“I don’t know how I’m going to torture him yet,” Megan admitted. “I’m thinking about it.”
“Why don’t you sing?” her mother said. “That’s always worked on me.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“What?” Her mother held up her hands. “Singing isn’t one of your talents. Remember that cat who used to run and hide under the bed every time you sang? And the dog who would howl? I’m not alone in my assessment. I’m sure if you sang to him he’d tell you anything you wanted just to get you to shut up.”
“Great.” Megan glared at her. “That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll sing show tunes until he caves. Should I tap-dance too? I was never any good at that either.”
“No need for sarcasm,” Heather grumbled. “Just trying to help.”
The women stood back and studied their work. The guy was still wearing the hand-towel gag Megan had fashioned for him downstairs. And he was still out cold.
“There’s a strange man tied to my bed,” Caroline said with bewilderment. “I never thought there would be a man tied to my bed.”
Every eye in the room looked at her.
“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing.” Kirsty patted Caroline’s hand.
“I need to buy a new mattress.” Caroline considered her bed. “And possibly move to a different bedroom. This one is kind of ruined for me now.”
“We need to wake him up.” Megan considered the guy before looking at Caroline. “Are you sure you’re getting a new mattress?”
Caroline nodded. “I can’t sleep on that one anymore.”
“In that case”—Megan turned to her mother—“Mum, can you get a container of water and—”
“Waterboard him?” Heather looked excited at the prospect.
“No!” Megan stared at the woman. “Throw it at him to wake him up.”
“Oh, right. Yes, I can do that.” She disappeared into the bathroom.
“How does she even know about waterboarding?” Megan asked the rest of the women.
“Just because we’re older than you are, doesn’t mean we’re ignorant,” Shona said.
“I don’t know what waterboarding is,” Caroline said.
“It’s when you cover someone’s mouth with a cloth then pour water on them to make them think they’re going to drown,” Joe said.
“That is so wrong.” Caroline was outraged. “There will be no waterboarding on my bed. Are we clear?”
There was a pathetic chorus of “yes, Caroline.”
“And while we’re at it.” Caroline folded her arms and stared them all down. “No making him bleed, either. I might have to throw that mattress out, but it doesn’t mean I want the visual of a bloody man on my bed stuck in my head.”
“Great. Any more orders, or is that it?” Megan said. “It doesn’t exactly leave us much to work with. Do you expect us to tickle the information out of him?”
“I guess we’re back to you singing to him,” Heather said as she threw a basin of water over the man’s face.
His eyes jerked open. His muscles went tense and he fought his restraints. The Knit Or Die women gave each other congratulatory smiles when the restraints held.
Megan marched towards the man and stared down at him. He really was kind of cute with his golden skin and chocolate eyes. Pity he was the enemy. “You are going to tell us everything we want to know. You’re going to tell us who you are, what you want and how many of you there are. If you don’t, we will hurt you.” She nodded towards the women.
As one, they all did what they could to appear meaner. The guy’s eyebrows shot up high on his head.
“I’m taking off the gag. Don’t scream or shout for help.”
She untied the knot at the back of his head and peeled off the scarf and towel. He coughed when he was free of it.
“Right.” Megan sat on the bed beside him. “Who are you?”
“Je ne parle pas l’anglais.” His voice was rugged, his accent sexy. Neither of which impressed Megan. She’d expected to deal with English. Now she was stumped.
“I love that accent!” Jena squealed. “It’s so sexy. Make him talk more.”
Megan cocked her eyebrow at the American. “Well, duh, Jena. That’s the whole point of this.”
“Why the heck are we being invaded by the French?” Margaret demanded. “Aren’t we friends with the French? We sent them Mary, Queen of Scots when she needed a place to stay, for goodness’ sake. Why would they attack us?”
“Je ne parle pas l’anglais,” the guy said again.
“Anybody here speak French?” Megan asked.
There was silence.
“This is exactly why Britain is going downhill. People are too arrogant to learn the language of their neighbours,” Megan said.
“We could use Google Translate,” Jena said.
Megan pointed to the candles. “No power, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jena said.
“Wait.” Caroline shot to her feet. “I think I have a phrasebook from when we took a trip to Paris.” She looked at Joe. “It’s in the office. Can you get it?”
Joe shook his head. “Yes. I’ll go downstairs, where it’s probably teeming with mercenaries, to fetch a phrasebook so you lot can interrogate our captive with questions like ‘when is the train to Paris?’ and ‘how much for a room for the night?’”
Caroline stared at him. “Does that mean you’re not going?”
“Yes. It means I’m not going.”
“Mum, didn’t you study French in school?” Megan said.
“That was about a million years ago, and we learned really helpful phrases, like: Il y a un singe dans l’arbre.”
The guy on the bed burst out laughing.
“What did you say?” Megan said.
“There’s a monkey in the tree.” Her mother shrugged. “It’s the only French I know.”
“Well, that’s freaking helpful,” Megan snapped.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. It’s more French than you know.”
“Laydeez,” the prisoner crooned in his sexy accent. “I have ze leetle ingles.”
“Bloody hell,” Shona said. “It’s a sad day when the bad guy has to help you out.”
Megan ignored the women and placed a hand flat in the middle of the prisoner’s broad chest. She noticed his heart was beating steadily, as though lying tied to the bed didn’t bother him at all. She ignored the amusement in his dark eyes and the way his bottom lip was fuller than the top one. He was a prisoner. She needed to remember that. And if he had some English, there was nothing to stop him from talking.
“Tell us everything you know,” she said, and watched him smile widely.
10
* Rainne and Alastair *
“I can’t believe you’ve been walking around with a face full of glass shards and didn’t say anything.” Rainne put the first-aid kit on the floor beside Alastair, where he sat beside the fire. She rooted around for a pair of tweezers.
“My face was frozen. I could barely feel it.”
“That’s not an excuse.” She held a cloth in one hand and the tweezers in the other and reached for his face.
Alastair’s hand snapped out and encircled her wrist. “I can do it. You rest and get warm. You’re shivering.”
Her breath quickened at the feel of Alastair’s hold on her. “I’m right beside the fire. I’ll get warm and deal with your face at the same time.”
“I can do it.” His jaw was locked.
“I know. But I’m here and I’m happy to help.” Her shoulders slumped. “Just let me, okay? You can prove how capable you are when I’m done. Trust me, this doesn’t make you any less of a man.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he let her hand drop.
Rainne took that as permission, and gingerly reached for the first speck of glass embedded in his neck.
“Don’t I?” She pulled the fragment free and moved on to the next one. “Even three years ago you w
ere all about taking care of everyone around you. Your confidence was overwhelming. You knew what you wanted. You knew who you were. There wasn’t an insecure bone in your body.”
“And that’s bad?” His sneer mocked her.
She stilled and stared at him. “You were twenty! What guy knows what he wants at twenty? What person knows who they are at twenty?”
“So you decided I was lying and made up my mind for me. Admit it, you didn’t believe that someone would want you just for being you, instead of for something you could do for them.”
Rainne flinched, his words a direct hit. “How could you want me for who I was? How did you even know who I was? I didn’t. I didn’t have a clue who I was.”
“And now you do?” There was clear scepticism in his words.
“Yes. Now I do.” She removed another piece of glass.
“Okay, I’ll bite. Who are you, then?”
She let the question lie until she finished removing the last of the glass from his neck and face. She sat back on her heels and looked at the man before her. It was obvious he was in pain, but he hadn’t said a word. Stubborn man. She left him for a moment while she fetched a mug of water for him, then handed him two painkillers.
“They’re not massively strong, but they’ll take the edge off.”
She expected him to refuse the medication, but he surprised her by taking it.
“I’ll clean out your wounds and then bandage your wrist.”
“I can—” he started.
“I know you can,” she snapped. “You can do everything. You’re freaking Superman. Happy now? It doesn’t mean you have to do everything. Now how about you shut up for five minutes and let me clean out your wounds? I promise never to tell anyone ever that Alastair Stewart had help.”
He frowned. “If you want to do it that much, on you go. But how about you answer my question while you’re at it. Who is this Rainne you had to run away to find?”
She ripped the packaging open on the antiseptic wipes and dabbed at his face. There was stubble on his jaw that scraped at her fingertips. His fists clenched on his thighs.
“Well?” he demanded. Big, grumpy bear.
She leaned close to him, aching at the sight of the gashes in his skin. She resisted the urge to press kisses to each one. He wouldn’t appreciate them anyway. His breath slid over her bare shoulder, making her hyperaware of how close they were to each other. She cleared her throat and answered the question.
“I’m stronger. More capable. I have a business studies qualification now and work for an insurance company. I’m not the same ignorant girl who didn’t know how to run a lingerie shop. If I was in charge of that shop now, it would be successful. I have my own flat, pay my own way. I make up my own mind about things. I don’t let people around me sway me into agreeing with what they think. I’m more confident.”
She spotted a gash at the base of his hair on the back of his neck and twisted over his shoulder to get to it. Her breast flattened against him and her hand stilled for a second. Focus. Concentrate. This is medical help. That’s all. “I’m someone who can help now, instead of being someone who needs to be taken care of.”
“Silly girl.” Alastair’s voice was a husky rumble. “You were always those things. You didn’t find anything that wasn’t already there.”
Slowly, she leaned back to look at him. They were close enough to breathe each other’s air. Alastair’s eyes were dark. His expression brooding. Rainne blinked a couple of times before she dabbed at a cut on his forehead, at his hairline.
You didn’t find anything that wasn’t already there.
He couldn’t mean it. Could he? Was that how he’d seen her? Her breast bumped his cheek as she reached for another antiseptic wipe. She stilled for a heartbeat before she pretended it hadn’t happened. She lifted the new wipe to his face as strong hands curled around her hips.
Rainne froze with her hand poised in mid-air. She felt Alastair’s thumbs gently caress the skin beneath the hem of her vest. Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he could hear it, but she didn’t move. Afraid the moment would be shattered. Afraid he would stop touching her.
“You still smell so bloody good,” he mumbled, as though talking to himself.
Rainne swallowed hard.
“Three years and I still remember exactly how you smell. It drives me insane. It isn’t normal to have withdrawal symptoms from a scent.”
He rubbed his nose against the crook of her neck. She shuddered.
“There.” His lips moved against her skin. “It’s stronger here. Like meadow flowers and rainy days.”
He pulled her hips towards him. Rainne dropped the antiseptic wipe but didn’t know where to put her hands. She was terrified he would stop. That he would retreat.
She looked down at him. “Alastair?” she whispered.
Dark eyes, tormented and burning, looked up at her.
“Alastai—”
A strong hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her down to him. At the speed of light, his lips were on hers. Rainne moaned as she melted into him. Giving him everything, anything he wanted. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his skin hot to her touch. His kiss was part anger, part need. It overwhelmed her with its intensity. This wasn’t the twenty-year-old boy she’d left behind. This was Alastair the man, and she revelled in him.
The firm pressure of his lips against hers. The scrape of his teeth over swollen skin. The wet urgency of his tongue as he feasted on her. She swayed in his arms, weak and desperate. Drowning in all that was Alastair. His delicious scent. The firmness of his muscles as they tensed to hold her in place. The rasp of his breath against her lips. He dominated. He controlled and he took.
Then suddenly he was gone. His hands dropped from her body. She blinked at him, slowly coming out of the haze of need he’d induced. His dark eyes were cold. His brow furrowed.
“That was a mistake.”
Rainne’s first instinct was to retreat. To hide. To agree and pretend he hadn’t kissed her until she was delirious. She’d spent a lifetime smoothing over tense situations, making things easier for everyone around her. Not this time. Not with this man.
“And that’s a cliché,” she said.
He frowned at her. “What?”
Rainne pushed away from him, tidied the first-aid kit and walked across the room on wobbly legs to put it on the desk.
“I said it’s a cliché. Every romance novel I’ve ever read has the hero getting physical with the heroine then saying it was a mistake. It’s just him hiding from being hurt. Macho bull-crap. It wasn’t a mistake, but it also doesn’t have to happen again if your poor, wee, delicate heart can’t handle it.”
Alastair gaped at her.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Rainne said, and hoped he didn’t call her on running away, which was as much of a cliché as the rubbish he’d spouted.
♦♦♦
Alastair watched Rainne stomp away, her head held high with indignation, and his chest ached with the need to keep on touching her. He knew he was behaving irrationally. He didn’t want to touch her, but he couldn’t seem to stop. She drew him to her like a bear to honey. But he had to resist. He had to fight the pull. He had to remember all the reasons starting something with Rainne would be a bad idea—the top one being she couldn’t be trusted not to rip his heart out all over again. He closed his eyes with a groan. He shouldn’t have kissed her. All it did was make him remember how good it was between them.
He couldn’t stop his mind from going over that one night they’d spent together. It’d been snowing then too. The Christmas market had been in full swing and the two lingerie shops were putting on a runway show. Rainne should have been there—she was manager of one of the shops—but instead she’d turned up at his door, cold and shivering. So completely devastated by something—he later found out her family had ripped her apart, but at that moment he’d been totally undone at the sight of her. He would have done anything, said anything, to make thin
gs okay for her. He’d felt helpless and panicked as he’d taken her up to his bedroom. He’d wished she’d pointed him at something to hit and let him go to it. Instead she’d stood there, trembling, eyes wide with unshed tears, cheeks stained with the evidence of tears already shed. And she had broken him in two.
“You want to talk about it?” He hoped she would tell him who to hit. No, who to break for hurting her.
She shook her head, but didn’t utter a word. Leaving him at a loss. He hated feeling helpless. Hated it. Alastair glanced around the room as his mind ticked off all the things he should ask or do to make things better for her. None of them seemed to be right.
“What do you want to do?” he asked at last.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly as her wide blue eyes peered up at him. He felt like she was looking past his skin to deep inside of him. To a place no one else had ever seen before.
Without a word, she stepped in to him, stood on her toes and kissed him. He’d intended to keep the kiss short and comforting, but she wouldn’t let him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she ran her tongue over the seam of his lips. It was more than he could take. Kissing Rainbow was addictive. He’d never get enough. His hands settled on the small of her back as he pulled her tight against him. Soft curves flattened against his wiry frame. Curves he wanted to learn—first with his fingers and then with his tongue.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth, taking control of the kiss. He wanted to taste all of her. To feel all of her. She was perfection. He fought against the voice inside his mind telling him to throw her on the bed and brand her with his touch so that she, along with everyone else, would know she belonged to him. Struggling for control, he pulled back and did the sensible thing. The thing he had to do for her sake.
“Rainne,” he said against her lips, his voice hoarse from wanting her. “What are we doing?”
He knew what he wanted to do, what he was desperate to do, but now wasn’t the time to think with his dick.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t even look like she was listening. Instead she stepped out of his embrace and casually unbuttoned the straps on her purple dungarees, letting the bib fall to her waist. Her eyes never left his, as though in challenge, daring him to try to stop her. His mouth was dry, his jeans were too damned tight and his heart was beating so fast he felt giddy. Rainne didn’t seem to care about the effect she was having on him. Or she was pleased with it. Alastair didn’t get a chance to figure out what she thought, as she diverted him by bending over and removing her boots and socks. Alastair was momentarily distracted by the fact she’d painted each of her toenails a different colour, making them a rainbow to match her hair. He started to smile, but swallowed it when her dungarees fell to her feet. She calmly stepped out of them.
Here Comes the Rainne Again Page 7