Perception: A Bittersweet Romance Suspense Novel

by Kendra Leigh

  Straining my ears to listen, I brace myself, finding leverage with my foot so I can leap forward the moment the lid opens. I begin to wonder if the car’s been driven inside a shelter, a warehouse maybe, because I can’t hear a thing. No traffic, no voices. What if Brown Eyes is planning to just leave me here—there’s no cool air now the engine is off.

  Inside, I begin to panic. “Hello? Is anybody there?”

  I hear the locking mechanism clink and the trunk opens to the brightest light. As I put my hand up to shield my eyes, a figure moves into place to block out the sun. Brown Eyes stares down at me, his expression unreadable at first as his gaze flits over my face and down the length of me, and then it seems filled with uncertainty.

  Without clear intention, I twist, kicking out with the heel of my sneaker and landing a randomly aimed but perfect blow. Brown eyes flutter closed as he doubles over, stumbling back away from the car, his hands nursing his crotch.

  “Ffff … uck!” The profanity hisses from his lips.

  In my haste to scramble out of the trunk, I snag my sneaker and go tumbling to the ground, all my internal confusion and fear from earlier turning to anger.

  Strong hands hook under my arms, pulling me to my feet as I stutter through my fury, “Get … get your fucking hands off me, you creep!” I turn to face an enormous wall of chest, my hands fisting as I batter them against it.

  “Jesus, woman!” My attack has little impact as he catches each flailing wrist in a firm grip. Compared to me this man is a bear, arms and chest firm and taut, the muscles straining inside his shirt. “Calm down. I’m not going to—”

  Before he can continue, I sink my teeth into his hand, and the second he releases his grip, I run full pelt toward the trees. Behind me, I can hear a muttered curse. “You’re fucking kidding me.” As I reach the cover of the forest, it seems to open its jaws, swallowing me whole into an unknown abyss. As if someone switched off the sun, the muted light and cool air hits me. How deep is the forest? I’ve run in the opposite direction of the trail we came in on. How late is it? Might it be dark soon?

  After a few minutes, I slow to a walk before finally stopping to take in my surroundings. Scanning the area as far as my vision will allow, I turn a full circle. Brown Eyes is nowhere to be seen. Behind me, I hear the snap of a branch and turning toward the sound, I begin to back away, taking refuge behind the thick trunk of a tree. My breathing is noisy as I gulp in air, my eyes darting about for signs of movement. And just like that, I lose all sense of direction, no clue as to which path I came in on or which way I should head.

  “Boo!”

  The voice is so close to my ear, I can feel his breath vibrating against my skin. I let out a piercing scream as I swing around and back against the tree, unsure if the sight of Brown Eyes standing before me, cool as a cucumber, with hands thrust deep inside his pockets is a relief or not.

  “Finished?” His voice is raspy, calm and collected, just a hint of amused sarcasm lacing an unfamiliar accent. “Only, there’s no one else out here for miles and miles. No one to hear your scream.”

  My mouth opens again, and just as I take a breath, preparing to take my chances and holler for help, his gaze shifts to a spot on the tree over my left shoulder, his finger closing over his lips to silence me.

  Slowly, he holds out his hand for mine. “Don’t turn your head. Move very slowly toward me.”

  I freeze, terrified. “Why? What is it?” I whisper.

  “Shh … a snake—move. Now!”

  Responding immediately to his command, I reach for his hand, allowing him to pull me toward him, and in an instant, he picks me up like a rag doll and flings me over his shoulder.

  “That will be enough of your bad behavior, short stuff. Your tiny ass is proving to be a bit of a handful already.”

  Hindered no more by my weight than if I were a jacket slung casually over his arm, he begins to chuckle at his own humor as he turns to make his way back through the forest—in no doubt of the direction to take.

  It’s only now I realize I’ve fallen for his ruse, my vision bobbing up and down with the momentum of his swagger as I frantically search the tree for any sign of the fictitious snake. This time it isn’t a cry for help but a cry of exasperation that shatters the stillness of the forest.

  “You liar, there is no snake!” I batter my fists against his back.

  A hand reaches up, slapping me firmly on the butt. “Enough!” The shock silences me instantly. “Don’t make me put you over my knee so soon.”

  What?

  “You and I are going to be spending some time together.”

  Why does the idea of that not fill me immediately with trepidation?

  “So we’ll have to learn how to get along. There’s only so much slapping, biting, and being kicked in the bollocks a man can take on first meeting a woman. So you be a good girl … and I won’t spank your bottom.” He laughs as he reaches up, patting me gently on the behind. “Not unless you want me to, that is.”

  Speechless, and despite the bumpy, uncomfortable ride, I allow him to carry me back to the clearing as he mutters something about being hot and hungry and needing a cup of tea and a shower. Reaching the car, he pauses to pick up my backpack—he must have thrown it into the back of his car when he grabbed me—and another bag, a sort of carryall. Still, I hang helplessly from his shoulder, the sight of the car disappearing as he climbs three steps to the deck of a pretty log cabin. As he pats his pockets, producing a key to unlock the door, I notice two rocking chairs and a side table made from chopped logs. At either side of the door there are lanterns hanging from intricately carved wooden brackets.

  “Looks like we’re home, honey,” he says quietly, almost to himself. Pushing the door open, he enters slowly into the center of a large room. Dropping the bags to the floor, he begins a three-sixty degree turn, taking in his surroundings as I take in mine—albeit from a different angle.

  The room is L-shaped, a small kitchen to the right of us, a sofa, coffee table, and log fire making up a tiny sitting area to our left. At the top of the L, a double brass bed with side drawers makes a small but cozy bedroom. A doorway leads to what I assume is a bathroom, making up what would be the fourth corner of a rectangle if the bedroom wall wasn’t there.

  Brown Eyes heads for the bedroom, and my heart begins to thump loudly in my chest, all feelings of composure fleeing my body. He bends his knees and, leaning forward, tips me gently onto the bed. The sudden burst of panic, and the fact that my head has been upside down, sends the room swimming before my eyes. Instinctively, I reach out, gripping his shirt to steady myself but pulling him on top of me instead.

  His arms shoot out to brace himself, a hand at either side of my head, his face only inches from mine.

  “Well now, you are a feisty one.” The heat from his skin radiates from him in waves, bringing with it a waft of his personal scent—soapy and woody and … man. Beneath the shirt, which I still fist in my hand, I feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, a dramatic staccato pounding to rival even mine.

  “Someone will come for me,” I whisper without conviction.

  “Like I said. No one for miles and miles. Just you … and me.”

  The edge of his eyes crinkle in response to the small smile playing on his lips. Kind eyes—warm swirls of caramel fused with chocolate. There is no malice, no threatening implications to his tone. When his mouth, with that now distinct British accent, forms the words you … and me, it’s with more of an insinuation than a threat. Like a suggestion that it might be fun.

  Suddenly, I remember the uncertainty in his expression when he lifted the lid of the trunk. The indisputable shadow of doubt flashing over those striking chiseled features.

  “I think there’s been some sort of mistake,” I breathe through the quiet. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but it isn’t me. You have the wrong person.”

  His eyes drift over my face as if he’s absorbing the details of my features, his nose twitching almo
st indecipherably as if discreetly sniffing my scent. The tip of his tongue snakes out to dampen his lip before dragging his teeth across the plump flesh.

  “Is your name Savannah Harper?”

  Swallowing, I nod once.

  A small smile ghosts his lips. “Then there’s no mistake.”

  Chapter Five

  Jackson

  MY BODY NEEDS TO CALM the fuck down. It’s been a while since I got within a hair’s breadth of a beautiful woman, I grant you, but the way my heart now pounds against my chest is pitiful. If I move a fraction of an inch, she’ll know about the crazy boner that’s been stirring since Brooklyn. One glimpse of that face looking back at me from the trunk and I was harder than I’ve been in years. Even the swift kick to my nuts hasn’t censored it.

  For a second, I actually questioned if it was her. Obviously, I’ve seen her picture and read the details of her description, but here in the flesh she seems younger than her thirty-two years, and smaller—Christ on a bike, she’s small. When she exploded like a tempestuous little firecracker, all fists and golden hair with perfectly aimed bollock-crushing karate kicks, it was more than I could do to stop myself from putting her over my knee and spanking that firm, round ass.

  Now here she is beneath me, panting little gusts of warm sugar-coated breath on my lips and telling me she’s the wrong person. My gaze drifts over her features, absorbing the detail, my teeth biting down on my lower lip to conceal the breath I pull in to inhale her scent. Her face is a vision of tiny, flawless, delicate angles outlining a perfectly proportioned nose and rosebud mouth. With not a scrap of makeup in sight, her skin is fresh and silken, reminding me of canned peaches and cream, so real and sweet I can almost taste them. Long dark lashes frame the iciest blue eyes I’ve ever seen as they search mine frantically, uncertainty and maybe even desire brewing like a storm. But it’s the vulnerability that stops me in my tracks, that unmistakable flicker of fear betraying her fake bravado.

  “You must be thirsty.” I push away from her, turning to the kitchen and snuffing out my desire.

  The refrigerator is well stocked with a healthy combination of fruit and vegetables, meat, fish, and poultry. Enough food for a week, maybe two. Uncertainty taps me on the shoulder again. What the fuck are you doing here? You’re too old, too changed—where are your morals?

  “Water or soda?” I call over my shoulder, hoping the cool blast from the refrigerator will douse the remnants of my persisting wood.

  When she doesn’t answer, I grab one of each and turn back to face her. She sits hugging her legs up to her chest, those icy blues trained accusingly on me as I walk toward her and hand her the water. Still, she doesn’t acknowledge me, so I place it on the bed by her foot. Tipping my head back, I begin to drain the soda.

  Seconds pass as she seems to think about what she wants to say, eventually stuttering uncertainly, “What, wh … why have you brought me here?”

  And so it begins.

  I shrug. “I’m just the person they hired to do the job. I don’t know why.”

  “Who are they?” Her eyes roll in irritation as I shrug again. “Okay, what job did they hire you to do?”

  “Just to … mind you for a few days.”

  “A few days?” She shakes her head in horror. “I can’t stay here for a few days. I have to go back now. And when you say mind me, I think you mean abduct, don’t you?”

  I roll my lower lip out, shrugging again. “Semantics.”

  The way she scrunches up her nose says I’m annoying her. Good.

  “My husband will kill you if you hurt me.” Her eyes flick to her backpack on the floor by the door. “And don’t get comfortable, because he’ll be here to come get me—real soon.”

  Husband? There was no mention of a husband in the detail. She’s bluffing.

  “Maybe your husband is the reason you’re here.” I bat the ball back, grabbing her attention. “Like to gamble, does he? This husband of yours? Well, I expect we’ll see how good of a gambler he is when he’s forced to gamble with your life.”

  I can see the cogs turning behind the dazzling ice, but when she doesn’t counter, I begin to loosen my tie. “I’m going to take a shower, freshen up. That little detour through the woods left me feeling a little under par.” I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips when I pull off my tie and thread it through my hands. “Behind your back or above your head?”

  “You’re going to tie me up?”

  The look of shock on her face is priceless. “One detour’s enough for today. We can explore the forest some more tomorrow, if you like. Now, lie down, hands above your head. You may as well be comfortable while you wait.”

  When she hesitates, I hitch a brow, challenging her to defy me—half of me hoping, the other half dreading, that she will. Decision made, she lies down, stretching out her legs and raising her hands to the brass rails behind her. Sensible.

  Swiftly, I place one knee on the bed, leaning over her as I bind her wrists to the bed head, eager to move away and catch my breath. The little grunts of disapproval as she wriggles around helplessly are turning my balls blue.

  I look down as she scrunches her brow, lips pouting in protest. “Stop fidgeting.”

  “It’s too tight.”

  “Tight’s good.”

  Job done, I turn away and begin to work the buttons on my shirt and cuffs before sliding it down my arms and discarding it on the chair next to the bed. As I kick off my shoes, I turn to assess the audience and, as anticipated, those icy blues are suddenly much darker as they slide coyly over my arms and chest, growing wider as they follow the path of my serpent tattoo disappearing beneath the waistline of my pants.

  “You done yet?” I ask, smiling wickedly as her creamy cheeks heat with pink. Fuck, she’s cute.

  “So that’s where it went…” she points with her chin toward my tatt “…the snake from the forest.”

  Oh yes. Very fucking cute.

  Grabbing my wash bag from the carryall, I head for the bathroom, closing the door only partially behind me. “If you’re wondering about your cell phone, don’t bother,” I call out as I reach behind the shower curtain to switch on the shower. “I left it safely in the trunk of the Beetle back in Brooklyn.”

  If she answers, I don’t hear her over the noise of the shower. Slowly, I finish undressing, my head attempting to untangle the contrasting feelings and thoughts running riot in my head. One minute I’m way out of my depth—the Jackson of now, head of Wilde security, bodyguard, protector, chivalrous man of principles. The next I’m Jax Dean, arrogant, thrill seeking and … fucking horny. I glance down at the big chap jutting out, firm as fuck and egotistically unyielding. He’s going nowhere.

  I step into the shower, closing my eyes as the warm spray hits my face, my hand coming up to wipe my eyes. The sweet scent of Savannah Harper’s peaches and cream skin fills my senses. I can still feel her bare skinned shapely calves in my hands from when I hoisted her over my shoulder and carted her through the forest, fists thumping on my back, hips and ass wriggling on my shoulder in obscenely short denim shorts, nose and eyebrows scrunched in indignation, rosebud lips pouting—fuck!

  As I reach down closing my hand into a fist, I shake my head in dismay. My hips begin to rock and I begin to squeeze. Jax Dean isn’t going anywhere either.

  Chapter Six

  Savannah

  IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE: being tied up like this should terrify me, but no—if I feel anything at all, it’s irritation; tugging that tie through his hands, his tone filled with threat and his eyes with promise; all that swagger as he stretches over and binds me to the headboard, muscles flexing, man scent warming my insides and making me squirm. Under different circumstances, I might be impressed. But it’s when he ditches the shirt that I really question the rationale behind my body’s reactions.

  I glimpsed his strength when he threw me over his shoulder earlier, but now it stands before me, at least six feet of lean, rippled sculptured art. A tattoo of a
serpent inks smooth olive skin, drawing my attention to the journey it must have taken during its creation. As if it’s slithered lazily from beneath the waistband of his pants, it winds its way from his hipbone and up his side, twisting smoothly over his rib cage to his shoulder blade. It’s … distracting.

  My cheeks burn when he catches me looking, and I mutter something about the supposed snake in the forest as I avert my eyes, searching for my backpack. I’m pretty sure Nick has the means to track my cell, and as long as the battery holds, he’ll be able to find me. I wonder about the volume of the ringer alert and if it can be heard from its whereabouts in the front pocket of the bag. Has Nick tried to call already? Does he know, by now, that I’m missing? Is he frantic with worry … or anger?

  The second Brown Eyes turns for the bathroom, I look up to check the knot in the tie. I tug, attempting to wriggle one hand out of the hold, but the action results only in making it tighter.

  “If you’re wondering about your cell phone, don’t bother,” he calls out, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “I left it safely in the trunk of the Beetle back in Brooklyn.”

  What is that feeling in my chest and stomach? Panic … or relief?

  The sound of the shower switching on in the bathroom reminds me that I should probably start making plans to escape. While he’s busy in the bathroom is a good time to try and look around, find a map of where I am, or even a weapon should I need one. But I can’t do much while I’m tied to the bed, and from what I can see of the bathroom door to my left, he’s left it partially open anyway. Deciding I’ll have to try and assess the room from where I am, I shuffle up the bed a little more, using the pillow to tilt my head so I can see.