“In your dreams, you arrogant ass. Get off me.”
“You’re lucky I have such excellent self-control. Otherwise I might ravish you right here on the floor.” As if to prove his point, he thrust his erection against her, making her breath catch audibly.
Despite his boast, his self-control was rapidly becoming more difficult to maintain so, after planting one final kiss on the curve of her neck, he heaved himself to his feet. When he lowered his hands to her, she reluctantly took them. Pulling her to her feet, he caught her up in a close embrace. “You and I make a good pair.”
She wedged her forearms between them and tried to shove him away. “Except that we’re on opposing teams. Don’t ever kiss me again.”
“You have only yourself to blame. You attacked me again, despite repeated warnings of punitive measures.”
“Shouldn’t the punishment fit the crime? That kiss was cruel and unusual.”
“Jesus, a fucking comedienne. Before you start acting all outraged, keep in mind that you kissed me back.”
“You caught me off guard. It was an automatic reaction. Let go of me!”
He reluctantly released her, and she took a quick step back. “But you enjoyed it,” he persisted.
“You conceited moron, I did not.”
“Then why are your nipples so hard?”
Her eyes dropped to her chest. Color flamed into her cheeks at the sight of nipples that looked like glass marbles beneath the black tee shirt. “Screw you.”
“You see? The kiss has you thinking about sex. Or maybe it was the wrestling.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
Jesus, with her sultry southern accent, even the word “asshole” sounded sexy. With quick, furious gestures, she tugged her shirt back into place, raked her hair back from her face, and brushed herself off.
Once she’d regained a semblance of composure, he raised a hand, fingers pointing to the ceiling, edge-on and level with her face. “Show me what you can do. Kick my hand.”
“I can’t.”
“You just did it not ten minutes ago.”
“I simply got lucky. I couldn’t do it again even if my life depended upon it.”
“Bullshit. You’ve clearly had some self-defense training. Although that kick was more offensive than defensive.”
“The only ‘training’ I’ve had is in yoga.”
“I might have believed that before, but not now that you’ve kicked a weapon from my grasp.”
“Believe what you want.” When she turned away from him, he reached out a hand to the back of her head and gave a little shove. She stumbled forward, then rounded on him, a flicker of irritation narrowing her eyes. “Don’t do that.”
He brought his hand back up. “Then show me what you’ve got.”
Rolling her eyes, she started to turn away, then flinched when his hand shot out towards her. He pushed her shoulder, throwing her off balance for a second.
Anger flashed across her face and her spine straightened, increasing her height by nearly an inch. “Stop it.” When he reached for her, she knocked his hand away. “Keep it up and I’ll scream.”
“Scream and you’ll be wearing the gag until morning.”
He followed as she retreated across the room. He feinted with his left and, when she moved to block, shoved her with his right.
Spots of color burned in her cheeks. “Goddamn it, stop it!”
“I’ll stop when you show me what you can do.”
Without warning, she struck out with a roundhouse kick to his knee, followed by a palm strike to the face, both of which he blocked.
“Are you happy now?” she shouted.
“Lower your voice. You lied in hopes of catching me off my guard.”
“I did catch you off your guard,” she shot back.
When she started to turn away, he taunted, “Is that all you’ve got? You hit like a little girl.” Her foot lashed out, catching him in the thigh. Ignoring the hot sting of pain, he grinned. “Now, that’s more like it.”
When she moved toward him, he backed away, staying just out of reach. Lips taut, she coldly studied him, looking for any vulnerability to exploit as they circled each other.
Bracing her feet, she suddenly attacked, aiming a vicious kick at his groin that he easily blocked. As they moved in a tight circle on the worn carpet, he stayed on the defensive, easily parrying the onslaught kicks and punches. Her hands and feet were but lightning flashes of movement as she put her all into the attack, desperately trying to hurt him.
* * * * *
Larissa’s chest heaved as she and her kidnapper circled each other on the threadbare expanse of carpet. She wanted to hurt the bastard — to kill him. Unused to such osculatory talent, she had enjoyed the kiss, and it infuriated her that he knew it. He exuded such a masculine vitality that she simply couldn’t help but respond to him.
Even so, the bastard had drugged and kidnapped her. It had to be biological — simply an overload of hormones brought on by stress. It didn’t help that his tee shirt did nothing to hide the definition of his chest and shoulders, or that he moved with the surefooted grace of a natural athlete.
As a fresh splash of guilt scalded her, she struck out again. Again, he blocked it. No matter how hard she tried to hurt him, he was so fast and so good at blocking everything she threw at him that she didn’t have a chance. She definitely couldn’t outmuscle him, so the only way she’d ever be able to hurt him would be to catch him unaware again.
She took a step back and dropped her guard. “This is ridiculous. I quit.” As she started to turn away, her ears detected the faint sound of voices approaching the room. This was her chance. When he lowered his own guard and turned toward where his .45 still lay on the carpet, she spun and drove a heel into his side.
Grunting from the impact, he staggered back several feet before recovering. Sucking in a deep breath to scream, she feinted to the right and struck out with the blade of her hand, aiming for his throat.
He must have heard the voices as well for, as he parried the blow, in one smooth continued movement he grabbed her wrist, spun her around, and yanked her toward him. When her back slammed into his chest, it was like slamming into a wall. He immediately clapped a hand over her mouth.
Damn him!
A man and woman passed just outside their door, laughing. Squirming against him, she raised her foot to stomp his instep. He responded by yanking her off her feet. Hand still clamped over her mouth, he started across the room. She tangled her legs in his, trying to trip him, but by stepping carefully stiff-legged, he made it to the bed without incident. Still clutching her tightly to his chest, he fell forward onto the bedspread, landing on top of her. The hard ridges of his chest and stomach pressed against her back as his weight held her immobile beneath him.
On the other side of the door, the conversation grew fainter until the thumping of two car doors abruptly cut it off. A second later, there was the whining complaint of a vehicle trying to start, and then an engine roared to life.
When she abruptly stopped struggling, he shifted his weight to insinuate first one and then the other leg between hers. Her heart thundered wildly as his erection settled into the cleft of her buttocks.
Taut with sexual awareness, she lay unmoving as her pulse throbbed in the intimate parts of her body. He was breathing heavily, and not, she suspected, from their exertions. His breath ruffled the hair on the back of her neck as he asked, “If I take my hand away, are you going to scream?”
Her answer was a muffled, “Uh-uh.” He removed his hand, but stayed atop her. When he deliberately rubbed his erection against her, she felt as though she would faint. She finally managed a breathless whisper. “Please get off me.”
For the space of a half-dozen heartbeats, there was no response. Then he sighed heavily. “Since you asked so politely.” When he rolled off her, she rolled in the opposite direction. They lay on their sides facing each other, both breathing heavily. Electricity seemed to arc back and
forth across the narrow space separating them.
When the blue eyes behind the mask dropped to her mouth, fear and anticipation zinged from nipples to crotch. As she braced herself for another kiss, he asked, “Are you in the mood for pizza?”
His non sequitur caught her so off guard she could not have been more surprised if he’d begun speaking in tongues. “What?”
“It’s a simple question.” As if conversing with someone mentally disabled, he slowly enunciated, “Are you in the mood for pizza?”
“Pizza would be great,” she replied cautiously.
“What would you like on it?”
“Mushrooms, green peppers, black olives. And onions.”
He elevated one brow. “Onions?”
“As insurance against any further punitive kisses.”
“Considering that I’ll be eating onions as well, you’ll find it inadequate protection.” He hesitated a moment. “I’ll have to leave you bound and gagged while I’m gone.”
Gone? He wasn’t having the pizza delivered? She’d be here alone and unguarded? To cover her burgeoning hope, she sputtered, “You can’t leave me here tied up. What if the building catches fire?”
“The pizzeria’s just across the highway. I’d see the smoke from there and, being the valiant gentleman that I am, would come running to your rescue.”
She snorted at his assertion of gentlemanliness. If the pizzeria were just across the highway, it wouldn’t give her much time. Maybe she could somehow work the gag free, and someone would walk past the door again. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to simply tie me up, and forego the gag.”
He lightly caressed her jaw with one finger. “No, I don’t suppose I would.”
She let out her breath in an irritated sigh. “I guess it’s a small enough price to pay for pizza.”
* * * * *
Chase called in their order, then secured Larissa to the bed, all the while uncomfortably aware of the heaviness in his loins. She stared at him with hard reproach as he fastened the gag into place.
As soon as the door closed behind him, he pulled out a disposable cell phone identical to the one that he’d provided Hank Keswick with, and dialed the number.
After a single ring, Keswick answered with an eager, “Hello?”
“The acquisition went off without a hitch, and we’re presently in Arkansas. Have you ever heard of someone named Brian Sparrow?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Who’s that?”
“I thought maybe you could tell me. That’s who your wife thinks I’m taking her to.”
“Brian Sparrow,” Keswick repeated thoughtfully. “The name don’t ring no bells. Who’s he s’posed to be?”
Chase stood on the edge of the four-lane highway as traffic roared past. “An intruder who broke into her apartment two years ago. She claims he survived her shooting him.”
“Yeah, I remember that. Only, it didn’t happen to Larissa, it happened to a friend o’ hers. Right after that’s when she starting sleepin’ with a gun under her pillow, which I can assure you did not improve the quality of my sleep. I don’t recall the guy’s name, but it coulda been Sparrow. After her friend shot the guy, he broke into some doctor’s house, forced the doc to patch him up, then killed him.
The lying bitch. “This happened in Charleston?”
“Los Angeles.”
At a break in traffic, Chase jogged across the highway. There were a half-dozen vehicles in the parking lot, mostly pickup trucks, some of which sported gun racks and confederate flag decals. As he crunched across the gravel, he asked, “Did the guy get away?”
“Nuh-uh, they caught ‘im. He’s doin’ time for the doc’s murder.”
A flicker of anger stirred in him. Not only had the bitch lied, she’d had the temerity to act affronted by his lie. A sudden burst of country music and loud chatter drew his eyes to the door as a man exited carrying a boxed pizza.
As if he’d read his mind, Keswick said, “I warned you that Larissa was a world-class liar. But you’re not the first man to fall for her shit, so don’t feel too bad about it.”
Chase paused and turned to gaze back across the highway at the motel. World-class was right. She came across as strong, but sweet and sincere. Of course, she’d also proven to be quite cunning and extremely determined.
Had she been faking her response to their kiss?
No, he decided, she hadn’t. There was no way she could have faked those nipples.
A sudden pang of guilt stabbed him as he realized he’d kissed Keswick’s wife. He distracted himself by wondering why Keswick would want her back, knowing the kind of woman she was. Ah, well, when it came to women, men were often stupid like that. Other men, he quickly amended. Not him. “You haven’t made any calls on this phone, have you?”
“Course not. I remember what you said.”
“Unless something unforeseen happens, you won’t hear from me again until we reach California.” He hit END, flipped the phone shut, shoved it in his pocket, and pushed through the door.
Inside, the heady aroma of wood-fired pizza dough, oregano, pepperoni, and tomato sauce permeated the air, bringing back memories of his childhood in Pittsburg. The crowd’s loud meaningless din lagged as all heads turned to follow his progress across the room. He stopped at the cash register and a middle-aged Italian woman hurried to him, wiping her hands on her apron as conversations gradually resumed. “May I help you?”
“I phoned in an order. The name’s Brown.”
He paid, casually scanning the room. Two attractive, thirty-something women in tight jeans and cowboy boots were exchanging animated words a few booths away. As his eye passed over them, there was a sudden stirring of feminine interest. Seductive smiles blazed while hands fluffed hair and tugged at necklines.
When they both started to slide out of the booth, he yanked the cell phone out of his pocket and pretended to make a call. Normally, he would have welcomed an opportunity to engage in a threesome. Unfortunately, now was not the most opportune time to be presented with questions about who he was, where he was from, and where he was headed. From the corner of his eye, he watched the two women ease back into their booth.
Not only had Larissa lied to him, he’d been ready to believe her. He shrugged the feeling of betrayal off. What difference did it make if she lied? She wasn’t his girlfriend. She was his job. In addition, her husband was his client. His well-paying client. His job was to deliver her to that client. If she lied to him in an attempt to prevent that from happening, what of it?
Anger implied he was becoming emotionally involved, which he absolutely was not. Yes, he was attracted to her. How could he not be? He was a man. She was a beautiful woman. She could lie all she wanted. It was nothing to him.
“Brown,” the woman behind the counter called. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and grabbed his pizza.
When he passed the two women on his way to the door, one of them reached out a long-taloned hand to stop him, bracelets jangling. With an inviting smile, she said, “We don’t mean to be forward, but would you like to join us?”
He paused just long enough to say, “Thank you, ladies, but my wife’s waiting for me.”
As he continued toward the door, he heard one say to the other, “Told you he was too hot to be single.”
* * * * *
The moment the door closed behind her kidnapper, Larissa began struggling to slip out of the handcuffs. If she could get one hand free, she could remove the gag and scream. He’d tightened the cuffs until there was little room to spare, but the left one seemed maybe a tiny bit looser, so she concentrated on that one. After last night’s escape attempt, he seemed to be taking extra care to make sure it didn’t happen again. She struggled to compress the bones in her hand, wincing at the pain. If it weren’t for the damned gag, she might’ve been able to spit far enough to provide some lubrication.
She could tell he liked her. To be honest, under different circumstances, she might
have liked him in return. In fact, there were moments when she almost did.
Like when he’d kissed her.
Why the hell had she kissed him back? She wasn’t attracted to him or anything, so it had to be that he’d simply caught her off guard. She grimaced as the cuff scraped her skin and dug into the fine bones in her hand. She needed to make him like her even more. If he cared about her, he wouldn’t deliver her to someone who intended to do her harm.
She’d have to proceed cautiously, though. If she came on too strong, he’d suspect something. Worse, he might think her a slut. While the air conditioner droned, she realized the solitary bed was yet another cause for concern. Last night, he’d shown considerable self-restraint but — if that damned kiss was any indication — he was probably going to pressure her to have sex with him eventually.
Not that it would be an entirely unpleasant task. From the neck down, at least, he was an attractive man, although the idea of sleeping with someone who’d drugged and kidnapped her was disturbing beyond measure. However, it would be a small enough price to pay if it saved her life.
Crap! No matter how freaking hard she tried, she couldn’t get the cuff off. Not only was it now wedged in place halfway down her hand, it was cutting off the blood supply to her fingers. She’d just decided to work on the other cuff when shoes scrunched on gravel just outside the door. A moment later, a key sounded in the lock.
He closed and locked the door behind him, then placed the boxed pizza on the dresser. His tread was steady and deliberate as he moved toward the bed. He seemed preoccupied — angry even — and avoided making eye contact.
At least until he saw the handcuff wedged halfway down her hand, and the reddened, scraped skin. Blue eyes narrowed and fixed on hers, glinting with irritation. She raised her chin defiantly, meeting his gaze squarely and with frank rebellion, as if to say, What did you expect? Of course, I’m going to try to escape. Besides, too much of a pretense of compliance would only arouse his suspicions.
Except for an exasperated sigh, he made no comment as he leaned over her to unlock the cuff. After that unconscionably imprudent kiss, simply being in his proximity made her jittery and apprehensive, her senses almost painfully acute. He was so big and muscular that he seemed to take up most of the space in the room. He seemed to take up most of the air as well, making it difficult to breathe as he bent over her. His very nearness was having a chaotic effect upon her body. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her breathing.
The Heart Has Reasons Page 9