“Well, on behalf of men everywhere, I’d like to say that we appreciate the sacrifices you women make for us.”
“Shut up and watch television.”
“Yes, honey.” He grinned in response to the sharp glance she cast at him.
* * * * *
Unable to concentrate on the movie, Chase was excruciatingly aware of her presence there beside him on the bed as his mind continually flashed back to the way her strong, lithe body had felt beneath his when they wrestled. Bringing those particular clothes for her to wear had been a deplorable mistake. Wanting her to be comfortable, he’d failed to take into consideration that they’d leave little of her shape to the imagination.
And why had he brought up the subject of Brazilian waxes? The “intimate grooming habits” of American women had undergone a radical change during his fourteen years in Afghanistan. He loved to pleasure women with his mouth, and there was something so damned sexy about the lack of any pubic hindrance.
He’d once mentioned to Cheyenne how sexy he found it, and she’d immediately scheduled an appointment with a professional waxer. Since she was doing it for his benefit, he’d felt it not only his duty to pay, but also to accompany her for moral support. When the waxer had ripped off the first narrow strip, Cheyenne had screamed like a banshee. While redressing, she’d spewed an ear-blistering tirade of profanity upon both him and the hapless middle-aged Ukrainian woman.
When he’d jerked open the shower curtain last night, his mind had registered what he’d seen, although at the time he’d been too preoccupied with other matters to give it much thought. However, now that he’d broached the subject, he couldn’t stop thinking of how she’d looked — totally bare and glistening from the shower.
Not only was Larissa clearly tougher than Cheyenne, she was more courageous. Cheyenne would never have the courage to kick a weapon from a captor’s hand, nor even to attempt an escape. It was strange. The moment he’d laid eyes on Cheyenne, he’d wanted her. Now he could no longer remember what exactly had attracted him to her in the first place.
Well, that wasn’t quite true. After the fiasco of his short-lived marriage, he was always careful to pick women he knew he wouldn’t fall in love with, and Cheyenne definitely fell into that category. Although he’d been bored with her for some time, he hadn’t yet moved on, but spending a mere twenty-four hours with Larissa had sharply illuminated the fact that his relationship with Cheyenne left him feeling empty.
Although fond of him, Cheyenne was much too self-absorbed to love anyone other than herself. She’d never once inquired about the events of his day, although she continually bombarded him with the most tedious details of her own. And despite the fact that he’d spent years in a war zone, she had yet to ask the first question about his life in Afghanistan.
He glanced at Larissa. Physically, the two women couldn’t be more different. Cheyenne was six-foot, with waist-length, platinum-blond hair. Larissa was at most five-eight, with shoulder-length hair as black as sin.
At twenty-six, Cheyenne was growing a bit too old for the business of modeling, and the job offers were slowly dwindling. Having decided to pursue an acting career, she’d moved from New York to Los Angeles and, believing jaw-dropping cleavage would expedite her chances, she’d gotten implants. The new breasts undoubtedly attracted attention but, in Chase’s opinion, were disproportionately large for such a skinny body. From the neck down, Cheyenne looked like a tall boy who’d stuck the two halves of a cantaloupe on his chest.
Larissa was also twenty-six, but her breasts were perfectly sized for her slim and toned hourglass figure.
Cheyenne was a beautiful woman — when she was in full makeup. Without it, she was pale and colorless and, except for her height and breasts, completely unremarkable.
Larissa, even with her face scrubbed clean of every trace of makeup, was head-turningly beautiful.
Apparently sensing his scrutiny of her, she turned her head to him. As they gazed into one another’s eyes, the memory of how she’d kissed him popped into his head, making his cock suddenly awaken. Well, shit. This was becoming downright annoying. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he moved over to the door, dropped to hands and toes, and started doing pushups.
After a moment, the television abruptly shut off. He froze at the top of a pushup, a suspicious eye fixed on her as she approached. “You’re not the only one who needs to work off some tension. Remove this freaking hobble.”
Because she had the audacity to demand rather than request, he was tempted to refuse. But, what the hell. If he were this tense, her nerves must be stretched to the breaking point.
Once her feet were free, she pulled the tee shirt over her head. Wearing only the red sport bra and red stretch pants, she stood beside the bed, pressed the palms of her hands together before her chest, and took several long, deep breaths.
Her hands then described wide circles on either side of her as they came up to meet, palms together, above her head. She paused for a moment in this position, and then exhaled as her arms swept out to the sides in a graceful imitation of a swan dive as she bent forward, legs straight, chest to thighs. Jesus, she was limber. This explained how, when he’d restrained her in the bathroom last night, she managed to get her cuffed hands in front of her.
He gave up on the pushups and switched to squats, to afford himself a better view. She extended one leg back, into a lunge. The second leg moved back and, exhaling from pushup position, she slowly lowered herself to hover inches from the floor. Pushing forward with her toes, her upper body curved upward into a backbend. After another pause, her upper body lowered again and her hips rose into the air.
Fascinated, he continued to watch. Every graceful, controlled movement synchronized with a long, slow breath. Each pose flowed seamlessly into the next. She repeated the same series of movements for several minutes, before altering the routine. From the standing, bent-over position, she placed her palms flat on the floor, to either side of her feet. Springing off her toes, she launched her lower body — seemingly in slow motion — back into the pushup position again. After going through several new poses, she bent her knees, bounced off her toes and her lower body floated through the air, with her feet landing softly between her hands.
“How do you do that?”
She rose to a standing position and paused. “Do what?”
“Move in slow motion like that.”
She shrugged. “Lots of practice. Good balance.”
“It looks amazing.” He finished his squats, then lowered himself to the ancient carpet and began doing crunches, watching her all the while. When he had done two hundred, he rolled over and finished his pushups.
She was still going. A light sheen of sweat covered her face, and damp spots showed on the sport bra. Drugs or not, Keswick was a fucking idiot to have cheated on her. Unwilling to cut her workout short, he settled back against the bed’s headboard and turned the television back on, pretending to watch some crime drama. Finally, after nearly an hour, she finished and came over to sprawl on her back next to him, breathing heavily.
“How long have you been into yoga?”
“Four or five years. It’s great for stress reduction.”
“I can imagine.” With great reluctance, he said, “I need to take a shower.”
Rolling her eyes, she extended her arms out toward him, wrists together. “Go ahead.”
* * * * *
As he bent over her to fasten the handcuffs about her wrists, Larissa’s eyes roved over his chest and arms, reluctantly admiring his physique. Trying to imagine what the face beneath the mask looked like, she tried to convince herself that he was probably ugly enough to sour milk. However, his nonchalant self-confidence and extraordinary self-control while sharing a bed with her signified he was a man who never lacked for female companionship.
He turned around to secure her ankles, his shoulders and back so muscular they appeared carved from stone. Like a vagrant wind, a vision blew into her mind — an
image of her hands clutching that back. Overcome by a wave of disgust and guilt, she reminded herself that he was delivering her to Sparrow.
When he picked up the gag, she pleaded, “Please don’t put that on me. I promise, on this one thing you can trust me.” Right up until the moment I hear someone outside the door, and then I'm going to scream my head off.
“We both know that’s a lie. Open your mouth.” With an exasperated sigh, she complied. Once he had the gag fastened into place, he promised, “I’ll be quick.”
With predatory grace, he strode into the bathroom, leaving the door open. Moments later, she could hear the sounds of him brushing his teeth. Twisting her head to the left, she stared unbelieving at the top of the bedside stand. Immediately upon their arrival at the motel, he’d unplugged the room’s phone and stowed it on the top shelf of the closet. But when he’d kicked back on the bed to eat pizza and watch television, he’d emptied his pockets and placed their contents on the stand.
Contents that included his cell phone.
If she could somehow reach it, she could dial 9-1-1. Although she couldn’t speak, she could moan around the gag, and the operator would send emergency responders to investigate.
Since most cell phones now came equipped with a GPS chip, the dispatch center would be able to pinpoint the phone’s position to within a few feet. However, this phone appeared to be a cheap, pre-paid type. But even if it lacked a GPS chip, by triangulating with the nearest three cell towers, the dispatch center should be able to narrow the phone’s position to within several-hundred meters.
The water came on in the shower, and metal shower curtain rings slid along the shower curtain rod as he opened the curtain, then again as he closed it.
Barely daring to breath, she inched herself up toward the headboard, until the ropes cut painfully into her ankles, then scooted toward the edge of the bed, until all the slack in the rope attached to the handcuffs was gone. Rolling onto her side, she balanced halfway off the edge of the mattress, and stretched her neck forward.
Her head barely reached the edge of the stand and the cell phone rested near the center. However, his black plastic comb was within reach. Shoulders shrieking with pain, she set her chin on the comb and pulled it toward her until one end extended slightly over the edge of the stand. Opening her mouth as widely as possible, she grasped the comb between the rubber ball and her upper teeth. Biting down on it while tipping her head to the side, she stretched forward until the tip of the comb touched the phone.
If she pressed too hard, it might shoot off in the opposite direction. Holding her breath, she set the tip of the comb into a shallow groove in the phone and pulled back a tiny bit. The phone moved a half an inch closer, until the comb slipped out of the groove. She carefully found the groove again, and this time she gained over an inch before again losing the groove. Her heart started to pound. This was actually going to work!
But it was progressing slowly and, in addition to the pain in her wrenched shoulders, a cramp was forming in her neck from having to hold her head at such an awkward angle. Growing impatient, she pressed a little too hard. The comb abruptly slipped off the curved side of the phone and set it to spinning. She held her breath, terrified it would fall to the floor.
It came to a rest two inches closer than before. The pain in her twisted neck was growing unbearable as she again found the groove. As she pulled it up to the very edge of the stand, a huge shadow moved over her. Startled, she jerked so hard the phone shot off the stand.
Wearing nothing but the ski mask and a towel, water droplets glistening on the sun-browned skin of his chest and broad shoulders, her kidnapper deftly caught the phone in one hand. He seemed more exasperated than angry. “You would have needed the password to unlock the phone.” He rolled her back onto the mattress, gently plucked the comb from her mouth, and returned to the bathroom, taking the phone with him.
Tears of frustration prickled her eyelids, and she angrily blinked them back. She’d been so freaking close!
After finishing in the bathroom, he removed her bonds. She sat up and massaged the side of her aching neck. “Before you say anything, it’s my duty to try to escape.”
“It’s a soldier’s duty to escape. You’re not a soldier.”
“It’s everyone’s duty to escape when they’re being wrongfully held captive.”
“Are you being wrongfully held?”
Taken aback by this enigmatic question, she stared up at him, bewildered. “Of course I am.”
“Play stupid all you want, but I’m not falling for it.”
Confusion flared into a smoldering anger. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you implying that your actions are somehow justified?”
“We are not having this conversation.” His narrowed gaze said he’d brook no argument. “If you want to shower, do it now. Otherwise, your next opportunity will be tomorrow night.”
She turned and stomped into the bathroom, wishing a thousand horrible deaths upon him. She understood nothing about his motives but, while she showered, his words kept echoing through her head. Did he believe there was some sort of justification in her kidnapping? What the hell had Sparrow told him?
In any case, even if she couldn’t convince him to let her go beforehand, she would once they arrived at their destination and were face-to-face with Sparrow. Her kidnapper was an asshole, but he was not evil. She would be able to convince him, and he would let her go. This frantic self-assurance raced around her mind like an amphetamine-pumped gerbil on an exercise wheel. When she’d finished bathing, she aimed the showerhead at her neck and simply stood there, letting the hot water ease her strained muscles.
“What’s taking so long?”
She let out a small shriek and, pressing a hand to her thumping chest, snapped, “I’ll be out in a minute.”
When she finally emerged from the bathroom, he seemed to have already forgotten the incident with the cell phone. A glass of water and a sleeping pill were waiting for her on the bedside stand. With a great effort of will, she arranged her features into tranquil lines and picked up the capsule. As he carefully watched, she placed it on her tongue, took a drink of water, then opened her mouth and raised her tongue to show she’d swallowed it.
He looked almost disappointed. “I think I liked it better when you fought not to take it.”
“Pervert.”
With a mischievous gleam in his eye, he shot back, “You wish.”
CHAPTER 11
“Time to wake up.”
Larissa stretched and pried her eyes open. Unable to distinguish any details in the darkness, she closed them again, and snuggled tighter. Even with the blanket over her, her back was cool, but the body beneath hers radiated such heat that the rest of her was toasty warm.
She uttered a sound of protest when the strong arms jostled her. “Larissa, it’s time to get up.”
There was a brief moment of confusion, and then she jerked fully awake as memory came rushing back. Oh, crap! Not only was she actually on top of him with her head pillowed on his chest, she’d insinuated her lower body between his legs. As if that weren’t enough, his erection was sandwiched between them, pressing insistently against her abdomen.
The son-of-a-bitch had deliberately turned the air conditioner on high so that she’d get cold and seek out his warmth. Fisting her free hand, she dug her knuckles into his ribs as she roughly shoved herself off him, provoking a pain-filled grunt. She could tell by his movements that he was one-handedly donning the ski mask, and then the bedside lamp came on. She refused to meet his eyes as he unlocked the handcuffs.
Twenty minutes later, she stumbled from the bathroom to find him standing before the dresser stirring something over an electric hot plate. In a sleeping-pill induced stupor, she ate a bowl of hot oatmeal, then noisily slurped a cup of instant coffee.
Despite the caffeine, she fell immediately back to sleep in the back of the van.
She awoke a little before ten. As they made small talk through
the curtain that separated them, she was immensely grateful he didn’t mention how she’d slept on top of him.
Around noon, he pulled off the highway onto another remote side road. As they sat in the open doorway of the van, eating peanut butter on whole wheat and cold pork-and-beans straight from the cans, she kept stealing sidelong glances as him. The man had a confidence, an ease with himself, which made him very attractive. Unfortunately, it made her very uncomfortable.
His thigh was disturbingly close to hers, and she was sorely tempted to squeeze it, to see if the muscle beneath the denim was hard as it looked. His forearms and hands were very large, and she was startled to find herself wondering what those hands would feel like on her body.
Holy freaking crap. What was wrong with her?
When he abruptly leaned into the van, his thigh brushed against hers. A ripple of heat like static electricity sparked through her, rendering her oddly breathless as she jerked her leg away. Catching the movement, he raised his brows at her. Refusing to meet his eyes, she accepted the napkin he offered with a muttered “Thank you.”
An apple apiece rounded out their lunch menu. To the west of them, dark clouds billowed, and the air was heavy. Trying to look anywhere but at him, she remarked, “It’s going to storm.”
He glanced up at the sky. “I’m afraid so.”
She looked around at the distant sound of a vehicle approaching. Without warning, he shoved her back into the van and leaned over her to brush aside the curtain. Looking out the windshield, he muttered an angry, “Fuck!”
The sudden surge of elation made her heart pound so hard that the sound of it echoed in her head. “Who is it?”
“State police.”
When he grabbed the .45 from the front seat, she recoiled and tried to scramble back away from him, frightened by the intense resolve in his eyes. He shoved the weapon into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back and tugged his shirt down over it. Grabbing two handfuls of her tee shirt, he pulled her so close their faces were only an inch apart. “Before you go getting any ideas, I want you to listen to me very carefully. In the next few minutes, your actions will determine if this man lives or dies. Draw attention to yourself and I put a bullet in his head. It’s as simple as that. I don’t want to kill an innocent man, but if it comes down to him or me, I’ll choose me. The instant you do something stupid, he’s dead. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The Heart Has Reasons Page 11