He might have fallen for it had he not noticed the way her eyes flicked first to the door and then to the solitary window, measuring the distance to each as she calculated the odds. He had to hand it to her, she was nothing if not determined. “Chicken-noodle soup and peanut butter sandwiches.”
He halfway expected her to complain about having peanut butter again, but all she said was, “Mmmm. Fancy.”
For a trophy wife, the woman never complained about anything other than the gag, and he certainly couldn’t fault her for that. There was never a word about the fleabag motel rooms, the endless sandwiches, or spending her days tied up in the back of the vehicle. He suspected she was the kind of woman one could take camping far from civilization and that, not only would she not mind roughing it, she’d actually enjoy it.
Cheyenne’s idea of roughing it was no room service after 10:00 p.m.
She hobbled over to him. “Want me to make the sandwiches?”
“Be my guest.”
She stood beside him at the dresser, spreading peanut butter on whole wheat as he stirred the soup. The cracked mirror reflected a cozy little tableau of homey domesticity that made him yearn for something he’d long ago convinced himself he neither wanted nor needed. Being constantly inundated by her beauty, strength, and femininity was instilling in him a growing dissatisfaction, a sense that something crucial missing was from his life. Furthermore, the chemistry between them had utterly blindsided him. Although, to be honest, the chemistry was probably all one-sided. Still, there was an undeniable sexual component in the dynamics between them.
The sooner they got to California, the better.
He had just poured the hot soup into bowls when a deafening clap of thunder exploded directly overhead. Beside him, Larissa jumped and shrieked, and then the electricity went out, plunging them into an absolute blackness.
Chase was between her and the door but, alerted by a whisper of movement, he shot one hand out into the darkness, groping the space where she’d been standing only seconds before.
She was no longer there.
CHAPTER 12
Three long strides brought Chase to the door just as it started to open, letting in a gust of wind and rain. A blinding flash of lightning backlighted Larissa in the narrow gap, and he clamped one hand firmly over her mouth and banged the door shut with the other. There was a brief flurry of ineffectual punches before she conceded defeat with a resigned sigh. Fumbling one-handed in the dark, he relocked the door. “Did you remove the hobble?”
“No.”
Squatting down beside her in the darkness, he wrapped one arm around her calves to guard against kicks, and walked the fingers of his free hand along the rope from ankle to ankle. Surprisingly, the hobble hadn’t been tampered with. “How the hell did you get past me so quickly?” As he stood, the answer came to him. “You conned me into putting more play in it.”
“I did no such thing. I genuinely fell.”
“Liar.”
Ignoring her muttered aspersions, he circled an arm about her shoulders and turned her away from the door to lead her unerringly through the dark to the window.
No matter how much she protested her innocence, he knew she’d tricked him, and he had no one to blame but himself. Her husband had adamantly cautioned him not to trust her, and yet he continually fell for her machinations.
They each pushed back one side of the drapes and peered out at the rain-lashed night, relinquished by the power failure to a primeval blackness. He kept his arm draped about her shoulders as they stood side-by-side at the window, watching the sizzling bolts of lightning streaking to the ground. In the bright flashes, he could see there were now several additional vehicles in the parking lot.
The dark window glass reflected their images in a flawless mirror, and when his eyes caught hers, she said, “I don’t suppose you brought candles.”
“Actually, I did.” He reluctantly released her, moved through the dark to his duffle bag and fumbled around inside it until he located the box containing nine votive candles in glass holders.
While thunder crashed outside, he lit several and they sat down to eat. He’d placed one candle in the center of the table, and the small flame cast an aureate shimmer on her face that gave her a nearly preternatural glow. Those green eyes watched him intently as she nibbled her peanut butter sandwich. As the memory of yesterday’s kiss kept intruding into his consciousness, he found himself unable to take his eyes off her.
After they’d finished, he washed their few dishes in the bathroom sink. Standing at his side holding a candle aloft, she asked, “Are you always so neat and efficient?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
She jerked as a thunderclap went off directly overhead, making the candlelight flicker and waver. “It just seems weird to see a man washing dishes when there’s a woman around to do it for him.”
“I’m used to doing things for myself.”
“Then you must not be married.”
“No.”
When he’d dried the dishes, she hobbled out of the bathroom after him, to hover nearby with the candle as he put them away. Now what? Jesus, this was not good. With no power, and without the distraction of the television, there was absolutely nothing to do. Making matters worse, the lack of air conditioning was making the room uncomfortably warm. She looked away as he peeled out of his pajama shirt. The silence between them grew oppressive.
“I don’t suppose you brought a deck of cards.”
“No.”
“I thought you Boy Scouts were supposed to be prepared for every contingency.”
“For lack of anything better to do, maybe you wouldn’t mind teaching me some yoga poses.”
She looked grateful at the suggestion. “I could teach you Surya Namaskar, which is Sanskrit for Sun Salutations. You’ll have to unhobble me.”
After he’d done so, he placed his heavy duffle bag on the floor against the door, to slow her down in case she decided to bolt. Together they pushed the bed into the corner to provide more floor space. She pulled her tee shirt off, so that she was wearing only the sport bra and pant. He concentrated on not looking at her while he positioned several candles.
“Before we begin, I need to explain a few things. First, don’t expect to be as flexible as me. Men are normally less limber than women, and muscular men like you are usually even less so, although you’ll find yourself becoming more flexible as your muscles warm up.
“You’re forgetting I’m a martial artist. I’m limber.”
“We’ll see. Second, people tend to breathe too shallowly, inflating only the upper part of their lungs. Breathe deeply through your nose, so that your belly expands, and stretch each breath as far as you can.
“Third, don’t try to force any pose. Do only what you can do comfortably. You should never feel any pain.
“And fourth, always keep your spine stretched long, especially while doing back bends. You don’t want to compress your disks. I’ll go through the asanas first, while you watch.” She turned sideways to him and moved with fluid, catlike poise through the series of poses, naming each one as the candle flames sent multiples of her shadow writhing over the walls of the room.
Once she was back in a standing position, she said, “We start in Tadasana—Mountain Pose. He copied her posture. She eyed him appreciatively, then stepped next to him. “On an inhale, your arms circle out and back and up, to meet over your head as you gaze upward.” He did as directed. “That’s good, but slow your breathing to match your movements. Now, while exhaling fold at the waist into Uttanasana — Standing Forward Bend.” With straightened knees, he placed his palms flat on the floor. “Wow, you really are limber.”
As she walked him through the poses, lightning flashed outside the window with an accompanying crash of thunder that shook the walls of the building.
“Now lower your upper body while raising your hips to the sky.” When he had done so, feeling slightly ridiculous, she said, “This pose is called Adho Mukha
Svanasana, or Downward Facing Dog.” She stepped around behind him to straddle his outstretched legs, then grasped his hips and shifted his weight back toward her.
Lightning pulsed through the curtain with strobe-like effect, bringing the shadows in the room to brief, frenzied life. “Let your shoulders drop a little lower.” She ran her palm down his spine from waist to shoulders and the feel of her hand on his bare skin sparked like static electricity, causing his breath to catch audibly.
“You’re not feeling any pain, are you?”
“No, but don’t touch me like that. It’s very distracting.”
There was an awkward moment of silence. “Sorry. Step your left leg forward between your hands, into a lunge. Now bring the right leg forward, and straighten both while bending forward at the hips.”
As he returned to Mountain Pose, he became aware once again of the rain drumming against the windows. She gazed at him, her face ethereal in the candlelight. “Ready to go again?”
At his nod, she walked him through it once more, a little faster this time, and when he was once again standing in Mountain Pose, she said, “That was very good. I’m impressed. Since you seem to have the hang of it, I’ll join you.”
While the storm raged outside, they went through the series of poses together, as he tried to concentrate on maintaining proper form, rather than the taut and supple body next to him. As she offered an occasional bit of advice, her voice was low and husky and oh-so-sexy.
After going through the vinyasas numerous times, they returned once again to Mountain Pose. Sweat trickled down the small of his back from the combination of his exertions and the lack of air conditioning. Candlelight glistened on the perspiration on Larissa’s face.
“That was Surya Namaskar A. Would you like to move on to Surya Namaskar B?”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
She walked him through the new series of slightly more complicated poses. From time to time, she would place her hands on his body to adjust his posture. It was all he could do not to throw her to the floor and ravish her.
When he had the hang of the new poses, she once again joined him in performing them. As testosterone continued to exert its sway over him, the air seemed to grow heavy with repressed sexual tension and he wondered if she could sense it. The image of him plunging himself into her kept appearing, unbidden, in his mind’s eye. To distract himself from such thoughts, he tried to concentrate on matching his breath to hers.
Finally, they came back once again to Mountain Pose and, with the glow from the candle flames gilding the edge of her face, she said, “That’s it for me. Yoga practice is always finished with Shavasana, or Corpse Pose.
She lowered herself to lie face up on the carpet. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her, creating dark patches on her sport bra and making her exposed flesh gleam like the petals of a lily. He gazed down at her, his already rapid pulse quickening and sending a rush of blood to his loins.
Jesus, he hadn’t been this horny since returning from Afghanistan, and he wondered if he’d have to take a sleeping pill himself just to get through this night. Tempted nearly beyond willpower and self-control, he eased himself to the floor to lay an arm’s length from her. Beyond his closed lids, candlelight flickered while lightning flashed.
She was apparently unaware of his discomfort. “Your feet should be a little more than hip distance apart, your arms out to the sides, palms up. Continue to breathe slowly and deeply as your heart rate returns to normal. Empty your mind of all thought.”
Yeah, like that was going to happen.
* * * * *
Taut with sexual awareness, Larissa lay on the floor beside him as candlelight and flashes of lightning played off the walls and ceiling. Her body felt heavy and ripe and she could feel every heavy beat of her heart as it pumped blood through her veins. It pulsed and throbbed in her body’s most sensitive spots.
Even with her eyes closed, her attention remained focused solely on him. She was acutely aware of every slight movement he made, the rise and fall of his chest, the warm, masculine scent of his body. In the short time they’d been together, she seemed to have developed an acute sensitivity to his presence, noticing every little thing about him. Sometimes, the way he looked at her made her feel as if he could strip away all her reservations, not to mention her clothes. The craziness of this situation had her all discombobulated. Her reactions to him were too intense, all out of proportion. Her body was responding to him as if she hadn’t had sex in years.
When their breathing had returned to normal, she sat up. “So, what do you think?”
He sat up next to her. “Wasn’t what I expected. I’d always assumed yoga was for New Age sissies, but there’s absolutely nothing sissified about it. Moving through and holding the poses is a hell of a workout. I see why you’re so toned and limber.” He glanced at his watch. “Jesus, we were at it for almost an hour-and-a-half. It’s nearly seven-thirty.”
He rose to his feet in one smooth movement, and then reached down to her, the candlelight playing off the rippling muscles of his abdomen. She hesitated, then raised her hands to his, and he pulled her to her feet as easily as if she were a child. The pleasant scent of masculine sweat assailed her as he stood before her, a frightening mix of longing and restraint in his stance. For one breathless moment as he gazed at her, she caught a glimpse of the emotion flickering behind his eyes.
Lust.
There was an odd intensity in his eyes as they looked into hers, and they seemed to hold an unspoken question. When his gaze lowered to her lips, the memory of yesterday’s kisses shocked through her. Oh, crap, he was going to kiss her again.
“Lie down on the bed,” he said, his voice sounding strained and almost hoarse.
A tremor of alarm shot through her body. “Why?”
“So I can shower.”
“Oh.”
With a roguish gleam in his eyes, he asked, “What did you think I had in mind?” Her eyes automatically dropped to the bulging crotch of his pajamas and, cheeks burning, she dragged them away.
Working quickly and barely looking at her, he secured her to the bed, then grabbed two candles and disappeared into the bathroom without another word. In a quandary, she couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed.
Their forced proximity was creating a false sense of intimacy, which in turn was making the situation extremely uncomfortable. He found too many reasons to touch her and always stood just a little too close but, except for those two imprudent kisses, he did nothing so blatantly lascivious that she could confront him on it.
Not only did he clearly find her sexually arousing, they were sharing a bed — a certain recipe for disaster. How much longer would his self-restraint last?
Once again, she wondered if she should take advantage of the situation. Seducing him would facilitate the process of persuading him to let her go, but the thought of having sexual relations with the man who’d kidnapped her was beyond disturbing.
Was she that good of an actress?
Would she even have to act?
He stayed in the shower longer than usual. When he finally returned to the bedroom, he was once again wearing nothing but pajama bottoms that hung tantalizingly low on his narrow hips. His broad, muscular back gleamed faintly with moisture, and she tried not to think about how he’d looked that first night when he’d stepped, naked and dripping, from the shower.
Since his mood was considerably lighter, she assumed that, while in the privacy of the shower, he’d taken matters into his own hands to relieve his sexual tension. His may have lessened, but watching the muscles of his chest ripple as his lungs expanded and contracted only served to ratchet her tension up several more notches. When he turned to untie her feet, the flickering candlelight played across the scars on his back, and she couldn’t help but stare at the thick columns of hard muscle to either side of his spine.
By the time he’d released her from her bonds, her nerves were stretched as taught as bowstr
ings. Her nipples felt hard as diamonds, but she wasn’t about to glance down and draw attention to them. She got a change of clothes and headed for the bathroom.
When she passed him, his hand shot out to smack her bottom. She let out a loud squeak of surprise and spun around to stare wide-eyed at him.
He laughed. “Jesus, you’re wound tight. Both your feet left the floor.”
As a rush of tension swirled in her groin, she managed to say, “Gee, I wonder why. And I seem to remember a conversation regarding inappropriate actions.”
“Sorry.” His grin was anything but contrite. “Your ass is so cute I couldn’t resist. Those pants don’t leave much to the imagination.”
“Well, don’t blame that on me. I’m not the one who packed my travel wardrobe.”
She took her own shower by flickering candlelight. Crap, she was wound tight. Maybe she should follow his example and, here in the privacy of the shower stall, give herself an orgasm to relieve some tension. However, with the bathroom door open and him in the next room, she’d be so nervous that it would take forever. What if he got worried and jerked open the shower curtain? She’d die—simply drop dead of freaking embarrassment.
No, she’d just have to deal with the tension.
After drying her hair, she exited the bathroom to find him sitting in a chair in the middle of the candlelit room. While thunder rumbled and lightning pulsed brilliantly through the curtain, she went over to the bed and lay down on one edge, staring up at the shadows that twisted and danced on the ceiling.
He brought her a sleeping pill and a glass of water. After she’d swallowed the pill, he joined her on the bed and handcuffed their wrists together. Hugging the opposite side of the mattress, he lay on his side facing her. An aura of intimacy seemed to surround them and, after several uncomfortable minutes of silence, he said, “You really don’t have any family?”
He was curious about her, which was a good sign. She needed to play on that, make herself more real to him, so he’d see her as a person with a life and feelings, rather than just a job he’d been hired to do. In addition, for some strange reason, talking to him seemed to comfort her somewhat. And the more they talked, the better the odds that she might glean some bit of information that might help to send him to prison.
The Heart Has Reasons Page 13