CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(70)

"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.