"Yep," he mumbled his response around his toothbrush.
"Good luck, Jon. I look forward to seeing you when you report back to headquarters."
"It may be a while," Bix mumbled, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "If there's nothing else, Natasha, good night."
"Good night, lover."
Bix clicked off the speakerphone and snapped the unit shut. It landed on top of his bag at the door as he headed for the shower. His hand settled on his left shoulder, digging into the muscles there. Odd. It was tight, sore and pulsing. He hadn't worked his shoulders this week at all, but the pain was acute.
The bathroom filled with a fog of soothing steam. He stepped into the tub and yanked the shower curtain closed. The strong, hot spray of water pulsed over the muscles of his back and thighs as he searched inside himself for the source of his discomfort. His keen senses dipped below his skin, into his veins and slid along and through his muscles. When he searched the connective tissues of his throbbing shoulder there was nothing unusual. But if it was perfectly fine, why the hell was it so sore?
He shut off the shower and headed to bed. Under the cool sheets and scratchy blankets, his thoughts settled on a beautiful woman with dark brown eyes and skin, and a body to die for. A body he wished he could cuddle up to right now.
His fingers had itched all through dinner to bury themselves in her thick, curly hair to see if it was a soft as it looked. The short-sleeved tee she wore let him look his fill at smooth-as-velvet skin over sleek muscle. His thoughts strayed to the elegant curve of her neck. Keen ears had picked up the strong pulse beating there as they'd talked and laughed over their meal. He imagined the same beat now. Strong. Steady. His cock swelled and pulsed in time with the imagined thump of her heart.
Hell, it was going to be a long night.
# # #
Handcuffed to the Sheikh
Teresa Morgan
The last thing Maxine Foss ever expected was to be handcuffed to a sexy, but crazy, guy who claims he's an Arabian prince... and is determined to seduce her. Best. Abduction. Ever.
Copyright 2014 Teresa Morgan
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Epilogue
About The Author
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Chapter One
If she hadn't been so bone-deep jetlagged, Max Foss might have paid more attention to the ominous profile on the other side of her front door. She might have reasoned that it was pretty late for a natural gas scam artist to prowl around her Newark, Delaware neighborhood, looking for someone to fall for the old "I can save you so much money if you'll just give me your credit card number" trick.
As it was, she was too exhausted to realize how stupid it was to open her door to a stranger so late at night-even if the stranger had a clipboard. She'd just come home to find the contents of her fridge seemed to have aged months in the week she'd been at a five star all inclusive in the Dominican Republic. All her plants had died... not just died, but mummified. She'd never had a green thumb, but she'd tried so hard to keep this batch alive. It wasn't fair to a bunch of plants that didn't have much of a chance under her care in the first place. Dust swirled up out of the carpet whenever she took a step, sending her into sneezing spasms. She'd won the ticket in a radio contest and had gone away to relax. Now all she could see was the work ahead of her.
Her irritation and her overdeveloped sense of justice sent her crashing down the stairs to her sunken foyer as soon as the bell rang, determined to take a chunk out of anyone who tried to take advantage of her or her friends who lived in the neighborhood.
As soon as she had the door open, and he turned to face her, caution came crashing back. The guy lounging against the door frame like he owned it had sixty pounds on her, and all that was solid muscle. He also wore a fierce expression, as if she'd pissed him off just by opening the door. The way he looked down at her without lowering his set jaw spoke of a controlled rage that made her stomach clench.
All of this was probably good, since he also radiated a mysterious sexuality that might just have gotten a credit card out of her if those sensual Michelangelo lips hadn't been turned down at the corners. And those eyes. If they had contained a shred of decency in them instead of angry fire, would have been as tempting as any dark chocolate truffle.
Some instinct made her grab at the throat of her hoodie and zip it up another couple inches.
His hand tightened on the clipboard as his smoky, narrow-eyed gaze scraped over her body, bunching as if trying to make a fist. That was all it took to set her temper ablaze. Unreasoning fury sparked behind her eyes.
"Nobody wants you here." She lifted her nose in the air. "Take your con game someplace else."
"Con. Game," he repeated, a not-quite-British accent tingeing his deep caramel voice. Disbelief and rage dripped from those two words.
She slammed the door on him. Or at least meant to. Really meant to. But the clipboard was in the way, jammed in the doorframe. Then, without warning, he was inside, filling up her little foyer. His big form was just inches away, and coming closer.
An instant of shock passed over her. Had that just happened? He'd forced his way inside? He paused, seeming almost as stunned as her.
"Well, that was easy," he said, sounding confused.
Her surprise broke, replaced by terror. Oh God, this was a nightmare. A surge of adrenaline sent her scrambling up the stairs... Her phone was on the table. Could she keep him off until she dialed 911? Probably not. What else could she do? Her heart thudded an insane beat as she raced up the steps.
She didn't get far. A merciless arm banded her waist, pulling her back against a chest built like a brick wall. She inhaled to scream, but the fabric he held to her mouth muffled the sound. When she tried to breathe, the air tasted like bitter chemicals and she almost retched. Oh God, she was being drugged. He was going to drug her and kill her. And who knew what else.
Panicked blood hammered in her ears. She had to think. What could she do? Kicking and flailing seemed hopeless, but it was her only option-Or maybe... She forced herself to calm. She held her breath and let all her muscles go limp. Maybe he would relax his iron grip too early and let her go. Then she could kick him in the 'nads.
Fighting every defensive instinct, she let her eyelids flicker shut. She willed her heartbeat to slow, praying she wasn't succumbing too quickly.
His breath tickled her ear. "Ah." If his voice hadn't been terrifying, his exotic accent would have sent her to her knees. "She's not so strong as I imagined. I'd hoped you'd put up more of a fight."
You'll find out how strong I am as soon as you let me go, she promised silently. Brave words, but doubts crept in. Starved of oxygen, her lungs began to burn.
He didn't loosen his grip one inch. Through her shirt, she felt a deep bass chuckle reverberate in his chest. "What a terrible liar you are. Did you think I would fall for that one, Max?"
He knew her name? She gasped in surprise, and took in a lungful of chemical air that stung going down. What stung more was how stupid she'd just been.
Idiot, she cursed herself, as the drugs leeched into her system.
Before she passed out, the last thing she saw was those wicked lips, smiling in triumph as he locked her left wrist in one side of a pair of handcuffs.
In her dream, Max was falling. Wind rushed past her ears at a crazed speed. She was panicked, out of control, plunging down a tunnel that closed in on all sides. Her world was a rush of sounds and colors that seemed to be a cryptic message she couldn't decipher.
Out of the madness came a single point of calm. A spot of shining gold, a ball the diameter of a silver dollar. It grew and glowed in front of her eyes. She reached out and closed her hand around it.
Everything stopped. She stood on her feet again, the earth beneath her. The rays of the moon bathed her in a glowing light as she walked along the high ridge of a shifting sand dune. A deep sense of peace and serenity enveloped her soul. The sand was cool between her toes.
A man stepped out from nowhere, and yet it seemed as if he'd always been there. She knew him for what he was. Her lover. Her other self. But she couldn't see his face. When she tried to concentrate on him, she saw only blank space. When he spoke, she heard garbled static.
Or... wait... There was a voice in her ear, pulling her out of the dream. She looked down at the golden sphere in her palm. It faded and she was falling again.
"-ke up, hayati. Come, open those pretty blue eyes for me."
She saw a wall of black. She blinked a few times, wishing she could wipe the fuzz from her vision, but her hands wouldn't seem to move for her. The black wall cleared up. She was looking at a... leather jacket? She was falling, sitting up, with her arms around a leather jacket? And her head seemed to be encased in plastic.