The Heart Has Reasons

by Martine Marchand

  “Grab a change of clothes and go into the bathroom.” When she simply stood there, he locked a hard, unblinking gaze on her that accelerated her heartbeat. Even if he didn’t intend to kill her, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her, so it would be prudent to pretend submissive compliance until an opportunity for escape presented itself.

  Carrying the bag of toiletries, handcuffs, and a length of cotton rope, he followed her into the tiny bathroom. “Turn around.”

  “Is it really necessary to tie me up?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Unless you’d like to shower with me.”

  Asshole. In order to escape, she might have to attack and disable him. Although the mere size of him made such an event seem to lie within the realm of the impossible, in class she’d sparred with men nearly as large. She was a green belt. If she caught him off guard and unarmed, she could take him. She had to. Her very life depended upon it.

  However, now was not the most opportune time. She still felt slightly woozy from the drug he’d slipped into her wine, and the bathroom was much too small in which to maneuver. Needing him to believe she was too frightened to offer any further resistance, she obediently turned and put her hands behind her back. In the tiny room, the sound of the handcuffs ratcheting closed was frighteningly loud. He passed the rope around the short linking chain, had her take a seat on the toilet lid, then knelt down to tie the rope around the base of the toilet.

  Once satisfied she was secure, he stood and peeled his shirt over his head. She tried not to gawk but … Oh. My. Freaking. God. Broad shoulders rippled with thick muscle. Washboard abs appeared carved from wood. Numerous scars crisscrossed his chest and, on one shoulder, a small, round, silvery scar looked to be the result of a gunshot. Had he bulked up while serving time in prison? If so, what crime had landed him there? Maybe that was a question best left unanswered.

  When he unzipped the black jeans, she looked away and, from the corner of her eye, watched as he slid the jeans down narrow hips, stepped out of them, and draped them over the top of the door.

  Oh, crap. He was now totally naked and standing only feet from her.

  Unbearably uncomfortable, she turned to face the wall below the window, sitting as rigid as stone. Expecting any moment for those huge hands to begin groping her, she involuntarily twitched at the sound of his voice. “Do I need to gag you?”

  “I remember the speech about how you’ve been trained in dealing out pain.”

  Water came on in the shower, metal shower-curtain rings scraped along the rod, and he stepped into the shower. The opaque white curtain slid closed, the ski mask flopped over the shower-curtain rod, and then the fresh scent of masculine bath soap filled the air.

  Knowing she had very little time, Larissa shifted her weight forward onto her feet. Lifting her rear end off the toilet lid, she arched her spine, stretching her arms back and down, and worked her cuffed arms inch-by-inch down her butt, forcing herself not to feel the burning scrape of the steel as it dug into the bones of her wrists. She bit back a cry of pain as the muscles at the front of her shoulders stretched almost to the limit of her endurance.

  As the cuffs reached the top of her thighs, she bent forward at the waist and the pain in her shoulders and wrists suddenly eased. Sliding the cuffs down the back of her legs to her knees, she lowered herself to the toilet and stepped through her arms so that they were now cuffed before her. Kneeling before the toilet, she frantically tore at the knots.

  She had untied three, with two more to go, when the asshole abruptly yanked open the shower curtain. “Goddamn it.”

  Ski mask back in place, he stepped from the shower. As he dripped all over the cracked and stained ceramic tiles, she cringed away from the large penis dangling at face-level. Water from his wet hair soaked into the ski mask as he bent down to untie the two remaining knots in the rope. Blue eyes lifted to hands were now cuffed in front of her. “How the fuck did you—? Goddamn it!”

  Snatching his jeans from where they hung over the top of the door, he dug the handcuff key from the pocket. Larissa grimaced in pain as he grabbed the handcuffs by the linking chain and pulled her to her feet. He unlocked and removed the left cuff, yanked her right arm into the air, and closed the left cuff around the shower curtain rod. “I should have done this from the start, but I thought I’d be considerate and let you sit. Well, now you can stand.”

  After a moment’s consideration, he bent down and set the handcuff key on the tile at the junction of floor and wall, beyond her reach. Blue eyes locked onto hers, their chill sending a shiver through her. “This mask is not for my protection, it’s for yours. If you see my face, I’ll kill you. I have no desire to do so, but you’ll leave me no choice. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then unless you wish to die, don’t touch the fucking shower curtain.” He stepped back into the stall and yanked the curtain closed. A moment later, the now-wet ski mask flopped across the shower curtain bar.

  Crap! She’d been so close. As reddish bruises from where the cuffs had dug into her flesh began to slowly flower, she grasped the overhead bar to take the pressure off her wrist. If she could somehow free herself from the handcuff, she was willing to bet she could unlock the room’s front door and be out it before he caught her.

  On the floor at the far side of the stall, the handcuff key taunted her. Could she reach it with a foot? On the opposite side of the curtain, her kidnapper had a clear view of her hand gripping the shower rod. Without moving it, she shifted both feet to the left on the wet floor and stretched out her left leg. Setting the pad of her great toe on top of the key, she slid it toward her.

  When her feet were again side-by-side, she tried to grasp the ring with her toes, but it lay too tight to the ceramic-tile to get a grip on it. The key attached to a one-inch-diameter split ring. With her left foot, she slid the key up against the side of the ball of her right foot and, using the toes of her left foot, flipped the ring up so that it leaned against her foot.

  The hand suspended from the shower curtain bar was starting to tingle from lack of oxygen as blood struggled against gravity. Ignoring the discomfort, she grasped the ring with her toes, then bent her knee high so that her foot was at waist height, and plucked the key from her toes.

  In that instant, the shower curtain opened. For several seconds Larissa and her masked kidnapper simply stared at each other.

  As she stood balanced on one foot, she realized it was time for two years’ of karate classes to prove their worth. She’d drive the heel of her foot into his solar plexus, temporarily disabling him and, before he had a chance to recover, she would stomp his head against the ceramic tiles until he was either unconscious or dead.

  Preferably dead.

  In the fraction of a second that it took this decision to form, her kidnapper apparently deduced her intent. With a speed as impressive as it was frightening, he assumed a defensive stance, arms coming up to block. Steel edged his voice. “Kick me, and you’ll be extremely sorry you did so.”

  Her throat seemed to close in on itself. The asshole clearly had martial arts training as well. The sculpted muscles of his glistening physique gave the impression that he could kick King Kong’s ass without even breaking a sweat.

  She slowly lowered her foot to the floor.

  His stance relaxed. “Have you given any thought to the kinds of things I can do to you if you continue to piss me off?”

  “We both know you’re going to hurt me no matter what I do.”

  Behind the mask, blue eyes widened in surprise. “Why would I do that?”

  “Why does a dog lick his own privates?” she asked. “Because he can.”

  “That’s very funny,” he said, clearly not amused. “Unless you want me to hurt you, stop fucking around. Hand me that towel.”

  Leaning her forehead against her suspended arm as he dried off in the stall, all sorts of scenarios regarding what he would do to her in retaliation played through her mind.

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nbsp; After he dried off, he carefully spread the towel over the puddles he’d earlier dripped onto the floor and stepped out onto it, unashamedly naked. When he extended his hand, palm up, she obediently placed the handcuff key on it. Why didn’t the asshole put some freaking clothes on, or at least wrap a towel around his waist? He removed the cuffs and, muttering a curse under his breath, gently rubbed the bruises now ringing her wrist.

  Being touched by her kidnapper was bad enough. Being touched by her naked kidnapper was excruciatingly uncomfortable. Yanking her arm from his grasp, she lowered it, then grimaced as the sudden return of circulation sent tingling jolts pulsing through her hand.

  “Would you like to shower?”

  Larissa could smell her own sweat, made acrid by its chemical infusion of fear, but was disinclined to make herself any more vulnerable than she already was by removing her clothes. However, the horrifying truth was that, clothed or not, she was powerless to stop him from doing anything he wished. “If I say yes, are you going to watch?”

  “I’ll be just outside the open door.”

  “In that case, I would.”

  Once he’d vacated the bathroom, she undressed in the relative privacy of the stall, dropped her clothes outside, and turned on the water. While shampooing her hair, he returned to the bathroom. She tensed, but the shower curtain remained undisturbed.

  “I’m taking the mask off,” he informed her. “Do you remember what I said will happen if you see my face?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t open the curtain until I give the okay.” She listened as, on the other side of the plastic curtain, he brushed his teeth, then rinsed and spat. “I’ve got the mask back on now.”

  Except for the background noise of the television in the next room, it grew quiet on the other side of the shower curtain. She peeked out. Dressed solely in pajama bottoms and ski mask, he sat in one of the kitchenette chairs before the television. He was between her and the exit and, from there, he could glance into the bathroom by simply turning his head.

  Reclosing the curtain, she leaned weakly against the stall wall. She watched enough television to know that, in real life, kidnappings usually ended badly for the victim. Now that she finally had a moment of privacy, she let go of the small measure of courage to which she’d been so desperately clinging. As a small sob burst forth, she slid down the stall to huddle on the tile as the tears gushed forth in an unstoppable torrent.

  * * * * *

  Chase flipped between news channels on the battered relic of a television. There was nothing about his captive’s disappearance, but he hadn’t expected there would be, not this soon. Several days might pass before someone reported her missing and, even then, it would probably only make the Charleston news, not the national.

  Not only was she proving to be more resourceful and courageous than he’d expected, she’d actually been planning to attack him in the stall. Of course, she probably believed him to be a sadistic rapist and/or killer, which explained her desperation to escape. A certain amount of fear was necessary in that it made a prisoner more tractable, but extreme terror could drive a person to do anything, take any risk, to free themselves. Occasionally, they chose suicide as their means of escape.

  A sudden jolt of adrenaline had him on his feet and rushing toward the bathroom. She’d been in the shower an inordinate amount of time. What if she’d already hurt herself?

  Yanking back the shower curtain, he found her huddled in the bottom of the stall, arms clasped around her shins as she silently sobbed. Concealing his relief behind a muttered curse, he shut off the icy spray, then hauled her to her feet. Teeth chattering and shivering uncontrollably, she wrenched free from his grasp to press back against the stall wall.

  And of their own accord, his eyes just naturally dropped to the perfectly smooth and hairless cleft between her legs. Seeing where his gaze had fixed, she yanked the shower curtain closed. “Get out!”

  He thrust a towel behind the curtain. “Dry off and get dressed. And be quick about it.”

  After brushing her teeth and blow-drying her hair, she finally emerged from the bathroom clad in a black tee shirt and red stretch pants. Her eyes were red-rimmed, making them appear even greener in contrast, but she’d clearly managed to restore her emotional equilibrium, something for which he was immeasurably thankfully.

  Anger he could deal with. Tears? Not so much.

  Still apparently suffering the effects of the frigid shower, she shivered violently, so he rummaged a sweatshirt from his duffle bag. “Put this on.” Once she’d complied, he said, “Sit.” Looking small and deceptively fragile within the sweatshirt’s bulk, she perched the edge of the bed. Seating himself beside her, he broke one of the cardinal rules of dealing with captives. “I apologize for invading your privacy in the shower. I assure you, it wasn’t intentional.”

  As rigid and unmoving as a statue, she sat with arms wrapped protectively around her chest, gaze locked on the carpet between her feet. To assure that he had her complete attention, he gently but firmly grasped her jaw and turned her head toward him. “Although I don’t want to hurt you, if you do anything else stupid, I will. Do you understand?”

  When she nodded, he reached across her for the glass of water he’d placed on the bedside stand, thrust it into her hand, then produced a sleeping pill from a pajama pocket. “Take this. It’ll calm you and help you sleep.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Take it.”

  She seemed to consider the matter for a moment. Then, having apparently reached a decision, she placed the glass on the bedside stand. “No.”

  Circling one hand behind her neck, he leaned forward until his face was mere inches from hers. “Do you want me to hurt you? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t comply.”

  She took a deep, shuddery breath. “Is it the same thing you put in my wine?”

  “No. This is merely a sleeping pill.”

  She reluctantly picked up the glass again and held the other hand out, palm up. He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Open up.” When she did so, he placed the pill on her tongue, then watched as she took a mouthful of water, tilted her head back, and swallowed. “Open your mouth again.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can make sure you really swallowed it.”

  She was the very picture of innocence. “I did!”

  “Open your fucking mouth!”

  Green eyes narrowing in anger, she puckered those sexy lips and spat. The capsule bounced off his chest to land on the carpet beside the bed. “Goddammit.” Leaning down to retrieve it, he made the mistake of shifting his attention from her for just an instant. An instant was all she needed.

  With the impetus of a pile driver, her heel connected with his ribcage just below the armpit, knocking him sideways off the mattress. As he hit the floor, she sprang off the mattress and bolted for the door. Managing to maintain forward momentum, he tucked his shoulder, rolled, and came to his feet, all in one smooth motion. The door was partway open and her mouth was opening to scream when he clamped a hand over her lower face. Kicking the door closed, he relocked it one-handed, and half-dragged, half-carried her back to the bed.

  Was he simply off his game tonight or had eight months of civilian life softened him that much? Dropping her onto the edge of the bed, he leaned down until his face was just inches from hers. “Are you going to scream when I take my hand away?” She shook her head. “If you do, I’m going to make you very, very sorry you did.” When she shook her head again, he cautiously removed his hand. “You’d better not fucking move.”

  Keeping a close eye on her, he leaned down to pluck the pill from the floor, refusing to wince at the pain that blazed along his ribs as he straightened back up. “I think you want me to hurt you.”

  She blanched, but met his gaze squarely. “What I want is for you to let me go.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Dirt and carpet fibers now clung to the capsule. �
��I should make you take this one.” Instead, he pitched it into the plastic wastebasket beside the bed.

  When he produced a second from his pocket, she set her chin defiantly. “I’m not taking it.”

  “That’s what you think.” Intending to force the capsule into her mouth, he shoved her back onto the mattress. Before he could pin her, she wedged her knees between them, shoved him off, and rolled in the opposite direction.

  He lunged for her. Quick as a striking snake, her arm shot out. Again caught off guard, he barely managed to block the blade of her hand from connecting with his throat. She’d clearly had some sort of self-defense training.

  As they struggled, he found himself somewhat hampered by holding the capsule in one hand, and by the fact that he didn’t want to inadvertently hurt her. Avoiding another blow, he sprawled atop her, using his own weight to pin her to the bed.

  Suddenly he was wrestling a hissing, spitting wildcat. She was fast, stronger than he would’ve imagined, and as hard to get a grip on as an eel. As they grappled in a tangle of flailing limbs, she punched, kicked, clawed, and once nearly managed to sink her teeth into his wrist before he twisted free of her grasp.

  When he swung a leg up and over to straddle her, her knee shot toward his groin. He jerked his hips back, sucking in a breath in anticipation of the pain that, fortunately, never arrived as she missed his testicles by a mere hair’s breadth. “Knee me in the balls and I’ll take my belt to your ass.”

  Despite his threat, he was somewhat disconcerted to realize he was immensely enjoying their struggles. However, when she swung an elbow around, driving it into the side of his head hard enough to make his ears ring, he’d finally had enough. Flipping her onto her stomach, he drew back and administered a stinging slap to one cheek of her ass.

  She yelped and instantly stopped struggling. “Ow-w-w! That hurt!”

  “I intended it to. Are you going to take the fucking pill?”

  “No!”

  When she tried to roll over onto her back, he pinned her face down on the mattress. Reaching up over their heads, she grabbed hold of the top of the ski mask and pulled, blinding him as the eyeholes shifted up onto his forehead. He grabbed the mask with one hand and locked the other around her bruised wrist. With his mouth close to her ear, he whispered through the knit fabric, “Do you remember what I said would happen to you if you saw my face?”