to know you're sad. Your tears are starting to break me."

  I laughed at the strange confession. If anyone was breaking here, it was me. My tears were because of him—for him.

  He wiped his thumbs across my cheeks. “See, there you go again. You're trying to torture me. Is this a part of your secret plan to escape?"

  I knew he was teasing. Sniffling, I swatted at his hands. “I can't escape anyway. If I'm not with you, I'm with my armed guard."

  "He's not your guard."

  "Uh, big gun."

  "He carries it to protect you, in case something happens. It's not because we think you're dangerous or we're going to shoot you if you try to escape."

  "What dangers? This courtyard is in the middle of a three story building, surrounded by an eight foot concrete wall. And I'm sure there are other armed men around. It can't be just the two of you here."

  "You're trying to change the topic. I'm worried about you,
Brenna."

  "I might feel better if I knew more...” About you. About us. About why we seem drawn to each other when we shouldn't be. “About why I'm here. Can you at least tell me where here is?"

  He hesitated, then squeezed my hands. “I'll give you as many details as I can to answer your question, but I want you to just say yes to the question I'm going to ask you in return."

  "What?” I asked, my stomach jumping in anxiety. Or was it excitement?

  "Have dinner with me tonight. I'll cook for you."

  Considering the information I could garner in return for accepting the simple request, I didn't feel guilty when I said...

  "Yes."

  "We're in the Syrian Desert., in a region referred to as Al Hamad."

  Oh, my God. The Syrian Desert ran through four countries! And how the hell did they get me so far west so fast? How long was I unconscious?

  "Are we still in Iraq?” I asked.

  "Yes. We're inside the Anbar Province."

  "Where?"

  "A remote location. This place has been fairly unaffected by the war. In the late eighties-early nineties, this area was built up. Modern infrastructure was established, among other things, and there was a...” he paused. “A rise in population. As the first Gulf War drew to a close and coalition forces swept into southern Iraq, this area was abandoned. So here we are now. This place is like a hidden jewel in the desert—an oasis of sorts—self sustaining, and known only to few."

  "It's like a secret base?” I whispered.

  "If you mean secret, as in not found on a map, then yes, I'll agree with that."

  "How far to the nearest major town?"

  He smiled, obviously knowing why I asked. “Well over a hundred miles."

  So much for being rescued. And an escape might be more difficult than I had anticipated. I would have to get a hold of a vehicle. And even then, would I survive the elements of the hostile desert?

  "In which direction?"

  My captor rose to his feet, pulling me up as he did so. “I need to take you back in. You should try to get some rest. I'll wake you up when dinner is ready."

  I nodded, letting him keep a hold of my hand as he led me toward the building. My mind was reeling with all this new information.

  "I'm sure you need your rest after all that dancing you did last night,” he said.

  What?

  "Unfortunately, I was a few minutes too late to see it myself. But I hear you're quite a dancer."

  Oh. “You sound resentful for missing it,” I remarked casually.

  He opened the door and moved to the side to let me past. “Very. When do I get to see that fun side of you?"

  "Well, if it wasn't for the cameras, the others wouldn't have seen it either. Anyway, wasn't kissing me fun?"

  I didn't know why I said that last part. Maybe I just needed to hear it from his lips.

  "You were intoxicated and passed out in my arms. No, it was not fun. Thank you for reminding me what an asshole I am."

  Not the answer I was hoping for, but a gentlemanly response all the same. I remained silent until we reached my apartment. “Perhaps. Perhaps not."

  "Perhaps not what?” he asked, following me into the flat.

  "See you at dinner.” Going into my room, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it.

  "Are you just trying to make me feel better?” His voice floated through the barrier between us. “Stroke my ego and whatnot?"

  "No,” I replied. Walking to wardrobe, I pulled off my abaya and hung it up. “If you leave now and hurry, you can make it to your monitors in time to see me undress. I'm sure that's a much better show than my dancing."

  "There are no cameras in your room—or either of the bathrooms.” He sounded truly offended. “We're not perverts you know."

  I giggled.

  "What? You don't believe me?” he pressed.

  Slipping off my jeans, I crawled into bed. “I trust you,” I replied, yawning as I laid my head on the pillow.

  "Pleasant dreams, Brenna."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eleven

  "Do you trust me?” my captor asked, his fingers grasping my shoulder as he guided me ahead of him.

  I clenched my rope-bound hands held tightly fastened behind me. “Yes,” I whispered.

  He spun me in toward his chest, his arm wrapping around my back as he drew me to face him. “Are you sure?"

  This was so hot. He was so hot.

  Unable to find my voice, I simply stared into his piercing dark eyes.

  He pulled the ropes that secured my wrists up higher, thus forcing my shoulder's back and my chest up. My breasts strained against my thin shirt.

  Moisture gathered in my core and I moaned weakly.

  "You're so beautiful,” he murmured. Keeping one hand on my restraints, he used his free hand to caress the swell of my breasts. “But I need to know. Do you trust me? We can go no further unless you do."

  His touch wreaked havoc on my senses. If not for his hold on my body, I might have crumbled at his feet.

  Breathless, I nodded.

  Lowering his head, his lips feverishly traveled over my heaving chest, moistening my shirt's fabric with his heated kisses. My pussy tingled. My nipples hardened. My heart raced.

  "Please,” I begged, closing my eyes, losing my self in the sensations.

  "Please what?” His mouth captured a budded nipple, teasing it with his teeth and tongue.

  I turned my head and rested my chin against my shoulder, embarrassed to say anything more. I didn't want him to think me easy and wanton.

  Though he didn't release his hold on my body, his head retreated. He brushed my hair back. “Look at me, Brenna."

  I did as he asked.

  "Tell me,” he whispered, smoothing his thumb across my bottom lip.

  I resisted the urge to take it in my mouth and suck on it.

  "Well?"

  When I still didn't answer, his hand skimmed past my ear, then moved on to play with the hair at the base of my neck. I gasped when he captured a handful, using it as leverage to pull me closer. Between my peaking arousal and his rough dominance, my body teetered dangerously on the edge of an orgasm. And he'd barely touched me—yet.

  His lips were a breath away from touching mine. “Brenna, now."

  "I-I need you."

  He kissed me then, hot, demanding, all-consuming. My body instantly responded. I was nearly falling apart in his arms, melting away. I trembled, trying to halt the oncoming climax.

  He dropped his hold and took a step back. “Dinner first, dessert later."

  I opened my eyes, waking up to a wonderful smell of food lingering in the air.

  Retrieving my hand from between my legs, I rose from the bed, trepidation and excitement hurrying my steps.

  I didn't want him to find me this way.

  I was a worn-out mess.

  Hot, sticky, and burning with pent-up sexual frustration.

  I needed a shower. A really cold shower.

  I had dreamt of him many times since our meeting, but nothing this erotic, or at least I didn't remember it being that way. Honestly, I barely remembered the previous dreams, only able to recall that he was in them, as I could never mistake those dark eyes or that deep, sexy voice.

  Was this why I felt so attached to him? Like I'd known him forever? Because even when he wasn't around me during my time awake, he was a constant presence when I was asleep.

  * * * *

  I gazed at woman staring back at me from the vanity mirror. Hair pulled back or left down? Lip gloss and blush, or natural? Tank-top alone, or over shirt? Jeans, or something a little fancier?

  I decided on hair up, a little make up, over shirt and jeans.

  I opened the door and slowly made my way to the dining room where my captor was setting the table. I stopped, unsure of how to approach.

  He looked up, an appreciative and gratifying emotion embedded in the depths of his eyes. “You look beautiful."

>   "Thank you,” I returned softly.

  "Are you feeling well? You look a little flushed."

  The erotic dream popped into my head and my cheeks burned. If I looked flushed before, I probably looked like I had sunburn now.

  "Um...” Make up something! “I get easily embarrassed by compliments."

  Hey, it wasn't a total lie, especially concerning him.

  Smiling, he nodded. “Come, please."

  If only he knew how much I really wanted to do just that. God, being so close to him was beyond frustrating.

  Moving a chair out, he signaled for me to take a seat.

  After I sat down, he pushed my chair in. “Italian, wonderful,” I said.

  Lighting the candles, he proceeded to pour two glasses of wine, then prepared a plate of pasta, which he placed in front of me.

  "Thank you. You are very much a gentleman...” with the exception of the whole abduction thing.

  "My mother taught me well. She was quite a woman,” he explained as he sat down across from me.

  I smiled. Had to love a man who loved his mother.

  No. No, you don't. I'm sure his mother didn't teach him to kidnap people.

  "A penny for your thoughts?” he asked.

  "They're worth more than that,” I said evasively.

  He chuckled. “Clever."

  I took a bite of my food. It was amazing. “This is excellent,” I complimented, thankful for something honest to say.

  "I'm glad you like it. Cooking is a favorite hobby of mine."

  "Perhaps you should open a restaurant instead of ... um...” I trailed off, biting my tongue.

  I really hadn't meant for the comment to come out like that, but my words, especially the unspoken ones, hung heavy in the air like thick smoke.

  He didn't reply.

  As we ate in silence, my thoughts had nothing to do but wander. Why were we having dinner together? Why did he bother to ask me? We had nothing to talk about. It's not like either of us were willing to share anything personal about ourselves.

  I took in the romantic setting.

  Could he be trying to woo me? Was this his attempt to get me into bed? But he didn't seem the type to be ruled by lust. If that had been the case, he could've just forced himself on me. After all, what could have I done to stop him? Anyway, when I'd tried to seduce him, he turned me down.